Hearts of Stone by Simon Scarrow

reconstruction work to do. Or would have, if we hadn’t been recalled. Have to wait until we return.’
    Peter was conscious that his friends could not easily follow the exchange, despite his teaching them some German over the last few months, and switched back into Greek. ‘How old do you think it is?’
    Heinrich grinned at him, and the others. ‘Late Mycenaean. Three thousand years old. And it’s a fine piece. Look here.’ He picked up one of the larger pieces and held it up for them to see. A row of delicately painted warriors, hoplites, ranged along the curve of the shard. ‘I’d bet that this came from a wealthy household. Perhaps these are the remains of a nobleman’s house. Or maybe that of a king. Either way, it’s more evidence that your father is on the right track.’
    Eleni edged forward and examined the small figures, marvelling at the brightness of the colours. ‘Three thousand years old . . .’
    ‘That’s right. Back in an age when Greek civilisation was about to dominate the known world. A far cry from what it has become today, no?’
    Andreas was silent for a moment before he responded. ‘Every civilisation has its day. Perhaps Greece may rise again. As Germany has.’
    Heinrich laughed. ‘Ah, there’s the difference. History does not repeat itself. The greatness of Greece lies behind it. The greatness of Germany is just beginning. Even so, there’s much we can learn from the great nations of the past.’
    Andreas arched an eyebrow. ‘You think so?’
    ‘I know it.’
    There was a pause, and the heat trapped in the valley seemed to add to the tension. Eleni tore her gaze away from the figures on the pottery and turned to Peter.
    ‘There’s something I need to ask your father.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘That photograph he just took, of the three of us. I would like a copy to keep. For when you leave, so I can remember. Do you think he would give me a print?’
    Peter glanced towards another table where his father had finished fastening the buckles of his camera case and removed his wide-brimmed straw hat to dab the sweat from his brow. He stared round the valley before fixing his gaze on a nearby cliff which rose steeply up to the mixed line of stunted oaks and cypress trees that grew above and covered the hillside.
    ‘Ask him. I’m sure he’ll agree.’
    Eleni flashed him a smile and turned away to approach Peter’s father. Andreas moved further down the table, away from Heinrich, and looked over the other finds. Peter followed him, feeling awkward over the hubris of his compatriot. It was unfortunate, since he admired his father’s assistant. Heinrich Steiner was robustly cheerful and had been an avid sportsman back in his native Bavaria. Moreover, he had won the respect of Peter’s father, which was why he had been chosen from many applicants to join him on the site. In truth, Peter sought the same seal of approval and hoped to be like Heinrich one day. Nonetheless, he was sensitive enough to discern the friction between his father’s assistant and some of the islanders, particularly his friends.
    Peter cleared his throat. ‘Are you all right, Andreas?’
    The older boy did not look up as he replied. ‘All right? Why shouldn’t I be?’
    ‘Heinrich didn’t mean to offend. Sometimes he is, well, a bit too proud of being German.’
    ‘Perhaps he has cause to be,’ Andreas mused. ‘Greece is only a small country, of little consequence. Germany has become a force to be reckoned with. It must warm your heart to be part of that, my friend.’
    ‘I suppose,’ Peter admitted. In the years since the National Socialists had come to power they had not ceased to proclaim that the nation had been reborn and a fine future lay ahead. It had been easy to be swept along with the euphoria and believe in it. But that was back in Germany. Since Peter had been with his father here on Lefkas, the affairs of their homeland had become remote and there was a lyrical serenity about the islands of the