Adventure in Athens

by Caroline Lawrence

  ‘But he promised to train you. I was there. I heard him say it.’

  Dinu snorted. ‘He’s like every other politician in the world: a big fat liar.’

  ‘Then what happened?’ Crina asked.

  ‘Then they left me. They all went off together, laughing and singing.’

  ‘Oh, Dinu.’ She reached out to comfort him, but he pushed her hand away.

  ‘So will you come back with us now?’ I said.

  ‘God, yes!’

  ‘And I don’t have to go through some Socratic Q and A to convince you to come?’

  ‘God, no!’ He took off his garland and threw it on the ground.

  Without the garland he looked like Dinu again.

  ‘Come on then, big bro,’ said Crina. ‘Let’s go home.’

  ‘There’s a problem,’ he said, and pulled us back into the inky shadows of the fig tree.

  ‘What?’ Crina and I said together.

  ‘The entrance to the Acropolis is crawling with guards – Scythian archers and citizens with swords.’

  ‘But it must be nearly midnight,’ I hissed. ‘The portal will be turned on at any minute.’

  Crina said, ‘What about the path we used in the twenty-first century, on the south side of the Acropolis, via the Theatre of Dionysus?’

  ‘There are men there too.’

  Suddenly Crina gripped my arm. ‘I might know a way! Simona told me there were steep stairs on the other side.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘When you were sleeping. She showed me her loom upstairs and some of the cloth she had woven. When she was younger she lived up there for nearly a year to help weave a giant cloak for the statue of the goddess. She said that she and the other girls sometimes went out onto narrow stairs so she could see her house.’

  ‘Narrow stairs?’ I said. ‘Are you sure?’

  Crina nodded. ‘Simona mimed it for me. She pointed through her window at the Acropolis and made her fingers walk up imaginary stairs.’

  ‘If she could see her house then those stairs must be on the north slope,’ I said.

  ‘She’s right!’ Dinu cried suddenly. ‘In Ancient Greek Assassins there are some stairs on the north face.’ Then his shoulders slumped. ‘But once you get to the top you need to use your sticky-monkey abilities.’

  ‘Wait,’ I mused. ‘If there are stairs there must be a door.’

  ‘I’m telling you, it’s there!’ said Crina.

  I nodded. ‘Let’s look. It’s our only chance.’

  ‘Come on then,’ said Dinu. ‘I think I know the way.’ He led us out of the shade of the fig tree and past some houses.

  The sole of my sandal was coming unstuck and it made a slapping sound as we ran.

  We were going up an alley between two houses, one with freshly plastered outer walls and the other crumbling, when we all heard the growl of a dog.

  We froze. Crina pointed at my sandal and raised her eyebrows.

  She was right. One barking dog could betray our position to guards.

  I took off the offending sandal and left it at the side of the road. We managed to creep on past the house without setting off the canine burglar alarm again.

  Up ahead, Dinu was crouching behind some shrubs with his finger to his lips in the universal gesture for silence.

  When Crina and I reached him, we both recoiled at the smell. People obviously used these bushes as a toilet.

  Dinu pointed at the dark shape of the Acropolis rearing up above us. Then he made his fingers act out walking up stairs.

  Although this side of the mini-mountain was in shadow, we could glimpse pale stairs winding up between boulders and scrubby bushes.

  ‘That must be the way up,’ he mouthed. ‘But there are two guards on either side of that path.’

  I whispered, ‘We need to get them to move away.’

  Crina said, ‘I have an idea. Take off your other sandal.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To toss into the courtyard with the dog. His barking will make them go there to investigate.’

  ‘Good idea!’ I slipped off my other sandal.

  I had one chance.

  I took a deep breath, pulled back my arm and let go.

  We all watched the shoe arc up into the sky and then drop down smack bang into the courtyard. A moment’s silence and then the night was shattered by outraged barking.

  ‘Well done, Alex!’ said Crina, and Dinu added, ‘Nice one!’

  As both guards moved away, towards the sound of the barking dog, the three of us ran forward in a crouch. We kept to the shadows as much as we could and tried to avoid those bushes that had been used as toilets.

  Stone steps carved into the face of the hill led us up between boulders and thorny bushes. I could smell thyme and sage, the scent of Greece.

  Down below, the dogs had stopped barking. In the bushes around us cicadas were chirping urgently, as if to say, ‘Go, go, go!’

  The steps grew narrower as we ascended.

  Once Crina slipped and nearly fell.

  I was following behind and managed to catch her, but for a moment I thought we might both go over.

  ‘Soles too slippery.’ She kicked off her sandals and carried on barefoot like me.

  Dinu was ahead of us and I started to notice dark drops on the stone steps. His finger was bleeding again.

  ‘Go, go, go!’ urged the cicadas.

  By the time we finally reached the top of the stairs, my legs were on fire and my heart was almost pounding out of my chest. A vertical wall of massive stone blocks was set with a wooden door. The door was small, but it was made of oak and it was thick.

  Dinu took a deep breath, pushed and then cursed in Romanian.

  He turned, still panting from the climb, and gave us a bleak look.

  ‘Locked!’ he said simply. ‘The door is locked.’

  52

  The Key

  Sometimes late at night when I can’t sleep, I think about that moment at the top of the stairs and shudder.

  We were so close to the portal.

  And yet so far.

  Our time was almost up.

  The prospect of even another twenty-four hours in ancient Athens was like a death sentence.

  Dejectedly I sat on the threshold of the locked door and put my head in my hands. Crina sat down on one side of me then Dinu slumped down on the other. The stone slab was just wide enough for the three of us. On Dinu’s right was a steep drop down and on Crina’s left was a sheer vertical wall up.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ whispered Crina.

  ‘I don’t know.’ I put my arm around her and gave her shoulders an encouraging squeeze. But I had never felt worse.

  ‘Guys, I’m sorry.’ Dinu leaned back against the door. ‘This was all my fault for wanting to be rich and famous. And thinking it would be cool to kill Spartans for real.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t,’ I said. ‘I was the one who got tempted by fame and fortune.’

  ‘If it was anybody’s fault it was mine,’ said Crina, ‘for crashing through the portal and getting you arrested.’

  ‘No point playing the blame game,’ I said.

  Dinu put his head between his knees and panted. ‘I don’t feel too good.’

  I glanced at him. The brilliant moonlight showed blood still dripping from his finger.

  Moonlight?

  I looked up. ‘Oh no!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The moon!’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘A few minutes ago we were safe in the shadows. Now it’s lighting us up like a spotlight. Any moment one of the archers will look up and see us …’

  Crina gripped my arm. ‘Come on, Alex! Think of something!’

  ‘Yeah, Wimpy!’ Dinu tried to grin. ‘Don’t fail us now.’

  My heart sank.

  They were both looking to me for a solution.

  I had nothing.

  There was only one place to turn.

  Sometimes when I pray to God, an imag
e pops into my head. It comes really fast, sometimes as I’m forming the prayer.

  Even as I murmured the words ‘O Lord, please help,’ the image of a doormat popped into my head.

  ‘Doormat?’ I muttered.

  ‘What?’

  I shook my head. ‘Does the word “doormat” mean anything to you?’

  ‘We keep our spare key under our doormat,’ said Dinu. ‘In case one of us gets home and Mother isn’t in.’

  Crina turned away.

  Maybe she was hiding tears of despair.

  Then she turned back.

  ‘Alex, is this what an ancient Greek key looks like?’

  She was holding something like a little iron rake turned back on itself.

  ‘Oh my God, yes!’ My jaw dropped. ‘Where on earth did you get that?’

  ‘In a hole under a rock, right here by the wall.’ She pointed with her chin.

  Dinu forced a weak grin. ‘The ancient version of a doormat,’ he said.

  I nodded. ‘I guess human nature doesn’t change.’ A surge of renewed energy brought me to my feet.

  ‘Let’s just pray it works!’ Crina said.

  In modern times keys are little flat things you can fit in your wallet. This one was the size of my fist.

  I stuck it in and tried to twist it.

  Nothing.

  Even modern keys sometimes need a certain touch.

  I took a deep breath. Told myself to stay calm. And tried again. Still nothing.

  Then I remembered that ancient keys don’t release a hidden tumbler; they lift a crossbeam. I had been twisting when I should have been lifting.

  I lifted the key and felt the mechanism work and heard the creak of the crossbeam.

  ‘Push!’ I commanded between gritted teeth.

  Dinu and Crina both pushed.

  And the door swung open.

  We fell through with gasps of relief.

  Then Dinu said, ‘Hurry or we’ll miss the portal. Please.’

  We sprinted through a herb garden with a statue of a female goddess at its centre and out through a gate onto the Acropolis.

  The Parthenon was straight ahead.

  And the moon was high above.

  We were in the right place at the right time.

  We might just make it.

  ‘Come on!’ I said.

  ‘Which end is the portal?’ asked Crina.

  ‘That end!’ I pointed. ‘The east.’

  I led the way, pulling Crina by the hand as we wove through the moonlit forest of bronze and marble statues. We had almost reached the far end of the Parthenon when we heard a noise that chilled us.

  ‘Xtop!’ said a voice in a Scythian accent. ‘Xtop or I’ll shoot!’

  We stopped and slowly turned to see a figure emerge from behind a big altar. It was one of the Scythian archers.

  I had not seen this one before. He was short and stocky with a white beard.

  He looked more like a Smurf than any of the others.

  In fact, apart from not being blue, he looked just like Papa Smurf.

  I couldn’t help it: I burst out laughing.

  That was when he shot Dinu.

  53

  Last Words

  That moment might have been less awful if Dinu had screamed. Instead he just stared in horror at the arrow sticking out of his upper arm.

  The old Scythian had already notched another and was aiming it.

  I started to grab Crina and Dinu to pull them down but I was too late.

  The archer had already let fly.

  But for some reason the arrow went soaring up into the air as the Scythian slumped slowly to the ground.

  And now a snub-nosed, balding, bearded guy was bending over Papa Smurf, prodding him with a walking stick.

  ‘Socrates!’ gasped Crina. ‘Help!’

  Socrates lifted his head then hurried towards us.

  ‘Dinu’s been shot!’ I cried.

  ‘I can see.’ Socrates went round behind Dinu. ‘Thank whatever gods you believe in,’ he said. ‘The point has gone right through. It will be easy to pull out.’

  ‘Did you kill the archer?’ Dinu’s voice was faint.

  ‘No. That one has a thick skull. He’ll come round soon.’

  I turned to Socrates. ‘Thank you for saving us. But what about your little divine voice?’

  Without looking up from examining the arrow he said, ‘As soon as my daimonion stopped preventing me, I came. Those stairs are steep! Now, am I right in thinking you need to go into the temple?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘We need to go into the Parthenon now, so, um … the goddess will take us home. But we can’t go with the arrow in him,’ I added.

  I didn’t add that the bronze or iron arrowhead was inorganic and might explode in the portal, taking off his whole arm.

  ‘Then I must pull out the arrow and bind the wound.’

  I looked at Dinu. ‘You ready for this?’

  My friend’s face was dead white. He swallowed hard. And nodded.

  Socrates went behind Dinu.

  ‘Clench your teeth. I will pull it out as quickly as I can,’ said Socrates. ‘You two, hold him.’

  I gave Dinu a strong bear hug, clamping his elbows to his torso. Crina gripped his lower arms.

  Socrates grabbed the arrow and pulled.

  Dinu screamed.

  Then he fainted.

  I would have fainted, too, but I was concentrating on holding my friend so he wouldn’t bang his head.

  Crina and I eased Dinu down onto the cold marble. Then we watched as Socrates expertly tore a strip from the hem of Dinu’s gauzy chiton and bound it around the bleeding hole in Dinu’s arm.

  ‘What are you doing?’ mumbled Dinu in English as Socrates finished tying off the makeshift bandage.

  ‘Socrates saved us,’ I said. ‘Then he pulled out the arrow and he’s just binding up your wound.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Dinu managed to say in Greek. He was literally as white as marble.

  ‘Dinu,’ said Crina in English, ‘we have to get out of here. Now.’

  I looked at Socrates. ‘May we go?’

  The philosopher nodded. ‘My daimonion does not forbid you. Go with the gods and remember: the unexamined life is not worth living. Don’t let a single day pass without discussing what is good for your soul.’

  ‘Alay-thay leg-ace, O Soak-rah-tace,’ said Crina solemnly. You speak the truth, O Socrates.

  Then she gave him a quick hug.

  ‘Farewell, O Socrates.’ I swallowed hard. ‘Thank you for saving us.’

  Dinu simply said, ‘Thank you, O Socrates.’

  Then, with me and Crina supporting Dinu, one on each side, we made for the Parthenon, praying that the doors of the temple would be open and that we would not be too late.

  54

  Back to the Future

  When we came back through the portal to the twenty-first-century Parthenon, Mr Posh was there to meet us. The Athens police had summoned him from London after Solomon Daisy claimed to be working for MI5.

  Decorum prevents me telling you what happened to me and Crina and Dinu after we came through the portal. Both Dinu’s wounds were bleeding again but because we had disobeyed rule number two – drink, don’t eat – that wasn’t the worst of it. Needless to say, there was a lot of mess to clean up.

  The three of us have taken a solemn vow never to speak of it again.

  Mr Posh told Gran and Dinu’s mum that a terrorist had shot Dinu in the arm with a crossbow at the very moment the three of us had gone outside for some fresh air. And that some torture had been involved. That would explain Dinu’s arrow wound and the missing tip of his finger.

  He explained that the Greek government had hushed it up so as not to credit the group claiming to have done it.

  He said that a large amount of money would be paid to both our families as compensation.

  The three of us, he said, were being kept in police custody for our own safety.

  In actual fact
we spent several hours in various showers and decontamination rooms.

  All of us had to be debugged.

  Literally.

  In only twenty-four hours we had all picked up ticks, lice and fleas. The unholy trinity.

  After they’d cleaned us up and tended to Dinu’s wounds and given us fresh clothes – oh, the joy of jeans and trainers! – Mr Posh took us to a debriefing at the British School in Athens.

  Our debriefing room was an old-fashioned library with wooden shelves divided by pilasters painted the deep red of an Athenian pot. It had a wooden floor, high windows and a lofty white ceiling and door.

  Eight of us sat on straight-backed chairs around one of the long wooden tables: me, Dinu, Crina, Mr Posh and Solomon Daisy. There was a woman from MI5 who doubled as a security guard and a child protector. I’m not even allowed to make up a name for her. And there were two experts on Socrates: a pretty Greek lady archaeologist called Dr Fotini Charis and an Oxford professor called Armand D’Angour.

  Athens-born Dr Charis had done her PhD at Cambridge and now taught philosophy at the University of Athens. Professor D’Angour had written a book called Socrates in Love and happened to be in Athens for a conference.

  ‘See the books on that wall behind you?’ Dr Charis pointed with a pearly-tipped forefinger. ‘They are all by Plato or about Socrates or both.’

  My jaw dropped. ‘There must be over a thousand.’

  ‘Over two thousand, though not all are on display. And keep in mind, this is a small institution specialising in archaeology.’

  Professor D’Angour leaned forward. ‘Every university of any repute offers courses on Platonic philosophy. And for over two thousand years scholars have devoted their lives to studying Socrates and Plato.’

  ‘Like me,’ said Dr Charis. ‘I’ve been obsessed with him since my father took me to the Agora museum when I was eight.’

  ‘I was taught ancient Greek at school from when I was ten,’ said Professor D’Angour. ‘And I fell in love with the language immediately.’

  ‘You will have quite some job convincing us you really went back in time.’ Dr Charis raised both eyebrows, which were very black and straight.

  So we told them everything we could think of.