"Can I pay you to skip?' I asked the heedless guide.

"Can we pay him to shut up?' muttered Helena. He was now dragging us to a replica of the Trojan Horse, prior to Argive statues of the Seven against Thebes – and then another set of Argive gifts. the seven sons of the Seven against Thebes. We looked at each other in horror. Luckily the seven sons had managed to destroy Thebes, which spared us further generations. Even so, the magnanimous Argives kept going and managed to install ten more statues, these set up to emphasise their kings' links with Hercules. Do not ask me what links; by then I was looking for a chance to wander off. Helena was gripping my hand tight, in case I abandoned her with the guide.

Soon we were in among treasuries. They were neat little roofed buildings, rather like tiny temples; instead of colonnades all round, their porches were generally adorned with only a couple of columns or caryatids – although the spectacular (rather too well draped) caryatids on the Treasury of Siphnos (where the hell is Siphnos?) sparkled with gemstones on their diadems and in their hair. The guide trotted out mentions of winged-victory acrotiria, sphinxes, continuous friezes, and sculptured Herculean metopes. The only way to cope with his bombardment of information was to copy the caryatids and affect a slight archaic smile (while wondering how long it was until lunch.

By the time we reached the Council Chamber, my archaic smile was openly disfigured by bared teeth. Local government upsets me. old men making wrong decisions to protect their own trade interests.

At least we were getting somewhere. the spring once guarded by the rampaging dragon called the Python, which had been slain by the infant Apollo. Apollo's mother Leto had stood on a rock and held him in her arms to shoot. This Leto must have been a liability. Helena and I had once been plagued by a neighbour who allowed her child to loose off toy arrows in the street; however, we hid our disapproval of feckless mothers and nodded wisely as the guide proclaimed Apollo's institution of a peaceable and spiritual regime.

Our guide droned on."Now we are standing before the most famous statue of antiquity – the Sphinx of Naxos, also called the Delphic Sphinx. It stands on an exquisite Ionian capital, in front of the polygonal wall. The column has forty-four flutings and six drums; it rises to a height of approximately forty feet, or forty-one and a half at the wing-tips. The Sphinx, who set very famous riddles, wears a dreamy, quizzical smile -" Helena had a quizzical expression too. She was inspecting its hairstyle."The most famous riddle was. what creature walks on four legs in the morning, two in the afternoon, and three at even tide?'

"Man! Crawls, walks, uses a stick. I had had enough. Informers are notoriously gruff. Sometimes I try to overturn the stereotype; not today. I wished I had a stick myself, to beat the guide."Save it. Look here! I'll give you this -" The coin I offered was three times what he was worth."Now leave us alone, please.'

"You don't like my guiding?' The fellow pretended to be astonished.

Informers, who need to be unobtrusive, are followers of etiquette. When in shrines devoted to tolerance, I avoid getting into a fistfight. I stayed quiet and crisp."We want to commune with the gods in silence. So go back down the hill and kidnap someone else.'

"But you must have a guide!'

Cobnuts to etiquette."And you must have a kick up the backside if you don't go.'

He went.

Other tourists had overheard our rebellion with interest. Subgroups began huddling together; we could see them muttering, then squaring up to take action. Soon arguments broke out all around the ancient cave of the Python. The gods of immemorial earth and the deities of subterranean waters must have gurgled with mirth, as normally timid tourists stood up to their guides and dismissed them. Apollo, the arbiter of moderation, tickled the strings of his lyre and rejoiced.

I had no conscience about causing a rebellion. The bastard guides would be back tomorrow, boring new victims.

Helena and I gazed up at the Sphinx, hand in hand, glad of the chance to enjoy one famous statue undisturbed.

"She reminds me of you, my darling, in some ways. Beautiful, seemingly remote and mysterious – and clever, of course.'

"Older, though!' returned Helena cattily.

The time-honoured Sphinx showed no reaction, but assuming she was a woman of the world, I winked at her.

In our own time now, we moved on along the Sacred Way.

The narrow route wound upwards, its worn stones sometimes dangerous underfoot. Delphi could have used a Roman road-maintenance gang. Freed from our obligation to absorb every detail, we scurried past altars, columns, tripods, porticoes, pedestals, and victories, pausing only to admire the towering statue of Apollo himself beside the spring of Cassotis. At long last we reached the temple. We could hear guides listing the many previous versions of the building ('first woven laurel, then beeswax and bees-wings, then bronze, then porous stone in the Doric style…') They came up with more of these suspect details, but I stopped listening. (I'm all for myth – but you just try knocking up a garden gazebo from bees-wings when you have a free hour or two!) We took a quick circuit around, saw the east facade, with its scene of Apollo arriving in Delphi, and the west, with Dionysus and various maenads.

"Apollo goes to spend winters with the Hyperboreans,' Helena said.

"Hyper whats?'

"Boreans – peoples behind the north wind. Don't ask me why; what do you think I am, Marcus, some damned site guide?'

"I think you'll find,' I smirked,"this myth symbolises the absence of the sun – or of light, as represented by Apollo himself- during winter.'

"Well, thank you, encyclopedist! Anyway, while Apollo is on holiday getting frostbite under his drapery, Dionysus takes over at Delphi. The oracles cease and the sanctuary is given over to feasting.'

"Sounds like fun.'

"Sounds like very bad news for Statianus,' Helena said,"if he is still here in the question queue. Oracles are given on Apollo's birthday, which I think is February or March, and afterwards only on the seventh day of the month. So if they cease in winter, Statianus is about to miss his chance altogether.'

"The October oracle has passed; he's stuck until after Saturnalia. But does he have a chance at all?' I asked."What are the rules about applicants? Who exactly gets to put their questions?'

"Citizens of Delphi first, then people to whom Delphi has awarded rights of precedence.

"Official queue-jumpers? How does anyone get to be one of them?'

"Money, no doubt,' Helena sniffed."And finally, the rest, in order drawn by lot.'

"With as much chance as cuckoo spit!'

We had already poked our noses into the temple interior and been shooed out from the inner cella. We had dutifully stared at the legendary mottoes. KNOW YOURSELF and NOTHING IN EXCESS. We had made the inevitable bitter joke about the Delphi guides not taking any notice of either. Now we found a spot on the steps, shaded by a column, where we sat down to rest, hugging our knees and drinking in the majestic views. I wished we had brought a picnic. To distract me from my hunger pangs, Helena told me what she knew about the rituals of the oracle.

"Prophecy has an ancient history here. There is a fissure in the earth which breathes vapours that make people clairvoyant. The priestess, the Pythia, was in ancient times a young virgin, but nowadays she has to be at least fifty.'

"Disappointment!'

"She's not your type. She has to live in the sanctuary, irreproachably.

"I've met lots of so-called irreproachable girls. I won them over.'

"Really?'

"Well, you should know, Helena!'

Helena was used to ignoring my jests."Applicants – successful ones – are cleansed in the Kastalian Spring, then they pay a fee, which is variable, depending on their question.'