A strange thought entered Aristo’s brain. The two spheres were parallel universes. The dots on each sphere were in seemingly identical locations. In his mind’s eye Aristo saw his mother owning or controlling those sites, and manipulating what was happening in them and moving things from one place to its soulmate in the parallel Earth, like moving pawns on a giant chess set. As exciting as that sounded, Aristo dismissed the thought as outrageous.
‘Aristo, those are all the places that relate to the last Emperor, the Likureian icons or places that we have been to as part of this quest. Pergamon where we are now is the last one. I wonder whether…’
Aristo completed her thought. ‘… our next destination will appear.’
But instead of a dot appearing, as they expected, on any of the spheres and showing them their next destination, a series of images appeared. Their high expectations of a clear message started to rapidly deflate till they shattered. It would not be as easy as they had hoped after all.
They tried to make sense of the images. There were two boys playing who then began to grow into young men and continued to grow older. Whilst they were holding hands till then and standing on what looked like somewhere in the Southern Peloponnese in Greece, they suddenly let go of each other and started to walk away. One briefly wore a crown whilst in the Peloponnese, before taking it off and leaving it behind. He then entered what looked like Constantinople and put on a new crown.
The other stayed in the Peloponnese and walked a short distance, coming to a stop in the Evrotas valley with the mighty mountain of Taygetos rising above it like a lonely sentinel. He picked up the crown left behind by the other man and set in on his head. There the image suddenly vanished.
‘Aristo, that’s where Sparta is isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is. Let’s think about this. We saw two children holding hands and playing together. Let’s assume that they were brothers. Do they remind you of anything?’ Aristo paused and they both racked their brains, looking around for inspiration. It was Katerina that solved the riddle.
‘Aristo, I know. I know what it’s trying to tell us. It’s plausible. It fits. The two brothers are the last Emperor, Konstantinos XI Palaiologos, and his brother. The location there in the Peloponnese is not Sparta. It’s Mystras, just outside Sparta. When Constantinople was ransacked in 1204 A.D. by the Crusaders of the Fourth Crusade, who were “graciously” invited to intervene in a Byzantine dispute over the succession to the throne, and were not paid for their trouble, the Byzantine Empire was divided into independent Latin fiefdoms. But amidst that swathe of Latin fiefdoms, three islands of Byzantine tradition remained. Those were the Empire of Trapezounta on the Black Sea, in North-Eastern Asia Minor, the Despotato of Epirus in Northern Greece and the Empire of Nicaea in Asia Minor, from where Emperor Michael VIII Palaiologos launched his campaign that eventually resulted in the retaking of Constantinople in 1261 A.D. The Despotato of Morias or Mystras, with Mystras as its capital, was created in 1261 A.D. when territory was captured from William II Villehardouin, Prince of Achaea, in the Peloponnese. It later became a province of the reconstructed Byzantine Empire and, from 1380 A.D. onwards, it became a tradition for the sons of Emperor Manuel II Palaiologos to become Despots, with both the last Byzantine Emperor and his brother, Demetrios, having held that position. The Despotato remained a Byzantine stronghold even after the fall of Constantinople, but it eventually succumbed to the Ottoman Sultan Mehmed II in 1460 A.D.
‘The important thing is that the last Emperor was born in Mystras and was ruler or Despot of Mystras before becoming Emperor and that he was succeeded by his brother. Mystras is the place that is common to them both. I think that’s our next destination. Mystras, the city of churches, now ruined with only some of its surviving, almost intact churches in use, but with many visitors treading its paths and feasting on its ruins and the view of the surrounding landscape.’
‘I believe that you are right. Your theory is sound. We have to give it a shot. Let’s not be tempted to explore the sequence of rooms and their intriguing spectacles opening up before us that appears endless. It must be a trick to distract us from our mission. Let’s go.’
Katerina felt there was something significant she had to remember, that they had to do before they left, and then it came to her. ‘Aristo, let’s check the tablet outside the Library on our way back. It may be important.’
Aristo and Katerina returned to the Library, but the tablet was no longer there. However, high up above the entrance there were glowing letters that Aristo could not understand, but had a strange feeling that Katerina could. And right on cue she delivered.
‘Aristo, I can read it. It’s written in my make-up language. It says: “For you who enters with purity of soul and having seen the sphere, the crystal temple of knowledge that is partly here and partly elsewhere, is yours”.’
CHAPTER 30
Mystras, outskirts of Sparta
Peloponnese, Greece
Present Day
Mystras. Spreading its tentacles across the face of a hill outside the modern town of Sparta (itself a small provincial town these days, its past glories long gone) were the ruins of the long-ago thriving city-state. A popular tourist destination for those who ventured into the romantic idea that was Sparta and Mystras.
Yet one felt something stir in them when walking through the ruined arches and the few surviving, and in some cases still used, churches and former monasteries.
Mystras held its mysteries and secrets well. Aristo and Katerina had no way of knowing that they were riding into the mouth of a horror that would be soon unleashed.
They used Elli’s private jet this time. From Pergamon they drove to the nearest airfield where the jet was waiting for them. They landed at a small airfield near Sparta and drove to Mystras.
The place was deserted as they entered through the main gate of the lower city, coming to rest in the square with the ruin of the Despot’s palace throwing an ominous shadow over them, giving them a brief glimpse into what was at one time a glorious, vibrant, powerful and very wealthy stronghold with a Byzantine heart.
It was in Mystras that the last Emperor was crowned Emperor of Constantinople and the Byzantine Empire. It was the first time that an Emperor was crowned outside Constantinople, outside the church of Ayia Sophia in Constantinople, a shocking break with the tradition of centuries. There was no proper ceremony. No Patriarch was there to perform the deed and invest the last Emperor with the crown and the power and the heritage of centuries of Imperial glory and Empire.
The last Emperor, Konstantinos XI Palaiologos never did have a choice. It was a thankless task, a worthless position, but somebody had to do it, somebody had to steer City and Empire, the tiny territories that still proudly carried the name of an Empire in its dying hours, somebody to lower the curtain on a glorious history and switch off the lights.
But of course the spirit of that long and proud tradition could never be crushed. Its people would spread it to the West and the rest of the world, an infusion of knowledge and enlightenment to inspire and form the basis for the Renaissance that followed soon after the fall of Constantinople in 1453 A.D.
There was no competing claim to the Emperor’s right to the mighty throne. Nobody else craved the empty trappings of glory and power and prestige and wealth of a non-existent empire, a fool’s gold, a luckless game with the odds stacked against the holder of that office.
Aristo stood with Katerina in the square, unsure what to do. The place was deserted. There were no people wandering the meagre ruins, the meandering streets, gaping doorways, hollowed out windows and jugged walls.