The Tomb of Zeus

by Barbara Cleverly

  “Was?”

  “He just about knew his numbers and letters when he left the village school, but he wasn't content to spend the rest of his life herding the family goats. He took a job in the city and educated himself to an impressive standard. He was driven by an intense interest in his island's culture. Many of the villagers combine this interest with a phenomenal memory. I've heard—I've actually sat through—a recitation by a very old man of the hills, quite illiterate, of the Erotokritos.”

  “The book I was pretending to read in the library?”

  “Yes! Bad choice! Their national saga. And you saw the length of it! It's a thousand lines longer than the Odyssey! You can imagine the bardic stamina required to memorize that. A constant supply of the local raki seems to fortify them. Three glasses are my limit, I'm afraid! They think I'm rather a weed.”

  “Yet they seem to like you?”

  “I take the trouble—not that it is a trouble, it's a joy—to learn their language. I enjoy swaggering about in boots. And I find much to admire in their character and in their history. They have a good deal in common with the English—we're both an island race-sailors, soldiers, odd sense of humour, fiery, honourable, generous, irreverent—I could go on! They'd appreciate all our heroes—Robin Hood, Francis Drake, King Arthur, Thomas à Becket—name whom you like.”

  “Toad of Toad Hall?” Letty suggested with a smile.

  “They'd love his dashing style! It's hard not to think of Cretans in heroic terms; they're men you'd choose without a second thought to fight shoulder to shoulder with.”

  “That's quite a eulogy coming from you, William.”

  “I love them,” he said simply.

  “Surely they have some faults?”

  He frowned. “Well, yes, they're human like the rest of us. They have quick tempers—it goes with the pride. And they're as fierce as they look! They'll readily seek vengeance for injuries done to them or their family. So stay on the right side of Aristidis! It shouldn't be difficult—he's easy to admire.”

  “And one hundred percent Cretan.” She smiled, watching Aristidis dash by, cloak flapping, as he spurred the length of the convoy, shouting abuse at the men at the rear. They responded with a laugh and returned the abuse, but, she noticed, put in an extra effort to do as he asked.

  “In fact it's more like seventy-five percent Cretan. His paternal grandfather was Turkish, a Turk who married a Greek girl. Quite a lot of that went on during the two hundred years of Ottoman occupation. And, before that, four centuries of Venetian rule. Acculturation and miscegenation occurred. And it's been going on since the Stone Age.”

  “And it hasn't finished,” said Letty thoughtfully. “Look at George. English father, German mother, but born here on the island. What on earth does that make him?”

  “I don't think he gives it a thought!”

  “Well, I rather think, if he had to choose, he'd decide to be Cretan. In spite of the drawbacks. What did you say—quick temper and pride? And didn't someone else say All Cretans are liars'?”

  “It was my least favourite saint—Paul—who was responsible for spreading that nasty little calumny,” he replied angrily. “But he missed the point! The original statement came from a philosopher from Knossos, in fact—Epimenides. Himself a Cretan! And so—”

  Letty laughed. “The old logic problem? A paradox? If a Cretan says that all Cretans are liars—then he's presumably lying himself?”

  “You have it! The humourless Paul wouldn't have seen that!”

  “I think there's a rather unphilosophical interpretation of the charge. I'd say Epimenides was making a sweeping and tetchy statement about his countrymen and, in a superior way, excluding himself from the lineup. Do you know what he actually said?”

  “Not sure anyone does. His works have disappeared. We just have quotations from other writers to go by.” He paused for a moment, suddenly thoughtful. “But I can give you a taste and, Letty, you may find our man has something important to say to you, down over the centuries. Good lord! I wonder…? He's talking about Zeus. Listen…something like this:

  “ ‘They fashioned a tomb for thee, o holy and high one—

  The Cretans, always liars, evil beasts, lazy gluttons!

  But thou art not dead: thou livest and abidest forever,

  For in thee we live and move and have our being’”

  Letty mulled this over for a moment, then asked: “And when was he saying all this?”

  “Oh…about 600 B.C.?”

  “So it's been common knowledge for centuries that the Cretans claim Zeus to be mortal. They build a tomb for him on his death. Or do they? Are they lying about that too?” She reined in her horse and sighed. “This is a wild-goose chase, isn't it, William? We're being sent away to play where we can't do any harm!”

  “Very likely. My suspicions also.”

  “And at just the time I would have wanted to be in Herakleion. We ought to be there, William. Standing witness for Phoebe.”

  “Some things just have to be left to the family, Letty. There'll be funeral arrangements to make, her people in Paris to be informed and summoned. Believe me, there was little you could do at the Europa but get in the way.”

  “I'm not sure the family can be trusted to pursue the truth of her death. And Harry Stoddart must have felt the same. Why else would he ask me to help him examine her body? Because he sensed that I am the one person in that household, recently arrived and impartial, who retains an open mind.”

  “Impartial, eh? Well, if it's any consolation, I formed a good opinion of Inspector Mariani during our short interview. I don't think he's in Theo's pocket and I didn't get the impression that he was going to let the matter rest ‘under six feet of earth’ as you put it. I promise you that we'll go back to the villa at once, should it become necessary.” He glanced back at the troop riding behind and grinned. “Aristidis and I have devised a useful messenger service between Kastelli and the city. A sort of donkey express! And, look at them, Letty! You've got a skilled team with you—the best! Even if you don't manage to dig up the King of the Gods, you'll have learned a good deal.”

  “And enjoyed your company for the length of the digging season,” she said. “Something to be thankful for?”

  The little convoy paused at a roadside kafenion five miles into the journey, and Letty tactfully distanced herself from the male company, waving a dismissive hand at Gunning, who was evidently torn between dutifully staying with her and joining the men in the café.

  “It's quite all right, William. When in Crete…I wouldn't want them to take you for my poodle, so go and join them. You'll find me over there under that fig tree when you're ready.”

  She made herself comfortable at a table out of earshot of the company and, lulled by the murmur of male voices punctuated by the occasional shout of laughter and the distant tinkling of bells as goats moved about in the surrounding hills, she felt guiltily at peace. The sun was well up, warming her bones and coaxing scents from the tussocks of herbs that seemed to seize a handhold in every crevice. The eye was enchanted by the colours, springtime yellow and purple, and Letty thought she recognised mimosa, bushy rockroses, and wild iris. She picked a spray of rosemary and ran it through her fingers, bruising the slender needles and breathing in the astringent perfume.

  She must have started to nod off, she thought, minutes later, and shook herself fully awake as a more aggressive scent assaulted her. Coffee! A small white earthenware cup was being waved tanta-lisingly under her nose. It was accompanied by a frosted glass of chill water. “William tells me you enjoy Greek coffee, Miss Laetitia,” Aristidis said. “And this is wondrous coffee. Metrio—not too sweet. I hope that is what you like.”

  She sipped and sipped again the sticky black brew. “Wondrous indeed! One of these and I'm ready for anything!”

  He smiled his pleasure and settled down on the chair opposite. “Then I will ensure you are served coffee every morning in Kastelli. I added a kilo or two of beans to the supply list,�
� he added with quiet satisfaction.

  “No one's told me, Aristidis—am I to stay in a hotel? Or a guest house?” she asked.

  A short bark of laughter greeted her question. “None such on offer in a small village like Kastelli, I'm afraid. But you will be comfortable and welcome. Don't worry—all is arranged.”

  “I'm prepared to sleep on a pew in the church or on a schoolroom floor like my pioneering predecessor if I have to,” Letty told him lightly. “I was thinking of Miss Harriet Boyd, the American archaeologist.”

  “Oh, that was twenty years ago, and we have had good warning of your arrival, miss. We can do better. I met Kyria Boyd,” he confided. “I was a very young man away from home for the first time, earning money where I could, and she gave me a job digging on one of her excavations. I was promoted to classification, and when she returned the following year she remembered me and made me a foreman. My interest in archaeology began with her. An exceptional woman!”

  “She certainly is,” Letty agreed. “And she owes her start to Arthur Evans, who pointed her in the right direction and smoothed the way to her first dig.”

  Did he pick up the slight question behind her bland comment? Aristidis considered for a moment and then said carefully, “I wonder if you have noticed that the so-obliging Dr. Evans directed the eager but inexperienced Kyria Boyd to a very remote part of the island—far from his own centre of operations at Knossos? And—the site he encouraged the lady to explore was an Iron Age site. Not nearly so fascinating to the world as a Minoan one!”

  Letty laughed. “Dr. Evans's prejudices are no secret! Harriet Boyd struggled against two drawbacks in his eyes: She was a woman and an American. But she was nobody's fool. It wasn't two minutes, I understand, before she had abandoned the recommended site near Kavousi, wandered a mile or two down the road, and discovered Gournia! Hailed in the English press as ‘the Cretan Pompeii.’ But you were on the spot! Tell me—do I have that right?”

  “Almost! Miss Boyd didn't ‘wander.’ She listened to advice from the local people and followed her own sure instincts. And they led her to Gournia. A whole Minoan town! The oldest town in Europe. We had to hire a hundred extra workmen to do the digging. Roads, houses, shrines—even a palace—were lying there just inches below the surface. You must take time to go and study it! There are still lessons to be learned from the experiences of Miss Boyd.”

  And from Aristidis too, Letty thought, enjoying the show of pride and enthusiasm.

  “And after that, Aristidis?” she asked. “What did you do?”

  “I worked with Miss Boyd for as long as she continued to return. Then for whoever was undertaking an interesting dig. Evans, of course, and lately Mr. Russell.”

  “I'm surprised Mr. Russell could spare you,” said Letty. “I understand him to have no fewer than three enterprises on the go at the moment.”

  Aristidis shrugged. “You are my punishment,” he said with a cheerful grin.

  “I beg your pardon! I'm sorry to hear that!” Letty exclaimed. “But I don't understand what you can mean?”

  He grunted and looked over to the kafenion, perhaps regretting his bold statement, perhaps hoping for Gunning to intervene. “I have had a falling-out…a disagreement…with Mr. Russell. And this is his way of showing his anger. He sends me off to dig under the direction of a woman, and an inexperienced one at that. He thinks this will be a lesson to me and I will return begging forgiveness and professing eternal loyalty.”

  Letty was not sure how to respond to this secondhand insult. “I should very much like to hear how you managed so to upset Mr. Russell, if you feel you can tell me,” she invited.

  “Ha!” His black eyebrows gathered into a formidable line. “It was in the matter of payment,” he confided. “Mr. Russell was in a hurry to finish a project before the end of last season. He hit upon what he thought was a clever way to make the men work faster. He divided the force into three teams and at the end of each day offered a bonus to whichever team had shifted the largest amount of earth, regardless of quality or quantity of finds produced.”

  “And you objected to this cavalier attitude to excavation?”

  “I did. I made my views clear! I withdrew my team—the men you have working with you now.” He waved a hand back to the café. “They too are being punished. They are good men, most of them my cousins. They objected, as I did, to the sight of others not so careful, shovelling up and barrowing away tons of earth with little regard to the possible contents.”

  “Well, you needn't be concerned,” Letty assured him. “I intend to introduce no such dubious methods. I do worry, though, about supervision. I shall be on hand myself each day, of course, to keep an eye on things, but I know that many of the finds associated with the Minoan civilization are small in size—seal stones, rings, statuettes—all of which might possibly find their way off the site and into an antiquary's shop by the back door if proper supervision is not exercised. I've seen all too many of these items on sale in Athens.”

  She paused, assessing his reaction to the speech she'd been advised to deliver. Andrew Merriman had been full of indignation at the scale of pillaging of important sites. Her teacher had warned her that on Crete, where the artefacts tended to be small enough to slip easily into a pocket or a saddlebag, they frequently fetched up in private collections and antiquarian boutiques. “And keep an eye out, Letty,” he'd told her. “It's not only the diggers who are tempted.”

  Aristidis nodded, pleased, evidently, and not affronted, to hear this stated clearly from the outset. “Sadly, this happens. But these men are all known to me and perfectly trustworthy. If we should have a bit of luck and find it necessary to take on extra labour, there could possibly be a problem. Do you have thoughts as to how to overcome the temptations?”

  She had no doubt he had his own method and intended to implement it. But she played along and gave the answer which would have satisfied her mentor.

  “I should like to offer a reward slightly in excess of the going rate at the antiquary's for any small finds,” she said. “This, on top of the fair weekly wage I have agreed, should be clear and a sufficient incentive. And, I would like to think, the assurance that the objects so declared will be guaranteed a permanent place here on the island. Cretan remains will stay here where they belong.”

  Aristidis nodded vigorously. “Your terms are more than fair, Miss Laetitia, they are generous. My men will give you their best work. And if they can be rewarded openly and honestly for using their sharp eyes and experience, all the better.”

  Seeing the men beginning to leave the café and head for their tethered mounts, he stood and smiled down at her. Briefly, Letty tried to decide who had been interviewing whom. She wondered if she had passed the inspection. How different all this would have been in England. There she would have had no direct contact with the men who got their hands dirty. All communication would be conducted through a string of intermediaries—the deputy director, the site foreman, the gang leader. She would have surveyed the activities from the nearest vantage point from the shade of her parasol. Letty silently thanked the groundbreaking—in more ways than one—Miss Boyd for the positive impression of western womanhood she had left behind. She vowed to build on it.

  At least she was not encumbered with the Edwardian lady's petticoats and high lace collars. She had taken Gunning's advice and set aside the trousers she had hopefully brought with her. Not acceptable, apparently, to Cretan eyes. He had approved the ankle-length riding skirts—two serge, three linen, and all brown—she had had tailored in Athens, and the men's boots scaled down to her size by a London bootmaker. The purveyor of footwear to the adventuring aristocracy had understood her problems at once and come up with several pairs of surprisingly comfortable, though tough, boots. Not elegant—and she felt a stab of grief as she thought of the salty comments Phoebe would have made. But at least they were guaranteed snake-proof And that was a primary concern for Letty. She would be a figure of fun if she appeared in this rig in Pic
cadilly, but here in this rugged landscape among these rugged people she thought she would pass muster.

  The village, when they approached, was an enchantment for Letty. Surrounded by a bounding convoy of small boys, who'd rushed out on sighting them to act as their riotous escort, she reined in her horse and stared in delight.

  Gunning and Aristidis drew up alongside.

  “I've seen this place before!” Letty said. “In the museum the other day. Haven't you noticed? In one of the display cases, there's a dozen or so painted pottery plaques—tiny little things not much bigger than mah-jong tiles—and they're pictures of Minoan houses. Put them side by side and you could make up a street, a townscape. I longed to take them out and play with them! Two or three storeys high, flat roofs, dressed stone façades, timber frames, mullioned windows…yes! Here they still are!”

  She swept a hand over the village square where the grander houses gathered. More modest houses climbed the slopes away from the centre, along winding streets that marked immemorial trackways. In the centre, old men seated at café tables drank their coffee, tormented their worry beads, or played card games. To Letty's eyes they all looked exotic. Most wore the island costume; some sported a red fez at a jaunty angle; all wore baggy boots. They paused their gossiping to stare as the cavalcade went by.

  “What you say is true.” Aristidis nodded, charmed by her appreciative outburst. “And the patterns go deep. Two years ago, old Manoli's house collapsed in the earthquake—the earth sheared away from under it and you could see layer on layer of buildings-all the same materials down to the very lowest slice of the cake, which is what you would call Minoan. I examined it as closely as I could before they rebuilt it, and there was very little difference between the ancient, the medieval, and the modern.” He smiled. “Except that it would only be fair to say the Minoan remains were more solid, the stone better dressed. We found the remains of a wine vat and an olive press. Nothing, it seems, has changed much in four thousand years in this corner.”