by Chad Brecher
“I’m not fortunate enough to have the real thing. This is a reproduction of the fifteenth century Catalan World Map. This waterway is meant to depict the Sinus Aethiopicus,” Clay explained. Ellie could see a crescent-shaped body of water nearly transecting the misshapen African continent.
“Who is Prester John?” Ellie asked.
Clay nodded to Alex and stepped slightly back.
“During the twelfth century there was a rumor of the existence of a powerful Christian king known as Prester John who lived somewhere in the East. Prester John reportedly ruled over a realm filled with gold, precious gems, magical trees, and fantastical creatures. There was debate as to the precise location of the land of Pester John — some argued that he lived in the East as far as China, others felt that he resided in Africa. Needless to say, he was a fictional creation of a Christian Europe desperately hoping for an all-powerful ruler. At the time, Europe was under intense military and cultural pressure. The Muslims had regained much of the Holy Land and the Mongols were spreading through the East. There was genuine fear of the unknown. Out of this fear rose a legend of a Christian king in the East who would ride to the aid of his brethren in the West and rid the Holy Land of the scourge of Islam.”
“The land of Prester John sounds a lot like paradise,” Ellie responded.
“Exactly,” Clay piped up. “Our young Alex is neglecting to tell you that the land of Prester John reportedly bordered on that of Eden. The water that runs into Prester John’s realm has healing properties. Prince Henry and his minions were not only looking for a Crusader ally. They were looking for much more — a pathway to paradise on Earth. His mistake was that he became convinced that it could be found in Africa when he should have looked further east. His followers would not make the same mistake.”
The room grew silent and Clay appeared tired. He looked at his two guests with some seriousness. “I mentioned before that you are guests here and you can leave whenever you choose. I meant every word I said. Next to here is The Restoration Room. There you will find the long lost box of Marco Polo and the items the late Dr. Gozzi recovered. I have devoted much of my recent life to this search for Eden, but the truth is I need your help solving this mystery. I, however, will not stoop to coercion to get it. I desire only willing colleagues. I also cannot lie to you. Those men who chased you will stop at nothing to find you. It won’t take them long to realize that I now possess these items. They will be tracking me down in no time. We do not have much time to spare. If you decide to leave, I’m afraid that I cannot allow you to depart with these items. But if you stay, I am offering you nothing less than a chance to join me in the search for the greatest treasure on this planet.”
Alex stared at Clay, dumbfounded. The glint of craziness faded from Clay’s eyes and he seemed to return to a grandfatherly form once again. Alex reflected on the recent events and the world of mystery Ellie and he had been plunged head first into. One of the things he had learned early in his studies of great discoveries in archeology was that the greatest revolutionaries in the field were those willing to pursue some of the most outlandish beliefs. Maybe Clay was eccentric, possibly insane, but there was something intriguing about his hypothesis. Alex was desperate to see what Gozzi had hidden behind the painting and what was in Polo’s wooden box. And besides, the work at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and Dr. Graham could wait.
Ellie’s thoughts drifted to Gordon. She could not shake a sense of betrayal. Clay’s ideas seemed ludicrous and improbable but Gordon was not a stupid man. He was brilliant in fact. What had he seen in Clay? If Gordon had trusted the man, should she? She looked down at her hands, evidence of what she had unwittingly suffered already for the sake of Clay’s quest. She could feel a bubbling up within her that was driving her towards Clay. It was what drove her to Alex that night he called. It was the insatiable desire to make sense of all this — to answer the mysteries once and for all.
Alex could see Ellie nibbling at the bottom of her lip. He could instantaneously tell what her answer was. She gave a mischievous smile and nodded to him.
Alex looked at Clay. “What are we waiting for?”
27
Ellie’s fingers found the edges of the wooden box as she glanced around the Restoration Room. The room was larger than the neighboring Map Room. In the center was a table lined with archival paper. Against the wall, there were canisters of compressed air and brushes housed within a metal cabinet. Advanced scanning equipment was positioned in the corner alongside a computer. At the end of the room was an isolation chamber completely enclosed in glass with pipes and exhaust ducts emerging from the top of it. A small table constructed out of black marble was centered in the middle of the booth with several ancient scrolls resting upon it. A magnifying lamp emitting an eerie blue light was suspended from the ceiling. Clay had clearly invested a considerable sum into the construction of a state-of-the-art restoration room.
Ellie’s eyes drifted away from the chamber. She listened as Alex explained to Clay his interpretation of the significance of the crosses carved into the box. Clay appeared captivated by Alex’s explanation, nodding his head with each revelation. Alex extended his hand to Ellie who mechanically passed the box to him. With the bravado of a seasoned magician, Alex proudly wiped the bottom of the box with a wet towel.
“Amazing,” Clay uttered as he reached out for the box, bringing it closer to his eyes. The bizarre symbol and message faded as the liquid quickly dried in the dehumidified room. “What does it mean?”
“The message translates roughly to…
Adam’s Staff
Eastward Go
Illuminated Path
Where King Interred
“Interesting. I haven’t heard of ‘Adam’s staff.’ Have you?” Clay wondered aloud. He looked at Alex who shook his head and then turned to Ellie, who suddenly appeared uncomfortable. She was reluctant to say anything that might affirm Clay’s outlandish theories on the existence of an actual Garden of Eden. “What do you know that you are not telling?” Clay asked.
“O.K. Everyone here knows the traditional story of Adam and Eve. Eve is tempted by the serpent, eats the fruit from the tree of knowledge of good and evil, convinces Adam to do likewise, and they are summarily kicked out of paradise. Well, there are many variations to the Adam and Eve story. For example, there are apocryphal texts of the Old Testament that argue that Adam had a wife before Eve, called Lilith, who interestingly is derived from Sumerian legends of storm spirits.
“Another story popular during the Middle Ages tells not of the birth of Adam but of his death. In that tale, Adam is somewhere around 800 to 900 years old and he is dying. His son Seth decides to embark on a quest to relocate the Garden of Eden, hoping to find oil from the tree of mercy. During his search, he encounters the Archangel Michael who explains to Seth that Adam cannot be saved from his sins until Jesus arrives and leads Adam ultimately to the tree of mercy. This story illustrates my contention that this mythology has been metamorphosed through time to suit new cultures. This is a blatant attempt to assert that the New Testament is the legitimate heir to the Old Testament.
“Another example deals with the wood from the Tree of Life. There are many legends about the wondrous properties of the wood. One legend states that the staff of Moses was derived from wood from the Tree of Life. Another tale tells of a branch of the Tree of Life floating in the pool of Bethesda conferring curative properties to the water. Lastly, there is the so-called Legend of the Cross. This legend states that wood from the Tree of Life was used to make the cross upon which Jesus was crucified. A portion of this cross was believed to have been discovered by Helena, the mother of Constantine I, the Roman emperor who made Christianity the state religion of the empire. Some call this piece of wood ‘Adam’s Staff.’”
“Magical wood,” Alex muttered.
Ellie thought back to Mosul and the image of the wooden box harmlessly engulfed by flames. She remained silent.
Clay clapped his hands happily.
“I knew it! Marco is sending us clues through time. Eden is to the east…where Prester John is buried.”
“Mr. Clay, that conclusion may be a bit premature, don’t you think?” Alex asked.
“Please call me Redmund, both of you. O.K., let’s proceed with your analytical ways. What about the symbol on the box?”
“I’m not sure,” Alex answered. Clay appeared disappointed and the two of them stared across the table at the metal cylinder and leather bag Dr. Gozzi had hidden for them behind the portrait of Marin Falier back in Venice. “But something tells me those items might help out.”
Clay reached across the table, gripped the metal cylinder, and handed it to Alex. With all the excitement in the Doge’s Palace, Alex did not have any time to inspect it. The tube was long and slender, measuring approximately two and a half feet in length. There was a cap fastened to the end with a clasp. Alex slipped his fingers under the clasp and flipped the clip back with a snap. The cylinder made a faint sucking sound as the cap sprung back to reveal a darkened interior. All three of them crowded together to peer into the lumen in anticipation, finding the edge of a rolled-up piece of parchment.
Alex extended his fingers into the cylinder and slowly eased the document out. He flipped the cylinder over and gently tapped the opposite end until the parchment slid delicately onto the table. Ellie helped to straighten out the piece of parchment upon the table and stared down at its contents.
The paper was worn and faded. Upon it was writing composed of miniscule script with the letters flowing into each other. There was no obvious punctuation or paragraph formation. Alex squinted, trying to decipher what language it was. He was lost.
“I know I’ve seen this before,” Ellie piped up with excitement. She placed the tip of her index finger against her lips in thought. “Recently, in fact!” Her eyes were wide as she explored the recesses of her mind. She suddenly turned to Clay. “Do you happen to have the Yule-Cordier edition of Marco Polo’s Description of the World?”
“Yes, of course,” Clay responded with a stutter, taken aback by her outburst. “I’ll go get it. It won’t take much more than a moment.” Clay retreated to the door and disappeared into the main atrium of the library.
Alex looked at Ellie with amused pride. Her eyes twinkled.
“I’ve seen a photograph of this document in the book you lent me. I can’t remember what it was, but it had something to do with Marco Polo.”
Alex nodded, reached across the table, and retrieved the leather bag. He guiltily looked back at the door and found it closed. “I’ve been dying to see what’s in the bag.” He untied a leather string that kept the top of the bag cinched together and gazed inside. He could make out two unusually shaped metallic items. Alex reached in and removed the artifacts, carefully placing them upon the archival paper.
The first item was a long, thin rod constructed out of a dull gray iron. The tip of the rod was irregular, with jagged edges. The other end of the rod had a figurine in the shape of a bird, identical to the ones carved into the side of the wooden box.
“Alex, it looks like a key,” Ellie offered. What was the message that Bernardo had left for them? The key is behind the black doge.
Alex laid the rod on the table and lifted up the second item. It was constructed out of black metal and was in the shape of an eight-petaled flower. Each of the petals was hollow with a single hole at the tip of each petal. In the center of the flower was an empty chamber. The back of the flower was flat and rested on the table like a paperweight. On the back, inscribed in Latin, were the words First footsteps.
“What is it?” Ellie asked. Alex shrugged and turned back as the door behind them slid open. Clay entered carrying worn copies of the two-volume version of Marco Polo’s travels. He hesitated upon seeing the metallic items resting upon the table.
“Wonderful. It’s the first volume if I am recalling correctly,” Ellie said and accepted the blue-covered paperback. She flipped open the book. The Yule-Cordier edition of The Description of the World was in many ways the most definitive English version of the text as translated and dissected by the venerable Polo scholars, Colonel Henry Yule and Henri Cordier in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The version had extensive footnotes analyzing everything from Marco Polo’s description of cities to the flora and fauna of Mongolia. It also had a comprehensive prologue that explored the lives of the Polos and the origins of the book.
Clay watched as Ellie quickly flipped through the introductory section of the book, pausing periodically at several black ink drawings. She passed by a drawing of the three-bird crest of the Polo family and reproductions of old photographs of Venice. She suddenly stopped, sucking air between her pursed lips. Bending the binding backwards, she slid the book beside the piece of parchment. The book displayed an exact photographic duplicate of the parchment.
“It’s the last will and testament of Marco Polo,” Ellie pronounced.
“Well, Dr. Gozi would have had easy access to it. It is…err was housed at the Biblioteca Marciana,” Alex replied. He suddenly felt both an immense sense of guilt and fear. They had unwittingly stolen a priceless document. What if something happened to it? Luckily, his despondency was short-lived.
“The symbols!” Ellie exclaimed.
She pointed to the end of the will. On the last row were three symbols displayed vertically like Chinese characters.
“My God!” responded Clay.
Alex turned the wooden box over and placed it upside down on the table. He positioned the metallic flower above it and wiped the wooden box with the wet towel once more revealing the hidden symbol. They were a match.
“It’s called a Tabellionato,” Alex said. He could see that both Ellie and Clay had never heard of the term and switched comfortably into his didactic mode. “It’s a fancy monogram that notaries used to sign important documents during Marco Polo’s time. Each person had a unique brand. Instead of providing a signature, they would doodle some symbol, or symbols in this case.”
“Who does this Tabellionato belong to?” Clay asked.
Alex turned the page of the book and found a translation of the will into English. “This Tabellionato belongs to ‘John Giustiniani, Priest of S. Proculo.’ I can’t say I’ve ever heard of him or San Proculo, for that matter.”
“If it’s a code for something, we seem to be missing the third symbol — the circle with a dot in it thing,” Ellie sighed.
“Dr. Gozzi left us this for a reason. These pieces must fit together some way. This can’t all be a coincidence.” Alex ran his hands through his hair with frustration. “We have a lot of work to do if we are going to ever make sense of this.”
“How can I help?” inquired Clay.
“We need some time and space,” Alex answered.
“You will have both. The last thing you need is me hovering over your shoulders. I have employed many great scholars through the years who have toiled in my library. I know how grumpy you academics can be when it comes to your work. I will have my staff deliver food to you. I will make myself scarce.”
“Thank you,” Alex replied and returned to looking at the will.
Before leaving the library, Clay turned back and said, “And, Ellie, I know you think of everything I have said as an impossibility — that my head is in the clouds. I just ask you to have an open mind and believe in Marco Polo.”
“I don’t know what Polo found — but it wasn’t paradise,” Ellie responded.
28
“I just don’t get it,” Alex complained. “The will is just so…ordinary. It talks about paying tithes and bequeathing money to this monastery or that convent. Other than the symbols, I don’t see anything unusual about it.” He plopped his head down on the table with exhaustion.
They had moved from the Restoration Room back into the atrium of the library. The day had galloped away. The sunlight had given way first to a purple dusk that filled the atrium with a fantastical glow. The library was now dark except for several desk
lamps positioned around their work area and the light from the monitor of a laptop computer Clay had provided them. Above them, they could see the stars through the glass ceiling. Ellie put the weight of her chin upon Alex’s shoulder, pulled herself away from trying to decipher the writing on the wooden box, and read through the translation of the will again.
“It’s not totally ordinary. He did free his Mongol slave, Peter. Not everyone had a Mongol slave, huh.” She continued to scan through the page. “It’s nice to see that he left some money to his three daughters: Fantina, Bellela, and Moreta. At least he wasn’t a deadbeat dad. I guess three is the magic number when it came to Marco.” She emitted a faint snort.
Alex tilted his head, amused by her unladylike snort. Ellie chin slid off his shoulder. “What do you mean by three being ‘the magic number’?”
“I wouldn’t make much of it. You know…three daughters. There are three symbols that compose the Tabellionato on the will. There were three Polos that set out for the East — Maffeo, Niccollo, and Marco. There are two witnesses that signed the will in addition to the notary. There are the three birds that make up the Polo family crest. Three.” Ellie shrugged and returned to the notes she had prepared on ‘Adam’s staff.’
Alex laid his cheek down on the table and glanced sideways at the wooden box. “Actually there were five people who set out for the East. There were Maffeo, Niccollo, Marco, and two friars sent by Gregory X: Friar William of Tripoli and Friar Nicolas of Vicenza. The friars turned around and ran back to the West at the first sign of danger.” He closed his eyes and slowly reopened them. He could see the crest of the three birds carved into the box before him. West! His head sprung up, startling Ellie.