David Gibbins - The Mask of Troy

‘More subterfuge,’ the man grumbled, but his eyes twinkled. ‘Wherever you take me, Heinrich, there is sure to be excitement. I would not be anywhere else. Lead the way.’

They followed the line of little candles around the eastern edge of the mound, past exposed sections of earth where the excavations had revealed the eroded remains of limestone walls and mud-brick revetments. They rounded a corner where the grassy slope of the mound rose steeply in front of them, and dropped down a series of makeshift wooden steps into a deep trench that led back towards the centre of the mound. Schliemann went down first, then turned to point out a pile of shovels and baskets on the floor of the trench. ‘Mind your step.’

‘This is where you work?’ the man asked, stepping stiffly down on to the earthen floor of the trench, leaning heavily on his stick.

‘Just Sophia and me. We don’t allow any of the other workers down here. My assistant Dorpfeld continues to work in the great trench, revealing the walls of the first citadel, early Bronze Age Troy. But this season, the Troy of King Priam, the Troy of Homer, is ours alone.’

Beyond the tools, the candlelight revealed a section of the passageway about three metres wide where the excavation appeared to be complete, with dressed stone walls on either side that sloped slightly outwards, rising at least five metres to the edge of the grassy mound above. The man stopped, leaning on his stick, peering at the alignment. ‘Unless I am mistaken, these walls are of the same construction as the defensive walls I examined on the way in, just beyond the excavation house.’

‘The walls of Homeric Troy,’ Schliemann said excitedly. ‘You are correct. I am convinced of it. These walls date from the same phase of construction. But they are not defensive walls. They line an entranceway, converging ahead of us, deep beneath the citadel. It is the most astonishing discovery.’ He led the other man beyond the exposed masonry to a section where the sides of the trench were still not fully excavated, between rough earthen walls. He could see the final candle a few metres ahead, where the excavated trench came to an abrupt end. In the gloom he spied two other figures, both with canes, standing on either side of the floor, and his pulse quickened. They were all here. ‘Gentlemen,’ he called out. ‘Welcome. Welcome indeed.’

He stooped down to where Sophia had left a gas lantern, quickly lit it and carried it forward, turning down the flame and placing it on the ground in front of the other two men. Then he stood back, and beamed at them. They were both old men, like the man who accompanied him, wearing dark overcoats with hats in their hands, both sporting the archaic long sideburns of an earlier age. One of them was taller, with craggy features and intense eyes. The smaller man was less forceful in appearance, wearing spectacles but with a determined stare. Schliemann sensed his companion stiffen at the sight of the taller man, and he quickly made the introductions. He gestured first to his companion. ‘Gentlemen. Allow me to introduce Count Otto von Bismarck, Chancellor of Germany.’ He spoke in English. His companion clicked his heels, and glared. Schliemann turned to the other two. ‘Chancellor, I give you my dear friend Senator Hoar, the most distinguished elder statesman of my adopted country, the United States of America.’ The two men bowed slightly, and shook hands. Schliemann turned to the taller man. ‘And of course you will recognize the Right Honourable William Gladstone, Prime Minister of Great Britain.’

Bismarck glared, clicked his heels again, and shook hands. ‘We are acquainted,’ he said coldly in English. He turned to Schliemann, speaking quickly in German. ‘This is unfortunate. Most unfortunate. My pleasure is in danger of utter shipwreck. You have brought me into the eye of a storm, Herr Schliemann. Ein Tempest.’

‘Ever the Shakespearean, I see,’ said Gladstone loftily.

Schliemann quickly stood between them and took both men by the arm. ‘I trust Mr Gladstone too had a felicitous journey?’

‘The Orient Express to Constantinople,’ Gladstone said. ‘A most extraordinary city. I touched with my own hand the column of Constantine the Great, and worshipped in Hagia Sophia. It is less desecrated by the infidel than I had feared.’

‘Mr Gladstone has spoken out with a passion against the Turk,’ Bismarck said in English. ‘I am surprised he has made it this far.’

‘I am travelling incognito. On Dr Schliemann’s instructions. I own that rhetoric in the heat of the moment, led me to write ill-advisedly against the Turkish people, whom I find to be both hospitable and delightful. For that I am contrite. But I remain as resolutely and strenuously opposed to the Ottoman campaign against the Bulgars as when I published that pamphlet.’

‘And Mr Bismarck?’ Senator Hoar asked. ‘You have had an agreeable voyage?’

‘I too was travelling incognito.’

‘What? Chancellor von Bismarck?’ Gladstone exclaimed theatrically. ‘ Travelling incognito? As whom, pray?’

‘As the Duke of Lauenberg. It is to be my new title. I fear the new kaiser will shortly oust me. I am to be a sidelined elder statesman. He thinks I will retire to shoot grouse on my estate in Poland. He is, I can be frank, a bellicose and stupid man. I fear for the future. He will make Germany into a monster.’

‘A monster you nurtured,’ Gladstone said haughtily. ‘When you unified the country.’

‘I unified Germany to yoke in a hundred warring states. It was realpolitik. Something that Mr Gladstone, the idealist, does not understand.’

‘Unlike Herr von Bismarck, I would not aspire to be an Agamemnon.’

‘Gentlemen,’ Schliemann said. ‘ Gentlemen. If you contine thus I shall insist, as Sophia does, that we speak entirely in ancient Greek. Then the affairs of this world will drop away, and we will inhabit solely the past. But it is a danger, Mr Gladstone, you have warned me against, of divorcing the two worlds entirely, ours and the ancient. And it is not my purpose here solely to present you with the marvels of archaeology. My purpose is indeed the present. Events will move fast in our remaining lifetimes, and those of our children. Time is short, and we must act now.’

‘You speak portentously, Mr Schliemann,’ Gladstone said, looking intently at him. ‘I trust we are not to hear a profound announcement, of a grave nature? Your health is well?’

‘Mr Gladstone, your concern for my health has always been gratefully received, and is more efficacious than any course of medicine. But you need not tax yourself.’

‘I am relieved.’

Schliemann paused. ‘We are here today on common ground. Count von Bismarck is a man of the highest education and literary interests. Many times we have spoken together on ancient history. Mr Gladstone, in this regard as in all others, hardly needs an introduction. The author of three books on Homer, who did me the signal honour of writing the preface to my book on Mycenae. And Senator Hoar. Not just a statesman of the greatest esteem, but president of the American Antiquarian Society, regent of the Smithsonian Institution, trustee of the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. You three have been my greatest supporters, and to bring you here in person is the least I can do. But there is more to this meeting than that. I bring you here with a higher purpose. You are all men of the utmost probity, of the greatest moral resolve. I have come to know you personally, and I am convinced of it. In your hearts I know you are peacemakers, not warmongers.’

Gladstone snorted, peering at Bismarck. ‘A sentiment that can hardly be ascribed to one whose governance precipitated the greatest conflict of our times. I refer, of course, to the Franco-Prussian War of 1871. A war that upset the balance of power that had kept Europe peaceful since the fall of Napoleon.’