Finding Ithaka

by Anna Harvey

  The shadows were lengthening, when he finally brought himself to draw near to the funeral pyre. The timbers were glowing red and white hot, as his eyes searched for Iphigeneia’s body in the blackened heap. But all that remained of the once youthful maiden were piles of ash and charred bone. He approached the unlikely pair, stationed beside the dying embers. The priest was kneeling at the head, still muttering prayers of supplication to the gods, while Agamemnon stood at a distance, his head bowed staring out across the sea. No longer was he dressed in all his finery and shining gold but a simple plain tunic. As Odysseus approached, a swell of anger burst out of his chest towards the priest.

  “How could you let him do that, Kalchas?” he hissed under his breath. “To plant the seed inside Agamemnon’s mind to kill his own daughter?”

  “Hush, still your tongue,” Kalchas snapped through thin cracked lips. “For you cannot undo what the gods have ordained. Agamemnon offended the gods and atoned for his transgression through sacrifice. Without it the Greek fleet could not sail for Troy.”

  “But to sacrifice his own child.” He cast his glance askance at the Anax, who, lost in thought, had not stirred.

  Slowly the priest raised himself until he reached his full height, sizing Odysseus up as if dealing with an irritating insect. “Put an end to your raging. I have heard of your reputation for wiliness but even your cleverness cannot outrun what the Fates intend. Beware you do not upset the gods or those better than you as this will only bring down trouble on your head.”

  “Let him be, priest.” Both men looked up, caught by surprise, to see that Agamemnon had finally rallied himself. His face was pallid like the ashes on the funeral pyre but tears glimmered in the corners of his eyes. “Do not rage, Odysseus,” he said laying his hand on Odysseus’ shoulder to console him. “This is a sad day for us all. The time will come to right wrongs once we set foot on Trojan soil. So spare your strength for that fight.”

  Odysseus bowed his head, pushing down the feelings that raged in his chest. The words almost stuck in his throat. “Of course, oh Anax.”

  He awoke with a start, gasping for air and a cold sweat pouring from his body. As he blinked back sleep, for a moment he could not fathom where he was. He stretched out and felt the soft pillow beneath his head and the padded mattress of a bed. Through the half-light, he could make out the swell of a slumbering shape at his side and the gentle murmurs of a sleeping woman. Finally his mind grasped he was home on Ithaka. He inhaled a few breaths to steady himself, slowly untangling himself from the dream. The images the gods sent him had come thick and fast, throwing his mind off balance.

  He cast his attention around the darkened room, listening for sounds of the household servants moving around the building. Rose-coloured Dawn could not have yet made her appearance, as the house was still wrapped in silence. He rose and threw on a robe. He would wait for the appearance of Helios’ light in the great hall, to dispel the horror of the Dream that the gods had sent. For that day was forever branded on him and on any who witnessed the slaying of that innocent maiden, Iphigeneia.

  Yes, he thought grimly, it had been an ill-omened wind that blew no good.

  Chapter 2

  The Return

  Thea stepped off the plane and breathed in the cool spring air. As always the mountain ridge loomed above, punctuated by red-tiled roofs, low rise buildings and cypress trees. Now in the foreground stood the airport terminal, raised by migrant workers during the winter season. Already it was ageing, the concrete pillars shedding their painted skin in long strips. As Thea joined the procession of passengers filing across the open expanse, an elderly airport worker walked towards her. For a brief moment their eyes met and between them passed a flicker of recognition. Thea averted her gaze, staring blankly ahead, and continued her anonymous walk across the concourse.

  In the arrival zone, a small scrum of people jostled to meet the daily Athens flight. Thea made her way through the crowd to a man holding up a sign bearing her name in bold letters, “Dr Sefton“.

  “Hello, can I help you” enquired the man in perfect English, mistaking Thea for a foreign holiday maker. His appearance was unremarkable, slightly shabby-looking, and he would have blended into any crowd. Dressed in a casual dark suit and open neck shirt, he had the appearance of a taxi driver, academic or general fixer, only the expensive branded wristwatch and polished leather shoes suggested affluence.

  “I think you must be waiting for me,” Thea said to the man, reaching out her arm to shake his hand. ”I’m Dr Sefton.”

  “But we were expecting a man,” he replied, a frown momentarily crossing his face, before he recovered himself. “Please excuse me, I didn’t…,” he corrected himself, “we didn’t realise you were a woman.” He was now vigorously shaking her outstretched hand. “My apologies. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Stelios Ioannou from The Foundation and have come to meet you.”

  “Yeia sas, o afenti mou. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Please call me Thea. “From his quizzical look, instantly she realised her mistake. Her use of a local dialect word betrayed her and had not escaped his notice.

  “That is an expression I hear only on this island. So you’ve been to Kefalonia before. Unfortunately I myself am not from these parts.”

  “I’m a language specialist,” Thea lightly replied, recovering her error. “So I have a special interest in collecting dialect words.”

  He didn’t reply but directed her across the carpark to a high-end German SUV, expensive by Greek standards. It was clear that this man’s presence was not coincidental or his position within The Foundation insignificant. The freshly valeted and immaculate interior of the vehicle only deepened her impression.

  They had left the airport perimeter behind and were travelling towards the main town, past olive groves, pieces of cultivated land and boarded-up tourist pensions. Thea was deliberating whether to break the awkward silence that had descended when Stelios spoke up.

  “So you are going to help us find this palace?” The tone was casual but there was a hint of mockery.

  “I hope so. That’s the reason I’m here.”

  “You don’t have much luggage. Your colleagues brought boxes of equipment with them.”

  “I travel light. Just a couple of books and a laptop. I’m an academic, rather than a field archaeologist.”

  “So you are a bit of a Schliemann then?”

  “I suppose you could say that,” Thea answered assuming that Stelios, like most Greeks, had been reared as a child on the Iliad and the Odyssey, the stories that told of the Trojan War and of the hero Odysseus’ return. It had been the German archaeologist Heinrich Schliemann, armed with only a copy of the Iliad, who had located the lost city of Troy. Then the discovery had caused an overnight sensation across the salons of nineteenth century Europe, propelling Schliemann into celebrity status.

  “So you are hoping to do the same?” Stelios continued, raising his eyebrows. “To become our own Schliemann?” He briefly turned towards her throwing a long sideways glance. “Certainly you don’t look like the archaeologists we see around these parts.”

  Without flinching, she returned his gaze as they drifted back once more into an uncomfortable silence. She steered her attention to the view outside, where an ugly gaping wound of the abandoned quarry scarred the hillside.

  It was just then, as they came over the brow of the hill with the sunbeams breaking through the clouds, that she saw it. First the stretched out island in the foreground but then behind the peninsula itself, the low lying land gently swelling out of the sea: Paliki. Like a magnet, the spur of land held Thea’s gaze captive, beckoning her towards it with a strange emotional pull.

  So this is Ancient Ithaka, she thought, taking a deep inward breath. If the palace is there, I’m going to find you!

  ***************************************

  “Welcome to our hotel! You have been expected!” the hotel receptionist greeted them exuberantly, her smile revealing a large gold tooth. �
�I’m Electra,” she said, her accent thick and aspirated. Her bright translucent blouse was modestly cut but barely concealed the contours of her body beneath. Her face was otherwise evenly balanced and handsome, except for the disruption of a large mole.

  “Let me check you into your room,” Electra continued, handing Thea the registration form with her manicured hands, the fingernails painted in a deep crimson colour. “Don’t worry about payment, the Foundation has already taken care of your bill.”

  Thea quickly read through the form, written in a mix of Greek and English, conscious of Stelios watching over her shoulder, as if scrutinising her personal circumstances. So close was he standing, Thea could feel his breath stroking her neck and taste aftershave. With the pen poised over the line “next of kin”, she could feel the pain welling up remembering her separation from David and her new single status. With a stroke of the pen, she suppressed the feelings and wrote the name of her closest friend. As she handed the completed form back, Stelios’ intrusion into her personal space was starting to get on her nerves. Trying not to betray her sentiments, she turned towards him.

  “Thanks for meeting me at the airport, Stelios. If you will please excuse me, I’d like to go up to my room.”

  “Of course, kyria. I’ll leave you to the hospitality of kyria Electra and look forward to renewing our acquaintance at the reception tonight.” As he turned, he paused, holding her gaze with his eyes. “Please let me know if there is anything that I or The Foundation can do to make your stay more comfortable.” He thrust into her hand a business card on which a personal telephone number had been inscribed.

  “So you have met our Stelios Ioannou, Dr Sefton,” Electra said, following Stelios’ back with her glance, as if reading Thea’s aversion to her new acquaintance. “You know he’s a big man on the island. Very close to those people in The Foundation.” She dropped her voice, rubbing her fingers together, “You know big money!” She nodded conspiratorially before returning to her official voice once more. “I’ll arrange to have your bags brought up to your room.”

  ***************************************

  The library was uphill from the main square, tucked away between the residential apartment blocks and civic buildings. With its portico of white columns, the outside echoed an old classical temple, except that the walls were painted a bright cherry-red. In the entrance porch, Thea was greeted by a line of the island’s eminent citizens, their features hardened in alabaster, wearing elegant morning coats from a bygone era.

  Excited chatter emanated deep from within the building and Thea followed the sound. She pressed against the heavy double doors which opened into a large megaron, where walls of books stretched up to the ceiling. This evening, the room had been transformed into a public meeting space and rows of stiff-backed chairs had been stationed in regimented lines.

  Thea cast her glance around, searching for a familiar face. There was a pack of young male students engaged in animated conversation, all wearing eager and self-assured expressions. A peal of female laughter rang out from the centre of the group, but her attention was instantly captured by the young woman poised on the periphery, her gentle oriental face wearing a thoughtful look. Feelings of protectiveness stirred as Thea started to make her way over, when a familiar voice interrupted her.

  “So you made it!” Thea looked round to discover her dear friend and university colleague, Mark Hatton, standing beside her. His appearance was always surprising, as the slender body, pale skin and dark brown curls gave Mark the appearance of a Bohemian artist rather than a field archaeologist. “Thanks for covering for me in the departmental meeting,” Mark said, flashing a smile. For the first time since setting foot on the island, Thea felt the tension in her shoulders ease.

  “No problem. Lucky you missed all the talk about the budget and increasing class sizes.” There was a playful irreverence in her voice that was characteristic of their relationship.

  “Laurence sends his love. He was sorry to hear about you and David splitting up. We always thought you two would stick together.”

  “Thank Laurence for me,” she said feeling the edges of her nerves fraying and vulnerability creeping in again. It had only been autumn, as the seasonal London drizzle had spluttered against the windows, when they had all dined together on Laurence’s home cooking. After the long drawn-out winter that seemed a lifetime ago.

  “Ah Thea, you’re here at last! So glad that you could join us!” The voice boomed out like that of a Shakespearean actor performing in a public theatre.

  Heads turned round as Richard Mortimer, the project director, came forward to greet her. He was at least a generation older than Thea, with greying hair, and an air of old school charm, cultivated in public school and followed by a spell at Oxford. Possessing a rare talent for censuring people in a way that left them flattered Richard, now a professor of archaeology, would have excelled in the diplomatic corps had he not entered academia.

  Thea shook his large proffered hand, smoothing down her feelings. “Hello Richard. Sorry for my late appearance. I’m so looking forward to working on the project.”

  “You come highly recommended,” Richard beamed, his features lighting up. “And allow me to introduce Alistair and Elizabeth Woodward,” Richard gestured towards a middle-aged couple, his voice stuffed with self-importance and grandiosity. “You will no doubt be familiar with their exceptional work in Aegean Pre-history.”

  Elizabeth held out her hand towards Thea. “Pleased to meet you at last. I’ve heard a lot about your work tracing the migration of peoples through the language. A brilliant piece of work using indigenous animals and vegetation!” Her handshake was cold, mirroring the taut lines on Elizabeth’s face. The hair had been scraped back into a coiled bun and her paisley blouse high-buttoned to the neck. From Elizabeth’s outwards appearance, one could not guess at her formidable academic abilities and yet she exuded no warmth.

  “I’m hoping Thea can assist us in a similar way in locating our missing palace”, said Richard.

  “I didn’t realise my work was so well known,” Thea modestly replied, noticing the warmer touch of Alistair’s fingers. “My apologies I couldn’t get here sooner.”

  “Don’t worry, you are not the last to arrive,” replied Alistair reassuringly. There was a trace of a soft Edinburgh accent in his voice, toned down presumably through exile from his Scottish roots.

  “Yes,” said Elizabeth coldly, “we are still waiting for our renowned geology expert, if he ever escapes his icecap.”

  Richard shot her a sharp look, pumping out his chest. “I was surprised indeed by Dr Hughes agreeing to join our project. His services are in high demand these days.”

  “Let me get you a drink,” said Mark, steering Thea towards the corner of the room where an obligatory table of alcoholic beverages had been set up. “What would you like?”

  “Just a Nescafe with milk,” Thea said, keen to keep a clear head. She lowered her voice not wishing their conversation to be overheard.

  “I was surprised when I heard we were meeting here, rather than at the hotel.”

  “Richard wanted a dry run for tomorrow’s press conference,” came Mark’s light reply, spooning into a cup a generous helping of coffee granules.

  “And he didn’t want to involve the whole team?”

  “Probably saving the crowning glory for himself. I hear Richard is quite chummy with the chair of The Foundation” They exchanged a glance of mutual understanding.

  “Okay everyone, if you can please take your seats.” Richard’s voice echoed around the large hall, as he took charge of the proceedings. Carefully balancing her cup of coffee, the lukewarm contents in danger of spilling out, Thea seated herself at the front.

  As the lights dimmed, Richard slid effortlessly into addressing his captive audience. “I would like to take the occasion to welcome everyone formally to the Odysseus Project. As you will all know, our goal is to discover the whereabouts of the palace of Odysseus, one of the great ar
chaeological mysteries of our age.” Richard paused for deliberate effect to emphasise the significance of the task at hand. It was easy to see how his style of delivery might grate sometimes on students and colleagues alike, giving Richard a mixed reputation of brilliance and pomposity.

  Trying to quell her rising impatience, Thea noticed a clock was ticking somewhere, disturbing her attention. As in the time frame of the story of the Iliad there were fifty days exactly to complete their modern day task. Richard was settling into a long-winded discourse.

  Thea knew the story well: fascinated by the mythical hero Odysseus, the countless expeditions to the nearby island of Ithaka to find the palace. Faded images flashed up on the screen of men in old-fashioned work clothes with picks and shovels standing proudly in symmetrical rock-dug trenches. The small island had been turned over with a fine toothcomb, but the palace had eluded them all, stubbornly refusing to be found.

  Only recently some amateur scholars had proposed this new heresy: that the Paliki peninsula of Kefalonia had once been separate, before a huge landslide had snatched away its island identity.

  Thea shifted awkwardly in her chair, checking her watch. After a long convoluted journey, Richard finally seemed to be reaching the climax of his talk. “So assuming Paliki is in fact Ancient Ithaka” he announced pointing to the map, “and the palace is located in this upland area, we plan to survey from this village here radiating the search outwards.”

  It was at that moment, Thea started to feel a strange light-headedness creeping over her body. As her eyes flicked over the familiar contours of the island, the black outline danced in front of her, refusing to focus. She shrugged it off as she tried to catch Richard’s next words.