“Yes?” Atakan asked, shutting the door part way. Iskender obviously had something private to speak to him about.
“Sooner or later, Tischenko is coming after you. His desire to send you that message by carving his initials on Charlotte is the only reason he didn’t kill her outright,” Iskender said.
“I know this,” Atakan acknowledged.
“Does Charlotte know the danger you’re in?”
“No. Say nothing. I don’t want her frightened. I don’t believe he’ll use her to get to me again. Next time, it’ll be him and me alone. One day, he and I will end this vendetta.”
Chapter Eighty-Two
Bozburun
“This is like being inside a Bunsen burner.” Charlotte tipped her head back and poured the remainder of her bottled water over her face.
She, Atakan, Talat, and Uma huddled in the shade of an olive tree and waited for the shuttle to the Suraya.
“The whole week’s been blistering with no breeze,” Talat said.
“We’ve had bad heat waves here all summer. Nothing like this though,” Atakan said and wiped the sweat from his face with the crook of his elbow.
“Finally, the boat.” Charlotte jerked her head in the direction of the shuttle.
Now that the moment had come for her to enter the unexplored part of the hold, she was filled with mixed emotions. As long as they hadn’t verified the cargo inside, she could imagine the hold contained the proof she sought. Speculation was easier than finding out the truth, if that truth proved her wrong.
She was quiet on the ride over as the other talked in the background. Onboard the Suraya, the foursome slipped their fins and gloves on and proceeded to the dive platform.
“Charlotte...”
She pushed her mask up onto her forehead and leaned close to hear Atakan who spoke low.
“I hope we find your proof, not only for what it means to my country but for what it means for you.”
“You’d have to stop calling me crazy woman.”
“I’m confident, given time, you’ll find something else equally crazy to debate.”
“Most definitely. Shall we?” She pulled her mask down and jumped into the water.
#
Atakan held the light while she located the entry between Eris and Athena’s heads they’d seen previously. He handed her the small lamp.
Charlotte would examine the hold before lighting the way for Atakan to enter. If too confined for them to work together, she’d fix the lamp and exit. He’d have light for photography. When he finished, he’d bring the lamp with him.
Charlotte swam through the narrow slot between the broken planks still attached to the hull and above Eris. She took care the lamp cord didn’t get tangled on the sharp wood.
Light bounced off the magnificent work, illuminating the space like a false sun. She stood awestruck by the golden chariot. She wished for more room to step back for a bigger view. She couldn’t wait until Atakan saw it, which reminded her to signal him there was only space for a solo diver.
After sending the message, she checked her time, at eight minutes she’d trade places with him. The front of the chariot had an inordinate amount of detailed metal work. She’d inspect the entire cart first and come back to the front.
She examined the frame, working her way to the rear. The axle, wheels, even the spokes were all gold, like the chariot’s body. She lay on her stomach and lit the underside of the cart’s floor. It was gold too.
Who owned you, she wondered, looking for any identifiers as she swam to the rear. Did you grace a royal household, a prince’s courtyard?
Although an accurate replica, it wasn’t built to scale. She estimated it was half the size of a standard single man chariot. Her assessment was a best guess. The confined environment might be affecting her perception. The next team would conduct an accurate measurement.
The tapered flanks were the other noticeable difference in structure. The sculptor had bent them inward rather than straight like on a real cart. She turned sideways to squeeze through the rear opening. The wider interior allowed her to stand normally, like the charioteer.
She scanned the bowed front and flanks with the lamp, but couldn’t find markings that indicated origin. Along the top, the quality of workmanship was exceptional. The ornamental edge was made to look like a rope and was bordered along the bottom in pea size beads of gold. How long did it take the artisan to add this one element of decoration?
She closed her eyes and imagined herself a Trojan charioteer seeing the sails of the invading armada. Row after row of warships anchored in Besik Bay. The dark image brought new poignancy to a Homeric passage that remained in her memory after one reading--Hektor’s farewell to his wife, Andromache.
“No man, against my fate, sends me to Hades. And, as for fate, I’m sure no man escapes it, neither good nor bad man, once he’s born.”
She opened her eyes and pictured Achilles in his God forged armor, greatest of Greek warriors and hero of Homer. Achilles enraged, riding to the gates of Troy for revenge. Hektor riding to meet the challenge.
“I shall not shun him, but will fight him, to fall or to conquer.”
Charlotte shook off the sadness the speech always brought. She stepped from the inside and came around to the front. The face of the horseshoe shaped cart bore a distinctive decoration, unusual even for a symbolic chariot. She dropped to her knees and wedged the lamp in the sand for a closer look.
An emblem was molded onto a background design giving it a relief effect. The device was of a chariot driven by a helmet-less warrior. His unbound hair touched his collarbone and war bands encircled his powerful upper arms. The artist hammered and etched defined muscles into his biceps and endowed him with broad shoulders. A breastplate covered his wide chest. Intricately carved onto the armor was a sight meant to intimidate of a snarling lion crouched over a dead stag. Reins in one hand, in his upraised other arm, the warrior held a spear aloft, ready to strike. An additional gold strip lay across his torso from his shoulders to his pleated kilt where a sword hung.
The cart was pulled by a lone, large horse. His front hooves off the ground, nostrils flared, his metal mane wild, windblown, as though he traveled at a full gallop. Like his master, the strong muscles in his neck and chest bulged.
Behind the warrior emblem, was the city he fought for, a walled kingdom, with an engraved hilltop citadel. At his feet, squiggly lines peaked in the middle radiated out. They resembled birds in flight. She’d seen similar drawings painted on pottery. Waves. They were the choppy waters of the Hellespont, the name the ancients gave the Dardanelles.
Troy.
In her heart, Charlotte knew she was looking at an artist’s rendition of Troy. The warrior was Hektor.
There was a loud groan. The chariot swayed and the seabed beneath gave a hard jolt. She lost her balance and quickly put her hand down as she tipped to the left. Everything seemed to happen at once. She didn’t recognize the movement for what it was, other than a large object coming toward her. Instinctively, she pushed off the bottom and kicked away as the statue of Eris landed where she’d knelt. A cloud of sand filled the air. Then, the statue of Athena fell across the space she originally entered.
Aftershock.
A low rumble continued through the wreck now. The deep, rolling noise grew louder. Charlotte swam back to the lamp and grabbed the light. With the two guardian statues toppled, she kicked fast and shot through the newly unobstructed opening above them. She, Atakan, and Talat ascended to join Uma at the decompression station.
Murk from the churning seabed engulfed the wreck. From the station, they watched as the stern broke free of the hull and slid down the slope.
Atakan held her face in his hands as the best offering of proof for her theory sank out of sight. His firm grasp stilled her subconscious head shaking, her wish to deny the fact. A downward motion with the flat of his hand, part of their code, made her cognizant of the thousands of bubbles surrounding her. She was burning t
hrough her air. She nodded and slowed her breathing as the stern disappeared.
Chapter Eighty-Three
“Will you search for it in the off season?” Charlotte asked Refik.
“No. It’s in deep water. You know our limitations. Even using special equipment, searching for it isn’t worth our time.”
“What about the golden chariot?”
“We’ve recovered an enormous amount from this ship. We have many wrecks off our coast. Spending valuable resources for the little more, however magnificent, is a waste. Sorry.”
“I understand.” Charlotte did understand. Refik had to be practical.
“I’ll see you later, at dinner,” she said and left Refik’s office.
Atakan had sat in on the conversation but remained quiet. The Ministry wouldn’t interfere. Without proof the chariot was Trojan, the government had no interest in a partial wreck.
Charlotte hiked up the hill, wanting to sit alone with her thoughts and disappointment. She wrapped her arms around her knees, bent her head and cried.
“Tears? What hurts?”
She hadn’t heard Atakan approach.
“Nothing.”
“Yet, I see tears. This is not the Charlotte I know.” He sat next to her. “Are you crying because your thesis is no longer approved?”
She fingered away the tears from her cheeks. “No, I’m reconciled to the idea of changing my subject. I’ve more than enough alternate choices from this project.”
“Then, why are you crying?”
“You’ll laugh.”
“Probably.”
The wry honesty made her smile. It was so Atakan. In spite of her frequent pretense at annoyance, she enjoyed his sardonic humor. The first time they talked together here, she wanted to strangle him. She never imagined connecting to him in any way other than on a scientific level. She’d stomped down the hill certain they’d never become friends, let alone lovers.
She couldn’t pinpoint when exactly her thoughts about him changed. Now, three fast months later, she’d be hard pressed to name which quality she loved best. At Tischenko’s it was definitely courage and determination. Always evident were his ethics, his intellect, and his national pride.
She kissed him.
“I’m listening,” he said.
“I’m crying for Hektor.”
Atakan didn’t laugh. He didn’t say anything. He stared out toward the sea and watched the fishing boats coming in for the night.
“You think I’m being silly. You can say it.”
He turned to her. “No, I don’t. Hektor, whether real or fictional, was a brave man. Brave men deserve to be cried over.”
“Was that an indirect acknowledgment he might be real?”
He gave her his familiar exasperated you’re a crazy woman look. Then, the sarcasm left his face.
“We break camp soon. The season is finished by the end of the week. I guess you’ll go home to write your paper.”
“I haven’t thought about it,” Charlotte said.
“Why don’t you stay in Istanbul and complete the work? You’ll be close to the source material. Any questions you have Refik and I can answer or at least I’ll know someone who can.”
She didn’t know how to take the suggestion.
“Are you suggesting I stay for academic reasons? Or, are you inviting me to stay for you?”
“I’m asking you to stay here, with me, and for me.”
That’s all she needed to hear.
“Your wish is my command...sultan.”
#
“’T is true, ‘T is certain; man though dead retains part of himself: the immortal mind remains.”
Homer
Golden Chariot Page 32
