Elisabeth Kostova - The Historian

“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.

“‘Éva? 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.’”

“Helen and I drew back as one. For a second I thought Turgut and Selim must be aligned with some dark power, and I struggled with the temptation to grab my briefcase and Helen’s arm and flee the apartment. How except through occult means could these two men, whom I’d thought of as my friends, work for a sultan long dead? Actually, all the sultans were long dead, so whichever one Turgut was referring to could not be of this world anymore. And had they been lying to us about a host of other issues?