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Delphi’s neck was hurting.  Everything about the buildings on the Acropolis made you look up, up to the heights, where the gods look down at you.  They probably built it like that on purpose.  Then she saw the statues holding up the roof of the Erechtheion temple and decided that their necks probably had it worse.

She got as close as she dared, then leant back and went on tip toes, trying to see inside.

There were all sorts of stories about this place.  It was here that the god of the sea, Poseidon, had challenged the goddess Athena for control of the city.  Poseidon had struck the floor of the temple with his trident, making water flow, but then Athena had struck the ground with her spear and made an olive tree grow.  The people had judged Athena’s gift more useful, because they had loads of water anyway and olives hadn’t been invented yet, and so the city had been called Athens in her honour.

Delphi could see the olive tree from where she sat.  Apparently, though she’d have to sneak in to check, there was still a hole in the floor where Poseidon’s trident had struck.  There was even a hole in the roof where Zeus had sent one of his thunderbolts to kill Erechtheus, the man whose name had been given to the temple.

Delphi liked these stories.  It made her feel connected, to her city, to her gods.  She couldn’t quite decide whether she thought they were true or not.  But perhaps it didn’t matter.