INSTEAD OF taking Jonny to his own apartment, Bartolomeo went straight to the Hudsons ' house on the outskirts of Rome
It was long after midnight, but there was a porch light on.
Otherwise, the modest house was dark. Bartolomeo shook the boy awake.
"We're here, Jonny," he said gently.
The boy opened his eyes and looked around. "Wow!" he said.
"We're home."
"Home's with Mom... but this sure is second best”
The lights came on before they even rang the bell. The door opened and Jean Hudson, plump and pretty at forty, rushed out in her pajamas.
"I knew! I knew!" she gasped through her tears as she clutched Jonny to her. "I told Tom today... he'll be back soon... I could feel it!"
And she covered the child's face with kisses. Then she said, "Father, God bless you... oh, God bless you! Come in, come in."
The living room was decorated in California
"Has Tom been having any luck, lately?"
"The poor dear's been so busy, he hasn't had time to go out. And then, of course, this terrible thing with Jonny. He's in Milan
Jean Hudson jumped up, saying, "You both must be starved!" She insisted on making cinnamon toast and hot chocolate for them. As she went to the kitchen, Bartolomeo followed.
"My dear, please do not reveal anything to the police at this time—not as yet. I've talked to Jonny. He knows how important this is. We must buy time. I'll explain later, but it does have to with your sister's safety. I also suggest that to avoid questioning by the police, you take Jonny as soon as possible to the Fiumiccino airport and catch the first plane out. Perhaps you could join your husband in Milan
"Let me ask you one thing," said Jean Hudson. "Why? Why did they do it?"
Bartolomeo shook his head. "Not now,” he said. "It's too long and complicated. And dangerous to know."
She frowned, but nodded understandingly. "All right, then, tell me—and I think I have a right to know—who?"
Bartolomeo hesitated. "Yes, I agree. You do have a right to know that. A madman who will be summarily dealt with. His name is Cardinal Tobin."
Then he left and drove to his apartment, thinking along the way, Now that the conspiracy has been exposed, I will have to see the Pope first thing in the morning. The police should in no way be involved. The Vatican Vatican
He let himself in with his latchkey and snapped on the light switch. No light came on. He went to a table light and pulled the chain. No light. He felt his way to the telephone and picked it up. Dead. He headed for the front door, alarmed now, and then stopped when he made out the silhouette standing in the hallway lit only by the moonlight from the window.
"Tobin?" said Bartolomeo. Then, "Of course, Tobin."
"Too bad, Your Eminence” said Tobin. From the outline of his body in the dark, it was apparent that he held a gun in his hand. "Too bad you had to become involved."
He said it calmly, almost pleasantly. "Too bad you went against the Guardians... too bad you went against me. I say this with regret."
"And I say with regret, Cardinal Tobin, that you have totally forgotten that God called upon you to serve Him, and not Satan. Every fiber of your being is infected with evil. Don't you see you are blind to God's love?"
"It is you who are blind, Bartolomeo! All of you! It is I who love God the most—I, who want to return to the old values of the Church! I, who love the Lord enough to kill for His ideals! Under me, the Church shall return to the strict and just ways of the glory that once was hers!"
"And you think God wants you to kill for Him?"
"All is justified when it helps preserve the true Church."
He raised the pistol. Bartolomeo started to rush him, but there was no time, for he heard the muted spits from the silencer and felt the shots tear into his chest. He put his hands to the wounds and almost smiled.
"God forgive you," he whispered as he fell.
Cardinal Tobin made the sign of the cross as he stepped over the twitching body. He went to the fuse box and threw the switch, flooding the place with light. Then he went to the phone, picked up the plastic cord, and plugged it into the wall terminal. He took a piece of paper from his pocket and dialed.
A few moments later he said, "Melnick? Sorry to wake you at this hour. But you may now proceed with the mission. Taylor Phillips is also to be considered as part of the operation. Understand? Good luck... and God bless you."
"Monks, they don't like strangers," Andoni was saying as they came down to where the boat was waiting. "Used to be, they let people come, stay at monastery, all the time...No trouble. Now, too many times things get stolen, valuable things, important books. Monks got to be more careful who come. You professor...they like professors. Professors don’t do strange things."
"Do we really need him?" asked Jason, pointing to the donkey. "Is he going to get in the boat too?"
"He carry food and ouzo!" Andoni seemed a little offended. "Besides, boss, he my bes' friend. He go ever where with me. And if you get tired walking, you can ride him."
The motorboat was thirty feet long, cerulean blue, with fading layers of peeling paint and a striped awning over the deck. Besides the boatman, there was only one other person aboard: a monk who sat in the stern, telling his beads. When he saw Jason looking at him, he turned away.
"I thought we were to have the boat all to ourselves," whispered Jason.
"Yes, boss, we were, but then the boatman say this here poor monk, he miss the boat last night and could we take him, so what could you say?”
Paranoid, Van Cleve, Jason said to himself. You're even worried about monks now.
Mangas, the burro, stepped into the boat obediently and stood quietly eating oats from the nosebag Andoni had brought.
"Very fine animal, boss...smart and loyal," Andoni said as they pulled away from the dock and the motor began its explosive chug, chug, thunk, chug.
"Exactly where are we, and where are we headed? The guidebook said Vatopedi is on the other side of the Athos peninsula.”
"Long peninsula, fifty kilometers," said Andoni, "but skinny, only eight kilometers across, so we go now to little port called Daphne, maybe halfway down the peninsula. Then we go to Karyes to get permission for to take you to Vatopedi." Andoni pointed and gestured as he spoke, although Jason could not see the shore through the morning fog.
"Supposing they don't give us permission?"
"They give it, boss. They give it to Andoni."
As Jason, Andoni, and the burro boarded the boat, a hundred yards down the quay, the small man who kept dabbing at his nose was hiring a similar boat.
"Hurry!" said McCue to the boatman. He was already losing Jason's craft in the fog. "Follow... follow!"
But the boatman pointed to an old man who had arrived on the dock with a cart full of sacks.
"We take potatoes to monastery of Xenofontos."
McCue shook his head and shoved a handful of drachmas at the boatman.
"We go now! Now!"
The boatman looked at the money, shrugged in apology to the potato man, and started up the boat's engine.
"How does he know where he's going in this pea soup?" Jason asked.
"Like wonderful machine they got on big boats, boss. He hear where he is."
"You mean he has sonar equipment on this little boat?" Jason said with disbelief.
“Nah, he just use his ears, boss. You get close to shore, the noise bounce back at you from the cliffs. Boat sound different. You do this all the time and pretty soon you know the way it should sound."
"I had hoped to see those cliffs and those monasteries. The photographs in the guidebook were spectacular," Jason said.
"You get to see them, boss. Later, fog burn off and you get to see them. Beautiful. And very old, boss. Twenty big ones on this peninsula."
"Where'd you learn such good English?" asked Jason.
"War, boss, war. I was war hero... had many English friends. They call me outrageous. ‘Andoni the Lion' they call me. They give me money, cigareets, chocolate. You got cigareets, boss?"
Jason gave him one, and lit one himself.
"They all love me, the English. That because they say nothing can scare the Lion. Once I strangle two enemies. With bare hands."
"Just your hands?
Andoni shrugged. “Two hands and piece of rope. After the war I was very proud because I am only one in my village who speaks English. Other villagers, they think I am wise only because I speak English. When tourists start to come to Holy Mountain Holy Mountain
"Tell me about it, Andoni."
Andoni cleared his throat and, over the hollow chugging of the boat, began a recital, like a small boy in class. Jason felt sure that if he interrupted, Andoni would have to go back and start the memorized spiel from the beginning.
"Mount Athos, on peninsula sticking out into Aegean Sea , is earth occupied by monks for more than a thousand years. Mount Athos rise straight up from sea two thousand meters. Gets very cold on top, sometimes big snow. They got twenty monasteries” — he laughed his big laugh — "that why they call it Holy Mountain
Jason smiled to show his appreciation of Andoni's little joke, and Andoni went on.
"Some monks, they don' live in regular monastery — maybe they live in skete or even smaller place. Some monks, they go off by themselves altogether. They live in huts or caves — like eagles' nests. That what they call them— -eagles nests - way high up on mountain. They got different way of living in monastery. Some, they all go to meals same time, do everything same time. Other monastery, they don' have to all pray or eat at same time. But mostly they got eight hours to pray, eight hours to work, and eight hours to sleep. And some places, the day start not at midnight but at sundown, and other places at sunrise. Some monastery, they got bells to let you know it's time to pray, other places they got big wooden thing they call semantron—they bong on it instead of ring bells."
"And why is it that no women are allowed?" asked Jason.
"Emperor Constantine Monomachos, almost thousand years ago, he saw women bad for monks. He say no women on Athos. Monks believe that in a storm long time ago, the Virgin Mary's ship was forced to land on Mount Athos coast. She so like the beauty of the peninsula, she say, 'This is my garden’. So it is holy ground now. The monks say a statue of the Virgin on Mount Athos spoke. It spoke to the visiting Byzantine Empress Pulcheria, sending her away like this: 'You go away. Here in this place there is another queen besides you!' Since then the monks don' let any other woman share the Virgin's garden."
"And you mean on this thirty-mile peninsula, there hasn't been a woman since?"
'Twenty-five year ago, French woman, journalist woman, she dress like monk, sneak in, stay four days. They catch her, put her in jail two years."
"How'd they catch her?"
"Young monk, he notice"—Andoni laughed as his hands described arcs in front of his chest—"he notice bumps. Woman go to jail!" He roared with laughter. "Funny thing, boss. In old days—real old days, before Constantine even—Mount Athos forbidden to men! Only virgin girls live here, girls preparing themselves to be priests—how you call... priestess. If man set foot on Athos in those days, they cut off his balls first, then kill him!"
"How many monks do you think there are at Vatopedi?"
"Vatopedi big—one of the oldest monasteries—rich too. They got maybe fifty, sixty monks there now."
"What do they eat? The guidebooks says they're mostly vegetarians."
"Special days, maybe three times a year, meat. Some places they got better food than others. They grow vegetables and have bread with olive oil, mostly. Some have a little meat, but mostly they do not eat meat. Some monks, like the ones live in those eagles' nests—who knows what they eat? But they all have wine, ouzo, coffee, maybe a little cheese."
"You are indeed a good guide."
Andoni beamed with pride and pleasure.
Jason turned his head and said under his breath, "That monk keeps looking at us."
“The monks, some of them don' see that many foreigners, like I tell you. They afraid of strangers these days. Andoni shrugged. "But you okay, boss. Monks like professors—people who preciate their treasures but don’ steal them”.
"I just hope he really is a monk,” Jason said.
Andoni looked puzzled, but Jason didn't elaborate.
As they approached the harbor at Daphne, Jason said, "Where's Vatopedi from here?"
"Over the hill, but we don't go there right away. First we got to walk a couple hours to Karyes to get permission, like I tol' you."
"Walk?"
"Sure, boss. We jus' walk and Mangas carry everything for us. We not got taxicab like in New York
As Andoni led Jason and Mangas up the dirt road toward Karyes, Jason said, "I read that there is some kind of complicated protocol for obtaining the permits."
"There's some funny things they do at Hazel Nuts—that what 'Karyes’ mean. There's five men--they call it the Council of Five—and each man got a part of a seal, and they puts together all the four parts of the seal and that go into the handle and then they stamp the papers. If they like you."
"In other words, four men have a quarter of the seal, the fifth man has the handle—okay, I see. Now what about the tray? I read something about a tray."
"You important man, they bring out the tray. It got jam and water and liquor and you s'pose to eat it a certain way, but if you don't got lots of important papers, they don' bring no tray."
Jason was pretty sure he wouldn't have to cope with the tray, for he had no ‘important papers.’ He only hoped the papers he did have, an American passport and a press pass, would convince the council that he was sufficiently reputable to be allowed access to the monastery of Vatopedi.
The road—a mere path, really—became narrower and merged with scrub and thickets of arbutus and boxwood and Judas tree, and then a dense forest of ilex and Spanish chestnut and pine. The harbor now was far below, and still they climbed.
Occasionally they would pass a lonely kelli, a little hermitage tucked back in the woods, with its little chapel.
The trail became rather steep as they neared the crest of the hill on the pathway to Karyes. Andoni stopped for a moment to adjust the cinch on Mangas, and Jason took the opportunity to remove his jacket, for now they were well above the fog. He looked around and saw that, some fifty yards behind them, the figure in the black cassock was trudging up the path through the trees. Then a spot of blue caught his eye, and he could make out another man coming up the hill much farther down.
"Seems to be a well-traveled road here, Andoni," Jason observed. Was it the same monk?
"Oh, sure, boss," Andoni replied. "Mos' ever'body come up this way if they go to Karyes."
Maybe.
Shortly after they had resumed their pace, Andoni stopped again and said, "Look, boss, look down there. That Hazel Nuts."
They were over the crest of the hill and could look out over the trees and down onto the red-tiled rooftops of the buildings of Karyes.
"Imposing buildings for such a small place," Jason said. He looked back and could spot neither the monk nor the other man.
"Monasteries all got at least one building in Karyes. Konakia—embassies—where monks stay when they come into town. They got representatives from their monastery, they got shops where they work, make things, maybe trade a little."
A train of mules loaded with logs and hay trotted past them. Not long after, they came into the cobblestone streets of the little town. Jason looked around at the stone-and-tile buildings, some with frescoes, many with deep, overhanging eaves. Black-robed men with brimless stovepipe hats, their hair tucked up into the tall cylinders, would emerge from one building and disappear into another. There were two vine-covered cafes, half a dozen little shops, and a big church. Another century.
There were no women, no children, no motorcars, no bicycles or wheels of any sort. There were a few dogs and a few cats. "All male, boss. They allow mules "cause they got no sex. No cows, though.”
There seemed to be no pattern to the layout of the streets or buildings, many of which seemed to be at odd angles to one another, some close together, others far apart.
"We better get place to stay, Boss. Get some food, too."
"What about the food you brought?"
"We maybe need that on the trail. Better we go to kelli of Vatopedi. They give us something to eat and place to sleep tonight."
"Can't we just get the permit and keep going on to Vatopedi?" Jason asked.
Andoni shook his head. "Boss, you don" know how long those men they take! Hours, sometimes, to decide are they gonna let you go to Vatopedi. 'Specially since you don' got no papers except passport."
Was this man stalling?
As they passed the katholikon—the church of Karyes—Andoni pointed to a building beyond, which could be seen in the space between the church itself and the separate tower. 'That the headquarters, there, that place with all the steps and arches. We come back here later. You gonna see more church than you ever see in your life. Some monasteries, they got katholikon, like main church, then they got chapel here, chapel there, and they got sketes that got chapels and kellia that got chapels and even kalyves got a chapel."
"Kalyves?"
"They place for monks, but only smaller than the kelli and bigger than a kathisma—they all places where monks live and they belong to the monasteries. Now we go over to that building and get permit."
They mounted the steps to the Holy Epistasia. Ecclesiastical gendarmes appeared, bearded and wearing battle dress of celestial blue with forage caps showing the seal of the double-headed eagle.
Andoni spoke to them and they were ushered into a dark room, lit by a single candle on a long table. Andoni gave a tattered paper of his own, along with Jason's passport, to one of the guards, who then disappeared. In a few moments five old monks filed silently into the room from a side door and sat at the table.
They paid no attention to Andoni, asking him to wait in the anteroom. But Jason was scrutinized carefully. He was asked questions that seemed totally irrelevant at times, but was always handled with deference and courtesy.
One of the old monks pulled at his long, square beard and studied Jason hard, his narrowed eyes expressing some vague distrust.
"True—you are archeologist?" he asked.
Jason disliked lying and wasn't good at it, but he managed to say, rather convincingly, “Yes, sir, though I confess to knowing little of Athos and its vast history."
"You sure not art dealer?"
"Excuse me?"
"Art pirates come to buy or steal our art objects, our rare books. Unscrupulous people here help them acquire great treasures to sell to moving-picture stars and bankers in capitalistic countries, knowing full well they will be damned for all eternity for their perfidy."
"I assure you I am not one of them."
The monk was silent for a moment, then he nodded to the others. Jason was asked to wait in the anteroom.
Andoni looked up when Jason came out, but only smiled. He made no move to get up, so Jason sat down beside him.
"What happens now, Andoni?" he asked.
"We wait, boss. They gonna talk it over—like what you call jury—they talk it over and decide are they gonna trust you." Andoni nodded and said, "Like I tell you, boss, it could take a long time."
Jason did not have to wait long, for in less than twenty minutes a monk came out and asked him to return to the conference room, where he was told that permission would be granted.
He thanked the council, then watched as they performed the complicated ritual of putting together the assorted parts of the official seal. The ancient monk with the handle made an elaborate gesture as he stamped the paper that was finally handed to Jason.
"Here is your diamoniterion—your passport to any monastery on Athos. Go with God."
As they left the building, Jason saw a monk watching them. He turned away, but not before Jason had seen it was the same one as on the boat.
Early the next morning, fog had once again settled over the. Mount Athos peninsula as Andoni loaded his burro and Jason pulled on his jacket.
Karyes now looked eerie in the fog, and the donkey's clopping hooves echoed under the broad eaves and colonnades of the stone buildings.
"Not far, boss," Andoni assured Jason. "Maybe two, three hour, you gonna be in Vatopedi."
"How do you know where you're going this time, Andoni?"
"Jus' follow Mangas, boss. He jus’ follow trail and I jus' follow him."
"But does he know where you want to go?"
"If I put him on right trail, he know."
In less than an hour the air had cleared and the warm sun felt good as they trod along through dwarf oak, holly, and myrtle. The path wove gently through the shrublike vegetation, parallel to the sea, which could smell as the morning breezes wafted its ancient odors onshore.
Unlike yesterday, when they had been climbing over the ridge of the peninsula, the trail now gradually undulated along to the shore, where Vatopedi lay sprawled on the coast of the Aegean .
"There, boss. See, I tol' you. There the belltower, that Vatopedi!"
"What are those buildings with the little fluted and scalloped domes? They look Russian."
"That all one building, boss. That the katholikon of Vatopedi. Back in old days, the tsars of Russia Alexandria
"Constantinople ... reminds me..." How far could he trust this man Andoni? On the other hand, how far could he get without Andoni's help? Who would translate for him, now that Taylor Taylor
"Reminds you what, boss?"
. "Reminds me that the person I most want to see at Vatopedi, is the abbot—Constantine
"Oh, sure, that easy. He head man here. Sooner or later you got to see Constantine
And how would he approach Constantine Constantine
"What's that strange sound?"
“That the semantron I tell you about. Big wooden thing. It tell you that it time to go to pray."
They entered the narrow archway after showing their passes to the young bearded monk at the sentinel's niche.
The courtyard of Vatopedi was bathed in morning sunlight. The church and its two dozen chapels, as well as towers, storehouses, refectory, library, treasury, guest houses, fountains, shrines, trees, tailored flowerbeds, and endless rows of cells, all were grouped within the fortified enclosure. One of the largest and richest of all the monasteries, it bristled with domes and turrets, strange and wonderful, the quintessence of a fairytale illustration.
As Jason stood marveling in the courtyard, the noise became louder and then he saw a monk banging with a mallet on a thick wooden plank hung from two posts. The resulting unique sound reverberated throughout the many buildings, and the courtyard was suddenly a beehive, with dozens of black-robed monks converging on the main church—the katholikon, with the many scalloped domes. The monks paid little attention to Jason and Andoni, except for discreet glances at the newcomers.
"Pray time." Andoni looked at Jason and said, "You want to see Constantine
They walked past orange and lime and peach trees laden with fruit as they mingled with the monks heading into the chapel.
Inside, the church was almost overwhelmingly ornate. Great brass chandeliers hung from the high ceiling on chains, as did many intricately carved incense burners. Around the room, against the walls, were gilt chairs, and seeing the monks sit in them, Jason and Andoni did likewise. There was a huge, carved, locked cupboard near them. Could the scrolls be in there? Yes, they could... but they could also be in one of the dozen other cupboards, or even in the tower or in the cellar or in one of the other chapels.
Everywhere on the walls were icons and relics and frescoes and medallions. The church's musty, cluttered opulence contrasted sharply with the austerity of the monks’ dress and mode of living. In spite of the gloom, Jason was immediately taken with a fresco of the Last Supper, close to where they sat.
With a gentle nudge of his elbow, he whispered, "How old, Andoni?" and nodded toward the painting.
"Almost a thousand years, boss,” Andoni replied.
The interior was covered with frescoes—hundreds of stiff, gaunt saints looking like primitive El Greco figures.
At the end of the long chamber to the right of the altar was the imposing figure of a man who looked like one of the saints in the mural behind him. He was lit by a huge candle, which made him stand out in the darkness like a statue, as though illuminated by a spotlight. Jason didn't need Andoni's whispered "Constantine
The abbot started to speak, chanting the Mass, and his deep, resonant voice was powerful and hypnotic. Even though they were off to the side, Jason felt that Constantine
As Constantine
On the way out, Constantine
Andoni nodded.
One monk asked, "What monasteries do you plan to visit?"
"Vatopedi only, for we have come to see Constantine
"Ah, then you must hurry, my friend. Constantine
"But he is abbot here, and it is known he never leaves!" Andoni exclaimed.
The monk shrugged. "A friend, a man in my kelli — Constantine
"What's this Simonopetra stuff?" Jason asked when they had left the throng of black robes.
"That is where Constantine
"Where is it?"
"Over hill . . . maybe four, five hours' walk."
"We just get here and he leaves?" Another funny coincidence, Jason thought.
"We will show you to your place of rest," said the monk. "Food awaits you there."
Jason was taken aback a bit. "You knew we were coming?"
The monk merely smiled.
They followed the monk to the far end of the east wing and up to a balcony. The second cell along the balcony was theirs, and one of the monks turned the key in the heavy wooden door to open it.
Lit by a kerosene lamp, the whitewashed walls were bare, and the room had only a crude table and two pallets for sleeping. A tray of fruit; cheese, bread, and honey was on the table.
"Eat well, my brothers," said one of the monks as he placed a carafe of wine in front of them, then withdrew, closing the door behind him.
Andoni fell upon the fruit and cheese. "Boss, one thing monks do is make good cheese — and good bread!"
Jason stretched out on the mattress. The utter quiet of the monastery life seemed almost ominous. He thought of Taylor , back at the Macedonia Palace
"Where are we in relation to the library and treasury?" he asked Andoni.
"Not far, boss. Jus’ back there, near the katholikon. Let's go."
As they walked through the courtyard, Jason saw a small shrine.
“That very holy, boss. That called Shrine of the Holy Girdle. Part of the belt of Virgin Mary they keep there."
Jason then saw the wall painting of All Saints in the chapel of Saint Demetrios, and the exquisitely decorated refectory with the sea-blue benches and dado, contrasting with the ivory-colored stone floors, the panels of religious paintings on the walls, and the remarkable patterns of the ceiling.
But Jason was not on a sight seeing tour, and he reminded Andoni that he wanted to get to the library.
“Sure boss only I don’t want you someday curse Andoni--say why Andoni not show you . . . say Andoni no-good guide."
At the library Jason restlessly looked at the many illuminated manuscripts on parchment, bombazine, and paper. Some of them dated back to the ninth and tenth centuries… The old librarian said proudly that it was one of the finest collections in the world.
Jason thought about the Ephesus
Where would they be kept? It was too good to be true that they would be just sitting here in the library, but he described to Andoni the scrolls without telling him their content and asked him to ask if they might be kept here. The monk in charge, as ancient and dried out as the parchments he presided over, shook his head, but Jason noted that the sharp old eyes now peered at him suspiciously over his glasses.
If the monk understood, and Jason felt that he had, the man was probably lying. But perhaps not. Constantine Constantine
Jason gestured to Andoni and they left the library.
“There is other library, boss, but way down below our cell and locked.”
As they returned to the kelli to go to their guest cells, Jason saw a monk. It was the one who had been in the boat with them yesterday. He went over to speak to him, but the man pulled his cowl up and walked into a chapel as they approached.
The evening meal in the heavily frescoed refectory was much the same as the midday one, with the addition of a large bowl of lentil soup, with fresh bread and olive oil.
The presiding monk rang a bell to tell them to sit down, then a bell for grace, and a bell to tell them to eat. During the meal, from a small pulpit at the end of the room, a monk intoned the life of the saint of that day. Jason and Andoni ate well, then went back to their cell, and prepared for the night.
When Andoni's snoring became low and regular, Jason opened the door cautiously and looked out. No one was about. He took the lantern and stepped out onto the balcony. He went down the first stone steps he saw. They led to another floor of cells, presumably filled with monks either asleep or at meditation, for it was very quiet. Still another flight of steps took him farther down into the monastery.
Then he tripped and tumbled down the steps. But he hung on to the lamp and got up, dazed but unhurt. On this floor there were no cells, just a long corridor, permeated with the cloyingly sweet smell of wine and lined with barrels.
He went slowly down the corridor, which intercepted another corridor coining in at right angles. At the conjunction was a great carved wooden door, secured with huge, ancient lock. Embedded in the wall near the big ring that served as a door handle was a small cage, a recessed place within a little grilled door fitted with a modern lock. Jason could see that inside was a big, rusty key on a hook. How to get the key?
A wire. But where to get a wire? He thought of the tin cups on the wine barrels and retraced his steps. He knelt by a barrel and unwound the rusty wire from the cup.
He returned to the door, and, fashioning a hook on one end of the wire, he slipped it between the grillework of the recess. On the third try he managed to snag the big key, and he eased it cautiously out between the close bars of the grille. It clattered to the stone floor. Jason snatched it up and looked around. Then he shoved it into the keyhole and turned it, and the great door swung open soundlessly.
He stepped into the huge, dark room. As he did so, he noticed that his lantern was beginning to sputter and fade. He saw some large, ivory-yellow candles on a long table in front of him and managed to light three of them before the lantern flickered and went out.
The big candles lit the room as though by electric lights, and Jason looked around in amazement. This was clearly not a regular library, but a repository for rare books and scrolls; there was a wooden chair at the long table on which the candles stood. If was probably a workroom for translating and cataloguing the books. And what books! What scrolls! They seemed at first to be casually treated; a beautiful illuminated page from a Book of Hours lay under a magnifying glass, left there by whoever had been studying it. There were dozens and dozens of filing cabinets and cupboards. Around the wall were stacked rolls of labeled parchment, and papyri protruded from amphorae, probably going back to the first centuries of the Greek Orthodox Church.
On the table was a workspace, and several brittle scrolls were taped there in different stages of being delicately unrolled and photographed and translated. Jason glanced at them. They were not the Ephesus Ephesus
Where to start—where to look? The scrolls he was looking for would not be treated so casually, not stacked in a comer. So he started on the cupboards. In the second cupboard he found a carved wooden box. Gingerly, almost tenderly, he opened it. Inside were scrolls, a translation in Greek, and a stack of enlarged photos. Of course, he would not try to unroll the brittle papyri, but a glance at the corresponding photographs told him the writing was Greek, not Aramaic. He closed the lid. After five cupboards, he was getting discouraged. And then, in the sixth, right in front of him, he saw it: a silver box, rather large and ornate. It looked important, very old, and appeared to be a treasure in itself. It had a modern lock on it that was—miraculously—open!
This was all too easy, somehow.
Jason lifted the box off the shelf and put it on the table. He opened the lid with trembling fingers, and there were... scrolls. Scrolls, photos, and translations of the scrolls in Greek. But were they the Ephesus
"Yassou," said one. "Greetings."
He had been caught red-handed and could think of no excuse. But that would not be necessary, for the monks did not seem either surprised or angry. They simply pointed to the door, blew out the candles, and politely gestured him back to the guest cell he shared with Andoni.
Andoni was snoring peacefully as one of the monks gently shook him. When he sat up, fully awake, the monks spoke to him in Greek. Quietly but firmly, they told the guide that Jason, had violated their trust and that Andoni would be expected to take Jason and leave at daybreak. They demanded the diamoniterion, the permit that had been authorized at Karyes, and tore it up, reminding Jason and Andoni that they would not now be permitted to travel to any of the other monasteries on the Holy Mountain
"Go," they said. "Go with God, but go."
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