The Barbary Pirates

wouldn’t have come at all?”

“Then help us with our mystery and we’ll investigate while you depart,” Cuvier said. “And tell Napoleon how you helped us. He can be a powerful ally.”

“A sensible suggestion from a famed naturalist,” Kapodistrias said. “I’m honored to meet Georges Cuvier, and have read of your important work organizing nature. You must know, however, that I fear France as much as I admire it.”

Cuvier nodded reluctantly.

“The French soldiers behaved poorly when they occupied our islands.”

“They were young men, far from home.”

“And not well disciplined. However, the revolutionary ideals that the officers brought were like a bolt of lightning. For the first time, every Greek dares dream of freedom from the Turkish yoke, of standing firm as we did at Thermopylae and Salamis. We don’t know if salvation will come from Russia, France, or Britain, but our tiny republic in the Ionian Islands is just the start of our hope. All of Greece deserves to be free.”

“Then we’re friends,” Cuvier said. “Bonaparte wants an independent Greece as counterweight to Turkey, Russia, and England. But the British have driven us from Egypt, the Russians have driven us from your own islands, and the English admirals dream of making the Mediterranean their own little lake. Napoleon asked us to sound out Greek sentiment for independence through you, but also to get your help investigating rumors of a secret on Thira that might benefit both of us.”

The Greek’s look was cautious. “Buried cities and ancient weapons.”

“Is it true at all?”

“Old stories. I’m glad your Englishman is enthralled by rocks, because there’s probably little else on this poor island. It’s a shattered volcano, home to a few poor fishermen and farmers. But stories persist, as stories tend to do. There’s a rumor that this island has a gate to Hades.”

“Hades!”

“I think that legend comes from literal truth. You can burn your hand in the vents of steam on that island in the harbor. This island was old, and hot, when Pericles built Athens. It has Venetian castles, Doric temples, prehistoric tombs, and stories of people who lived when religion and witchcraft were one. Pile up three thousand years of history and the web of legend, prophecy, superstition, and lies becomes as thick as the weavings of the mythical Arachne. Who knows what’s true and what isn’t in a place like this? Idols were their gods, and fable their science.”

“Sometimes the two intersect,” Cuvier said quietly. “I’ve seen drawings from Bavaria of an ancient reptile with wings like a bat. It too is extinct, I hope, but it looks as if it could have flown from the gates of hell. Perhaps our medieval iconographers drew from nature.”

“And there’s really a Greek rumor that the ancients had some kind of powerful weapon?” Fulton interrupted to clarify. “If true, it could instruct modern inventors like me. And Ethan here is our expert on ancient mysteries and hidden powers.”

“Is he now? Hidden powers? I would like some of those.” There was a twinkle in the Greek’s eye.

“Count Kapodistrias, the French helped my own nation win independence,” I said. “Greece will most likely need help as well. Napoleon can be a good friend or a deadly enemy. If we carry back word that you’re a friend to the ideals of the revolution, it will open the way for possible partnership—not conquest—in the future. In return, is there anyone in Thira who might help us with these old legends? The rumors have reached as far as Paris, and our charge is to determine their truth before greedier and less scientific people come here instead.”

He looked at me shrewdly. “Yes, a curious group. You have the look of an opportunist, your friend is a mechanic, and then we have scholars of rocks and bones. One Frenchman, two Americans, and an Englishman. Why did Napoleon send you?”

“Out of hope the Ottoman authorities would find us odd and inconsequential.”

“And why did you agree to go? Besides your rocks?”

“We have legal problems that Monsieur Gage caused in Paris,” Cuvier said. “This mission for Bonaparte will erase them, so we’re doing what we have to do—that’s the way the world works. Are you not obligated yourself to the Russians and Admiral Ushakov?” It was Ushakov who’d thrown the French off Corfu.

Kapodistrias nodded. “All men are in debt. All right, then. The missive I received from your agent said you have a clue for me that might help us find this secret.”

I took out the ring with its picture of dome and grave, with a man climbing out of the sarcophagus. “Do you recognize that building?”

“A church, perhaps. There are two dozen on this island alone.”

“Look at the dome. It’s broken, or half completed.”

“Ah.” He looked carefully. “But of course. Agia Theodosia! The Compromise of the Cannon!”

“The what?”

“The church and a Venetian fort rose in concert in the village of Akrotiri, faith through one gate and the state through another. But then artillery evolved, and as its guns were installed it became apparent that Theodosia’s dome was blocking the field of fire. The Venetian officers said the church should move, and the Orthodox priests said the fort should give way to God. It was proposed that the dome be lowered, but the monks refused even that —opinions are held strongly in Greece. Finally an impatient Venetian Catholic fired a cannon ball through the Greek Orthodox cupola, and threatened to destroy the entire church. Instead, the fathers reluctantly carved out a slice of the dome to allow the sighting of the gun toward enemies that, in the end, never came. The original dome architecture has since been restored, but the story of the ‘bitten dome’ is well known. There’s no other church in Thira this ring could refer to.”

I imagined the dome with a scoop out of it, one side concave, and admired the compromise. I think everyone should get along.

“Where is this church?”

“Not far—two kilometers, perhaps. But we had better hurry. If Ethan Gage is correct about those approaching ships we may be in a race, gentlemen, for the gate of Hades. And in that case, you will have to race alone.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s too coincidental we have all arrived at the same time. I will direct you to the church and wish you well, but I must not be caught with you. Do you have a ship of your own?”

“Gone to a neighboring island but promising to return.”

“Then look to your weapons and your wits, and hope your captain hurries.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

The village of Akrotiri, on the southwestern arm of Thira’s crescent island, looked like a scrabble of stucco dice stacked on a grassy slope. It culminated in the modest ruins of a small Venetian fortress, half dismantled by the Turks more than a century before. What had once been some lordly fiefdom was now a ruin, on a lonely island at the edge of a decaying empire. Next to the fort entrance was a Greek Orthodox church, and it was here Kapodistrias led us under a half- moon. Akrotiri was still except for the bark of a dog or two, and in the silvery light looked empty and timeless, the peeling brown and white houses seeming to grow out of its geology like angular rocks. We, on the other hand, made far too much noise. Our weaponry clanked. Our boots tramped. In a hundred yards we gave away more evidence of our presence than a tribe of Dakota would while galloping through Saint Peter’s. Fulton had insisted on bringing his bagpipes, and every once in a while they would let out a wheeze, low groan, or odd sloshing.

“Please don’t play,” I said.

“I’ve a different kind of song, inspired by our night at the Palais Royal. This the French navy might actually buy, if I can set things on fire.”

I wondered if we were at the right place at all. Thira, like all of Greece, is dotted with churches of plain, whitewashed stucco topped by faded blue domes, as ubiquitous as stables and not a great deal fancier. The