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Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

LOST HERITAGE

Prologue

Thessalonica, 1912

‘We’ve been waiting for more than half an hour in this suffocating heat,’ the Oxford professor growled as he looked at his pocket watch. ‘When is that ferryman going to turn up?’

He kept looking into the distance, but the dawn mist was so thick that no one could see hardly anything in front of their faces. Only the sound of some bird diving into the water in search of fish broke the profound silence.

‘I don't think he’ll be long,’ I replied as I took a look at the old parchment map once more.

‘Do you think we’ll find the exact place in this mist,’ added the professor.

Kalisteas, our Greek guide, seemed to be biting at his lip. He was growing weary of the old man's complaints.

‘As soon as the first rays of the sun come out, the mist will begin to evaporate and the lake will be visible.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’ve been here lots of times,’ he replied smugly.

The professor looked him up and down. He couldn't stand arrogance.

‘I hope you're right,’ I said looking him in the eyes. ‘We must have a bright clear day to be able to interpret this map.’

‘As long as it’s not some crude copy of the original made centuries later,’ added the professor with a half-smile.

‘Then our journey to Thessalonica will have been in vain,’ I replied wryly. ‘I’ve never undertaken an expedition without having evidence first. This parchment is from the 4th century AD.’

‘I know. That’s why I decided to leave my library behind. Even so, allow an old man to still harbour doubts,’ he sighed softly.

Suddenly, the ghostly shape of a ferryboat appeared from out of the mist. The ferryman greeted Kalisteas and waved for us to get on board.

‘They were thinking you weren't going to come,’ Kalisteas told him. ‘My companions were starting to get nervous.’

The ferryman stared at him. He didn’t like either being given orders or being held to a particular time.

‘It’s difficult to navigate in this mist, even for me’ replied the ferryman.

Kalisteas looked at him in surprise.

‘Let's go,’ he added bluntly. ‘It will take us twice as long to get there in these conditions.’

On one knee, the ferryman began to brandish his long oar from top to bottom, while the rest of us sat in front of him, trying to distinguish anything through the dense mist on that hot morning in which the water looked like a mill pond. Only the sound of birdsong broke the golden silence of the dawn.

The first rays of sunlight finally began to appear, penetrating through the clouds and punching holes in the mist, allowing us to glimpse the splendid morning in that extensive wetland.

The grotto to which we were heading looked like a simple gap in the rocks from a distance, but as we approached it became larger.

‘The water level hasn’t dropped down far enough!’ Kalisteas shouted while pointing. ‘Half the cave must still be flooded!’

Only the top part was dry. The water still reached up to three quarters of the height of the cave wall.

‘The parchment clearly states that this is the only month of the year in which the water level will drop far enough down to make the cave accessible,’ I replied.

‘Last month it rained a great deal. The water level is much higher than usual.’

‘So now what do we do?’ groaned the professor.

‘We swim, my friend,’ Kalisteas announced with a wry smile. He seemed amused by the situation.

The ferryman took us right up to the very entrance of the cave, so that we only had to jump into the water and swim a short distance to reach a rocky ledge running along the inside.

‘Have you paid the ferryman?’ the Greek asked after we had reached the ledge.

‘We didn’t have time. We had to jump into the water straight away.’

Kalisteas shook his head again and again.

‘I’ll pay him when we get back,’ I replied.

‘He was expecting to be paid then and there. How can you be sure that we’ll make it back?’ he added angrily and started walking towards a shaft off to his left.

‘Why is he so angry?’ asked the professor whispering in my ear when the Greek had gotten a few yards ahead of us.

‘Not paying the ferryman brings bad luck,’ I replied. ‘Greeks are very superstitious.’

We lit the way with the kerosene lamps we had carefully wrapped up in our backpacks and Kalisteas led us down a narrow passageway that meandered left and right, as well as up and down. As we began to descend, the heat became even more stifling, until we came to a fork in the passageways with two separate shafts leading off in different directions.

‘This is as far as I know,’ Kalisteas said quietly. ‘Now it's your turn.’

We carefully looked over the walls of this crossroads, until the professor recognized some inscriptions engraved at the bottom of one of the shaft walls. Turning towards us with a triumphant smile on his face, he announced:

‘This is the way. I have no doubt about it.’

While we continued down the narrow shaft we could hear the fluttering of bats behind us, until the passage came to an abrupt end.

After using the lamps to look all around us, we could see a narrow opening on our left through which only one person at a time could just about squeeze through.

‘The secret entrance,’ the professor announced.

Kalisteas stooped and entered the narrow opening while we followed.

We had to squat down and even at times crawl our way along the tunnel, our legs beginning to go numb as we advanced, until finally, we reached the foot of a rough spiral stone staircase, which went down further still.

On reaching the bottom of the staircase, the professor was panting.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Of course I am. Don’t worry about me. I may be an old bookworm who’s not used to exercise, but there’s no way I’m giving up now.’

Kalisteas smiled on seeing this spirit of adventure in the professor while he was hunched over trying to catch his breath.

‘I think we’ve reached the end,’ the Greek announced as he pointed ahead.

There in front of us was a dark underground lagoon. As we approached the edge of it, we could distinguish a very small altar at the opposite end of this grotto.

‘We’ve only got two options,’ I exclaimed, turning to my companions. ‘We either cross the lagoon or we turn around and try one of the other tunnels.’

‘There’s something I don't like about this cave,’ declared the professor.

We began to look around the lagoon’s edge. There was only a tiny area of solid ground flanked by a huge rock wall about 30-foot high that extended all around the lagoon.

‘The altar on the other side doesn’t seem that far away,’ said Kalisteas. ‘I’m a good swimmer. I think I could get across without much of a problem.’

‘There’s no trace of any human presence. It’s as if no one has ever been here’ added the professor.

We both stared at him as if he had read our minds. The Greek began to remove his clothing and prepared to enter the water.

‘Are you sure you can swim over to there?’ I asked him.

He smiled with a nod.

Kalisteas got into the cold water and began to stroke away. He had been swimming for just a short time when we heard a splash in the water and a small wave forming some distance away from him.

‘Look over there,’ said the professor pointing.

‘Swim back as fast as you can!’ I yelled to him instantly. ‘There’s something in the water!’

Kalisteas looked over to his left and saw the ripple in the water approaching him.

‘Shine the light over there, professor!’ I said as I took out my revolver from its waterproof wrapping and started shooting in that direction.

The shots seemed to make the creature hesitate and change direction, giving Kalisteas the time to get back to us safe and sound.

‘We now know why no one seems to have crossed this lagoon,’ the Greek said as he was drying himself off.

‘And now what?’ asked the professor.

‘I have no idea’ I replied, looking around that sinister cavern once more.

We spent some time scrutinizing the place trying to find a solution. At first we thought that the best idea was to turn around and come back another day with the right equipment, but we were far from the nearest town and the entrance to the cave would be submerged again in a couple of days. That would have meant waiting a whole year to try again.

Having run out of ideas, we sat on the outcrop of rocks at the water's edge. Despite the darkness, the torches were reflected in the water of the lagoon, drawing a starry sky over the grotto’s vaulted ceiling.

That vision reminded me of a time a few years earlier when I had gotten up before the break of dawn to undertake the tough climb of one of the Alpine mountains during my holidays in Switzerland.

‘That wall,’ and I pointed to the left, ‘runs right along the grotto. It starts here on our side and ends right at the little altar over there. If I can manage to climb along it, I wouldn't have to get wet.’

‘You've gone mad?’ the professor declared as if he were teaching back in his Oxford classroom.

‘I can cross that wall from one end to the other. Look!’ I said pointing at it. ‘There are cracks and fissures all along the rock face. Anyone could climb along it without too much trouble.’

‘It’s too risky,’ added Kalisteas. It was the first time I had seen fear in his eyes.

‘I haven’t come this far just to turn back. We’re on the point of the greatest archaeological discovery in history,’ I replied angrily.

They both lowered their heads and kept their mouths shut.

I took one last look all along the rock wall face, trying to envisage my route. There were certainly enough cracks and fissures that could provide hand and foot holds for someone who was as experienced at climbing as I was. After a last look, I began the ascent.

The first section was relatively easy. I climbed to a not too excessive height, around 20 feet above the level of the lagoon, high enough to ensure that nothing could attack me from the water. I inched my way along searching for a crack that could provide first a handhold and then a foothold, taking one step after another with great care. The humidity in the underground cavern had made its mark on the walls over the years, creating a large number of cracks and fissures.

Upon reaching halfway, I was beginning to feel tired but on looking down, I saw the water gently stir in the centre of the lagoon; something that gave me more than enough motivation to carry on.

As I neared the altar, its close proximity renewed my strength. However, the biggest obstacle came a moment later as the number of cracks into which I could put my hand or my foot had become much fewer and further between. There were only a few feet left to go and I could already clearly see that relic.

‘What is it?’ Kalisteas yelled when he saw me stop.

‘There aren’t enough cracks in the wall for me to hold on to!’ I replied.

‘You should have paid the ferryman,’ he growled angrily.

I pretended not to hear him. I climbed down the wall as stealthily as I could as there was no other way to get over to the other side than to enter the water. I silently and very gently slipped my body into the cold liquid until it came up to my neck. There was no turning back, and I started to swim towards the altar with all my strength.

Although the distance was very short, as I stepped onto the ground on the other side I heard a snapping sound behind me. Without thinking twice, I took out my revolver and emptied the magazine without seeing exactly what I was firing at. I could only see ripples in the water that drifted back in the opposite direction.

Having regained my calm, I was at last able to reach the small altar. It sat on a tombstone in the middle of a small square cut into the rock. On the tombstone itself had been engraved the depiction of a procession of mourners, and beneath them was what looked like a tomb displaying letters that were barely readable, having been worn away by the humidity and the passing of the years. I ran my hand over both the engravings and the inscription and immediately felt a sensation that even today I cannot describe using mere words alone.

I was paralyzed, rooted to the spot as I kept staring at them, until a loud buzzing noise shook me out of my trance-like state. I looked out over the lagoon, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

‘You have to come back quickly!’ Kalisteas began to scream at the top of his lungs.

‘Not now! Not now that I've finally found it!’ I replied.

‘Forget it if you don't want it to be the last thing you’ll ever see in your life! A storm is coming and in a short time the cave will be completely under water!’

Those words stabbed me in the heart.

‘Alright!’ I replied with resignation.

I knew I would have to set off back along the wall using the gaps in the rock face that were much nearer the surface of the water, even allowing my foot to go below the surface of the water once or twice. So, I shouted across to Kalisteas.

‘Do me a favour, Kalisteas. Start distracting the creature!’

‘How?’

‘Throw rocks into the water to attract our friend's attention! As soon as you see him approach you, tell me!’

‘Got it!’

A few moments later on seeing the creature approach, Kalisteas shouted. From the ripples in the water at the other side of the lagoon, it was clear that he had attracted the creature’s attention. At that moment, I got into the water and started to swim the short distance to the point where there were an abundance of gaps in the wall close to the water’s surface.

I did not look back as I emerged from the water and immediately started ascending the rock face. Just as I had cleared my feet from the water’s surface, I could hear a swishing sound in the lagoon close behind me; a sound that grew more ominous as I started to put a few more inches between myself and the lagoon surface below.

With my heart pounding and with a greater familiarity of the handholds and footholds I had already used to get to that point, I climbed back along the wall at more than twice the speed I had come. All my previous caution had been thrown to the wind as I now started grabbing hold of any crack, or putting my foot in any gap I could, as pure adrenaline was pumping through my veins.

The thunderous noise outside continued to increase as I reached the other side, my hands torn and bleeding through the effort I had made and the chances I had taken.

The Greek hurried us back through the shafts, passageways and tunnels until we reached the cave. The water had risen so high that as we entered the water to swim out, our heads barely protruded above the surface as there was only just enough room between the water and the cave ceiling.

We were already in sight of the exit when the cave became completely submerged. Just before the exit, we all took a final deep breath and had to dive below the surface in order to cover the final stretch. Finally, we emerged into the sunlit lake overcome with relief as we saw the ferryman waiting for us.

The trip back had a bittersweet taste. We had made the greatest archaeological discovery in human history but had brought back no evidence to support this. And worst of all, we would have to wait for a whole year in order to try again.

Chapter 1

London, 1922

I was on my way to an exhibition being held in the main function room of the British Museum. Unfortunately, I was running late and had had to catch a taxi on the corner of White Hart Lane. All the writers and reporters for the most prominent newspapers were going to be there to cover the news of the year. For the first time, the most acclaimed archaeological discovery of recent years could be seen in London. No reporter worth his salt would miss this event.

By the time we had reached Piccadilly Circus we had run into a horrendous traffic jam, and for ten minutes we barely advanced twenty yards.

If I was late, I could consider myself fired.

‘How much?’ I asked the taxi driver.

‘Two shillings and tuppence’ he replied turning to me.

I paid him and got out.

After walking across Trafalgar Square in the drizzle, I hurried down several side streets until I came to Great Russell Street.

The atmosphere of expectation was even greater than I would have imagined. Hundreds of photographers, policemen and multitudes of onlookers were crowding around the entrance to the British Museum. Despite its enormous dimensions, even the museum appeared to be too small for the occasion.

Luxury Rolls-Royces kept pulling up out the front. I could not recall such a stir since Valentino had made an appearance at the Albert Hall a couple of years earlier.

Two large spotlights made the impressive Doric columns of the building’s façade shine as the statue of the goddess Athena at the front seemed to come to life. The building sparkled that night as if it were the most beautiful neoclassical jewel.

I went to the front gate, presented my press accreditation and, after an exhaustive search through the lists of invited newspapers, the museum’s officials finally let me in. Apparently, imposters had been constantly trying to sneak in using all manner of false press passes. I then climbed the wide staircase and stood at the designated spot on the corridor overlooking the main entrance.

‘Hey Paul! You’re wet through!’ exclaimed Tom, the

Northern Star

correspondent.

‘It was impossible to get anywhere near this place by taxi and I left my umbrella at home,’ I answered glumly. ‘Has the man of the moment arrived yet?’

‘No. Just the mayor, but that’s nothing to shout about!’ he replied smiling.

In the background a great murmur was heard as even more people began to crowd at the main entrance.

‘I think that may be our man now,’ Tom announced as he reloaded his camera.

We did not have to wait too long. A few moments later, we saw an Aston Martin convertible come to a stop outside the front steps carrying the star of the day.

A shower of flashes immortalized the moment as people shouted the name of the most sought-after man on the planet as he was getting out of the car. Howard Carter, accompanied by his beautiful and elegant lady friend, stepped onto the red carpet rolled out for the occasion, and proceeded to greet cheering fans and well-wishers on either side as if they were two movie stars in the age of the silent film.

‘Mr. Carter! Mr. Carter!’ all the correspondents shouted in unison.

‘A few words!’ I shouted to him as he climbed the staircase and approached my position.

As Howard Carter came over, I put down my camera and took out my notebook from my coat pocket.

‘Tell me, Mr. Carter, what was the most difficult part of the whole expedition?’

‘The hardest part was finding the tomb,’ he joked.

Everyone laughed out loud.

‘Seriously though,’ he added, ‘the hardest thing was to maintain the intense search over a number of years.’

‘Thank you, Mr. Carter.’

Carter and his companion then approached the Prime Minister, the Director of the British Museum, and other dignitaries who were waiting to shake his hand.

During the visit, he explained to all those present how the discovery of the chamber that housed Tutankhamun's tomb had come about. They were able to admire photographs and some of the smaller pieces from the burial chamber, while most of the larger pieces remained in Egypt.

Afterwards, Carter and the rest of the dignitaries went off to a cocktail party they were throwing at one of the city's most fashionable restaurants. Meanwhile, we were able to examine the photographs taken inside the burial chamber of the incredible discovery that Carter had made. Judging by the photographs, the objects within the chamber appeared to be in perfect condition. It was a true miracle that grave robbers had not desecrated such an incredible treasure throughout the centuries.

That night I went back to the newsroom to prepare the article that would appear on the front page, trying to give it a personal touch so as to differentiate it from those of my fellow professionals.

The next morning, I returned early to the newspaper offices housed in a modernist five-story building constructed at the turn of the century. I went up its wide staircase to the second floor and found, as ever, an incessant movement of people who were all coming and going. I crossed the hall filled with the deafening noise of typewriters, the sound of telephones ringing nonstop, the continuous shouts of correspondents and a strong smell of tobacco that had made the atmosphere almost unbreathable.

I opened the door and entered the chief editor's office, a sixty-year-old Scotsman with an aquiline nose, thick sideburns and a lean face. On that morning he had assembled several reporters.

‘Come in and close the door,’ he said sulkily. ‘Since I’ve stopped smoking, I can't bear the smell of tobacco.’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Sarah, the feature writer.

She had overdone it with her French perfume that day.

‘We’ve got a lot of work on this morning. Sales of the newspaper’s Sunday Edition have dropped alarmingly in the past two months,’ he said banging his fist on the table. ‘If we continue like this, the Sunday Edition will collapse. We need something new to boost sales.’

‘We could add a police story,’ said one reporter who had recently come over from a rival newspaper.

‘Too hackneyed,’ said the Scotsman. ‘That’s already been tried at other newspapers and it has been a failure. All the writers think they’re the next Arthur Conan-Doyle.’

A young correspondent who had started work the week before took out his pipe, filled it with tobacco and lit a match. The Scotsman went over to him and took the pipe out of his mouth.

‘Weren’t you listening before?’

The boy turned pale and we all held back our chuckles. He didn't know who he was messing with.

‘Any other ideas?’ he growled.

‘Maybe a gardening section,’ Sarah added.

‘Everyone in this country is a gardener,’ he replied with a dismissive gesture. ‘If you’ve got nothing worth saying, keep your mouth shut,’ he added with a threatening look. ‘We need something innovative.’

They all fell silent for a few minutes without knowing what to say. I went to the teapot and poured myself a cup of tea. I had had an idea the night before, but I was uncertain about saying it out loud. Finally, I plucked up the courage.

‘I may have something interesting,’ I announced as I put the teacup down on the table.

‘Let’s hear it!’

‘Carter's discovery in Egypt could turn out to be a gold mine. It has made people forget about the horrors of the war.’

‘What are you getting at?’

‘People have an insatiable appetite for reading about the stories of our great explorers.’

‘Chronicles of those expeditions can be found in any public library.’

‘That’s true, but we could surprise them with some little-known accounts. There must be thousands of interesting stories just waiting to be published.’

‘Hmmm. I’m not sure,’ he replied as a look of doubt crossed his face. ‘And where do you plan to unearth these little gems?’

‘We could start with the British Museum Library,’ I suggested.

He was silent for a few moments, pondering the idea, after which he added:

‘Well, if nobody has a better idea, see what you can come up with over the next few days.’

The meeting was adjourned and we left the office to get on with our normal daily work.

The next morning when I awoke, the window was covered in a white blanket of snow. It was the first snow of winter and the streets were full of children throwing snowballs at each other. As I made my way to the British Museum, I saw a couple of passers-by slip on the treacherous surface; the ice had made several streets impassable and workmen had already begun to scatter rock salt on the ground.

Despite this, the museum's library was crowded as usual. An endless stream of people were coming and going through its doors: students, readers, tourists and researchers, all of whom would spend hours within its walls.

I climbed the front steps carefully so as not to slip, then crossed the main hall and arrived at the atrium: a large circular reading room with space for more than a thousand people. Some of the oldest volumes in the country could be found there.

I had to wait in the queue at the reception desk until a pretty librarian with medium-length blonde hair and wearing a navy blue suit pointed out where I could start my search.

‘We have three types of inventory,’ she explained, peering above her tiny pebble glasses with her pretty eyes, ‘topographical, chronological, and business.’

‘I’m searching for any journals detailing archaeological expeditions from the last fifty years.’

The librarian sighed and said:

‘You can start your search by looking under “SUBJECT”. Then, you could proceed by looking up “CARTOGRAPHICAL STUDIES”. From there, you could refine your search chronologically. In other words, to the period of time that you wish to investigate.’

‘Does that mean I have to search through more than one whole classification or section?’

She nodded with a half-smile.

This was going to take more time than I had bargained for.

I went up to the second floor and after walking down several aisles full of bookshelves, I found a section replete with manuscripts.

I asked the person in charge of that section for the documentation I was looking for, and he proceeded to deposit a mountain of files on the table that exceeded my height.

‘Will that be all for today?’ he asked without a flicker of emotion.

‘I hope so,’ I replied, the tone of resignation quite obvious in my voice.

‘If you don't manage to get through it all, we have some shelves in reception where researchers can store any materials they are working on for the following day.’

‘Thank you very much. That’s most kind of you to suggest it.’

I turned on the small green lamp that was present on each table and opened the first dossier; a process I repeated many times over the following days.

After a few days into the research, I was beginning to regret my proposal. This wasn’t going to be as easy as I had imagined. The information seemed endless, and it would take years to study it properly.

I found out about all manner of explorers, from those who had discovered the most remote places in Africa, to archaeologists who had unearthed the historical legacies of the Middle East.

Around mid-morning, while turning a few pages, I looked up and noticed a man watching me from a few tables further up. I wasn’t sure if I knew him, or if he was looking at me for some other reason. A moment later, I looked up again, but he was gone.

After lunch, I went through the library shelves. It felt like a real privilege to run my fingertips over those volumes that held so many centuries of history: Stanley's personal diary of his odyssey through Africa until he found the sources of the Nile a

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