By the early afternoon, the meltémi had started up: a wind, he explained, that was very much like the monsoons of Asia. Dark clouds came in from the north and he decided to put down the sails and motor. He gave Oriel a lifejacket and made sure they were both harnessed properly. Half an hour later the sky turned black. Dense sheets of rain poured down and the wind increased, whipping the water into whitecaps. The boat ducked and dipped, heeled and creaked; then, an hour later, the squall passed and the sun came out.
They were under sail all the way to Delos – even when the sea became choppy again later in the evening, as they approached the island. Then they came into the Delos strait, between Rhenea and Delos itself. Here, the waters welcomed them and the island, bathed in moonlight, appeared like a hazy jewel on the silvery sea.
Through it all Damian had remained cool and efficient. Oriel had never been seasick but that afternoon she nearly was – until he provided some tablets that immediately did the trick and she was saved the humiliation of being ill. Strangely enough, at no time had she been afraid. Damian’s obvious skill at sailing his boat and his constant reassuring words left her confident that they were never in any real danger.
He had remained as calm and cheerful through the whole day as he had been that morning. When he bade her goodnight, after they were safely moored in the harbour, he did so in an almost impersonal way – although there was never a break in the kind solicitude with which he treated her. It was as if the Drákon Damian side of his personality had been cleansed entirely from him, washed away by the salt breeze and the sea spray.
When Oriel awoke the next morning, the sun was already up. It was a hot day and there was no hint of a breeze coming through the open porthole. She showered quickly – she was certain that Damian had been long awake and was keen to show she was a match for him. After putting on a pair of old denim shorts and a peach spaghetti-strap top in thin cotton, she slapped some sunscreen over any bare skin. Armed with a sensible hat and her sunglasses, she hurried up on deck.
Tour boats were just beginning to arrive from neighbouring Mykonos and Damian was nowhere to be seen. Leaning against the mast, Oriel surveyed her surroundings. Stark Delos, crossed by long streaks of golden morning light, stretched before her. The virgin island, the fabled birthplace of Apollo, was suffused with a divine light and she was conscious of a strange lull in the atmosphere, as though the island were under a spell.
She was about to abandon her vantage point when she saw Damian striding towards the boat: an impressive, masculine figure, lean, tall and confident. He looked every inch a part of these surroundings with his thick black curls and strong-boned face. She sighed to herself quietly as he approached.
He waved to her and, moments later, joined her on the boat. ‘Kaliméra ómorfi kopéla mou! Good morning, my beautiful!’ He seemed in great form, an easy smile lighting his face. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Yes, wonderfully, thank you.’
‘Have you had breakfast?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Me neither. I went down to catch the delivery launch that passes by every day from Mykonos. I bought us lobster sandwiches and a bottle of white wine for lunch, and a few salad things for our supper.’ Damian tapped the large cool bag he was carrying. ‘I’ll improvize something for us tonight.’
‘That sounds lovely,’ Oriel beamed.
His gaze fell on her straw hat and dark glasses. ‘I see you’re well equipped. Glad you’re wearing sensible shoes, we’ve got plenty of walking today. Let’s have some coffee and yoghurt, then we’ll be on our way.’
‘Are you really planning to carry that bag around with you? It’s so hot and it’s going to be heavy with those bottles,’ Oriel remarked as she watched Damian stow two large bottles of mineral water and a bottle of wine in the cool bag.
Damian chuckled and smiled at her. ‘It’s not heavy, agápi mou, but thank you for your concern. I’m taking everything with us. We could have gone to the air-conditioned restaurant but it will be packed with tourists. They’re already arriving, as you can see. No, I figured we would enjoy our lunch more sitting on a slab of ancient marble, surrounded by the gems of history. The meltémi isn’t blowing today but a gentle breeze will pick up, you’ll see.’
‘I’d love to have a picnic, it sounds perfect.’
Damian’s smile broadened into a grin. ‘After lunch we’ll make our way to Mount Cynthus. The tourists will have left by then and we’ll have the island to ourselves. Sundown is late at this time of year and we’ll have plenty of time to visit most of the interesting sites on the island. In the early evening we’ll climb up the mount. It’s not that high and there’s a good path. There’s an impressive view of Delos and the surrounding islands from the top.’
‘It sounds great. Where will we set down for the night?’
‘The best thing is to pitch our tent near the Sacred Port. I might even move the boat there. That way, if you’re not comfortable camping under the stars you can always sleep in your cabin. But I’m guessing you’ll choose the open air. Sleeping out, with the sky as your ceiling, is one of life’s great pleasures, I always think.’
‘You’re preaching to the converted. I’ve no problem with camping. A friend of mine has a caravan and we’ve often taken off during the holidays.’
Though Damian didn’t say anything, Oriel felt him stiffen.
‘Vicky and I grew up together,’ she clarified, suppressing a slight smile. ‘She’s a botanist and loves being out in the fresh air and nature.’
He visibly relaxed and shot her a dazzling smile. ‘Kalós! I’ll make some coffee, then we’ll go.’
* * *
Oriel wanted most of all to visit the place that had been the beginning of everything – the Sacred Lake, where Leto had given birth to Apollo – so she and Damian headed towards the north of the island. En route, they walked through the Sacred Way, a wide, paved road lined with marble plinths that had once supported votive statues. There were also the remains of benches, which had been provided for the pilgrims who had travelled the route since ancient times. There was still an annual procession during the religious Delia festival held every year to celebrate the birth of Apollo.
A maze of dry, meandering paths led them across the island. On either side crumbling stone temples, toppled columns and the remains of statues told a story of the once-great sacred island. Damian and Oriel were greeted by something new at every bend. Whether it was a view of the sea or the debris of an ancient dwelling with the most magnificent mosaic floors open to the sky, glittering in the sunlight, the beautiful treasures were endless. The sun burned down on them from the great blue dome of the Apollonian heaven with a dry, brilliant but bearable heat, with the hot Aegean wind wrapping itself about them at every turn.
Sometime in the late morning they paused to have a drink and sat on one of the old walls of a large ruined villa. A pine tree offered much-needed shade and away from it the glare was intense, almost blinding. The air was a dancing, quivering flame, seeming to reflect light off the white marble of the building. In what must have been the main room of the villa, a huge mosaic floor had been laid and even now, two thousand years on, it was still almost complete. Oriel stood up and went over to inspect it more closely. Bright turquoise and black, it depicted a sea with bulbous-eyed fishes. The little coloured tiles made it seem almost as though the creatures were moving sinuously with the current as the hot sun danced and winked on the mosaic.
‘Look!’ Oriel gave a cry and Damian, who had been packing away their water, came over to join her. ‘It’s the trident! See?’
In each of the four corners of the great oblong floor was a representation of Poseidon’s three-pronged trident, which Oriel had come to know so well over the past few days. There it was – the trader’s insignia of Marcus Sestius, with the serpent entwined around the shaft.
‘Né, that’s it,’ said Damian, and there was something in the tone of his voice that made Oriel look up to scrutinize him. Behind his dark
glasses his face was impossible to read.
‘You knew it was here, didn’t you?’
‘Yes. I contacted François, my friend on the French team here, when I knew we were coming to Delos,’ he explained, his mouth trying but failing to suppress a smile. ‘He knew of the place and told me about the floor … describing exactly where it was. I thought I’d surprise you.’
Oriel beamed at him, excitement lighting her features. ‘So this is where Sestius came after the destruction of his business in the earthquake.’
‘Well, he can’t have lost everything. This villa is certainly a fine one,’ said Damian. ‘He must have had money squirrelled away elsewhere. He was a lucky man not to have been cast into a watery grave, along with his argosy.’
Oriel took out her camera and circled around the patterned mosaic floor, taking shots from different angles before coming back to him. ‘Perhaps we can meet up with François and swap information about Sestius. It would be useful for our report on the wreck for the Ministry next week.’
Damian nodded. ‘We can drop in tomorrow to the team’s site office. He did mention we could help out if we wanted, as they’re short of people at the moment.’
Oriel smiled. ‘Great. Do you know, I can’t wait until we dive the wreck and see the statue of Poseidon again,’ she said wistfully, putting her camera back in her bag. ‘Although it won’t carry the same thrill as it did when we first set eyes on it. That giant face shining through the water was incredible.’
Damian shrugged the bag on to his back and grinned. ‘Well, you won’t have to wait long. We’ll dive together with the Ministry inspection team after the weekend. Then we’ll both enjoy the looks on their faces when they catch sight of the statue. And don’t worry,’ he added, ‘I won’t let anyone from the Ministry take over. The site is yours. There’ll be seasoned archaeologists trying to muscle in, but you discovered it and made all the connections, so it’s only right you lead the team.’
‘Thank you,’ Oriel said simply, her green eyes sparkling up at him. The day just couldn’t get any better.
They walked on and, apart from the tourists milling around, nothing broke the stillness of the countryside. The landscape was parched, with thistles and barley grass growing thick among the ruins, but for Oriel the shimmering presence of something almost supernatural gave the island a sense of enchantment that was almost palpable. Here, history and myth vibrated as one. She took off her sunglasses, preferring to appreciate the view in its full glory. Damian had been right: the sunlight over Delos had such brightness and penetrating clarity that she now had her answer as to why the ancient Greeks had chosen it as the birthplace of Apollo. What could be more appropriate for the great sun god?
As for Damian himself, he was not only good company but also an excellent guide, pointing out things that Oriel would have missed had she had been on her own, and always animating his information with legends and anecdotes to amuse her. He was very attentive, making sure they stopped to rest every now and again and insisting she drink water regularly so she wouldn’t become dehydrated.
It was lunchtime when they arrived at the Sacred Lake. According to legend the sacred swans and geese of Apollo were once kept within its oval expanse, but it was now drained. A lone palm, its magnificent branches swaying in the sea breeze, stood at the centre surrounded by a low stone wall, marking the place where Apollo’s mother, Leto, had supposedly laboured for nine days. Oriel could almost imagine the girl clutching the trunk of the tree, bracing her knees against the sweet meadow grass as she gave birth to the sun god.
She looked across to the famous Terrace of the Lions. The five elegant beasts, carved from Naxian marble, stood poised and snarling silently, guarding the sanctuary and looking out to the Sacred Lake. They reminded her of the ones that watched over the temple of Karnak in Egypt. By now, Oriel’s eyes had become accustomed to the glare, and the view around her had ceased to be like that of a golden chalice seen through a sheet of gauze or lit by flickering candles. The hordes of tourists had moved off and the place was deserted save for these ancient relics; an absolute peace crept over her while beneath it all, humming in her veins, was the thrill of being alone with Damian.
‘It’s time we had something to eat, you look as if you need it,’ he said, watching Oriel from behind his sunglasses as she took off her straw hat and wiped her brow with the back of her hand. ‘I hope I wasn’t going too fast for you.’
‘I’m fine, just hot.’ Oriel smiled and looked around her. ‘What a lovely place,’ she murmured. ‘It’s as if the years have rolled back and we were still living in those times.’
‘It’s even lovelier in the spring when it’s a mass of wildflowers with whole sheets of multi-coloured anemones, bluebells and poppies.’
‘I’ve seen photos of Delos with people walking around on marble paving slabs and red, purple and yellow flowers sprouting between the cracks.’
‘By this time of year they’ve mostly gone. The heat kills everything and it’s been such a hot May. There’s another legend that says that Delos was a nymph who had attracted Zeus’s attention. Out of respect for his wife Hera, she became a star and fell to the sea, transforming herself into an island to escape Zeus’s favours. To punish her, he made the island barren and parched.’
‘Delos might appear to some as a dusty, baked desert, home only to lizards and murmurs of long-gone civilizations but, for me, it’s a treasure trove,’ Oriel replied. ‘A place where ancient memories are distilled … you can even detect their faint smell.’
Damian smiled. ‘I knew you’d have a natural affinity for the place, Calypso.’
Oriel sipped from her bottle of water and smiled back. ‘You’re right, I have.’
They both sat on a rock in the shade of a pine to have their lobster sandwiches and a glass of wine, which was light and refreshing in the midday heat. Huge, vivid-emerald lizards, like mottled mini-dragons, strutted and scuttled about the stones as if they owned them.
‘Mind you, there are an awful lot of lizards running around,’ Oriel remarked, her eyes following them as she bit into her sandwich. ‘I wonder why?’
‘They’re called stellions and, according to Ovid, these lizards originate from a boy who derided Ceres and, for this, was turned into a lizard by the goddess.’
Oriel laughed. ‘Amazing! Your knowledge of Greek myths really does surpass anyone’s I know, even my old lecturers. How do you do it?’
Damian spread his hands in a very Greek gesture and grinned. ‘Simple, I grew up with them.’
‘Well, now that we’re here, will you tell me the rest of the Apollo legend?’
‘You really do like stories, don’t you?’
‘To give the devil his due, you tell them well.’
Damian had taken off his glasses and the ice blue of his shirt reflected in his eyes as he looked at her. He gave a low laugh. ‘The devil is always present in your phrases when you’re describing me. Is that how you see me, the devil, koucla mou?’
Oriel gave an awkward laugh and felt herself go pink. ‘The word “devil” in English doesn’t have the same inflammatory religious connotations as here. I forget how it sounds in your country. I was actually flattering you with the saying but, if I have offended you, Damian, then I’m sorry.’
His white teeth gleamed in the sunlight as he threw back his head and laughed again. ‘Now I’ve embarrassed you and made you blush. I’m not offended. Let’s go back to myths and legends, though. Much safer ground for conversation, eh?’
Oriel looked at him sheepishly and nodded. ‘You never told me the last part of Leto’s story.’
‘Well then, here goes. So, as you know, now Delos had been created as a place of sanctuary for the pregnant Leto. Her confinement lasted nine days and as the time of birth approached, she held on to the trunk of an ancestor of this very palm tree. The Homeric Hymn to Delian Apollo mentions that Leto was leaning against Mount Cynthus when she gave birth to the sun god. Other writings claim that two huge waves rose
against the island at the moment of his birth.
‘Anyhow, in the simpler, first version, many goddesses gathered on the island to help Leto, except for Eileithyia, the goddess of childbirth, whom Hera kept prisoner in a cloud on Mount Olympus, with the help of Iris, the goddess of rainbows. In the end, the goddesses were able to bribe Iris with a gold necklace, persuading her to fetch Eileithyia. They got back just in time to help with Apollo’s birth.’
Oriel’s eyes turned to Mount Cynthus, imagining the girl crouched in the throes of labour, her celestial midwife ministering to her.
‘Don’t look at it now. It seems artificial in sunlight but you’ll find that in the moonlight it takes on a truly mysterious and romantic aspect. You’ll see it tonight. Later, when it’s cooler, we’ll climb the mount. The view from up there is breathtaking.’
‘I’d very much like to go up there but if you’ve done it before, do you really want to see it again?’
‘It’s been a few years. I’d like to repeat the experience.’
Oriel couldn’t help but wonder with whom Damian had climbed Mount Cynthus. Yolanda, Cassandra, maybe one of his other women? But she knew better than to ask.
A dry wind had started up, whispering among the ruins and shivering the brown grass. The meltémi was doing its work, stirring up the sea around the island. Soon the waters would be a churned-up boiled pot of white foam. Oriel’s gaze shifted from Mount Cynthus to the fermenting waves, feeling as though her emotions were suffering the same turmoil. An inexplicable sense of unease settled on her like an invisible cloak.
Damian lit a Gitanes and blew out a plume of smoke that curled into the air like a question mark. Oriel gave a nervous start when, a moment later, a cool glass was placed in her hand. She heard Damian murmur: ‘You’re a million miles away. Anything the matter, agápi mou?’ The aroma of his cigarette clung in the air along with his question and she could feel him studying her profile.
She turned to face him and her heart missed a beat. It was the first intense look they had exchanged since the night before, when Damian’s eyes had been hot with desire. She remembered, too, that his voice had been icy with scorn then soft with determined compassion. It had been easy to hook into his emotions and it brought her closer to him, even when it was frustration she read in his eyes. All day she had missed those eyes, which had been hiding behind their dark shades. Now that he had removed them, the silver pupils were still unfathomable and Oriel felt as if she had lost something precious.
Aphrodite's Tears Page 53
