He carefully put his hand inside and felt something, a small object. He brought it out. It was a small bust with the likeness of the Emperor. As he was handling it, checking the bottom and the sides for any writing, for a clue, he must have pressed something, because the top opened and a small scroll came out. He was about to unfurl it when he heard Katia’s footsteps and he quickly put it in his pocket to check its contents later.
He didn’t know why he instinctively did that, but it was too late to reveal it now without betraying himself. If he took it out of his pocket, it would be as good as telling her that he did not trust her. Little did he know that he would later be thankful that he put the scroll in his pocket. He held the bust pretending to be studying it.
‘Katia, come over here and have a look at this.’
Katia examined the bust, her brow furrowing in concentration. However hard she tried, though, she didn’t know what to make of it. She stared at the bust, then at Giorgos and then back at the bust. She seemed as perplexed as he was.
Giorgos decided to take advantage of the brief silence to throw her further off the scent, hoping that she wouldn’t notice the hole at the top of the bust that hadn’t closed completely after the scroll came out. In addition to that, he couldn’t resist teasing her.
‘Now, I don’t want to risk your wrath, but I will express my professional opinion and stake my reputation on it.’
‘And we know how little that is.’
Giorgos made a face at her. ‘Anyway, as I was saying, if you look at the bottom here it seems to spell out the name of the last Emperor, Konstantinos XI Palaiologos. And it does seem to be his likeness, if the frescoes at the only surviving room from the Palace of Vlachernae in Constantinople are to be believed. However, although this thing appears to have Byzantine influences, it appears to be too well crafted to have come from any other place than the Imperial Court’s master craftsmen. And yet I cannot see the seal that you would have expected to see under the base. And …’
Katia’s impatience got the better of her and she cut him mid-sentence. Her fiery eyes bearing down on him made him feel as if his face and his hair had been cinched by the fire spitting out of them.
‘Well, you may have a point there, but remember that the Imperial Workshops became rife with corruption and redolent with the complicity of the Imperial Court during times that money in the Imperial Treasury were scarce.’ Her voice spat irony. ‘Some of these illustrious master craftsmen, as you called them, had a very profitable sideline to make up for the shortfall by selling some of the product coming out of the Imperial Workshops at a lower quality and without the Imperial seal. The spanner in the works is that this bust is of a very high quality.’
‘That’s not bad reasoning. I’m impressed.’
‘Why would someone erase the Imperial seal? I suppose they would do it, if they wanted to fool you into thinking that it was an insignificant artefact?’
‘I guess that could be possible. But why would anyone do that? Unless ….’
Katia went silent, her face reflecting her struggling thoughts. Then her face brightened up, as if divine inspiration just hit her on the head, which wasn’t exactly very often, Giorgos smiled to himself, not without a slight hint of spite.
He silently reprimanded himself. God, his very pious mother would kill him, if she could have known his dark thoughts. “I did not bring you up to be vengeful”, she would say. “Keep silent and turn the other cheek.”
Giorgos pressed Katia. ‘Unless, what?’
Katia looked at him, as if she had forgotten he was there and only just realised, and was annoyed at the intrusion. She wanted him to disappear and she waved her hand, as if he was an annoying fly that was buzzing around her head.
‘Unless it was intended that this thing should be passed off deliberately as a fake, because it was meant to be hiding something or be a clue for something.’
She almost hit the nail on the head, Giorgos thought. He just about managed to keep a straight face and not reveal anything. He believed he had just managed to successfully carry out the deception, when she looked at him as if she could see right through him into his thoughts.
‘What is it? You know something, don’t you? My God, you have found something, haven’t you? Giorgos, stop playing games. Now, come out with it. Tell me. Otherwise …’ She took a challenging stance.
‘Otherwise what, darling?’
‘Otherwise you’ll be sorry.’
‘Oh, I’m shaking in my boots.’
‘Giorgos …’
Now she was positively livid. Giorgos kept his cool.
‘No, Katia, I have not found anything, if you must know. I really haven’t. Would I have dared to hide anything from you, if I had?’
Giorgos’ face was a picture of innocence and challenge in equal measure. He was mocking her and she could see it.
‘Wouldn’t you? Yes, you would. Of course you would.’ Katia felt she should not believe him, but then had second thoughts and she went silent. ‘Then again, I guess not.’ She did, though, shake her head, as if she could not believe her own words, as if there was still something that bothered her, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
During that silence that descended between them Giorgos contemplated the fiery beauty standing in front him, with both her legs firmly planted on the ground, ready to bore holes in it, and her hands at her side, ready to fight the world.
Katia was standing there in that pose, staring at him, for what seemed an eternity. It seemed to Giorgos as if she intended her stare and stance to make him blush and shrink under its intense scrutiny and melt and cower down in shame, like a reprimanded naughty child that just broke the neighbour’s window or stole an apple from the neighbour’s orchard.
He saw it as a challenge for him to confess his undying love and devotion and submission to her, as the ultimate object of his affection and worship and reverence. Wishful thinking on his part, perhaps? Or did she feel the same? Or was it simply that she was obsessed with being adored and worshipped?
There was a deathly silence, an impasse. They were both just standing there facing each other, weighing up and circling each other, like two sumo wrestlers ready to engage. The tension was rising. Who was going to be the first to break the staring contest? Giorgos decided to stop this futile nonsense. He turned away and looked at the bust.
‘I think we should store it in a safe place straight away.’
He started to make his way to the exit. He made a half-turn and looked back at her, his eyes challenging her, and at the same time mesmerising her.
Katia could not move. She felt distress at the effect Giorgos was having on her and at her inability to neutralise that effect. She tried in vain to control her feelings and put a lid on them as she had always managed to do with everyone that threatened to get a bit too close to her for comfort; until now that is. If only she could just ignore that she was frustratingly falling in love with him. That was the main reason of her impatience with him. She was annoyed with herself, because she could not understand this feeling that was forcing her to go wobbly at the knees.
She was afraid, because she was not used to allowing her feelings to roam unprotected like this. She was strong and detached and had, so far, avoided exposing herself to this kind of emotion. That steely “ice queen” veneer had served her well in her professional life, had allowed her to stamp her authority and had earned her respect. She could not risk tainting that reputation. Was this part of her allure? She had never been short of offers and attention. But was that respect enough to solely sustain her?
She did not want to show Giorgos the slightest sign of weakness. She was tough, uncompromising and rude with him, as if to punish him for feeling like this, as if by making him feel worse, it would make her feel better. What she did not know was that she was deluding herself, as Giorgos knew. For her refusal to admit her feelings and submit to them, having tired of sending out subtle signs to make her see sense, Giorgos had decided to feign
indifference.
He knew that by not acknowledging his infatuation with her, he frustrated her even further. Maybe it was his way of pushing her over the edge to the chasm of reason, so that she would open her eyes and see the truth that was staring her in the face. Making her life a misery by reciprocating her ‘undying love’, as he liked to describe her rough treatment of him, was apt. She deserved it.
Giorgos had had enough.
‘Are you coming or are you planning to stay there like a frozen statue for all eternity to be unearthed by archaeologists in the future who would be wondering who this fair ice maiden was?’
She made a beeline for him in attacking mode, but he subtly and easily avoided her. Her punch made painful contact with the lovely cool stone of the wall behind him. She winced in pain and holding her injured hand, started to rub it, to comfort it and nurse it back to health.
She followed him like a wounded puppy, but her posture and her expression showed that she would be forever defiant. They decided to call it a day.
CHAPTER 47
Limassol Castle, Limassol, Cyprus
Present day
Outside the castle, Katia relieved Giorgos of the bust and was very pleased with herself for the effect of her powers of persuasion over Giorgos, oblivious to the fact that Giorgos had already extracted what he wanted and did not need the bust anymore. They waived each other goodbye and went their separate ways. Giorgos couldn’t get out of there fast enough. He couldn’t wait to study the scroll.
As he made his way to his car, he felt that he was being watched, as if eyes were boring holes in his skull. He turned, but could not see anything suspicious. People were going about their business, buying and selling. Some men were seated at the coffee shop across the road playing backgammon and drinking coffee, strong and thick enough to make the spoon stand at attention. The blacksmith who had been there for decades was putting the finishing touches on his display of wares on the pavement outside his shop.
As Giorgos was enjoying life’s normal rhythms he heard a muffled scream, but was not sure which direction it came from. Then his eyes fell on Katia’s car. What could she possibly still be doing there? Why hadn’t she left already? She seemed to be in a great hurry to leave. He approached the car ready to make fun of her.
He was not prepared for what he saw and he stopped dead in his tracks. He almost had a heart attack. She was sitting behind the wheel, but not moving. Her head was at a strange angle, lolled to one side, as if she had nodded off or was searching for something in the glove compartment or tuning the radio. He moved closer, full of dread and apprehension. He called through the open window, but knew he should not expect a reply.
He then opened the driver’s door and shook her. He began to panic. The blood drained from his face. They were together only a few minutes ago. He stared at her in disbelief seeing nothing. His subconscious programming went into action and like an automaton tried to revive her, hoping against hope that she was still alive.
Katia was not responding and there was a look of shock plastered on her face, as if she had seen a ghost. He kept shaking her, becoming more violent and desperate with every movement, but his attempts at teasing a reaction out of her proved futile. He started to believe that she might be dead.
He took her pulse, expecting his worst fears to be confirmed. He couldn’t believe it. There was a faint pulse and he heard the slightest stir of breathing. Relief washed over him like a catharsis. He thought about calling for an ambulance from a phone booth, instead of his mobile, to hide his identity and give himself time to investigate before he had to deal with the police, but decided against it.
He had nothing to fear, even though there didn’t appear to have been a witness to the incident. It was only the hassle of giving statements and dealing with the police that he dreaded. But he would have to deal with it anyway. He was, after all, the last person to see her before she was attacked.
He would have to stay and wait for the ambulance and ensure that Katia was in safe hands before he walked off. And there was also the possibility that whoever did this to her might come back to finish the job and silence the only witness.
Giorgos took out his mobile and dialled the emergency services conveying the urgency of the incident and demanding for an ambulance to be sent immediately. Once he had hung up he remembered the bust and he furiously searched for it in the car, careful not to disturb the scene.
However, he found nothing. The bust was gone. It was then that he remembered his instinctive gesture of putting the scroll in his pocket and thanked his lucky stars for that involuntary foresight.
He knew the police would get involved and there would be lots of questions, but he could not desert her and run away and besides, he reminded himself, they might think that he was responsible for whatever had happened to her. So he stayed put.
When the ambulance arrived and whisked her away, he did not join her inside, and, after talking to the policemen and giving a brief statement, was told the usual stuff, to remain in the city for further questioning, if necessary. Only then was he allowed to leave the scene and go home.
Home? Would he be safe there? What the hell was going on?
He got that dreaded sensation of being watched again. Whoever was following him, most probably already knew where he lived, so maybe he could not go back there. And more importantly he had to shake that someone off.
He wondered whether he should warn his parents or his grandmother, but decided against it. He might worry them unnecessarily. Besides, his first priority was to get out of there fast.
He stopped at his favourite bakery where he bought a loaf of bread and a couple of croissants. Next stop was the grocer. As he was coming out, he checked up and down the street. When his stare surveyed the opposite side, his eyes fell on a shadow next to a large plane tree. He stared harder.
As the sun broke through the clouds, light flooded in, and he could just about make the outline of the side of a face with an ugly scar, looking as if it had been crashed. Giorgos’ glance was locked into a battle of wills with the steely eyes piercing back at him, but they were eyes that were empty, as if seeing right through him.
The expression on that face was blank and dark all at the same time with increasingly reddish fiery blotches. That was not a veiled threat lurking in those eyes. He heeded the warning, but did not move. He needed to think quickly.
His opponent looked as if he was about to combust, blowing smithereens of body parts and blood splattering and smudging the fading but visible beauty of the surrounding buildings that had withstood the ravages of time, a life thrown on a pavement and laid bare and left for dead, for foot after foot to tread on, a soul squashed like an annoying insect, as if it had never existed.
Giorgos squeezed his fists. He was angry and fed up with these people tracking his every move. An idea struck him. He knew how to outwit the intruder to his comfortable existence. His fingers had furiously typed three letters, SOS, to his friend Jonas who lived nearby.
He knew he didn’t have to give Jonas his location. As Jonas spent most of his time in front of his computers, he would be able to act immediately and come to Giorgos’ rescue. Jonas’ sophisticated equipment would, within seconds, pick up Giorgos’ location through his mobile phone via satellite.
Since Jonas lived close by, he would be on his motorbike and on his way within a minute and with Giorgos within probably just over two minutes after setting off.
Giorgos was right. Within a couple of minutes he heard a motorbike approaching and he recognised his friend, Jonas. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, but he had to get out of there and Jonas was his only ticket out.
He was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. Giorgos shouted at Jonas above the noise of the bike and the hive of activity in the street, and, gesturing wildly, jumped into the road blocking the motorbike’s path. The screeching of brakes stopped the street’s activity and drew the curious and irritated glances of passersby.
The
y didn’t usually have such excitement in spite of the din’s annoyance. For a brief moment it was as if time had stopped. But the spell was broken as quickly as it was cast and normal life resumed.
‘Giorgos, you rascal, you’ve never valued your life much, have you? What deep shit are you into this time? You cannot keep away from excitement, can you?’
‘I need a ride. Can you drop me off at Maria’s?’
‘Sure. Hop on.’
Jonas threw him the spare helmet and they were off. They made their way deeper into the former Turkish Quarter and Jonas stopped in front of an unassuming door stuck on a building that had seen better days. Giorgos hopped off, handed the helmet back to Jonas and thanked him.
‘Anytime, mate. Give us a call sometime.’ With that Jonas pulled down the face shield of his helmet and sped off.
Giorgos made his way to the door and knocked. While waiting for the door to be answered he looked up and down the street checking for his perceived pursuer and registering the absurdity and sadness of his surroundings.
The drooping house was next to a mosque that the muezzin had not bothered to grace with his presence for years, since 1974 to be exact, when he was deprived of a flock; a flock that deserted him and fled to the Northern Turkish-occupied parts, soon to be followed by the muezzin himself, who belatedly realised the folly of staying behind in a seemingly hostile environment, made so by the political event of the military invasion and occupation and the disruption of a relatively peaceful co-existence between Cypriots of Greek and those of Turkish origin.
It was also believed that many of those Cypriots of Turkish origin had once been Christian Greeks who changed their faith during the Ottoman occupation between 1571 and 1878, the year the British arrived after the defeat of the Ottoman Empire at the hands of Russia and Great Britain in the Crimean War. Officially Cyprus remained part of the Ottoman Empire with the British paying nominal rent to the Sublime Porte, the Sultan.
The Emperor Awakes Page 32
