'Oh, Robbie, if only you would give up this dangerous business of yours, and if this were not just an interlude, how happy we could be here.'
For a moment he was almost tempted to say that he would. But the shadows were falling, and somewhere up in the cliff that rose steeply behind the hotel an owl hooted. The owl was Athene's bird, and sacred to her. Its cry was both a warning and a reminder of his pledge.
The past week that he had spent with Stephanie had made him into a different man from the lonely young fellow so lacking in self-confidence who had given that pledge. Now, he would have given a great deal never to have stood on the Acropolis asking Athene's guidance. But he had, and he knew that he would never again have a quiet mind unless he obeyed her injunction to go through with his self-imposed mission.
17
Of 1 roy and a Submarine
Although the hoot of Athene's owl had prevented Robbie from wavering in his resolution, he did his utmost during the next few days to put from him all thoughts of the Czechs and the mystery of their tobacco-oil deal. On their first morning in Navplion, he and Stephanie took things easy. First they explored the little town and, although it was early in the year for bathing, bought swim-suits. Then they walked back beyond the hotel and along the narrow track that ran round the promontory. On its far side they came upon a path that separated the headland from a far higher cliff on the top of which was perched the ancient Acropolis and, by scrambling along it, got back to the town.
Late that afternoon, they drove the few kilometres to Tiryns. The usual coachloads of tourists had gone, so they had it almost to themselves and spent an hour rambling about its ruins. In ancient days the sea had come up to the walls and it had been the port of Mycenae, but now the shore lay nearly two miles distant. The most impressive thing about it was the enormous size of the stones with which the walls were built. There were thousands of them, and many weighed eight to ten tons; so the labour entailed in dragging them up the hill, then lifting them, without mechanical aid, to fit neatly in layer after layer on one another, must have been immense. It was no wonder that the Greeks of the classic age, knowing nothing of the Mycenaean civilization, called such walls 'cyclopean' and believed that they had been built by a race of giants.
Next morning, as the swimming pool had not yet been filled, they braved the sea. Swimming was one of the few things that Nanny Fisher had taught Robbie. She had rightly believed that it would improve the reactions of his muscles, so she had taken him regularly to the baths in Cheltenham, and now that he was fully grown he was a powerful swimmer. The water was on the chilly side, but there was no wind and, as they had left their dip until eleven o'clock, the sun was strong enough to warm them up within a few minutes of leaving the water. During the previous summer, Robbie had been too shy to speak to anyone when bathing on his own from one of the beaches near Athens, and only on three occasions had he been asked to go in a party; so to have a lovely girl for his sole companion was a new delight to him.
On the previous day, they had learned that the little castle on the rock out in the gulf was called Burzi and that, owing to the Greeks' hatred of state executioners, it had once been used as a retreat for those who had retired; but it was now an hotel. A motor-boat was always available to take visitors out there, so they decided to lunch at it. They found it an intriguing place, as the dome-roofed, white-walled bedrooms on the lower floor had, in the old days, been cells; but each had a window looking out on the sea, which gave them a resemblance to comfortable cabins in a stationary ship. The proprietor was his own chef, and cooked them an excellent meal of freshly caught red mullet.
That afternoon, Robbie decided to go up the great headland that rises in an almost perpendicular cliff behind Navplion to see the remains of the fort that, in ancient times and in later times when the Venetians held that part of Greece, guarded the entrance to the gulf. It was seven hundred feet high, and could be reached only by a flight of eight hundred and fifty-seven steps and several tunnels cut in the face of the rock; so Stephanie smilingly declined to accompany him. As they were going to Mycenae the following day she said that, while he was puffing and blowing his way to the summit, he could think of her sitting in a comfortable chair in the lounge reading his chapter on the Trojan War. Half an hour later she started it, and it read as follows:
THE SIEGE OF TROY
People blame Helen for the Trojan War but that isn't fair, because it was really Zeus who started the whole trouble by
refusing to give a judgment and foisting his job off on to a mortal.
Among the Heroes who sailed to get the Golden Fleece there was a chap named Peleus. Owing to a slight misunderstanding about who had been to bed with whom, his first wife had hanged herself and he was looking for another. His eye fell on a Naiad named Thetis; and she must have been quite a girl, as both Zeus and Poseidon had wanted to marry her. But both had hauled off pretty quickly, because Aunty Themis gave them the lowdown that she would produce a son far more powerful than her husband. In view of thi^, Zeus decided to put a stiff handicap on her by palming her off on to a mortal; so when Peleus came along, the Father of the Gods said: 'O.K., boy. You can have her.'
Thetis was far from pleased, as she considered herself much too good for a mere King of Thessaly, and she tried all sorts of dodges to get out of this mesalliance. But, as Zeus was backing Peleus, they didn't work. King Peleus was asked up to Olympus and the couple were given a splendid wedding.
However, the social secretary up there blotted it pretty badly by forgetting to send an invitation to the goddess Eris. She was a very unpleasant type and, as her special province was presiding over Strife, she soon thought up a plan for teaching the other Immortals not to ignore her. Arriving unannounced at the party, she threw a golden apple into the midst of those present with a tag on it that read: 'Here's a prize for the best-looking goddess among you.'
The stately Queen of Heaven smiled and said: 'How kind of Eris to make me such a lovely gift.' Athene of the classic features snapped: 'Be your age, Hera, she obviously meant it for me.' Aphrodite simply gave a little wriggle of her hips and said: 'Don't be silly, girls. Ask any of the chaps here and he'll tell you who that golden apple is for.'
By then the gentle reader may bet that Zeus was tiptoeing away towards the bar. But they called him back and demanded that he judge between them. He shook his head and said: 'Nothing doing. I've trouble enough without setting two of you by the ears. Only last week I had to tie a couple of anvils to Hera's feet to prevent her following me when I was just popping down to earth to see how an old friend's wife was getting along; so she doesn't deserve such a pretty toy. And if I awarded it to either of you others, she would make my life hell for the next six months.'
'All right, then,' they said. 'You must appoint someone to judge for you.'
It was this that triggered off the whole awful business. Zeus probably had a date with one of Thetis's bridesmaids behind the nearest peak. Anyhow, he wanted to be done with the matter quickly; so, without much thought, he said: 'On Mount Ida you will find a handsome young herdsman named Paris. He is just the age to have no doubts about "what it takes" most among women. Go and ask him.'
At that, the three goddesses took off like Sabre Jets for Mount Ida. But now I must tell you something about this chap Paris.
The Trojan race sprang from Dardanus and the daughter of a shepherd King named Teucer. Their great-grandson was llus, and he built the city of Ilion, which was another name for Troy and of the 'topless towers' of which my gentle reader must have heard. His son, Laomedon, was a heel. After Poseidon and Apollo had helped Hera to try to put Zeus in the bin and they had bungled the job, both of them had been condemned to put in a spell of servitude on earth. Poseidon got himself taken on by Laomedon as a builder, and it was he who built the impregnable walls of Troy. But when he had done, Laomedon refused him his promised reward.