Temple of Aphaia

Listen first. On a warm day, the pine trees around you fill with the dry, steady buzz of cicadas. The air smells of resin, heated by the sun. Under your feet the ground is pale and dusty, scattered with brown needles and small stones. Then, between the trunks, you see them. Columns of golden-grey stone stand against the blue sky. This is the Temple of Aphaia, on a hilltop in the northeast of the island of Aegina.

Take a moment to notice where you are standing. The hill rises above the bay of Agia Marina, and the waters of the Saronic Gulf spread out below. This is the sheltered sea between Athens and the Peloponnese. The builders chose this spot with care. A temple here could be seen from passing ships, pale against the dark green of the pines. For sailors, it worked as a landmark. For the people of Aegina, it was a sign of their presence on this sea.

So who was Aphaia? She was not one of the familiar Olympian gods. She was a local goddess, worshipped mainly here on Aegina. Ancient writers connected her with a figure called Britomartis. According to the legend, Britomartis was a young woman from Crete who fled from King Minos. She leapt into the sea to escape him and was caught in fishermen's nets. She came ashore on Aegina and then disappeared. Her name here, Aphaia, is often linked to a Greek word meaning the one who vanished.

Here is something many visitors do not know. For a long time, nobody was sure who this temple belonged to. Early travellers thought it honoured Zeus, or perhaps Athena. The answer came only in the early twentieth century. A German team led by the archaeologist Adolf Furtwängler dug at the site. They found an inscription that named Aphaia. A small goddess, almost forgotten outside this island, had kept her temple all along.

The temple you see was built around 500 BCE, near the end of what historians call the Archaic period. That is the era just before the classical age of Athens. It is in the Doric style, the plainest of the Greek building styles. Doric columns have no base. They rise straight from the floor and end in a simple, cushion-shaped top. At that time Aegina was a strong sea power and a serious rival to Athens. This temple is older than the Parthenon by roughly half a century.

Walk closer and look at the stone itself. It is local limestone, rough and full of tiny holes. In the sun it turns the colour of honey. Today it looks natural and bare, but that is not how the builders left it. The columns were once covered in a thin coat of fine plaster called stucco. This gave them a smooth, bright surface. Marble, brought from elsewhere, was used for the sculptures and for some parts of the roof.

Now count the columns. Along the front there were six. Along each side, there were twelve. Many still stand, and some have been put back in place. Look inside, toward the heart of the building. There you can see something rare. Smaller columns stand on top of a lower row, forming two levels. This inner colonnade once helped hold up the roof. Very few Greek temples keep any trace of this two-storey arrangement, so take a careful look.

High up, under the roof at each end, there were two triangular spaces called pediments. Both were filled with marble figures. The scenes showed battles from the Trojan War, with the goddess Athena standing in the centre. The choice was not random. In Greek myth, Aeacus was an early king of Aegina. His grandsons included two great heroes of Troy, Achilles and Ajax. By showing these wars, the island was telling a story about its own famous family line.

The two pediments hold a second surprise. They were not carved in the same way. Scholars believe the east pediment was made a little later, and its style is different. Compare the dying warriors from each end. On the west, the fallen fighter still smiles calmly, in the stiff Archaic manner. On the east, the warrior's body sags with real weight and pain. Between the two, you can see Greek sculpture changing, step by step, toward the more lifelike classical style.

You will not find those figures here today. In 1811, a group of European travellers dug at the site, including the British architect Charles Robert Cockerell. They uncovered the fallen marbles. The sculptures were sold to Crown Prince Ludwig of Bavaria. The Danish sculptor Bertel Thorvaldsen then restored them, adding many new pieces. Later restorers removed much of his work. Today the figures are displayed in the Glyptothek museum in Munich. The small museum on this site helps fill in the picture.

One more detail changes how we imagine this place. The marble figures were not white. Researchers have found faint traces of paint on them. One archer wore tight trousers covered in a bold, bright pattern, in the style of Eastern warriors. Modern researchers have made painted copies to show how the colours may have looked. So picture this temple with smooth pale walls, painted sculptures, and coloured details catching the light from the sea.

You may hear a popular modern claim while you are here. Some people say this temple, the Parthenon in Athens, and the Temple of Poseidon at Sounion form a perfect triangle on the map. It is a nice idea, but it is a modern theory, not something the ancient builders recorded. What is certain is the view. On a clear day, look out across the water toward the mainland coast. The gulf stretches away in layers of blue.

As you walk the site, look east of the temple front. This is where the main altar stood. Sacrifices and offerings took place outside, in the open air, not inside the building. There are also traces of older buildings on this hill. People worshipped here before this temple went up. The ground is uneven, so move slowly. The pace suits the place. Stop often, and let your eyes follow the lines of the columns.

Before you leave, stand still once more. Feel the warm stone, the dry ground, the breeze moving through the pines. The cicadas are probably still buzzing. These same columns have stood above this bay for about 2,500 years. A goddess who vanished into the sea gave them her name. As you walk back down the path, turn around one last time. Watch the columns disappear, slowly, behind the trees.