spot that afternoon.
‘They’ll excavate it thoroughly, one day, no doubt,’ said Ursula Norris as they walked towards the odeum, built of soft, rose-coloured brick, wherein the code of laws could be seen inscribed on the inner wall. ‘They were an enlightened lot, in those days.’
‘Yes.’ Patrick had read it up the night before in his Hellenic Traveller.
The ruined church of St. Titus drew them, and when they reached it, there was George Loukas wandering around saying, ‘My, would you believe it?’ to the lambent air. He hailed Patrick.
‘Hi, there. Isn’t this just great?’ he cried. ‘My, we’ve had a wonderful day, haven’t we, Elsie?’
Elsie was looking rather hot. She had a silk scarf tied around her head; her face was flushed; strong, freckled arms lightly covered with fine gold hairs emerged from her lime-green dress.
‘We’ve seen a heck of a lot of ruins,’ she said.
‘Say, honey, what am I thinking of? You haven’t met Dr Grant, have you?’ George said. ‘He’s the professor from Oxford, England, I was telling you about. Let me present Mrs Loukas, Dr Grant.’
Patrick felt unequal to explaining at this point that he was not a professor. He shook hands with Elsie and introduced Ursula Norris to both the Americans.
‘Did you read about the feller that found this place?’ George continued, enthusiastically. ‘He was drinking from a stream when he saw a stone in the water that had been carved some special way. So he covered it up and said nothing till he was able to buy the ground years later. What a guy.’
‘Archaeology is a patient profession,’ said Ursula.
‘It must be great when you make a find, eh?’ said George. ‘Good results are worth waiting for.’
‘Have you visited Knossos yet, Mrs Loukas?’ asked Patrick.
‘No. I guess it’s a whole lot better than Phaestos, though. Not so ruined,’ said Elsie Loukas. She sounded completely American; many years in the States might well erase the strongest British accent.
‘I can understand Sir Arthur Evans not wanting to go anywhere else, can’t you?’ said Ursula. ‘I’d be quite happy to set up camp here, for instance, and start digging.’
‘I guess it can be wet and cold in winter, Miss Norris, even in Crete,’ said George.
The Loukases had to leave them, as their guide was calling her flock together.
‘What a nice little man,’ said Ursula, watching them go. ‘She’s had her fill of ruins, I think, don’t you?’
Patrick agreed. They walked slowly back through the shaded grove to their car, which did not want to start. Patrick grumbled about it as they bumped over the grass where they had left it, back to the road.
‘Poor car. It’s doing its best,’ said Ursula. ‘I expect it’s had a different driver every week, all summer. I’m delighted to be in it, I can tell you. The coaches are comfortable, and it’s an easy way to get about – but what a long day. They haven’t finished yet – they’ll be stopping somewhere else on the way back, Mallia, probably.’
‘These trips just whet one’s appetite, don’t they?’ said Patrick. ‘Make one long to return.’
‘Yes. It’s all too quick. I’d like a whole day in the museum in Heraklion. I think the tour allows just over an hour. Even a day isn’t enough, from what I’ve heard.’
“The famous Linear B tablet,’ said Patrick. ‘What a story that is.’
They discussed the solving of mysteries from the past as they drove on, the road climbing soon, back up to the mountains. Ursula Norris felt that she was lucky to have met this cultured, not-so-very-young man, who was lonely enough to be glad of her company.
‘Crete, the modern bit – the war, and all that – keeps coming into my mind as much as the distant past,’ said Patrick. ‘An island of drama – ancient and modern.’
‘It’s typical of Greek history in general,’ said Ursula. ‘Perhaps it’s what’s given them their resilient characterThey passed a
‘They’ll excavate it thoroughly, one day, no doubt,’ said Ursula Norris as they walked towards the odeum, built of soft, rose-coloured brick, wherein the code of laws could be seen inscribed on the inner wall. ‘They were an enlightened lot, in those days.’
‘Yes.’ Patrick had read it up the night before in his Hellenic Traveller.
The ruined church of St. Titus drew them, and when they reached it, there was George Loukas wandering around saying, ‘My, would you believe it?’ to the lambent air. He hailed Patrick.
‘Hi, there. Isn’t this just great?’ he cried. ‘My, we’ve had a wonderful day, haven’t we, Elsie?’
Elsie was looking rather hot. She had a silk scarf tied around her head; her face was flushed; strong, freckled arms lightly covered with fine gold hairs emerged from her lime-green dress.
‘We’ve seen a heck of a lot of ruins,’ she said.
‘Say, honey, what am I thinking of? You haven’t met Dr Grant, have you?’ George said. ‘He’s the professor from Oxford, England, I was telling you about. Let me present Mrs Loukas, Dr Grant.’
Patrick felt unequal to explaining at this point that he was not a professor. He shook hands with Elsie and introduced Ursula Norris to both the Americans.
‘Did you read about the feller that found this place?’ George continued, enthusiastically. ‘He was drinking from a stream when he saw a stone in the water that had been carved some special way. So he covered it up and said nothing till he was able to buy the ground years later. What a guy.’
‘Archaeology is a patient profession,’ said Ursula.
‘It must be great when you make a find, eh?’ said George. ‘Good results are worth waiting for.’
‘Have you visited Knossos yet, Mrs Loukas?’ asked Patrick.
‘No. I guess it’s a whole lot better than Phaestos, though. Not so ruined,’ said Elsie Loukas. She sounded completely American; many years in the States might well erase the strongest British accent.
‘I can understand Sir Arthur Evans not wanting to go anywhere else, can’t you?’ said Ursula. ‘I’d be quite happy to set up camp here, for instance, and start digging.’
‘I guess it can be wet and cold in winter, Miss Norris, even in Crete,’ said George.
The Loukases had to leave them, as their guide was calling her flock together.
‘What a nice little man,’ said Ursula, watching them go. ‘She’s had her fill of ruins, I think, don’t you?’
Patrick agreed. They walked slowly back through the shaded grove to their car, which did not want to start. Patrick grumbled about it as they bumped over the grass where they had left it, back to the road.
‘Poor car. It’s doing its best,’ said Ursula. ‘I expect it’s had a different driver every week, all summer. I’m delighted to be in it, I can tell you. The coaches are comfortable, and it’s an easy way to get about – but what a long day. They haven’t finished yet – they’ll be stopping somewhere else on the way back, Mallia, probably.’
‘These trips just whet one’s appetite, don’t they?’ said Patrick. ‘Make one long to return.’
‘Yes. It’s all too quick. I’d like a whole day in the museum in Heraklion. I think the tour allows just over an hour. Even a day isn’t enough, from what I’ve heard.’
“The famous Linear B tablet,’ said Patrick. ‘What a story that is.’
They discussed the solving of mysteries from the past as they drove on, the road climbing soon, back up to the mountains. Ursula Norris felt that she was lucky to have met this cultured, not-so-very-young man, who was lonely enough to be glad of her company.
‘Crete, the modern bit – the war, and all that – keeps coming into my mind as much as the distant past,’ said Patrick. ‘An island of drama – ancient and modern.’
‘It’s typical of Greek history in general,’ said Ursula. ‘Perhaps it’s what’s given them their resilient characterThey passed a
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