‘He left his family? That’s harsh.’
‘But not unusual for those times,’ said Papou. ‘The men didn’t have a choice; they needed to provide for their families.’
‘I guess, though, it must have been difficult for the wife to raise the family on her own. Did the bodyguard find the person who stole the coin?’
‘No.’
‘Huh?’ Nik’s mouth fell open. It wasn’t the answer he had expected. ‘If he didn’t, then how did the coin end up with our family?’
‘That, my dear Niko, is the million-dollar question. No-one knows how our descendant recovered the coin.’
‘Come again? What do you mean no-one knows?’
‘There is no record of who stole the coin from the king, until its reappearance with Herodotos.’
‘Doesn’t it seem odd,’ Nik said, ‘that there’s no information on the person who stole the coin nor what they did with it? And then for it to appear out of nowhere and in Herodotos’s possession?’
‘It is strange. These are questions with no answers.’
‘Did you try?’
‘Of course, I spent years searching but could not find anything. My father told me it was a fruitless endeavour. Many guardians tried and failed, but I wanted to prove otherwise. Your grandmother knew of my obsessive nature and told me to let it go, and in time I will find the truth. She was right, she always was.’ He stared at the bookcase, captured by a past memory. ‘That’s when I learned of your father’s habit and my failure to help him.’
Nik, struck by his grandfather’s admission, didn’t know how to respond. Instead, he asked, ‘Herodotos must have known the person who owned the coin?’
His grandfather shook his head. ‘No, the man was a stranger.’
‘How did they meet?’
‘That is a story in itself,’ Papou sighed. He stood and walked over to the bookshelves, scanned the shelves and plucked a book. ‘This is Herodotos’s Histories, in Greek and first translation. The six books with partials from another three. Did you know Herodotos dedicated each book to the muses?’
Nik shook his head. ‘I didn’t.’
Papou patted the cover of the book. ‘The early editions included the original headings of the books. This one does.’
Nik turned and gazed at the bookshelves jam-packed with books. ‘How many books are first editions?’
‘Ninety to ninety-five per cent, except those I purchased for research.’
‘Holy cow, Papou! This collection is worth a fortune!’
‘It is priceless,’ Papou corrected.
Nik flopped back in his chair. ‘This is mind-boggling! I can’t believe all this is just sitting here.’
‘Better get used to it. One day soon, it will all be yours.’
Chapter Eight
‘Tell me what you know about Herodotos,’ said Papou as he thumbed through the book.
‘He came from a city called Halikarnassos, on the coast of south-western Turkey. The city later became famous for the mausoleum dedicated to Mausolos by his wife Artemisia. Herodotus spent years travelling, interviewing Egyptian priests, leaders and descendants from various families, and collating the information for his book. If memory serves me, he went to Persia, as far as India, Egypt, Italy and Greece.’
Papou nodded with approval. ‘His unique style of storytelling was both lauded and disparaged. Plutarch labelled him with the moniker Father of Lies, and it stuck. Since then and to this day, scholars and historians consider his work as unreliable and a work of fiction.’ He patted the cover of the book with affection before continuing. ‘It is outrageous his latter peers did not credit him for creating a masterpiece of historical doctrine. Yes, the language and the descriptions are colourful, but Herodotus had a particular audience in mind. And like Homer before him, he wanted to captivate and entertain. Besides, he states right from the outset the purpose of the Histories: “Herodotos of Halikarnassos here displays his enquiry, so that human achievements may not become forgotten in time, and great and marvellous deeds – some displayed by Greeks, some by barbarians – may not be without their glory; and especially to show why the two peoples fought with each other.”’
‘Why do you think scholars still reject his work as a valuable source of history?’ Nik asked. ‘It is, after all, anecdotal evidence.’
‘It is, and he was the first to investigate and collate events so his audience understood why the war happened between the Greeks and Persians. The issue scholars have is that they don’t believe he journeyed to the locations he wrote about. Allegations suggest he sought people out who returned or visited these places, questioned them and recorded it as his own. Ever since, many historians assert his work as hearsay.’
‘That’s unjust. Who can say he never went to India, Persia or anywhere else?’ Nik questioned. ‘No academic can say with certainty otherwise; they weren’t there.’
‘Yes, that is true, however it doesn’t stop people from criticising his work. But,’ Papou lifted the book and tapped the cover with a finger, ‘he, in fact, travelled. Herodotos had the coin.’
‘You still haven’t told me how he got the coin.’
‘I’m just getting to that,’ Papou said, as he placed the book on the table and picked up his cup of coffee. ‘Herodotos was in Thurii, an Athenian settlement in southern Italy, and while there he met a man who told him of the various places he had visited. Herodotos, ever the enquiring mind, quizzed the man for he did not believe him. Several of the locations the man mentioned Herodotos knew took weeks, months, to voyage to. He wrote the man off as a drunken fool and departed. He saw this odd man again, but it would be the last time.’ Papou paused and took a sip of his coffee.
‘Herodotos was out walking through an olive grove on the outskirts of the city, preoccupied and muttering to himself, working on an oratory, when the man with the tall tales materialised. He stumbled towards Herodotos, nursing his left arm. An arrow protruded from his shoulder. The man collapsed at Herodotos’s feet and passed out. A coin fell from his hand. Herodotos picked it up, lifted the man into his arms and carried him back to the city, where the man died. It turned out the arrowhead had been dipped in poison.’
‘He just appeared? Like …’ Nik clicked his fingers, ‘… that?’
‘That’s what happened, according to Herodotos.’
‘Where did the man come from? Did Herodotos have time to ask how, and where he got shot?’
Papou shook his head. ‘No, but the man mentioned the coin while Herodotos carried him. He kept muttering, “coin; travel”. The man was not from Thurii, no-one knew him, where he came from or his name. Herodotos felt sorry for the mystery man, so he had his body cremated and the ashes interned in an urn and buried. Days later, he had a closer look at the coin and thought back to what the man said. On the obverse side, the imprint had a square divided into four parts. One section, the bottom right, contained a strange image: a tiny face from which three legs, bent at the knee, formed a circle.’
Papou pulled the coin out from his pocket and held it out for Nik to see. The motif was tiny, and if his grandfather hadn’t described it, Nik would not have noticed or spotted the symbol.
‘It’s called a Trinacria. The pattern goes back to an Eastern god called Ba`al. The three legs represent rotation: movement and change. Herodotos tried to connect the words uttered by the man with the images on the coin. He spent weeks trying to decipher the enigma, but the solution evaded him. He put the coin in his coin bag and there it remained, forgotten. He resumed travelling through southern Italy and Sicily, questioning and gathering information for his composition.
‘During a conversation with a benefactor, he mentioned his desire to travel to Persia to investigate Cyrus the Great and the Achaemenid Empire. While walking from his patron’s home to the markets, he pulled out his coin bag and a few pennies fell out. As he bent to collect them, he vanished in an instant.’ Papou clicked his fingers. ‘When he reappeared, Herodotos found himself in a desert, though in the
distance he saw greenery that he assumed was farmland. Confused about his surroundings, Herodotus looked for the familiar landmarks of the markets and the streets of Messene, a Greek city in Sicily. In his hand he clutched the coins, including the one that belonged to the deceased man.’
‘What did he do? Did he panic?’ Nik asked.
‘I am sure he did, though he was a man never to admit he was frightened, and nor would he write it. He waited to see if he would return just as he’d left, but after a while realised he wasn’t going anywhere. Unsure which way to go, he used logic and walked towards the vegetation hoping to find water and people.’
‘Did he get back to Sicily?’
‘He did,’ Papou replied, tilting his head to the side, ‘but not for months. Once he realised where he had landed, and after getting over the initial shock, he found a sponsor, a wealthy landowner who provided accommodation and food for Herodotos’s oratorical recitations for the benefit of the landowner’s family and guests. Herodotos agreed to the conditions and set to work.’
‘Where did he end up?’
‘Persepolis, the capital of the Achaemenid Empire.’
‘No way!’ said Nik, astonished. ‘How did he get back to Sicily? Did he travel the same way as he did to Persepolis?’
‘No, he sailed back. Herodotos wasn’t sure how he arrived in Persia and thought if he went back to the same place he might replicate the event.’
‘And did he?’
‘Nope.’
‘What did he do then?’
‘He kept trying until one day he tossed the coin into the air. When he caught it, he found himself somewhere else.’
‘Where did he go this time?’
‘Egypt.’
Nik gave a low whistle. ‘I guess he learned how to use the coin.’
‘He did.’
‘Did any of our ancestors use the coin?’ Nik asked, leaning forward.
‘Once.’
Nik jerked his head back as if slapped.
‘What happened?’
‘Nothing good comes to those who use the coin,’ his grandfather responded in a flat tone.
Nik sat back, his skin tingling. The bleak look on his grandfather’s face made the hair on his arms stand on end. ‘There’s more. What aren’t you telling me? What trouble did the guardian get into?’
‘During the fourth century CE, the Roman Catholic empire declared war against paganism. They hired mercenaries to raid temples and destroy them, the Vestal Virgins were disbanded and the eternal flame extinguished. They killed pagan priests and many of their followers. In the early twelfth century, the Roman Catholic empire imposed radical laws against the pagans. So much atrocity, and innocent people persecuted under the banner of Christianity continued through to the nineteenth century.
‘The keeper of the coin, fearing for his family, transported them to Limnos, Greece. He went back and forth until all members and close friends were safe. Soon word spread about how this man possessed the power to appear and disappear at will. Wealthy people sought him out and offered vast sums of money if he’d help them leave. From the outset he agreed, because he wanted to help, but then he got greedy and asked for more money each time he relocated a person. His fame reached the ears of the Pope, who issued a decree to capture and put him to death for practising witchcraft.’ Papou stared into his empty cup.
‘They caught him,’ said Nik in a matter-of-fact tone. He didn’t have to ask what form of punishment the man received.
‘The new guardian vowed that from then on, no descendant should use the coin or learn how to use it.’ Papou looked at Nik.
‘What is it?’ Nik asked, not convinced he wanted to hear what came next.
‘According to the historical records of the new guardian, a Papal soldier had in his possession a coin, and used it to capture so-called heretics.’
Nik took a few minutes to gather his thoughts. ‘What happened to the soldier?’ he asked. ‘I hope they sentenced him for using the coin.’
Papou stood. ‘I need something stronger to drink.’ He marched over to the kitchenette, opened an overhead cupboard and grabbed a bottle of Cognac. He poured two fingers of the amber liquid into his cup and tossed it back as if it were water. The bottle clutched in his hand, he tipped more into his cup and brought a glass for Nik.
‘No, instead they rewarded him for his services. He was given captaincy of his own squad and guaranteed land if he continued to bring heretical followers to trial. That’s what’s written in the history books. What the writer omitted from the text was the nature of his death, killed by one of his men en route to Carcassonne. They were acting on the orders of the Pope.’
‘Oh no! Don't say the Catholic Church has the coin?’
‘No, he didn’t have the coin with him. He suspected the day would come where the Church would see him as a threat and took steps to hide it.’
‘That’s how the legend of the coin started, from those two events.’
‘Without a doubt.’
‘Did anyone find out where he hid it?’
Papou shook his head. ‘As far as I know, no-one has found the coin. That is the reason for this.’ He did a sweeping gesture of the room. ‘If they discovered the second coin, we’d soon hear about it.’
‘What are the odds that someone has it and is keeping it secret?’
‘I have considered that option on numerous occasions. I even identified locations and the nature of a person or people who may have it. At the end of the exercise, I realised those seeking the coin would use it. That’s when I upgraded the monitoring system.’ Papou swirled the contents of his cup and breathed in the honeyed aromas.
‘It’s important you understand the consequences associated with the coin. The lure of the coin is compelling: it can promise so many things, such as wealth and power. Yet there is a negative side too. Other than greed, there are adverse effects in using the coin. The more a person travels with it, the detrimental impact on the body becomes stronger and noticeable. The details of this impact are minimal but the most significant signs are tremors and ageing.’
‘Is that how Herodotos died?’
‘The effects were showing, but no, he was one of the hundreds who died from a plague that ravaged Athens.’
Papou took Nik’s hand, placed the coin in his palm and closed his fingers around it, hiding it from sight. The coin throbbed in Nik’s fist. He stared at his grandfather.
‘Can you feel that?’ Papou asked.
Nik nodded, unable to speak. Though small, the vibrations spread from his hand and up his arm. His heart started beating in tempo with the pulsating coin.
‘When you are ready, you will take full responsibility. You must conceal the turtle where no-one will ever find it.’
His grandfather put out his hand, palm facing upwards. Nik dropped the coin into his waiting hand. A sense of loss overcame him as soon as the precious object left his possession. Papou grabbed his wrist.
‘Do not fall under its temptation. You must resist. As part of your training you will hold the coin for some lengths of time, until I am convinced of your ability to withstand its influence.’
‘I didn’t expect that to happen,’ Nik said, rubbing his thumb over his palm where the coin had sat.
‘It is disconcerting, something you don’t expect from an inanimate object. My father made me hold the coin for an hour. The pain was excruciating, yet an exhilarating experience. I imagined myself to be invincible, and when I returned the turtle, my head ached for days.’
‘For such a minor item, it packs a punch. Has anyone investigated to determine what compounds are in the metal?’
‘In the days of alchemy, the guardian conducted experiments and studies of the coin, though the results showed nothing out of the ordinary.’
Papou got up from his chair and walked to the bookshelf. He scanned the titles of a few books, found the one he wanted and returned to his chair. He flipped through the pages, handed the book to Nik and pointed to a passage.
‘Their findings showed the coin was a mix of gold and silver, seventy per cent of the latter, the dominant metal.’
Nik skimmed the text. The archaic language formal and pompous – lengthy in its explanation of the properties of the coin – and how undistinguishable it appeared compared to other Greek currency of the time.
‘Didn’t they experience any effects when they handled the coin?’ he asked.
‘There’s no mention of how the coin affected the original guardians, though later protectors passed on how they reacted to the coin,’ Papou said.
‘Do you reckon they left out the information on purpose in case someone else read the book?’ Nik asked.
‘That’s the conclusion I came to,’ replied Papou. ‘The study of alchemy drew the attention of the Church, and ordered their soldiers to hunt and condemn these scientists. To avoid persecution, further studies lapsed and later, when chemistry and science became the frontiers of learning, it was safer to keep the coin hidden.’
Nik stared at the paragraphs, trying to glean further meaning. ‘Then how … no, what makes the coin do … whatever it does?’
‘I’ve tried to rationalise what and why, and concluded there is no explanation or logic to what it does,’ Papou replied. ‘There are theories as to the workings of the coin.’ He stopped talking.
Nik frowned. ‘What are those?’
‘Mind you, these are only speculations and difficult to confirm, not by science,’ Papou conceded. ‘One strong conjecture suggests the rock from which the ancient Greeks made the coins came from Kronos, the one he ingested and then regurgitated.’
‘Is this the myth where Rhea tricked Kronos to consume the rock instead of Zeus, who later made his father throw up the children he ate?’ Nik asked.
‘The same.’ Papou affirmed with a nod. ‘Therefore, the stone had absorbed the energy of the Titan, making it omnipotent.’
‘Okay …’ Nik scratched his head. ‘You said theories in the plural, so what are the others?’
The Guardian's Legacy Page 6
