The Griffon Gates

The little jeep rolled through the hilly Greek countryside. The footpaths it demolished were better suited to human and animal traffic than to motorized vehicles. Nonetheless, the machine pushed its way over the rocky terrain, smashing native thistle and grasses.

Despite the interploping vehicle, it remained an idyllic sight. Birds flew overhead. Flowers bloomed in fields. On a nearby hill, an old shepherd tended to a flock.

As Grant admired this view, he spouted to the driver, “Once again, thank you for allowing me to join you, Professor.”

“Well, the more bodies the better, on an expedition like this one.” Professor Gray responded, “My funding should only last until the end of the summer, so we better get some results before then.”

“I’ll just be happy to have something to write about for my dissertation,” Grant admitted.

The jeep pulled up to a once idyllic hillside that now mimicked the cratered scenery of the moon. Jeeps clustered at the hill's base like herd animals. Pairs of men continued the excavation of the hill while others pitched white tents. The professor pulled the jeep along with its brethren and dismounted. As Grant followed suit, he pulled their luggage off the vehicle.

“What are you men doing?” the professor shouted

Grant flinched at Professor Gray’s tone.

“Don’t worry about setting up the tents until dusk. While there’s light out, keep digging.”

The men in the camp had slowly turned to each other. One by one, they picked up a shovel and walked up the hillside. As one walked by, Grant asked him if there were any tents open. The man was kind enough to point out an empty one that had a whole three sides propped up.

Grant entered the tent and began setting his cot and gear up on one side. After a few moments, Professor Gray entered the tent behind him.

“Professor, this is so exciting. I can’t believe I’ve traveled all the way out here and I get to search for the legendary city of Dycenaean.” Grant awed.

“That’s right, Grant.” Professor Gray inserted, “By the beginning of the next academic year, I will be able to present myself as the man who brought the mysterious city of Dycenaean to light. I will have excavated the legendary griffon's gate and mapped out the origin of a myth. Few archaeologists will be my equal!”

Grant couldn’t help smile. Professor Gray then strode up to Grant and sat down on the cot he had just prepared.

“Professor Gray,” Grant asked, “Are any of the workmen here locals. I would love to hear any of their interpretations of the local history.”

Professor Gray smiled smugly. “Every worker here is a student in academia like you or a recent graduate. I didn’t bother asking any locals for help; I doubt they could identify a ruin if they walked up to the Pyramid of Giza.”

“I see,” Grant replied

Grant pulled a few more bits and bobs out of his pack.

“Grant, I think you’ve unpacked enough; why don’t you go help the rest of the men with their work?” Professor Gray insisted.

“Actually, I’m pretty hungry from the journey,” Grant responded, “I think I’ll get something to eat first.”

Professor Gray patted Grant on his shoulder. “Don't worry about lunch. It will be ready soon. Just get to work now, and when it's ready you can eat”

Grant's eyebrows decided they needed to be higher on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he nodded his head, picked up a shovel, and headed up the hill.

That day, Grant dug a large hole only to find nothing. The following days, weeks, and months all resulted in the same. June somehow turned into August.

Grant huddled in the shade of his newly completed hole. He admired the paw print-like calluses that decorated his fingers. The most labor-intensive thing he had done before this was school athletics, so this new appearance slightly mystified him.

“Can’t wait to write a paper about digging holes,” Grant sighed.

“Hopefully you get to publish it,” shrugged his companion sitting across from him on the cool dirt.

“What do you mean?” Grant questioned.

“I heard a rumor recently,” the young man whispered. “Supposedly, the professor kills papers about projects he’s worked on. I heard from another one of the chaps here that the professor got another student expelled when they returned home. Just so that the professor's published journals would come out first.”

“What!” Grant blurted.

“Of course I didn’t believe it until well…”

Grant ran his hands through his hair. A deep sigh left his body as he did so. He opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly a whistle’s blast originating at the foot of the hill echoed through the air.

Grant then stood up and poked his head out of his hole like a rabbit poking out of its burrow. He saw other young men emerging from their own earthworks and walking toward a village of pitched tents. Following suit, Grant pulled himself out and joined the migration. His companion was hot on his tail.

Habitually, all those men headed to a large tent shading tables and a pop-up kitchen. They lined up for food, and the quickest were served first.

“Any luck out there, men?” the professor called out as they filed in.

The professor now regularly wore clothes suggesting he would take part in an African safari at a moment's notice. Yet his clothes remained spotless. He sat in a folding chair at the edge of the tent, giving him the best view of the newest human-sized prairie dog town.

The professor was answered with silence.

“Yeah, I thought so,” he grumbled to no one in particular. “If we don’t turn up anything tomorrow, we’ll move on to the next site.

After a quick time in the line, Grant received his food. The potatoes and peas looked the same as the day before, but his poultry looked paltry.

“Why is my portion of chicken so small? Grant asked the cook.

The cook managed to sigh and click his tongue in annoyance at the same time.

“We’re running out of food. I’ll have to go fetch some more tomorrow.” He explained

Grant ate a few bites, but instead of inhaling his meal as he had the days before, he simple sturred around on his plate. Grant took one more large bite, got up, and headed toward the professor.

The man was sulking in his spot, hardly touching his own decadent meal.

“Professor, I’ve had an idea,” Grant began.

“Oh. What is it?” The professor growled.

“The cook is low on supplies. I was hoping that I could go with him to fetch some more. While I’m away, I thought that maybe I could ask the locals and see if they know anything about the Griffon's Gate.’

The professor pushed a quizzical finger to his lips.

After a moment, he replied, “Feel free to go, but don’t waste time talking to the locals. They’re mere shepherds. I doubt they can even read. I don't see how they could be any help to us.”

To Grant's own surprise, his muscles unquenched at the professor's words. A tightness in his chest evaporated, and his stature became a little shorter.

“Thank you, sir,” he beamed.

“Just be back soon,” the professor waved him off.

The following morning, Grant and the chef set off in a larger truck. Silhouetted against the morning light, Grant spied the rest of the men preparing for a day of work.

The pair drove through the countryside in silence. An occasional yawn was the only break in peace. Grant watched the hills roll by as they drove. At first, his sight was plagued by the evidence of archaeological activity. Holes and mounds dotted the landscape. Much to his relief, the geographic scarring soon gave way to the views he first witnessed upon arriving. Rocky vibrant landscape and flocks of sheep.

They pulled into a two-horse town whose name Grant could not pronounce. The cook negotiated supplies from the local merchants but decided to procure some meat from the shepherds. To Grant's surprise, the shepherd's English was not bad.

“Eh,” a shepherd waved dismissively as the cook haggled, “I’ll give you that price; just promise me you group leave soon”

“I’ll see what I can do,” the cook responded solemnly.

As the cook paid the shepherd, Grant asked him, “Are we really that much of a bother?”

The shepherd nodded. “You ruin the landscape, and I pull sheep out of holes all summer. I p- I bet I will next summer and one after.”

Grant scratched his unshaven chin. “I’m sorry to hear that, but we will only be here until the end of summer. At this rate I doubt we will ever find the griffon's gate.”

One of the shepherd's thick eyebrows rose like a puppet on a string.

“What is it?” He asked

“The most notable feature of the ruins we are looking for is a pair of griffons carved into the top of a gate,” Grant explained.

“Griffons like aaaah lion and aah birds?” the shepherd asserted.

“Yes, hawks.” Grant insisted

“I remember another shepherd mentioned something like that“ the shepherd decided.

Grant froze.

“Will you leave sooner if you find?” the shepherd continued.

“W-well, I’m not sure, but at least all our work will be around the place we find the griffons and not the rest of the countryside.” Grant offered

The shepherd smiled a toothy smile, “Come with me, my friend. We find.”

Grant begged the cook to wait for him. The cook agreed but only for so long. He needed to get back to prepare dinner. At the same time, the shepherd spoke with his fellows. Grant assumed that he was either asking for help with his flock or directions.

“Come, come,” the shepherd waved when he was ready

Grant, toting his equipment with him, followed the shepherd into the countryside. To Grant's annoyance, the Shepard headed away from the work sites and planned future dig sites.

They quickly encountered another flock and pair of overseeing shepherds. Grant's guild and the new shepherds spoke for a few moments. Grant was only able to pick out a few words here and there.

“Okay”, the shepherd explained. “They said that another Shepherd might know. He might even be in the field where it's at.”

Grant smiled, “Lead the way then.”

The two marched through the great countryside. To Grant's satisfaction, they were closing in on the first site that the archaeological crew had dug at. however there were still not that close.

The next flock they encountered was stewarded by a Shepherd who Grant Swore must have been at least a hundred. The man's skin had the texture of a rumpled sheet, and his hair was nothing more than white tufts on the top of his head. Grant wondered how anyone that old could protect the flock. He did not rise from his rock as the pair approached. Instead offered a near inaudible greeting.

Grant's Shepherd replied with his own greeting. He then began conversing with the old man, but the interaction seemed one-sided. That old man offered few words, allowing his journey to carry the weight of the conversation. It was as if he was conserving energy even in speech.

Eventually, the old man held up one bony hand and extended a finger pointing away from the flock. Both Grant and the Shepherd that was leading him looked in the direction of the finger, following it over the landscape.

“He said he saw some hawkheads like you were looking for over the hill,” the shepherd explained.

Once more the pair set out hoping to unearth an old mystery. To Grant's dismay, the hill was littered with stones of various sizes and shapes. Grant's sighed at the sight. They decided to methodically scour the hill, staring at the top and moving down in a grid, checking every stone.

First quarter done. Grant was beginning to get antsy. One-half searched. Grant felt his hope fading. Two-thirds combed over. Grant had nearly given up. Three-fourths surveyed. Grant felt a pit in his stomach.

“Sir Grant!” the shepherd yelled despite only being a few paces away. “Look at this”

Surging with energy, Grant nearly sprinted toward the shepherd's position. A rock poked out of the ground, half buried. The stone was large, and its side was smooth. It looked quite normal except for what may have been a carving of a feather on the side.

“Well, let's give it a shot Grant suggested.

He unstrapped the shovel from his bag and began digging. After a few swings, he began revealing a crest. He began moving with more purpose. A head was revealed, then a claw and a wing. It appeared the stone was like an iceberg, revealing much more underneath than what seemed on the surface. When he grew tired, the shepherd gave a turn, sharing in Grant's infectious enthusiasm.

Sunlight soon revealed the griffon had a brother carved on the same stone.

“Sir Grant,” the shepherd said after another shovelful look.

The shepherd had unearthed a bit of wood revealing the top of the gate.

“Keep digging, good man,” Grant cried out excitedly.

The shovel moved dirt, casting light on the old gate. As Sunlight found its mark after thousands of years, an unwelcome assailant also made itself known. The air proved more fiendish than the sunlight and attacked the gate. gate began then to break down.

“Wait!” Grant shouted.

He pulled out a paper and pencil, then insisted that the shepherd continued. As the gate was unearthed and destroyed, Grant sketched details as best he could. By the end of the day they sat panting in a massive hole.

“What now, my friend?” the shepherd asked.

“Is there any place on the landscape you would be fine with more holes?” Grant asked

The shepherd scratched his beard. “I suppose, why?”

“Because now…” Grant insisted, “We have a secret to keep, and I have a paper to write.”