Rhamnous

Listen first. Wind moves through the pine and the dry thyme, and somewhere below you the sea breaks against a rocky shore. The ground underfoot is pale, stony and uneven, scattered with chips of white marble. This is Rhamnous, on the far northeastern edge of Attica, a short drive from Marathon. Few people make it this far. That quiet is part of the place.

In ancient times, Rhamnous was a deme, a local community within the Athenian state, a little like a parish or a district. It had farms, families, tombs and temples. It also had a job. It sat on the narrow channel between mainland Attica and the long island of Euboea, which you can see across the water. Ships carrying grain to Athens passed close by. Whoever watched this coast helped keep the city fed.

The place takes its name, according to the usual explanation, from a thorny shrub called rhamnos, which grows on these slopes. Take a moment to look at the scrub around you. The landscape has changed less than you might expect. The same stony soil, the same low bushes, the same strong light that the people of the fifth century before Christ knew.

The heart of Rhamnous is the sanctuary of Nemesis. Today the word nemesis means an enemy who cannot be beaten. For the ancient Greeks, Nemesis was a goddess of retribution. She punished hubris, the arrogance of people who forgot their limits and thought themselves equal to the gods. Her sanctuary here was the most important in the Greek world.

Now comes the story that every visitor to Rhamnous hears. It is a legend, told by the Greek traveller Pausanias many centuries after the events. In 490 BC, the Persians landed at Marathon, so the tale goes, so confident of victory that they brought a block of marble to carve a trophy. The Athenians defeated them. And that same marble, the story says, was carved into a statue of Nemesis. Arrogance, punished by the very goddess of punishment.

It is a satisfying tale, and it explains why the sanctuary felt so meaningful to Athenians after Marathon. But scholars treat it with caution. What is more certain is the statue itself. Ancient writers credit it to Agorakritos, a pupil of Pheidias, the great sculptor of the Parthenon. Some ancient sources even attributed it to Pheidias himself. The statue was smashed long ago, but fragments survive, and some are held in museums in Athens and London.

Look at the larger of the two temple platforms. This was the Doric temple of Nemesis, built in the second half of the fifth century before Christ. Doric is the plainest of the classical styles, with sturdy columns and simple, cushion-like tops. Many scholars believe the same unnamed architect designed this temple, the temple of Poseidon at Sounion, and the temple of Hephaistos in the Athenian Agora. Three buildings, one hand.

Here is a detail most visitors miss. The temple appears never to have been fully finished. Some surfaces were left rough, waiting for a final stage of carving that never came. Perhaps money ran short during the long war between Athens and Sparta. Whatever the reason, you are looking at a building paused partway through its making. Search for blocks that look less polished than their neighbours.

Right beside it stands a smaller, older temple, usually linked to Themis, the goddess of divine order and right conduct. Notice its walls. They are built from irregular, many-sided stones fitted tightly together, a technique called polygonal masonry. No mortar holds them. Each stone was shaped to lock into the next. Two goddesses, side by side. One for order, one for the punishment of those who break it.

From the sanctuary, an ancient road runs down toward the sea. Along it, wealthy families of Rhamnous built grave enclosures, walled plots facing the road so passers-by would see them. Some held carved marble markers and inscriptions naming the dead. Walking this road, an ancient traveller passed the memory of the community before reaching its fortress. The tombs were meant to be seen, and to be remembered.

At the end of the road, on a rocky hill above a small bay, sits the fortress. Its walls are built from large, carefully cut blocks, and parts still stand to a good height. Inside were houses, public buildings and a garrison. In the fourth century before Christ, young Athenian men in military training, called ephebes, served here. For many of them, this lonely coast was their first taste of soldiering.

The second surprise of Rhamnous is how much of its life is written in stone. Inscriptions found here record honours for commanders, lists of soldiers, and decisions of the local community. Much of what we know comes from decades of patient excavation by Greek archaeologists. Thanks to them, Rhamnous is more than a ruin. It is one of the best-documented small communities of ancient Attica.

Access to the different parts of the site can vary, and some areas may be closed for ongoing work. Wherever you can walk, take your time. Look across the water to Euboea. Imagine the grain ships moving slowly up the channel, and a young sentry on the walls watching them pass. The view he saw is very close to the view in front of you now.

Before you leave, stand still once more beside the temple platforms. Feel the wind. Listen to the pines. A goddess of balance was honoured here, at the edge of the land, above the sea. As you walk back along the path, notice the marble chips at your feet. Each one is a small piece of a building that people raised to remind themselves not to reach too far.