Simon rose earlier than the sun the next morning for he intended to explore the coast road to the east of the town. He consulted his map. Yes! It should be possible, he thought, to reach the next hamlet - and then on to the site of Gournia - before the sun made it unbearable to walk. He could then catch a bus back into town in time to meet Mrs Robinson for lunch in the main square. He put the map into his shoulder-bag but, just at that moment, there was a sudden commotion at his feet.

"Oh, Castor," he sighed, "Go away, please.

Castor yapped and wagged his tail A beseeching face peering up at Simon, and a tiny paw pawing at his leg.

"Not now, Castor," he pleaded.

But pity enveloped Simon as he stroked the pitiful mongrel. Half Dalmatian - half Labrador, he thought. A black spot covered one eye and a floppy ear the other.

They had met the previous day.

It while eating at the Café Bacchus that he had heard a commotion from the direction of the kitchen - wild Greek oaths and frantic barking. A quick inspection and he found a burly, Greek cook, meat-chopper in hand, chasing a trembling puppy around the kitchen floor.

“AAT!" he had said as he raised an arm.

Although intended to stop oncoming traffic, 'aat' was the only Greek word he knew that seemed appropriate.

It had the desired effect.

After sternly reproving the immobile cook, Simon had carried the shaking puppy back to his table where he fed it the remains of his meal. And now he looked down, It would seem that he had acquired an unforeseen travelling companion.

"Sit, Castor," he begged.

The puppy wetly licked his leg.

"CASTOR! STAY!"

Castor obeyed with a hurt look in its eyes and Simon walked away.

Soon he found himself in the main square. He looked back. There was Castor trailing meekly behind at a distance ad about two hundred yards.

The main square was deserted, apart from a few Greek men seated at a table under the plane-tree by the café corner.

They waved at him.

"Raki, Raki,”they shouted, and roared with laughter.

Simon waved back.

"Seet down,” shouted one of the Greeks, indicating a spare seat.

Simon recognised Zorba from the night before. He also recognised the manager of the Midas Hotel. And wasn't that Niki who had strolled so manfully down the beach the previous afternoon? Perhaps, thought Simon, if he asked the right questions, he might be able to find out more about Polly?

"Kalymira," he said as he approached the table.

.Seet down," said Niki, offering him a chair.

“Thank you,” replied Simon.

He offered Niki a cigarette and they smoked manfully until Zorba brought him a cup of coffee and some rolls.

Niki leaned over.

“Owhere you go?” he enquired.

Niki, apart from running the travel business on the promenade, was Polyhymnia's uncle - Hermes, the God of Travellers - and always took an interest in such matters.

Simon produced his map and indicated the next hamlet along the coast road.

"The port of Pak-h-is Amnos?"

He slowly spelled the words out.

"Ees many miles, “said Niki, inspecting his watch, "No bus - too early."

"I will walk, " Simon explained.

The Greeks stared at him blankly. Simon put one finger on front of the other and trotted them across the table-top. “Walk," he repeated.

The Greeks exchanged puzzled glances. Zorba made tapping motions with a hand on his head and trotted his fingers over his brow and shrugged his shoulders.

“Walk?" they said.

'"Soon ees to 'ot," said Niki, pointing up at the sky and wiping a hand across his forehead, "Phew!"

"She take you," said Zorba.

He indicated a side street and roared with laughter.

An old woman came out of the shadows, leading two donkeys.

Simon laughed, insisting, as best as he could - in sign language, that, no honestly - he possibly couldn't. But what did they think? “Raki?” they had shouted. “ Walking?” they had queried. Did they think he was drunk? Did they think he was mad? Why? Soon he would be writing poetry! But, all the same, he found himself seated on the rear of the two donkeys and soon they were out of the town. After an hour or so they passed his secret cove. Simon looked down. There was Douglas in the distance - a tiny speck in a sleeping bag under a tree.

Simon's spirits rose with the sun as they climbed slowly up the coast road for there were green trees and the ever-present blue sea around every corner - and the mountains in the distance. The old woman often looked back and smiled - to see if her cargo was securely attached.

The donkey carried Simon in its saddle and, in its panniers, was a load of clean washing. He had seen Greek women beating their clothes in a pool behind the curtain of reeds on Aphrodite Beach. A kind of communal launderette, he supposed, but the coast road was beautiful - a Cretan Riviera. Hovels stood next to villas, donkeys brayed next to garages and plate-glass faced holes in crumbling brick and plaster.

The continued slowly up the road and soon the morning sun shone down.

Simon removed his shirt. It was a lovely morning; so lovely that he wished he had flown directly to Crete instead of flying to Athens first and taking the ferry. He had thus wasted about two days of his holiday. But the purpose of his stop in Athens had been to visit Socrates in his flat in a pleasant Athenian suburb.

Socrates was an acquaintance from a previous visit. They had talked over a meal. Inevitably, the subject under discussion had been Greece and tourism.

"Ah, tourista,” Socrates had exclaimed

Simon had found it difficult to converse with his host. In truth, he also felt that the conversation had been rather one sided, for he was asked a question which required an answer - yes or no.

It was more a question, he decided, of predicting which answer his host required - which response gave him the greatest pleasure. Simon had no wish to offend his host and found that it was politic to get the answer wrong. His host, would then beam and give the correct response himself.

Through leaps and bounds, and various side diversions, to which Simon contributed a series of grunts, he gathered the gist of the argument, that the sun, sea and sand were as much natural resources for Greece as coal and oil were for industrial countries - and should be exploited accordingly. The money thus gained would be used to industrialize.

“Our resources are infinitely renewable and Greece is a very poor country," his host had sadly explained.

Simon inspected the coast road. There was little sign of industry or manufacture, unless one counted the new villas and hotels. His thoughts were suddenly disturbed by the bleep of a horn. Somebody waved from a make-shift cart, pulled by what seemed to be the front half of a motor-bike. Simon recognised Zorba and waved back.

Zorba putted up the road to his mother's farm to collect fresh produce for his taverna. It was his mother who led the two donkeys. Zorba sighed when he saw the load of washing. Hadn't he offered to buy her a washing machine?

"By the way, have you seen anything of Cathy?" Simon had asked his host as they said goodbye at his Athenian door. Cathy had been an au-pair who had worked for Socrates over the summer period.

"No," Socrates had replied rather angrily, "Maybe she still in Crete? I don't know where?'

Cathy had been an acquaintance of Simon. She had disappeared. He had received a postcard from Crete a month previously but that had been all.

That evening, as Simon sat at his café corner, under the plane trees, sipping his glass of ‘Raki’, he pondered the days events. Everything had gone wrong. Had Cathy been a red-herring? He would have to talk to William about it. After all, William was a professor of English literature and might be able to give him some advice. It was probably nothing, but their had been reports of youths and maidens inexplicably disappearing in Crete. But other things had gone wrong too. There had been nothing at Gournia - only rubble and it was such a famous archaeological site too! It required imagination to make anything of the ruined streets. And then Suzy had turned up! It had been so unexpected. But it was the fall at Phaestos in front of Polly? It had seemed as though he had fallen into infinity? There has been no end to it. But the shame! Could he ever see her again? But what if Cathy turned up? There might be new developments.

Simon sipped his glass of Raki. What had been the sequence of events during the day? But he suddenly remembered his visit to the Acropolis in Athens on the first day of his arrival. Was that visit the cause of all that followed?

”Forget Cathy,” Socrates had said as he hugged Simon and closed his front door.

Afterwards, Simon had walked to Sintagma Square where he recovered from the embrace. There he sipped a drink in the centre of Athens - among the hotels and the roar of traffic - and it was then that he had walked up to the Acropolis.

The ruins had been exhilarating, majestic in the evening sunlight and he made a silent toast before heading to the port of Piraeus. It would be a voyage - his package tour to Crete - even if it were only to be a short one. He had silently offered a prayer to the Gods as he stood before the temple of Minerva.

As the donkeys plodded up the mountain road in the early morning sun, Simon forgot about Cathy and Athens seemed far away - as far away as London.

Hey, Mister, Pakhos, you want here?"

Simon awoke. He looked around. They were on a hill. Down the road he could see a small hamlet. He dismounted and waved to the old woman as she departed, with a tinkling of bells, up a track into the mountains.

“Kalymira," he shouted above the sound of the cicidae.

"Kalymira, “she shouted back, “Av a good 'oliday."

Simon walked down to the hamlet by the sea.

The tiny port was not pleasantly situated. In the distance - on a road that joined the coast road to one that crossed a plain to the south side of the island - was a half-built hotel. Its concrete shell shimmered eerily in the sun. Behind the port, stretching across the plain, were rows of greenhouses in which grew tomatoes. It was not what one would have expected in such a hot climate and, later, Simon had asked the Greek courier at the travel agency for the reason why? She explained that, if forced, three crops could be grown each year.

“One for us and two for you, "' she had added with a mischievous grin.

There was no mountain backdrop to the port and the wind blew in from the sea, sending waves crashing against a concrete mixer that stood on a half-built promenade.

Simon entered a café on the shore-front where he asked for a lemonade.

Outside the café sat two spastic children, lolling like marionettes and as patchworkingly dressed. Inside, around the café sat a group of silent Greeks. In the centre, seated on a wooden chair, a bleak, twisted man plucked at a guitar.

A bottle of lemonade was produced from a rusty refrigerator in the corner. Light filtered in through a small window. The men's clothes belonged to different era. Simon soon left. He preferred the flash and glitter of the tourist resort for his presence had stopped the men talking and he felt like an intruder.

As he retraced his steps up the coast road he glanced back at the tiny port. It seemed as though invaders had landed, laid the foundations of a small settlement and then decamped.

Simon soon found a sign indicating 'Goournia Antiquities'. He followed a path up to the ruins which were pleasantly situated across a small hill. It was still early in the morning and he was suprised to see a small figure pottering around the ruins. But hadn't he seen that hair, that halter-top and those shorts before? He went over to investigate.

"Hallo Suzy.” What are you doing here?"

"Aw, its you."

'I didn't know you were interested in archeology?"

"Naw, wish I'd brought me metal detector though."

“Do you mind if I join you?"

"Humph, if you must."

In the early morning light, Souzy looked rather different. As they pottered around the site, Simon's eyes continually strayed. She did have rather appealing eyes. Were they blue or grey? It was difficult to decide. Frequent glances were necessary. As Suzy inspected the stones, Simon inspected Suzy. Many more appealing points were discovered. There were her breasts, for example. Or were there? At a certain angle and in a certain light when she stretched her arms in a particular way - they made a pert appearance. Her legs were without compare and her back arched very gracefully when she bent down. It was a feature that Simon had noticed before. Come to think of it, Suzy was very nearly perfect. There was only one thing wrong with her. She didn't appreciate being looked at.

"'Ere, can't you look at somefin' else?"

Simon blushed as they continued around the site.

With the aid of his map, they isolated the remains of houses, some streets and they walked along the white stones of ancient paths. Some of the buildings were close to two stories high.

"Look - a staircase," said Simon.

'"It only needs a roof and we could live there, “replied Suzy.

"But how? There's no water, no windows, no electricity -- "

"Humph!”

"What?"

"Nuffin'"

Then Suzy pouted and added: "I wonder why the town disappeared?"

Simon explained about the violent, volcanic eruption on the nearby island of Santorini which led to the subsequent collapse of the Minoan civilisation.

"That was about two thousand five hundred years ago,” he concluded.

“Oh, I know all about that, silly, but why isn't there a town here now?'"

Simon was confused.

She was right. There was no sign of habitation for miles around and the sea was at some distance.

Suzy continued: I”And why was there a town 'ere in the first place?"

He made a feeble excuse and disappeared behind a rock to consult his guide book.

”Well,” he said knowingly a few moments later, ”The site was a trading centre -- .

He flung an arm out to sea.

“ -- The sailors beached their boats over there and took their cargo overland, to avoid the rough seas around the east coast. I suppose they found an alternative route and the need for a town here has disappeared."

“Huh, you cheat. I bet you got that out of a book."

Suzy snatched Simon's shoulder-bag and, laughing, ran up the hill.

”Give it here! SUZY, please~"

Simon caught up with her on the top of the hill where she had regally seated herself among the ruins of the governor's palace.

"Well, what 'av we got 'ere?"

Suzy was grinning wickedly and glancing through his postcards and note-books, "Writing a book, are we?"

Simon grabbed his belongings back, hoping that she had not found the postcard upon which he had inscribed his list.

"Come on," he said, "Let's go back to town. There's a bus-stop on the main road.”

"No need for that."

Suzy grinned. She disappeared behind one of the ruined buildings and produced a moped.

"Wanna lift?"

They buzzed down the coast road, only stopping to pick up Douglas who was thumbing a lift by the roadside. With Douglas at the controls and Suzy clinging to Simon and the luggage rack they soon made it back to town where they parked in the main square.

Mrs Robinson waited by the café -corner - at the table under the plane-tree. She was wearing a huge, floppy bonnet and a huge pair of sunglasses. These seemed to have attracted quite a crowd of older Greek men who were seated at the surrounding tables. A row of empty glasses littered her table-top. An arm of one of the Greek men rested on the back of her chair.

"Hallo, Mrs Robinson, “ said Simon.

She looked up furtively.

"Hic, oh, hallo, Simon.”

Mrs Robinson removed her sunglasses and peered vaguely at Simon's companions. She thought, for a moment, that she saw her daughter's boyfriend.

"Douglash?”

"Mrs Robinson?"

So it was Douglas.

"Douglas, what (hic) are you’sh doing here?"

Douglas confessed that he had decided to take a short break from his studies.

Mrs Robinson tried to sober up.

"But Elizabeth is here, " she said, "But, of course, you know that -- “

She focussed on the colour of indigo.

" -- And what on earth is that?"

Simon hurriedly introduced Suzy as a friend of Elizabeth. He further explained that they had all met the previous afternoon - on the beach.

It all seemed rather a coincidence to Mrs Robinson, but she decided to say nothing. They ordered a meal and she tried to relax. So many new people? It was all very confusing. But just as she was settling down, she felt something wet rubbing against her thigh. It had a sobering effect.

"Oh my!"

She rose in alarm and glowered at the Greek who had his arm around her chair.

“My good man,” she complained, “What on earth do you think you are doing?"

“Eh?"

The Greek looked around, non-plussed, at his friends. Suddenly there was a familiar yapping from under the table - familiar, at least, to Simon's ears.

”Oh, Castor," he begged, "Castor, go away."

A beseeching, canine face peered up from behind a table leg.

"Aw, how sweet," cooed Suzy "Come here, you little pet."  

  She patted her lap invitingly.

Castor yapped with pleasure, bounded up and promptly fell asleep in her arms.

"How adorable.”

Souxsie bent down to kiss the puppy.

Simon felt jealousy as he saw Castor nestling between Souxsie's brown thighs. He had, after all, saved the puppy's life and that was all the thanks he got? But he had mixed feelings throughout the meal. On the one hand he glowered at the Greek who had his arm around his date. On the other hand, he inwardly cursed. If he had not asked Mrs Robinson yesterday, he could now have asked Suzy to accompany him to Phaestos that afternoon. Instead he watched with envy as, at the end of the meal, Douglas and Souxsie mounted the moped and sped down the main street - no doubt towards his secret cove.

"If you see Elizabeth, tell her where we are going," they shouted as they buzzed into the traffic.

Simon paid for the meal and rose from the table.

"Come on, Mrs Robinson," he said.

He escorted her up one of the side-streets to the bus-station. But he could not resist a swagger as they passed the tables by the café -corner. For Mrs Robinson caused quite a stir in her floppy bonnet; sunglasses, high-heels and loose fitting gown. In a place where most of the goodies were completely exposed, she certainly looked mysterious.

They just missed meeting Elizabeth who had finished her morning"s sunbathing on Aphrodite Beach and was walking up the main-street in search of something to sustain herself through the afternoon session.

Elizabeth was confused. She had just seen her boyfriend at the controls of a moped whizzing down the street with Suzy on the pillion. Now she saw her mother disappearing down a side-street on the arms of Simon. Or was it? Could that elegant woman possibly be her mother?

She stood in the middle of the square - her nose swiveling in all directions. Where should she go?

"Hallo, little missie."

Elizabeth looked round. There was Spiros coming out of a café entrance at one of the corners of the square. She smiled apprehensively.

"You go swim?" he said.

She nodded.

"'Come?"

Spiros flashed his white teeth.

"You eat?""

She nodded again.

Spiros snapped his fingers, then sauntered down the main street. Elizabeth picked up her belongings and trotted obediently behind him and they headed back towards Aphrodite Beach and the Adonis taverna.

Now alone, Castor thumped his tail contentedly on the ground under the table. He had watched admiringly as his new mistress sped away on her machine - out of the square. She would be back. He licked his lips. This one would be promising.

Simon and Mrs Robinson soon reached the bus station which was no more than a deserted section of the quayside - deserted that was, by plastic tables and chairs

Their bus was waiting with its engine growling impatiently. It was a huge, air-conditioned coach with black, tinted windows. Simon thought that he had seen it before. Zig zag stripes painted down the sides of the coach proclaimed 'ZEUS TOURS'.

Simon offered Mrs Robinson his hand as they climbed aboard. As they entered his heart jumped.

She was there!

Polly had dressed herself in a smart, blue blazer and a pleated skirt. A badge over her breast proclaimed 'Zeus Tours' and under that was inscribed her name 'Polly'. She carried a clip-board and ticked off people's names as they entered the coach.

“'Hallo, Simon,” she said.

Polly smiled at Mrs Robinson.

“I’m with him,” Mrs Robinson hiccuped.

Polly winked conspiratorially at Simon.

Damn! He inwardly cursed. What could he say? May I introduce you to my maiden aunt? How would you like to meet my mother? This is just something I pic:ked up yesterday? No - he couldn't say that. It was true.

“Eeserah?”

"What?"

Simon looked around with alarm. A cavernous grunt had come from the driver's seat. He found himself looking into the driver's face. Black glasses hid hollow eye sockets. Words emerged from a black mouth.

"Eeserah! Eeserah!”

Simon gazed down a black pit. The words rumbled hollowly and seemed to emerge from the direction of the driver's stomach.

"Simon, Simon, I think he means the tickets," said Mrs Robinson, nudging him in the ribs.

'"Oh yes, sorry."

He handed over the two tickets and, as he did so, he accidentally touched the driver's hand. The hand was wet and clammy and the touch sent shivers down his spine.

'"Thank you, meester."'

The words came from hell.

Simon drew away and, shaking, he led Mrs Robinson to one of the rear seats.

"Hallo Simon. Hallo, Mrs Robinson?'"

They both glanced back. Sitting on the seats behind them were the professor and his wife.

Mrs Robinson and Prudence exchanged pleasantries and gossiped about this and that as though they had been neighbours of long standing. William nodded to Mrs Robinson and winked conspiratorially at Simon burrowed into his seat. Really, it was too much!

Mrs Robinson had noticed William's gesture.

"Are you all right, Simon?" she enquired with a hurt look on her face.

“Oh, I'm fine."

William coughed.

Mrs Robinson sniffed petulantly in a manner that recalled her daughter. But soon she forgot William's embarrassment and Simon's red face as the bus roared down the motor-way to the west of the town. Indeed, she noticed little of the passing scenery. Nor did the rest of the party. They had all closed their eyes and clutched their partners in total fear.

Charon used the gear -stick like an oarlock. He till found it difficult to master driving; a difficulty that was compounded by the fact that his instinct and his whole temperament and upbringing - led him to ram the coach into the nearest cliff or send it hurtling over the nearest precipice.

Along with the gear-stick, he had severe problems with the accelerator peddles. Pulling of the gear-stick tended to be accompanied by strenuous, rhythmical forward movements of both feet.

But it was all done at some speed and soon they had passed the capital, Heraklion, and were hurtling through the mountain passes across the island.

Polyhymnia sat on her seat next to the driver and frowned. She couldn't help but think that Charon was the most dense of her relations. He still hadn't completely grasped that he was supposed to be ferrying people around the island and not rowing them across the Styx. But soon she forgot about him for she had more pressing family problems on her mind.

To begin with, her uncle had given her far too much work. This particular excursion wasn't part of her job. She had been asked to deputise for her sister, Calliope, whose responsibility was, after all, history and they were heading for Phaestos. But Calliope was on another island, planning some new excursions. Zeus was expanding the family business.

Polyhymnia yawned, for she was tired. Never mind, her sister, Thalia, had agreed to take over the following day’s excursion, so soon she would be able to catch up on her sleep.

She smiled when she thought of her youngest sister - the comic muse. Thalia was the family favourite and totally spoilt. Not that she was really any younger than the other sisters - she had just popped out last. Polyhymnia happily recalled her eight identical sisters and their mother, Mnemosyne.

Damn! She suddenly remembered that she had promised her mother that she would visit father that day. She bit her lip. Her father was always in such temper. He had got worse since he had retired and left his sons to run the family concern from the main office on Mount Olympus. Zeus had then returned to his birthplace.

His daughter now trembled. The very ground would crack and rumble at his rages. But there was no way she could put the visit off. A promise was a promise. He was not too far away. She could get here that evening. If the coach dropped her at Herakleion. she could make her way to the Diktaean cave - easily reaching there before dusk.

With a surge of power and a screech of brakes, the coach pulled up athe site of Phaestos.

William tottered out of the coach and breathed in deeply. Every time he had opened his eyes, they seemed to be approaching the dark mouth of a tunnel; an oncoming bus; heading for a cliff-face or the edge of a steep precipice. Hah! Greek drivers! He gulped at the air. Although they seemed to have driven through hell, they had arrived safely on the other side.

It was a few hours later.

Polyhymnia stood alone on top step of the Grand Stairway, staring across the site of Phaestos. She had finished her spiel and had conducted her party around the site. There they Mere - huddled under some pine trees in a corner. She glanced at her watch. They didn't have to leave quite yet. She still had a few moments to herself.

Simon hid under the shade of one of the trees and suddenly understood the wipings of brows and vague mutterings in the town of "Phew its 'ot." when Phaestos was ever mentioned. He knew well how the Minoan civilisation had perished. They had all died of sunstroke. He carefully propped Hrs Robinson up against one of the trees and left her to recover. She seemed to have shrivelled up in the heat. He had poured gallons of water down her throat which seemed to have had a beneficial effect. She panted slowly and unfurled like a rose.

But it was a beautiful site. To the east, a long plain led to Mount Dhikti and a range of mountain peaks. To the north was the Idha range and, just to the right, the Asterousia mountains. They stood on a plateau in the very centre of the island surrounded by mountain peaks. Beneath the plateau, and leading up to the feet of the mountain ranges, the fertile plains sparkled in the sunlight. The sun beat down straight from above, reflecting on the ancient, white stones, imparting a brilliant haze to the scene. The sky crackled with heat.

The main feature of the site was a long stairway that seemed to rise in the sky to nowhere. Simon saw Polly standing on the highest step staring across the mountains. She was alone and looked beautiful. He took a deep breath and walked over to her. Now might be his chance?

It hadn't really changed all that much, thought Polyhymnia. The scenery here, never changed. She remembered that there had been more trees on the mountain slopes. But those trees had been cut down over the centuries. The goats had eaten the seedlings before they had time to grow and the soil had gradually eroded away into the sea. But the crops on the plains; the olive-trees protected by their retaining walls; the maize, wheat and barley and the animals - they were just the same.

Thoughts of the past brought back pleasant memories - memories of a time when people believed in her. Sometimes it worried Polyhymnia that they no longer did. She felt redundant.

"1 wonder - if I may - would you like something to drink?"

Polyhnmnia was disturbed out of her reverie.

""What? Oh, yes - if you like?"

She smiled absentmindedly and Simon rushed over to a cafeteria behind the steps.

Polyhymnia returned to her thoughts and her inspection of the ancient site the scene of so many family occasions. And now they had all gone undercover. She recalled her last visit to the family villa on the lower slopes of Mount Parnassus. She had spoken to Apollo, who was easily the most intelligent of her uncles, on the matter of belief.

"But my dear girlth," he had lisped, “lt doethn.t matter if you exitht or not. It only matterth if thombody beliefth you exitht."

"Yes - but -- “

“Oh, my dear girlth, don't worry tho."

He had offered her a drink.

"What do you think?"

He had sniffed appreciatively.

"The Claret 75? 1775, you know? Not a bad year."

She departed in disgust and, on the way out of the family villa, she had tripped over Dionysus. God, he had been filthy. He'd never been the same since he had got in with the wrong crowd. Those damned Picts! That stuff he brewed in vats. Nectar? My sacred foot! He'd been paralytic for a thousand years.

Polyhymnia frowned. It gave her the hump. Her family had really gone downhill since nobody believed in them anymore. But later she had reflected on what Apollo had said. He hadn't really answered her question but his statements were always thought provoking. Of course she existed. She could touch herself. But in that other sense? Did mortals believe in her existence? She thought on. Mortals did things. She had never done anything. Nor had her family. It was only later that their role in affairs had been magnified. Some scribe or storyteller distorted the facts - usually for their own nefarious purposes gave them magical or supernatural powers. Mortals had wanted to believe. But she had never been anything more than she was now - anything more than the mountains before her.

She stared pensively over those mountains. But she did have some sort of power. She remembered the time when she and her sisters had been little girls. Zeus had gathered them about his knees and wagged his little finger.

"Now you must never forget, my beautiful children," he had admonished, "You must never forget the power of a beautiful woman.”

"Polly?"

“What? Oh?”

Polyhymnia lost her powers of concentration. It was that English tourist with her drink.

"Here you are, Polly, and I've brought you something to eat."

"Why? Simon? Thank you. “

Polyhymnia sipped. Milk and honey? Her favourite. How could he have known? She nibbled at the cake he had offered her. Oat-cake? Yummy! Milk and honey and oat-cakes? She had nearly forgotten. It had been thousands of years she she had been offered a libation. She turned to give her thanks.

"Simon? Simon? Where are you?"

She scanned the site. He had disappeared. Wait a minute? There he was at the foot of the stairway prostrate at her feet.

Polyhymnia raised her eyes to the heavens, clasped her hands together and offered a prayer to her father, mother and her sisters. She then walked down to the Shrine of the First Palace. The holy vessel was still there and votive water was still trickling out of the tap. She filled the vessel to its brim, walked graciously down to Simon and ceremonially dashed the holy water into his face.

"'Wake up, Simon, wake up."

Simon blinked. He recalled of blue eyes. Had they reflected the sun?Then he had seen urns, pillars and a figure approaching, dressed in a toga. Then he had seen stars and seemed to be falling through space. The last thing he recalled having seen were two spastic children lolling like marionettes in front of a concrete mixer.

"Simon? Are you all right?"

Simon awoke.

"What? Where am I? Who are you?""

He saw Polly walking away. Somebody was speaking and shaking his body.

"You fell down the steps. You were unconscious. Polly dashed some water in your face. to revive you. Better return that tin cup. William."

Simon looked up. He saw a figure dressed in a toga.

"Prudence? Is that you?"" he said.

"Do you like it?” said Prudence and twirled,

He scratched his head. There seemed to be no blood,

"Yes - very fetching."

"I bought it this morning."

Prudence gave a another twirl and Simon's head spun.

“Do you intend to make a habit of this, dear boy?" enquired William as he helped him to his feet.

”WILLIAM! Please," reproved his wife, “Come on Simon, I think its time to go."

Prudence had seen Polly looking at her watch. They collected Mrs Robinson from under the shade of the tree and tottered back to the safety of the coach.

Polyhymnia glanced at her watch. It was time to go. She always feared this part of the excursion. Suppose somebody got lost? Almost as soon as she rounded up the party, one of them broke loose.

She inspected the site. Oh, dear! There .was one in the Anteroom of the Magazine, and a few had escaped to the Propylon and there was one sitting on the Throne in the Queen's Chambers.

"Shoo! Shoo!"

She fervently wished that she had the use of Pan's crook. At last she herded them all into the coach and. wiping the sweat off her brow, she slammed shut the door.

The coach then headed down towards the south coast where she had promised them all a swim in the Lybian sea.

The excursion party lazed and sunbathed around the tiny cove of Mataala on the southern side of the island. Simon picked a stone off the beach. The stone was black. He tried, unsuccessfully, to scrape off the sticky tar, then he threw it back into the sea and glanced around the cove.

His head ached slightly, but a few refreshing swims in the sea and the view of the cove - had temporarily put Phaestos and his fall out of his mind. Caves were cut out of the cliff face to the east. They looked interesting. The rest of the party were asleep, so Simon climbed up the slopes of the cliff to investigate. In one of the caves he found a few strings of beads, some clothes and the remains of a broken guitar. Perhaps Cathy had been here? She had been something of a hippy.

The view of the beach from the inside of the cave was breathtaking. Simon rummaged through his shoulder-bag,searching for the remains of his postcards. He had already used half of them up but here was a view of Mataala looking out from the very cave in which he stood. The beach seemed tiny from that high perspective isolated, hemmed in by the surrounding cliffs.

That evening, Simon sipped at his glass of Raki, as he sat at the table under the plane trees in the town’s main square. It was now well past midnight. At a nearby table two Greeks played at backgammon. Simon watched them throw the dice. Well, had he put all his cards on the table? Had he thrown his dice and, generally speaking, mixed all his metaphors. It was time for bed and tomorrow was another day.

Simon climbed down to the beach. There was hardly a free inch of sand. Out to sea blew wind-surfers and, close to the shore splashed little, pedal-driven, plastic pleasure boats. It was a temptation to shout, "Come in no 25, your time is up." Souvenir stalls and tavernas crowded to the rear of the beach. Access to the road was through an opening in a wire fence. Behind this fence, congregated tents, mini-buses, caravans and sleeping bags. Weird smells drifted from fires in the encampment. Something of the sixties lingered in the air. Men from the encampment and the tavernas sipped drinks as they gazed quietly towards the beach. Their eyes turned with guilt towards their stony-faced companions and then their eyes returned to a philosophical inspection of the beach. Why? Polly had cleared a space for herself on the beach and lay on her stomach sunbathing. She turned over with such grace that Simon wondered if she had trained as a dancer. A sudden chill hit his stomach. On her turn she had removed the top half of her bathing costume. Now - as she stretched out on her back - her long brown legs, her breasts and her golden ear-rings sparkled in the sunlight. Although she lay talking to Prudence, she seemed unapproachable. No men sat near. Simon longed for her. There was a lull on the beach. The cicidae had stopped their chirruping and the waves had stopped their lapping. Now she slowly turned again. Simon gazed at her figure; her slender waist; the curve of her pelvis and the thin strip of translucent material. She seemed to stare only at him as she gently caressed her breasts with sun-tan oil. She smiled? But couldn't even tell her - especially not after having fallen down the steps . But surely she knew? His fingers itched towards his shoulder-bag and his postcards and notebook . He could write her a sonnet. What rhymed with Polly? Again he looked towards the beach for inspiration. Polly, Prudence and William were staring in his direction. He heard the sound of laughter as they turned away. Polly had laughed at him. "Come on Simon, its time to go." "Oh ?" It was William. "Come on - you were miles away. How's your head? You fell to earth with quite a bang?" Simon made one last inspection of the cove before they gathered Mrs Robinson from off the beach where she had fallen asleep. The party then boarded the coach and closed their eyes - apart from Simon, who was mesmerised by the slender curve of Polly's back - as they roared and jerked their way back to Herakleion, the capital. There Polly got out. Without her, the trip back to the resort lost its appeal - at least it did so for Simon. "Mrs Robinson, Mrs Robinson, “ he urged, "Wake up!" She blinked. "Where are we? Are we back at the hotel already?" she said Simon pulled her out of the coach as she wiped the sleep out of her eyes. He just had time to see Polly disappear down a side-street. Where was she going? He felt a strange sense of loss as he watched her agile legs swing along and something close to fear entered his heart. Perhaps she was off on another assignation? As she turned the corner, Polly looked back and laughed. Simon turned to stone. Then, as it was still light, he suggested to Mrs Robinson that they go somewhere else for a meal. “Simon, let go of my arm. You're hurting me. SIMON!" Before she could demur, he had roughly dragged her into the nearest bus and they headed up the west coast to Khania.

Later that night - or rather the next morning, Mrs Robinson lay in her bed contemplating the evening while she dozed off to sleep. When she and Simon had returned to the hotel, they had found Elizabeth asleep in her bed. Mrs Robinson had been relieved to see her daughter but, in a way, she wished that, for once, Elizabeth had decided to stay away for the might. That evening she had walked with Simon around the little town of Khania, watching the potters, cobblers and bakers in their little shops and inspecting th e churches, forts and picturesque minarets, Then they had strolled through tiny, twisting streets to the harbour. Mrs Robinson drifted off to sleep. They had sat on the sea-front eating delicacies from a huge side dish. That sharp, white wine - so intoxicating. She felt part of, and, enjoyed the faded charm of the sea-port town. Maybe she could use it for the setting of her next novel. And then they had taken a taxi back. A big, black Mercedes. How it had roared. 0 to 60 in under a minute. Not bad. There had been a goat in the roadway. It had bounded out of the way as they passed. She thought she heard laughter, or was it the tinkling of bells, as she looked back down the cliff. The goat perched on a rock and saluted them with its horns. Mrs Robinson drifted further off to sleep. A van had blocked their way to the left. Their car lights illuminated mountain slopes. There was something flat on the road. The side of a concrete building? A ramp? Crash! The Mercedes had accelerated. They hit the concrete at full throttle. Oh my! They had careered around the corner on two wheels. She had grabbed the window frame and screamed as she looked own the cliff face to the sea. And then they were back at the hotel. The girl on the beach - how beautiful. Then Simon had kissed her on the cheek. The follies of youth. It felt hot. So polite. Such a polite young man. Now wasn’t that funny, she couldn't feel the mosquito bites anymore. Ouch! Her skin hurt around the straps of her dress. Her skin felt uncomfortably alive. Her stomach felt slightly queasy. Mrs Robinson drifted gently off to sleep.