* * *
There was little left of the governor’s estate that would convince a person of the splendor once existing there. Treston located the main house, identifying it by the layout of some remaining foundation stones and pieces of two marble columns found at its entrance. The stones used in the construction had long disappeared, having been used for other purposes. Most of the barns, guesthouses, workers’ and slaves’ quarters, stables and granaries were built primarily of wood and clay, which deteriorated long ago.
Time was of the essence and Treston had to hurry if he desired to find the old family cemetery. “Things have changed so...” He cried out in dismay. “And these archeologists have done so much digging here, I wonder if the place even exists anymore.”
Ishtar thought a moment and then offered a suggestion. “We found the house, right? Do you know the direction it was from the house?”
Treston grabbed hold of Ishtar’s face and planted a hard kiss on her lips. “You’re wonderful! Of course I know the direction from the house. Many a night the governor and I would exit after dinner and walk to the cemetery. Thank you! Thank you!”
He rushed over to where they found the broken columns; searching until he was convinced he was standing on the porch’s threshold. After Ishtar overcame her shock of Treston’s excited kiss, she walked back to the house to watch Treston.
The man stood, eyes closed, facing away from the doorway. When the girl started to ask what he was doing, he hushed her. As if remembering some certain conversation, Treston turned his head to his right and, with eyes still closed, slowly and deliberately started pacing forward. He wasn’t counting the steps as much as he was trying to recall a strolling conversation and the length of time it took at a certain gait.
Eventually, Treston stopped, and his eyes remained closed. Carrying on as though still in conversation, he began to turn to his left. Ishtar almost laughed, thinking of him as a dancing marionette. She put a hand to her mouth to keep from making noise.
Soon he stopped, opened his eyes and stared straight ahead. His face lit up and, without saying a word, he bolted off. “Hey! Wait for me!” Ishtar shouted, clutching the blanket that was now thrown over her shoulder, charging after him.
Ishtar’s lungs were screaming for air by the time she finally caught up with Treston, who was stopped at the edge of a steep ravine. He glanced over to her and then looked back down at the muddy water still fleeing the ditch from the last storm, shaking his head in dismay. “If that’s the stream I recall, it used to be over a mile further that way. He pointed toward the northwest. See how much lower the ground is on its other side? If that archeologists fellow found the cemetery because of some flood - and that’s what the woman told us at the museum - it may no longer exist. Maybe I was wrong about my feelings. Maybe I’ve only sung you a foolish sirens’ lullaby.”
Ishtar was still panting, trying to catch her breath. She finally managed, “We’re… here… let’s look… around.”
Treston shrugged. “Won’t hurt... Got nothing else to do...”
Treston went one way along the stream bank and Ishtar another. In a few minutes, the girl heard the man shouting. She hurried toward him, her heart pounding with excitement. By the time the girl arrived, Treston was already down near the streambed, on his knees, rubbing an old stone half buried in the fresh mud.
He looked up, a wild grin on his face. “Come here! Take a look-see!”
Ishtar saw that Treston had removed his jacket and kepi, along with his sword and scabbard. The sword was stuck, blade down, in the dirt. Ishtar folded the blanket and laid it next to the sword. Then she picked up Treston’s other things and placed them neatly on the blanket. Treston patiently waited for her, his pants soaking up the mud as he rested by the stone. The girl eventually slipped and slithered her way down the steep slope.
Treston had splashed some water on the stone to wash away the remaining mud. He pointed at some marks carved in it. “See these? I cut them in there.”
Ishtar leaned forward in the shadows in an effort to read the markings. Just then a distant cloud departed the dying sun, allowing its final glory to fall upon the reddish stone. Ishtar let out a quiet gasp. Chiseled in the stone’s face were her name and two more lines of words written below it. What she saw, when translated from the old Greek, was:
‘Ishtar
Goddess of the heavens
Who walked among men of clay’
She looked over at Treston, seeing tears in his eyes. His lips quivered. “You still are to me, you know...” He bowed his head over the gravestone and began to weep.
Ishtar rested her hand on his shoulder and gently caressed his back. While she waited for Treston to release emotions long held in abeyance, she glanced around at the surroundings. The afternoon’s rains had flooded the stream, apparently washing under this stone, causing it to tip over and slide down the bank, exposing the soil around it. There was enough clay in the dirt to make everything sticky from the rain, and the fading sunlight made it glisten in the growing darkness.
Suddenly, out of the corner or her eye, the girl caught the sun’s light glinting off something in the goo. She struggled up the bank and pulled a gold pendant out of the mud. Filled with excitement, she nearly shouted to Treston. “Look at this!”
Treston slowly raised his eyes, and saw the pendant just as the sun’s light reflected off its face. He cried out, begging, “Please! Please let me see it!”
The girl handed it to him. For some time, he said nothing. He just sat there in the mud staring at the golden piece of jewelry, its heavy gold chain still secured to it. Finally with wonder in his eyes, he joyously explained, “This is mine! The pendant was my wedding gift to my wife. After she passed away, I carried it on a gold chain to keep it safe.” He paused in thought, and then gave a sigh. “You know, the governor’s sons must have thought enough of me to bury me in the family cemetery.” He slowly shook his head in wonder.
Ishtar started poking around some more in the mud. About two feet from where she had seen the pendant, her fingers felt a painful jab as she drove them into the goo. “Ouch!” She cried, but she didn’t let go the treasure she found. “What is this thing?” the girl asked, pulling the small clay encrusted object from the slime.
She handed it to Treston, who washed it in the clearing stream. When done, he handed it back. “Here, I think you lost this.”
In the girl’s hand rested the other half of a jade hair comb, its markings matching those in the museum. Ishtar squealed in delight as she clutched it close to her heart. “Oh, thank you! Thank you!” Now it was her turn to break down and cry. How wonderful to be holding something given her by her father. What a sweet gift! Even if it were hers to hold for but a moment, she would remember it for an eternity.
Treston now spotted the sun glinting off something next to where Ishtar had just found the comb. Crawling up the bank to the spot, he reached in and pulled a silver brooch from the sticky soil. Hurrying back down to the water, and nearly falling in the process, he rinsed the brooch clean, holding it up for Ishtar to see just as the last light reflected off its surface.
The girl clasped her hands and cried, “My brooch! My brooch!” stumbling and sliding down the bank to retrieve it. What a sight the two made, half in and out of the water, covered in mud from head to toe, laughing and crying at the same time. Eventually, they both exhausted their emotional energy.
After resting in silence awhile, Treston looked past the stone and up the bank. He sighed, “They knew I adored - almost worshipped you. When I died, they must have placed me right next to you. Think of it, no matter what you might have thought of me, or still might, we have journeyed together through time, side by side, clear to this day.” He shook his head in wonder.
Ishtar held up the comb and asked, “How’d this come to be here? I don’t remember having it after leaving the prison.”
Tresto
n snapped his fingers. “Now I remember. I went back to the prison the following day, before leaving for this place. I found your comb trampled in the stall, broken, like it is now. When I buried you here, I had you dressed in your gown and placed the comb pieces in your hair. That archeologists fellow must have only dug up a little piece of this cemetery, finding a few of the treasures and leaving the rest.”
Ishtar cared little that her hair was packed with mud. She gently slid the jade comb into her curls, wearing a grin of satisfaction Treston had never seen on her before. He leaned back and made an observation. “Good men often do evil things. But good men are still good men. We must learn to find what good there still is among men today.” Ishtar agreed. The girl’s head suddenly began to spin and her world fell into darkness. She and Treston were swept away from their adventure, never to return.
That night, a violent, flooding downpour stirred the stream’s gentle water into a raging torrent. When the two-dozen chilled searchers converged on the scene the next morning, all they found were the blanket and things Treston had left behind. Inside the coat pocket, the people found twenty-four gold coins, one for each person who braved the night and the storm seeking to rescue the lost couple.
Local gossip being what it was, stories soon flooded the café and meeting places about these strangers. The mystical tales only grew, honestly embellished by the humble people who encountered the strange visitors that day. When the military confessed that they had no officer missing or on honeymoon, the mystery only grew. Eventually, the telling of events reached the ears of the local priest.
One day, soon after he came into town, driven in a big auto by a neatly dressed attendant, he stepped into the café where it just happened that the town’s people were currently gathered, including the taxi driver and the young couple he had refused to marry. They told him the account as well as could be remembered, adding several superstitious embellishments as they went along. Finally, the young man confessed to him what the colonel had commanded him to tell.
The priest scoffed at what he heard until they showed him the old coins the officer used to pay his accounts with that day. All of them were at least several hundred years old, but shiny and just like new. And the two coins from the museum were of solid gold and at least two thousand years old. Finally, the people handed him the sword Treston had left behind.
As the priest examined it, his eyes grew big and his hands began to shake in trepidation. He muttered something about some painting on the wall of the church and a warrior saint having a similar weapon. Finally, he read the inscription engraved on the blade. It was written in the same Greek used by the church in solemn worship. Dropping the sword, crying out in fear, cupping his hands over his ears, the priest ran screaming from the building.
Later, the people went to the museum to find out what was written on the blade. They all marveled when told. The inscription, when translated into the common tongue, says thusly, ‘It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God.’ For several years, the sword hung above the door inside the café, cautioning all who entered there to be honest with their fellow man.
The young couple was soon married in the church by the priest. Over the next several months, dozens of other poor locals received the same honors, all at no cost from the old priest. Legends grew, with some people believing they had been visited by St. Paul and the Virgin Mary, other’s claiming that St. John and Mary Magdalene or even Gabriel and his consort had blessed them with their presence. And still other people added more theories until everyone was thoroughly confused. Still, for a long time most in the neighborhood tried extra hard to be good people.