Greece, the tomb of Tutankamun in Egypt, the discovery of Knossos and the Minoan civilization in Crete, Mycenae in the Peloponnese and Troy in Asia Minor.
Apart from the discovery of the tomb of Alexander the Great which would rank amongst the greatest discoveries of all time, there was one discovery that would probably, at least for the Greeks, rank as one of the greats; the tomb of the last Emperor of Constantinople, Konstantinos XI Palaiologos, who disappeared during the siege and fall of the city to the Ottomans on 29 ^th May 1453 A.D.
That disappearance had given rise to the prophecy that once awakened from his long sleep, Konstantinos Palaiologos would reclaim the city. That prophecy had become a legend, and, although nobody really believed in it these days, it was a lovely story learnt by legions of kids at schools across “Greekdom”.
And there was a small band of archaeologists that both feared and hoped that there was something of great power hidden with the body of the Emperor; something that could be beneficial and devastating in equal measure. They believed that the prophecy was hiding a secret that could unlock a bright future for the nation that found it.
Giorgos was chipping away at a piece of rock when his next hit echoed hollow around the cave. The chisel had hit something solid, something metallic. He threw the chisel away and, excited, began to dig frantically with his bare hands. He then pointed his torch, and, lo and behold, his excitement evaporated as quickly as it appeared. He cursed under his breath. He was staring at a rusting piece of worthless tin. Another dead end, another disappointment.
Maybe he was wasting his time. Maybe he should just give it all up and go back to the cushy job he had been offered at the University of Athens; an open-ended offer they said. They wanted him that badly.
Giorgos Markantaskis had always wanted to be an archaeologist for as long as he or anyone could remember, since he was a small boy. When other boys his age were playing football or being cruel to ants and other creatures, he was busy devouring book after book on any subject.
His dream vacation was staking out archaeological sites, stalking archaeological expeditions, practically living on site with them and becoming a de facto and honorary member of the team and exploring every stone, every corner, dreaming that a secret would be revealed when he lifted the next stone, that maybe the next shovelful of soil would reveal a cave with treasure, not just something of incalculable archaeological but of little real value.
What he sought was to discover a phenomenon of global magnitude; he could not wait to make a name for himself and to make it early on. He did not allow any seeds of doubt to cross his mind, any ‘he should be so lucky, only one archaeologist in three generations strikes a huge discovery’ thoughts to derail him from his purpose.
He would relish spending most of his holidays sweating on excavation sites instead of lying idle on the beach like his schoolmates and other his age, warmed by the sun followed by successive jumps into the sea to cool down; bliss for others, but not for him.
His obsession with the quest for the tomb of the last Emperor of Constantinople had cost him his marriage and his child, with only his mother supporting him through all the good and the difficult times, through the peak and the trough; he stubbornly battled on regardless, a lone warrior against the world. He had his youth and his beliefs on his side. And he never lacked confidence, some would say arrogance.
But enough of the past. He had no time to waste dwelling on the past, on what might have been, because he had no regrets. You were only given one shot at life and you had to make the most of it.
Giorgos leaned against the cave wall to rest. The dig into his past had sapped his energy. He closed his eyes in a desperate last-ditch attempt to let his frustration wash over him. The hard work of the last few months and the exhaustion so far suppressed caught up with him and as he began to fall into a muchneeded sleep, his knees buckled and gave way and he began to gradually slumber down to the ground.
He never reached the cool floor of the cave. He heard a roar and a crushing of rock on rock and he jumped upright. He thought he was in a crazy nightmarish warp of a dream. The wall behind him was actually moving. He lost his balance, blinded by dust falling from the ceiling and shaken by the quaking ground. And he fell back into what looked like another chamber. He got up and dusted himself.
As his eyes started to adjust to the dim light, he picked up his torch and pointed it at the walls and the ceiling. The light caught something luminous at what looked like the far end of the chamber. He immediately turned the torch to that direction and froze on the spot. His feet were nailed to the floor; his legs had turned to jelly. He could not move. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his free hand. In front of him was a sarcophagus.
He went closer. He could just about make out colourful images and iconography interspersed with inscriptions. Like a man possessed he began to run the light of the torch along the length and breadth of this stunning object. With his torch he was violating an object that had lain undisturbed and in peace for a very very long time. He felt humbled by the discovery. Along the whole surface were depictions he could recognise from the New Testament. They were in the Byzantine style.
And then he noticed it; repeated after every few episodes, and with a large one on the lid, was the double- headed eagle, symbol and royal insignia of the Roman Emperors of Constantinople. He hungrily started to read the inscriptions between the vivid drawings and then, carved on the stone in Greek, one word jumped out at him and almost blinded him: “Palaiologos”. The last royal dynasty.
Could this be real? Could this be the last resting place of the last Emperor? No, it just could not be. But then what else could it be? Could it be another member of the Imperial family? Could it be, perhaps, that the sarcophagus destined for the entombment of a royal body had been used by someone else?
Could Giorgos have been right all along? Could the illustrious but elusive figure from the past have made his final home here? Could Giorgos have finally found what he had sought for so long? The doubts were now taking shape, putting down firm roots inside his mind and unless he put a stop to it would outgrow the confines of his brain and become a monster.
But how could it be here? It was lost, was it not? At this moment that he had dreamed for as long as he could remember, his eyes refused to believe the, at first glance, irrefutable evidence accosting them. He was suddenly doubting himself and his research.
But in an instant the doubts were gone and the child was back, a child in a candy store. He just had to look inside the sarcophagus, but he did not dare to do it on his own. He was afraid and was making up excuses for not exploring further. Besides, it didn’t look as if he could lift the lid on his own.
He needed help. He did not want to risk damaging the contents, which had, most probably, not been disturbed or exposed to the air for centuries. Even this stale air could be fatal.
He then had an inspiration. They could create a sterile environment right here instead of risking damage to the sarcophagus and its contents by attempting to move it and open it off site.
Giorgos retraced his steps and went in search of the others. He found them near the mouth of the cave. Sotiris was facing in Giorgos’ direction and was the first to see him. He stood up, but waited for Giorgos to come closer and said nothing. He thought he could see a slight difference in the way Giorgos carried himself, but he could not quite put his finger on what it meant.
The others had their backs to Giorgos, but they sensed the shift of excitement in the air at the same time as noticing Sotiris’ reaction and turned towards Giorgos too. Sotiris saw Giorgos first, but Katia was the first to speak.
‘Hey, Giorgos, where have you been? We were just debating whether to send a search party. We began to suspect that this lovely fresh air hypnotised you into the hundred-year sleep.’
Katia tried to make herself heard above the din of the excavation work that combined with the echo in the cave was deafening. Katia was a cheeky twenty-four-year-old. A brilliant academic and archaeologist who had fought tooth-and-nail to be a member of this team and who, when selected, became its youngest member.
‘I have you to thank for not ending up like sleeping beauty. Aren’t I lucky to have the canary you gave me? It is an adorable pet, a great companion in times of loneliness. I would have rather preferred a different birthday present though. What I could not decide at the time was whether you were encouraging me on my quest, along the line of the illustrious men who discovered the Egyptian tombs or making fun of me.’
Giorgos appeared angry, but his eyes told another story; he could hardly contain his amusement.
‘I would never do that to you. I volunteered for this expedition, remember? I wouldn’t be part of this team if I didn’t have faith in you and agreed with your theories. I knew you’d like your gift. The guy at the shop did say that it could converse in three languages, that it had an unparalleled library of knowledge and a fascinating range of interests. There you are. The perfect companion. You should be thanking me sincerely not diminishing my concern with distasteful irony.’
