I slipped the piece of bronze into a pocket of my khaki jacket, a near-perfect match to Philip’s, and returned his to the clothesline. I considered repairing the seam that had held the piece and waiting to see how long it would take for Philip to notice it had gone missing, but decided, on balance, I did not wish to delay confronting him for quite that long.
I went into my room—I had not lied about my desire to freshen up—and drew a bath. While the tub filled, I held the bronze on my palm, hardly able to comprehend the historical significance of the words carved on it. I am no lover of Achilles, but even I felt moved at the sight of something that might very well have belonged to the mighty warrior. Part of me—a very small and juvenile part—wanted to smash it to bits, invoking the memory of Hector as I did so, but I resisted this unseemly urge; I would never destroy something of historical value. I wished I knew more about bronze in general, as I had no way at all of making an attempt to date the piece, but I was willing to accept Philip’s reasons for believing it to have come from the time of the Trojan War. My eyes misted as I faced the possibility it might even be a shard from the helmet Achilles wore when he slayed noble Hector.
Not wanting to let it out of my sight, I took it with me into the bathroom, placing it on a chair before I stepped into the tub. Once scrubbed clean, I pulled on a simple tea gown, picked up the bronze, and went to Margaret’s door. Mrs. Katevatis was no longer with her; my friend had regained her composure and all but drowned me with apologies.
“You must stop,” I said. “I cannot stand one more act of contrition.”
“I have always believed myself strong enough to face any adversity,” she said. “Now I must revise my theory. I do not surrender, however, only now find it necessary to train myself to better react when facing horrors.”
“You might, instead, try avoiding having to face horrors.”
“You are my best friend, Emily, and horrors follow you wherever you go, so there’s no hope of my avoiding them altogether. I am fortunate not to have been struck down myself before now. The least I can do is prepare myself.”
“I am glad you are feeling better,” I said, welcoming the return of her sarcastic spirit. “I have done something rather underhanded, but, in the circumstances, I cannot be faulted for it.” She sat, dumbfounded, as I explained to her what I had found, and how, and she nearly grabbed the bronze out of my hand the moment I produced it.
“Do be careful,” I said. “It is extremely old.”
“It is extraordinary,” she said, holding it close to her eyes to better examine it. “Can it really have come from Achilles’ helmet?”
“It is possible,” I said. “More important at the moment, however, is how we deal with its presence in the house.”
“You have not yet confronted Philip?”
“It would be best to wait until Colin returns,” I said. “We have no way of knowing how Philip will react.”
“Or Fritz,” Margaret said. “He will be shattered to learn his friend is a thief.”
“At least now we know why Demir has not given up trying to secure the piece. He must have known all along that Philip had it.”
“He really ought not to have been carrying it around with him all this time,” Margaret said. “It was downright reckless of him. He should have locked it up somewhere secure.”
“Yes, but knowing Philip as I do, I do not think he could have borne being parted from it,” I said. “He all but worships Achilles—he wrote a monograph lauding him and filled volumes of journals praising him. The fact he has carried the bronze safely with him for so long, assuming he kept it in a similar manner for all these years, proves a certain wisdom to his scheme. Despite repeated attempts, and even attacks, Philip never lost hold of it.”
“Until now,” Margaret said. “How fortunate Mrs. Katevatis insisted on washing his clothes. I wonder that he did not protest when she took them from him.”
“It would have drawn attention to what he was trying to hide,” I said. “Furthermore, he was in no condition to intervene.”
We decided to wait for Colin in the courtyard, as he would return to the house on horseback, and, hence, go to the barn before coming inside. We could make him au courant with my discovery before any of the rest of the party knew of his arrival.
In the meantime, we visited the nameless man still residing in the small servants’ room at the back of the house. I hold firm the belief that those unconscious are not necessarily wholly unaware of what is happening around them, and therefore spoke to the man, explaining to him we had in our possession the piece his master had sent him to find. If he only could wake up, all of his troubles would be over.
Margaret rolled her eyes while I did this, and dragged me out of the room when I was done. “We have no idea who sent him—if anyone sent him—or why. It is entirely possible he has no connection to any of this business.”
“I only meant to encourage him to try harder to recover from his injuries. The mind is powerful, Margaret, and if dangling a little information spurs it into action, he may awaken sooner than he would have otherwise.”
“Unless you’ve terrified him into staying unconscious forever.”
“Don’t be absurd,” I said. “If he did not come to Santorini on an ill-fated mission to harm Philip, he will not have the slightest idea of that which I spoke, and then, if we are lucky, curiosity to understand my meaning may inspire him to heal.”
“I am warming to this idea, Emily,” Margaret said. “Perhaps we should take turns sitting with him, telling him thrilling stories but stopping before we get to any sort of resolution. That should make him positively desperate to recover. I could start with something from Caesar’s account of the Civil Wars. Do you suppose he knows any Latin?”
“Highly unlikely,” I said, thanking Mrs. Katevatis as she deposited two glass cups brimming with fresh mint tea.
“You could try The Iliad, perhaps, but I suspect he may be Turkish, and if that is the case, he might not enjoy a story in which the Greeks come out victorious. Although The Odyssey—”
The clatter of hooves announced my husband’s return, saving me from having to explain to Margaret that I was not prepared to read the entire Odyssey to the unconscious man. That said, I did appreciate the enthusiasm she brought to her idea, and I could not fault her for trying to come up with any scheme that might shed light on the mysterious events surrounding Philip.
We met Colin in the stables and pulled him into a storeroom next to that building, where, in complete privacy, we could show him the Achilles bronze. His tanned brow furrowed as he studied the piece. “It appears to be genuine,” he said, “but I am no expert. I…” His voice trailed off, and I found myself surprised he had not reacted more strongly to what we had told him. I had narrated the story, but Margaret’s frequent bursts of elaborately imagined embellishment had lent a whimsical air to the tale, something I thought he would have at least acknowledged with the wry raising of his eyebrow or a pointed look in her direction.
“Do we know positively the coat is Ashton’s, not Reiner’s?” he asked.
“Yes. The hole from the bullet is still very much in evidence.”
Colin nodded, but did not speak.
“Do you think we ought to confront him immediately?” Margaret asked. “I am convinced it is the best way forward. He may run off when he realizes it is gone, so we must prepare ourselves for the possibility. Jeremy might—”
“Philip Ashton would never steal something.” Colin’s voice, preternaturally calm, commanded attention. “This cannot have been in his possession.”
“Yet clearly it was,” I said.
“I know Ashton better than any of the rest of you. He would not steal.” My husband’s countenance clouded and his eyes flashed.
“I appreciate your feelings on the subject,” I said, “but there can be no question on the matter. Unless you are suggesting Reiner took it and hid it in his friend’s coat?”
“Yes,” Margaret said. “I could believe that. It would explain why Philip has always insisted he doesn’t have anything belonging to this Demir or whatever his name is and why the man has continued to behave as if he knew Philip did have it.”
“You misunderstand the point of my statement,” Colin said. “If this bronze has been hidden by the man currently in my house, then that man is not Philip Ashton.”
“Much though I admire your continued defense of your friend’s character,” I said, “are you now claiming you do not believe he is Philip?”
“Can you claim you are absolutely certain he is?” he asked.
“Yes, as certain as anyone could be,” I said. “I told you, he knew things no one else could.”
“Have you doubted him from the beginning, Colin?” Margaret asked.
“No,” he said. “Well, initially, yes, of course. Anyone would be skeptical. Once my initial shock wore off, and I started to analyze the matter rationally, I had grave doubts.”
“But you came to the conclusion he is Philip,” I said. “You told me as much.”
“That is correct. As he did with you, he shared memories of conversations and events from the past that I had discussed only with him. The scar on his leg helped to convince me. But regardless of anything else, I will never believe Philip Ashton to be a thief, no matter what the circumstances.”
“You did not react so strongly to the idea when, a decade ago, I suspected him of having been involved with stealing from the British Museum,” I said.
“No, and when the theory proved incorrect, I realized how unfairly I had treated his memory. I ought to have been his staunchest defender.”
Margaret watched him closely and then looked at me. “If I may be so bold, I would like to suggest that neither of you is the best judge of any of this. You both knew him and shared private thoughts with him, but you also—forgive me—you both have struggled with feelings of betrayal after the two of you fell in love. Guilt may be clouding your judgment.”
“If guilt were guiding me,” Colin said, “I would be unlikely to question his claims. He has accepted our marriage with a dignity not many could muster and has asked nothing of us.”
“Your last point is precisely why I cannot agree with your change of heart,” I said. “If he is not Philip, why on earth is he here? What could he possibly gain by claiming a false identity?”
“Perhaps the scheme was born out of necessity,” Margaret said. “He may have murdered a man in Constantinople and could only escape justice if he adopted a new name—”
“Do not get carried away,” Colin said, studying the bronze again. “I see no point in further delay. Let us go to him.”