Black Acorns (eBook)

2

Archaeologist and TV presenter Martin Day, feeling every one of his thirty-nine years after a long day of filming, stood on a hillside in the Mani region of the southern Peloponnese, surrounded by the awaiting camera team. He was still wearing his sunglasses, and would only remove them when they were about to start filming again. The October sun was now low and right in his eyes. The heat from the stone wall next to him warmed his back, and an amber glow burnished the old tower houses that rose steeply behind him. Day was resigned to the delay, he was used to it by now, but he was keenly looking forward to the moment when the Director announced the end of the session. The next take would be the last, and that was what mattered: he was ready for a shower and a drink.

With a shout the Director gave the go-ahead to resume filming. Day removed his sunglasses and held them in front of him at waist level so that they could be back on his face as soon as possible. He adopted a professional smile and willed himself to make no slips, the sooner to finish the job.

“This place behind me has been called ‘the most photographed village in the Mani’. Its name is Vathia, and it’s one of the best surviving examples of a fortified Maniot town. Most of the houses are now abandoned, and you can walk round them absorbing a silence that resonates with the memory of more turbulent times.

“As we’ve already seen during this programme, many of the eight hundred or so Venetian towers here in the Mani stand alone in the hills, imposing bastions against invasion, fortified refuges in case of attack. Competition among the clans to have the highest tower was so great that the towers became taller and taller.

“Here at Vathia, we can see that domestic houses were built in a similar style, and it was done for the same reason. These ‘Tower Houses’, as they’re called, were small strongholds, each one an impregnable refuge for members of a single family. A Tower House was built like a small castle, and sheltered people during an age of violent vendettas and bloody feuds.

“To understand the Venetian towers it’s helpful to consider the landed estates of Europe and America. Not only did the estate protect the owner’s wealth and family, it was a symbol of status and respectability. If the family lost ownership of the estate, or the building was allowed to degenerate, there was a very serious impact on the owners’ status and future. So it was with these towers and Tower Houses.

“The Towers of the Mani, whether defensive giants like those we’ve been looking at in the countryside, or domestic houses like these at Vathia, are symbols of an area with a long and often violent history. The Mani is a mountainous and inaccessible part of Greece which has been inhabited since Neolithic times: a human skull discovered in a cave here is the oldest so far found in Europe. Maniots have a reputation for being tough and rebellious. In the 1820s, the mountains of the Mani became the stronghold of the Klephts, fierce bandits opposed to Ottoman rule. And the fierce spirit of the men of the Mani is not a thing of the past, even though today the area welcomes visitors and relies to a large extent on tourism. If you drive through the region you can still see road signs peppered with bullet holes, target practice for the local young men. The Maniots claim to be directly descended from the Ancient Spartans, and their castellated towers suggest the continuation of the Spartans’ combative and indomitable spirit.

“A long and fierce history, then, is embodied in the towers we have looked at in this programme. We have seen towers that are as high as twenty metres, surveying the sea from the crest of a cliff, and a complete village of Tower Houses forming a fortified community. In the next programme I’ll be visiting the capital of the Mani, the modern town of Areopolis, where, true to the proud tradition of the area, the famous Petros Mavromichalis led the Greek War of Independence.”

“Cut! Thanks everyone. Well done!” shouted Scott Macfarlane, the Director, sounding every bit as thankful as Day felt. “That’s us done!”

Thank God, thought Day, and replaced his sunglasses. He smiled at the crew, thanked the sound engineer, and headed for the shade. His height and fair hair marked him out in the crowd and several people moved politely aside to give him access to the refreshment kiosk. He grabbed two small mineral waters and drank one as he walked away. He took the other over to the control tent where Scott was talking to two crew members, trying to bring the session to a close. He turned gratefully to Day and accepted the bottle of water.

“Thanks, Martin. Are you pleased with how it went today?”

“Yes, I think so. We did well to finish filming before we lost that good light. Vathia will look stunning lit by the low sun. Have you got everything you need?”

“It’s all done. The filming we did inside Vathia this morning will provide material to cut into your longer explanations, and the pieces recorded yesterday in Areopolis were excellent. And those enormous stone towers in the countryside where we were last week are really impressive!”

“Good. When I’m in London in December give me a call, we can go through whatever you need me to re-voice. There might be a few takes in the Areopolis section which will need re-recording, I think there were some background noises in a few places, and I should probably record one bit again where I wasn’t very clear. Right, I’m ready to go back to the hotel now. Can I give you a lift?”

“Fantastic, yes please. David can finish up here and join us later. I’ll just have a word with him.”

Scott gave instructions to David Mikos, the Anglo-Greek deputy director, and then joined Day by his hire car. The company had supplied an old Skoda, a much better fit for Day’s height than the Fiat 500 he drove on Naxos, but already he hated it. The Skoda would not have been his first choice for the twisting, mountainous roads of the Mani.

They drove north-west to Gerolimena following the line of the coast, the sun still in their eyes. Scott’s mind was already moving ahead.

“Are you going straight back to Naxos tomorrow, Martin?” he asked.

“Yes, assuming this worn-out wreck makes it as far as Kalamata airport. Only a hundred and ten kilometres through the Mani, what could possibly go wrong?”

They discussed work until they arrived at the hotel where the production team were staying. It was one of the most beautiful hotels Day could remember, located in a rural hamlet outside the coastal village of Gerolimena. Originally another eighteenth-century tower, it was a luxuriously converted, almost circular stone building, and was quiet just now, the main tourist season being over. Day had a ground floor room in a low-level stone annex, a room so stunning that he could have spent the whole evening in it had it not been for the even more impressive terrace bar and the prospect of good company.

He took a shower in his wet-room using the boutique toiletries provided, chose fresh clothes from the shabby chic wardrobe in his domed, stone-walled bedroom, and opened the door to allow the evening sun to flood through the doorway. He sat on the end of the vast double bed that awaited him later and sent a text to Helen saying he would be back on Naxos the next day, but would take a taxi home from the port. That done, he set out to claim a table on the terrace and await Scott.

He chose a small marble table just far enough from the tower to give him a good view of it. Uplit by orange floodlights that gilded the stone facade, the main building was almost entirely windowless; only a few slits relieved the austerity of the curved wall. An adjacent stone arch invited visitors into an interior courtyard within which a modern wooden staircase led to the hotel reception on the first floor. The stone storeys of Maniot towers were originally connected by wooden staircases, and Day was pleased to see that this style had been followed in the renovation of the building. He sat back in his chair and enjoyed the peacefulness of the terrace. A white cat strode with erect tail towards him, went straight past with a dismissive air, threw itself down on a warm flagstone and stretched out, tucking its tail round its back legs. Even when Scott emerged from his room at the far end of the hotel and joined Day at the table, the cat chose not to stir.

Like a miracle, a soft-footed young Greek approached to take their drinks order. It was rare for Day to choose anything other than his favourite, gin and tonic, and this evening was no exception; Scott ordered the same. Once they had their drinks, Day declared himself in Paradise.

“So, what have you got lined up next, Scotty?” he asked, when he had savoured his drink for a moment.

“My next job? I’m taking a team to Portugal in a fortnight to film a programme on Coimbra Pottery for the Secrets of Art people. You should look into working with them yourself, Martin. They’d welcome you with open arms.”

“Coincidentally, I think that’s going to happen this winter, in London.”

“Really? What’s the subject? Have you finished the Nikos Elias book?”

“Yes, the Elias biography is with my agent now and should be published next year some time. I had the chance to make some programmes on the art of Greek marble sculpture, but we haven’t managed to...