Chapter 29
Darcy stood in the center of the Agora the next day, his shirt sticking to his back with perspiration that had nothing to do with the Greek sunshine.
His neck ached from craning upward to study every inch of marble, every carved detail, every possible hiding place among the magnificent ruins.
His palms were raw from climbing over rough stones, and his eyes burned from squinting at inscription after inscription.
The morning light struck the ruins with blinding brilliance.
However, instead of inspiring awe, the beauty only mocked them with its indifference to their urgent search.
Somewhere in this maze of ancient stone lay the clue they desperately sought.
Three days of systematic investigation had yielded nothing but frustration and rising panic.
Although he admired Dr. Nikolopoulou’s willingness to share her extensive scholarly knowledge of Athens, he was pleased when she was unavailable on their final day. They needed no diversion.
“It is overwhelming,” his cousin said, his words mirroring Darcy’s frustration.
Darcy surveyed the ruins again, his mind racing through possibilities they might have missed.
Every street corner in Athens bore carved quotes from philosophers.
Every public building displayed marble tributes to Aristotle, Plato, and Socrates.
References to owls and Athena were everywhere, especially in the ancient marketplace where statues of gods and goddesses would have been sold.
The city was so thoroughly saturated with its heritage that finding its specific clue was like searching for a grain of sand on an endless beach.
“Richard, we have less than an hour before the carriage arrives to return us to Piraeus,” he said through gritted teeth.
“We cannot continue without the clue, but the Mary Catherine will not wait for us. Remaining behind and seeking alternate transport is unacceptable.” He was frustrated from the time slipping away.
Because they had found the previous clue without much difficulty, three days to find this one seemed generous when they arrived.
Now, with only minutes remaining before their scheduled departure, the pressure felt crushing.
The sweat running down his spine turned cold.
Bennet was as tense as Darcy now. “Where the Lyceum’s heir taught kings, and wisdom walked in covered halls. The merchant of words left his final gift. Seek the owl’s blessing where philosophy was born.”
“We have found the places where philosophy was born,” Darcy snapped, his usual restraint cracking under the strain. His breathing had grown shallow and rapid. “We have found countless owls and references to Athena. But where is this final gift that Aristotle supposedly left?”
Elizabeth intertwined her fingers with his, calming him.
She pointed to an alley near the main thoroughfare that would receive the most customer traffic.
“There,” she said, indicating a section of foundation near the entrance to the narrow street.
“If I were selling books in ancient Athens, that is where I would have set up my stall.”
Hurrying to where Elizabeth directed, Mrs. Bell looked around and called out excitedly, “Mr. Bennet! Come quickly!”
They all ran to where she stood and, following the lady’s gaze upward, he spotted carved letters that were visible from their current angle.
Mr. Bennet adjusted the telescope he had purchased the day prior.
Darcy could see the same desperate hope in the older man.
“By Jove, she is right! It is Latin, carved much later than the original construction. The same as in Rome―the letters are interspersed with another message. We would never have seen this had the sun not been at this precise angle, and if you had not stood exactly here.”
Darcy read the inscription through the telescope. “Urbs duorum marium, ubi Oriens Occidentemque convenit, custodit pontem inter mundos. In magna ecclesia ubi lux fit oratio, secretum custodis requiescit ubi imperatores quondam steterunt.”
“Constantinople,” Richard deduced.
We found it! After three days of mounting desperation, they had their next clue.
Even as triumph coursed through his veins, though, new anxiety was already taking root. Constantinople. Going to this part of the world presented complex new obstacles. French warships were straightforward by comparison.
Standing at the foot of the ruin, Elizabeth excitedly wrote the translation in her journal, “The city of two seas, where East meets West, guards the bridge between worlds. In the great church where light becomes prayer, the keeper’s secret rests where emperors once stood.”
The words burned into her mind as she copied them. Her entire body hummed with anticipation.
As they hurried back to the carriage that would return them to Piraeus, Elizabeth’s thoughts jumped to consider the difficulties that awaited them: How would they gain access to Hagia Sophia?
How would they navigate the cultural and religious complexities of the Ottoman capital?
How much time did they have before other treasure hunters followed the same trail?
Added to all this was the constant worry that Mr. Wickham would turn up and cause trouble. Each night, the colonel had reported no sign of him, for which she was grateful. But that did not mean that he was not near.
Once they were in the carriage speeding back to the port, her father said, “We have made it this far. Though this clue was a challenge, we did find it. I have no doubt that we will succeed. Professor Drye would be pleased with our work so far.”
The colonel agreed. “Whatever the political terrain in Constantinople, we focus on finding the clue and trust that we are capable of handling the rest, agreed?”
As one, they concurred.
When their carriage reached Piraeus and their ship, Elizabeth pressed her face to the window and breathed deeply of the sea air.
She would not miss Athens. The city was nothing less than magnificent, but she disliked the ugly emotions that Helena’s presence had awakened in her.
To her shame, she had privately requested that the artist they found draw no images of the woman in her journal.
Before they searched the Agora, she reconsidered and allowed the artist free rein.
When did I become so petty? Elizabeth was not proud of herself.
Captain Morrison’s call to proceed with the next part of their journey once again energized the ship’s crew.
Tommy scampered by and asked what Elizabeth thought of all those old buildings, to which she responded, “There is much to admire in Athens, Tommy.” To herself, she whispered, and much to forget.
The Mary Catherine slipped the moorings and headed into the Sea with Elizabeth standing at the stern as Athens faded into memory.
Wickham’s luck had finally turned.
Three days earlier, he had been hauling ropes aboard a merchant vessel with bleeding hands and an empty stomach, a desperate sailor working for passage.
Now he sat in a well-appointed stateroom that reeked of ink and old parchment with maps spread across every surface like paper wounds.
Best of all, he was wearing clean clothing that actually fit and had coins jingling in his pocket for the first time since Captain Gilmartin had fleeced him at cards in Gibraltar.
Professor Fouché adjusted his wire spectacles and traced a finger along the Mediterranean coastline while his colleague, Professor DuBois, huddled around charts covered in symbols that meant nothing to Wickham.
Their French murmurs rose and fell like incantations, punctuated by the scratch of quills and the rustle of ancient texts.
The scholars had found him in a tavern in Piraeus, recognized his English accent, and struck up a conversation that changed everything.
When Wickham mentioned that he was following a group seeking a treasure in Alexandria and explained how the initial clue sent them to Rome, they were intrigued.
Amazingly, they had come from France to seek the same treasure.
And once he told them he was very familiar with members of the expedition, their interest sharpened considerably.
A hot meal, a proper bath, decent clothes, and a purse quickly followed, along with passage aboard their vessel.
“Monsieur Wickham,” Fouché looked up. “How did you learn Monsieur Darcy was searching for the great treasure? Are you an intimate associate of his?”
Wickham leaned forward, adopting earnestness that served him so well in drawing rooms. “I met with Viscount Levinson, who gave me a copy of the first clue and informed me that this clue had been shared with two other individuals. They are currently traveling on the Mary Catherine. I have closely followed their movements since London. Their first stop in Rome led to Greece, where they must have found the next clue, because they hurried from Athens at great speed. Both Darcy and Bennet carry themselves with the confidence of one who possesses knowledge, knowledge they believe will lead them to an extraordinary find.”
The younger scholar, DuBois, tapped his pen against a leather-bound journal. “We, too, believed that clues would be found in Rome and Athens―clues that speak of a discovery that would eclipse the treasures of pharaohs.”
Wickham’s fingers unconsciously curved, imagining the weight of stones larger than robin eggs, their facets catching light like captured stars.
The professors had been deliberately vague about the exact nature of the treasure.
Perhaps they did not know whether it was gemstones or precious metals, but their excitement was infectious.
It could be no less than gold, so pure it would glow like the sunset, emeralds and rubies that would make kings weep with envy. It had to be.
Professor DuBois said, “Your familiarity with this Monsieur Darcy will allow us to anticipate his movements, non?”
Wickham smiled genuinely for the first time in weeks. “I know how his mind works, his methods of reasoning. Where he goes, I can predict. What he seeks, I can help you claim first.”
The scholars exchanged glances, and Wickham caught the hunger between them, the same hunger that gnawed at him.
From the corner of his eye, the two burly men standing on each side of the doorway remained silent throughout the conversation.
The professors had introduced them simply as “associates”―Marseilles dockworkers, by their look and accent.
Wickham suspected their role was more muscle than scholarly assistance.
Fouché rolled up the nearest chart with ceremonial care.
“Then we have no need to journey from port to port. Let them go where they need and discover what is necessary to locate the treasure in Alexandria. At dawn, we sail directly to Egypt. There we will await Monsieur Darcy with the final clue that tells us exactly where in Egypt we need to search to claim the prize.”
Professor DuBois agreed. “Yes, we have no need to follow the trail of clues. Our sponsors want only the results, which will be with this Darcy.”
“Sponsors?” Wickham boldly asked.
“Oui. Empereur des Francais Napoleon assigned us the task of locating the objects he desires.”
“I see.” Wickham tapped his chin with his finger. Not in my lifetime would I share with anyone, even an emperor.
Through the cabin’s small porthole, stars reflected in the dark water like diamonds spilled from a jeweler’s case. Soon, Wickham told himself, he would be holding the real thing.