A Terrible Beauty (23 page)

He continued to work, his dedication never wavering, but found himself plagued by feelings of paranoia and fear with ever-increasing frequency. Peace eluded him altogether. Even when he turned to
The Iliad
, in which he had always before been able to escape whatever was happening around him, he could not focus.

One morning, as he sat sorting an enormous heap of potsherds and considering his plight, excited shouts rang out over the site. Like everyone else, he stopped what he was doing and ran to see what had happened. Reiner was standing with Humann, who was wiping sweat from his brow.

“It is extraordinary,” he said. “Where is Benndorf? He must see this.” In the trench below, the first signs of a significant find emerged from the dirt. The curly-haired head of a life-sized bronze statue stared out at them. Reiner returned to his task, using a soft brush to clear the rest of the face.

“It must be a Roman copy,” Philip said, jumping into the trench and assisting his friend, working to remove the harder chunks of earth away from the body of the sculpture—assuming, of course, more of it had survived than simply the head. His work was rewarded quickly, and he grew more and more excited as together the archaeologists revealed a figure that, although not intact, was in a condition remarkable for its age. The pieces would have to be carefully fitted together, but that would prove no problem, and, eventually, the sculpture would be restored to its former glory.

The mood at the dig turned celebratory, and the men returned to work fresh with inspiration, dedicating themselves to finding the next magnificent souvenir of this once-great city. Benndorf and Humann agreed with Philip's initial assessment of the piece and, after weeks of excavation and study, announced it had been copied from a Greek original and dated from the middle of the first century.

A month after they had come to this conclusion, Philip received a visit from Hakan.

“Why did you not secure the bronze sculpture for Demir before its restoration began?”

“Have you any concept of its size?” Philip asked. “I could never have moved it on my own, let alone stored it somewhere without anyone seeing.”

“You could have taken just the head. That alone would be worth—”

“Look here, I will not destroy what I am meant to protect,” Philip said. “Taking the head would have been tantamount to an act of violence against our cultural past. I shall not participate in any such thing.”

“So I should tell Demir to expect very little from you, yes?”

“I am doing my best,” Philip said. “I have some items for you. They are not of the caliber of the statue, but they are not worthless. I will meet you at sundown on the road to Selçuk and give them to you.”

“There is a well three miles from the city. I will wait there.”

Now came the most delicate part of Philip's plan. He had done nothing illegal—he had bought these objects in the open, from villagers, but he had to make it appear to Hakan that he had pilfered them from the dig. At the same time, he could not let any of his colleagues suspect he was stealing, so going overtly to meet the man was out of the question.

As sunset approached, and the day's work wound down, he told Reiner he was going to Selçuk, and was deliberately vague about the purpose of his trip, wanting to make sure Reiner would not offer to come with him. Reiner's guarded reaction to Philip's stumbling explanation told Philip his friend suspected him of seeking out the comfort of a willing local woman, a thing Philip would never do—he adored Kallista too much and would never betray her, even if she had not extended the same kindness to him—but he saw no way out other than letting Reiner believe the worst. Better he think Philip weak-willed than guilty of something far more sinister.

And, so, he stood alone at the well as sunset approached, his horse tied to a nearby tree, the antiquities packed carefully into parcels, ready to be handed over. No one came for more than two hours. Philip grew increasingly anxious as he waited, starting every time he heard the sound of hooves on the dark road. This was an intolerable way to live.

When Hakan did at last arrive, it was not via the road. He emerged from the darkness behind the well, as if he had made his way across the coastal plain without the benefit of so much as a lantern. Furthermore, he was not alone. Batur, his brawny compatriot, had accompanied him.

“You are late,” Philip said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

“You are disappointing,” Hakan said. Philip reached for the bundles, but the man slapped his hand down. “I do not think you give Demir objects worthy of his attention, and I would teach you to do better next time.” With that, he nodded, and Batur commenced a beating the likes of which Philip had never before experienced, leaving him on the ground, bleeding, his nose broken. He could hardly see out of his swollen eyes.

“I will take what you offer to Demir,” Hakan said, watching as Batur used water from the well to rinse his bloodied hands. “And you will remember this, will you not? I think you will not disappoint us again.”

 

16

I slipped the piece of bronze into a pocket of my khaki jacket, a near-perfect match to Philip's, and returned his to the clothesline. I considered repairing the seam that had held the piece and waiting to see how long it would take for Philip to notice it had gone missing, but decided, on balance, I did not wish to delay confronting him for quite that long.

I went into my room—I had not lied about my desire to freshen up—and drew a bath. While the tub filled, I held the bronze on my palm, hardly able to comprehend the historical significance of the words carved on it. I am no lover of Achilles, but even I felt moved at the sight of something that might very well have belonged to the mighty warrior. Part of me—a very small and juvenile part—wanted to smash it to bits, invoking the memory of Hector as I did so, but I resisted this unseemly urge; I would never destroy something of historical value. I wished I knew more about bronze in general, as I had no way at all of making an attempt to date the piece, but I was willing to accept Philip's reasons for believing it to have come from the time of the Trojan War. My eyes misted as I faced the possibility it might even be a shard from the helmet Achilles wore when he slayed noble Hector.

Not wanting to let it out of my sight, I took it with me into the bathroom, placing it on a chair before I stepped into the tub. Once scrubbed clean, I pulled on a simple tea gown, picked up the bronze, and went to Margaret's door. Mrs. Katevatis was no longer with her; my friend had regained her composure and all but drowned me with apologies.

“You must stop,” I said. “I cannot stand one more act of contrition.”

“I have always believed myself strong enough to face any adversity,” she said. “Now I must revise my theory. I do not surrender, however, only now find it necessary to train myself to better react when facing horrors.”

“You might, instead, try avoiding having to face horrors.”

“You are my best friend, Emily, and horrors follow you wherever you go, so there's no hope of my avoiding them altogether. I am fortunate not to have been struck down myself before now. The least I can do is prepare myself.”

“I am glad you are feeling better,” I said, welcoming the return of her sarcastic spirit. “I have done something rather underhanded, but, in the circumstances, I cannot be faulted for it.” She sat, dumbfounded, as I explained to her what I had found, and how, and she nearly grabbed the bronze out of my hand the moment I produced it.

“Do be careful,” I said. “It is extremely old.”

“It is extraordinary,” she said, holding it close to her eyes to better examine it. “Can it really have come from Achilles' helmet?”

“It is possible,” I said. “More important at the moment, however, is how we deal with its presence in the house.”

“You have not yet confronted Philip?”

“It would be best to wait until Colin returns,” I said. “We have no way of knowing how Philip will react.”

“Or Fritz,” Margaret said. “He will be shattered to learn his friend is a thief.”

“At least now we know why Demir has not given up trying to secure the piece. He must have known all along that Philip had it.”

“He really ought not to have been carrying it around with him all this time,” Margaret said. “It was downright reckless of him. He should have locked it up somewhere secure.”

“Yes, but knowing Philip as I do, I do not think he could have borne being parted from it,” I said. “He all but worships Achilles—he wrote a monograph lauding him and filled volumes of journals praising him. The fact he has carried the bronze safely with him for so long, assuming he kept it in a similar manner for all these years, proves a certain wisdom to his scheme. Despite repeated attempts, and even attacks, Philip never lost hold of it.”

“Until now,” Margaret said. “How fortunate Mrs. Katevatis insisted on washing his clothes. I wonder that he did not protest when she took them from him.”

“It would have drawn attention to what he was trying to hide,” I said. “Furthermore, he was in no condition to intervene.”

We decided to wait for Colin in the courtyard, as he would return to the house on horseback, and, hence, go to the barn before coming inside. We could make him au courant with my discovery before any of the rest of the party knew of his arrival.

In the meantime, we visited the nameless man still residing in the small servants' room at the back of the house. I hold firm the belief that those unconscious are not necessarily wholly unaware of what is happening around them, and therefore spoke to the man, explaining to him we had in our possession the piece his master had sent him to find. If he only could wake up, all of his troubles would be over.

Margaret rolled her eyes while I did this, and dragged me out of the room when I was done. “We have no idea who sent him—if anyone sent him—or why. It is entirely possible he has no connection to any of this business.”

“I only meant to encourage him to try harder to recover from his injuries. The mind is powerful, Margaret, and if dangling a little information spurs it into action, he may awaken sooner than he would have otherwise.”

“Unless you've terrified him into staying unconscious forever.”

“Don't be absurd,” I said. “If he did not come to Santorini on an ill-fated mission to harm Philip, he will not have the slightest idea of that which I spoke, and then, if we are lucky, curiosity to understand my meaning may inspire him to heal.”

“I am warming to this idea, Emily,” Margaret said. “Perhaps we should take turns sitting with him, telling him thrilling stories but stopping before we get to any sort of resolution. That should make him positively desperate to recover. I could start with something from Caesar's account of the Civil Wars. Do you suppose he knows any Latin?”

“Highly unlikely,” I said, thanking Mrs. Katevatis as she deposited two glass cups brimming with fresh mint tea.

“You could try
The Iliad
, perhaps, but I suspect he may be Turkish, and if that is the case, he might not enjoy a story in which the Greeks come out victorious. Although
The Odyssey
—”

The clatter of hooves announced my husband's return, saving me from having to explain to Margaret that I was not prepared to read the entire
Odyssey
to the unconscious man. That said, I did appreciate the enthusiasm she brought to her idea, and I could not fault her for trying to come up with any scheme that might shed light on the mysterious events surrounding Philip.

We met Colin in the stables and pulled him into a storeroom next to that building, where, in complete privacy, we could show him the Achilles bronze. His tanned brow furrowed as he studied the piece. “It appears to be genuine,” he said, “but I am no expert. I…” His voice trailed off, and I found myself surprised he had not reacted more strongly to what we had told him. I had narrated the story, but Margaret's frequent bursts of elaborately imagined embellishment had lent a whimsical air to the tale, something I thought he would have at least acknowledged with the wry raising of his eyebrow or a pointed look in her direction.

“Do we know positively the coat is Ashton's, not Reiner's?” he asked.

“Yes. The hole from the bullet is still very much in evidence.”

Colin nodded, but did not speak.

“Do you think we ought to confront him immediately?” Margaret asked. “I am convinced it is the best way forward. He may run off when he realizes it is gone, so we must prepare ourselves for the possibility. Jeremy might—”

“Philip Ashton would never steal something.” Colin's voice, preternaturally calm, commanded attention. “This cannot have been in his possession.”

“Yet clearly it was,” I said.

“I know Ashton better than any of the rest of you. He would not steal.” My husband's countenance clouded and his eyes flashed.

“I appreciate your feelings on the subject,” I said, “but there can be no question on the matter. Unless you are suggesting Reiner took it and hid it in his friend's coat?”

“Yes,” Margaret said. “I could believe that. It would explain why Philip has always insisted he doesn't have anything belonging to this Demir or whatever his name is and why the man has continued to behave as if he knew Philip did have it.”

“You misunderstand the point of my statement,” Colin said. “If this bronze has been hidden by the man currently in my house, then that man is not Philip Ashton.”

“Much though I admire your continued defense of your friend's character,” I said, “are you now claiming you do not believe he is Philip?”

“Can you claim you are absolutely certain he is?” he asked.

“Yes, as certain as anyone could be,” I said. “I told you, he knew things no one else could.”

“Have you doubted him from the beginning, Colin?” Margaret asked.