‘The one here at the monastery is accompanied by a parchment containing a letter written by the man who took it from Constantinople, a faithful subject of his Emperor. He came here and became a monk. He took it when the quartered body of the last Emperor was hung from the city’s walls.’
‘But how do you know the letter itself is authentic?’
‘I knew you would ask me that. It has been dated to 1453.’
‘Can I see it?’
‘Yes, of course. Now, something else I should mention is that there is another part of the body of the person who was believed to have been the last Emperor.’ Elli raised a questioning eyebrow and looked at him with intense interest. ‘It’s in the personal collection of the Sultans at the Dolmabace Palace in Constantinople. It used to be at the Topkapi. And we know that part to have been part of the Sultan’s collection from 1453, as it is listed in manuscripts cataloguing the collection.
‘The history of its listing goes back to 1453. We can assume that it would be authentic as the Sultan would no doubt have kept a memento for himself of whom he paraded by hanging on the walls of the city as the last Emperor.’
‘I believe that you may be right. Your reasoning is sound. We can compare the two and with DNA from me or a member of my family as we carry the Emperor’s blood in our veins through Michael, my ancestor Eleni’s son. I’ll arrange it. Thank you, Spyros. But please show me the relic.’
Spyros led the way with Elli following. When they got to the library, Aggelos was surprised at the request as nobody had asked to see it before.
* * *
A few days later when the body part and the parchment were analysed and dated, they were only found to be about three hundred and twenty years old. The same result was repeated when they managed to get hold of the body part at the Dolmabace Palace. How was it possible that both of them would be dated around the same time? Was it possible that both of them had been stolen? But why? Aggelos had a theory.
‘After the fall of Constantinople in 1453 and the collapse of the predominantly Greek Orthodox Byzantine Empire, Russia took over the mantle of protector of Orthodox Christians and the flourishing monastic communities of Mount Athos. Russian Tsars and Tsarinas, a notable mention reserved here for Catherine the Great, lavished protection and gifts on the Holy Mountain.
‘But what is less well known is the fact that they were also siphoning away treasures unchecked. Even amongst those who suspected or even knew, who would dare to offend the protector and line of defence against the Ottomans surrounding Mount Athos and dominating the Eastern Mediterranean?
‘We simply don’t know how much has been taken to Russia. It was during those years that Russian monks and monks from other lands came here and boosted numbers of monks to tens of thousands. A Russian monastery was founded wholly paid for by the Tsar as a generous and worthy contribution to the monastic semi-autonomous state.
‘Russia is now the most populous and most powerful Orthodox Christian country in the world, even though theoretically and symbolically the Ecumenical Patriarch in Constantinople is the leader of the world’s Orthodox Christians. In recent times, after the fall of Communism and the Soviet Union and the revival of the power and position of the Church in Russia, Russian Presidents have visited Mount Athos and especially the Russian monastery there.
‘There have been rumours of heavy chests being loaded onto helicopters and then boarding private jets in Ouranoupolis, as the closest town outside Mount Athos, on their way to Russia.’
Spyros took up the thread of Aggelos’ theory. ‘So what you are saying is that those relics could have been taken to Russia and could right now be in the collections of the Hermitage in St. Petersburg or the Kremlin in Moscow.’
‘Yes, exactly.’
Elli who had patiently waited for Aggelos to expand his theory intervened. ‘But how do we know where to look? It would be like searching for a needle in a haystack, assuming that these relics are still there, if they were there at all in the first place.’
Aggelos had the answer. ‘The director at the Hermitage is a good friend of mine.’ He saw Elli’s and Spyros’ surprise and went on to explain. ‘We studied together in St. Petersburg or as it was known back then Leningrad. I’ll call him and ask him if he knows of anything that resembles the relics we are looking for. It may take some time as he would need to go through old inventories.’
‘We don’t have much time, but try and get him to do it as soon as he can.’ She paused. ‘There is another reason I’m here. I have found in the Book of Pallanians reference to inventories for the construction of a huge structure. But I don’t know what it is or its location. It’s a long shot, but the original documents may have ended on Mount Athos for safekeeping. And it is possible that they may also have ended up in Russia with the Tsars’ scooping up of any treasure in sight or any that reached their ear.’
Aggelos nodded. ‘I’ll make some discreet enquiries.’
‘I can pay if it would speed things up, for example by more people being allocated to the search relating to the relic and the book of inventories regarding the construction of that structure.’
‘Yes, that may certainly help. I will make my enquiries and let you know.’
‘Thank you.’
* * *
Aggelos’ enquiries indeed let to a record of such a book having been found at the Russian monastery of St. Panteleimon on Mount Athos and having been removed and taken to the Hermitage. There was also record of the book having been left at the monastery in 1453 by someone who let drop a comment that was recorded by the monk receiving the item, as it seemed to him to have been unusual.
The comment was that the book was worth an Emperor’s ransom and should be watched as if it were the monk’s child. That to Elli was a clue, without her imagination leading her astray and jumping to conclusions, that it couldn’t be anything other than a tomb for an Emperor, a last tribute worthy of an Emperor, just like the pyramids in Egypt or other elaborate tombs elsewhere in the world, intended to be lasting memorials to their illustrious occupants, eternal monuments to their name and glory, not just a selfish act but the name kept alive for future generations to remind them of their proud heritage.
The book was later transferred to the Russian monastery of St. Panteleimon. The director also found both relics in the museum’s collection, stored out of sight, after an extensive search. Aggelos immediately called Elli who arranged to fly to St. Petersburg with Giorgos.
At the back of her mind there was a niggling worry, something that was bothering her. She hadn’t heard from Aristo or Katerina in Crete. She tried both Aristo’s and Katerina’s mobiles, but there was no answer. They both seemed to be switched off or, perhaps, they had no reception where they were. It may be nothing, but she was concerned. She made a note to try and get in contact with them. If her attempt failed she would send someone to Agia Galini in Crete to find out what was going on.
CHAPTER 45
Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg, Russia
Present day
Elli’s plane landed at St. Petersburg’s Pulkovo Airport at a few minutes after two o’clock in the afternoon. It taxied to a quiet corner of the airport reserved for important visitors and stopped.
A limousine was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. A Customs official was standing by the car. He quickly checked her passport, handed it back and bowed to her. She got into the car and it whisked her through the airport grounds and then through the city’s normally car-clogged and pollution-choked streets, along the river Neva.
She could see the Hermitage, the former Winter Palace of the Tsars, in the distance, gloriously reflected on the tame waters of the Neva. In the car she remembered the flower that had become a parchment and which had been burning a hole in her bag. She opened her bag and took it out. It felt warm and it was getting warmer. And it was emitting a strange noise.
It was as if it was some location device that contained a chip, which had homed in on its target and was lead
ing Elli there. It was getting warmer as they approached the Hermitage. It was as if it was showing her the way, its intensity increasing at breakneck speed which was unlike the speed they were supposed to be travelling in this city, notorious for its overpopulation of cars and all matter of fragrant modes of transport.
Their route along the river was, strangely, car-free and eerily soulless. The main gates swung open as if by magic the moment the car drew up to them. Such scarily efficient and troublesome journey was unheard of in this city. This kind of special treatment could only have been organised under the auspices of the country’s highest echelons of government. The director of the Hermitage, one of the world’s greatest museums, was a powerful man.
The museum was busy. At reception she announced her name and started to say that she had an appointment with the director when a man who had been walking briskly towards her, having recognised her, interrupted her.
‘Mrs Symitzis, good afternoon. I am Ivan. The director has sent me to take you to him. Please, follow me.’
They came outside the director’s office and Ivan gently knocked on the door. A strong deep voice came out clearly from the other side of the door.
‘Come in.’
The office was not a modest affair, as it was not an ordinary place of work, but befitting the director of one of the world’s greatest museums, with his choice of rooms in the former Winter Palace of the Tsars. The room’s impact on the visitor was such that it reminded one of the study of a Tsar or a grand room for public occasions rather than a simple office, with its high ceiling and huge windows and elaborate decoration covering almost every surface. Expensive furniture, objets d’art and paintings littered but did not suffocate the space.
The director who had already been standing, looking out of the windows, turned and walked around his large desk towards Elli. He took her hand and kissed it and then seeing Elli proceeding to greet him in the traditional Russian way of three alternative kisses on the cheeks followed her lead.
‘My dear Mrs Symitzis. I am Alexei Sumarov.’ Elli noticed that he did not offer for the use of his first name, so she decided to preserve the respectful formality of her host and do the same. ‘It is an honour and a great pleasure to have you here. Aggelos has told me a lot about you. But of course he did not need to. Your reputation precedes you. I have read and heard so much about you that I feel very excited to finally make your acquaintance in person. Please, have a sit.’ He indicated a pair of armchairs beside the cold fireplace. ‘Could we offer you some coffee or tea or something else perhaps?’
Elli noticed that he had been drinking coffee and that there was a second cup in the tray on the table between the armchairs. She thought it polite to join him in a gesture of accepting his local hospitality. Also she did not want to waste time. She wanted to broach the subject that brought her there as soon as possible.
‘Coffee would be lovely, thank you.’
He poured the coffee and asked whether she took milk or sugar. She declined both. ‘Just black, thank you.’
Once they had settled, or rather sunk, into the supremely comfortable armchairs with their cups, the director jumped straight into the reason she was there. He knew she was a busy woman and understood the urgency of the matter at hand.
‘Now, as I said to Aggelos, we have located the relics in question and I can show them to you. I understand that you wish to use DNA samples from them for comparison. I must say that they both seem very well preserved with hairs and flesh still on the bone. It is not normal procedure to handle them in this way and there is a horrifying amount of bureaucracy to deal with for permission to carry out what you propose to do. However, as it is within my discretionary power, I will personally give dispensation for you to proceed immediately. In fact, I have signed the permission and it is there on my desk.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Aggelos is a very good friend of mine and from what he and the abbot, Spyros, told me about you, I consider you a friend and would extend my help in the same way that I would treat Aggelos. Apologies if I may sound presumptuous. It is not my intention to claim such familiarity with you as I do not wish to in any way cause offence.’
‘My dear Mr Sumarov. On the contrary, I am honoured by your warm welcome and for seeing me at such short notice. I know that you are also a very busy man. As Aggelos must have mentioned to you, I am also interested in a certain book containing inventories and information on the construction of a huge project the location of which I am not aware. Have you located such a book?’
‘I have. And it actually contains plans, as well, and a lot of other details about that project. I have the relics and the book ready for you to take away.’
‘But how?’
‘I have signed them off as part of a temporary special exhibition of Byzantine artefacts in Limassol, Cyprus.’
Elli smiled. She decided that she liked this man already. She would not have hesitated to offer him a position in her organisation, if she knew that there was even a remote chance he might have accepted. ‘Mr Sumarov, you have gone beyond my expectations. This will make my work a lot easier and the result I seek quicker to obtain.’
‘I do not want to keep you any longer than is necessary. Please, come with me.’
Alexei Sumarov led Elli to a room a few metres away from his own. The curtains were drawn and the light was dim. Elli suspected that was so as to protect the items from direct light. The room was empty except for a table against one wall, far from the windows, with some items resting on it that seemed to be covered with velvet cloths. She assumed those would be the items she came here for.
The director went and stood by the table and she followed. She could feel the parchment becoming very warm inside her bag. The director noticed her bag glowing, which was made all the more pronounced in the dimness of the room.
‘Mrs Symitzis. Forgive me, but your bag seems to be glowing in a very peculiar way’ He thought there might have been something dangerous about to catch fire and explode but did not voice his imagination.
Elli looked at her bag and was stunned. She opened it and saw the parchment inside glowing. She took it out. The light emitted by the parchment was like holding a flame in her hand. It lit their faces in the same shadowy glow as would a fire in a dark place. It was awe inspiring and terrifying at the same time. They were both briefly lost for words.
Elli recovered first. ‘I cannot explain it, but it seems that something in this room is causing this item quite some excitement.’
She thought arousal was a more apt word, but she could not say it in such polite and formal company, such surrounds not appropriate to such honesty, not being devoid of the taboos of carrying one’s self with decorum. She unfurled the parchment and recognised the same Pallanian characters she had seen so many times lately. She traced her fingers on the page and felt the story.
It told of the imprisonment of an Emperor, his escape and death, his body carried to Cappadocia on a gruelling march being chased by Ruinands. It told of the arrival in Cappadocia, of the construction of a small chapel to take the sarcophagus and the body, of the entombment of the body with proper honours as befitting an Emperor, of the sealing of the tomb, of an attack by Ruinands, of the killing of the bearers of the body except one who survived.
It told of the Ruinands attempting to open the tomb and a horrifying event killing them all, an event attuned to an asteroid hitting the earth and causing total extinction. It told of Iraklios hearing of the opening of the said tomb a few months earlier and being surprised at the survival of the members of the archaeological expedition, surprise that the latest opening of the tomb was a non-event on the Richter scale stakes, in view of the event that killed the Ruinands that tried to open the tomb around five hundred years earlier.
That told Iraklios that the body of the Emperor could not have been in that tomb in Cappadocia, but had been moved. Iraklios asked in the parchment for forgiveness for not telling Elli about the secret before, but she would understand as he
had vowed to protect the secret and not divulge it to anyone, not even to Elli or his own family.
However, he confirmed that he did not know of the location of the real tomb. That was too explosive, too dangerous a secret to be passed on. That was the end of the story on the parchment and the overwhelming torrent of words. It was almost a bit too much for Elli to take it all in, in one bite.
The director had been watching her fascinated and wondering what she was doing, what she was seeing, but he respected her silence and did not break it as she seemed to be in extreme concentration, almost as if in a trance.
He smiled inwardly at the thought of the spectacle of such an extraordinary and formidable woman as Elli Symitzis, one of the most powerful women in the world, looking like someone high on illicit hard drugs. He kept his observation and thoughts to himself.
Elli looked up and caught the eye of the director watching her with interest. She did not think it impolite and therefore said nothing. She uncovered the items on the table. At that exact moment the room looked as if it had expanded to ten times its normal size. It suddenly acquired the look of a strange wintry snowy stage and the temperature dropped considerably.
Both Elli and the director shivered involuntarily. Then it began snowing. It was as if they were in a different dimension, as if they were watching the events unfold behind a mirrored glass or through the eyes of ghosts. Elli turned to the director.
‘They didn’t used to call it Winter Palace for nothing. This is magical.’
‘I agree. But I don’t think this is what they had in mind when they gave it its name. Mrs Symitzis, do you know what is going on? Could it be connected with that parchment and the relics? There is no rational explanation for this strange event.’
‘I’m at a loss to explain it myself.’
The Emperor Awakes Page 30
