Later in the day, John was busy restoring a Byzantine icon, part of the Metropolitan Museum’s famed collection, when suddenly a small piece of wood popped out, revealing a secret compartment. Inside was a ring bearing a seal.
He studied the ring. It could not be anything but the Imperial seal, and the style was typical of the Palaiologos dynasty. It appeared to have some traces of blood on it.
He picked up the phone.
‘James, it’s John. You know I’ve been restoring this Byzantine icon. Well, I’ve found something. I think you’d better have a look at it.’
‘Come right up.’
A few minutes later John Halland was sitting opposite James Calvell. Between them, James’ desk was the temporary stage for the presentation of an item that, most probably, had not seen the light of day for a very long time.
John was observing James studying the ring and the icon that had been the ring’s secret home. John half-smiled to himself. James’s fascination with the two items was written all over his face.
He looked up at John in time to catch John’s expression in the split second before John’s miserable attempt at changing it. James was amused, but chose not to comment. The two men exchanged a knowing look indicating they were, probably, thinking along the same lines. James took the plunge.
‘I think we should speak with Giorgos in Athens. It’s his specialist field and I bet he’d be very interested in seeing this too.’ John nodded in agreement.
James dialled Giorgos’ Athens number. While waiting for Giorgos to answer, James’ mind wandered to his old friend. They had been at university together and had been like brothers ever since. Although they ended up separated by an ocean and a continent, their bond remained strong.
They had shared dangerous experiences, climbing peaks and rock faces around the world that would have defeated lesser men. And they had saved each other’s lives too numerous times to count during those risky expeditions.
Theirs was a bond without petty jealousies or squabbles. Any chinks or scratches inflicted on each other’s armour quickly healed, as they were the result of humour or honesty.
James greatly admired this archaeologist who he knew was worth twenty times all of his rival archaeologists put together. He was glad that Giorgos was down to earth and did not share the pretensions that many of his rivals had adopted, behaving as they did with an academic arrogance that was not justified by their lack of vision and achievement out on the field and on the ground, and with no intention of belittling activity outside fieldwork, the real frontier of archaeological endeavour.
Giorgos had thick skin, which stood him in good stead, as he very often was the target of rival archaeologists’ unfair criticism and mockery. The seasoned and upstanding members of the archaeological establishment somehow could not resist the impulse to rush to deride him, his work and his opinions, without even properly analysing his findings, a reaction, James had no doubt, born of jealousy for this upstart who threatened to upstage them at every turn, and perhaps permanently stand above them, if he made that great discovery he was so obsessed about.
Those knee-jerk reactions and attacks on Giorgos was proof, if any was needed, that his rivals were genuinely afraid of his brilliant mind and relentless pursuit of his theories, which were always backed by meticulous research.
James was devastated and helpless to intervene when Giorgos had to abandon the Cappadocian expedition and return to Athens, resigning himself to a cushy desk job, a mundane life of hard graft teaching at the University, day in day out.
He had since then pestered him not to give up or give into the lazy routine of the daily life he led lately. He was much too talented to waste himself like that. Just because an expedition went wrong due to no fault of his, it was unacceptable for him to give up his life-long dream.
He only wished that Giorgos would chew this one up to experience and move on. Being young and ambitious meant he still had not acquired the cynicism that came with age and kept seasoned archaeologists sane. Then again, how many archaeologists of a certain age and experience had he met who had lost their mind waiting for the big discovery that never came?
He had noticed his spark snuffed out, nothing left to ignite his ever present adrenaline rush, that signature infectious energy gone up in smoke, a defeated man, aged beyond his years.
He could not remember the last time he heard warmth in Giorgos’ voice, the last time he heard that laugh that could melt anyone he met. He now hoped that Giorgos had kept the small flame of his dream alive.
Finally the phone was picked up eight thousand kilometres away. James felt a clutch at his heart as he immediately detected the mechanical note in his friend’s voice.
James decided to avoid pleasantries. The only way to drag Giorgos out of his slumber and trigger his interest was to get straight to the point.
‘Giorgos, it’s James.’
‘Hi, James. How’s your entombment in that most famed of institutions?’
‘Keeping me young and fresh, thank you very much dear Giorgos.’
‘The air is thin there, my friend. You should get out whilst there’s still time and you are still young. There’s hope for you yet, but running out of its hourglass faster than you think.’
James laughed. He would not let Giorgos get away with that. ‘Look who’s talking. I’m following your glorious example.’
‘Have you considered that I may actually enjoy what I’m doing?’ Giorgos sounded defensive and he knew it. And he had no doubt that James had picked up on it and would punish him for it.
‘Yes, I’m sure you are; going through the motions and whiling away the time filling young minds with your knowledge and wisdom and pandering to an ungrateful and sclerotic academic bureaucracy instead of being out there chasing your dreams, trusting your instincts and taking chances on your brilliant theories and at the same time raising two fingers to the sceptical and conservative rival archaeologists mocking you for your wild and bizarre ideas. If it were not for archaeologists, both trained professionals and amateurs, following through on their wild goose-chases, many of the greatest archaeological discoveries of all time would never have seen the light of day. Giorgos, you are lying to yourself and you know it.’
James finished, fixed his eyes on Giorgos and waited. He hoped that something of what he had just said would get through to Giorgos. It was time for him to come to his senses.
As soon as the words about enjoying his work left Giorgos’ mouth, he knew they sounded hollow. He did not need James’ outburst to starkly show him his grim and sad situation for what it was.
Who was he trying to fool? James was right. He had seen through Giorgos’ words, which were more full of self-denial and delusion than fact. Hell, he didn’t believe them himself.
However much he had tried, Giorgos simply could not bring himself to show passion and optimism for his current job. There was no denying the fact that he was in a professional and personal dead end, his life put on hold, frozen until the Great Ice Age passed, which left what? Another few thousand years to go, which in his case, being human, as things stood, with no end of the mundane in sight, meant for the rest of his life.
His friend’s silence since his outburst was telling. James was clearly waiting for him to come clean, and briefly roll in his last bout of self-pity and constructive introspection, before recovering spectacularly, the real Giorgos reborn.
‘When are you going to follow your dreams instead of preaching to the unconverted?’
Giorgos’ question was so unexpected when it came that James was suddenly lost for words, a rare occurrence indeed. For a brief moment he felt disappointed that he had failed to wake his friend from his one-hundred-year sleep, but when he saw the amusement in Giorgos’ eyes he realised that he had broken through the shell that Giorgos had so diligently built around him since the failure of the Cappadocian expedition. The question was pure Giorgos taking his revenge by throwing James’ own words back at him.