accident - it survives.’
‘How much more do you have to translate?’ Rebecca asked.
‘I’ve translated twenty-five out of three hundred and twelve lines. Another couple of weeks. Depending on the distractions of archaeology.’
‘Maybe then you’ll play that lyre,’ Jeremy said.
‘Speaking of archaeology,’ Rebecca said, looking at Dillen quizzically. ‘We know Dad wants to find something fabulous underwater. Some treasure from the Trojan War. What do you want to find?’
Dillen narrowed his eyes. ‘Well . . .’ He sat back, took out his pipe and tobacco, then saw Rebecca’s disapproving look and thought better of it. Instead he pointed the stem of the pipe at the painting. ‘Something more than images. I want to find words. Inscriptions. I want to find something in Greek, in Linear B. Something from the conquerors of this place.’
‘ Agamemnon was here ,’ Jeremy murmured.
‘Mmm.’ Dillen put the pipe in the corner of his mouth and dry-sucked it, folding his arms over his chest and staring at the painting.
‘No,’ Rebecca said, shaking her head. ‘I mean, what do you really want to find? Dad said you had a session the other night in his cabin on Seaquest II . Drank whisky like a pair of old pirates. He said you both came up with your dream find. He’s going to tell me his after he comes up from the dive today. He said I could probably cajole yours out of you, because you’ll do anything for me.’
‘He said that?’ Dillen murmured, his eyes twinkling.
‘Go on,’ Jeremy said.
Dillen sucked for a moment, then took out the pipe and gave them a penetrating look. ‘All right. Just between us. There is one object, an artefact that’s beguiled me since I first read Homer as a schoolboy. It was the most sacred object of ancient Troy, held in a temple to the god Pallas, who the Greeks identified with their goddess Athene. Homer called it the palladion.’
‘The palladion!’ Jeremy exclaimed. ‘I remember that. Didn’t Odysseus and Diomedes steal it, after they snuck into the city through an underground passageway and Helen told them where to find it?’
Dillen nodded. ‘That’s the story. As long as the palladion remained within the walls, Troy wouldn’t fall. After stealing it, they took the wooden horse filled with warriors into Troy, and the rest is history.’
‘Or myth,’ Rebecca said.
‘So what happened to the palladion?’ Jeremy asked.
‘A thousand years after the fall of Troy, the Roman poet Virgil imagined the Trojan prince Aeneas bringing the palladion to Rome. For the Romans, that became a central part of their foundation myth. For them the palladion was a small wooden statue of Pallas, and was hidden away somewhere in Rome. Then, in the late Roman period, rumour was that it was secretly taken to the new capital city, Constantinople, along with so many of the old treasures of Rome, and buried under the column of Constantine in the forum.’
‘So isn’t that where we should be looking for it?’ Jeremy said.
‘A wooden statue doesn’t sound, um, very exciting,’ Rebecca said. ‘I mean, you know, treasure-wise.’
‘Do you believe any of this?’ Jeremy asked.
Dillen clasped his pipe bowl in one hand, and leaned forward. ‘Well, we do know that statues of gods in the Aegean Bronze Age could be wooden, quite crude. People still venerated inanimate objects, and had only just begun to anthropomorphize their gods. The Romans are unlikely to have known that. If they were making up the story of the palladion, they’re far more likely to have imagined an impressive statue of stone, of marble. That would have been an instant giveaway. So I can believe the story.’
‘But?’ Jeremy said.
‘ But ,’ Dillen replied. ‘Even if there was a wooden statue, I don’t believe that it was the palladion. Rebecca’s right. A wooden statue’s hardly treasure. Odysseus and Diomedes may have snatched a statue from the temple, but the true palladion is most likely to
‘How much more do you have to translate?’ Rebecca asked.
‘I’ve translated twenty-five out of three hundred and twelve lines. Another couple of weeks. Depending on the distractions of archaeology.’
‘Maybe then you’ll play that lyre,’ Jeremy said.
‘Speaking of archaeology,’ Rebecca said, looking at Dillen quizzically. ‘We know Dad wants to find something fabulous underwater. Some treasure from the Trojan War. What do you want to find?’
Dillen narrowed his eyes. ‘Well . . .’ He sat back, took out his pipe and tobacco, then saw Rebecca’s disapproving look and thought better of it. Instead he pointed the stem of the pipe at the painting. ‘Something more than images. I want to find words. Inscriptions. I want to find something in Greek, in Linear B. Something from the conquerors of this place.’
‘ Agamemnon was here ,’ Jeremy murmured.
‘Mmm.’ Dillen put the pipe in the corner of his mouth and dry-sucked it, folding his arms over his chest and staring at the painting.
‘No,’ Rebecca said, shaking her head. ‘I mean, what do you really want to find? Dad said you had a session the other night in his cabin on Seaquest II . Drank whisky like a pair of old pirates. He said you both came up with your dream find. He’s going to tell me his after he comes up from the dive today. He said I could probably cajole yours out of you, because you’ll do anything for me.’
‘He said that?’ Dillen murmured, his eyes twinkling.
‘Go on,’ Jeremy said.
Dillen sucked for a moment, then took out the pipe and gave them a penetrating look. ‘All right. Just between us. There is one object, an artefact that’s beguiled me since I first read Homer as a schoolboy. It was the most sacred object of ancient Troy, held in a temple to the god Pallas, who the Greeks identified with their goddess Athene. Homer called it the palladion.’
‘The palladion!’ Jeremy exclaimed. ‘I remember that. Didn’t Odysseus and Diomedes steal it, after they snuck into the city through an underground passageway and Helen told them where to find it?’
Dillen nodded. ‘That’s the story. As long as the palladion remained within the walls, Troy wouldn’t fall. After stealing it, they took the wooden horse filled with warriors into Troy, and the rest is history.’
‘Or myth,’ Rebecca said.
‘So what happened to the palladion?’ Jeremy asked.
‘A thousand years after the fall of Troy, the Roman poet Virgil imagined the Trojan prince Aeneas bringing the palladion to Rome. For the Romans, that became a central part of their foundation myth. For them the palladion was a small wooden statue of Pallas, and was hidden away somewhere in Rome. Then, in the late Roman period, rumour was that it was secretly taken to the new capital city, Constantinople, along with so many of the old treasures of Rome, and buried under the column of Constantine in the forum.’
‘So isn’t that where we should be looking for it?’ Jeremy said.
‘A wooden statue doesn’t sound, um, very exciting,’ Rebecca said. ‘I mean, you know, treasure-wise.’
‘Do you believe any of this?’ Jeremy asked.
Dillen clasped his pipe bowl in one hand, and leaned forward. ‘Well, we do know that statues of gods in the Aegean Bronze Age could be wooden, quite crude. People still venerated inanimate objects, and had only just begun to anthropomorphize their gods. The Romans are unlikely to have known that. If they were making up the story of the palladion, they’re far more likely to have imagined an impressive statue of stone, of marble. That would have been an instant giveaway. So I can believe the story.’
‘But?’ Jeremy said.
‘ But ,’ Dillen replied. ‘Even if there was a wooden statue, I don’t believe that it was the palladion. Rebecca’s right. A wooden statue’s hardly treasure. Odysseus and Diomedes may have snatched a statue from the temple, but the true palladion is most likely to
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