The site they have found is certainly one of the prettiest on Cyprus. The coastal town nearby encroaches in no way on its surroundings. The forested cliffs and mountains of the island attest to its setting for myths and the culture that propogated them. In addition, several churches and Mosques tuck into city squares or against mountain sides, with access determined by long staircases along cliffs. The air is saline and healthy feeling. Yet it is colder than the duo had imagined.
"Will you ever give up on calling me Mr. Guy?" says our hero.
He looks more closely at the map. It reads, "Walk along this cliff and rappel down."
"You won't be bored for much longer, Gus."
Gus looks at the map, "Maybe rappel down is a metaphor. She can't actually mean it."
"A metaphor for what? Never underestimate a Byzantinist in search of new material."
They peer along the cliff. There is a decent stone outcropping at the top, and Art Guy moves slowly toward it, holding a coiled rope.
"Be careful of booby traps," says Gus.
"Don't be ridiculous, Gus. Which Indiana Jones movie do you think we're in?"
No sooner has our hero said this that he trips a vine, and the cliff path begins to dissolve under his feet. Art Guy jumps forward to safety, but the path behind him falls away. He is now isloated from his friend.
"It says on the map: 'Be careful of booby traps,'" says Gus.
Art Guy sits down on the ledge feeling a bit bewildered at the whole thing so far.
"I don't think I can make it over there," says Gus. "But I can yell instructions from the map to you."
"That's fine. What does it say next?"
"It actually says, 'Make sure the skinny one does the spelunking because he's more likely to fit through the entrance of the cave where the wallpaintings are.'"
Art Guy's annoyance becomes more visible. He says, "Does it warn me of anything else that's likely to kill me?"
It says, "Answer the question at the gate wisely."
Our hero rolls his eyes. Passing his generals was one of the high points of his life, and he swore to never be tested on fact-based knowledge again in his career.
"Couldn't she just tell me what the answer is? What else does it say?"
It just says, "Best of luck - Foxy (as in cunning) Byzwiz Irish."
Art Guy turns around. "Who is this woman?"
---
Foxy Byzwiz Irish sits in her study sipping whisky with a long-time friend of hers named Print-G. Mac D.a.T.
Print-G's most striking style choice is that her trousers are designed with Durer prints.
"That's the best you'll ever get," says Print-G, referring to the whisky.
"Right you are," says Irish.
"How's your research going?"
"Better than usual, it's actually finishing itself off while we speak. I've got a couple guys I met in Cairo spelunking around in Cyprus recording a description of that final Last Judgment I need."
"You jealous?"
"A bit."
"When will the book be out?"
"You know I don't want to talk about that," says Irish. "How's the Scottish print project going?"
"The prints are going on tour. That's it. Done," says Print-G. with an infectious smile on her face. "New Yorkers and Londoners alike will all know they've overlooked a significant body of material. They just need to see it with their own eyes." She stands up and karate kicks the air.
Irish smiles and sips her whisky.
"Mac," says Irish.
"Yes, ya wee lamb?" says Print-G, still throwing fists into the open study space.
"Do you think an art historian familiar with the late medieval west would know the Greek names of Byzantine iconographies?"
"I shouldn't think so, why?"
---
"What are you likely to encounter behind these doors," reads a spooky-looking but obviously modern inscription carved into the gate at the base of the cliff. Our hero and Gus stand in front of it shivering from their own sweat. Gus had clambered dangerously over the gap in the cliff and the two of them have now spent a nervous hour rappelling down the face. Below the inscription on either side of the door are large stones that one can press into the face of the wall. The stones read, "Theotokos," "Koimisis," "Psychostasis," and "Anastasis."
"Looks like it was the archaeologists who set these booby traps and gates," says Gus.
"Maybe they were trying to keep out Dr. Irish," says our hero.
"But wouldn't she know the answer to this question?" says Gus.
"I suppose so," says Art Guy. "She's the Byzantinist."
"Do you know the answer?"
Our hero can't hide his confusion as he looks from one side of the gate to the other.
"I thought you knew your medieval iconography."
Art Guy notices something and chuckles. "I know these aren't part of Last Judgment iconography." He points to obviously modern clay sculptures of satyrs holding water jugs above where Gus and Art Guy stand.
"Booby traps," says Gus.
Art Guy says, "Gus, lightly press, 'Koimisis' but stand away from the pot."
As Gus presses in the stone, a boiling stream of tar begins to trickle from one of the satyrs' jars onto the ground by Gus's feet. He jumps. "That can't be the right answer, Mr. Guy! Do you know what these iconographies mean or not?"
"Ye of little faith," says our hero. "Of course the Dormition of the Virgin doesn't occur in Last Judgment cycles. I just wanted to see what came out of the jugs. There isn't just one answer here. Press 'Theotokos' while I press 'Psychostasis,' and we'll get through this alive."
After counting to three they press the scenes referring to 'The Virgin Mary' and 'The Weighing of Souls,' and the gate opens on mechanised hinges more reminiscent of Disney World than anything you're supposed to encounter on archaeological digs in Cyprus.
There is a narrow crevace through which our hero passes with embarassment.
The cycle is extensive, well preserved, and breathtakingly beautiful. It is similar to the Mt. Sinai 'Last Judgment' and laden with deep red. The scenes are alive with the most brilliant of Byzantine lines and rhythms. One senses all stages of Cyprian religion, as some of the figures evoke classical sculpture (particularly the seated Zeus-like Satan figure). Situated in a stunning mandorla, Christ holds the visual field with a confrontational gaze. Our hero pulls out his notebook and begins to write a description of the scenes, careful to avoid the outdated poetic formalism used above.
Gus struggles to take pictures with slow shutter-speeds by propping his point-and-shoot up against stalagmites. He cuts himself on one and cusses.
"We won't be having any of that in the presence of beautiful wallpainting," says Art Guy. "Are we American curators or are we respectful preservationists of the past?"
"Get over yourself, Mr. Guy," says Gus.
Our hero is suddenly confused by what he sees. In the lower right hand corner of the wallpainting, St. Peter, immediately recognizable with his haircut and the keys he carries, is ushered into hell as one of the damned.
Art Guy looks up to the seated row of apostles. "This can't be right," he says.
Peter is absent from the order of apostles.
"Just a lucid description, Mr. Guy," says Gus. "Remember what she said?"
"Right," says our hero, smiling. "No crazy theories..."
...to be continued...
