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They walked away into long, rustling, sun-blanched grass among which lay marble fragments; pieces of mosaic, statues, fallen pillars, the remnants of walls. Cicadas chirped sleepily on all sides. A lazy hawk floated on thermals above them, wings spread.
‘We’ll eat our lunch somewhere around the lion terrace,’ Alex said, leading the way along a well-worn, dusty path.
‘What’s that?’
‘A row of marble lions, put up at the end of the seventh century BC. There were nine of them, but now there are only five. The others are probably lying around in bits too small to put together again.’
‘There are lots of broken statues here, aren’t there? What a shame. Isn’t there a museum on Delos that could gather up all the pieces, stick them together, and put them on display?’
‘The island itself is a museum, an open-air archaeological museum. It was a busy place three thousand years ago, when the cult of Apollo was important in Greece. There was a theatre, which you can still visit; it held an audience of five thousand. There were lots of temples to the god, full of gold and ivory. This was a rich island, so of course it attracted dangerous interest.’
‘Who from? It’s so far from anywhere else, except Greece itself, and the island must have been Greek, surely?’
‘Yes, but people got around a lot more in ancient times than you may realise. In eighty-eight BC the island was sacked by King Mithridates, who spent most of his life fighting Rome but always lost. Anything valuable and portable was stolen. All that was left was what you see in the grass; broken statues and columns. After the Mithridates incident the Romans fortified the island and made it one of their big slave markets. Slaves were shipped in here from all over Greece to be sold.’
She shuddered. ‘How horrible.’
They were close now to a row of heraldic beasts on little plinths.
‘These are the lions?’
‘Yes, they’re guarding what was once the Sacred Lake – except that the waters have all dried up, but you can see by the bullrushes where it once was. Apollo is supposed to have been born under a palm tree nearby, which is why the lake was called sacred.’
Alex chose a spot shaded by a cypress, set the picnic basket down, took out a tartan rug and spread it on the grass. They sat down and unpacked the food.
Cooked chicken legs, salad in a plastic box, pieces of feta cheese, little pies stuffed with cheese and spinach, sliced Greek sausages with a strong, rich smell, grapes, a small melon, and finally another plastic box containing kataifi, the rolls of shredded wheat pastry stuffed with nuts, soaked in syrup which were one of the specialities of the hotel’s restaurant.
Alex poured them both mugs of sparkling mineral water, gave Miranda a little plate, knife, fork and spoon, then they began to eat. The food was delicious in the open air, even though flies and wasps were attracted to the smell of it. Alex fanned them away with a large leaf he picked nearby.
While they ate Miranda stared about curiously. The island was largely flat, with few trees, and there were apparently no modern habitations, just the ruins of stone buildings from ancient times.
‘Does anybody live here?’
‘Only a few archaeologists and biologists in spring and summer. They go away once the autumn storms start.’
‘Is it very cold here in winter?’
‘Very.’
When she had finished eating Miranda felt so full up and drowsy that she lay back on the rug, long grass brushing her bare legs, and drifted into sleep. She woke up with a start when a hawk cried overhead, looked around in bewilderment for a second, not remembering where she was, or with whom, until she saw Alex, sitting up beside her, his face in sunburnt profile, staring across the island towards a low hill.
Confused and flushed, she sat up. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to go to sleep. It was the food, I’m afraid, it made me sleepy.’
‘Don’t worry about it. It was peaceful, I’ve been reading. Most of the other visitors have gone, to have their lunch at Mykonos I expect, it’s only a mile away. More people will come this afternoon, from other islands, or from cruise ships. They call here every day in the season, spend a couple of hours here, then sail away.’
He got up, extended a hand to her. ‘Do you feel like stretching your legs? We can walk to the house of Dionysius to see the famous mosaic floor of the god riding a leopard – or we can visit the house of the Dolphins which has a mosaic floor of the most beautiful dolphins.’
‘Can we see both?’
He laughed. ‘Why not?’
They spent the next two hours wandering around the ruins of Delos, as the sun rose higher and higher, and the afternoon heat burnt down on them. Although everything was broken and fragmentary, you received a clear idea of how wealthy and important the island culture had been before it was destroyed.
At last they came back to the jetty and got on board the boat. Miranda was relieved to scuttle under the shade of the awning again as they headed off for Mykonos. She was finding the summer heat of Greece difficult to bear and wondered how on earth she was going to be able to work a full day, even with air-conditioning in the offices. But maybe she would get used to it?
‘What will you remember of Delos?’ Alex asked her after
he set the automatic pilot to take the boat on the right heading.
