The Minoan Cipher (A Matinicus “Matt” Hawkins Adventure Book 2) (3 page)

“All is well, I trust,” he said in a low voice.

“The treasure is ready to be transported at your word,” the commander said.

“Good. I want you to go to the south coast where a great ship will be waiting. Sail to Egypt and use the treasure to build a new navy. Each chest has more than enough for a great ship, its crew and contingent of marines. I will stay here.”

The commander scowled in disbelief. “You must leave with us, sire. It is too dangerous.”

Minos rose to his full regal height and pushed the hood away. “I am still the king. I will reason with the people.”

“The priestess has whipped them into a fury. They are
beyond
reason.”

“I am not the first King Minos, nor will I be the last. At the very least, if I stay, you will gain time to escape with my daughter.” He slipped the sleeping girl from his shoulder and held her body cradled in both arms. “I entrust you with my
greatest
treasure. On your life, keep her from harm’s way!”

The words came not from the monarch of a wealthy empire, but from the mouth of a stricken father saying farewell to his child forever.

“As you wish, sire,” the commander said.

He lifted the slumbering girl into his brawny arms.

The king removed a leather pouch from under his cloak and looped the strap around the commander’s thick neck. “Fill this scroll with your words. Write every day. If you or I are lost, it will show those that follow the way to the treasure. It must never fall into the wrong hands. Promise me!”

“I give you my promise, sire.”

The king lifted the hood back onto his head and vanished into the shadows.

The commander stared into the darkness until he became aware of the heat of the girl resting in his arms. He told the nanny to get into a supply wagon, then handed the girl up to her. With a heaviness in his heart, he ordered his men to move out.

PART III-FLIGHT

The commander and his men marched under the stars, following a road that ran between rugged mountain ranges and across plains covered with agricultural fields. At dawn, he ordered the group to stop and rest in the shade of some hearty trees so his men could dine on bread, cheese and water.

The march continued under the blistering sun and well into the evening. Spurring him on to even greater urgency were the pinpoints of light moving along the royal road from the direction of Knossos. His instincts told him that the high priestess had recovered from her drug daze and rallied her followers much faster than he’d expected. The commander had lived through many battles by thinking far ahead of the enemy. His orders from the king were what the high priestess would expect him to do, so he did what he had prepared for when he ordered his men to transport empty chests from the treasury along with the full.

He split his men into two groups. One group would take some wagons and continue on to the coast. The nanny and the child would go with them. The commander led another contingent of men, horses and wagons onto a dry river bed through the rugged hills.

When the commander caught up with the procession the next morning, the weary faces of his men were smeared with sweat and dirt. The string of horses they led no longer hauled wagons. The commander spurred his men along the coastal road which gradually rose, passed through a narrow gorge and descended a series of switchbacks to a small harbor.

Tied up to a stone quay were four vessels. The largest, a cargo ship, had a narrow stern and an upturned prow carved into the head of a bird. The vessel had a graceful crescent profile. Towers at each end were designed to provide archers defending the ship with elevated battle stations.

The wagons were wheeled up a gangway onto the ship. The bronze chests were slid down ramps into the hold. Stalls were set up on deck for a few horses while the rest were given to a nearby village. The chariot was taken apart and stored in the hold.

The commander pondered the fate of the other vessels. Two were mid-sized trading craft. The last was less than a third the length of the great ship and its narrow white hull was painted with images of leaping blue dolphins. He recognized the king’s yacht which had been on its way back from a competition in Egypt. The yacht had stopped at the southern harbor and the crew headed north on foot after learning their home port had been destroyed.

With its out-sized sail of red wool, and wave-cutting hull design, there was nothing on the water that could touch the yacht for speed. The commander ordered the yacht towed behind the ship. It would slow them, but he could never allow the king’s boat to fall into enemy hands.

Dusk was settling. The wise course would be to torch the other vessels, but the commander hesitated. Every Minoan ship was precious. By the time he had reluctantly decided to destroy the ships, it was too late.

Someone yelled and pointed to the hill overlooking the harbor. A light crested the ridge. Then another and another. The lights flowed down the road leading to the harbor, moving back and forth along the steep switchbacks.

The commander ordered the captain to get underway. The crew cast off the dock lines and unfurled the sail. The pursuers swarmed along the quay. A hail of arrows from shore fell short of the departing vessel. In the light of the gathering torches, the commander saw a man wearing a plumed headdress. In his confusion, the commander thought that the king had succeeded in winning over the people.

Then the man removed the feathered crown to reveal his shaved blue scalp. The priestess stepped up beside her brother. The commander couldn’t see her features in the waning light but he could sense her anger.

As soon as the ship cleared the harbor, the commander found a cabin for the king’s daughter and her nanny. The girl threw a fit of anger when the commander said that the king was busy and would come later in another ship. The noisy tirade was short, thankfully, and she soon fell asleep.

The commander curled up under a cloak on the stern deck. He awoke at first light, rose to his feet, and cursed himself for not moving faster to torch the other ships.

Two sails followed in their wake.

Minoan ship designers had sacrificed the space needed to quarter a crew of rowers to gain more cargo room. The great ships relied on a highly efficient sail that allowed the ship to run close to the wind, but it was still slower than a fully rowed vessel with sail.

The captain suggested cutting the yacht loose. The commander told him to wait.

The pursuers had halved the distance by the end of the day. The captain estimated that they would catch up the following morning. With their superior maneuverability, the smaller ships would run rings around them. Archers posted on the fighting towers could keep them at bay, but only for a while.

The commander’s jaw hardened in determination. The priestess would assume that he planned to seek safe haven in Egypt, long a friendly port of call for Minoan ships. Again, he would do the opposite of her expectations. As soon as darkness had fallen, he told the captain to change course.

The captain relayed the order to the helmsman. The ship swung around, and the bird figurehead pointed its beak toward the place where the sun had set. When the sun rose the next morning there wasn’t a sail in sight. The commander brought out the vellum scroll the king had given him and dutifully summarized the flight from the island. Over the next several days he kept a running log of the voyage to the western end of the Mediterranean and around the coast of what one day would be a country known as Spain. The commander wanted to put distance between his ship and Crete.

They might have escaped if the wind hadn’t died. With no rowing capacity, the ship lay almost motionless in the water. By the time the wind freshened, it was too late. A sail was sighted behind them. The high priestess must have figured out that the commander had detoured. She would have sent one ship to Egypt while the other headed west. Powered by a full crew of rowers, her ship grew closer.

The commander ordered his men to take defensive positions, but they could do little as the smaller, faster boat dashed in and shot off a barrage of fiery arrows. With its sail ablaze, the great ship came to a halt. The smaller vessel drew closer in preparation for boarding.

The cargo vessel’s captain rushed up to the commander, and said, “You must take the girl and abandon ship.”

The suggestion went against every molecule in the commander’s body. “I can’t leave you or my men.”

“You must. We will stay and fight. The king ordered you to keep his daughter safe.”

A second flight of arrows landed on the deck and the ardent flames quickly spread. The ship was doomed. The commander dashed below, scooped up the girl in his arms, and told the nanny to follow him back onto the deck. The captain was at the stern, where his men had hauled the yacht alongside. The commander climbed down a rope ladder into the yacht. The girl was tossed down to him. Then the nanny followed.

He cast off, raised the sail and took the tiller. The fast yacht was well away when the commander looked back and saw that the attacking ship had edged close to the flames. Both ships were enveloped in a billowing black cloud. A puff of wind cleared the air for a second or two, and in that brief instant the commander saw the high priestess at the rail.

Her mouth was open wide in an inaudible scream. Her clenched fists were raised high in the air, held in the same position he had seen when she did the serpent dance. The demonic expression on her face was seared into his memory. He turned his eyes away and looked at the girl in the arms of the nanny.
Keep her from harm’s way
, the king had pleaded, but she wouldn’t be completely safe until she was beyond the clutches of the priestess forever.

He took a final look back and saw only a thick curtain of smoke. Then he brought the yacht’s sharp bow around and sailed toward the unknown.

CHAPTER ONE

London, England, September, 1956

Professor Howard Robsham rooted through the stacks of paper on his desk, like the foraging badger he resembled. He found the packet containing his train and ship tickets, and was stuffing it into a bulging briefcase when the doorbell’s ring interrupted his labors.

“What the deuce,” he muttered.

A visitor was the bloody
last
thing he needed. He snapped the briefcase shut, carried it out to the vestibule and set it down next to a couple of well-worn leather suitcases.

The doorbell rang a second time. Robsham scurried to the entrance of his King’s Road townhouse and threw open the door, prepared to send the unwelcome caller on his way. Light from inside the house illuminated the face of the firm-jawed man in his thirties who stood on the landing.

“Michael!” Robsham said, the frown leaving his lips. “What a wonderful surprise.”

“Sorry to be a bother.” The man hoisted the portfolio case in his hand. “I know it’s late, but this couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

“Dear me! I’m about to depart for a conference of the World Philological Society in Athens. Leaving momentarily for Victoria Station to catch a sleeper heading to Venice, then onto a steamship bound for Piraeus. Didn’t you get my note?”

The man looked crestfallen. “I haven’t opened correspondence for weeks. I’ve been cloistered like a monk with my work.”

“Designing a new building project?”

“I’m afraid my architectural career has suffered from my other preoccupations.”

“Well…come in, come in. I’m all packed as you can see. A cab is due in twenty minutes. I’ll pour us a quick brandy and we’ll have a short but proper chinwag.”

“Quite all right, Professor. That’s all the time I need.”

Robsham led the way into the study and motioned for his friend to take a seat. From a crystal decanter on a low table, he poured two fat fingers of Armagnac into a pair of snifters. Then he settled into a stuffed leather chair.

“Since time is short, I’ll do this the way I deal with my more prolix students,” he said. “State your premise in twenty words or less.”

“I only need five words.” The man smiled, “I have done it again.”

“I don’t—”

“The second script. I’ve unlocked its secret.”

“What?” Robsham set his snifter down on the table. “Are you saying you’ve deciphered Linear A?”

His friend nodded.

“I’m speechless, Michael. This is stupendous. No, it’s
beyond
that. Please don’t hold back, young man. Tell me how you succeeded where others failed. Did you use the grid approach that worked with Linear B?”

“I tried that method, but this script is in a class by itself.”

“How, then?”

“I had the help of the Rosetta Stone. Partial, imperfect and incomplete, but it held the key to my findings.”

Even someone without Robsham’s scholarly credentials would know the Rosetta Stone was the artifact inscribed with a message in three different languages that had allowed the decipherment of Egyptian hieroglyphics.

“If what you say is true, the translation of Linear A could tear away the curtain of secrecy that has hid so much of the marvelous Minoan civilization. Finally, we would be able to know everything about those amazing people. Not just through their ruined palaces. Their words would tell us what they were thinking. I’ve got to cancel my trip.”