clear enough. It was one of the masterpieces of Roman relief sculpture. On the right-hand side was a triumphal arch in three-quarters view, with two quadrigas on top. In the background were placards borne aloft like standards, with blank spaces where there had once been painted inscriptions naming cities and peoples defeated in the war. Below them was the image which for almost two thousand years had fuelled the ardour of a people determined to rebuild their holiest temple, and of their enemies sworn to do all in their power to prevent that happening. It showed a procession of tunic-clad soldiers crowned with victory wreaths carrying two biers, each supporting an ornate object hefted high for all to see. On the right heading towards the arch was a table decorated with trumpets, the great altar of the Jewish Temple. On the left in the foreground was an extraordinary but unmistakable shape, a tapering column with three arms on each side curving upwards in concentric semicircles, each arm terminating at the same level and capped with an elaborate finial shaped like a lamp.
Costas let out a low whistle. “That’s some candlestick.”
“The menorah.” O’Connor spoke with barely suppressed excitement. “The most revered symbol of Judaism, placed immediately in front of the sanctuary in the Temple. The menorah represents the light of God, and harks back to the ancient symbol of the seven-branched Tree of Life. The Temple menorah was one of the most sacred treasures of the Jewish people, second only to the Ark of the Covenant.”
“How old was it?” Costas asked.
“There are those who believe the Temple menorah was the Tabernacle menorah itself, divinely ordained when God instructed Moses on the Mount,” O’Connor said. “Rabbinic tradition has it that God showed Moses the menorah drawn in fire and that divine light was radiated in pure gold. The earliest mention of the menorah is in the Pentateuch, in the Jewish Old Testament. In the Book of Exodus God instructs the Israelites on the form of their wilderness sanctuary, their Tabernacle, the basis for the Holy of Holies in the Temple built by King Solomon in Jerusalem a thousand years before the Romans arrived.” He closed his eyes and recited from memory.
“And thou shalt make a candlestick of pure gold… And there shall be six branches going out of the sides thereof; three branches of the candlestick out of the one side thereof, and three branches of the candlestick out of the other side thereof… And thou shalt make the lamps thereof, seven; and they shall light the lamps thereof, to give light over against it. Of a talent of pure gold shall it be made.”
“A talent.” Costas stroked his chin thoughtfully. “How much was that?”
“The biblical talent was about thirty-four kilograms, seventy-five pounds,” O’Connor replied. “But don’t take it at face value. A talent was the biggest unit of weight in common use and was probably used in the Old Testament figuratively, to represent the largest weight that people could readily quantify.”
“It took at least ten Roman soldiers to heave the menorah, five on either side.” Costas was peering at the image on the screen. “The base looks at least a metre across, and I’m assuming that was gold too. If the arch was carved only a decade after the triumph, then many people in Rome would have seen the original, so the sculpture’s probably not an exaggeration. With the base, my guess is we’re looking at three hundred, maybe three hundred and fifty pounds of gold, four or five talents at least. That’s millions of dollars at today’s bullion rates.”
“It’s priceless.” O’Connor said tersely. “A symbol of nationhood, of a whole people. Nobody would ever value the menorah solely in monetary terms.”
“But that’s surely the point.” Jeremy turned and looked at O’Connor, his voice nervous but persistent. “The Vikings couldn’t care less about symbols of nationhood. Costas is right to see it in cash terms. In the Viking homeland, silver was the main bullion, and gold was at a huge premium. You hardly ever find it in Viking hoards. Three hundred pounds of gold would have assured Harald Hardrada’s place as the most powerful man in all of Scandinavia. So given the chance for a quick loot, he and his companions opted for the largest gold object they could lay their hands on. Substitute Vikings for Romans carrying the menorah and you’ve got a snapshot from one stormy night on the Golden Horn almost a thousand years later.”
Jack nodded as Jeremy spoke, his respect for the younger man’s knowledge increasing. “An extraordinary image. But before we get to the Vikings, let’s work out how on earth the menorah found its way to Constantinople.”
Half an hour later Jack stood with Maria and Jeremy in front of a building the size of an aircraft hangar, a stone’s throw from the edge of the estuary. O’Connor had asked for a break to search the IMU database for some key references, and Jack had taken the opportunity to give the other two a brief tour of the campus. They had reached the engineering complex just in time to see the door of the main loading bay roll open and a strange contraption appear on a flatbed truck.
“My latest baby,” a voice yelled out. “Come over and let me show you.”
They looked into the cavernous interior and saw Costas directing a team of workmen behind the truck, his overalls smeared with a fresh layer of oil and grime. He had excused himself from the meeting at the same time as O’Connor and was now fully engrossed in his work. The hangar was a fantastic jumble of technical projects, some on the drawing board and others clearly at the experimental stage. Through the flash of a welding torch Jack could make out the battered form of the ADSA, the Advanced Deep Sea Anthropod, which had saved him from the wreckage of Seaquest only six months before. Ranged on either side were the Aquapods, the one-man submersibles in which he and Costas had first seen the silt-shrouded walls of Atlantis, their metal carapaces still streaked yellow from the sulphurous waters of the Black Sea.
“We’re nearly ready to roll,” Costas called out. “A final systems check and that’s it.”
Jack and Maria wove their way towards him through piles of hardware and semi-finished projects, Jeremy bringing up the rear. Costas put up his hand to order a generator switched off and the unearthly din subsided. He beckoned them over to the contraption on the truck, his face beaming with excitement. “You may have seen something like this in our pictures from the Golden Horn,” he said to Maria and Jeremy. “The ferret, the sub-bottom borer we’re using to dig through the seabed to the medieval layers. I haven’t got a name for this one yet, but it does a similar job. Spot the difference?”
“Let me take a look.” Jeremy craned forward, peering intently at the forward end of the contraption. He grunted, stooped down to look under the cradle and then straightened up, ignoring the streak of grease he had acquired on his tweed jacket. He pushed his glasses up and squinted at Costas. “It cuts through ice.”
“Very good.” Costas raised his eyebrows and winked at Jack. “Go on.”
“It has an electrical element around the rim,” Jeremy said. “I’d guess a superheated element using semiconductor materials, probably in a ceramic matrix. And that box behind looks like a high-energy laser device.”
“I’m impressed. Pretty good for a medieval historian. You’re in the wrong line of work.”
“When I applied for my Rhodes fellowship it was either engineering or Anglo-Saxon, Norse and Celtic. My school was very conservative.”
“You drew the short end of the straw.”
“I disagree,” Maria said. They all laughed and Jeremy looked ruefully at the contraption. Costas slapped an oily hand on Jeremy’s back and turned to Jack.
“We’re air-freighting it out this evening,” he said, his demeanour now serious. “I had a call from James Macleod a few minutes ago and he said the ice conditions are perfect. Another day or two and the summer melt could make it too risky. I’m flying out to Greenland tomorrow morning to oversee the setup. And there’s something else. He mentioned a local, some old guy, who claimed to have seen some old ship’s timbers in the ice. Something to do with a European expedition way back, before the Second World War. Macleod was adamant that you should see the guy, and soon. Apparently he’s on his last legs. I know it’s a bit of a diversion on the trip back to Istanbul, but you might just want to tag along.”
Back in the office, Jack clicked off his cellphone and swivelled his chair back to face the conference table. After a conversation with Maurice Hiebermeyer and Tom York on Sea Venture, he felt reassured that the excavation in the Golden Horn could carry on for another forty-eight hours without him. The greatest prize, he now knew, might lie elsewhere, in a place they could never have imagined, but the Golden Horn could still contain treasures of inestimable historical value. The team were riding on a wave of euphoria after the cannon and chain discoveries and had already begun to use Costas’ probe to penetrate the harbour sediments, but it was hit and miss and could be days before they came up trumps.
“Right,” he said. “What have you got?”
O’Connor sat with a small green-backed book pressed open in front of him, Greek text visible on one side and English on the other. Costas had excused himself and returned to the engineering complex, but Maria and Jeremy
