The Emperor Awakes (5 page)

‘Yes?’ answered an unmistakably angry and drowsy James.

Giorgos was taken aback and almost hung up. He knew James could be abrupt on a good day, but he sounded exceptionally so. Obviously he had just woken him up. This was surprising as he should have been up and running by now and at his desk at the Museum; unless he had caught him in a stranger’s bed or even in his own after a wild night out which would be typical of James’ adventurous side.

‘It’s Giorgos.’

Judging by the fact that they had not spoken in months, James knew it was serious. He shook the last remnants of his sleep and sat up in bed. He knew about Giorgos’ involvement in the Cappadocia expedition.

‘What have you found?’

‘I don’t want to say anything yet, but it could be significant. I need a favour. I need the latest dating equipment.’

That was code for a makeshift laboratory to provide sterile conditions.

‘I’ll see what I can do. There’s a plane leaving New York tomorrow carrying stuff for a special exhibition at the Istanbul Museum of Modern Art. I’ll arrange to load on board a package with all the gear you’ll need. You should have it by the end of the week. In the meantime I will call our man at the Topkapi in Istanbul and ask him to help you in any way he can.’

‘Thanks, Jamie, I owe you one.’

You bet. You are coming bungee jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge next time you’re in the Big Apple.’

Giorgos knew he could not get out of this one. The favour he just asked was a big one. ‘It’s a date.’

Giorgos hung up and went to join the others.

He was disheartened to see that nobody had noticed his absence. He thought he could smell the excitement hanging in the thin air around them.

* * *

James came through for Giorgos. Giorgos was in no doubt he would. The equipment arrived at the site in Cappadocia earlier than expected. He knew he could always rely on James. The two of them went way back. James was one of those rare guys who had the integrity, street-smart and contacts that allowed him to exercise influence disproportionate to his position, in pulling together huge resources in the pursue of a project.

The makeshift laboratory was quickly set up and the team started the painstaking job of shifting through the chamber for further clues whilst waiting for some extra specialist equipment.

However, the opening of the sarcophagus was not to be. The funding was suddenly and inexplicably pulled and the chamber and the neighbouring cave were sealed.

Giorgos and his team, crashed, returned to Athens.

The archaeological expedition became but a faded memory.

* * *

It was a few months later that Iraklios learned about the expedition and its abrupt end. He regretted not knowing about it earlier, because he would have liked to step in with the necessary funding. He knew what was inside that sarcophagus and he knew it was preordained that it would come to light by a young obsessive archaeologist. The information had been handed down the generations from Eleni, the head of their clan during the fall of Constantinople, to reside with him for now.

He wondered whether this Giorgos could be the archaeologist who was destined to uncover the lost tomb. He certainly had the guts to risk professional suicide by going against the widely held opinion of the archaeological community. And yet, being the last guardian of the location of the last Byzantine Emperor’s tomb, Iraklios was surprised that the opening of the sealed chamber did not cause the death of those present at the scene.

He knew about the fearsome power protecting the tomb and the terrible events that took place there in 1453 A.D. Had he been allowed to have got involved with the expedition before it was shut down he would not have allowed the opening of the tomb to proceed unless measures had been taken to protect the archaeological team from near certain death that would befall anyone who attempted to open it. Iraklios would not have revealed the secret of the tomb and its fearsome power, but he would, nevertheless, have protected those involved.

He was prepared to risk any lives even if he may have had to reveal part of that carefully kept secret. Iraklios suspected that the lack of an explosion or death only meant one thing; that the last Emperor’s body was not there anymore. This begged a number of questions; where it was, who moved it, when and why.

CHAPTER 5

Monastery of Pantokrator
Mount Athos, Northern Greece
Present day

Mount Athos appeared suspended from the black sky. It was almost sunrise, but the ominous clouds pushing down on the Holy Mountain kept at bay any threat of sunlight getting through. The gloominess brought out the Mountain in all its brooding and divine glory.

Women were not allowed to step within the boundaries of the semi-autonomous territory of the Holy Mountain, but Elli was an exception. The privilege or special dispensation was granted a long time ago and had been repeatedly renewed by the governing body of the Holy Mountain and had never been withdrawn.

Elli had, after a gruelling journey, just arrived at the Monastery of Pantokrator. The monastery’s library was not one of the biggest of the monasteries on the Athos Peninsula, but it was one of the most valuable, containing three thousand rare ancient manuscripts. It was very fortunately spared intact when a terrible fire engulfed the monastery one hundred and fifty-four years ago.

Elli was here to see Aggelos, the curator of the monastery’s library and treasures. She wanted to talk to him about her search for the Likureian icons. The monasteries of the Holy Mountain had been the depository of treasures, manuscripts and relics since the fall of Constantinople and their priceless collections were vast.

If there was anyone who could help her, that was Aggelos. His prodigious study had given him unparalleled knowledge. Elli had great hopes that somewhere amongst those ancient manuscripts lay the information she sought. A young monk she had met before called Sotirios came to meet her.

‘Mrs Elli, welcome. It is good to see you again.’

‘It is good to be here again, Sotirios. I believe Aggelos is expecting me. Could you please take me to him?’

‘I’m afraid Aggelos is outside the monastery in voluntary isolation.’ Elli tried to hide her annoyance, but Sotirios caught the slight frown. ‘But he will be returning to the monastery tomorrow. Until then please allow us to offer you food and bed for the night in our humble lodgings.’

‘You are very kind. Thank you.’

‘You must be very tired after your long journey. Please allow me to show you to your room.’

Sotirios led Elli through dimly lit corridors to a spacious room reserved for guests of the monastery. The view of the sea and the islands in the distance was breathtaking. The room was sparsely furnished, but comfortable. Strangely, the silence was deafening for someone used to the barrage of sounds of daily life.

Elli forgot what it was like to be in an environment of almost absolute silence and it was a welcome respite from her hectic schedule. Sotirios paused at the door on his way out.

‘Please let us know if you need anything. I assume you would prefer to dine here.’ Elli nodded. ‘I will arrange for food to be brought to you.’

‘Thank you, Sotirios.’

Sotirios closed the door gently behind him and Elli was alone and feeling relaxed but more claustrophobic than ever. She could not wait to meet with Aggelos and get off this anachronistic rock however charming and peaceful it might be.

She looked out of the tiny window at the sea and the distant land beyond and could not avoid being dragged into reflections on God and religion, the foundation and life-long sole mission of this revered place, and what God and religion meant to her, if anything at all.

Elli had never cared much for the worship of God. She was a pragmatist, but understood that pragmatism and religion were not necessarily irreconcilable. The key was knowledge. She had devoted, though, a part of her life in studying and understanding Orthodox Christianity and the peculiarities and idiosyncrasies of monastic life on Mount Athos, other branches of Christianity and many others of the world’s religions. Because of its relative isolation, the Holy Mountain was a special place.

* * *

Within twelve hours she was on her way back home to Cyprus armed with a piece of the puzzle. She knew she had to find the Likureian icons, but where to start? She wondered about her family’s archives and whether they contained something useful, a clue perhaps. The archives were extensive, but they had been combed through in minute detail over the years and she doubted whether they could yield anything further. Unless there was something hidden.

There were gaps in the story, especially pertaining to the journey of her ancestor Michael to Constantinople in 1453 A.D. and the reason behind it. And, of course, the events preceding her family’s escape from a burning Smyrna in 1922 A.D., away from the Turkish troops, and their finding of refuge in Cyprus.

She knew there were secret compartments and passageways in her house, the product of two not unjustifiably paranoid ancestors who had barely got their family out of Smyrna alive. Antonios Symitzis and his sister Zoe planned for every eventuality they could think of and organised their lives in a way that, if anything happened in Cyprus, they could get out easily and quickly.

As with the family’s sojourn in Smyrna, they and their ancestors had always taken precautions to protect their family and their assets, by simply not keeping all of their eggs in one basket. They had to leave a life, in a rush and thankfully alive, twice before. Smyrna in 1922 A.D. was the second time. Constantinople in 1453 A.D., as it fell to the Ottomans, was the first.

As luck would have it, a long lost chronicle of her ancestor Michael Symitzis surfaced from the depths of the Symitzis archives. She hoped for a clue on the fate of the Likureian icons. She would not be disappointed. She sat in her study and began to read Michael’s account of his visit to Constantinople on 28
^th
May 1453 A.D., the eve of the fall of the City to the Ottomans.

CHAPTER 6

Constantinople
28th May 1453 A.D.
(Eve of the Fall)

The huge walls loomed on the horizon like a dark cloud descending to earth. The city was Constantinople, the capital of an empire that was built in the name of God and was once more in its history defended in the name of God.

It was pretentious to even call what was left an empire when only the city remained. However, at this time God would not be knocking on this particular door. The writing was on the wall.

Here was I, Michael Symitzis, riding at top speed to the, by all accounts, doomed city that had decided to make a final stand against the Ottomans led by the fearsome and ruthless Sultan Mehmed II and, if not defy, then delay fate.

The city was asleep. I could not shake the feeling that I was being watched by thousands of eyes, and maybe I was, but was deemed too insignificant to be stopped. The city was on heightened alert, sniffing the enemy’s next assault on the walls.

The Ottoman had surrounded the city and blocked all traffic to and fro. They were now lying in wait, and on a signal from their exulted leader, ready to pounce. The Ottoman was spread along the entire length of the city’s West and only landbound side, the Great Theodosian Walls, first built by the Emperor of the same name in the fourth century A.D. and reinforced and rebuilt over the centuries.

On the city’s sea-bound North side was the Golden Horn, one of the world’s greatest natural harbours, and the city’s jewel and gateway to the world’s trade, but recently closed to all sea-bound traffic by a great chain or ‘boom’ across its gaping mouth. On the city’s water-bound East and South sides, the Bosphorus and the Sea of Marmara respectively had already changed their colours to those dictated by the Ottoman fleet. The city was surrounded on all sides.

The city’s legendary defences would normally have inspired terror in the hearts and minds of any enemy imprudently considering an opportunistic attack. The city was considered impregnable and countless attempts over the last one thousand years from Arabs to Seltzouk Turks to scale its walls and capture its riches had failed.

The fall of 1204 A.D. to the crusaders was a blip, an aberration, and not the result of a proper siege. The crusader ships bound for the ‘Holy Land’ would not even had entered the waters of the Aegean let alone approach the city had it not been for the invitation and warm welcome into the city as a result of rivalry for the throne. Easy spoils were impossible to resist.

On my way to the city I had come across masses of people fleeing the besieged city and stopped to talk to them. It was like pulling teeth. It was like trying to talk to the walking dead, sporting the fashionable look of the lost souls of Hades. It was eight weeks now since the siege had begun.

The Ottoman blockade of Constantinople now in place had one consequence, beneficial in one sense, sad in another. It stopped any more people from leaving the city. There were now more defenders, but that meant that there were also more people at risk of losing their lives not just defending the city, but in the aftermath of its fall.