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Authors: Dan Abnett, Nik Vincent
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Kennard.
“To be taken with a pinch of salt, then?” asked Lara.
“It’s a joke,” said Kennard. “No one in his right mind… Sorry, her right mind would take it seriously for a second. I really shouldn’t be telling you this. It isn’t archaeology. It isn’t real.”
“It’s a joke,” said Lara. “I get it.”
“There’s a man in Paris. His name is, of all things, Herodotus Menelaou. That’s the name he goes by, at any rate. I can’t believe it’s even his real name. Anyway, he once claimed, several decades ago, to own a piece of the Golden Fleece. I believe he was in Istanbul at the time. The facts are a little murky.”
“I can deal with murky,” said Lara. “Is he an archaeologist or a historian?”
“He deals in antiquities. I found the article in a French magazine when I was trawling online. The claim was bogus, of course. Menelaou said that he hadn’t sold the portion of the Fleece he owned because no one had offered him what it was worth. At the time he was asking a million francs for it.”
“When a million francs was worth a million francs,” said Lara.
“Something like that,” said Kennard. He was laughing now, a light, but vigorous laugh. “I’m sorry. I wish I could help you. I like you. I just wanted to have a drink with you. The fact is that the Golden Fleece is a fascinating area of study. It’s been pretty central to my own work on Colchis, but, as arrogant as he is, Babbington’s right. Ancient myths belong to the cultures that spawned them. Who knows if there’s a piece of an old mining fleece somewhere? I don’t. Think of it this way: If all the relics from the True Cross that exist in the world were brought together to recreate the original, how big do you suppose it would be?”
“Pretty damned big,” said Lara, sipping her juice.
“I hope you don’t feel too let down,” said Kennard.
“I don’t feel let down at all,” said Lara. “Have you been active much, digging?”
“Every chance I get,” said Kennard.
For the next half an hour, they talked about other things. Lara had successfully changed the subject, and allowed Kennard to maintain his interest in her, while keeping him at arm’s length. She had a name to look up in Paris, but she just might need Kennard again before her quest was over.
An hour later she was back in her room, booking tickets to Paris. She couldn’t get anything before Sunday, so she decided to stay on in Oxford for Babbington’s final lecture. It wouldn’t look good if she disappeared now. Besides, she wanted the opportunity to say good-bye to Willow.
Chapter 10
L ara was back at her flat on Friday night after finally exchanging phone numbers with Kennard.
She’d also checked on Sam. There was no news.
Lara packed light for her trip to Paris. She always packed light. Documents and currency were always more important than belongings, and luggage could be a burden if she wanted to move fast.
She hadn’t planned the stay over in Oxford, but there was enough fresh food in the fridge for a decent meal. She fixed herself some pasta and sat down with the Book. She added Menelaou’s name and the details of his business in Turkey, which she found on the Internet. He’d had a reputation as an antiquities dealer, shipping artifacts from the Mediterranean and the near East across Europe during the latter part of the twentieth century. He had retired suddenly, and his business had disappeared without a trace.
Kennard Montez had mentioned that Menelaou lived in Paris. It took Lara some time to find the address. She could not find a residential record for anyone with his name, but she did find a registered business with an office address. She hoped it was him. He must be an old man, but she trusted that Herodotus Menelaou was an unusual name among Parisians, even in a population in excess of two million. The address was on the Left Bank, not far from her hotel.
After adding her notes, Lara looked back through the section.
“To be taken with a pinch of salt, then?” asked Lara.
“It’s a joke,” said Kennard. “No one in his right mind… Sorry, her right mind would take it seriously for a second. I really shouldn’t be telling you this. It isn’t archaeology. It isn’t real.”
“It’s a joke,” said Lara. “I get it.”
“There’s a man in Paris. His name is, of all things, Herodotus Menelaou. That’s the name he goes by, at any rate. I can’t believe it’s even his real name. Anyway, he once claimed, several decades ago, to own a piece of the Golden Fleece. I believe he was in Istanbul at the time. The facts are a little murky.”
“I can deal with murky,” said Lara. “Is he an archaeologist or a historian?”
“He deals in antiquities. I found the article in a French magazine when I was trawling online. The claim was bogus, of course. Menelaou said that he hadn’t sold the portion of the Fleece he owned because no one had offered him what it was worth. At the time he was asking a million francs for it.”
“When a million francs was worth a million francs,” said Lara.
“Something like that,” said Kennard. He was laughing now, a light, but vigorous laugh. “I’m sorry. I wish I could help you. I like you. I just wanted to have a drink with you. The fact is that the Golden Fleece is a fascinating area of study. It’s been pretty central to my own work on Colchis, but, as arrogant as he is, Babbington’s right. Ancient myths belong to the cultures that spawned them. Who knows if there’s a piece of an old mining fleece somewhere? I don’t. Think of it this way: If all the relics from the True Cross that exist in the world were brought together to recreate the original, how big do you suppose it would be?”
“Pretty damned big,” said Lara, sipping her juice.
“I hope you don’t feel too let down,” said Kennard.
“I don’t feel let down at all,” said Lara. “Have you been active much, digging?”
“Every chance I get,” said Kennard.
For the next half an hour, they talked about other things. Lara had successfully changed the subject, and allowed Kennard to maintain his interest in her, while keeping him at arm’s length. She had a name to look up in Paris, but she just might need Kennard again before her quest was over.
An hour later she was back in her room, booking tickets to Paris. She couldn’t get anything before Sunday, so she decided to stay on in Oxford for Babbington’s final lecture. It wouldn’t look good if she disappeared now. Besides, she wanted the opportunity to say good-bye to Willow.
Chapter 10
L ara was back at her flat on Friday night after finally exchanging phone numbers with Kennard.
She’d also checked on Sam. There was no news.
Lara packed light for her trip to Paris. She always packed light. Documents and currency were always more important than belongings, and luggage could be a burden if she wanted to move fast.
She hadn’t planned the stay over in Oxford, but there was enough fresh food in the fridge for a decent meal. She fixed herself some pasta and sat down with the Book. She added Menelaou’s name and the details of his business in Turkey, which she found on the Internet. He’d had a reputation as an antiquities dealer, shipping artifacts from the Mediterranean and the near East across Europe during the latter part of the twentieth century. He had retired suddenly, and his business had disappeared without a trace.
Kennard Montez had mentioned that Menelaou lived in Paris. It took Lara some time to find the address. She could not find a residential record for anyone with his name, but she did find a registered business with an office address. She hoped it was him. He must be an old man, but she trusted that Herodotus Menelaou was an unusual name among Parisians, even in a population in excess of two million. The address was on the Left Bank, not far from her hotel.
After adding her notes, Lara looked back through the section.
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