Crescent Dawn (54 page)

S
T. JULIEN PERLMUTTER HAD JUST SETTLED INTO AN OVER size leather armchair when the phone rang. His favorite reading post was custom-built, as it had to be to accommodate his nearly four-hundred-pound frame. He glanced at a nearby grandfather clock, noting it was nearly midnight. Reaching past a tall glass of port parked on a side table, he answered the phone.

“Julien, how are you?” came a familiar voice over the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the savior of Constantinople,” Perlmutter replied in a booming voice. “I’ve read with glee about your exploits in the Golden Horn, Dirk. I hope you weren’t injured in the affair?”

“No, I’m fine,” Pitt replied. “And by the way, they call it Istanbul these days.”

“Bilgewater. It was Constantinople for sixteen hundred years. Ridiculous to change it now.”

Pitt had to laugh at his old friend, who spent most of his waking hours living in the past. “I hope I didn’t catch you in bed?” he asked.

“No, not at all. I was just sitting down with a copy of Captain Cook’s papers from his first voyage to the Pacific.”

“One of these days, we’ll have to go find what’s left of the
Endeavor
,” Pitt said.

“Aye, a noble mission that would be,” Perlmutter replied. “So where are you, Dirk, and why the late call?”

“We just docked at Limassol, Cyprus, and I have a mystery I could use your help with.”

The large bearded man’s eyes twinkled at hearing the words. As one of the world’s foremost marine historians, Perlmutter had a hunger for nautical enigmas that exceeded his appetite for food and drink. Having associated with Pitt for years, he knew that when his friend called he usually had something beguiling.

“Pray tell,” Perlmutter said in his deep bassoon voice.

Pitt proceeded to tell him about the Ottoman wreck and its Roman-era artifacts, then he sprang the story of the Manifest and its list of contents.

“My word, that’s an epic cargo,” Perlmutter said. “A pity that little, if any of it, would survive after two millennia under the sea.”

“Yes, the ossuary might be the best that could be hoped for.”

“You would surely stir a hornet’s nest with that,” Perlmutter said.

“If any of it still exists, it deserves to be found,” Pitt replied.

“Absolutely. Even without the cargo, an intact Roman galley would be a gem to discover. Do you have a starting point to conduct the search?”

“The purpose of my call,” Pitt said. “I’m hoping that you might know of some unidentified ancient wrecks off the southern Cyprus coast. Any data on the historic trade routes around the island would probably be helpful, too.”

Perlmutter thought for a moment. “I have a few resources on the shelf that might be of assistance. Give me a couple of hours, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Julien.”

“Say, Dirk,” Perlmutter added, before hanging up. “Were you aware that Cyprus was known to produce the best wines in the Roman Empire?”

“You don’t say.”

“A glass of Commandaria, I’ve heard, tastes as it did two thousand years ago.”

“I’ll be sure and find you a bottle, Julien.”

“You’re a good man, Dirk. So long.”

Hanging up the phone, Perlmutter took a long sip of his port wine, savoring its deep, sweet flavor. Then propelling his huge frame to his feet, he stepped to a ceiling-high shelf overflowing with nautical books and began humming to himself as he rifled through the titles.

IT WAS LESS THAN two hours later when the satellite phone on the
Aegean Explorer
rang with a return call from Perlmutter.

“Dirk, I’ve found just a morsel so far, but it might be a start,” the historian said.

“Every little bit helps,” Pitt replied.

“It’s a shipwreck, from the fourth century. It was discovered by sport divers back in the nineteen sixties.”

“Roman?”

“I’m not sure. The archaeological report I have is quite dated, but it indicates that some Roman weaponry was among the artifacts recovered. As you know, Cyprus was never deemed of much military importance to the Romans but rather as a trading source for copper and grain. And, of course, wine. So the existence of weapons on this wreck might be of significance.”

“Long shot or not, it sounds worth a look. Where is the wreck located?”

“She was found off of a town called Pissouri, which is near you on the southern coast. The wreck was located about a quarter mile off the public beach there. I found a later reference that the site was partially excavated in the nineties, however, and the artifacts put on display at the Limassol District Archaeological Museum.”

“That’s convenient,” Pitt said. “Does the location hold up to the Roman trading routes?”

“Actually, the merchant ships of the day sailing from Judaea would have typically followed along the Levant coast en route to Constantinople. Same goes for the Roman galleys, which would generally hug the coastline to stay in calmer waters. But our knowledge of maritime practices in those days is limited.”

“It may well be that they never intended to sail to Cyprus,” Pitt replied. “Thanks, Julien, we’ll look into the wreck.”

“I’ll keep nosing about for more. In the meantime, happy hunting.”

As Pitt hung up the phone, his two children stepped onto the bridge with small travel bags slung over their shoulders.

“Jumping ship before we start our survey?” Pitt asked.

“You’ve got a starting point?” Summer asked.

“The good Mr. Perlmutter just helped me lay out a search grid.”

“I talked Dirk into helping me attack the local archives,” she replied. “I thought I’d see if we could find some local references to the Manifest, or perhaps a history of local piracy. You don’t mind if we catch up with you in a day or two?”

“No, that sounds like a good idea. Where’s your first stop?”

Summer gave her father a blank look. “To be honest, we haven’t identified the local resources to visit. You wouldn’t have any suggestions, would you?”

Pitt couldn’t help but grin at the request while he glanced at a page of notes he had written while talking to Perlmutter.

“It just so happens,” he said with a wink, “that I know exactly where you should go.”

S
UMMER AND DIRK FOUND THE LIMASSOL DISTRICT AR chaeological Museum in a modern building east of the city center, not far from the town’s scenic municipal garden. A variety of pottery and artifacts from Cyprus’s rich history, some dating to 2000 B.C., were displayed in simple glass cases throughout the three wings of the building. Summer admired a display of terra-cotta animal figures from the Archaic Age while waiting for the museum’s curator.

“I am Giorgos Danellis. May I help you?” asked a round-faced man with a Greek accent.

Summer introduced herself and her brother. “We are interested in a fourth-century shipwreck that was discovered near Pissouri,” she explained.

“Yes, the Pissouri wreck,” Danellis replied with a nod. “The display is in room three.”

As he escorted them to the other room, he asked, “Are you with the British Museum?”

“No, we work for the National Underwater and Marine Agency,” Dirk replied.

“Oh, sorry,” the curator replied. “There was a fellow in here a few days ago inquiring about the same exhibit. I thought you might be related.”

He stepped to a large glass case that was filled with dozens of artifacts. Summer noted that most were ceramic containers, along with some deteriorated wood fragments with rusty iron fittings.

“What can you tell us about the ship?” she asked.

“She dates to the first half of the fourth century,” he said, pointing to a corroded silver coin on the lower display shelf. “This Roman denarius found on the wreck depicts Emperor Constantine with laurels, which indicates that the vessel was sunk around 330 A.D.”

“Was she a Roman galley?” Dirk asked.

“There was some speculation to that end when she was first discovered, but most experts believe she was a merchant galley. Wood samples show she was built of Lebanese pine, which would tend to support the hypothesis.” He pointed to an artist’s rendition of a high-prowed galley with twin square sails that hung on the wall.

“The archaeologists believe she was a probably a merchant transporting grain or olive oil.”

Dirk pointed to a sea-ravaged sword hilt that was tucked behind a clay pot.

“She had armament aboard?” he asked.

The curator nodded. “Allegedly, there was much more, but I’m afraid that sword remnant is all that we recovered. The archaeologists were forced to conduct a hurried excavation when it was discovered that the wreck site was being systematically plundered by thieves. I’ve heard stories that a great many weapons were removed from the site before the archaeologists arrived.”

“How do you account for all those weapons on a merchant ship?” Summer asked.

The curator looked blank. “I don’t really know. Perhaps it was part of their cargo. Or perhaps a high-ranking official was traveling aboard.”

“Or there’s another possibility,” Dirk said.

Danellis and Summer looked at him curiously.

“It seems to me,” he said, “that this vessel may have been a pirate ship. It reminds me of the account I read in Caesarea of the captured Cypriot pirate vessel that was found with Roman arms aboard.”

“Yes, that could well be the case,” the curator replied. “Some of the crew’s belongings were quite luxurious for the day,” he added, pointing to a glass plate and stylized ceramic cup.

“Mr. Danellis, are there any other known shipwrecks from that era in Cypriot waters?” Summer asked.

“No. There’s a suspected Bronze Age wreck on the north shore, but this would otherwise be the oldest wreck that I’m aware of. What exactly is your interest?”

“We’re researching a Roman galley sailing on behalf of Constantine that may have been lost in Cypriot waters. It would have sailed at about the same time as the Pissouri shipwreck.”

“I know nothing of that,” he replied, shaking his head. “But you might want to make a visit to the monastery of Stavrovouni.”

Summer gave him a skeptical look. “Why a monastery?”

“Well, aside from its beautiful location,” Danellis replied, “the monastery played host to Constantine’s mother, Helena, when she journeyed back from the Holy Land with the True Cross.”

T
HE
AEGEAN EXPLORER
CREPT CLOSE TO THE SHORELINE, then abruptly wheeled about and headed out to sea at its same plodding pace. A thin insulated cable stretched taut off its stern, disappearing below the surface. Fifty meters beyond, the cable tugged at a small, cigar-shaped towfish that glided through the water a few feet above the seafloor. A pair of transducers on the towfish sent sound waves bouncing off the bottom, then recorded their timed rate of return. Processors on board the ship converted the sonar signals to a visual image, providing a simulated picture of the floor’s contours.

Seated on the ship’s bridge, Pitt studied a video monitor of the sonar images, watching an undulating, rock-strewn bottom scroll by. Standing nearby, Giordino took a break from staring over Pitt’s shoulders and gazed over at the beachfront with a pair of binoculars.

“Enjoying the scenery?” Gunn asked.

“Could be better,” Giordino replied. “Although it is enhanced by a pair of lovely young ladies seeking refuge from the sun in a sea cave.”

The beach off Pissouri was a narrow strip of sand backed by high cliffs, atop which sat its namesake village. Though popular with the British servicemen stationed at the nearby base of Akrotiri, the beach was still one of the quieter ones along the southern coast.

“It looks like we’ll soon be running out of beachfront real estate,” Giordino noted as the ship slowly worked its way east while conducting the grid survey.

“Then that can only mean that we’re getting close to the wreck,” Pitt replied optimistically.

As if responding to his prophecy, the Pissouri wreck appeared on the screen a few minutes later. Giordino and Gunn crowded around as the image unfolded on the monitor. Far from appearing like an actual ship, the site was little more than an elongated mound, with small sections of the keel and frame exposed by the shifting sands. That even that much remained of the seventeen-hundred-year-old ship was a miracle in itself.

“It certainly presents the image of an old wreck,” Gunn said.

“It’s the only wreck we’ve found off Pissouri, so it must be Perlmutter’s fourth-century ship,” Giordino said. “I’m surprised it wasn’t closer to shore, though,” he added, noting that they were nearly a half mile from the beach.

“You have to remember that the Mediterranean was a bit shallower two thousand years ago,” Gunn said.

“That would explain its position,” he replied. “Are we going to dive it up?” he asked, turning to Pitt.

Pitt shook his head. “No need to. First, it’s already been picked clean. And second, it’s not our wreck.”