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Chapters 
13
tire of yet another row of Corinthian columns standing against a cloudless sky; though he did this in a way which allowed the 
passengers to disbelieve him. 
The tail end of the Northern winter had been left behind; and at a stately pace the Santa Euphemia took its contented 
passengers into a calm Mediterranean spring. Tweed jackets gave way 
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to linen ones, trouser-suits to slightly outdated sun-dresses. They passed through the Corinth Canal at night, with some of the 
passengers jammed against a porthole in their nightclothes, and the hardier ones on deck, occasionally letting off ineffectual 
bursts of flash from their cameras. From the Ionian to the Aegean: it was a little fresher and choppier in the Cyclades, but 
nobody minded. They went ashore at chichi Mykonos, where an elderly headmaster twisted his ankle while climbing among 
the ruins; at marbled Paros and volcanic Thira. The cruise was ten days old when they stopped at Rhodes. While the passengers 
were ashore the Santa Euphemia took on fuel, vegetables, meat and more wine. It also took on some visitors, although this did 
not become apparent until the following morning. 
They were steaming towards Crete, and at eleven o'clock Franklin began his usual lecture on Knossos and Minoan 
Civilization. He had to be a little careful, because his audience tended to know about Knossos, and some of them would have 
their personal theories. Franklin liked people asking questions; he didn't mind pieces of obscure and even correct information 
being added to what he had already imparted - he would offer thanks with a courtly bow and a murmur of `Herr Professor', 
implying that as long as some of us have an overall grasp of things, it was fine for others to fill their heads with recondite 
detail; but what Franklin Hughes couldn't stand were bores with pet ideas they couldn't wait to try out on the guest lecturer. 
Excuse me, Mr Hughes, it looks very Egyptian to me - how do we know the Egyptians didn't build it? Aren't you assuming that 
Homer wrote when people think he (a little laugh) - or she - did? I don't have any actual expert knowledge, yet surely it would 
make more sense if ... There was always at least one of them, playing the puzzled yet reasonable amateur; unfooled by received 
opinion, he - or she - knew that historians were full of bluff, and that complicated matters were best understood using zestful 
intuition untainted by any actual knowledge or research. 'I appreciate what you're saying, Mr Hughes, but surely it would be 
more logical ...' What Franklin occasionally wanted to say, though never did, was that 
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these brisk guesses about earlier civilizations seemed to him to have their foundation as often as not in Hollywood epics 
starring Kirk Douglas or Burt Lancaster. He imagined himself hearing out one of these jokers and replying, with a skirl of 
irony on the adverb, `Of course, you realize that the film of Ben Hur isn't entirely reliable?' But not this trip. In fact, not until 
he knew it was going to be his last trip. Then he could let go a little. He could be franker with his audience, less careful with 
the booze, more receptive to the flirting glance. 
The visitors were late for Franklin Hughes's lecture on Knossos, and he had already done the bit in which he pretended to 
be Sir Arthur Evans when they opened the double doors and fired a single shot into the ceiling. Franklin, still headily involved 
in his own performance, murmured, `Can I have a translation of that?' but it was an old joke, and not enough to recapture the 
passengers' attention. They had already forgotten Knossos and were watching the tall man with a moustache and glasses who 
was coming to take Franklin's place at the lectern. Under normal circumstances, Franklin might have yielded him the 
microphone after a courteous inquiry about his credentials. But given that the man was carrying a large machine-gun and wore 
one of those red check head-dresses which used to be shorthand for lovable desert warriors loyal to Lawrence of Arabia but in 
recent years had become shorthand for baying terrorists eager to massacre the innocent, Franklin simply made a vague `Over to 
you' gesture with his hands and sat down on his chair. 
Franklin's audience - as he still thought of them in a brief proprietorial flurry - fell silent. Everyone was avoiding an 
incautious movement; each breath was discreetly taken. There were three visitors, and the other two were guarding the double 
doors into the lecture room. The tall one with the glasses had an almost scholarly air as he tapped the microphone in the 
manner of lecturers everywhere; partly to see if it was working, partly to attract attention. The second half of this gesture was 
not strictly necessary. 
`I apologize for the inconvenience,' he began, setting off a 
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nervous laugh or two. `But I am afraid it is necessary to interrupt your holiday for a while. I hope it will not be a long 
interruption. You will all stay here, sitting exactly where you are, until we tell you what to do.' 
A voice, male, angry and American, asked from the middle of the auditorium, `Who are you and what the hell do you 
want?' The Arab swayed back to the microphone he had just left, and with the contemptuous suavity of a diplomat, replied, `I 
am sorry, I am not taking questions at this juncture.' Then, just to make sure he was not mistaken for a diplomat, he went on. 
`We are not people who believe in unnecessary violence. However, when I fired the shot into the ceiling to attract your 
attention, I had set this little catch here so that the gun only fires one shot at a time. If I change the catch' - he did so while 
holding the weapon half-aloft like an arms instructor with an exceptionally ignorant class -'the gun will continue to fire until 
the magazine is empty. I hope that is clear.' 
The Arab left the hall. People held hands; there were occasional sniffs and sobs, but mostly silence. Franklin glanced across 
to the far left of the auditorium at Tricia. His assistants were allowed to come to his lectures, though not to sit in direct line of 
sight - `Mustn't start me thinking about the wrong thing.' She didn't appear frightened, more apprehensive about what the form 
was. Franklin wanted to say, `Look, this hasn't happened to me before, it isn't normal, I don't know what to do,' but settled 
instead for an indeterminate nod. After ten minutes of stiff-necked silence, an American woman in her mid-fifties stood up. 
Immediately one of the two visitors guarding the door shouted at her. She took no notice, just as she ignored the whispers and 

---

J
ULIAN 
B
ARNES
: A History of the World in 10 ½