Page 102 of Dagger in the Sea

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Turo

Räikkönen was at it again.

First thing in the morning, behind the thick leather steering wheel of the Land Rover, Adri powered over a narrow and very high mountain road. The land was positively lush with green once we enteredPaleópolisor “old city” as she’d translated as the mountain village’s blue road sign whipped past us.

“This town was the capital of the island in the days of Alexander the Great,” she said. “There’s been years of excavation going on here and they’ve found homes, drainage systems, a marketplace. Look down.”

My gaze darted down the steep cliff to a tiny cove of vivid, turquoise water.

“You see the strip of stone under the water?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“That’s the old harbor from before Alexander’s time. It’s sunk now, but it remains.”

“Incredible.” I craned my head once more to scan the steep mountainside dotted with ruins.

The wind whipped her hair around her face as she focused on the sudden sharp curve in the road, her mouth tensing for a moment, her hand on the stick shift. “Still amazes me every time I see it. There was a temple built there for Apollo the sun god, and they say there may have been one for Dionysus as well.”

“Really?” It was meant to be, my god idol was here.

The sharpness in my tone made her head turn. “You’re familiar with Greek mythology?”

“Standard part of my schooling. I’m certainly appreciating it now,” I replied. “Dionysus has always been a particular favorite of mine.”

We passed through several villages, each separated by miles of road and rock and dry brush. The routes through the small towns were narrow, twisting lanes probably only meant for donkeys and carts in previous eras. Whenever another car approached, one of us would slow down or stop altogether to let the other pass. We sped through groves of olive trees, their small silvery green leaves shimmering in the hard sun. How many centuries, millennia had these groves survived?

Adriana turned off the main road, and we entered the village of Menítes built up and over the side of a mountain.

“I thought we were headed for Chóra?” I asked.

A grin brightened her face. “There’s something special in this village that I’d like to show you. I thought you’d enjoy seeing it, since you like mythology. To give you a hint, the name Menítes is derived from the name “Maenads,” the female followers of Dionysus.”

“The groupies who’d be carried away by a religious ecstasy during those blow out parties of his?”

She laughed. “Yes, them.”

Trees with thick leaves, abundant green, green, green was everywhere here. The lushness of the area was astounding after all the stony dry and rocky terrain of the rest of the island.

She said, “Here, there are lots of natural springs and waterfalls which is why it’s so green. Very popular with hikers.”

We parked by a church and got out of the jeep. “They say this church may have been built on top of the ruins of a temple dedicated to Dionysus,” she said.

“Have archaeologists found the temple here?”

“No. But the legend is strong.”

We descended low steps to one side of the church which opened to an elegant cobblestoned square. A row of ancient stone lion heads was embedded in a great stone wall, their maws fountains of spring water.

Adri’s fingers played in the water running from a lion’s head. “Legend has it that Dionysus would turn these spring waters into wine.”

“Of course he did.”

“He was world famous in his day. There’s documentation of this ritual in ancient Roman history. Pliny, I think it was, wrote about it.”

“Dionysus was the son of the almighty Zeus and a mortal girlfriend, right?”

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