Much though Philip had been loath to leave Troy at the end of the season, the visit paid him by the knife-brandishing Hakan had softened the blow. He had not mentioned it to any of his colleagues. It would only remind them of the story at which they had scoffed after he had lost the Achilles bronze, and he had no desire to say anything that might make them think less of him, not when they had begun to accept him as their professional equal rather than as a mere dilettante-dealer turned archaeologist.
Dörpfeld did not plan to return to Troy the following season, and rather than following him to a new site, Philip had agreed to join Fritz Reiner, who would be working with Carl Humann at Ephesus, the magnificent Greco-Roman city in western Turkey. Humann was delighted at the prospect of having Philip back, having seen much promise in his work in Magnesia on the Maeander, and Philip was eager to see his friend Reiner again.
So Ephesus it would be, but first he would spend another winter in Constantinople. It would not take long to sell the antiquities he had acquired over the season, but this time he intended to go about it more slowly, because along with money, he wanted—needed—information. Who was this Demir who’d sent Hakan with a knife to his tent in Troy? Someone interested in ancient artifacts in general, or someone who wanted the Achilles bronze in particular? The former sort of chap was not likely to incite violence.
It could not be argued the bronze was anything less than a spectacular find, although one did wish that more of the helmet were intact. Even in its mutilated state, something uncovered at Troy featuring Achilles’ name so prominently would draw a handsome price, but most members of the public would be more impressed with gold jewelry, like that Schliemann had found at Troy. He’d had his wife photographed wearing it, and claimed it had belonged to Helen; all the newspapers had published the story. Jewelry was the sort of thing—splashy, its value obvious—along with monumental statues and beautifully carved friezes, that tended to command the highest prices on the antiquities market.
Whoever wanted the Achilles bronze was bound to be as obsessed with Homer’s hero as Philip. And obsession, he knew, could prove dangerous.
As he made his rounds from dealer to dealer, Philip made discreet inquiries, insinuating he had heard rumors of something of Achilles’ having been stolen from the dig at Troy. He had worked there, he explained, and was cognizant of the fact that nothing of the sort had officially been found, but, he explained, he knew that locals often pocketed objects when they could.
No one he questioned admitted to having heard of any such thing. One dealer, however, suggested that he, an honest man—he repeated the phrase three times to convey its truth—would not be approached by anyone in possession of something looted from an archaeological site. He was aware, naturally, of others less scrupulous than he, and if Mr. Chapman wished to be introduced to that sort of dealer …
“I am told a man called Demir…” Philip paused, partly for effect and partly because he did not know how to finish the sentence.
The dealer straightened in his chair. “Demir? You know him?”
Philip tried to modulate his voice and regulate his breathing, which was becoming rapid. “By reputation, only, I am afraid.”
The man nodded. “It is he who would have information about the sort of piece you are seeking. I, you must understand, have great respect for Demir, but in my own humble shop, I do not deal with such objects. I am an honest man—as Demir is, too; I would never offend him. I, however, do not have the connections he does.”
“Can you put me in touch with him?” Philip asked.
After a lengthy back-and-forth that primarily involved the dealer’s proclaiming his honesty and Philip’s praising him for his scruples before offering a rather large bribe, the man agreed to set up a meeting.
The following evening, just after eight o’clock, Philip found himself on the Asian side of the city, in a seedy alley, ripe with the scent of sewage and rotting vegetables. More Gypsies than Turks resided in the neighborhood, and the dealer had told him in no uncertain terms to take precautions against attack. He had armed himself accordingly, and kept a hand on the revolver in his pocket as he waited. When the eerie strains of the night’s final call to prayer came from the nearest mosque, its sound bouncing and echoing off the quarter’s decrepit buildings, Philip began to look around more earnestly. Before the muezzin had finished, a boy of no more then ten approached him, holding out a small bronze statue of the god Hermes, the sign for which he had been told to watch.
The child led him through a maze of back alleys and narrow streets until they reached a rickety wooden building, designed to mimic those favored by Ottoman officials, but of much lower quality in both material and construction. Philip pulled open the door, at which point the boy pressed the statue into his hand and disappeared into the darkness. Philip stepped inside, unsure how to proceed.
A broad, muscular man who did not speak met him at the door and glanced at the statue Philip showed him before leading him into a small room lit by a single oil lamp hanging from a chain. Its scattered glow, colored by the mosaic of its glass globe, provided scant illumination, but allowed him to just make out the features of his guide. His black eyes and hooked nose were foreboding enough, but were made all the more imposing by a long scar that crossed the entire length of his face, from forehead to neck. A second man, seated at a rough table, leaned away from the light, keeping his face in the shadows.
“Please sit,” the man said, his voice refined. “I am Demir and you are Philip Chapman, enterprising archaeologist and seller of antiquities. You are looking for something that belonged to the great Achilles?” His command of English was impressive, and he spoke in a manner that suggested he had been educated in Britain rather than in Turkey.
“I am,” Philip said, lowering himself onto a stool. “A specific piece. A bronze.”
“Yes, I am familiar with the details.” He raised his eyebrow in a manner that made Philip uneasy. “There is, however, no such item. If there were, I would know about it. What makes you think it exists?”
“Rumors. I worked in Troy, at the excavations, and our workers sometimes did not share all their finds with us.”
“Your employer Dörpfeld did not offer them bonuses for significant objects?”
“He did.”
“And does he not pay fairly?”
“He does, but you and I are both aware of other sources that pay better.”
“Indeed, and I am that source, at least in Constantinople. No one pays better than I. Which means, unfortunately for you, the cost of acquiring such a piece would be not insignificant.”
“But you have nothing matching the description?” Philip asked.
“Indeed not, though I, too, have heard stories.” Demir looked at him with an unnerving stare. “If we are to work together, I demand absolute honesty from you. I see you smile, as you make the mistake of believing that because I deal on the black market, I am no better than a thief.”
“Not at all, I assure you.”
Demir waved his hand dismissively. “I am not interested in your assurances. I would like to know more about the rumors I have heard concerning a certain English archaeologist who claimed such an object was stolen from him.” His eyes darkened in a terrifying manner.
Philip swallowed hard. “Yes. That was me.”
“You think I do not already know this? You are not as intelligent as I expected. I do not appreciate your game. Do you come here to accuse me of stealing from you?”
“No, I—”
“You are an amusing man, so I will not kill you. Not now, at any rate. But never again come to me under false pretenses.”
“I have not done so now.” Philip felt increasingly confident. Demir knew his story, and this encouraged him. “You have sent men to harass me over this piece—a piece that was stolen from me.”
“You misunderstand my associates, Mr. Chapman. They made inquiries as to the location of the piece and have informed me you insist you do not have it.”
“I don’t have it,” Philip said, “and I cannot understand why you are bent on believing otherwise.”
“I find most men incapable of telling the truth the first time they’re given the opportunity. Asking a question repeatedly, with encouragement as necessary, is the only way to an honest answer. Why did you come to me on the pretense of looking for the bronze, when your true purpose was to beg me to call off my men? I do not appreciate lies and subterfuge.”
Though he felt sweat beading on his face, Philip nearly laughed at the irony of Demir’s statement. “I do want you to call them off, but it is your persistence regarding the object that tells me you are the only person capable of tracking it down. I want the bronze back. I do not know who has it, but I am happy to pay for the piece—whatever price you demand. Will you tell me the moment you learn where it is?”
“You are very determined,” Demir said. “It is a quality I admire. Furthermore, I find you wholly untrustworthy, a quality I often find useful in acquaintances. I shall contact you periodically to inform you if I have any information for you.”
“I shall be at Ephesus once I leave Constantinople.”
“I knew that already.” He smirked, as did his henchman, lurking in the background. “I will always know where you are.”
“And you are certain—quite certain—no one has the Achilles bronze?” Philip asked.
The man shrugged. “You are the only one who has ever claimed to possess it.”
“The man working with me that day was killed. Surely that supports my story. It certainly horrified me.”
“Yes, yes, this tribal justice is sometimes most unsettling to you Westerners. I would think nothing of it.”
“I am convinced he took the bronze from me, and I want it back. At any cost.”
Demir narrowed his eyes. “Yes, I do not doubt you will pay almost anything to retrieve it. I will be in touch, Englishman.” He rose from his seat and left the room, the burly man accompanying him, but not before he first extinguished the oil lamp, leaving Philip to feel his way out in the dark, terrified he had set something in motion he did not quite understand.