In addition, the sceptor bears a silver-gilded handle in the design of a double-headed eagle. The emblem is probably Hittite in origin and perhaps was brought to Europe by the crusaders. Whatever its origin, it was adopted by the Romans in the fifteenth century. The handle also bears a Greek inscription: 'Ιωávvης Παλαιóyος βασιλε'uς + 'Eλικóρvις ávτιφáρμακοv.
I interpreted the inscription before I purchased the staff, and was very pleased to discover that it read as follows: John Palaeologus, Emperor. Alicorn good against poison. I believe that the emperor in question was John VI of the Palaeologus dynasty who ruled as Emperor of the East from 1425 to 1448. I should also mention that the lower portion of the staff had been dipped in a vermillion dye, and etched in the dye were Greek and Arabic phrases, no doubt intended to increase the power of the alicorn.
Needless to say, I bought the sceptor, and at a bargain price, I might add. Over the next several months, I spent many hours in the British Museum Library and St. Mark's Library in Venice studying the lore and history of alicorns, and I now can say that I know as much of the hazy history of this relic as can be learned.
The alicorn in question was said to have been taken at the fall of Constantinople in 1204 and became part of the Venetian share of the spoils. Two centuries later, as I said, it was in the hands of John VI, the Emperor of the East. During his reign, he visited Venice to seek help for his crumbling empire. He may have brought the alicorn with him on this journey, and parted with it. Whatever the reason, it appears that the alicorn fell into the hands of a wealthy jewel merchant named Giorgio Belbava. Records at St. Mark's Library show that in 1488, this alicorn was given by the son of Belbava to Doge Barbarigo, and the Doge turned it over to the procurators of the cathedral. The man I bought it from had no idea how his father had obtained the relic, and when I bought it, I confess, I did not press for a full explanation.
Approximately one year after my purchase, I journeyed to America with my family and settled in Massachusetts. The alicorn came with me. Within a decade, I became a rather wealthy landowner and a few weeks ago, I found the opportunity to travel back to England for the first time since my departure.
To my surprise, barely a day after my arrival I happened upon the very man who had sold me the alicorn. His name is Jonathan Ainsworth, and he was the office manager of an enterprise which rented carriages to visitors in London. At first, he did not recognize me, but when I refreshed his memory, he asked with undisguised curiosity about the fate of the alicorn and its influences upon my life. I told him that it was quite safe at my residence in Boston and that I had no idea what he meant by influences upon my life.
Oddly enough, he seemed relieved by my response, then proceeded to tell me that his father had wanted the alicorn destroyed, rather than sold, and that near the end of his life the elder Ainsworth had become convinced that the relic was responsible for his downfall. I told him of my good fortune and that his father's calamitous end was lamentable, but it had nothing to do with the staff. I was, however, curious about how the alicorn had come into the family's possession, and asked what he knew of it.
He explained that his father had written a letter which answered that very question, and when I requested permission to read it, he not only agreed but said I could have it. We met the following day at his office where I took possession of the letter. I found the historical information fascinating and new to me, but I must admit I was somewhat disturbed by Ainsworth's dire commentary. Before I said farewell to the younger Ainsworth we both agreed that it was good that the old superstitions were dead.
For historical purposes, I will now copy Michael Ainsworth's letter word for word. In the not too distant future I can imagine that the history of these mysterious alicorns will fade from memory. So, with that in mind, I am preserving this tale from the past. Although I have strong doubts about the supposed mystical nature of the alicorn, I have no reason to believe that the related material is untrue. You, dear reader, can judge for yourself.
Indy looked up and saw that Smitty hadn't returned. He was probably rubbing down the animals. So Indy decided to keep reading and see what Ainsworth himself had to say. The letter was dated March 16, 1785.
Dear Jonathan,
When you read this letter, my son, I hope you are in good health. I hold no such hopes for myself as I see my life rapidly deteriorating. I want to tell you why it is happening, and how you can prevent falling upon a similar fate.
My story begins when you were a young child and I was at the start of my career as a barrister. At that time, I was hired by a rather unusual organization called the People of the Horn, which functioned in a stately manse in Mayfair. In spite of its name, the organization's sole purpose, of all things, seemed to be directed at disavowing belief in unicorns, and it was my job to keep their legal matters in order. I should say they were having quite good success. The unicorn's horn or alicorn, as it is known, had been recommended by physicians to ward off poisons, and infectious diseases, particularly the Plague, for centuries. In fact, powder of alicorn was listed as an official drug by the English Royal College of Physicians for many years. Then in 1746, as the People of the Horn began loudly ridiculing the drug, the Society dropped it from their approved list.
Out of curiosity, I began looking into the organization's background, as I had access to many of its papers, and soon discovered that they were an ancient order that was started in the twelfth century by an Arab mystic who had taken up residence in London. It became apparent that at least at the onset, the People of the Horn were very much inclined to believe in unicorns and were intrigued in particular by the unicorn's horn. From their documents, I learned that by the year 1600, they were aware of at least a dozen alicorns in Europe and England, which they were convinced were actual horns of unicorns. Most were kept in great churches and monasteries. They were regarded as sacred objects and were sometimes used as pontifical staffs. Two of them, I recall with certainty, were stored in St. Mark's Cathedral, another in the Tower of London's lower Jewel House.
I found this all rather amusing until I accidentally came upon secret documents, which revealed much more than I really cared to know. It seems that the People of the Horn had been actively involved in raiding the treasure houses of the clergy and royalty in search of alicorns, the very objects that they professed did not exist. There has been much looting of church treasures in the last century, and it seems that the People of the Horn were not the least of those involved.
I was dismayed that I was working with an organization which had secretly participated in criminal activity, but I was also curious about its motives. After all, the unicorn's horn of lore was supposedly a benevolent object with magical properties of healing and protection against poison. So why would the People of the Horn turn against the alicorn?
I continued my study of their records, and discovered that it was during the middle of the last century that the organization became concerned about the alicorn, claiming that its properties were no longer effective for healing and, in fact, were possibly detrimental. They conjectured that after a certain time, separated from the animal itself the horn's magical properties reversed themselves. They pointed to several deaths in rather peculiar circumstances, in which individuals of considerable wealth and stature, who were the owners of alicorns, had fallen victim to a poison of one sort or another, or had lost their fortunes or status. As I read on, I became more concerned. I discovered that the People of the Horn, as recently as five years earlier, had robbed a visiting sheik of his staff. After the crime, they ruled that the artifact in question was merely an elephant's tusk carved to the likeness of a walking stick.
To continue my own story, late one night as I perused the secret records that were kept in a vault in the library, I heard voices coming from the main office. I quickly put away the file I was reading and secreted myself among the shelves. At first, I was going to announce my presence and make some excuse for working past midnight. But as Fate would have
it, before I knocked I overheard several members congratulating themselves for committing a crime. They apparently had entered a nobleman's treasury and stolen what they believed was an alicorn.
More members joined in the celebration and from what I overheard, I learned that they believed the relic in question was the last true alicorn in existence. It apparently had been among the treasures of St. Mark's Cathedral for more than two centuries, along with another alicorn. But when the treasure chests were invaded seventy-five years ago, only one alicorn had been discovered. The other one had been apparently absconded with earlier, and until recently its whereabouts had been unknown.
I trembled as I listened, both fearful and fascinated. It seemed they were planning to keep this alicorn, since they doubted they would ever encounter another one. They believed that their knowledge of the horn would protect them from its dangers. They would be like the owner of a poisonous snake, who cares for the creature, but respects its deadly quality. It would be a symbol of power for the organization and a reason for them to continue their secret existence as true-believers in unicorns into the nineteenth century.
I remained hidden while they argued about who should be the temporary caretaker of the alicorn until a permanent home was decided upon. The man who had heard about the nobleman's alicorn wanted to be in charge of it; so did the man who carried out the break-in, as did the one in charge of internal security. Finally, everyone agreed that no one was to remove the alicorn from the room. It would remain there until the following day when an emergency meeting of all members would be held and a formal decision made on its disposition.
When they had all wandered off for the night I crept into the darkened room where their celebration had been held. At first I didn't see the alicorn. But after a thorough search, I found what appeared to be a staff tucked inside of a cloth rifle case on a shelf in the corner of the adjacent cloakroom. I never thought twice about it. I walked out the door with the alicorn and took it home.
In the days following my daring theft, chaos reigned among the People of the Horn. One secret meeting after another was held and I was told it involved matters that did not pertain to my work. Later, I heard that three members had been purged from the group, and I suspected they were the three who had wanted to take charge of the alicorn. I found the entire episode extremely amusing, and, in fact, I had decided to return the alicorn to the cloakroom to further the drama and intrigue. But before I acted, a chilling tragedy occurred. All three men who had fought for control of the alicorn died quite suddenly of arsenic poisoning, and their possessions were pillaged.
At that point, I wanted nothing further to do with the organization, and looked for ways to resign without drawing attention to myself. About this time, I met Frederick Mathers and we formed our own legal firm. Soon our business was flourishing, and I had no time for the People of the Horn. I resigned my position and no questions were ever asked. I never told Frederick about the alicorn, nor did I think that it had anything to do with our immense success. But I did come to think of it as a good luck charm, and kept it in my office.
Later, I found that when I held the staff and made a specific request, more times than not my request would be fulfilled. After this happened on several occasions, I began to regard the alicorn as a talisman possessing magical properties. At times, I wondered why the People of the Horn had gone about destroying alicorns. If any others were as endowed as my own, their destruction had been a great disservice, a tragedy.
You know most of the rest, Jonathan. In spite of my wealth, I was never satisfied. I always wanted more. You were old enough to understand when I seemed to lose my judgment and made one poor business deal after another until our wealth was depleted. Whenever I held the staff, I felt ill, as if my life had been poisoned, and soon another dose of bad luck followed.
Mathers carried on by himself, leaving me desperate and near destitute. When we moved to Yorkshire, hoping to start anew, I put the alicorn away for good. Yet, I could not bring myself to destroy it. Things became even worse as I accepted clients who did not pay me. Finally, completely disheartened, I schemed with one of my criminal clients to defraud a house of charity, and I was caught.
If I only could do it all over again, I would never have touched that cursed staff, the unicorn's horn. I blame its bad magic for the twists and turns of my life. So please, take my advice and destroy it. Break it into a thousand pieces and spread it over the city. Then pray to God that none of its evil will ever touch your life. That's all I ask.
Your father,
Michael Ainsworth
Indy looked up from the journal. It was dark now and he could see nothing outside of the car. "Swell story," he said aloud. If it was true, they ought to just leave the staff where it was. But Mara obviously had her own ideas about it. He blew out the candle and peered toward the hogan. He noticed a flicker of light in one of the windows. Smitty, he hoped, was preparing something to eat.
There wasn't much more left to read so he lit the candle again and returned to the journal. The next entry was dated in 1862, and immediately caught his attention.
When my grandfather, James Rogers, returned to America he discovered that in his absence a series of misfortunes had befallen him. Most of his land had been confiscated because his accountant had not paid taxes and had stolen a large sum of his money. Less than a year later, heavily in debt, he died suddenly of a heart attack while eating an apple.
Years later, my grandmother told me that she thought the apple was laced with poison and that he had killed himself. She said that Grandpa was convinced that an evil power had ruined him, and she thought the same power might have forced him to commit suicide. Grandma never explained this evil power, and I'm not sure she knew what it was, but I believe I discovered what Grandpa was talking about.
I found the unicorn's horn, along with Grandpa's diary, in a steamer trunk behind a false wall in the attic of the family house in 1852. I was sixteen. I played with the strange staff for awhile, then put it back in the trunk when Mother called me. I didn't read the diary until many years later. As far as I can tell, my father never knew about the unicorn's horn, and if Grandma did know of it, she never told him.
When I was eighteen, I felt inspired to move to the West. I took the steamer trunk from the attic and packed my clothing and a few belongings. I took the staff and unread diary along with me as family momentos. I traveled for months, finally settling in Escalante, Utah. There, I married and started a family on a small ranch.
Just today I opened the old steamer trunk and rediscovered the strange staff and diary. After I read the diary, I put the staff back into the trunk. I don't like what I read about this alicorn. I never even knew unicorns were real creatures. But I'm not superstitious so I'm not going to worry about it.
It was signed Peter Rogers. Maybe he lived happily ever after, Indy thought. There was still more, and he continued reading. The next entry was written four years later, but it was in another handwriting.
I never knew my husband could write such a nice piece as that. It was about that time that Pete started prospecting some. I didn't mind it none, but then the last couple of years he started gowen off for weeks at a time without saying nothing to us.
Six months ago, he left and this time I ain't expecten him back. He's done left me and Sara behind. I don't write too good, but I wanted to put this down on paper so Sara knows her pappy turned bad. Don't know nothing about this pretty ivory walking stick, and don't care none about it.
Lorraine Rogers
Another entry followed. Indy kept reading without pause.
My mama didn't have to write that down because I found out on my own that Daddy had gone bad. Mama died when I was twelve. That was about six years after Daddy disappeared. I later heard from a rancher that Daddy found a rich vein of gold and then took up with some young bar floozy. But he wasn't ever able to enjoy his wealth for long, because he died while cleaning out chunks of gold. They use arsenic for that, you know.
&
nbsp; Anyhow, I was adopted by a Mormon family, and this cursed staff and diary were about the only thing left of my past. For better or worse, I've kept them. They are a part of me. But many times I've wondered if my Fate affected others in a bad way.
When I was nineteen, back in '79, our family joined a wagon train of two hundred and fifty Mormons for a journey into the southeast part of Utah to start a mission. It was a horrible trip. The trail was no good for wagons and we couldn't go back because of the snow in the high country. We took a vote and everyone agreed that we should go on and build our own road. Somehow, we finally made it through that terrible canyon they call Grand Gulch and when we reached the San Juan River, we stopped. None of us wanted to go any further, and that became our town. It was called Bluff. But the mission there just never took hold. It was all over a year later, but most of us stayed on.
The next spring I met Oscar Smithers, who was about the only non-Mormon in town. He worked with the Wetherill brothers on a ranch, and talked of getting his own spread. A year later we got married and I soon had Mara. We lived with my stepparents, because the house was roomy, and besides, Smitty spent a lot of time at the ranch.
Things were good for a few years. But I'll he damned if he didn't get the prospecting bug just like my daddy. He did real well for a few years, and I made him promise me that he would pay for Mara to go to college because all her teachers said she was quite exceptional. That was what I heard over and over. But then Smitty found the bottle, and it got so bad that I decided to leave. I took six thousand dollars Smitty had hidden inside the mattress, and I went to Santa Fe with Mara. I never felt bad about taking the money, not a bit, because Smitty got the house. And I left him something else, too. That unicorn's horn.
Indiana Jones and the Unicorn's Legacy Page 14
