Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
On our first day in Crete, we spend it touring the island, swimming on the beach, and eating a lavish luncheon at a restaurant. While enjoying each other’s company, Grandad tells us stories about the island’s connections to Greek mythology.
The warm breeze blows against our faces as the sun strikes above us.
A calm, elated ease washes over us during our beachside holiday.
We are dressed in casual day clothes. It’s a bit unnerving to see Dr. Alarie and Grandad in white linen pants and shirts, as I’ve only seen them in shades of brown and beige.
Henry still wears his usual white shirt and beige pants with suspenders, while Amina and I take advantage of the holiday in flowy silk dresses and straw hats.
I could get quite used to more holidays like this.
“Did you know that in ancient Greece, they had the Olympic ceremonies in the Temple of Zeus? The Olympics originated as a competition event to honor Zeus,” I say to Henry, as we walk along a stoned path nestled inside a quaint seaside village.
“Huh,” Henry ponders. “I didn’t know that. And now that you mentioned it, it makes utterly perfect sense.”
“I’ve always wished the labyrinth Daedalus built in Knossos was real,” Henry continues. “I could have written my entire dissertation on that architectural feat alone.”
“Well, that architectural feat was also the reason why a lot of tragedies occurred.”
“You’re thinking of the Minotaur?” Henry asks, as if that is the only tragedy tied to the labyrinth.
I shake my head. “Does the name Ariadne sound familiar?” I ask, already knowing what his answer will be.
“Who?”
“Exactly,” I say, smirking.
“Ariadne,” I begin, “was the daughter of King Minos. She fell helplessly in love with her kingdom’s rival, Athenian hero Theseus, and aided him in navigating the Labyrinth so he could vanquish her own half-brother, the Minotaur.
Her tragedy doesn’t have one clearly defined ending.
Over millennia, her story has been told with various endings.
Either Theseus betrays Ariadne by abandoning her alone on the island of Naxos, and then is killed by Artemis, or Theseus betrays her and is ordered by Dionysus, the god of wine, to hand Ariadne over to be his bride.
Either way, Ariadne is betrayed by the man she loves, which is the biggest tragedy of all. ”
“To me, her story highlights how Theseus used Ariadne for her naivete and youthfulness, then disposed of her once she was no longer of use to him. Sadly, this is still a typical story for many women today. The fact that her tragedy is under-told speaks volumes about how women and their stories are often ignored and forgotten across centuries and millennia.”
“Saying I feel doltish for not knowing her story would be an understatement,” Henry says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thank you for telling me about her and her tragedy. Please feel free to share any others you know of. They all deserve to have their stories told and remembered.”
I give him a warm smile, appreciating his eagerness to understand and make a difference, even if the issue stems from a patriarchal system. “I certainly will.”
Not long after, the team heads toward the east coast of the island for supper. After nearly eating what I imagine could feed a small army, we make our way back to the docks at Mirabello Bay, concluding our brief holiday in Crete.
The sun begins to set as we walk along the long wooden dock, its bottom tip touching the water’s horizon in the distance. A satisfied fatigue creeps over my body at the sight—a feeling that can only come from a successful holiday on the island.
If only we could stay a bit longer…
Henry and I trail behind the others as we make our way closer toward our rowboats. He lightly grabs my elbow, stopping me from getting onto a boat. “I don’t want to leave the island just yet,” he says, as if he can somehow read my thoughts.
He glances between the others boarding the boats and the island behind us, then rests his eyes back on me with a smile. “Would you like to take a walk with me along the shore and watch the sunset? We can get back on board once the sun has fully set.”
Not quite ready to embark back on the S.S Charlotte and eager to seize any opportunity to extend our brief holiday, I nod.
Once we’ve informed the others of our last-minute plan, we start walking along the shore.
Leaving our shoes by the sole rowboat, we stroll barefoot on the cool, soft sand.
No other civilians are on the beach, leaving us alone with nothing but the colorful sunset before us and the sound of waves crashing ashore.
I watch the rowboats with Grandad and the others drifting further into the water, growing smaller and smaller as they approach the ship.
We walk in silence for a few minutes, simply taking in the moment and watching the sunset. When the quiet has lingered long enough, I decide to break it.
“May I ask how you and my grandfather became friends?” I’ve never been able to ask Grandad about this directly.
Henry pauses, as if considering how to respond.
“As you know, we met during the expedition in Egypt, and what set him apart from the other scholars was his genuine curiosity to understand the world…to understand people. Unlike the other scholars, who only seek fame and notoriety for making a grand discovery or finding one of the lost tombs of the pharaohs.”
I listen intently as he speaks. Over the past few weeks, I’ve come to know the real Henry Ashford, and I can see how easily he and my Grandad could become friends. Their shared passion for history and drive to understand how things work is what connects them.
“Lord Claremont was the first scholar I met whom I felt I didn’t need to act with, someone I could be myself with. He made me feel seen and understood. From that moment on, we became close friends. If it weren’t for him, I don’t think I would have ever gotten this far in my dissertation.”
A sudden realization hits me, and I press a hand to my forehead in disbelief. “Oh, I feel terrible. I never asked you once how your dissertation is coming along.”
Henry gives me a sympathetic smile. “It’s quite all right. I don’t have much to say on it, honestly. You’d think being at the tail end would be the easiest part, but it’s the hardest. Suddenly, years of research and visits to these magnificent places all need to come together to prove a point.”
Henry picks up a small rock from the shore and tosses it into the sea. “And I must admit, I’m having a hard time tying it all together.”
“Of all the places you’ve been, do you have a favorite? One that feels different from the others?” I ask.
Shielding my eyes from the sun as it casts one last burst of light before sinking below the horizon, I glance at him. As a novice traveler, I’ve had to rely on the descriptions in books to envision in my mind what the rest of the world is like. And here is someone who’s nearly seen it all.
“Nothing can quite surpass the Taj Mahal,” Henry says with a fond smile. I imagine he is recalling his time in India.
“Why the Taj Mahal of all places?”
“You’re going to think it’s silly,” he says.
I notice his cheeks pinkening; his sudden embarrassment piques my interest more than it deters it.
“Tell me, I truly want to know why you picked it. I promise I won’t think it’s silly.”
It seems to work, as he relents. “It’s the meaning behind why it was built.
Yes, it’s an esteemed architectural achievement, but for someone—an emperor even—to have loved someone so much that they built one of the biggest mausoleums to honor her…
that’s why it’s my favorite. All these landmarks around the world were built to show off or make a point.
But the Taj Mahal? That was born from a man’s love for his wife, and none of the others can compete with that. ”
I’m surprised by his answer. In no way at all do I think his reasoning is silly. It sounds romantic, actually. I was expecting him to go on a tangent about its architecture and the methods of how it was built.
“You think it’s a daft answer, don’t you?” he asks, taking my silence as proof of his point.
“Not at all, I promise. A surprising one, that’s all.”
We continue to walk further along the shore. I even occasionally dip my feet into the water.
“You mentioned you were having issues with your dissertation. What exactly are you having trouble with?”
“My trouble is with writing it, actually. I have everything in here,” he says, tapping his temple. “But once I’m sitting down with my typewriter, I cannot form a single sentence. I’ve written thirty pages of it, but I can’t seem to find the words to write the last ten.”
“Sounds like you're experiencing writer’s block,” I say, knowing the feeling all too well. “Have you tried stepping away from it for a bit? A fresh perspective may help you figure out how to finish it.”
He chuckles. “That’s hard to do when I’m on a month-long expedition solely to work on my dissertation.”
“You’ll need distractions to keep your mind off of it.”
“Such as what?” Henry asks with a raised eyebrow.
“Like a…race,” I offer, smiling. I point to a large rock several feet ahead of us down the shore. “Race me to that rock. If you win, you can take three days off from working on your dissertation.”
“And if you win…?”
“Then you have to write a full page of it tonight.”
Henry ponders for a second, then gives me a mischievous smile. “You have a deal,” he says, extending his hand.
We get into a running stance.
“I’ll count us down. On three?”
Henry nods.
“One…two…” I say, then bolt into a sprint before I announce three. I run with all I can, my bare feet pounding into the soft sand.
“Not fair!” Henry yells from behind.