Chapter One
A glimmer of sunlight appeared on the horizon, casting the sun’s warm glow upon the waking city. People hurried to catch the bus, train, or subway, heading to jobs they loved or hated. Taxis weaved in and out of traffic, cutting off cars to pick up a fare. Annoyed drivers hit their horns while slamming on the brakes and shouting obscenities. Pedestrians waited on the corner for the light to turn green, keeping to themselves, avoiding eye contact, oblivious to the rush hour chaos.
Coffee trucks serviced the metropolis, proficiently moving the line; the hearty brew waking the senses; each sip of the warm liquid absorbed into the bloodstream, circulating throughout the body; their gait turned lively, and strangers nodded, exchanging idle chatter in lobbies and elevators. Another workday to relish or despise.
AnaRose headed up the subway station stairs next to the museum. She gazed upon the magnificent building with pride. Its massive columns and exquisite architecture reminiscence of bygone days. Ancient Greece or Rome? She never tired of the celebrated landmark because she fulfilled a childhood dream of following in her parents’ footsteps.
In her mind’s eye, images of the various digs her parents supervised throughout their professional careers surfaced. They had been an archeological powerhouse, leaders in their fields, and considered royalty by many. Their daughter, the heir apparent, schooled to inherit the kingdom, stayed by their side, learning from the masters and soaking up knowledge between semesters.
This museum is not the Smithsonian or the Louvre, but I am happy here, Dad. You understand, don’t you, Mom?
“Finally,” a voice in the crowd said as the red hand on the traffic control device turned green.
The pedestrians crossed the street as a single entity, staring straight ahead like a herd of woolly mammoths approaching a waterhole. She chuckled, picturing everyone in different guises, a modern-day paleontologist’s goldmine, ancient fossils reawakened.
Once she reached the museum’s main entrance, AnaRose envisioned the red carpet covering the staircase, welcoming the city’s elite. Instead of thinking about the upcoming gala, she remembered the first time she walked up the stairs, excited and anxious, aware of the competition for the assistant curator position. The qualified candidates observed their rivals, seeking advantages, finding none. A professional behaved as expected; poised, self-assured, and appropriately dressed. Personality played a pivotal role in the selection process. The museum required a perfect fit to motivate the team. One by one, they entered and left the conference room. Their faces were unreadable, keeping their dignity in the wake of defeat. AnaRose’s passion and enthusiasm shined bright enough for a job offer. Those virtues never waned over time, and when the main curator for antiquities retired, the Board of Directors sanctioned her appointment.
“Back to reality,” AnaRose muttered when hearing the museum guard’s greeting. “Good morning, James. How are you and your family?”
“All is good, ma’am. Have a pleasant day.”
Bypassing the elevator banks, AnaRose approached the roped-off gallery for the Ancient Greece exhibit, scheduled to open in two weeks. Walking through a replica of the Temple of Athena Nike, AnaRose marveled at the artistry of the talented craftsmen. The large room contained antiquities rarely seen on the North American continent. Pottery, sculptures, jewelry, and coins filled glass-covered cabinets strategically placed throughout the west wing.
“You are quite the beauty, Athena, even without your head,” AnaRose said to the statue positioned in the center of the room, overshadowing the display cases.
It had taken longer than usual to bring the exhibition to its fruition, but worth the time and effort. Successfully negotiating with the British and Acropolis Museums to lend their antiquities to an obscure museum in the United States enhanced AnaRose’s standing within the community. A rising star sought after by prominent corporations to sit on their Governing Bodies.
Satisfied with the design and placement of the artifacts, AnaRose left through the rear exit, climbing the three flights to her office on the top floor. She usually arrived before Erica and Jo and appeared surprised when her graduate student greeted her with a cup of coffee, which AnaRose graciously accepted. She saw the extra sparkle in Jo’s eyes and a pent-up eagerness bursting at the seams.
“What is going on, Jo? Tell me before you explode!”
“You won’t believe this, but they found a ring in Sainte-Eulalie-de-Cernon. Have you heard of it? It’s somewhere in France. Discovered by accident at a flea market, of all places! And they want us, you, to authenticate it. They want you to fly to Paris today. Today! And Erica will be here soon and can book the flight.”
“Deep breaths, Jo. Start at the beginning. Who is asking? And what is so important about the ring?”
“The European Institute for the Conservation of Antiquities is asking. Dr. Alexandre Boucher called himself! I got to the phone before he hung up! He thinks the ring belonged to Balian of Ibelin; it has his crest and the Templar Cross!”
“What do you remember about the Crusades and the Knights Templar?”
“I researched Lord Balian,” Jo said, handing AnaRose a folder. “He was at the helm when the Templar knights lost Jerusalem, and a holy relic went missing.”
“Did they mention the Holy Nail?” AnaRose said while skimming over the printout.
“It is cited as a legend, not fact. However, if it exists, Balian’s ring is the key to finding the relic.”
The sound of elevator doors opening reminded AnaRose of the time difference with France.
“Am I late?” Erica said as she tossed her handbag on her desk. “I don’t recall an early meeting. I am sorry.”
“Apologies aren’t necessary. Jo came in early.”
Erica and Jo exchanged glances as AnaRose paced the length of her office, speaking more to herself than to them.
“I have always been fascinated with the Templars and the Crusades. Richard III movies saw to it! And who could forget Saladin? Although over thirty Instruments of the Passion are being venerated throughout Europe, making authenticity doubtful, the true Holy Nail could exist.”
“We are on schedule for the gala opening,” Erica said. “And you are a phone call away if anything comes up.”
“It’s been a while since we’ve done fieldwork,” Jo reminded her.
AnaRose retrieved her calendar on the computer, not saying a word while scrolling through the entries. She smiled; her eyes twinkled when she faced them and said, “I think adventure calls. What do you say, Jo? Fancy a trip to France?”
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
Copyright © 2024 All Rights Reserved
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
