Chapter 6
Chapter Six
The next few days pass in long, detailed planning for the Olympia excavation. Oxford has already secured the perimeter. We’ll reach the coast of Katakolo, Greece, within a day, then take a two-hour carriage ride to the site.
From there, we’ll camp near the ruins and begin work.
Of all the wonders lost to time, Grandad believes Olympia offers the best chance of uncovering something tied to the Statue of Zeus. As the expedition’s primary historian, I’ll not only record every detail but also ensure the team is well-informed on the site.
“How large was this statue?” Dr. Alarie asks.
The team gathers in the S.S. Charlotte’s library for another history lesson on the Statue of Zeus. For days, we’ve studied its history and cultural significance, and now we’re examining the statue itself.
“About forty feet,” I reply.
I pull a large book from Grandad’s personal study and flip to its illustration of Zeus on his throne, wreath of olive sprays on his head, holding a chryselephantine Nike in one hand and a scepter with an eagle in his other. I turn the page toward the group.
“The statue itself was made of chryselephantine. See here—” I point to the base of the statue. “—the structure of the statue was made of cedarwood, while the body of Zeus was made of ivory stone. Zeus’ robes, staff, and beard were made of gold.”
“Did you mention that Phidias, the sculptor, also created the statue of Athena in the Parthenon?” Amina asks.
“Yes, he created Athena’s statue first and was then asked to sculpt the Statue of Zeus at the temple in Olympia.” I hand the book over so they can get a closer look at the image.
Henry whistles once he has the book in his hands.
“That is quite an ask for a sculptor during those days. Creating a statue of Zeus, the father of the Olympian deities, at a temple for Zeus himself…I can’t imagine the pressure he must have faced not to upset the worshippers and the deities themselves. ”
“You’re right,” I agree. “It was a huge distinction for Phidias to have been asked to create the statue and was a massive undertaking.”
“And you said the temple was completely destroyed by earthquakes until 551 CE? What about the statue? Aren’t there theories about it being relocated from the temple?” Henry asks, glancing up from the book that’s still cradled in his hands.
“There have been records of Emperor Caligula attempting to move the statue to Rome, though legend says the effort was thwarted by the father god himself,” I say, surprised at Henry’s knowledge.
Not many historians outside this niche study would know that.
“Some also claim Emperor Constantine moved it to Constantinople, only for it to be destroyed by an earthquake about a century later. Most scholars believe it stayed at the temple until both it and the temple were destroyed. Grandad and I believe it never left, which is why we’re excavating at the site itself rather than in Rome or Istanbul. ”
For a few more hours, we go through in detail all the information on the statue and temple we have on record.
Once the sun has set, and with dinner being served shortly, we call it a day and reconvene in the morning.
One by one, the others rise from their seats and pack up their belongings, as I remain seated by the table, wanting to do one final sweep through, noting crucial information before we meet again for another lecture.
Henry points at the book we were looking through. “May I borrow this for the night? I want to analyze the estimated physical dimensions of the statue and the temple. It will help us to pinpoint a tighter region for us to focus on excavating.”
I nod. “Of course. You can keep it for as long as you need.”
“Thank you. I shall see you shortly at dinner,” he says, smiling.
Before I can reply, Grandad appears behind Henry, resting a hand on his shoulder and steering him out of the library. Their voices fade as they discuss excavation plans down the hallway, until they disappear from earshot.
Over the last few days, I’ve been getting accustomed to the real Henry Ashford.
His architectural knowledge has been invaluable in planning our excavations, and he’s never dismissed my insights or opinions.
He’s been attentive, respectful, and engaging—a far cry from what I expected. And yet, I can’t fully trust him.
How do I put that lingering doubt to rest?
“Thank you, Miss Fairfax, for another engaging lecture,” Dr. Alarie says as he makes his way out of the library. “Anyone can teach, but not many can do it exceptionally well. You truly have that gift.”
I sit in mild shock at his words, unused to the compliments from someone like Dr. Alarie. Pride swells inside me, knowing I earned it. “Thank you, Dr. Alarie. That means a lot coming from you,” I manage, holding back a bright grin.
“You're most welcome. I look forward to us continuing tomorrow. Have a good evening,” he says to Amina and me, then leaves the library.
Before Amina leaves the library, I call after her. “Amina, may I speak with you about something for a brief moment?”
She pauses and turns back toward me.
“Of course,” she says, slipping back into the seat beside me. “What is it?”
I fidget with the fabric of my dress, unsure where to start. This is different from asking Amina about history or academic matters. I’m confiding something personal, about whether I can trust Henry.
If I were back at home, I would be asking Evangeline for her advice, but since she is hundreds of miles away, I’m looking for help from the one person on this ship I’m comfortable having this discussion with.
“It’s about Henry,” I begin. “Mr. Ashford, I mean,” I pause, correcting myself. “How well do you know him?”
“Fairly well. We spent a lot of time together working on the Egypt expedition a few years ago and have worked on a few other projects since. Why do you ask?” Her eyebrows scrunch together as she studies me, curious about why I’m asking this.
“He offered to help me with something.” I hesitate. “And I’m not sure if I can trust him. I would ask Grandad, but I thought he couldn’t be objective given their close friendship. And I thought you may be better at clearing up my uncertainty.”
“What makes you feel hesitant about him? Did he say or do anything to you?”
“Mr. Ashford and I crossed paths a handful of times at Oxford,” I explain, “and he was an entirely different person than he is now. More arrogant, selfish, and entitled. Constantly being rude to other students and staff on campus. But recently, he clarified to me that the person he was in Oxford was not the real him. Do you see why I’m having a tough time trusting him?
I’ve seen him at his worst. How can I take his word that he will do right by me when I’ve only known him as someone else?
I want to believe him, Amina, truly. But there is something holding me back from doing so. ”
Amina glances down at the table, her fingers tap along the tabletop.
“It’s hard to let go of our judgments and opinions on people, especially if they’ve been instilled for so long.
” She pauses, glancing back at me. “But all I can share with you about Mr. Ashford is details on the person I know him to be, and hopefully that will paint the picture of who he truly is.”
“When I first met him in Egypt,” she starts, “he was the only one who offered to come with me to investigate a tomb said to be cursed. He didn’t believe in superstitions.
If it weren’t for him, I never would have made my second biggest discovery—uncovering the wall that identified who the tomb honored. ”
“As I’m remembering…he also provided leftover food and rations to displaced people in nearby villages and cities.
Beyond that trip, he’s always answered my questions about ancient architecture over the years without hesitation.
These are only a few examples of the man he is, and to me, he has always been a good-hearted, hardworking man who does right not only for the people he cares for, but for everyone. ”
I shift in my seat, feeling foolish for speaking ill of Mr. Ashford after hearing all the selfless good he has done. By the sounds of it, Mr. Ashford is one of the few in this world who cares.
“He sounds like a good man. One you can trust with their help and guidance.”
Amina places a hand on top of mine. “He is.”
I can feel the reservations I had before loosening. I smile. “Thank you. This truly has helped me to understand him better and ease my uncertainty.”
She matches my smile and gives my hand a light squeeze. “I’m happy to be at your service.”
Amina rises from the chair, collects her belongings, and makes her way toward the library’s threshold.
She stops and turns to face me. “You are doing an exceptional job, Clara. Don’t forget to pause and take this all in, especially to be proud of yourself.
I know the work can sometimes become overwhelming and distracting. ”
“Coming from you, that means the world to me. I shall see you this evening for dinner.”
Planning to abide by her advice, I listen as she disappears down the hallway toward her cabin.
Once I hear complete silence, I realize I’m alone in the library.
Well, not entirely. Open books surround me, along with scraps of paper covered in my black-inked notes.
I know I should tidy up and prepare for dinner, but I linger.
One more hour wouldn’t hurt.
I need to be certain my facts are correct before I submit my site debrief for Olympia. Inaccuracies could doom a dig before it even begins, mistakes that are entirely preventable if I do my job properly. With only a few hours left before we reach Katakolo, the pressure gnaws at me.
I read through the debrief again, double-checking every source, every detail. I avoid the wall clock, knowing it would only fuel my stress more. Time slips by unnoticed until heavy footsteps approach.