‘Haven’t seen you around for a while, Carver,’ Mr Moorhouse said. ‘Been up to anything interesting?’
Adam thought for a moment or two, then decided there could be no harm in satisfying Mr Moorhouse’s curiosity, regardless of how much, or how little, the old clubman already knew. His decision was vindicated, since Mr Moorhouse proved a good listener as Adam related the salient points of his adventures in European Turkey. He said little himself but he made the right noises of encouragement at the right points in the narrative. When all was told, he sank back in his chair and stared upwards at the stucco decoration on the ceiling.
‘So this Euphorion chap was wrong, then, was he?’ he said, after thinking the matter over for a while. ‘No gold to be found?’
‘On the contrary, Mr Moorhouse. Euphorion was entirely correct, I think. We were the ones who went astray. We failed to find the right place in which to dig. Garland arranged further excavations but nothing was found. As a consequence, all we have are a few beautiful objects like this.’
Adam held up the gold ring to the gas lamp and, for a minute, both he and Moorhouse admired its twinkling in the light. Then the young man folded his hand round it and slipped it back into his pocket.
‘But the tomb of Philip is out there somewhere in those hills,’ he said. ‘Someday it will be found. And when it is, the treasures it holds will make that poor ring look like a trifle indeed.’
The young man drew deeply on his cigar and allowed himself a brief reverie of future triumphs. One day, he would return to the Macedonian hills himself. He would follow the trail to Philip’s tomb and he would unearth its hidden riches. It would, as Fields had predicted, be the archaeological sensation of the era. He would be a famous man. And — who knew? — perhaps Emily would be there to share his success. Despite what Quint said, Salonika was not so distant.
Adam Carver blew out the smoke of his cigar and watched it spiral and disperse into the already fuggy air of the room. It was now early evening and other members of the Marco Polo were conversing in the corridor outside. He felt himself called back to the present and so turned to speak once more to Mr Moorhouse. But there was little point. The old clubman had fallen fast asleep.
HISTORICAL NOTES
Although, as Professor Fields rightly points out, there are several Ancient Greek writers with the name of Euphorion, there is no record of any Euphorion of Thrace, nor is there any trace of a work similar to Pausanias’s Ellados Periegesis that could have contained clues to the whereabouts of Macedonian gold. However, Creech and Fields were right to suspect that the hills in central Macedonia did contain a treasure worth discovering. In 1977, the Greek archaeologist Manolis Andronikos undertook an excavation near the small town of Vergina and unearthed what he claimed was the tomb of Philip II, father of Alexander the Great. The exact identity of the tomb’s inhabitant is still the subject of scholarly debate but there is no doubt about the significance of the objects that Andronikos found there, and in other tombs, in what was clearly an important burial site for the ancient Macedonians. Many of the objects, including delicate golden crowns and a beautiful golden larnax, the box used to contain human remains, can be seen in the museum at Vergina.
The monasteries at Meteora, now a UNESCO World Heritage site, provide one of the most extraordinary tourist attractions in Greece, but there is not and, to the best of my knowledge, there never has been one called Agios Andreas. They were visited on a number of occasions in the nineteenth century by English travellers who left accounts of the hair-raising methods employed by the monks to haul their guests up to their lofty retreats. The water-colour painter and writer of nonsense verse Edward Lear visited Meteora and painted some memorable views of the rock formations, although, unlike the characters in my story, he chose not to be winched to the monasteries on their pinnacles.
The Marco Polo Club does not exist outside the pages of my novel but I have imagined it to be somewhere close to the other gentlemen’s clubs in Pall Mall and to share some of the characteristics of the Travellers’ Club. Poulter’s Court, home to Jinkinson, is an imaginary London address. So, too, are the lane near Holy-well Street containing the brothel in which Adam and Quint find Ada and the Wapping backstreet in which the Cat and Salutation is open for business. With the exception of a few individuals (Sir Richard Burton, W.S. Gilbert, Effie Millais and others) who flit peripherally across its pages, all the characters in Carver’s Quest are my own invention. Any historical errors in the novel are similarly my responsibility.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My first thanks must go to Angus MacKinnon and Toby Mundy at Atlantic Books who originally suggested that I might be able to write fiction and were extremely patient when, for some time, it seemed only too likely that they were mistaken. Angus has been an inspirational editor and his thoughts and advice have made Carver’s Quest a much better novel than it would otherwise have been. Thanks also to Sara O’Keeffe, Maddie West and Lauren Finger at Atlantic. Melissa Marshall copy-edited the book with great skill and insight and I am grateful for her help and suggestions. Friends, including Susan Osborne, Hugh Pemberton, Gordon Kerr, Andrew Holgate, Travis Elborough, Kevin Chappell and Dave Lawrence have lent a sympathetic ear and/or given practical support over the years. My family proved a great source of love and encouragement throughout its long gestation. Particular thanks go to my wife Eve and to my sister Cindy Rennison, who read earlier drafts and provided invaluable feedback.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Nick Rennison is a writer, editor and bookseller. His books include Sherlock Holmes: An Unauthorised Biography, Robin Hood: Myth, History, Culture, The Bloomsbury Good Reading Guide and 100 Must-Read Historical Novels. He is a regular reviewer of historical fiction for both The Sunday Times and BBC History Magazine.