Napoleon Solo started but his partner just pointed at a gap in the shrubs.
“We can make it, Napoleon. Come on...” He went backwards slowly. He didn't take his eyes off him, holding out an inviting hand and whispered again “Come on...”
It was a matter of confidence. For years Napoleon had put his trust in this man. He followed him.
“What...” He stopped next to his friend, dumbfounded, in a circular area lined with columns. A statue stood in the ruined temple, among broken pillars.
“It's a Tholos... And this must be ... Hermes.”
“Hermes... The messenger of the gods...”
His erudite friend looked like to be back to his old self, more or less. No, Napoleon chastised himself. No, he wasn't. A few minutes ago they were in a picture of Monet and Illya wasn't surprised. But the Russian was already scrambling through the broken pillars towards the statue.
“Yes, it's Hermes. Napoleon?” He had turned to his friend, motioning him to come. “Hermes is a versatile god, my friend.” The blue eyes stared at him. “He's also the god of ...”He hesitated, then he smiled almost shyly, “... friendship. And... of good luck.”