“Summer recently found evidence that Helena may have shipped more than just the True Cross from Jerusalem and that these relics may have been lost in Cyprus. We’re hoping to find clues to the whereabouts of a Roman galley that sailed on her behalf.”
The dim corridor light masked Bannister’s sudden paleness. “A fascinating prospect,” he said. “Do you have any inkling where the relics might be?”
“We’re starting with a known shipwreck near a place called Pissouri. But as you know, two-thousand-year- old clues are hard to come by.”
“Indeed. Well, I’m afraid I must be running along. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pitt, and good luck with your search.”
“Thank you. And be sure to say hello to Summer on your way out.”
“I will.”
Bannister, of course, had no such intentions. Walking quickly down the corridor, he reentered the church and found a side exit on the opposite wall. Stepping into the sunlight, he crept cautiously toward the courtyard until spotting Summer studying a wall fresco. Waiting until she turned her back toward him, he quietly scooted across the grounds, reaching the upper stairway without being observed.
Jogging down the stairs, he nearly tripped on the beggar at the base before making his way to his car. He drove quickly down the winding road until reaching the highway, where he pulled to the side, parking behind a cluster of carob trees. There, he sat and waited, watching the road for Dirk and Summer.
Seconds after he sped out of the monastery parking lot, another car started up. The driver wheeled alongside the base of the stairway, then stopped and waited as the mangy beggar rose to his feet and climbed into the passenger seat. Removing his hat, the beggar revealed a long scar on his right jaw.
“Quickly,” Zakkar snapped at the driver. “Don’t let him get out of our sight.”
90
Summer was standing across the courtyard when Dirk stepped out of the monastery.
“How’s things in the boys’ club?” she asked with a touch of bitterness.
“Not the frat party you might think it is.”
“Any luck?”
Dirk described what he had learned of the church’s history and the display from the True Cross.
“I met with the resident historian, but he had little to add in the way of Helena’s visit to Cyprus. The place has been ransacked so many times, there’s no archival data left. The bottom line is, nobody has any knowledge of relics beyond the True Cross.”
“Did he know anything about Helena’s fleet?”
Dirk shook his head. “As far as anybody knows, Helena arrived and left Cyprus without incident.”
“Then Plautius and his galley must have been attacked before she arrived.”
She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward one of the courtyard walls.
“Come look at this,” she said.
She led him to a trio of large frescoes painted on a linear section of shaded wall. The frescoes looked faded to the point of invisibility, at a quick glance. Dirk stepped closer and studied the first panel. It was a customary Madonna and Child, featuring a haloed infant Jesus held in Mary’s arms. Both figures’ wide eyes and flat dimensions indicated it was a style of art from long ago. The next panel showed a crucifixion scene, Jesus on the cross, his head hung low in agony. Somewhat unusual for the genre, Dirk noted, the two beggar thieves were illustrated hanging from neighboring crosses.
He then stepped to the third panel, where Summer stood with a pleased expression on her face. It depicted a crowned woman in profile pointing toward the upper corner of the fresco. Her finger was pointing at a towering green mountain capped by a pair of crosses. The geological features of Stavrovouni were clearly visible in the hilltop rendering.
“Helena?” Dirk said.
“It has to be,” Summer replied. “Now, look at the bottom.”
Dirk peered closely at the lower portion of the fresco, observing a section of faded blue that represented the sea. The image of three ships on the water was barely visible beneath Helena’s profile. Crude in representation, each ship was the same approximate size, and was powered by both sail and oars. With the proper perspective, Dirk could see that two of the ships appeared to be pursuing the third vessel. Studying the faded plaster, he pointed to the two chase craft.
“This one appears to be sinking by the stern,” he said, “while the other one is turning out to sea.”
“Look at the sail on the lead ship,” Summer said.
Straining his eyes, Dirk could just see a faint symbol on the ship’s sail. It appeared to be an “X” with a high- legged “P” written over its center.
“It’s the Chi-Rho monogram that was used by Constantine,” she explained. “It was the divine symbol that supposedly came to him in a dream before his victory at the Battle of Milvian Bridge. He used it on his battle standard and as an emblem of his rule.”
“Then the picture is either Helena arriving in Cyprus with an escort…” he said.
“Or it is Plautius’s galley fleeing two Cypriot pirate ships,” she said, completing his thought.
A chip in the fresco obscured the path of the galley, but the continuation of a shoreline along the bottom indicated that it was headed toward land. Slightly above the horizon was another small image, of a nude woman emerging from the sea, a pair of dolphins at her side.
“The meaning of that is lost on me,” Summer said as Dirk examined the image.
Just then, the dour monk walked by, having escorted a pair of French tourists through the church. Dirk hailed him and inquired about the frescoes.
“Yes, they are very old,” the monk said. “The archaeologists believe they date to the Byzantine Age. Some have claimed that these walls were part of the original church, but nobody knows for sure.”
“This last fresco,” Summer asked, “is it an image of Helena?”
“Yes,” the monk confirmed. “She’s arrived by sea and envisions the church here on Stavrovouni.”
“Do you know what this figure is?” she asked, pointing to the nude woman.
“That would be Aphrodite. You see, the monastery here was built on the ruins of a temple to Aphrodite. The artist must have been paying homage to the site before Helena commissioned the church to be built here.”
She thanked the monk, then watched him shuffle back to the monastery door.
“Well, we were close,” she said. “Now we know there were two pirate ships, anyway.”
“The image makes it appear that the Roman vessel was still afloat after battling the pirates. It was heading somewhere,” Dirk muttered, staring at the image until his eyes turned blurry. He finally stepped away from the panel and joined Summer in heading toward the exit.
“I guess we got all we can from here,” he said. “By the way, did you talk to Ridley Bannister?”
“Ridley who?” she asked as they descended the stairway to the parking lot.
“Ridley Bannister, the British archaeologist. He said he knew you.”
Receiving a blank look, Dirk proceeded to describe his encounter in the monastery.
“I never saw him,” she said. Then the wheels of suspicion began to turn in her head. “What does he look like?”
“Thin, medium build, sandy hair. I suppose women might find him handsome.”
Summer suddenly froze on the steps. “Did you notice if he was wearing a ring?”
Dirk thought a moment. “Yes, I think so. On his right ring finger. I noticed it when we shook hands. It was solid gold with a funny design, like something out of the Middle Ages.”
Summer’s face turned flush with anger. “That’s the guy who stole the Manifest from Julie and me at gunpoint. He said his name was Baker.”
“He’s a well-known and respected archaeologist,” Dirk said.
“Respected?” Summer hissed. “I bet he’s here searching for the galley, too.”
“One of the monks did mention he was working on a book about Helena.”
