as a Jesuit were clouded by that lust that drove the Spaniards to conquest, like a shark smelling blood.”
Jack smiled. “Go on.”
“The last of the Maya kings came before them. Listen to this. He wore a crown of gold, and gold discs in his ears from which golden pendants hung down to his shoulders. He had bands of pure gold on his arms and golden finger-rings, and his blue sandals were covered with golden bells.”
Costas whistled. “He was weighed down with gold.”
Jeremy shut the book. “Avendano failed to convert the Itza. Two years later the city fell to Spanish arms.”
“You say they brought their treasure with them from Chichen Itza?” Costas said.
“That’s the story.”
“That’s an awful lot of gold, for a vanquished people.”
“Just a thought.”
Jack was nodding slowly. “If the Maya were so secretive about their sacred texts, those books of Chilam Balam that prophesised the arrival of bearded men from the east, then they could have concealed untold other treasures. With the Spanish hunting everywhere for gold, an island stronghold on a lake set deep in the jungle sounds about right.”
“And maybe it was just gold, pure and simple,” Costas said. “All that prestige value, all the meaning the menorah had for the hated Toltecs, had fallen away. Once the Maya reached their hideaway, maybe they melted it down.”
“And then it comes full circle,” Maria said softly.
“What do you mean?” Costas said.
“Think about it. The Spanish conquer the last stronghold of the Itza. They finally get their Maya gold. Only it isn’t Maya gold at all. And what do they do with it? They’re hardly going to sit on their jackpot in the jungle.”
“They send it home,” Jeremy said.
“They melt it down again, they coin it, they send it back in the treasure fleets to Cadiz and Seville,” Maria said. “Hundreds of pounds of gold, a spectacular bounty. It goes straight into the coffers of the Spanish king. And to the other great power behind the conquistadors.”
“The Catholic Church,” Jack murmured. “And some of that wealth filters back to the powerhouse of the Church, to the Vatican in Rome.”
“Hang on,” Costas said. “You’re losing me again.”
“Don’t you see?” Maria’s eyes were alight. “If we’re correct, the menorah was never lost at all. Three hundred years ago, the gold first cast in sacred form in ancient Israel returned to the lands of its earliest heritage, re-formed as bullion and as holy artefacts for a new world order. Maybe it was staring us in the face all that time, in the gilded splendours of St. Peter’s, in the golden reliquaries of the Vatican treasury, in countless embellishments and artefacts in churches around Christendom that received largesse from the mother Church.”
“And maybe some of it even found its way back to Jerusalem,” Jeremy said. “Remember the saga of Harald Hardrada, offering gifts of treasure to the Shrine of Christ in Jerusalem? The story that climaxed with the Crusades, of western involvement in the Holy Land, wasn’t all one of plunder and greed. Maybe, just maybe, some of the gold of the Itza found its way back in recent centuries to the shadow of the Temple Mount in Jerusalem and is still there today.”
Costas suddenly looked crestfallen, and glanced at his blueprint on the rock beside the cenote. “My sub- bottom borer. All my plans. Are we saying what I think we’re saying?”
“All this is just guesswork,” Maria murmured.
“And we have nothing to prove Harald even got here,” Costas said. “The wall-painting’s gone, the site of Harald’s last stand entombed forever. Nobody would believe us.”
“We’ve got this.” Maria removed the smooth chip of stone from her shorts pocket, the runestone she had found inside the cenote.
“It doesn’t actually mention Harald,” Costas said. “And the stone’s not local, it looks like a schist they probably picked up at L’Anse aux Meadows.”
“But we know,” Maria said.
“I’ll go with the Maya theory.” Jeremy was still reflecting on the menorah. “Better than trying to work out what to do with the menorah if we found it.”
Jack got up, walked over to the sacrificial platform and peered down at the impenetrable green of the water. Then he turned his back on the cenote and unclipped a radio receiver from his belt. “The menorah may be in the Well of Sacrifice after all. Or we may have reached the end of the road. But before I even think about another project, I’ve got a small debt to pay to an old friend. Something to do with battle-luck.” He glanced at Maria. “And we need to get out of here.”
22
Four days later, Jackwas crouched near the stern of Seaquest II, muffling his ears against the churning of the ship’s wake as he took a call from Maurice Hiebermeyer in Istanbul. After a few moments struggling to hear he got up and walked back to where Costas was standing beside Maria and Jeremy, who were sitting on a bench behind the ship’s helipad.
“I read you.” Jack pressed the receiver against his ear. “Set it all out and I’ll see you in the Golden Horn tomorrow evening. And thanks for taking over the excavation, Maurice. Great work. I owe you one. Out.”
Jack snapped shut the radio receiver and weaved his way around the lines that had been laid on the deck to secure the Lynx helicopter after its arrival. Seaquest II was heading back to the Arctic to resume the scientific project at Ilulissat icefjord, and several of the scientists who had disembarked during their diversion to the Caribbean were being flown back on board. The ship was now less than a hundred nautical miles east of Newfoundland, and the final helicopter shuttle was due in later that afternoon. Apart from a deep swell, the sea was settled and the sky was clear, but as they ploughed their way north there was a chill in the air that seemed more pronounced after their days in the fetid jungle of the Yucatan. Maria and Jeremy were both wearing IMU anoraks and were huddled behind the bulwark out of the wind.
“That was Maurice Hiebermeyer,” Jack said. “It’s great news. They’ve finally got artefacts dumped after the siege of Constantinople in 1204.”
“Crusader gold?” Costas said hopefully.
Jack grinned. “A colossal gilt bronze statue of the emperor Vespasian, with a dedicatory inscription showing it had originally been set up in the Forum of Peace in Rome after the Jewish triumph. It’s not exactly what we had in mind, but then archaeology’s like that.”
“It’s what I wanted to hear.” Costas sighed contentedly. “My sub-bottom borer has come up trumps. Anyway, as I recall there was quite a list of items looted from the Jewish Temple other than the menorah. We’ll find them. Just have faith in IMU technology.”
“That might have to go on the back burner for a while,” Jack said. “Maurice had been itching to tell me about a find from the Egyptian desert since we came back from Atlantis, and I finally relented. It’s incredible.”
“Not another papyrus,” Costas said. “The last one got us into enough trouble.”
“This one’s Roman,” Jack said. “Just a scrap, but it holds a fantastic clue.”
“Another treasure hunt?”
“Ever heard of Alexander the Great?”
Costas saw the familiar gleam in Jack’s eye. “Okay. My kind of archaeology. You can count me in. Just no icebergs.”
“Deal.” Jack grinned and turned to Maria and Jeremy, but his expression changed as he saw Maria’s downcast face. “I’ve been meaning to ask, Maria,” he said gently. “Your Ukrainian heritage. I know the Jewish population were Ashkenazi, but any hint of anything farther back? I mean, I’m just trying to understand your passion for the Vikings.”
Maria lightened up and gave Jack a sad smile. “After I put my mother to rest last year, I spent a few days in Kiev, went to the Cathedral of Santa Sofia and studied the famous wall-paintings. The kings and queens who ruled
