"Turgut Bora and Selim Aksoy were waiting for us at the airport in Istanbul. 'Paul!' Turgut embraced and kissed me and beat me on the shoulders. 'Madam Professor!' He shook Helen's hand in both of his. 'Thank goodness you are safe and sound. Welcome to your triumphal return!'
"'Well, I wouldn't call it triumphal,' I said, laughing in spite of myself. "'We will converse, we will converse!' Turgut cried, slapping me soundly across the back. Selim Aksoy followed all this with a quieter greeting. Within an hour we found ourselves at the door of Turgut's apartment, where Mrs. Bora was clearly delighted by our reappearance. Helen and I both exclaimed aloud when we saw her: today she was dressed in very pale blue, like a small spring flower. She looked quizzically at us. 'We like your dress!' Helen exclaimed, taking Mrs. Bora's little hand in her long one. "Mrs. Bora laughed. 'Thank you,' she said. 'I sue all my clothes for me.' Then she and Selim Aksoy served us coffee and something she explained wasb?rek, a roll of pastry with salty cheese inside, as well as a dinner of five or six other dishes.
"'Now, my friends, tell us what you have learned.' "This was a tall order, but together we filled him in on our experiences at the conference in Budapest, my meeting with Hugh James, Helen's mother's story, Rossi's letters. Turgut listened with wide eyes as we described Hugh James's discovery of his dragon book. Recounting all this, I felt we had indeed learned a lot. Unfortunately, none of it pointed to Rossi's whereabouts.
"Turgut told us in his turn that they had had serious troubles during our absence from Istanbul; two nights before, his kind friend the archivist had been attacked a second time in the apartment where he was now resting. The first man they'd had watching him had fallen asleep on duty and had seen nothing. They had a new guard now, whom they hoped would be more careful. They were taking every precaution, but poor Mr. Erozan was very unwell.
"They had another kind of news, too. Turgut gulped down his second cup of coffee and hurried to retrieve something from his grisly study next door. (I was relieved not to be invited into it today.) He emerged carrying a notebook and sat down again next to Selim Aksoy. They looked gravely at us. 'I told you on the phone that we found a letter in your absence,' Turgut said. 'The original letter is in Slavonic, the old language of the Christian churches. As I told you, it was written by a monk from the Carpathians and it concerns his travels to Istanbul. My friend Selim is surprised that it is not in Latin, but perhaps this monk was a Slav. Shall I read it in no time?'
"'Of course,' I said, but Helen held up her hand.
"'Just one minute, please. How and where did you find it?'
"Turgut nodded approvingly. 'Mr. Aksoy found it in the archive, actually - the one you visited with us. He has spent three days looking at all manuscripts from the fifteenth century that are in that archive. This he found with a small collection of documents from the infidel churches - that is to say, Christian churches that were allowed to remain open in Istanbul during the rule of the Conqueror and his successors. There are not many such in the archive because they were usually kept by the monasteries, and especially by the patriarchate of Constantinople. But some church documents came into the hands of the sultan, particularly if they concerned new agreements for the churches under the Empire - such an agreement was called a firman. Sometimes the sultan received letters of - how do you say? - petition, in some church matter, and there are those in the archive, too.'
"He translated quickly for Aksoy, who wanted him to explain something else. 'Yes - my friend gives us a good information about this. He reminds me that soon after the Conqueror took the city, he appointed a new patriarch for the Christians, Patriarch Gennadius.' Aksoy, listening, nodded vigorously. 'And the sultan and Gennadius had a very civil friendship - I told you that the Conqueror was tolerant of Christians in his empire once he had conquered them. Sultan Mehmed asked Gennadius to write for him an explanation of the Orthodox faith and then had it translated for his personal library. There is a copy of this translation in the archive. Also, there are copies of some of the churches' charters, which they had to submit to the Conqueror, and these are there, too. Mr. Aksoy was looking through one of the church charters, from a church in Anatolia, and between two of its leaves he found this letter.'
"'Thank you.' Helen sat back on the cushions.
"'Alack, I cannot show you the original, but of course we could not take it out of the archives. You may go yourselves to see it while you are here, if you wish. It is written out in a beautiful hand, on a small sheet of parchment, with one edge torn. Now I shall read our translation to you, which we have made in English. Please to remember that this is the translation of a translation, and some points may be lost along that path.'
"And he read us the following:
Your Excellency, Lord Abbot Maxim Eupraxius:
A humble sinner begs your ear. As I have described, there was great controversy in this company since our mission failed yesterday. The city is not a safe place for us, and yet we believed we could not leave it without knowing what has become of the treasure we seek. This morning, by the grace of the Almighty, a new way opened, which I must record for you here. The abbot of Panachrantos, hearing from the abbot our host, his good friend, about our sore and private distress, came to us at Saint Irine in person. He is a gracious and holy man of fifty years old, who lived his long life first in the Great Lavra at Athos and now for many years as monk and abbot at Panachrantos. Upon coming to us, he held council alone with our host, and then they spoke with us in our host's chambers, with complete secrecy, all novices and servants being dismissed from the chambers first. He told us he had not heard before this morning of our presence here, and upon hearing it had come to his friend to give him news which he had not shared earlier, wishing never to endanger him or his monks. In brief, he revealed to us that what we seek has been transported already out of the city and into a haven in the occupied lands of the Bulgarians. He has given us the most secret instructions for our safety in traveling thither, and has named for us the sanctuary which we must find. We would fain wait here a while, to send word to you and receive your orders in this matter, but these abbots told us also that some Janissaries of the sultan's court have come already to the patriarch to question him about the disappearance of that which we seek. It is most dangerous now for us to linger even a day and we shall be safer even in our progress through the infidel lands than we are here. Excellency, forgive our willfulness in setting out without being able to send for instructions from you, and may God's blessing and yours be upon us in this our decision. If it is necessary, I shall destroy even this record before it can reach your hands, and shall come to tell you with my own tongue, if it be not cut out first, of our search.
The humble sinner Br. Kiril
April, the Year of Our Lord 6985
"There was a deep silence when Turgut had finished. Selim and Mrs. Bora sat quietly, and Turgut rubbed his silver mane with a restless hand. Helen and I looked at each other.
"'The Year of Our Lord 6985?' I said finally. 'What does that mean?'
"'Medieval documents were dated from a calculation of the date of the Creation in Genesis,' Helen explained.
"'Yes.' Turgut nodded. 'The year 6985, by modern reckoning, is 1477.'
"I couldn't help sighing. 'It's a remarkably vivid letter, and obviously full of great concern about something. But I'm out of my league here,' I said ruefully. 'The date certainly makes me suspect some connection with the excerpt that Mr. Aksoy found earlier. But what proof do we have that the monk who wrote this new letter came from the Carpathians? And why do you think this is connected with Vlad Dracula?'
"Turgut smiled. 'Excellent questions, as usual, my young doubter. Let me try to answer them. As I told you, Selim knows the city very well, and when he found this letter and understood enough of it to see that it might be useful, he took it to a friend of his who is the keeper of the ancient monastery library at Saint Irine, which still exists. This friend translated it for him into Turkish and was very much interested in the letter because it mentioned his monastery. However, he could find in his library no record of such a visit in 1477 - either it was not recorded or any documents about it disappeared long ago.'
"'If the mission they describe was a secret and dangerous one,' Helen pointed out, 'they would not have been likely to record it.'
"'Very true, dear madam.' Turgut nodded at her. 'In any case, Selim's monastic friend helped us in one important matter - he searched the oldest church histories which he has there and discovered that the abbot to whom this letter is addressed, this Maxim Eupraxius, was late in his life a great abbot on Mount Athos. But in 1477, when this letter was written to him, he was the abbot of the monastery at Lake Snagov.' Turgut uttered these last words with a triumphant emphasis.
"We sat in excited silence for a few moments. Finally Helen broke it. '"We are men of God, men from the Carpathians,"' she murmured.
"'I beg your pardon?' Turgut gazed at her with interest. "'Yes!' I took up Helen's line. '"Men from the Carpathians." It's from a song, a Romanian folk song Helen found in Budapest.' I described to them the hour we'd spent turning through the old book of songs at the University of Budapest library, the fine woodcut at the top of the page of a dragon and a church hiding among trees. Turgut's eyebrows rose almost to his shaggy hair when I mentioned this, and I rummaged quickly in my papers. 'Where is that thing?' A moment later, I'd found my handwritten translation among the folders in my briefcase - God, I thought, if I ever lose this briefcase! - and I read it aloud to them, leaving silences for Turgut to translate for Selim and Mrs. Bora:
They rode to the gates, up to the great city.
They rode to the great city from the land of death.
"We are men of God, men from the Carpathians.
We are monks and holy men, but we bring only evil news.
We bring news of a plague to the great city.
Serving our master, we come weeping for his death."
They rode up to the gates and the city wept with them
When they came in.
"'Ye gods, how peculiar and frightening,' Turgut said. 'Are all your native songs like this, madam?'
"'Yes, most of them,' Helen said, laughing. I realized that in my excitement I'd actually forgotten for two minutes that she was sitting next to me. With difficulty I forced myself not to reach a hand out to grasp hers, not to stare at her smile or the wisp of dark hair against her cheek.
"'And our dragon at the top, hidden among trees - there must be a connection.'
"'I wish I could have seen it.' Turgut sighed. Then he slapped the edge of the brass table so suddenly that all our cups rattled. His wife put a gentle hand on his arm, and he patted it reassuringly. 'No - look - the plague!' He turned to Selim and they exchanged a rapid fire of Turkish.
"'What?' Helen's eyes were narrow with concentration. 'The plague in the song?'
"'Yes, my dear.' Turgut combed his hair back with his hand. 'Besides the letter, we found one other fact about Istanbul in this exact period - something my friend Aksoy already knew, actually. In the late summer of 1477, in the hottest weather, there was what our historians call a Little Plague. It took many lives in the old Pera quarter of the city - what we call Galata, now. The bodies were impaled through the heart before they were burned. This is rather unusual, he says, because normally the bodies of the unlucky ones were simply burned outside the city gates to prevent further infection. But it was a short plague and did not take so many people.'
"'You think these monks, if they were the same ones, brought plague to the city?'
"'Of course, we do not know,' Turgut admitted. 'But if your song describes the same group of monks - '
"'I have been thinking of something.' Helen set her cup down. 'I cannot remember, Paul, if I told you about this, but Vlad Dracula was one of the first military strategists in history to use - how do you say? - illnesses in war.'
"'Germ warfare,' I supplied. 'Hugh James told me.' "'Yes.' She tucked her feet under her. 'During the sultan's invasions of Wallachia, Dracula liked to send people who were sick with plague or smallpox into the Ottoman camps disguised as Turks. They would infect as many people as possible before dying there.' "If it hadn't been so gruesome, I would have smiled. The Wallachian prince was formidably creative as well as destructive, an enemy clever in the extreme. A second later I realized that I'd just thought of him in present tense. "'I see.' Turgut nodded. 'You mean that perhaps this group of monks, if they were indeed the same monks, brought the plague with them from Wallachia.'
"'It does not explain one thing, however.' Helen frowned. 'If some of them were sick with the plague, why did the abbot of Saint Irine let them stay there?' "'Madam, that is true,' Turgut admitted. 'Although if it was not the plague, but another kind of contamination - but there is no way to know.' We sat frustrated, contemplating this.
"'Many Orthodox monks came through Constantinople on pilgrimage even after the conquest,' Helen said finally. 'Maybe this was simply a group of pilgrims.'
"'But they were looking for something they apparently didn't find on their pilgrimage, at least in Constantinople,' I pointed out. 'And Brother Kiril says they are going to go into Bulgaria disguised as pilgrims, as if they weren't actually pilgrims - at least, that's what he seems to be saying.'
"Turgut scratched his head. 'Mr. Aksoy has thought about this,' he said. 'He explains to me that most of the great Christian relics in the churches of Constantinople were destroyed or stolen during the invasion - icons, crosses, the bones of saints. Of course, there weren't so many treasures here in 1453 as there had been when Byzantium was a great power, because the most beautiful ancient things were stolen by the Latin Crusade of 1204 - you no doubt know about this - and taken back to Rome and Venice and other cities in the West.' Turgut spread his hands before him in a gesture of deprecation. 'My father told me about the wonderful horses on the Basilica of San Marco in Venice, stolen from Byzantium by crusaders. The Christian invaders were just as bad as the Ottoman ones, you see. In any case, my fellows, during the invasion of 1453 some of the church treasures were hidden, and some were even taken out of the city before Sultan Mehmed's siege and concealed in monasteries outside the walls, or carried in secret to other lands. If our monks were pilgrims, perhaps they came to the city in the hope of visiting a holy object and then found it missing. Perhaps what the abbot of the second monastery told them was the story of a great icon that had been taken safely to Bulgaria. But we have no method of knowing, from this letter.'
"'I see now why you want us to go to Bulgaria.' I resisted again the urge to take Helen's hand. 'Although I can't imagine how we'd find out more about this story when we got there, let alone how we'd get in. And are you certain there is no other place we should search in Istanbul?'
"Turgut shook his head somberly and picked up his neglected coffee cup. 'I have used every channel I could think of, including some - I am sorry to say - that I cannot tell you about. Mr. Aksoy has looked everywhere, in his own books, in his friends' libraries, in the university archives. I have talked with every historian I could find, including one who studies the graveyards of Istanbul - you have seen our beautiful graveyards. We cannot find any mention of an unusual burial of a foreigner here in that period. Mayhap we have missed something, but I do not know where else to look in a quick time.' He gazed earnestly at us. 'I know it would be very difficult for you to go to Bulgaria. I would do it myself, except that it would be even more difficult for me, my friends. As a Turk, I could not even attend one of their academic conferences. No one hates the descendants of the Ottoman Empire the way the Bulgarians do.'
"'Oh, the Romanians try their very best,' Helen assured him, but her words were tempered by a smile that made him chuckle in return.
"'But - my God.' I sat back against the cushions of the divan, feeling awash in one of those waves of unreality that had been breaking over me with increasing frequency. 'I don't see how we can do this.'
"Turgut leaned forward and set before me the English translation of the monk's letter. 'He did not know either.'
"'Who?' I groaned.
"'Brother Kiril. Listen, my friend, when did Rossi disappear?'
"'More than two weeks ago,' I admitted.
"'You do not have any time to lose. We know Dracula is not in his grave in Snagov. We think he was not buried in Istanbul. But' - he tapped the paper - 'here is one piece of evidence. Of what, we do not know, but in 1477 someone from Snagov Monastery went to Bulgaria - or tried to. It is worth learning about. If you find nothing, you have tried your best. Then you can go home and mourn your teacher with a clear heart, and we, your friends, will honor forever your valor. But if you do not try, you will always wonder and grieve without relief.'
"He picked up the translation again and ran a finger over it, then read aloud, '"It is most dangerous now for us to linger even a day and we shall be safer even in our progress through the infidel lands than we are here." Here, my friend. Put this in your bag. This copy is for you, the English one. With it here is a copy in the Slavonic, which Mr. Aksoy's monastic friend has written out.'
"Turgut leaned forward. 'Furthermore, I have learned that there is a scholar in Bulgaria whom you can seek for help. His name is Anton Stoichev. My friend Aksoy greatly admires his work, which is published in many languages.' Selim Aksoy nodded at the name. 'Stoichev knows more about the medieval Balkans than anyone else alive, especially about Bulgaria. He lives near Sofia - you must ask about him.'
"Helen took my hand suddenly, openly, surprising me; I'd thought we would keep our relationship secret even here, among friends. I saw Turgut's glance fall on the little motion. The warm lines around his eyes and mouth deepened, and Mrs. Bora smiled frankly at us, clasping her girlish hands around her knees. Clearly, she approved of our union, and I felt a sudden blessing of it by these kindhearted people.
"'Then I will call my aunt,' Helen said firmly, squeezing my fingers.
"'?va? What can she do?'
"'As you know, she can do anything.' Helen smiled at me. 'No, I do not know exactly what she can or will do. But she has friends as well as enemies in the secret police of our country' - she dropped her voice, as if in spite of herself - 'and they have friends everywhere in Eastern Europe. And enemies, of course - they all spy on each other. It may put her in some danger - that is the only thing I regret. And we will need a big, big bribe.'
"'Bakshish.' Turgut nodded. 'Of course. Selim Aksoy and I have thought about this. We have found twenty thousand liras you may use. And although I cannot go with you, my fellows, I will give you whatever help I can, and so will Mr. Aksoy.'
"I was looking hard at him now, and at Aksoy - they sat upright across from us, their coffee forgotten, very straight and serious. Something in their faces - Turgut's large and ruddy, Aksoy's delicate, both keen-eyed, both calmly but almost fiercely alert - was suddenly familiar to me. A sensation I couldn't name went over me; for a second it stayed the question in my mouth. Then I gripped Helen's hand more tightly in mine - that strong, hard, already beloved hand - and looked into Turgut's dark gaze.
"'Who are you?' I said.
"Turgut and Selim glanced at each other and something appeared to pass silently between them. Then Turgut spoke in a low, clear voice. 'We work for the sultan.'"