Time Travelers Never Die - Jack McDevitt [96]
Others were similar in tone. The New York Times thought the plays had no merit, and one “had to be an idiot” to think seriously that the hand of Sophocles had produced “such mundane nonsense.”
The Washington Post agreed, calling the plays imbecilic. The Inquirer said they were simply “sad impersonations.”
Aspasia was roundly criticized for promoting the hoax. “It boggles the mind,” said the Wall Street Journal, “that a scholar of Ms. Kephalas’s reputation could be so completely taken in.” That Aspasia had been skeptical from the start was not mentioned.
She had left English translations of the Achilles and the Leonidas up at her Web site, along with a plea for the person or persons who had provided the plays to come forward. “If these are genuine, you owe it to the world to establish that fact.”
THE commotion had died down somewhat when Shel called Dave with another project in mind. “I want to take a look at the Temple of Zeus. At Olympia. Can I talk you into coming along?” Dave had known the invitation was imminent.
“When?”
“How about tomorrow?” It was a Friday afternoon.
“Sure,” he said. “What time?”
“About nine. We’ll leave from my place.”
“I’ll be there.”
He had a date that night with Marie Rendell, a dark-eyed beauty that he’d met in a bookstore. He took her to a high-school concert, at which one of Marie’s cousins, a twelve-year-old whose name was also Marie, played the piano competently. David went to the event expecting the worst and was surprised at the abilities of the kids.
Afterward, they had a drink, and she charmed him with an electric smile. “What do you do in your spare time, Dave?” she said. “When you’re not teaching?”
“I read a lot. And I enjoy live theater.”
She looked at him curiously. “You’re laughing, Dave.”
“No, I’m not.”
“What is it, really? Are you a hit man? Do you work for the CIA? What?”
“No. I lead a quiet life.” Though tomorrow I’m going to drop by a Greek temple.
DAVE stored his costumes upstairs in a walk-in closet. He went up, picked out one of the robes that he thought had a Hellenic flavor, brought it downstairs, and shook the wrinkles out. When he was finished, he carried it out to the car, folded it carefully, put it in the backseat, and started for Shel’s.
THE temple was located on a modest rise of land. Shel and Dave stood beneath a cluster of olive trees, watching a small group of people mounting three steps onto the portico, where they passed between columns and disappeared inside.
A series of sculpted figures stood in the gallery.
“Pelops and Oenomaos,” said Shel, indicating two males apparently confronting each other. “And that’s Zeus in the center.”
“Who are Pelops and Oenomaos?”
“Pelops wanted to marry Oenomaos’s daughter. Her father didn’t like the idea, so they agreed to race. Winner would get the prize.”
“Why didn’t Oenomaos simply say no?”
“Don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t culturally correct. Anyhow, one version of the story is that Pelops bribed one of the father’s people to sabotage the chariot. In any case, it fell apart during the race, Oenomaos was killed—”
“—And the couple lived happily ever after.”
“Some of the Greek tales are a bit strange.”
They climbed onto the portico, walked from end to end, admiring the statuary. And finally, they went inside.
Dave caught his breath. The statue of Zeus, still famous in the third millennium even though long gone, dominated the interior. It was magnific ent, painted predominantly in silver and blue, and it stood about four stories high.
“The temple will be here for a thousand years,” said Shel. “Then it’ll be hit by an earthquake. And what’s left will sink into floodwaters. It’ll get lost, and will be forgotten until it’s rediscovered in the eighteenth century.”
The people who’d preceded them inside stood quietly, their heads bowed. There were others, two women in a dark corner, a man in military garb holding a helmet under his arm, and a group of teens gazing up at Zeus.
Oil lamps provided an amber luminescence. Other