so sit back and relax.’
‘If,’ I said, ‘we find Simon.’
‘If,’ said Simon, ‘we do.’
I was glad enough, when we got to Itea, to leave everything to him.
Itea is the port which in ancient times saw thelanding of the pilgrims bound for the shrine of Apollo at Delphi. The shrine was a religious centre for the whole ancient world for many hundreds of years, and to us nowadays, used to modern transport, it is astonishing to contemplate the distances that men travelled on foot and on horseback or in small ships, to worship the god of light and peace and healing, or to ask the advice of the famous Oracle enshrined below the temple. The easy way was by Itea. The sea-journey, for all its hazards, was less exhausting and dangerous than the journey by road through the mountains, and here into the little port of Itea the pilgrims crowded, to see from the harbour the winding river valley of the Pleistus and, beyond the shoulder of Parnassus where modern Delphi stands, the bright cliffs of the Shining Ones that guard the holy spring.
Today Itea is a grubby little fishing village, with one long street of shops and
tavernas
facing the sea, and separated from it by the road and then perhaps fifty yards of dusty boulevard where pepper-trees give shade and the men of the village gather for the usual drinks and ices and sticky honey-cakes.
Simon stopped the car under the trees and led me to a rickety iron table which seemed to have fewer attendant wasps than the others. I would have liked tea again, but felt so ashamed of this insular craving – and so doubtful of getting anything approaching what I wanted – that I asked for fresh lemonade, and got it, delicious and cold and tangy with the real fruit, and with it a
pasta
something like Shredded Wheat, but frantically oversweet with honey and chopped nuts. Itwas wonderful. The wasps loved it too. When we had finished it I defiantly asked for another, and stayed to eat it, while Simon went off to look for the baker’s shop of Simonides.
I watched him go, thoughtfully beating off an extra large and persistent wasp.
Somehow I didn’t think Giannakis Simonides was our man. ‘Monsieur Simon, at Delphi …’ And there was only one Monsieur Simon at Delphi.
There was that queer reserve, too, in Simon’s manner; there was Arachova; and the way he had shelved my question as to what he was doing in Delphi. The thing had ceased to be a slightly awkward puzzle. It was fast becoming a mystery, with Simon Lester at its centre. And Simon’s girl …
I finished my cake now and got up. Simon had paid the waiter before he had left me. I could see him standing in a doorway some distance up the street. The place was apparently a restaurant, for outside it stood the big charcoal stove, and over this a whole lamb revolved slowly on the spit which was being turned by a stout woman in a blue apron. Simon appeared to be questioning her; she was nodding vigorously, and then, with a wave of her free hand, seemed to be directing him further up the street.
He looked back, saw me standing under the pepper-trees, and raised a hand in salute. Then he made a vague gesture towards the other end of the street, and set off that way, walking fast.
Taking his gesture to mean that he had some information, but that he didn’t expect me to follow him, Istayed where I was and watched him. He went perhaps a hundred yards, hesitated, then glanced up at a hoarding and plunged into the darkness of a deserted cinema. As he vanished, I turned in the opposite direction and began to walk along the boulevard. I was only too thankful to leave the inquiry to him. If he really was in the centre of the mystery, he could keep it to himself, and welcome …
Meanwhile I would do what I had come to Delphi for. Since chance had brought me down to Itea, the start of the ancient pilgrimage, I would try and see the shrine as the old pilgrims had seen it on their first landing from the Corinthian Gulf.
I walked quickly
‘If,’ I said, ‘we find Simon.’
‘If,’ said Simon, ‘we do.’
I was glad enough, when we got to Itea, to leave everything to him.
Itea is the port which in ancient times saw thelanding of the pilgrims bound for the shrine of Apollo at Delphi. The shrine was a religious centre for the whole ancient world for many hundreds of years, and to us nowadays, used to modern transport, it is astonishing to contemplate the distances that men travelled on foot and on horseback or in small ships, to worship the god of light and peace and healing, or to ask the advice of the famous Oracle enshrined below the temple. The easy way was by Itea. The sea-journey, for all its hazards, was less exhausting and dangerous than the journey by road through the mountains, and here into the little port of Itea the pilgrims crowded, to see from the harbour the winding river valley of the Pleistus and, beyond the shoulder of Parnassus where modern Delphi stands, the bright cliffs of the Shining Ones that guard the holy spring.
Today Itea is a grubby little fishing village, with one long street of shops and
tavernas
facing the sea, and separated from it by the road and then perhaps fifty yards of dusty boulevard where pepper-trees give shade and the men of the village gather for the usual drinks and ices and sticky honey-cakes.
Simon stopped the car under the trees and led me to a rickety iron table which seemed to have fewer attendant wasps than the others. I would have liked tea again, but felt so ashamed of this insular craving – and so doubtful of getting anything approaching what I wanted – that I asked for fresh lemonade, and got it, delicious and cold and tangy with the real fruit, and with it a
pasta
something like Shredded Wheat, but frantically oversweet with honey and chopped nuts. Itwas wonderful. The wasps loved it too. When we had finished it I defiantly asked for another, and stayed to eat it, while Simon went off to look for the baker’s shop of Simonides.
I watched him go, thoughtfully beating off an extra large and persistent wasp.
Somehow I didn’t think Giannakis Simonides was our man. ‘Monsieur Simon, at Delphi …’ And there was only one Monsieur Simon at Delphi.
There was that queer reserve, too, in Simon’s manner; there was Arachova; and the way he had shelved my question as to what he was doing in Delphi. The thing had ceased to be a slightly awkward puzzle. It was fast becoming a mystery, with Simon Lester at its centre. And Simon’s girl …
I finished my cake now and got up. Simon had paid the waiter before he had left me. I could see him standing in a doorway some distance up the street. The place was apparently a restaurant, for outside it stood the big charcoal stove, and over this a whole lamb revolved slowly on the spit which was being turned by a stout woman in a blue apron. Simon appeared to be questioning her; she was nodding vigorously, and then, with a wave of her free hand, seemed to be directing him further up the street.
He looked back, saw me standing under the pepper-trees, and raised a hand in salute. Then he made a vague gesture towards the other end of the street, and set off that way, walking fast.
Taking his gesture to mean that he had some information, but that he didn’t expect me to follow him, Istayed where I was and watched him. He went perhaps a hundred yards, hesitated, then glanced up at a hoarding and plunged into the darkness of a deserted cinema. As he vanished, I turned in the opposite direction and began to walk along the boulevard. I was only too thankful to leave the inquiry to him. If he really was in the centre of the mystery, he could keep it to himself, and welcome …
Meanwhile I would do what I had come to Delphi for. Since chance had brought me down to Itea, the start of the ancient pilgrimage, I would try and see the shrine as the old pilgrims had seen it on their first landing from the Corinthian Gulf.
I walked quickly
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