Harcourt nodded.
"And the overlay is gold?"
Harcourt pursed his lips. "It's not exactly an overlay. The metallurgists I've showed it to say it's as if the outer surface of the bronze were transmuted."
Kismet raised an eyebrow, but did not pursue the matter; he remembered Harcourt's penchant for blending pseudo-science and mysticism with the facts in order to paint a dramatic, if not entirely authentic picture of the past. He placed the fragment against his face, trying to imagine how it would have looked on the ancient warrior to whom it originally belonged. "What do you think?"
"Very becoming."
The helmet had been fashioned for someone with a smaller head, probably a youth. "Where did you find this?"
"Unfortunately I didn't find it, but rather purchased it. If I knew where it had been found, my quest would be far simpler."
"So it could be from almost any site, anywhere. What makes you think this will lead to an undiscovered site?"
"That piece is like nothing that has ever been uncovered. It is unique in many ways, not the least of which is the gold covering."
"That could have been done later. The Greeks pioneered the technique of electroplating thousands of years ago, but you know as well as I that the ancients didn't waste their gold decorating war helmets. Maybe the person who sold it to you was trying to increase its value."
"Perhaps there is another explanation." Harcourt's Cheshire cat grin suggested he was about to elaborate.
"I'm listening."
Harcourt reached into the case and drew out a large manila envelope, which he casually tossed over to Kismet. The envelope contained five 8"X10" photographs. They were all images of a single piece of white stone viewed from different aspects. Kismet spread them out and began examining from left to right.
The subject of the photos was unquestionably an artifact, a product of some intelligence rather than a random occurrence of nature. Like the helmet, the white stone had been damaged at some point in its long history, destroying its intended symmetry. One of the photographs showed it lying alongside a measuring tape, helping Kismet to understand why Harcourt had not simply brought the piece itself.
The stone was a block, a foot in depth and width, and about two feet to the long point of where it had been broken. The fracture had cleaved a forty-five degree angle through length, more or less leaving the other dimensions unaltered. The fourth picture was a close-up of one facet, and the photographer had adjusted his angle to highlight in shadow a series of carved letters.
"Can you read what it says?"
Kismet shrugged. "Ancient Greek really isn't my field."
"Ah, of course. But you are proficient in its modern equivalent, are you not? There are differences of course, but the letters are similar. Give it a try."
Kismet frowned, but returned his gaze to the photograph. "The first word is partly damaged, but I would imagine that this is an altar stone, so I would infer that it says 'bomos,' or 'altar of offerings.'"
"I knew you were only being modest. And the second word?"
"'Medea.' Offerings to Medea?"
Harcourt sat back smugly. "What do you think of that?"
Kismet's reply was guarded. "What am I supposed to think?"
"Oh, don't be so coy, Nick. You know as well as I who Medea was; the witch-queen from the legend of Jason and the Argonauts, daughter of the king of Colchis, the land where the Golden Fleece was hidden."
Kismet frowned, recalling the old adage about a little knowledge being dangerous. "Medea was never worshiped by the ancient Greeks. She was merely a character in a story that was a myth even to them."
"I would suggest that the altar stone you see in the photograph proves that someone did worship her.”
"Perhaps the stone was a theatrical prop. The legend of the Argonauts was a favorite of Greek dramatists." Kismet knew the argument was weak, but he saw where Harcourt was leading and felt compelled to head him off.
"Then the set designer was rather over-eager, don't you think? That's white marble, a rather expensive choice for use as a decoration."
"Touché." Kismet sighed, staring once more at the words on the photograph. "All right, someone worshiped somebody named Medea. If it was the same person as the one in the legend, what does that prove? There are thousands of altars, temples and shrines to dozens of gods, nymphs and oracles. Those temples in no way prove that such persons or creatures existed."
"You've gotten ahead of me, Nick. I merely present this to you as evidence of an aspect of ancient culture with which we are unfamiliar."
"And you think there's more to be discovered?"
"I am certain of it." Harcourt sat back and pressed his fingers together. "However, let me return to the subject of Medea as an historic figure. Since history does not record the worship of her, and yet we see proof that she was worshiped by someone, what does that suggest?”
"Medea literally means 'a witch' or 'one who is cunning.' There's nothing to indicate that a woman named Medea really existed. If the character in legend was based on an actual person, it is doubtful that her name was Medea, and even less likely that her worshipers would have memorialized her with that derogatory term."
"The word may have been coined because of her."
Kismet found his recall of both his Greek language lessons and Bullfinch's mythology shifting into overdrive. "No. In fact, it is a Greek word, while the Medea of legend was not a Greek. And use of the word certainly pre-dates the theoretical place in history when the journey of the Argo would have occurred.”
"Except for that," snapped Harcourt, seeming to lose his cool. He stabbed his finger at the photo. "An altar to Medea."
"Calm down," soothed Kismet. "You're right. This would seem to support what you're suggesting."
Harcourt stared back, unsure of what to make of Kismet's apparent reversal. "I hope you're not patronizing me, Nick." He waited a moment longer, before continuing. "I believe that this altar stone is one end of a thread that will lead us through the labyrinth of legend to the truth about Medea, Jason, the Argonauts and the Golden Fleece itself.
"To begin with, the legend states that Jason and his companions successfully completed their quest, capturing the Golden Fleece. He also took Medea for a bride, and returned to win back the kingdom to which he was the rightful heir. Some versions even speak of him using the Fleece as a talisman to control the weather or heal a blight upon the land. In any event, the Fleece was certainly a great treasure. Yet, following the end of the tale, there is no further mention of it in the mythology of the Greeks.
"What if there really was a Golden Fleece? What if it was a symbol of powerful magic? What if Medea took the Fleece from her husband, and used it to create a cult of her own worshipers? Do you see where this leads? If we can locate the temple of Medea from which this altar stone was taken, we may find also one of the most spectacular artifacts in history: the original quest, the Golden Fleece."
"I counted at least three ‘what ifs' Andrew. You are basing your entire investigative process on folk tales."
"And why is that such a crime? Heinrich Schliemann proved that the mythology of Homer was a suitable guide book when he discovered the ruins of ancient Troy."
Kismet dredged up what he knew about the famous German archaeologist who had plundered gold from a site in Turkey near the turn of the twentieth century. Schliemann’s wife and partner had reportedly helped him smuggle the artifacts from the site and ultimately back to their homeland by concealing them under her skirt. Those treasures, revered by the German National Socialist party prior to World War II had disappeared following the sack of Berlin, probably taken as booty by Russian soldiers and secreted away in the halls of the Hermitage. It was just the sort of incident the Global Heritage Commission sought to prevent by keeping historical discoveries in their country of origin. Harcourt, like Heinrich Schliemann, was a 'pop' scientist, who liked to make sensational claims that grabbed headlines, and Kismet had no qualms about voicing that accusation.