The Lost Book of Wonders

by Chad Brecher

  “What does this have to do with us?” Ellie interrupted.

  Clay smiled, unfazed by the outburst.

  “If you would kindly humor this old man, I would like to tell you my story. You might find it odd but I was never much a man of science when I was younger. I gravitated towards history, Edward Gibbons and the like. I was captivated by how civilizations rose and fell. I was preoccupied by the thought that our civilization was destined to ultimately fail. I was a lost soul. It was the sixties and the world seemed to be spinning wildly out of control and I, like many at the time, was desperately searching for a purpose. I considered the religious fold but found it too claustrophobic, too confining. I knew I wanted to help people, but there were so many ways and so many people who needed help. There was such an abundance of suffering it was…immobilizing.

  “One day I picked up a book about Louis Pasteur and the discovery of Penicillin. Imagine treating bacterial infections that killed millions with a common household mold. Then I learned about Johannes Salk and the discovery of the vaccine for polio. I knew at that moment I had found my calling. A single doctor may help cure a small number of people over the course of his or her career. I had the opportunity to help millions.

  “The production of medicines is a complicated process. The first drug my company developed was derived from an ancient herb that grew in the peat bogs of England. I realized early on that not all answers could be found in the sterile atmosphere of the academic laboratory. Recombinant DNA, telomeric decay, and nanotechnology are all very sexy topics with great practical promise, but I found that God had left many small miracles scattered throughout this planet. There were wondrous secrets hidden in ancient cultures and the natural world. In short, the world was my laboratory and I made it my mission to explore it fully. I scoured the globe, researching witch-doctor remedies that were passed down orally through the generations. I employed ethno-botanists who hacked their way through the South American rainforests in order to study exotic species of plants for medicinal properties. I had scholars pore through ancient Egyptian, Greek, and Mayan codices for lost therapeutic treatments. I knew if I just searched hard enough, I could find a cure for all our ailments. The more I searched, however, the more this holy grail eluded me. That was until I stumbled upon a shadow I have been pursuing ever since: Marco Polo.

  “Polo?” Ellie asked.

  Clay ignored Ellie’s question, rose from his chair, and began to slowly pace back and forth by the end of the table.

  “What are we to think of the Bible? Is it a work of fiction? Or is it an historical account? Maybe it is truly the words of prophets. ‘The Lord God planted a garden in Eden, in the east; and there he put the man whom he had formed. Out of the ground the Lord God made to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food, the tree of life also in the midst of the garden…,” Clay recited with his eyes closed.

  “…and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil,” Ellie interrupted. “It’s from Genesis. What does this have to do with Marco Polo?”

  “You are one to get to the point. Do you flip to the back of the book just to see how it ends? Patience. I heard you speak at an antiquity forum in Dubai many years ago. You talked about how many of the elements contained within the Bible had historical roots — that there was a perpetual narrative being written as cultures came and went. You discussed the Epic of Gilgamesh and how the great Sumerian poem had parallels to the story of Genesis. Specifically, the description of the garden of the gods and Gilgamesh’s search for a life-giving plant were echoed in the pages of the Bible despite these topics being written before it.”

  “What you are talking about is ‘Creation Mythology.’ Many scholars have made careers out of it.” Ellie looked across the table at Alex. “It is a known fact that there are many cultures spread out geographically and temporally who have legends of a Great Flood that ravishes the earth. Similarly, there are many cultures that have myths about marvelous gardens and magical trees. Some scholars have argued that the fact that these stories keep appearing in varied cultures raises the possibility that there is some historical truth at the core of these tales — that there was in fact an extraordinary flood and a wondrous garden. I would argue that cultures borrow from previous and coexistent cultures, incorporate legends, and transform them to suit their needs. History is organic. Everything we are today has roots in the past, whether we realize it or not.”

  “At some point these legends appeared for the first time,” Clay interjected. “What if there is truth in them? What if these things whispered throughout history actually existed in some form? You yourself said that there is enough truth hidden beneath the sands to search forever and still not feel complete.”

  Clay picked up the glass with the Resurrection Plant floating in it and positioned it in the center of the table. The shriveled ball bobbed sadly in the water. The man motioned for them to follow.

  “I have something to show you, something remarkable.”

  26

  Alex and Ellie followed Clay across the courtyard towards a small building attached to the main house by a covered walkway. As they strolled along, Ellie could see workers picking grapes along the rows of vines and depositing them in woven baskets. A stiff breeze blew down through the valley, rustling the leaves on a nearby tree.

  They crossed onto the covered walkway and arrived at the building. Clay paused in front of a large, wooden door and turned to them.

  “This is more your area of interest, Mr. Stone. Many people believe that the Age of Exploration that stretched from the fifteenth through seventeenth century was driven by economic forces — that Bartholomeu Dias reaching the Cape of Good Hope, Ferdinand Magellan circumnavigating the globe, and Christopher Columbus’ discovery of the New World were merely about establishing trade routes and procuring spices. I don’t doubt for an instant that these were in fact important motivating factors contributing to travel, but they only tell part of the story. It is a lesser-known fact that one of the greatest impetuses for exploration was religion. I’m not just talking about missionary work and conversion of the natives, but rediscovering our common religious heritage.

  “The Crusades served to remind Europeans that those sites discussed in the Old and New Testament actually existed and that one could physically visit them. Imagine what it must have felt like for these Christians to walk in the footsteps of Christ in the Holy Land or see the site of his crucifixion. Perhaps it would be possible to rediscover sites described in the Old Testament: the ruins of Sodom and Gomorrah, the Tower of Babel, and even the Garden of Eden. In fact, when Christopher Columbus traveled to the New World on his Third Voyage he was convinced that he had found the Garden of Eden in what is now Venezuela. In his Book of Prophecies, the increasingly religious and apocalyptic Columbus believed that certain requirements were needed to be met prior to the return of Christ: Christianity must spread throughout the world, a supreme Catholic emperor would rule the world, the Holy Land would be freed from the Muslims, and the Garden of Eden would be found.”

  Clay opened the door and held it as Alex and Ellie filed past him into the building. Both of them nearly gasped at the sight before them.

  They found themselves in an enormous library that rivaled many of the most prestigious university libraries. The building was rectangular in shape. The first floor had numerous wooden tables positioned across a large atrium. Thousands of books filled mahogany bookcases that stretched along the perimeter of the room. There were cabinets with artifacts from ancient sandstone tablets to iron weapons. The ceiling was constructed out of a seemingly infinite number of glass panes with a fenestrated drape that allowed one to see the clouds in the sky without the brilliant glare of sunlight. At the far end of the room was an ornate staircase that wound its way to the second floor. The second floor looked down upon the atrium with rows and rows of additional bookcases. Several doors on the first floor remained closed. Alex read the gold placards beside them: Map Room, Rare Books, Restoration Room.r />
  “This is amazing,” Alex mumbled as he tried to take in the magnitude of Clay’s private collection. He felt like a child in a candy store and fought the desire to immediately run through the aisles and examine the collection more closely. He cast a sideways glance at Ellie and detected a twinkle in her eye that conveyed a similar sentiment.

  “Please, this way,” Clay urged and directed them to a long table in the middle of the room. On the wooden table was a piece of parchment paper contained within a protective laminate covering. Alex could see that it was written in Latin and appeared quite old. The parchment was a pale yellow and was frayed at its edges. Its illuminated script was in the convention of medieval monks.

  “You asked me before what Marco Polo has to do with all this. As you know, sometime around 1250 or 1260, no one knows for sure, Niccolo and Maffeo Polo, the father and uncle, respectively, of Marco Polo left Soldaia in the Crimea to trade jewels in the Mongol Khanate of the Golden Horde. During their travels to the East, they were invited to meet Kublai Khan — the ‘Lord of the Tartars over all the earth, and all the kingdoms and provinces and territories of that vast quarter of the world.’ Marco Polo recounts in his book that the Great Khan gave his uncle and father letters which asked the Pope to send him a hundred men skilled in the seven liberal arts and oil from the lamp housed in the Church of the Sepulchre of Christ in Jerusalem. The Polos were given a paiza, the golden tablet that provided safe-passage through the Mongol-controlled lands. They eventually arrived at Acre, the Christian controlled city in the Holy Land, sometime around 1269, only to find that Pope Clement IV had died and a successor had not been chosen. While waiting for the papal interregnum to resolve, Niccolo and Maffeo Polo decided to return to Venice.

  “According to Marco Polo’s account, he was fifteen years old when his father returned from the East. They waited for two years in Venice and still no Pope had been chosen. Niccolo and Maffeo decided it was time to return to Kublai Khan even if they could not deliver the letter to the Pope. They took young Marco with them and returned to Acre where they conferred with Archdeacon Tedaldo Visconti who encouraged them to obtain the requested oil from the lamp at the Holy Sepulchre. When they returned from Jerusalem, the Polo’s learned that Visconti had been chosen as the next Pope — very convenient for everyone involved. He, of course, became Pope Gregory X. With his blessing, the Polo’s were sent back to the court of the Great Khan. The rest is history, of course.

  “It is, however, not the whole history. Haven’t you ever wondered what the Polos were really doing? And who was Marco Polo anyway? Who were Niccolo and Maffeo Polo, for that matter? Were they merchants? Missionaries? Explorers? We know Marco Polo wasn’t a writer. His Description of the World was after all penned by a ghostwriter, Rustichello. Somewhere along the way, I became obsessed with Polo. I began to track down many of the manuscripts of his travels to the East.”

  “You are the one buying his manuscripts?” Alex asked incredulously. It was well known in the antiquity community that an anonymous, private collector was quietly scurrying away the many different versions of Marco Polo’s Description of the World that existed. There were approximately one hundred and fifty manuscripts that had been altered through the centuries by innocent errors in translation to purposeful embellishments. The original, unadulterated manuscript composed by Rustichello and Marco Polo in a Genoese jail had never been located.

  Clay looked at them with a maniacal intensity that unnerved Ellie. “Manuscripts and more. What you are looking at is the only known document outside of Marco Polo’s Description of the World that evidences that a meeting between Tedaldo Visconti, soon to be Pope Gregory X, and the Polos ever took place!”

  “How…where did you get this?” Alex asked with disbelief, his eyes running over the document with palpable excitement.

  “It was not easy. The Vatican holds its secrets tightly to its chest. Let’s just say I have my sources.” Clay folded his arms and stepped back, allowing Alex to lean over the document.

  “I would love to work on a formal translation. If this is real, it is a truly historic find,” Alex muttered as if in a daze.

  “Oh, I assure you it is real,” Clay replied.

  Ellie nudged closer to the document. “Alex, my Latin is a wee rusty. Do you know what it says?” She wished she had paid more attention during her Latin classes when she was younger.

  Alex remained silent as his eyes ran across the lines of text.

  “I would have to spend more time on it but a lot of this is the usual floral writing that you see in papal documents during this time period. It talks about how the papacy will finance the Polo’s return to the court of the Great Khan. While there, they are to gain the Khan’s confidence and report back to the papacy with news of the Mongol culture and political and military objectives. They are also instructed to search throughout the East for any sign of the…” Alex looked up from the document, peered at Ellie, and then back at Clay.

  “What does it say?” Ellie asked, impatiently prodding Alex with her shoulder.

  “…the Garden of Eden,” Alex finished.

  “Spies and explorers,” Clay announced from behind them. “I know what you are thinking: so what? Many people during the Middle Ages were convinced that if one traveled to the lands to the East, they would ultimately stumble upon the Garden of Eden just like many people believed that Columbus was doomed to fall off the edge of the world if he traveled west. I have drawers full of medieval maps that attempt to provide a location for the Garden of Eden. They are frauds. The difference about this case is that I believe Marco Polo actually found it.”

  Clay’s words hung in the air. This guy is crazy, Alex thought. He cast Ellie a dubious look.

  “You think I am crazy. I don’t blame you. Honorius of Autun wrote in the twelfth century that paradise “was a place…in which trees of different kinds had been planted that met all possible needs; for example, a person ate the fruit [of one of them] at the right time his hunger would be satisfied, if another, his thirst would be slaked, if of still another, his weariness would disappear; finally, if he turned to the tree of life, he would escape old age, sickness, and death.’ This is a fairly appealing thing to search for. It was not lost on those who suspected that Polo had completed his mission. Shortly after Marco Polo died, a doge in Venice began to aggressively collect his manuscripts and procure his personal items.”

  “Marin Falier,” Ellie interrupted. Clay nodded and continued.

  “Before his death, Marco Polo left clues to the location of the Biblical Eden. I believe that Falier came closer than anyone to solving the mystery. He had tracked down many of the artifacts Polo had returned with from his travels to the East. He was searching for a wooden box that Polo hid a key to deciphering the puzzle. Before he could assemble the pieces, he was betrayed and killed.”

  “Like Bernardo,” Ellie moaned.

  “These items were thought lost until you rediscovered them. Now we are on the verge of uncovering the greatest mystery in history and you two have made it possible!”

  Alex squeezed his chin in thought. Whether Clay was off his rocker or not, it was clear that there were people willing to kill for these items.

  “Who were those people trying to kill us?” Alex nearly whispered.

  “There are people who, like me, have searched the ends of the earth to decipher Polo’s final secret. They have been seeking centuries for these items. With these most recent discoveries, they have been stirred from the shadows of history. They are a mysterious lot and, to be honest, I cannot be certain of who they are. They probably are a splinter group from the Order of Christ.”

  “The Order of Christ?” Alex asked.

  “Who are they?” Ellie echoed.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard of the Knights Templar, the warrior-priests during Crusader times who obtained great power and wealth during the Middle Ages until they were viciously suppressed in 1312 by King Philip IV of France,” Alex offered.

  “Yes. The
se Knights Templar blokes seem to be behind every conspiracy these days. You can hardly go into a bookstore without seeing some paperback on them,” Ellie replied.

  “Well, after the Knights Templar was suppressed, many of the members went underground fearing for their lives. Yet King Denis of Portugal could ill afford to lose the help of the Knights Templar in his kingdom. He desperately needed their expertise during the Reconquista, the epic battle against the Moors and Muslims for control of the Iberian Peninsula. He reinstituted the Templars in a different guise and called them the Order of Christ.”

  “It’s funny, I’ve never heard of them,” Ellie noted.

  “You’ve probably heard of their greatest Grand Master: Prince Henry the Navigator.”

  “Sure, who hasn’t? He was the guy who set up a school in Portugal to train explorers. I learned this in grammar school.”

  Alex nodded his head. “Yes, but Prince Henry was more than just a school master. He was a zealot. He made exploration a religious mission and the primary focus for the Order of Christ. During his tenure as Grand Master, a new generation of sea-faring explorers-cum crusaders came of age. His caravels of Christ, a flotilla of specially-designed boats, engaged in a concerted effort to spread Christianity into Africa and the Middle East. He was also consumed with discovering the Sinus Aethiopicus, the mythical waterway that cut across Africa and led to Prester John’s empire.”

  Clay gently took Ellie’s hand and led her to the door labeled, Map Room. He punched in several numbers on a keypad and the door opened. The room was moderately large with a long table in the center of the room. Several cabinets with long, thin drawers lined the walls. Clay made for the closest cabinet, pulled out the top drawer and flipped through the contents. He returned with an antique map and laid it out carefully upon the table. Ellie and Alex leaned over the edge of the table. The map showed several large landmasses that were not immediately recognizable. There were pictures of men sitting in tents upon the landmasses. Sailboats were positioned upon the oceans and navigation lines crisscrossed the map.