seat. “Scientists actually found that the visions might have been elicited by gas that was trapped within the earth. Carbon dioxide or something.”
“Close, but carbon dioxide was only one of the possibilities.” Lourds smiled. “Originally the gas was believed to have been ethylene, a byproduct of an oil deposit there. Although there are some who say the more likely culprit was methane or hydrogen sulfide.”
“That wouldn’t have made the Oracle a great environment to be in.”
“No, but it didn’t stop people from going there. Aristotle, Herodotus, Sophocles, Plato, Xenophon, and Plutarch—among others—are reputed to have visited the site.”
“So they cleaned the island of the dead, and that became the land of temples to the Greek gods.”
“Among others, yes. There were some Egyptian gods worshipped there too.” Lourds grinned. “One of the most interesting pieces is the Stoivadeion, the temple dedicated to Dionysus, the Greek god of wine. It’s a giant phallus.”
The two soldiers in the front of the boat totally lost it and started laughing hysterically. Even Fitrat laughed, and he wiped his eyes. “Who would do such a thing?”
“It was erected—if I may be so bold—”
The soldiers howled with glee.
“—by an ancient Greek grammarian named Carystius. Sadly, this phallus is practically all that remains of his works. Even that is broken.”
“Broken?” The young soldier in the front seat turned around again. He had changed to speaking English.
“Yes. In half.”
“So now it’s half-cocked? Is that how you say this in your slang?”
The soldier laughed and pounded his thigh with a fist.
“Yes.” Lourds covered his face with his hat and wanted to throw himself overboard.
***
Delos Island
The young soldier hopped out of the boat and quickly tied it up at the dock. Lourds grabbed the line from the stern and tied it to a cleat as well, wrapping it snugly.
“Where are we going?”
“To the Agora of the Delians. Remember, I told you that Aristotle and Plato were connected with that long-dead organization that wasn’t so long dead during Alexander’s time.” Lourds looked around at the island and the blue sky surrounding them. He’d been to Delos several times, but he never failed to be impressed by the pomp and pageantry that the sight brought to mind.
Now all that remained were fragments of what had once been. Broken, stone houses, tall, Doric columns that looked solitary and lonely, and stone parquets that showed wear from the countless visitors who toured the island even now.
“Why are we going there?” Fitrat adjusted his sunglasses. In casual clothes, he almost looked touristy.
“There’s an inscription that was mentioned in the scroll as being key to the parts that I haven’t yet figured out.”
Lourds took the lead, and they followed bare earth walkways and the stone-lined path that wound through the island.
“This is a beautiful place.” Fitrat walked at his side. “I could live somewhere like this with my family.”
“No one can live here, actually. It’s against the law. The only residents here are a French archeological group that have been working digs on the island since the 1870s.”
“They still haven’t finished?”
Lourds waved around them. “There’s a lot to dig up on this island. You’re talking about almost three thousand years of history since the Greeks landed here, and there were people who lived in these islands before that. It’s just harder to get to them. And with all the sites, space gets cramped.”
They walked past the shops in the Agora of the Competaliasts, the paved square directly behind the harbor. Lourds pointed to it.
“That’s an ancient marketplace. Slaves were sold on the island. Sometimes as many as five thousand a day. That particular market was devoted to the Competaliasts, a union of freemen and slaves who worshipped the Roman gods of crossroads.”
The sun beat down on them as they walked. Lourds took off his hat and mopped his brow. He couldn’t help looking around for gunmen to come charging out of nowhere.
“Feel safe while you are here.” Fitrat clapped him on the shoulder. “The good thing about an island as flat and small as this one is that no one can sneak up on you without you seeing them come.”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind.” Taken away by the history surrounding them, Lourds felt his fears melt away for the moment. He pointed at a small, circular building made of marble stones in the center of the agora. “There is the temple that was dedicated to Hermes, the god of commerce. This is where the slave trade proliferated.”