“In your call, you mentioned retrieving some artifacts?”
“Yes, I actually brought them with me,” Pitt replied, nodding toward a black bag that sat near his feet.
Ruppé’s eyes lit up, then he looked at his watch. “It’s after eleven, and I’ve probably kept you up too late as it is. But the museum is just a few minutes down the road. I’d love to take a look at the items, and then you can leave them in the safety of my lab, if you like.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Loren piped up, averting potential disappointment for her husband. “We’re both dying to have your assessment.”
“Great,” Ruppé smiled. “Let’s enjoy our coffee, and then we can go to my office to take a proper look at what you found.”
The coffee cups drained and the check paid, the trio wandered out of the restaurant and up the street. Ruppé stopped in front of a green Volkswagen Karmann Ghia convertible parked at the curb.
“My apologies for the lack of legroom, I know the backseat is pretty cramped,” he said.
“I love these old VWs,” Loren said. “I haven’t seen one this nice in ages.”
“She’s getting on in years but still runs like a top,” Ruppé said. “I’ve found it to be a great car for zipping around the cramped streets of Istanbul, though I miss having air-conditioning.”
“Who needs that when the top goes down?” Pitt mused, taking the passenger seat after Loren had wedged herself into the backseat.
Ruppé drove back into the heart of the city, then turned through a large arched gate.
“We’re entering the grounds of Topkapi, the old Ottoman palace,” he explained. “Our museum is located near the entrance to the inner courtyard. You should take a tour of the palace, if you have the chance. But go early, it’s a tourist favorite.”
Ruppé motored through a parklike setting studded with historic buildings. Driving up a slight rise, he pulled into an employee parking lot at the rear of the Istanbul Archaeology Museum. A half block away rose the high wall that surrounded the inner palace of Topkapi.
After uncoiling themselves from the cramped car, Loren and Pitt followed Ruppé toward a large neoclassical building.
“The museum actually encompasses three buildings,” Ruppé explained. “There’s the Museum of the Ancient Orient around the front, next to the Tiled Kiosk, which houses the Museum of Islamic Art. I kick around here in the main building, which houses the Archaeology Museum.”
Ruppé led them up the back steps of the columned building, constructed in the nineteenth century. After he unlocked the back door, they were greeted by a night watchman stationed just inside.
“Good evening, Dr. Ruppé,” the guard said. “Working late again?”
“Hi, Avni. Just a quick visit with some friends, and then we’ll be gone.”
“Take your time. It’s just me and the crickets.”
Ruppé led his guests through the main hallway, which was filled with ancient statues and carvings. Exhibit halls on either side show-cased elaborate tombs from across the Middle East. The archaeologist stopped and pointed out a massive stone sarcophagus covered with bas-relief carvings.
“The Alexander Sarcophagus, our most famous artifact. The scenes along the sides depict Alexander the Great in battle. Nobody knows who’s actually inside, though many believe it’s a Persian Governor named Mazaeus.”
“Beautiful artwork,” Loren murmured. “How old is it?”
“Fourth century B.C.”
Ruppé guided them down a side corridor and into a spacious office overflowing with books. A large lab table occupied one wall, its stainless steel surface covered with artifacts in varying stages of conservation. Ruppé flicked on a bank of overhead lights, which brightly illuminated the room.
“Let’s take a look at your soggy goods,” he said, pulling a couple of stools up to the table.
Pitt unzipped the bag and pulled out Giordino’s iron box, unwrapping it carefully from the towel.
“Somebody’s piggy bank, I believe,” he said. “The lock came off by itself,” he explained with a guilty grin.
Ruppé slipped on a pair of reading glasses and studied the box.
“Yes, it looks like the equivalent of a strongbox, quite old from the appearance.”
“The contents might make dating it a little easier,” Pitt remarked.
Ruppé’s eyes widened as he opened the lid. Spreading a cloth on the table, he carefully laid out the silver and gold coins, seven in all.
“I should have let you pay for dinner,” he said.
“My word, is that real gold?” Loren asked, picking up the gold coin and noting its heavy weight.
“Yes, looks to be from an Ottoman mint,” Ruppé replied, studying the stamped inscription. “They operated several around the empire.”
“Can you read any of the writing?” she asked, admiring the swirling Arabic script.
“It appears to be a rendition of ‘Allahu Akbar,’ or ‘God is great.’”
Ruppé crossed the room and scanned his bookshelf, finally retrieving a thick-bound volume from the shelves. Flipping its pages, he stopped at a photograph of several antique coins. Comparing the image with one of the coins, he nodded in satisfaction.
“A match?” Pitt asked.
“Spot-on. Identical to coins known to be minted in Syria, during the sixteenth century. Congratulations, Dirk, you’ve likely discovered an Ottoman wreck from the Age of Suleiman the Magnificent.”
“Who’s Suleiman?” Loren asked.
“One of the most successful and admired of the Ottoman sultans, perhaps only behind the reigning founder of the empire, Osman I. He expanded the Ottoman Empire across southeastern Europe, the Middle East, and North Africa during his reign in the mid fifteen hundreds.”
“Perhaps this was a gift or offering to the Sultan,” Pitt said, removing the ceramic box from his bag and slowly unwrapping it. Loren’s eyes brightened at the intricate design in blue, purple, and white that adorned the lid.
“What beautiful artistry,” she remarked.
“The old Muslim craftsmen did wonders with tile and ceramic,” Ruppé said. “I haven’t seen anything quite like this, however.”
He held the box up to the light and studied it carefully. There was a small uneven crack on one side, which he rubbed a finger over.
“The design is similar to items I’ve seen known as Damascus ware,” he said. “It’s a pattern from the well-known ancient kilns of Iznik, Turkey.”
He carefully pried the lid off, then removed the encrusted crown from inside.
“Oh my,” Loren said, inching closer.
Ruppé was equally impressed. “That’s something you don’t see every day,” he said, holding it for study under a portable lamp. He picked up a small dental pick and lightly scraped off a particle of sediment.
“This should clean up quite nicely, given a careful scrubbing,” he said. Examining it a bit closer, he squinted with a furrowed brow. “That’s odd,” he said.
“What is it?” Loren asked.
“There appears to be an inscription on the inside rim. I can just make out a few letters, but it appears to be Latin.”
“That doesn’t make much sense,” Loren said.
“No,” Ruppé agreed. “But I think after a bit of conservation, we’ll be able to figure it out. Should allow us a good chance at identifying its origin.”
“I knew we came to the right place,” Pitt said.
“It would seem that your shipwreck may contain more than one mystery,” Ruppé said.
Loren looked at the crown through tired eyes, then suppressed a yawn.
“I’m afraid I’ve kept you up far too late,” Ruppé remarked, placing the crown in a wall safe, then putting the lockbox, coins, and ceramic box into a plastic bin filled with fresh water. “I’ll be anxious to examine the items in more detail with the help of my associates as soon as I return from Rome.”