have shaken the earth to its core. You can imagine what followed: earthquakes; tidal waves sloshing around the Mediterranean like a bathtub; ash covering the islands like snow. All the Minoan cities were destroyed. Civilization collapsed.”
“But that wasn’t the end of the Minoans,” Marina objected. “They were devastated, but they weren’t wiped off the map.”
“Indeed not.” Reed paused as a steward put four cups of steaming coffee on to the table. “Once the dust had settled, so to speak, they picked themselves up and tried to carry on. But now there’s a new complication. Suddenly, Minoan culture starts popping up all over mainland Greece.”
“Maybe it got washed up by the tidal waves,” Grant suggested. Reed ignored him.
“At the great centers in Greece—Mycenae, Tiryns, Argos—Minoan art and pottery become increasingly influential. Meanwhile, on Crete we start to find all sorts of exotic foreign objects. New types of swords and spears, chariots—weapons the peaceful old Minoans never had any use for.”
Muir sipped his coffee. “Sounds to me as if the Greeks took advantage of the disaster to get one over on the Minoans.”
“Or perhaps it was the other way round,” Marina countered. “Perhaps the Minoans started making colonies in Greece.”
“Un-bloody-likely.” Muir rolled his eyes. “The tankscome one way and lorries carrying the loot go back the other. Never changes.”
“Scholars debate this,” said Reed smoothly. “The evidence is inconclusive. Personally, I find myself agreeing with Mr. Muir. Crete was ravaged by the volcano just as the mainland Greeks were hitting their stride. It would be reasonable to expect that the Minoan survivors naturally fell into the Mycenaean orbit.”
“Just like us and the fucking Yanks. One country’s misfortune . . .”
Grant cleared his throat. “Who are the Mycenaeans?”
“Greeks,” said Marina. “From the great age of heroes.”
“Pre-Greeks,” Reed corrected her. “The era that the Greek myths hark back to and that Homer describes. The civilization of Agamemnon, Odysseus, Menelaus and Achilles. If you believe the legends. Historically speaking, they were probably a culture of warriors and pirates, a loose federation of semi-independent city states who paid allegiance to a high king whose capital was Mycenae. They flourished in the later stages of the second millennium BC —then, suddenly, around 1200 . . .” Reed gave Grant a pointed stare. “
Bang
. Everything was lost and Greece lapsed into a dark age that lasted five hundred years. Invaders moved in—the true ancestors of the modern Greeks, most likely. They looked at the remains the Mycenaeans left behind—the vast walls, the finely worked treasures, the intricate arms and armor . . . In the darkness of their own existence, they couldn’t conceive of men ever creating such things, so they invented myths to explain them. The massive stone foundations could only have been laid by Cyclops and giants; magical craftsmen must have wrought the jewellery; only heroes descended from gods could have wielded those swords. Like all barbarians, rather than rise to the challenge of civilization, they explained away its achievements in order to excuse the poverty of their own.”
“Though afterward those people laid the foundation for all your Western civilization,” said Marina tartly. She seemed to have taken Reed’s sermon as a personal affront. “Philosophy,democracy, mathematics, literature. And as for the myths, there’s another theory about those.”
Muir groaned. “There’s always another fucking theory with you people.”
“The time we stop proposing theories is the time the barbarians take over,” said Reed firmly.
It earned him a more sympathetic look from Marina. “What if the myths weren’t written by the invaders?” she said. “What if they were the stories the Mycenaeans wrote themselves, remembered down the generations?”
“It seems
“But that wasn’t the end of the Minoans,” Marina objected. “They were devastated, but they weren’t wiped off the map.”
“Indeed not.” Reed paused as a steward put four cups of steaming coffee on to the table. “Once the dust had settled, so to speak, they picked themselves up and tried to carry on. But now there’s a new complication. Suddenly, Minoan culture starts popping up all over mainland Greece.”
“Maybe it got washed up by the tidal waves,” Grant suggested. Reed ignored him.
“At the great centers in Greece—Mycenae, Tiryns, Argos—Minoan art and pottery become increasingly influential. Meanwhile, on Crete we start to find all sorts of exotic foreign objects. New types of swords and spears, chariots—weapons the peaceful old Minoans never had any use for.”
Muir sipped his coffee. “Sounds to me as if the Greeks took advantage of the disaster to get one over on the Minoans.”
“Or perhaps it was the other way round,” Marina countered. “Perhaps the Minoans started making colonies in Greece.”
“Un-bloody-likely.” Muir rolled his eyes. “The tankscome one way and lorries carrying the loot go back the other. Never changes.”
“Scholars debate this,” said Reed smoothly. “The evidence is inconclusive. Personally, I find myself agreeing with Mr. Muir. Crete was ravaged by the volcano just as the mainland Greeks were hitting their stride. It would be reasonable to expect that the Minoan survivors naturally fell into the Mycenaean orbit.”
“Just like us and the fucking Yanks. One country’s misfortune . . .”
Grant cleared his throat. “Who are the Mycenaeans?”
“Greeks,” said Marina. “From the great age of heroes.”
“Pre-Greeks,” Reed corrected her. “The era that the Greek myths hark back to and that Homer describes. The civilization of Agamemnon, Odysseus, Menelaus and Achilles. If you believe the legends. Historically speaking, they were probably a culture of warriors and pirates, a loose federation of semi-independent city states who paid allegiance to a high king whose capital was Mycenae. They flourished in the later stages of the second millennium BC —then, suddenly, around 1200 . . .” Reed gave Grant a pointed stare. “
Bang
. Everything was lost and Greece lapsed into a dark age that lasted five hundred years. Invaders moved in—the true ancestors of the modern Greeks, most likely. They looked at the remains the Mycenaeans left behind—the vast walls, the finely worked treasures, the intricate arms and armor . . . In the darkness of their own existence, they couldn’t conceive of men ever creating such things, so they invented myths to explain them. The massive stone foundations could only have been laid by Cyclops and giants; magical craftsmen must have wrought the jewellery; only heroes descended from gods could have wielded those swords. Like all barbarians, rather than rise to the challenge of civilization, they explained away its achievements in order to excuse the poverty of their own.”
“Though afterward those people laid the foundation for all your Western civilization,” said Marina tartly. She seemed to have taken Reed’s sermon as a personal affront. “Philosophy,democracy, mathematics, literature. And as for the myths, there’s another theory about those.”
Muir groaned. “There’s always another fucking theory with you people.”
“The time we stop proposing theories is the time the barbarians take over,” said Reed firmly.
It earned him a more sympathetic look from Marina. “What if the myths weren’t written by the invaders?” she said. “What if they were the stories the Mycenaeans wrote themselves, remembered down the generations?”
“It seems
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