The Emperor Awakes Read online

  CHAPTER 4

  Cappadocia, Asia Minor

  (Modern-day Turkey)

  Present day

  It was a bright sunny August day with a glorious blue cloudless sky. The heat was stifling outside, but inside the caves it was comfortable and cool. The only sounds were voices and the distant impact of chisel on rock.

  It had been a gruelling day for the excavation team that were running out of funds and out of time. They had been doubling and redoubling their efforts. And with funds almost exhausted, they could not afford to employ more people and had to do the additional work themselves. That had meant little sleep and many cups of coffee.

  Giorgos was sure this particular cave hid something precious. He had done his research and to him the trail led here. It would be a natural place to hide something so precious away from prying eyes and the threat of looting.

  Giorgos was with a special archaeological expedition, a collaboration between the Greek and Turkish Departments of Antiquities, which had been excavating a cave believed to be a Byzantine chapel carved out of the rock in around 1453 A.D.

  Survivors of the fall of Constantinople in 1453 A.D. fled to all directions. A band of them came here, in this remote area, scattered with caves hewn out of the unusually shaped hills, a perfect refuge, which had been used in the past as shelter from Saracen and other attacks on the coastal settlements.

  Giorgos hoped that the cave hid a secret bigger than a chapel and some random artefacts, and he wished he could coerce the cave and seduce it to gorge out its secrets.

  He was tired of endless archaeological excavations with little treasure. He ached for that big break, the glory of that big discovery, to rival the discovery of the tombs of the Macedonian Kings in Vergina in Macedonia, Northern Greece, the tomb of Tutankamun in Egypt, the discovery of Knossos and the Minoan civilization in Crete, Mycenae in the Peloponnese and Troy in Asia Minor.

  Apart from the discovery of the tomb of Alexander the Great which would rank amongst the greatest discoveries of all time, there was one discovery that would probably, at least for the Greeks, rank as one of the greats; the tomb of the last Emperor of Constantinople, Konstantinos XI Palaiologos, who disappeared during the siege and fall of the city to the Ottomans on 29th May 1453 A.D.

  That disappearance had given rise to the prophecy that once awakened from his long sleep, Konstantinos Palaiologos would reclaim the city. That prophecy had become a legend, and, although nobody really believed in it these days, it was a lovely story learnt by legions of kids at schools across “Greekdom”.

  And there was a small band of archaeologists that both feared and hoped that there was something of great power hidden with the body of the Emperor; something that could be beneficial and devastating in equal measure. They believed that the prophecy was hiding a secret that could unlock a bright future for the nation that found it.

  Giorgos was chipping away at a piece of rock when his next hit echoed hollow around the cave. The chisel had hit something solid, something metallic. He threw the chisel away and, excited, began to dig frantically with his bare hands. He then pointed his torch, and, lo and behold, his excitement evaporated as quickly as it appeared. He cursed under his breath. He was staring at a rusting piece of worthless tin. Another dead end, another disappointment.

  Maybe he was wasting his time. Maybe he should just give it all up and go back to the cushy job he had been offered at the University of Athens; an open-ended offer they said. They wanted him that badly.

  Giorgos Markantaskis had always wanted to be an archaeologist for as long as he or anyone could remember, since he was a small boy. When other boys his age were playing football or being cruel to ants and other creatures, he was busy devouring book after book on any subject.

  His dream vacation was staking out archaeological sites, stalking archaeological expeditions, practically living on site with them and becoming a de facto and honorary member of the team and exploring every stone, every corner, dreaming that a secret would be revealed when he lifted the next stone, that maybe the next shovelful of soil would reveal a cave with treasure, not just something of incalculable archaeological but of little real value.

  What he sought was to discover a phenomenon of global magnitude; he could not wait to make a name for himself and to make it early on. He did not allow any seeds of doubt to cross his mind, any ‘he should be so lucky, only one archaeologist in three generations strikes a huge discovery’ thoughts to derail him from his purpose.

  He would relish spending most of his holidays sweating on excavation sites instead of lying idle on the beach like his schoolmates and other his age, warmed by the sun followed by successive jumps into the sea to cool down; bliss for others, but not for him.

  His obsession with the quest for the tomb of the last Emperor of Constantinople had cost him his marriage and his child, with only his mother supporting him through all the good and the difficult times, through the peak and the trough; he stubbornly battled on regardless, a lone warrior against the world. He had his youth and his beliefs on his side. And he never lacked confidence, some would say arrogance.

  But enough of the past. He had no time to waste dwelling on the past, on what might have been, because he had no regrets. You were only given one shot at life and you had to make the most of it.

  Giorgos leaned against the cave wall to rest. The dig into his past had sapped his energy. He closed his eyes in a desperate last-ditch attempt to let his frustration wash over him. The hard work of the last few months and the exhaustion so far suppressed caught up with him and as he began to fall into a muchneeded sleep, his knees buckled and gave way and he began to gradually slumber down to the ground.

  He never reached the cool floor of the cave. He heard a roar and a crushing of rock on rock and he jumped upright. He thought he was in a crazy nightmarish warp of a dream. The wall behind him was actually moving. He lost his balance, blinded by dust falling from the ceiling and shaken by the quaking ground. And he fell back into what looked like another chamber. He got up and dusted himself.

  As his eyes started to adjust to the dim light, he picked up his torch and pointed it at the walls and the ceiling. The light caught something luminous at what looked like the far end of the chamber. He immediately turned the torch to that direction and froze on the spot. His feet were nailed to the floor; his legs had turned to jelly. He could not move. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his free hand. In front of him was a sarcophagus.

  He went closer. He could just about make out colourful images and iconography interspersed with inscriptions. Like a man possessed he began to run the light of the torch along the length and breadth of this stunning object. With his torch he was violating an object that had lain undisturbed and in peace for a very very long time. He felt humbled by the discovery. Along the whole surface were depictions he could recognise from the New Testament. They were in the Byzantine style.

  And then he noticed it; repeated after every few episodes, and with a large one on the lid, was the double-headed eagle, symbol and royal insignia of the Roman Emperors of Constantinople. He hungrily started to read the inscriptions between the vivid drawings and then, carved on the stone in Greek, one word jumped out at him and almost blinded him: “Palaiologos”. The last royal dynasty.

  Could this be real? Could this be the last resting place of the last Emperor? No, it just could not be. But then what else could it be? Could it be another member of the Imperial family? Could it be, perhaps, that the sarcophagus destined for the entombment of a royal body had been used by someone else?

  Could Giorgos have been right all along? Could the illustrious but elusive figure from the past have made his final home here? Could Giorgos have finally found what he had sought for so long? The doubts were now taking shape, putting down firm roots inside his mind and unless he put a stop to it would outgrow the confines of his brain and become a monster.

  But how could it be here? It was lost, was it not? At this moment that he had dreamed fo
r as long as he could remember, his eyes refused to believe the, at first glance, irrefutable evidence accosting them. He was suddenly doubting himself and his research.

  But in an instant the doubts were gone and the child was back, a child in a candy store. He just had to look inside the sarcophagus, but he did not dare to do it on his own. He was afraid and was making up excuses for not exploring further. Besides, it didn’t look as if he could lift the lid on his own.

  He needed help. He did not want to risk damaging the contents, which had, most probably, not been disturbed or exposed to the air for centuries. Even this stale air could be fatal.

  He then had an inspiration. They could create a sterile environment right here instead of risking damage to the sarcophagus and its contents by attempting to move it and open it off site.

  Giorgos retraced his steps and went in search of the others. He found them near the mouth of the cave. Sotiris was facing in Giorgos’ direction and was the first to see him. He stood up, but waited for Giorgos to come closer and said nothing. He thought he could see a slight difference in the way Giorgos carried himself, but he could not quite put his finger on what it meant.

  The others had their backs to Giorgos, but they sensed the shift of excitement in the air at the same time as noticing Sotiris’ reaction and turned towards Giorgos too. Sotiris saw Giorgos first, but Katia was the first to speak.

  ‘Hey, Giorgos, where have you been? We were just debating whether to send a search party. We began to suspect that this lovely fresh air hypnotised you into the hundred-year sleep.’

  Katia tried to make herself heard above the din of the excavation work that combined with the echo in the cave was deafening. Katia was a cheeky twenty-four-year-old. A brilliant academic and archaeologist who had fought tooth-and-nail to be a member of this team and who, when selected, became its youngest member.

  ‘I have you to thank for not ending up like sleeping beauty. Aren’t I lucky to have the canary you gave me? It is an adorable pet, a great companion in times of loneliness. I would have rather preferred a different birthday present though. What I could not decide at the time was whether you were encouraging me on my quest, along the line of the illustrious men who discovered the Egyptian tombs or making fun of me.’

  Giorgos appeared angry, but his eyes told another story; he could hardly contain his amusement.

  ‘I would never do that to you. I volunteered for this expedition, remember? I wouldn’t be part of this team if I didn’t have faith in you and agreed with your theories. I knew you’d like your gift. The guy at the shop did say that it could converse in three languages, that it had an unparalleled library of knowledge and a fascinating range of interests. There you are. The perfect companion. You should be thanking me sincerely not diminishing my concern with distasteful irony.’

  Giorgos broke into a loud hearty laugh that spread like an epidemic amongst the others, and bounced off the walls of the cave like gunshot.

  After the last echo had died out, Giorgos remembered what he came out for and his face became serious. The others noticed the sudden change in his demeanour and were worried, but they also recalled their first instinct when they saw Giorgos return from the depths of the cave. Sotiris was the first to speak.

  ‘OK, either somebody died or you have found something. I can read that look. Come on, don’t keep us in suspense. What have you found?’

  ‘I need to know how quickly we can set up a sterile environment.’

  ‘My God, you have found something. Come on show us, lead the way.’

  Giorgos simply nodded and turned to walk towards the interior of the cave. The rest of the team took out and switched on their torches and followed him into the chamber. Silence reigned as they gazed upon the extraordinary find. Suddenly the chamber exploded in a flurry of voices as they all, furiously, fought to examine and interpret the sarcophagus and regale each other with their respective analysis.

  Without the rest realising, Giorgos made his way out of the chamber and only stopped when he emerged into the daylight. He stood just outside the cave’s entrance and taking out the satellite phone he dialled a mobile number straight from memory.

  Halfway around the world in New York, it was coming up to eight o’clock in the morning. It took only a few rings to rouse a very sleepy James Calvell, deputy director of the Metropolitan Museum and one of the best-connected men in the art world. James had had a rough night. They’d had a theft from the museum’s Cyprus collection, which was not even on display, but languishing in storage, in the basements of the Fifth Avenue beast.

  ‘Yes?’ answered an unmistakably angry and drowsy James.

  Giorgos was taken aback and almost hung up. He knew James could be abrupt on a good day, but he sounded exceptionally so. Obviously he had just woken him up. This was surprising as he should have been up and running by now and at his desk at the Museum; unless he had caught him in a stranger’s bed or even in his own after a wild night out which would be typical of James’ adventurous side.

  ‘It’s Giorgos.’

  Judging by the fact that they had not spoken in months, James knew it was serious. He shook the last remnants of his sleep and sat up in bed. He knew about Giorgos’ involvement in the Cappadocia expedition.

  ‘What have you found?’

  ‘I don’t want to say anything yet, but it could be significant. I need a favour. I need the latest dating equipment.’

  That was code for a makeshift laboratory to provide sterile conditions.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do. There’s a plane leaving New York tomorrow carrying stuff for a special exhibition at the Istanbul Museum of Modern Art. I’ll arrange to load on board a package with all the gear you’ll need. You should have it by the end of the week. In the meantime I will call our man at the Topkapi in Istanbul and ask him to help you in any way he can.’

  ‘Thanks, Jamie, I owe you one.’

  You bet. You are coming bungee jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge next time you’re in the Big Apple.’

  Giorgos knew he could not get out of this one. The favour he just asked was a big one. ‘It’s a date.’

  Giorgos hung up and went to join the others.

  He was disheartened to see that nobody had noticed his absence. He thought he could smell the excitement hanging in the thin air around them.

  * * *

  James came through for Giorgos. Giorgos was in no doubt he would. The equipment arrived at the site in Cappadocia earlier than expected. He knew he could always rely on James. The two of them went way back. James was one of those rare guys who had the integrity, street-smart and contacts that allowed him to exercise influence disproportionate to his position, in pulling together huge resources in the pursue of a project.

  The makeshift laboratory was quickly set up and the team started the painstaking job of shifting through the chamber for further clues whilst waiting for some extra specialist equipment.

  However, the opening of the sarcophagus was not to be. The funding was suddenly and inexplicably pulled and the chamber and the neighbouring cave were sealed.

  Giorgos and his team, crashed, returned to Athens.

  The archaeological expedition became but a faded memory.

  * * *

  It was a few months later that Iraklios learned about the expedition and its abrupt end. He regretted not knowing about it earlier, because he would have liked to step in with the necessary funding. He knew what was inside that sarcophagus and he knew it was preordained that it would come to light by a young obsessive archaeologist. The information had been handed down the generations from Eleni, the head of their clan during the fall of Constantinople, to reside with him for now.

  He wondered whether this Giorgos could be the archaeologist who was destined to uncover the lost tomb. He certainly had the guts to risk professional suicide by going against the widely held opinion of the archaeological community. And yet, being the last guardian of the location of the last Byzantine Emperor’s tomb, Iraklios was surpris
ed that the opening of the sealed chamber did not cause the death of those present at the scene.

  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.