An Insight into a Goddess
When the barouche departed from the ruins of the Temple of Vulcan—or Hephaestus, Pietro reminded them—the heat from the mid-afternoon sun had Marianne silently thanking Angela for insisting she wear the broad-brimmed hat. The top hats that Jasper and James wore barely provided any protection from the sun, and she could see they would both be sunburned if they didn’t find shade.
Located at the tip of the spur on which most of the temples had been built near Girgenti, the God of Fire’s temple had at one time been the most impressive temple on Sicily.
Only two columns remained of the structure, and both of those were badly eroded, giving one a phallic appearance. Surrounded on three sides by almond and olive trees and a huge collection of prickly pear, its crepidoma—the multilevel platform of rectangular stones on which the structure had been built—was too high to allow Marianne to climb atop it. James clambered up from the opposite side, where some of the steps to the temple were still in place. She watched as his practiced eye surveyed the remains.
“What do you suppose happened?” she asked as she removed her hat, sadness coloring her voice.
“Earthquakes, probably from when Mount Etna erupted,” James replied simply. “And that was after the Carthaginians invaded.” He glanced around the semi-secluded spot, glad for the shade. “It seems a shame the temple for the God of Volcanoes and Fire would succumb to the effects of one.”
“But where are the broken columns? The entablature? Surely they would be here somewhere?”
Jasper gave his wife an approving glance, realizing she had probably learned the term that day. “Most of the larger rubble was used for the buildings at the marina. Some of the smaller pieces have been taken to museums. Some are no doubt in private collections,” he added with a sigh. “But I do believe this one suffered the most from erosion,” he murmured as he studied one of the columns.
They had just come from an open plain on which a two-level circular altar made of wedge-shaped stones was surrounded by a haphazard array of other blocks and foundations. “The Sanctuary of the Chthonic Deities,” Pietro announced, before he turned and pointed to four nearby columns. “And the Temple of the Dioscuri. Castor and Pollux,” he added when he noted Mariannes quizzical expression. The four columns were topped by an entablature, and even a pediment was on display. Marianne thought the ruins there were in excellent shape until Pietro explained that Serradifalco’s restoration efforts had recreated the northwest corner of the otherwise flattened temple from pieces obtained from the ruins of other temples.
The reconstruction was impressive simply because it wasn’t hidden by trees but rather stood out from its landscape of what appeared to be strewn boulders. As for the circular sanctuary, James made mention of Demeter and Persephone. “Do you know the details of the myth, my lady?” he asked when he saw how Marianne studied the circular structure.
“I do,” she replied. “Father has always been fond of Greek mythology.”
“Then tell me, because I only know the Roman tale,” Jasper said as he stood up from examining a square floor of rectangular blocks.
Marianne wondered if she was being tested. “When Demeter, the goddess of the harvest, learned her daughter, Persephone, had been captured by Hades, she became so angry, she caused the crops to wither and die. Famine spread over the earth, so Zeus commanded Hades to give up Persephone,” she explained.
“Did he?” Jaspers asked.
“Indeed. Hades allowed her to leave the underworld, but he tricked her into eating some pomegranate seeds, knowing that if she ate anything from the land of the dead, she would have to return to him for at least part of the year.”
Jasper frowned. “Which is why we have growing seasons?” he guessed.
“Because every time Persephone returns to Hades, Demeter mourns, and the plants wither and die.” She regarded her husband for a moment, wondering why he gazed at her the way he did.
“Women have such power over men,” he murmured with a shake of his head. “Remind me never to cross you.”
Marianne blinked behind her spectacles, rather stunned by his comment. For a moment, she thought him angry, but a grin suddenly split his face, and he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. His hat nearly had hers upended from her head, but she angled her cheek so he could reach it easier. “I shall if need be,” she replied in a whisper.
“I believe we’re ready for the next temple,” James said, his comment directed to Pietro. The guide stood next to the barouche with a huge grin on his face, obviously a witness to what had happened between the aristocrat and his viscountess.
Chapter 17
A Passing Glance into the Past
By the time the barouche departed from the ruins of the Temple of Vulcan, a pink and orange array had formed in the western sky, portending another colorful sunset. The longer light cast a golden veil onto the Olympian field, where a telamon lay amongst ruins that were scattered far and wide.
Marianne gasped as she hurried up to it, stunned at the size of the recreated atlas. “Is this the only one?” she asked as a gloved hand smoothed over one of the many stones that made up the huge figure. He was at least twenty feet long. His arms were folded above his head, and a piece of the entablature he had been supporting was still attached to his forearms.
“The only one Serradifalco’s men put back together,” Pietro replied.
“The Temple of Zeus would have had, what? Twenty-four of them?” Jasper asked of his colleague.
James nodded. “At least that many. Each one mounted about halfway up and between each column.” He glanced around, obviously dismayed by the amount of damage—and the number of missing columns. He couldn’t even tell how tall the temple would have been. “Where is it all?”
Jasper pointed in the direction of the marina, rather surprised when he saw The Fairweather had already departed for its final leg to Venice before it would make its way back to England. “You were spending the night in it, no doubt,” he said with a hint of disappointment. “According to Pietro, it was the quarry for the port.”
James rolled his eyes. “I should have known. There are pieces of columns everywhere down there,” he complained. His hands on his hips, he allowed his gaze to sweep the field. “Surely, somewhere around here there must be a Roman temple,” he groused.
Pietro brightened. “There is!” he said with some excitement. “I’ll take you there on the way back to Vedova Romano’s villa.”
Jasper and James exchanged questioning glances. “Is it in the Greco-Roman quarter?” Jasper guessed.
“Near there, just before San Nicola,” Pietro replied as they climbed back into the barouche. “Close,” he added.
Recognizing the remains of the Temple of Hercules as they made their way northeast, Marianne marveled at how the late day sun colored the columns in a deep gold and cast long shadows over the plain. She still wasn’t sure exactly where Jasper would be doing his excavation work, but she rather hoped it would be close to the villa. Although she didn’t intend to go with him everyday—she didn’t think she would be welcome—she found she liked being near him.
They hadn’t quite cleared the field of debris when James suddenly straightened in the barouche. “There it is!” he said with some excitement.
Marianne followed his line of sight, frowning when she realized he referred to a small, blocky building. Dark golden red in the waning light, it featured an arched opening on one side. “What is it?” she asked, thinking from the shape that it might be a tomb.
“The Oratory of Phalarus,” Jasper replied. “It might have been a tomb, but it was more likely a religious building of some sort.”
“It’s definitely Roman, wouldn’t you agree?” James said, as the barouche stopped across from the structure.
Jasper stepped out of the conveyance and turned to assist Marianne. Once her feet were on the ground, he rushed over to the building and walked around it. “There’s an apse here on the east side,” he commented
.
“The Christians have used it,” Jasper said from the west side, his hands on his hips.
“Was it Doric?” Marianne asked, noting how the entablature was eroded and may have supported far more than what was left.
“Possibly,” James replied with a nod. He gave a sigh of frustration. “The Normans may have made some changes.” He gave a glance to his right, noting how close the Church of San Nicola was to the small temple before him. “This is the entrance to Girgenti,” he commented as his gaze traveled up the hill, following the road that led to the sprawling city.
Jasper reappeared from the east side of the building and gave his head a shake. “If only,” he said with a sigh.
“What is it?” Marianne asked as she moved to join him.
He gave a shrug. “If only the Normans hadn’t altered it, or the Christians modified the entrance...” He pointed to how the arch had been changed so it was more pointed. “Or time hadn’t had its say in the matter, it would be a true Roman relic.”
Marianne dipped her head. “Perhaps you will find the ruins better in the Greco-Roman quarter,” she said in a quiet voice.
Jasper allowed a grin. “I shall, if what Dr. Jones wrote is true,” he agreed. He reached for her, his arm snaking around her waist so he could pull her close. “I do hope you’ll be amenable to my working every day,” he whispered.
Angling her head so her hat brim lifted, Marianne allowed a grin of her own. “I wouldn’t think of complaining,” she answered. “Do you suppose I might join you on occasion? I won’t interfere, of course,” she added quickly. “I just think it will be interesting to... to watch you work. To pay witness to history being uncovered.”
Jasper blinked, rather touched by her sentiment. “I shouldn’t want you to be bored,” he warned, managing to land a kiss on her cheek when he was sure no one was looking. “But I wouldn’t object to your sitting nearby as you... read, or... sightsee.” The sound of a throat clearing had Jasper straightening.
“I should be getting you back to the villa, my lord,” Pietro said as he pointed to the west. The sun was already touching the sea, and the peach and gold clouds were darkening by the minute. “Signorina Aurora will have your dinner ready soon.”
“Of course,” Jasper replied, his gaze turning to discover James regarding the arch in the temple with a practiced eye. “We’ll give it a closer look on another day,” he called out. He turned to study the horizon, as if he were looking for something.
“The Temple of Demeter?” James asked as he pointed to a honey-colored building to the northeast. Set against a steep slope, it appeared part of the structure had been taken over by a church. “It’s the last of the temples around here.”
Marianne dared a glance to the west before turning her attention to the next temple. Hungry and thirsty, she gave her head a shake. “Perhaps another day,” she said to Jasper.
“Perhaps,” he agreed.
James straightened and hurried over to the barouche. “Not sure it will be worth the effort,” he said with a sigh of frustration.
They climbed into the barouche, and Pietro took them back to the guest villa.
Chapter 18
Reflecting on Bolle
Later that night
Marianne watched as Chiara Romano and her niece, Angela, approached her from across the road, affording her a tentative smile as they carried pails of hot water. David followed, smiling despite the larger pails suspended from his hands. “It’s very good to see you again, Signora Romano, Signorina Angela, Signore David,” she said, hoping a bath was in her immediate future.
“Please, call me ‘Chiara,’ my lady,” the woman said as she dipped a curtsy.
“Chiara?” Marianne countered, trying out the traditional Italian name for the first time. The request for informality was a bit of surprise given the woman was probably old enough to be her mother.
“Very good,” Chiara replied. “Have you met my son, David?”
“Yes. It’s good to see you again, Signore David,” Marianne said as she afforded them a curtsy. “May I ask how is it you speak English so well, my lady?” she asked as they made their way into the guest villa. Even though she knew some Italian, she was relieved she wouldn’t need to speak it in the company of the widow.
“My father taught me, my lady,” Chiara replied, as they made their way to the mistress suite. “Said I would need to know it some day, and he was right, as fathers usually are.” A wan smile appeared. “I was asked by his lordship if Signorina Angela might see to a bath for you.” She pointed to the younger girl who dipped a curtsy. ”How do you prefer your water?”
Rather relieved at hearing the comment about the bath, Marianne heaved a sigh. When she had left the villa that morning, she hadn’t thought to make arrangements for a bath. After a day spent sightseeing—meandering through dusty ruins and feeling a bit overheated from the sun, she was ready for one. Jasper must have known, bless his heart.
Or perhaps he preferred his wife take frequent baths.
“Not too hot. And I’ve brought bubbles,” she replied as she moved to open one of the traveling trunks. The thought of the citrus-scented bubbles reminded her of the first morning she had been on the ship. The first morning after her wedding day. How welcome those airy orbs of delight had felt when she stepped into the warm water.
Chiara was a step ahead, though, opening the trunk as she said, “Angela will see to it, my lady,” she said. “She learns quickly.”
Marianne stepped aside and listened as Chiara instructed the girl and David on what to do in Italian. Although she understood some of what she heard, Marianne was left wondering about the rest.
“What is bolle?” she asked in a whisper.
“Bubbles,” Chiara replied with a grin. “Angela isn’t familiar with them, so I expect she will be a bit surprised when they appear atop the water.”
From the sound of giggles and male laughter coming from the bathing chamber, Marianne realized Angela was paying witness to the bubbles as they formed atop the bath water. David, armed with the empty pails, gave her a bow before he departed the villa.
“Angela will see to the rest,” Chiara said as she gave the girl some instructions in Italian.
“Your husband must have been a very handsome man,” Marianne said in a whisper.
Chiara furrowed a brow. “Not too handsome,” she hedged, a look of confusion crossing her face. “Antony was... Sicilian,” she said with a shrug.
“Your son is...” Marianne paused, realizing she was speaking as if she were in a Park Lane parlor, gossiping about a young buck at the last ball. “Very polite and handsome,” she said carefully. “You must be proud of him.”
An odd expression crossed Chiara’s face before she allowed a nod. “Thank you,” she said. “I am proud. He is a good boy, and educated, too,” she added. “He studies architecture. But I fear there is not a girl on this island who is worthy of him.”
Marianne recognized the comment, for she had heard similar words spoken by the mothers of young men in London, mothers married to aristocrats and convinced their sons deserved better than the current crop of demoiselles. “What about in the rest of Italy?”
Chiara allowed a grin. “Perhaps in Palermo. Or Roma,” she replied. “Tomorrow, if you would like, I shall come for you, and take you to town. I have shopping I must do.”
Marianne’s eyes widened. “I would like that very much.”
“Your men will wish to leave early. So they can work before the sun is too high,” Chiara said, as if she had hosted archaeologists in the past.
“Then I shall be up early, as well,” Marianne replied. At Chiara’s look of disbelief, she added, “So I can have breakfast with them before they go.”
Her words were obviously a surprise to Chiara, for the woman finally shook her head and said, “They will be gone before Aurora has begun cooking. She has seen to some cheese and bread for them to take.”
Marianne furrowed a brow. “Then perhaps we can deliver
a late breakfast to them. Like a picnic,” she countered, which had Chiara giving an agreeable shrug.
“I will see you in the morning.”
With that, the hostess took her leave and Marianne allowed Angela to help her undress for her bath.
A few minutes later, Marianne luxuriated in the sensations created by Angela’s fingers as the lady’s maid washed her hair.
Marianne decided she rather liked having Angela as a lady’s maid. The young woman was obsessed with details, seeing to it everything was folded precisely, the bed made perfectly, hair dressed to its best advantage, and gowns wrinkle-free. Lulled almost to sleep and deep in thought, Marianne was entirely unaware of the bathing chamber door opening until Angela suddenly inhaled and stood up.
“What...?”
“I didn’t mean to startle you, my lady,” Jasper said as he stood leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed as he regarded her with a grin.
Marianne pulled her knees to her chest, the move made instinctively, causing water to slosh over the edge of the tub. “My lord!” she admonished him. Her expression of surprise soon turned to a grin when she noticed how Angela seemed unsure of what to do. “You may go,” she said in Italian, “And I will see you in the morning.”
Angela gave a quick curtsy before she disappeared from the bathing chamber, leaving Marianne with her arms still wrapped around her bent knees.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your bath. Truly,” Jasper said in a quiet voice.
Marianne gave a shrug. “I don’t mind. Truly.”
Jasper straightened from where he had been leaning against the door jamb. “Does that mean... could I...? Join you?” he stammered.
A jolt of something rather pleasant shot down Marianne’s spine as her breath quickened. Her gaze darted to the tub in an effort to determine if there was enough room for the two of them. “I think so. If we...” She let out a gasp as Jasper was suddenly next to the tub, unwinding the cravat from around his neck and unbuttoning his waistcoat and trying to remove his boots all at the same time.
The Vision of a Viscountess Page 16