‘I need to speak with Aggelos.’
‘Well, you are in luck. As it happens Aggelos is in the library right now. He very often sleeps there with his cherished manuscripts for company. He says they make him feel safe and warm and that he can watch over them like a proud father. Though I think it’s the lack of proper ventilation in there that keeps the place warm and that he craves. Come with me.’
He led her to the library where Aggelos was waiting for them.
‘My dear Elli. Twice you honour us with your presence in such a short time. We are surely blessed. Spyros, why have you been hiding her? I heard she arrived here some time ago.’
Spyros smiled and looked at Elli who wasted no time.
‘Aggelos, what do you know about that child that was kidnapped from the Palace of Vlachernae on 4 ^th May 1453?’
‘My dear Elli, after you left last time I decided to put some order in the shelf where the Book of the Pallanians, that you took with you when you left, was located. I also wanted to check whether there was anything there that was relevant and significant. Until you came here a month ago, that shelf had probably not been touched for years, so I had no idea what I would find there.
‘Well, I did find something interesting. It is a pergamene that was archived near the Book of the Pallanians. It is a letter from Michael and Mark Symitzis to Eleni Symitzis, their mother and your ancestor. You know their story. Mark, undercover as Suleyman, with a group of Ottoman riders was on a reconnaissance mission and Michael was doing the same with a group of members of the Order of Vlachaerne. What it says in the letter is that, on 4 ^th May 1453, the two brothers met by accident in the Forest of Valens outside Constantinople.
‘Yes, that was the same day as the disappearance of the child. After Michael and Mark had gone their own ways, Mark heard a child’s cry coming from somewhere nearby. He went to investigate and found a child. There was nothing with the child to indicate where it had come from, any clue as to his identity. To protect the child it was decided not to take it to Constantinople, but to a safe place, as far away from the hot spots of battle as possible.
‘Mark took the child to Crete, to the village of Ayia Galini in Southern Crete where it was brought up by a good Greek family. Amidst the uncertainty and confusion of the siege of Constantinople, Mark never got the chance to contact his mother or brother to let them know. Unfortunately, on his way back to Constantinople, Mark was, apparently, ambushed and killed by bandits and never got to tell them about his find and the last chance was lost.
‘How this letter, which he must have written before he died, survived and ended here, I don’t know, assuming, by the way, that it is genuine, which by the look of it, it must be. I did a bit more digging and came up with various documents indicating that some of my predecessors at the monastery had been following the boy’s progress. But the trail unfortunately went cold somewhere in the 1890s.’
‘Aggelos, does the letter give us the name of that family that took the boy under their wing?’
‘It’s Palantis. I don’t know whether it still exists. It could be that it changed due to marriage, if there were no male descendants, or there may be no descendants left at all.’
‘I’ll try and find out. I’ll put my people onto it. I know the right person to carry out that kind of research.’
Later, Elli called Giorgos and explained what she wanted and suggested the computer hacker that James Calvell used recently to find out the identity of the donor of the icons to the Metropolitan. Giorgos said that he’d call James to arrange it.
CHAPTER 38
Sydney, Australia
Present day
It was a magnificent hot day. Atop the Sydney Tower, the restaurant was doing brisk business as usual at lunchtime.
As it was so close to the Central Business District, it was a favourite spot for the overstressed city boys and girls, the people who wielded the power to make or break companies, cities, countries; the people who everyday handled or played with tens of billions of dollars’ worth in every currency, commodity, stock or other asset class under the sun, a sum many times the GDP of most countries.
Next to one of the windows overlooking Darling Harbour on one side and the Opera House and Harbour Bridge on the other, were two men, deep in conversation, their amazingly tasty and beautifully decorated dishes untouched, while a wine bottle was sitting in one corner with the remains of a very expensive wine.
One of them was Andrew Le Charos, the other Jonathan Milos, the head of the security company Gruller Associates, a front organisation for the Madame Marcquesa de Parmalanski, leader of the Ruinands.
Andrew looked straight into Jonathan’s eyes. ‘I want to see her. I believe we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.’
‘What do you have to offer?’
Andrew was amused. One of the richest and most powerful men in Australia asked what he had to offer. He could not deny that he knew what he was getting himself into. ‘I have information I bet she would give one of her arms to get hold of.’
Jonathan Milos knew Andrew was joking, but, nevertheless, as a faithful devotee of the Madame Marcquesa, saw that comment as an insult to her face. However, he decided nothing useful could come from making an issue of it and he ignored it, keeping a straight face. ‘No information could carry such a high price.’
‘Not even if it had to do with a key secret of the Order of Vlachernae?’
‘Ah, the only thing she is interested in is the source of their power to travel in time which they seem to be able to use like turning a tap on and off. You do understand that she has spies already. And your falling out with your family and the great matriarch herself is not exactly a secret. You could not call yourself an insider, a member of an inner circle of trust, so forgive me for seeing the value of any information you may have with scepticism.’
‘Things have changed.’
‘Oh? How so?’
‘I have taken steps for a reconciliation that have been bearing fruit.’
Jonathan Milos was intrigued. ‘Interesting. But it could not be that easy to regain their trust. And by the time you do that, assuming you succeed, any information you have given us would probably either be information that we have obtained already or it would be too late for us to act on it. And there would also be doubts on the accuracy of such information. Your rehabilitation will not remove any doubts about your intentions and they may use you by feeding you incorrect or dubious information, as a means to test you and trip whoever else you may be in cahoots with.’
Andrew was insulted even though he agreed with what Jonathan Milos said. His pride and dignity did not allow him to admit let alone bow to the Madame or her minions. He would not even ask Jonathan to at least take the offer to the Madame. He had no doubt that Jonathan Milos had her complete trust and authority to assess the situation and decide on the spot.
From what Jonathan had said it sounded to Andrew that Jonathan had practically made his decision. His wavering, which was in itself offensive and dangerous, was Jonathan’s way of amusing himself by testing Andrew, trying to trip him, playing with him to see how far Andrew’s patience could go before he had had enough, returned the insult and got up and left.
Andrew suddenly realised that there was nothing to be gained by such an alliance. He didn’t trust them and would never trust them. And he had no doubt the feeling was mutual. This meant that there would be no guarantee that they would not turn and double-cross him or remove him from the scene once they had got what they wanted. And he didn’t want to have to watch his back on that many fronts.
He would keep the information for himself. He would have to go it alone. He would not change his mind even if the Madame changed hers and came back seeking an alliance. And he was not concerned that, if that happened, he might make a dangerous enemy of the Madame.