5. Fellow Travelers Unite
CHAPTER 5
FELLOW TRAVELERS UNITE
M eanwhile, on the way to the Parthenon
“Surely you have an idea of what your sister is looking for?” Randy asked when they were halfway to the Parthenon. He cursed softly when he nearly stumbled on a marble block, its surface uneven but slick.
“‘ Who ’ is the more appropriate word, but my guess is as good as yours,” Marcus replied, stopping to raise a pair of opera glasses to his eyes. His gaze was directed toward the Parthenon, where a figure could be seen near one of the marble columns at the opposite end. In the harsh light of midday, the column appeared white, but in the afternoon light, it would reflect a more golden color. “She hasn’t yet shared a name.”
Randy scoffed as he picked his way through the rubble. “On the wall of a temple?” he questioned, his confusion apparent.
“Of course. Those walls contain names and sometimes dates of hundreds of visitors—some who were explorers—who came here over the centuries,” Marcus explained. “Greeks, Romans, Franks, Turks...” He paused and gave Randy a pointed glance. “Young men on their Grand Tours.” He once again brought the opera glasses to his eyes. “When we were in Rome last year, I heard an old man call it graffiti .”
“Graffiti?” Randy furrowed a brow. “From graffio ?” he guessed, remembering the Latin word for scratches. “Or graphein ,” he said, his eyes rounding when he realized the Greek word for writings and paintings on a hard surface could also apply.
He glanced in the direction his friend was staring, curious if it was the temple that had his attention or the silhouette of a well-dressed woman who lifted a hand and waved in their direction. The shadow from a column hid her features.
“A scratch, yes,” Marcus replied, finally lowering the glasses. His gaze still directed on the Parthenon, he added, “Rather appropriate, and a far better word than ‘carving’, although I do have to say, I have seen some that look as if they really are a part of the artifact. Father used to warn me that sometimes the Greeks took days to make their mark on a temple wall.”
Wincing, Randy shook his head before making his way around a capital. The elaborate carving was still in good shape, indicative of the Corinthian style of Greek temples introduced around 430 BC. “I’ll never understand why someone would damage an ancient temple by taking a chisel to it,” he complained. “Whatever happened to showing respect for history?”
Marcus chuckled. “I suppose for some, etching your name into old marble is a means of showing that you are a part of history as well.” He held out a hand, his finger forming a line in the air as he added, “I was here.”
“You condone it?” Randy asked in surprise.
“ I don’t,” Marcus was quick to reply. “However, I have learned from my father it’s been in practice for millennia. He’s come across names and dates and symbols—some rather famous—during every dig he has been a part of over the years. Sometimes it even helps to identify a structure’s name or the year when it was built.” He paused as he negotiated his way around the half-buried disc of a column. “Surely you’ve seen them when you were in Sicily?”
Randy made a rude sound in his throat. “I actually didn’t, but not many of the temples we saw still have their cellae,” he replied.
Most of the ruins he and his brother, two cousins, and aunt and uncle had visited at the Valley of the Temples and in Selinunte were merely the remains of temples, with only a few standing columns. Given the raids of Carthaginians, Romans, and Normans and the shaking due to earthquakes, the structures stood little chance of remaining upright.
“Does your sister make note of the names? Catalogue them? Keep track of them somehow?” he asked, remembering he had spotted a journal or book resting on the remains of the altar at one end of the cella. An ink pot and pen had been perched on the altar as well, so he assumed she was making notes of her finds.
“If she does, she hasn’t told me about it.”
Pretending only a slight interest in his second cousin, Randy said, “Sounds as if you two aren’t that close.”
Marcus shrugged, his hands shoved into the pockets of his buff pantaloons as he led them to the far end of the Parthenon. The figure they had spotted upon exiting the temple was clearer now, the silhouette that of a lady wearing a navy gown featuring a fashionable bell skirt. “We tolerate one another,” he admitted. “Because we have to. I rather doubt I shall miss her when Father finally agrees to a marriage for her—if he ever does.”
Randy’s eyes rounded. “Why wouldn’t he?”
It was Marcus’ turn to scoff. “She told Mother she would prefer to remain a spinster.”
Nearly tripping over a ragged step leading up to the temple, Randy cursed again. “A spinster?”
“That’s what she said, and despite Mother’s attempts to change her mind, she’s quite insistent she doesn’t want a husband.”
Randy bent to study the remains of metope. “Prefers to be alone, does she?” he murmured.
His friend stopped in his tracks. “I hadn’t thought that was the reason,” he said. “In fact, she seems to genuinely dislike men.”
Raising his face so quickly to regard Marcus with a look of shock, Randy was sure he heard his neck make a popping sound. “Why?”
Resuming his trek up the steep temple steps, Marcus lifted a shoulder. “She’s really too clever for her own good. I would never say it to her face, but she’s a bluestocking through and through. Learned everything she knows from Father and from books. Remembers everything she has read. Everything she’s seen. Everything she’s heard.”
“Hm,” Randy muttered. “Perhaps it’s better for everyone if she doesn’t marry.”
Once again, Marcus paused, this time next to a column. “And do what?”
Randy shrugged. “My mother told me spinsters get their name from the women who used to weave and spin for their livings. Seems they made good blunt back then. They could live on their earnings and never have to marry if they didn’t wish to.”
Marcus let out a guffaw. “Not sure how my sister intends to earn her living, but I can’t imagine Father extending her an allowance for the rest of her life.”
“What of her dowry?” Randy countered. As an older brother and heir, Randy knew of his father’s arrangements for his sister, Grace. She might only be nine years old now, but in a decade, he was sure she would be married off to an earl or a viscount. That is, if she wasn’t still a hoyden.
Still standing in the shade of the column, Marcus regarded his friend with an inscrutable expression. “Oh, I’d quite forgotten about that,” he murmured softly. “I suppose she could live on it. If she economized.”
The way he made the comment had Randy thinking Marcus and Diana either might not be friendly siblings or that Marcus knew the dowry was a pittance. “And you?” he said, deciding to redirect the subject of their conversation. “What are your plans after you’ve finished visiting Athens?”
Marcus gave a snort. “If you’re referring to the parson’s trap...” He aimed a finger in the direction of the young woman leaning against the corner column of the Parthenon, her wide-brimmed bonnet shading her face from view. “ She would be the cheese.”
One of Randy’s brows crinkled at hearing the odd comment. “You’re not old enough to marry,” he said, keeping his voice low as they approached the woman who was now standing with a parasol held aloft. Before they were close enough to exchange introductions, a young man appeared from behind another column, his face lighting up in delight when he spotted them.
“Forster? Is that you?” The young man hurried forward, his right hand held out.
Randy displayed a matching grin as he shook hands with another classmate. “Antonio Fitzsimmons, whatever are you doing here?” he asked of the man he recognized from their years at Eton and then Oxford. The viscount’s heir sported wavy black hair and an olive complexion suggesting he wasn’t English. Randy knew the features were due to Antonio’s mother, a Spanish aristocrat’s daughter.
“Probably the same as you,” Antonio replied. “Grand Tour. Unlike you, though, we’re nearly finished.” He motioned for the young lady to join them. “This is my sister, Miss Jane Fitzsimmons,” he said as she stepped forward and dipped a curtsy. “I’m looking after her since our parents have already set sail for England. We’ll be departing for Valencia within a fortnight,” he added before he turned to his sister. “This is Randolph Forster, heir to the Gisborn earldom.”
Randy immediately reached for her hand. “You can call me Forster,” he stated before kissing her knuckles. When he straightened, he understood exactly why she would be a temptation for Marcus Henley.
She was gorgeous. Compared to a traditional English miss, she was exotic, her black hair, hazel eyes, bow-shaped lips, and high cheekbones contributing to a regal appearance suggesting she could be the queen of some faraway land.
Apparently Marcus wanted her to be his viscountess one day.
“It’s very good to meet you... Lord Forster, are you not?” she said, directing a curious expression to her brother.
Randy nodded. “Yes, but we needn’t be formal here,” he replied. His gaze darted between Marcus and Antonio. “You didn’t tell me you had the Fitzsimmonses with you,” he accused.
“Well, we’re not exactly traveling together, if that’s what you thought,” Marcus replied, urging them to an area where a series of columns provided some shade.
“But we knew we’d be in the same place at the same time,” Antonio added. His gaze darted to the west. “Did you leave your sister alone again?” he asked of Marcus in a chiding voice.
Marcus shrugged. “She’ll be fine.” He glanced around. “Didn’t you have a picnic basket with you?”
“I left it in the shade,” Jane said. “It is about time we ate, don’t you think?” She turned her attention to Randy. “Would you like to join us? I’m sure we have enough food, although we may not have enough wine.”
Surprised by the invitation, Randy considered the option for a moment. “Uh...” Remembering they had left Miss Diana alone in the Temple of Athena Nike, he moved until he could see the entrance to the temple from between two columns. Directing his attention to the Erechtheion, he noticed his brother was still examining the caryatids along with Marcus’ brother, Michael. Although he couldn’t see his cousin David, he decided the young man must have been inside the temple. “Thank you, but I’m not really hungry right now, and I’m still rather curious about that little temple,” he said. “I can keep an eye on Miss Diana if you’d like,” he offered, directing his comment to Marcus.
Marcus chuckled. “Be my guest. Oh, and do join us for dinner tonight. We’re at Vouros Mansion in Vakchou Street.”
“I will. Thank you for the invitation.”
Giving one last cursory glance at the columns of the Parthenon, Randy tipped his hat and made his way back through the field of rubble toward the Temple of Athena Nike.
Although he would have enjoyed a bit of food just then, his curiosity was greater than his hunger.