Hearts of Stone by Simon Scarrow Page A

Ionian Sea, and its people, that diminished the grip of patriotism on Peter’s soul. In truth, being here felt like a release. A different pace of history, as his father put it. Both of them were saddened by the need to leave the island, and friends, behind, until the diplomatic crisis had passed.
    Anxious to change the subject out of deference to his friend’s pride, Peter pointed out a fragment of stone, sculpted into a small, open-palmed hand. ‘Look at this! Superb . . .’
    Without thinking, Andreas picked it up and examined it closely.
    At once Heinrich turned and said, ‘Please put that back.’
    Andreas did as he was told. His pride was pricked by having to obey a young man only a few years older than him. He felt a momentary urge to defy Heinrich after the event, before sense returned and he mumbled, ‘Sorry.’
    The student flashed a brief smile. ‘It’s just that it’s a valuable piece. The professor would have my hide if anything happened to it.’
    Andreas stared back, until the German returned his attention to his logbook. Peter was embarrassed by the brief exchange, and blamed himself for pointing out the sculpture fragment to his friend. He began to move along the table, looking over the finds that had already been labelled, and Andreas followed him a short distance until they were out of earshot and whispered, ‘What was that about?’
    ‘There is a procedure. Nothing is to be touched until it is logged and labelled,’ Peter explained.
    His Greek friend sighed. ‘I see. That man is a foreigner in my land, and he tells me not to touch what he has dug out of our soil.’
    ‘He did not mean to offend you, Andreas.’
    ‘Did he not?’ Andreas sniffed and gestured at the finds spread out along the table in front of him. ‘I wonder . . . Is this all not an offence in itself?’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘This is not the ancient Greece of your schoolbooks. It is a different age. Yet men like your father – and I mean him no disrespect, he is a good man – feel free to come here and treat this land, and these objects he has dug up, with no regard for our feelings. These are the relics of my people’s past. What will become of them? They will be boxed up and taken to Germany and put on display in a museum. If I should ever want to see the heritage of my people then I will be forced to travel to your country and pay for the privilege.’
    Peter shook his head. ‘It’s not like that. These relics need to be cared for properly, so that they can be enjoyed by everyone, regardless of where they happened to be found. Besides, he has the permission of the Greek government.’
    Andreas snorted. ‘The permission of some corrupt official, you mean.’
    Peter forced a smile. ‘My friend, all Europe owes a great debt to your ancestors. We are all the inheritors of the great works of the ancients. It is a bond we all share.’
    ‘That’s easy for you to say. And you may even mean it. But it does not change the fact that you are mining our past and taking it away.’
    ‘We are preserving it,’ Peter protested. ‘That’s all.’
    ‘And is it not preserved here, in this ground?’
    ‘Then who would ever see it? It has to be put in front of the world.’
    ‘Maybe, but why not here, in Greece?’
    The response was obvious but Peter managed to moderate his reply. ‘I understand your pride, but if the past is to survive, it has to be looked after. When the museums are built here, all these relics will be returned.’
    ‘I see. Just like the Acropolis frieze then?’
    Peter gritted his teeth. ‘We are not like the British. Germany understands the value of civilisation.’
    ‘Really?’ Andreas arched on eyebrow. ‘We shall see, eh?’
    Before Peter could respond they were interrupted by a shout from Professor Muller.
    ‘Heinrich! Have you finished cataloguing the day’s finds?’
    They passed his father’s car and made for the truck, an ageing Fiat, spotted with rust and coated with a layer