She looked at Jones. “Earlier, you mentioned that Schliemann discovered the lost city of Troy. Do you know how he found it?”
Jones answered. “By reading the works of Homer.”
She nodded, impressed. “That’s right. As late as the nineteenth century, people actually believed that Troy was a mythical city, much like the lost city of Atlantis. This belief was even shared by educated Greeks. When they read about the Trojan War in the Iliad and the Odyssey, they assumed Troy had been created by Homer and was nothing more than a fictional landscape to base his riveting tales. But Schliemann was different. He used the epic poems as a treasure map, following their lyrics like a book of instructions to find the ruins in modern-day Turkey.”
She shook her head in amazement. “Think about it. The Iliad is the oldest surviving example of European literature. It was written in the ninth century B.C. and is considered a vital part of the Western canon. It has been studied by students all over the world for nearly three thousand years, yet Schliemann saw something that no else did. He saw an opportunity. Despite his lies, despite his flaws, despite his harshest critics, Schliemann was a visionary. A genius of epic proportions. At the time of his death, do you know how many languages he could speak? Twenty-two. Twenty-two languages.”
Jones whistled. “Now, that’s impressive. That’s twenty-one more than Jon.”
She smiled. “Do you know how Schliemann learned them? He used to memorize long passages of the same book, written in multiple languages. Then, if he couldn’t sleep at night, he used to shout the passages at the top of his lungs. No one knows why it worked, but it did. In the meantime, he was kicked out of multiple apartments because his neighbors hated him.”
Jones laughed. “I can understand why.”
Payne watched Allison as she spoke. The way her eyes danced with excitement. The way she used her hands to punctuate certain points. Her words were filled with such passion and enthusiasm, he barely had the heart to interrupt her. But he knew if he didn’t, she would keep talking about Schliemann, and they wouldn’t get any closer to solving Richard’s death.
“And,” he said again, “what does this have to do with Saint Petersburg?”
“Don’t worry, I’m getting there,” she said. “The treasure that Schliemann found on the site of Ancient Troy was nicknamed Priam’s Treasure. He named it after Priam, who was king of Troy in the story of the Iliad. This was a common theme with Schliemann. He named his treasures after characters in Homer even though he had no tangible evidence to support his claims.”
“Part of his showmanship,” Payne guessed.
“Exactly,” she said. “When he made this particular discovery, he and his wife, Sophia, wanted to keep Priam’s Treasure all to themselves. They lied to dozens of workers who were helping with their dig, telling them that it was Heinrich’s birthday. In honor of it, everyone was given a paid day off. An hour later, once everyone had left the site, Heinrich and Sophia wrapped the gold in her shawl and smuggled it out of the country.”
Jones laughed at the tale. “That’s classic Schliemann. The guy was slippery.”
“Remember, fortune was only a small part of the equation with Schliemann. He also wanted to be the world’s most famous antiquarian-that’s what’s archaeologists were called back then. So he photographed his wife wearing the fanciest items, which he dubbed the Jewels of Helen, and published her photograph next to a detailed description of his findings. He actually admitted in the media that he had smuggled everything out of the country. Well, let me tell you, it sparked a huge controversy. The Turkish government revoked his digging permits, they imprisoned some of his workers, and they sued him for their rightful share of the treasure. But Schliemann escaped to Greece before the Turks could arrest him.”
“And what happened to the treasure?” Payne wondered.
“The majority of it was acquired by the Imperial Museum of Berlin, which was Schliemann’s way of endearing himself to his native Germany. But during World War Two, it was looted from a hidden bunker located underneath the Berlin Zoo. For nearly fifty years, no one knew what happened to it. It was one of the greatest mysteries of the war. Then, one day in 1993, an exhibition opened at the Pushkin Museum in Moscow, displaying Priam’s Treasure.”
“It surfaced in Russia?” Payne asked. “How’d it get here?”
“The Russian army’s Trophy Brigade, as they were called back then, had seized it and lied about it for decades. Eventually, leaders in Moscow decided the treasure was too beautiful to hide, and they put it on display for the whole world to see. Which, of course, started another controversy. Despite multiple threats by Germany, the Russians refused to give it back, claiming it was compensation for the destruction of Russian cities by the Nazis. Not to mention Nazi looting. If you know anything about World War Two, it wasn’t a good time to own art.”
Payne and Jones nodded. They knew all about the spoils of war.
“Which brings us to Saint Petersburg,” she said as she glanced at Payne. “Sorry it took so long to get here. I felt you needed to hear the whole story to understand.”
“No problem. I learned a lot.”
“Since Schliemann lived in Saint Petersburg for several years, the Russian government decided that half of the treasure should be exhibited in the city. Since 1998, it has been on public display at the Hermitage.”
“And Richard wanted to study it?”
She shook her head. “Richard didn’t care about the treasures that Schliemann had found. He was more concerned with the treasures that had eluded him.”
34
Payne considered all the information he had been told and tried to figure out why Richard Byrd had been killed. But it was dif ficult. There were still pieces missing from the equation.
He knew Byrd was a treasure hunter who had an affinity for Heinrich Schliemann, an archaeologist who lived in Saint Petersburg during the nineteenth century. Allison was an expert on the subject, able to talk at length about every aspect of Schliemann’s life, including his passion for Greek treasures. What Payne didn’t know, though, was what role she served in Byrd’s latest project. Or, for that matter, what the project was.
“When we spoke to Petr Ulster,” Payne said, hoping to shift the focus of the conversation back to Allison, “he mentioned Richard’s taste for young assistants. From what we were told, their talents were less than helpful in the Archives.”
Allison agreed with the assessment. She was fully aware of Richard’s former employees and their sexual reputations. “Like I said, Richard was a player. He used his wealth and power to get what he wanted. And they, in return, traveled the globe.”
“Yet you were willing to work for him. How did that happen?”
“For two years I spent most of my free time in Stanford’s library, trying to learn everything I could about Heinrich Schliemann. The more I learned, the more I realized that my thesis was lacking an important element: firsthand experience. Unlike most archaeologists of his day, Schliemann didn’t live in a library. He lived in the field. He took his books and his shovels and started digging. How could I write a paper about him without experiencing the same things?”
Payne said nothing, waiting for her to continue.
“One day my thesis adviser told me that Richard was looking for a new assistant, preferably a doctoral student with an extensive knowledge of Greek treasures. Not only was it a paid position, but most of the fieldwork would be done in Europe. Obviously, it sounded perfect to me, so I submitted a letter of interest and my résumé. In the meantime, I researched Richard and discovered several interesting things. He came from old money. Ironically, it was made in the same manner as Schliemann’s-gold and banking. Later I found out their connection was even stronger than that. Richard’s ancestors had actually worked with Schliemann during the Gold Rush. So Richard believed they were kindred spirits, destined to be linked forever.”