SEVEN
Greece
Priority transport” turned out to be a brand-new U.S. State Department Gulfstream G550 jet. Although the aircraft was outfitted to accommodate sixteen people in luxury that put even first class on most airliners to shame, Nina, Chase and Mitchell were the only passengers—which made Nina feel slightly guilty that the three of them were waited on by an equal number of cabin staff during the flight as she used the plane’s satellite link to research Arthurian legend. From the way the crew hovered obsequiously, it was clear they were used to attending to considerably more demanding and self-important fliers, like politicians and bureaucrats.
But she soon forgot about the extravagant use of her taxes once they arrived at their destination. Surrounded by the glittering blue of the Aegean Sea, the small rocky island of Koroneou possessed a rugged beauty, greenery clinging to every surface able to support it.
The natural attractions of the island weren’t what dominated her attention, however. She was far more interested in Koroneou’s man-made delights—in particular, the one that greeted her when Mitchell drove their black SUV around a corner of the road along the island’s southern coast to reveal a headland beyond. A village was strung out along the narrow tongue of land, white-painted buildings shining like beads under the sun, but it was the much larger building at its tip that commanded her attention.
Though its crenellated outer walls and some of the outlying structures had fallen into ruin, the castle of Peter of Koroneou was still intact, a block of pale stone flanked by a pair of taller cylindrical towers. Given the idyllic surroundings, Nina couldn’t help thinking the place had a certain fairy-tale quality to it.
Mitchell had the same thought. “Funny, we’re trying to find the sword of King Arthur, and the first place we visit looks like Camelot.”
“Camelot?” said Nina with a smile. “You know, I’ve heard …” she put on an English accent, “that it’s a very silly place.”
Mitchell grinned back at her. “The kind of place you might find … a shrubbery!”
Chase buried his head in his hands. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Bloody Monty Python quotes? It’s like I’m trapped in a car with a bunch of students!”
“Jack, help me, I’m being oppressed!” Nina trilled. “What’s wrong with Monty Python? It’s classic British comedy. I thought you’d love it!”
“It’s all right, but not when everyone thinks they’re being so bloody clever by reciting bits over and over again. And how come you’re both so big on Monty Python anyway? You’re Yanks!”
“Come on, Eddie,” she said. “Python 101 is practically compulsory at American colleges. Well, among certain types of students, anyway.”
“You mean nerds?”
“I was not a nerd!” Nina protested. “I was just … very focused on my studies.”
“Well, I sure as hell wasn’t a nerd, and I watched it too,” said Mitchell. “Matter of fact, Monty Python and the Holy Grail was the first movie I saw with the girl I ended up marrying.”
“Thank you, Jack.” Nina stuck out her tongue at Chase, prompting him to roll his eyes again.
Mitchell gave her an amused look before regarding the view ahead once more. “You think this castle might be the one Rust mentioned?”
“I don’t think so. It’s owned by the Greek government, but Bernd implied that the one he was talking about was privately owned. Besides, this isn’t exactly close to his home.”
“Good point.”
Mitchell had made arrangements in advance; after passing through the village, the SUV was met at the castle gates by a representative of the Greek Ministry of Culture, a tall, hook-nosed man in his fifties with skin that practically matched the island in its weather-beaten ruggedness. When his visitors emerged from their vehicle, he briefly greeted Mitchell before turning his attention with rather more enthusiasm to Nina. “Dr. Wilde! A great honor to meet you, a great honor!” He clasped her right hand in both of his and squeezed it forcefully.
“Thanks,” she replied, wondering if she would get her hand back before he cut off her circulation. “Nice to meet you—and I’m glad you agreed to help us.”
“I would hardly turn down a chance to meet the discoverer of Atlantis! You have already done wonders for our tourist industry—anything to do with Plato or Hercules is now very popular!” He finally released her, then shook hands with Chase. “Petros Georgiades. Good to meet you all.” He gestured in the direction of the castle. “So, what would you like to know about Peter of Koroneou?”
• • •
Surprisingly little of the castle’s interior was accessible to tourists; several sections were blocked off by scaffolding. “Restoration work,” Georgiades explained as he led his visitors past a cordon and deeper into the building. “Until about ten years ago, parts of the castle were in the same condition as the fortifications outside. The walls have mostly been repaired, but there are still unsafe areas. It is a slow process.”
Chase glanced up at the ceiling. “It’s not going to collapse on us, is it?”
“I hope not! But try not to bang your head on anything, eh?” He chuckled, then stopped at a low arched doorway. “This is Peter’s tomb. Please, go inside.”
Nina ducked through the entrance, finding herself inside a cool, musty chamber. A pair of lamps on metal stands provided illumination, since the only natural light came from three small stained-glass windows high on the south wall. At the center of the room was what was unmistakably a stone coffin. “Is his body still here?” she asked as the others entered.
Georgiades shook his head. “The castle has been occupied and robbed many times.” He indicated the lid of the coffin; a jagged diagonal split showed where it had been smashed open in the past. “Even though the people of the village sometimes managed to hide the most valuable relics, eventually almost everything was taken.”
Nina was about to ask another question, but Mitchell got in first. “Was he buried with a sword?”
“Oh, yes—the sword presented to him by the Holy Roman Emperor.” Nina, Chase and Mitchell traded looks; at least part of Rust’s research had apparently been accurate. Georgiades noticed the exchange. “The sword is why you are here?”
“It’s one of the reasons,” Mitchell said smoothly. “Do you know what happened to it?”
“It is part of local legend. Look.” The Greek indicated the central window. Nina craned to get a better look at the mottled glass, making out a figure of a man in armor bearing a red crusader cross on his chest, a sword raised in his right hand.
“Is that Peter?” she asked. Georgiades answered in the affirmative. She looked more closely. “Is this an original window?”
“Yes—the one on the left was broken and has been restored, but the others are both thirteenth or fourteenth century, as far as we know.” Georgiades wore a slight smile, as if waiting for her to spot something.
“The sword …” she said, frowning at the image, before glancing at the coffin. “Is it okay if I climb up for a better look?”
“Peter is long gone. He will not mind.” Nina nodded, then carefully climbed onto the end of the coffin.
Closer up, the window revealed more, though the poor condition of the glass made resolving the finer details difficult. There seemed to be small symbols on the sword’s blade, ornate circular patterns, but it was the weapon as a whole that had caused Nina’s puzzlement—and attracted her interest. “Why’s his sword on fire?” she asked.
That was clearly why Georgiades had been smiling. “That is the legend!” he crowed as Nina used her digital camera to photograph the window. “It was said that on dark nights here at the castle, when Peter held the sword a fire could be seen running through its blade. Supposedly, this was the source of his strength in battle—his sword was said never to go blunt.”
“Until it broke, anyway,” said Nina. Chase was about to help her down, but Mitchell moved in first. “Thanks.”
Chase gave Mitchell a look of mild annoyance before
turning his attention back to the window. “So what happened to the sword after it broke? Was he buried with it here?”
“Only part of it,” explained Georgiades, moving to the coffin. “Peter was buried here with the hilt. The tip was returned to Sicily in honor of Frederick.”
“What about the rest of it?” Chase asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve got the hilt, you’ve got the tip … what about the blade?”
Mitchell looked back at the stained glass. “Wait, so it broke into three pieces? Rust never told you that.”
“He was kind of interrupted,” Nina reminded him.
“The blade stayed in the Holy Land,” said Georgiades. “In fact, Peter was killed with it. He had returned to the Holy Land to defend the territory under the control of his order from the Mamelukes.”
“In 1260,” said Nina, remembering what Rust had told her.
“Yes. After the Mamelukes drove back the Mongols invading Syria, they turned their attention to the lands occupied by the Christians. The region under Peter’s control was small and quite isolated, along what is now the border of Syria and Jordan, so it was an easy target. Peter had no choice but to travel to the Holy Land to defend it. The story goes that he fought bravely against great odds until he faced the Muslim leader, a man called Muhammad Yawar. When they fought, Peter had the upper hand—until Yawar struck a lucky blow that broke both their swords. Yawar took Peter’s broken blade and used it to kill him, then kept it as a trophy.”
Nina couldn’t help but feel a twinge of excitement; despite her misgivings, the long shot of their visit to Koroneou was already producing results, as well as vindicating Rust’s research. “Do you know where the blade is?”
“No,” said Georgiades, shaking his head. “Somewhere in Jordan or Syria, perhaps. A historian there might know more about Yawar, but our knowledge here all comes from Peter’s surviving men. Nobody is even sure exactly where the battle took place—as you know, the maps of the time are not very accurate.”
“I see.” Her excitement was quickly deflated … but they had still learned something, not least that there were two pieces of Caliburn they needed to find before the Russians. And if the picture within the stained-glass window was an accurate representation of Peter’s sword, she would recognize the blade when she saw it.
If she saw it.
• • •
“So, what do you think?” Mitchell asked. They had thanked Georgiades for his help and left the castle, and were now sitting outside a small café in the village square. “Convinced that Rust just might have been right yet?”
Nina grinned at the joking challenge. “Okay, I admit that what he told me about the trail the sword took seems to be panning out. So far. But it’ll take a lot more to convince me that it had some sort of magical power.”
“It’s only magic in the sense of Clarke’s Law.”
She smiled again. “So you’re saying DARPA’s developed technology that’s indistinguishable from magic?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that,” said Mitchell, a hint of humor behind his poker face.
“What’s Clarke’s Law?” Chase asked distractedly, looking away from a monument across the square.
“‘Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic,’” Nina quoted. Chase gave her a blank look. “Arthur C. Clarke? Famous author and scientist? Wrote 2001: A Space Odyssey? Invented the communications satellite?”
“Oh, hang on, I know who you mean,” Chase said. “He used to present this TV show when I was a kid, about crystal skulls and the paranormal and all that. He was always walking along a beach under a golf umbrella saying it was actually a load of bollocks.”
Nina sighed exaggeratedly and turned to Mitchell. “I guess it’s true what they say about Britain and America. Two nations separated by a common language. And weird TV shows.”
“But the Brits came up with Monty Python, so they can’t be all bad,” Mitchell replied. This time it was Chase’s turn to make a sarcastic noise. “But getting back to why we’re here, you saw the picture in the window. I’d say a flaming sword counts as something out of the ordinary. And it matches what Rust told you about Excalibur lighting on fire when Arthur held it.”
“But why would Peter be able to make it light up and not anyone else?” said Nina. “You’d think Richard the Lion-heart or the Holy Roman Emperor would be attributed with that kind of power, not some obscure knight.”
“Something to do with the lines of earth energy, maybe?” Mitchell wondered, almost to himself. “Maybe there was one near here … But,” he continued, “none of that matters if we can’t find the thing. So, what have we got?”
“Well, the blade’s somewhere in the Middle East, and … that’s about it,” said Nina. “I think we’ll have to go there and speak to someone with local historical knowledge, like Petros suggested.”
“We shouldn’t have any trouble getting what we need in Jordan,” said Mitchell. “Syria might be more of a problem, though. They’re not exactly our biggest fans.”
“But we’d be going as an IHA mission, not American,” Chase reminded him.
“I don’t think it’ll make much difference,” Nina replied ruefully. “Syria and the U.N. have had disagreements recently—an archaeological team had its permission to enter the country revoked just a couple of weeks ago.”
“Let’s hope the sword’s in Jordan, then,” Chase said. “But if it isn’t, and knowing our luck it won’t be, I can get us into Syria some other way.”
“You know people there, I suppose,” said Nina.
Chase looked smugly secretive. “Might do.”
“Attractive women, I bet.”
Now he was just smug. “Could be.”
“What, one beautiful woman isn’t enough for you?” Mitchell asked, indicating Nina. “Man, that’s just greedy!” Before Chase could respond, he continued. “So, if we can find the life story of this Muhammad Yawar there’s a chance we can find one piece of the sword. But what about the other piece, the hilt? Once the Russians make sense of Rust’s notes they’ll have a clear run at it, while we’ve got nothing.”
“There must be something, though,” said Nina. “Bernd said he’d spoken to whoever owns the place where he thought it was. Somewhere ‘close to home’—close to Munich, I suppose. So there has to be a link between Koroneou and Germany.” She realized that Chase had leaned back in his chair, grinning smugly once more. “What?”
“I know what the link is,” he said.
“What is it?”
“First you’ve got to tell me how great I am.”
“Eddie!”
“Come on, would it kill you? At least say how fantastic I am in bed.”
“Eddie!” She swatted at his arm before giving Mitchell a sheepish look.
“Oh, all right,” Chase grumbled, standing and pointing across the square. “See that monument?”
Nina saw a modest slab of dusty black stone inscribed with Greek lettering, a Star of David at its top. “Looks like a Jewish memorial.”
“Yeah, it is. Come on.” He crossed the square, Nina and Mitchell following. As she approached, Nina saw that the memorial bore a list of about a dozen names as well as a date: 1944. “I might not have a degree in it, but I know some history too—military history, anyway.” They stopped before the black stone. “The Greek islands were occupied by the Nazis in the war, and they treated the Jews there the same as they did anywhere else … by shipping them off to places like Auschwitz. But people weren’t all they shipped—a lot of places, they nicked everything valuable they could get their hands on before the Allies kicked them out. There’s your link.”
“You think the Nazis took the sword?” Mitchell asked.
“Why not? It fits with what Nina’s friend told her.”
“It used to be part of Bernd’s work as a historian,” Nina realized. “Of course! He would already have the information he needed. The Nazis kept paperwork on everything. The German government’ll still have
those records—hell, they’ve probably been computerized by now! We just need to find anything concerning the castle”—she glanced in the direction of the fort beyond the village—“and follow the trail from there, see what comes up around southern Germany.”
Mitchell looked thoughtful. “We’ll be able to get access to the German records via the State Department. We can use the satellite link on the plane.”
Nina regarded the memorial again, then looked at Chase, impressed. “Go on, you can say it,” he said, grinning broadly.
“Okay, I admit it—you’re pretty great. Sometimes …”
• • •
The computer aboard the Gulfstream revealed the information Nina was after even more quickly than she had hoped. The German government database was clearly extremely efficient.
“Well, whaddya know?” she said, reading her discoveries off the screen to Chase and Mitchell. “Peter’s castle was actually used as the local SS headquarters during the war. That’s why it needed rebuilding—the Allies and the local partisans shelled it during the assault on the island. But the SS commandant had already cleared out, and it seems he left with a lot more stuff than he arrived with. Maybe he took the sword with him as well.”
“Where did he go?” Mitchell asked.
“Austria. It looks like a lot of looted treasure from the Mediterranean and the Aegean went through there on its way back to Berlin. The commandant took over another SS regional headquarters. A place called Staumberg Castle.”
“A castle, eh?” said Chase. “Just like your friend said.”
“Right. And get this—it’s less than sixty miles from Munich. I’d call that ‘surprisingly close to home’ from Bernd’s perspective. Worth checking out?”
“Definitely,” said Mitchell. “But where do we go first—there, or the Middle East?”
Nina rested her chin on her hands, thinking. “We’ve got nothing to go on in the Holy Land apart from the name of the man who killed Peter of Koroneou. The longer we leave it before we go there, the more time it’ll take us to find anything out—and the Russians might already have gotten the location from Bernd’s notes.”