He knew about the fearsome power protecting the tomb and the terrible events that took place there in 1453 A.D. Had he been allowed to have got involved with the expedition before it was shut down he would not have allowed the opening of the tomb to proceed unless measures had been taken to protect the archaeological team from near certain death that would befall anyone who attempted to open it. Iraklios would not have revealed the secret of the tomb and its fearsome power, but he would, nevertheless, have protected those involved.
He was prepared to risk any lives even if he may have had to reveal part of that carefully kept secret. Iraklios suspected that the lack of an explosion or death only meant one thing; that the last Emperor’s body was not there anymore. This begged a number of questions; where it was, who moved it, when and why.
CHAPTER 5
Monastery of Pantokrator
Mount Athos, Northern Greece
Present day
Mount Athos appeared suspended from the black sky. It was almost sunrise, but the ominous clouds pushing down on the Holy Mountain kept at bay any threat of sunlight getting through. The gloominess brought out the Mountain in all its brooding and divine glory.
Women were not allowed to step within the boundaries of the semi-autonomous territory of the Holy Mountain, but Elli was an exception. The privilege or special dispensation was granted a long time ago and had been repeatedly renewed by the governing body of the Holy Mountain and had never been withdrawn.
Elli had, after a gruelling journey, just arrived at the Monastery of Pantokrator. The monastery’s library was not one of the biggest of the monasteries on the Athos Peninsula, but it was one of the most valuable, containing three thousand rare ancient manuscripts. It was very fortunately spared intact when a terrible fire engulfed the monastery one hundred and fifty-four years ago.
Elli was here to see Aggelos, the curator of the monastery’s library and treasures. She wanted to talk to him about her search for the Likureian icons. The monasteries of the Holy Mountain had been the depository of treasures, manuscripts and relics since the fall of Constantinople and their priceless collections were vast.
If there was anyone who could help her, that was Aggelos. His prodigious study had given him unparalleled knowledge. Elli had great hopes that somewhere amongst those ancient manuscripts lay the information she sought. A young monk she had met before called Sotirios came to meet her.
‘Mrs Elli, welcome. It is good to see you again.’
‘It is good to be here again, Sotirios. I believe Aggelos is expecting me. Could you please take me to him?’
‘I’m afraid Aggelos is outside the monastery in voluntary isolation.’ Elli tried to hide her annoyance, but Sotirios caught the slight frown. ‘But he will be returning to the monastery tomorrow. Until then please allow us to offer you food and bed for the night in our humble lodgings.’
‘You are very kind. Thank you.’
‘You must be very tired after your long journey. Please allow me to show you to your room.’
Sotirios led Elli through dimly lit corridors to a spacious room reserved for guests of the monastery. The view of the sea and the islands in the distance was breathtaking. The room was sparsely furnished, but comfortable. Strangely, the silence was deafening for someone used to the barrage of sounds of daily life.
Elli forgot what it was like to be in an environment of almost absolute silence and it was a welcome respite from her hectic schedule. Sotirios paused at the door on his way out.
‘Please let us know if you need anything. I assume you would prefer to dine here.’ Elli nodded. ‘I will arrange for food to be brought to you.’
‘Thank you, Sotirios.’
Sotirios closed the door gently behind him and Elli was alone and feeling relaxed but more claustrophobic than ever. She could not wait to meet with Aggelos and get off this anachronistic rock however charming and peaceful it might be.
She looked out of the tiny window at the sea and the distant land beyond and could not avoid being dragged into reflections on God and religion, the foundation and life-long sole mission of this revered place, and what God and religion meant to her, if anything at all.
Elli had never cared much for the worship of God. She was a pragmatist, but understood that pragmatism and religion were not necessarily irreconcilable. The key was knowledge. She had devoted, though, a part of her life in studying and understanding Orthodox Christianity and the peculiarities and idiosyncrasies of monastic life on Mount Athos, other branches of Christianity and many others of the world’s religions. Because of its relative isolation, the Holy Mountain was a special place.
Within twelve hours she was on her way back home to Cyprus armed with a piece of the puzzle. She knew she had to find the Likureian icons, but where to start? She wondered about her family’s archives and whether they contained something useful, a clue perhaps. The archives were extensive, but they had been combed through in minute detail over the years and she doubted whether they could yield anything further. Unless there was something hidden.
There were gaps in the story, especially pertaining to the journey of her ancestor Michael to Constantinople in 1453 A.D. and the reason behind it. And, of course, the events preceding her family’s escape from a burning Smyrna in 1922 A.D., away from the Turkish troops, and their finding of refuge in Cyprus.
She knew there were secret compartments and passageways in her house, the product of two not unjustifiably paranoid ancestors who had barely got their family out of Smyrna alive. Antonios Symitzis and his sister Zoe planned for every eventuality they could think of and organised their lives in a way that, if anything happened in Cyprus, they could get out easily and quickly.
As with the family’s sojourn in Smyrna, they and their ancestors had always taken precautions to protect their family and their assets, by simply not keeping all of their eggs in one basket. They had to leave a life, in a rush and thankfully alive, twice before. Smyrna in 1922 A.D. was the second time. Constantinople in 1453 A.D., as it fell to the Ottomans, was the first.
As luck would have it, a long lost chronicle of her ancestor Michael Symitzis surfaced from the depths of the Symitzis archives. She hoped for a clue on the fate of the Likureian icons. She would not be disappointed. She sat in her study and began to read Michael’s account of his visit to Constantinople on 28 ^th May 1453 A.D., the eve of the fall of the City to the Ottomans.
CHAPTER 6
Constantinople
28th May 1453 A.D.
(Eve of the Fall)
The huge walls loomed on the horizon like a dark cloud descending to earth. The city was Constantinople, the capital of an empire that was built in the name of God and was once more in its history defended in the name of God.
It was pretentious to even call what was left an empire when only the city remained. However, at this time God would not be knocking on this particular door. The writing was on the wall.
Here was I, Michael Symitzis, riding at top speed to the, by all accounts, doomed city that had decided to make a final stand against the Ottomans led by the fearsome and ruthless Sultan Mehmed II and, if not defy, then delay fate.
The city was asleep. I could not shake the feeling that I was being watched by thousands of eyes, and maybe I was, but was deemed too insignificant to be stopped. The city was on heightened alert, sniffing the enemy’s next assault on the walls.
The Ottoman had surrounded the city and blocked all traffic to and fro. They were now lying in wait, and on a signal from their exulted leader, ready to pounce. The Ottoman was spread along the entire length of the city’s West and only landbound side, the Great Theodosian Walls, first built by the Emperor of the same name in the fourth century A.D. and reinforced and rebuilt over the centuries.