The Historian (63 page)

―We sat in excited silence for a few moments. Finally Helen broke it. ‗‖We are men of God, men from the Carpathians,―‘ she murmured.

―‗I beg your pardon?‘ Turgut gazed at her with interest.

―‗Yes!‘ I took up Helen‘s line. ‗‖Men from the Carpathians.― It‘s from a song, a Romanian folk song Helen found in Budapest.‘ I described to them the hour we‘d spent turning through the old book of songs at the University of Budapest library, the fine woodcut at the top of the page of a dragon and a church hiding among trees. Turgut‘s eyebrows rose almost to his shaggy hair when I mentioned this, and I rummaged quickly in my papers. ‗Where is that thing?‘ A moment later, I‘d found my handwritten translation among the folders in my briefcase—God, I thought, if I ever lose this briefcase!—and I read it aloud to them, leaving silences for Turgut to translate for Selim and Mrs. Bora:

They rode to the gates, up to the great city.

They rode to the great city from the land of death.

―We are men of God, men from the Carpathians.

We are monks and holy men, but we bring only evil news.

We bring news of a plague to the great city.

Serving our master, we come weeping for his death.―

They rode up to the gates and the city wept with them

When they came in.

―‗Ye gods, how peculiar and frightening,‘ Turgut said. ‗Are all your native songs like this, madam?‘

―‗Yes, most of them,‘ Helen said, laughing. I realized that in my excitement I‘d actually forgotten for two minutes that she was sitting next to me. With difficulty I forced myself not to reach a hand out to grasp hers, not to stare at her smile or the wisp of dark hair against her cheek.

―‗And our dragon at the top, hidden among trees—there must be a connection.‘

―‗I wish I could have seen it.‘ Turgut sighed. Then he slapped the edge of the brass table so suddenly that all our cups rattled. His wife put a gentle hand on his arm, and he patted it reassuringly. ‗No—look—the plague!‘ He turned to Selim and they exchanged a rapid fire of Turkish.

―‗What?‘ Helen‘s eyes were narrow with concentration. ‗The plague in the song?‘

―‗Yes, my dear.‘ Turgut combed his hair back with his hand. ‗Besides the letter, we found one other fact about Istanbul in this exact period—something my friend Aksoy already knew, actually. In the late summer of 1477, in the hottest weather, there was what our historians call a Little Plague. It took many lives in the old Pera quarter of the city—

what we call Galata, now. The bodies were impaled through the heart before they were burned. This is rather unusual, he says, because normally the bodies of the unlucky ones were simply burned outside the city gates to prevent further infection. But it was a short plague and did not take so many people.‘

―‗You think these monks, if they were the same ones, brought plague to the city?‘

―‗Of course, we do not know,‘ Turgut admitted. ‗But if your song describes the same group of monks—‘

―‗I have been thinking of something.‘ Helen set her cup down. ‗I cannot remember, Paul, if I told you about this, but Vlad Dracula was one of the first military strategists in history to use—how do you say?—illnesses in war.‘

―‗Germ warfare,‘ I supplied. ‗Hugh James told me.‘

―‗Yes.‘ She tucked her feet under her. ‗During the sultan‘s invasions of Wallachia, Dracula liked to send people who were sick with plague or smallpox into the Ottoman camps disguised as Turks. They would infect as many people as possible before dying there.‘

―If it hadn‘t been so gruesome, I would have smiled. The Wallachian prince was formidably creative as well as destructive, an enemy clever in the extreme. A second later I realized that I‘d just thought of him in present tense.

―‗I see.‘ Turgut nodded. ‗You mean that perhaps this group of monks, if they were indeed the same monks, brought the plague with them from Wallachia.‘

―‗It does not explain one thing, however.‘ Helen frowned. ‗If some of them were sick with the plague, why did the abbot of Saint Irine let them stay there?‘

―‗Madam, that is true,‘ Turgut admitted. ‗Although if it was not the plague, but another kind of contamination—but there is no way to know.‘ We sat frustrated, contemplating this.

―‗Many Orthodox monks came through Constantinople on pilgrimage even after the conquest,‘ Helen said finally. ‗Maybe this was simply a group of pilgrims.‘

―‗But they were looking for something they apparently didn‘t find on their pilgrimage, at least in Constantinople,‘ I pointed out. ‗And Brother Kiril says they are going to go into Bulgaria disguised as pilgrims, as if they weren‘t actually pilgrims—at least, that‘s what he seems to be saying.‘

―Turgut scratched his head. ‗Mr. Aksoy has thought about this,‘ he said. ‗He explains to me that most of the great Christian relics in the churches of Constantinople were destroyed or stolen during the invasion—icons, crosses, the bones of saints. Of course, there weren‘t so many treasures here in 1453 as there had been when Byzantium was a great power, because the most beautiful ancient things were stolen by the Latin Crusade of 1204—you no doubt know about this—and taken back to Rome and Venice and other cities in the West.‘ Turgut spread his hands before him in a gesture of deprecation. ‗My father told me about the wonderful horses on the Basilica of San Marco in Venice, stolen from Byzantium by crusaders. The Christian invaders were just as bad as the Ottoman ones, you see. In any case, my fellows, during the invasion of 1453 some of the church treasures were hidden, and some were even taken out of the city before Sultan Mehmed‘s siege and concealed in monasteries outside the walls, or carried in secret to other lands. If our monks were pilgrims, perhaps they came to the city in the hope of visiting a holy object and then found it missing. Perhaps what the abbot of the second monastery told them was the story of a great icon that had been taken safely to Bulgaria. But we have no method of knowing, from this letter.‘

―‗I see now why you want us to go to Bulgaria.‘ I resisted again the urge to take Helen‘s hand. ‗Although I can‘t imagine how we‘d find out more about this story when we got there, let alone how we‘d get in. And are you certain there is no other place we should search in Istanbul?‘

―Turgut shook his head somberly and picked up his neglected coffee cup. ‗I have used every channel I could think of, including some—I am sorry to say—that I cannot tell you about. Mr. Aksoy has looked everywhere, in his own books, in his friends‘ libraries, in the university archives. I have talked with every historian I could find, including one who studies the graveyards of Istanbul—you have seen our beautiful graveyards. We cannot find any mention of an unusual burial of a foreigner here in that period. Mayhap we have missed something, but I do not know where else to look in a quick time.‘ He gazed earnestly at us. ‗I know it would be very difficult for you to go to Bulgaria. I would do it myself, except that it would be even more difficult for me, my friends. As a Turk, I could not even attend one of their academic conferences. No one hates the descendants of the Ottoman Empire the way the Bulgarians do.‘

―‗Oh, the Romanians try their very best,‘ Helen assured him, but her words were tempered by a smile that made him chuckle in return.

―‗But—my God.‘ I sat back against the cushions of the divan, feeling awash in one of those waves of unreality that had been breaking over me with increasing frequency. ‗I don‘t see how we can do this.‘

―Turgut leaned forward and set before me the English translation of the monk‘s letter.

‗He did not know either.‘

―‗Who?‘ I groaned.

―‗Brother Kiril. Listen, my friend, when did Rossi disappear?‘

―‗More than two weeks ago,‘ I admitted.

―‗You do not have any time to lose. We know Dracula is not in his grave in Snagov. We think he was not buried in Istanbul. But‘—he tapped the paper—‗here is one piece of evidence. Of what, we do not know, but in 1477 someone from Snagov Monastery went to Bulgaria—or tried to. It is worth learning about. If you find nothing, you have tried your best. Then you can go home and mourn your teacher with a clear heart, and we, your friends, will honor forever your valor. But if you do not try, you will always wonder and grieve without relief.‘

―He picked up the translation again and ran a finger over it, then read aloud, ‗‖It is most dangerous now for us to linger even a day and we shall be safer even in our progress through the infidel lands than we are here.― Here, my friend. Put this in your bag. This copy is for you, the English one. With it here is a copy in the Slavonic, which Mr.

Aksoy‘s monastic friend has written out.‘

―Turgut leaned forward. ‗Furthermore, I have learned that there is a scholar in Bulgaria whom you can seek for help. His name is Anton Stoichev. My friend Aksoy greatly admires his work, which is published in many languages.‘ Selim Aksoy nodded at the name. ‗Stoichev knows more about the medieval Balkans than anyone else alive, especially about Bulgaria. He lives near Sofia—you must ask about him.‘

―Helen took my hand suddenly, openly, surprising me; I‘d thought we would keep our relationship secret even here, among friends. I saw Turgut‘s glance fall on the little motion. The warm lines around his eyes and mouth deepened, and Mrs. Bora smiled frankly at us, clasping her girlish hands around her knees. Clearly, she approved of our union, and I felt a sudden blessing of it by these kindhearted people.

―‗Then I will call my aunt,‘ Helen said firmly, squeezing my fingers.

―‗Éva? What can she do?‘

―‗As you know, she can do anything.‘ Helen smiled at me. ‗No, I do not know exactly what she can or will do. But she has friends as well as enemies in the secret police of our country‘—she dropped her voice, as if in spite of herself—‗and they have friends everywhere in Eastern Europe. And enemies, of course—they all spy on each other. It may put her in some danger—that is the only thing I regret. And we will need a big, big bribe.‘

―‗
Bakshish
.‘ Turgut nodded. ‗Of course. Selim Aksoy and I have thought about this. We have found twenty thousand liras you may use. And although I cannot go with you, my fellows, I will give you whatever help I can, and so will Mr. Aksoy.‘

―I was looking hard at him now, and at Aksoy—they sat upright across from us, their coffee forgotten, very straight and serious. Something in their faces—Turgut‘s large and ruddy, Aksoy‘s delicate, both keen-eyed, both calmly but almost fiercely alert—was suddenly familiar to me. A sensation I couldn‘t name went over me; for a second it stayed the question in my mouth. Then I gripped Helen‘s hand more tightly in mine—that strong, hard, already beloved hand—and looked into Turgut‘s dark gaze.

―‗Who are you?‘ I said.

―Turgut and Selim glanced at each other and something appeared to pass silently between them. Then Turgut spoke in a low, clear voice. ‗We work for the sultan.‘‖

―Helen and I drew back as one. For a second I thought Turgut and Selim must be aligned with some dark power, and I struggled with the temptation to grab my briefcase and Helen‘s arm and flee the apartment. How except through occult means could these two men, whom I‘d thought of as my friends, work for a sultan long dead? Actually, all the sultans were long dead, so whichever one Turgut was referring to could not be of this world anymore. And had they been lying to us about a host of other issues?

―My confusion was cut short by Helen‘s voice. She leaned forward, pale, her eyes large, but her question was a calm one, and eminently practical, in the situation—so practical at first that it took me a moment to understand it. ‗Professor Bora,‘ she said slowly, ‗how old are you?‘

―He smiled at her. ‗Ah, my dear madam, if you are asking whether I am five hundred years old, the answer is—fortunately—no. I work for the Majestic and Splendid Refuge of the World, Sultan Mehmed II, but I never had the incomparable honor of meeting him.‘

―‗Then what on earth are you trying to tell us?‘ I burst out.

―Turgut smiled again and Selim nodded kindly at me. ‗I had not intended to tell you this at all,‘ Turgut said. ‗However, you have given to us your trust in many things, and because you ask this so perceptive question, my friend, we will explain. I was born in the normal way in 1911 and I hope to die in the normal way in my bed in—oh, about 1985.‘

He chuckled. ‗However, my family members always live a long, long time, so I shall be cursed with sitting on this divan when I am too old to be respectable.‘ He put an arm around Mrs. Bora‘s shoulders. ‗Mr. Aksoy is also of the age you see him here. There is nothing so strange about us. What we will tell you, which is the deepest secret I could entrust to anyone, and which you must keep secret no matter what may happen, is that we are part of the Crescent Guard of the Sultan.‘

―‗I don‘t think I have ever heard of them,‘ Helen said, frowning.

―‗No, Madam Professor, you have not.‘ Turgut glanced at Selim, who sat listening patiently, obviously trying to follow our conversation, his green eyes quiet as a pond.

‗We believe that no one has heard of us except our members. We were formed as a secret guard from among the most elite corps of the Janissaries.‘

―I remembered, suddenly, those stony, bright-eyed young faces I‘d seen in the paintings from the Topkapi Saray, their solid ranks grouped near the sultan‘s throne, near enough to spring on a potential assassin—or on anyone, for that matter, who suddenly fell from the sultan‘s favor.

―Turgut seemed to read my thoughts, for he nodded. ‗You have heard of the Janissaries, I see. Well, my fellows, in 1477, Mehmed the Magnificent and Glorious called to him twenty officers who were the most trustworthy and the best educated of all his corps, and conferred on them in secret the new symbol of the Crescent Guard. They were given one purpose, which they were to fulfill—at the cost of their lives, if necessary. That purpose was to keep the Order of the Dragon from bringing any more torment to our great empire, and to hunt down and kill its members wherever they could be found.‘