Valley of Thracians (23 page)

The gathering took place in a spacious
hall of the Sheraton Sofia Balkan Hotel in the center of the city. Reporters
and photographers packed the room while a crew from Bulgarian National
Television set up cameras at one side of the podium. In the rows of wooden
fold-up chairs, many of Smirnenski’s colleagues sat anxiously alongside
students from the university and curious archaeology enthusiasts. Sophia took
her place and fidgeted in the seat, waiting for the conference to begin.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your
attention?”

The murmurs of the audience dissipated
when of one of the university’s archaeology fellows took his place behind the
podium and adjusted the height of the microphone. His welcoming remarks were
long-winded and full of wordy biographical details, information that was basic
not only to Sophia, but to many others in attendance as well.

“We know little about the language of
the Thracians, and they had no alphabet of their own,” the announcer said.
“What we have learned about this magnificent people who inhabited our lands is
from the stories and legends passed through the generations. However, in these
modern days, we are determining the true prominence of the Thracians and their
rulers. Only now have we become aware of their role in spreading wine culture,
of their artistic craftsmanship, and of the significant part they played in our
history.

“We can attribute much of our newfound
awareness in the importance of Thracian history to the work of our famous
archaeologist, Professor Todor Smirnenski. Single-handedly, Smirnenski has
restored this ancient people to their proper standing in our region. He has
ascertained the greatness of the mighty Thracians, and for that we will be
forever grateful.

“Without further ado, I would like to
present a scholar who needs no introduction. We are aware of his
accomplishments, we take pride in his achievements, and we have frequently seen
how his studies have bettered the lot of Bulgaria in the world. Allow me to
present Professor Todor Smirnenski, who will announce to us the great news of
his latest discovery.”

As Smirnenski stood up and approached
the podium, the hall erupted in a loud burst of applause. The cameras rolled
and flashbulbs popped brightly as the professor shook hands with the announcer,
and then the professor was left standing alone, waiting for his boisterous
reception to calm down.

“Thank you, thank you,” he began,
smiling at the many students and colleagues he recognized. “Allow me to begin
by saying that there are naysayers who slander the ancient Thracians by
describing them as opportunistic barbarians, vulgar backward tribes that were
incapable of national unity and civil habitation of the region. On the
contrary, I stress that the Thracians played an even greater role in Balkan
civilization than we could ever imagine. I am convinced that the greatest
discoveries regarding this ancient people are yet ahead of us. I have dedicated
my life’s work to uncovering this glorious past and making it known to all of
you. This I do for the purity of the science and for the betterment of all
Bulgarians. I thank you for coming here today to learn more about the glory of
ancient Thrace.”

After these brief introductory words,
Smirnenski launched into background details of his excavations at a burial tomb
in central Bulgaria, near the town of Kazanlak. The professor and his team had
excavated the site for three seasons and had already unearthed a wealth of
Thracian pottery, ceramics, and sculptures, which they dated to the fourth
century BC. But their greatest discovery was also one of their smallest.
Smirnenski held up something in his hand to show the audience.

“Allow me to present this wonderful
Thracian coin, dating to the reign of King Sitalk,” Smirnenski said. As he
spoke, an overhead projector hummed into life, and an image of the coin
appeared on a white screen behind the podium. “Regard the face of Dionysos, the
god we all know so well for his role in protecting the grape harvests and wine
production of these regions. This is quite a common feature of coins from the
period, and not what makes this specimen so remarkable. Let’s consider its
reverse side. Here is vivid proof that our beloved Thracians of old
participated in the Olympic Games alongside their brethren in Athens and
Crete.”

The audience gazed with interest at the
image on the screen. The backside of the coin was an engraving of a rower
flexing his muscles. Depicted in miniature were the features of a sportsman,
struggling to propel his small boat forward in a maritime competition. This
coin, which once played a role in primeval commerce, clearly confirmed what
Smirnenski was announcing. The Thracians had participated in the greatest
athletic and cultural activity of that day and age. An invitation to join the
powerful Greeks in the Olympics proved that the Thracians were considered their
equals in the ancient world.

Sophia squirmed on her seat. Something
about this announcement just didn’t sit right with her. As Smirnenski
elucidated the significance of his finding, with the audience held captive by
his charisma and reputation, she searched through the libraries of knowledge in
her mind, desperately seeking the cataloged fact that would reveal the
fallacies and erroneous conclusions in the professor’s statements. There was
something wrong here—of that she was certain. What was it?

And then it came to her, as clearly as
if it had been posted in modern Bulgarian on the auditorium walls.

“Excuse me!” Sophia interjected, an
inner, previously unknown force propelling her from her seat and causing heads
to turn. “How can you claim that this coin represents Thracian participation in
an Olympic sport that did not exist at the time?” she challenged.

At first, Smirnenski took no notice of
the doctoral student in the second row interrupting his emotional explanations
of Thracian coinage. He pointedly ignored Sophia’s pleas for attention, and
members of the audience hushed her to be quiet. One gentleman tried to forcibly
sit her down. A former classmate from her early years at the university whispered,
“Sophia, don’t embarrass
yourself
,” but she gathered
her courage and steadied her voice with carefully enunciated words. The crowd
quieted, shocked at the untimely disturbance, yet listening attentively to what
Sophia had to say.

“The ancient Olympic Games did not
include rowing. Rowing was only added in modern times. Athletes from all the
Greek city states were invited to participate in the games, as long as they
were free men, spoke Greek, and adhered to the customs of the day. But the
games never included water sports. Originally, there were only running races,
but later boxing and wrestling and even chariot racing were added.
But never rowing.
Therefore, you offer no conclusive proof
that the Thracians participated in the game.”

She waited for a moment, letting the
significance of her statement sink in. The archaeologist at the podium stared
at her with murder in his eyes, while the audience exchanged whispered comments
and regarded her as if she had fallen into their presence from another planet.

“How can you be so sure that your
discovery was minted in the reign of King Sitalk, a period in which no local
coins were minted?” she said, adding yet another argument to her contradictions
of the professor’s claims. “What possible proof do you have for that?”

At this point, two security guards
appeared, as if from nowhere, and began pushing past the people seated in the
second row, trying to get close to where Sophia was standing, her voice raised
as she launched accusation after accusation.

“You have advanced the science of
Bulgarian archaeology, it is true, but this announcement today is purposed to
better your own personal standing. It is sensationalism for its own sake!”
Sophia
charged,
her eyes wide as she shouted the
words.

The famous professor ignored her, yet he
paused from his speech as he waited impatiently for the disturbance in the hall
to be quelled.

The guards reached Sophia and physically
dragged her from her spot. Wooden chairs snapped, collapsing to the floor one
by one like dominoes as the audience parted to allow the heckler to be escorted
from their midst. Even after Sophia was removed from the hall, the commotion
continued for several minutes. The professor stood behind the podium, seemingly
unperturbed by what he had witnessed.

“So, you confronted one of Bulgaria’s
most famous archaeologists, challenging him about the authenticity of his
discovery!” Simon said, staring with renewed appreciation at the Thracian
expert who was driving the car. “You must have totally destroyed his career!”

“I didn’t cause the slightest dent in
his reputation, but that was never the point.”

“What did it do to
your
career?”
he asked her.

She smiled to herself, still amazed at
her uninhibited attack on the archaeologist at that press conference. Initially
she feared that she would be regarded by her academic superiors and colleagues
as nothing more than a sensation-seeking rabble-rouser. She had acted based on
her convictions; she had no regrets for the interruption.

“I couldn’t allow him to state things
that weren’t true,” Sophia said calmly. “I couldn’t allow our magnificent
treasures, discovered in the excavations and digs across our country, to be
scandalously dated, labeled, and classified. Accuracy is a virtue, and I took
it upon myself to make sure scientific expertise and professionalism would
guide our knowledge of the past.”

She couldn’t tell him more than that—not
now. She couldn’t reveal to Simon that in the aftermath of that press
conference, and especially after receiving her doctorate, she had evolved into
the leading expert in her field, a renowned specialist for identifying and
dating the many artifacts being discovered in the country. She became
recognized and esteemed as a purist who could easily discern the legitimacy of
archaeological finds, determining which were authentic and which were
mislabeled and erroneously presented to an uneducated public. She became known
throughout Bulgaria as the foremost authority in verifying the authenticity of
ancient Thracian treasures.

It was due to her expertise that she had
been assigned her present mission. With the delicate nature of her undertaking,
secrecy was of utmost importance, and therefore it was dangerous to reveal
additional information to the visiting professor from America. Some things at
this stage were best left unspoken. It was more important that Simon think that
she was simply sharing in his excitement at reuniting with Scott. If details of
her assignment were known to others, it would jeopardize what she needed to do.

Chapter
44

“I haven’t been here since I was a
child,” Sophia said, as they approached their destination in northwestern
Bulgaria after the long drive. “It’s hard to forget such a place.”

Simon’s eyes darted back and forth
between Sophia and the surreal scenery they were passing. The narrow road was
flanked by bizarrely shaped rock formations, standing alert at odd angles, like
sentinels protecting a king’s treasure. Each turn in the ascent revealed new
elements of limestone and rugged sandstone cliffs. Needle-like pinnacles of
rock, uniquely shaped and colored in ranges of reddish browns to grayish
yellows, vied to catch rays of sunlight in the narrow passage. Pillars with
jagged edges and darkened crevices saluted their arrival.

Simon was reminded of Badlands National
Park in South Dakota, which he had visited with Marcia on one of their westward
treks. There, too, he had viewed a vast landscape of sharply eroded rock
buttes, interspersed with triangular spires that seemed lifted from cathedral
roofs. Here in Bulgaria, the formations ran alongside the paved road and into
the town itself.

“This is Belogradchik,” Sophia
announced, as they drove past the welcome sign.

“I wonder where Scott will be waiting,”
Simon said. “Originally he told me to meet him in Montana, at the bus station.
Then he came back online and sent me a short note stating that plans had
changed, and that we should come to Belogradchik.”

“That’s strange because Montana is so
much closer to Sofia. But we don’t know which village Scott is coming from, so
we can’t be sure.”

Soon he would be reunited with Scott,
Simon thought, excited to see his grandson. He touched the scar tissue on his
face, a souvenir of his fall at the Rila Monastery and a sign that he must be
patient and not rush ahead with abandon. But this time it was different. He had
actually chatted with Scott, and he knew Scott was keenly anticipating their
reunion as well. Scott was really alive and waiting for him!

Simon thought back to his telephone
conversation the previous night with Daniel, when he had finally managed to
contact his son with the good news. At first, Daniel had been skeptical, but
when Simon mentioned that Scott had chatted about his bar mitzvah ceremony as a
way to prove his identity, Daniel had finally come around. By the end of the
call, Daniel was ready to book the next flight to Sofia, but Simon persuaded
him to wait until he could verify that Scott was actually in Bulgaria as his
Skype chats indicated.

The final burst of text his grandson had
transmitted stuck out in his mind. The message read: “Plans changed, going to
Belogradchik. Meet me there.” What had caused Scott to change his plans so
suddenly? It really didn’t matter. The important thing was that Simon was
driving into the rugged Bulgarian town with Sophia at his side. They had
arrived at last.

 
“Where do we start?” he asked, looking at the
first houses and buildings they passed. There was nothing remarkable in the
constructions, nothing that could provide a clue as to where they should begin
their search.

“I think we should head for the town
center, and ask around if anyone has seen Scott,” Sophia suggested, not fully
convinced that this was the best option. “We can start at the hotel. Maybe he
booked a room last night,” she said, trying to build up hope in the possibility.

They made their way up the winding road
past modest homes, occasional shops, and a brick-faced primary school. They
passed an open-air market, crowded with shoppers seeking fresh produce and
groceries, but elsewhere the town was quiet, the windows shuttered and the
narrow roads empty.

 
“At the top of the hill is the
kaleto
,
the fortress,” Sophia told him. “Belogradchik is famous for its castle set
among the rocks.”

Belogradchik Fortress
.
There was something about the name that attracted Simon’s interest almost like
a magnet. Could that be where Scott was waiting?

They parked at what appeared to be the
main square—a commercial area marked by banks, pharmacies, an optician’s shop,
grill restaurants, and an unappealing café. A modern building stood
across the plaza, with a yogurt bar and beauty salon on its ground level.
Proudly identifying itself as the three-star Belogradchik Hotel, the multistory
construction overlooked the forested valley through which they had just driven.
It was a view interspersed with the unique rock formations that had caught
their breath during the ascent to town.

They crossed the street and entered the
hotel. Inside the automatic doors they discovered an ultra-chic setting,
complete with marble floors, a fully stocked tropical aquarium and over-sized
metal sculptures. Stairs led to the doors of a souvenir store and a restaurant.
There was a lack of seating in the lobby, but that didn’t matter because there
were no guests in sight.

“
Dobre den
.
Can I help you?” the front-desk clerk asked them in Bulgarian when they
approached.

Sophia talked to the clerk in her native
language, explaining that she was accompanying the visiting American professor
who was looking for his lost grandson. Then she switched to English to allow
Simon to join the conversation.

“We have reason to believe that he might
be here. His name is Scott Matthews,” she said.

“I have a picture,” Simon offered,
reaching into his side bag.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t give out
information about our guests,” the clerk responded politely by rote.

Simon was despondent, about to turn to
leave, but Sophia grabbed his forearm and whispered something in his ear.

“Maybe this will refresh your memory,”
Simon said, pulling a bill out of his wallet and handing it to the clerk.

“Ah,” the clerk sighed. “Let me take a
look.”

Seconds later, the clerk nodded his head
with recognition. “Yes, I believe this man was our guest last night. He checked
out early this morning, didn’t even have breakfast.”

“Did he say where he was going?” Simon
asked eagerly.

“Not exactly, but he did ask for
directions to the fortress.”

“The fortress!”
Simon exclaimed. “Thank you very much.”

“No problem,” the hotel clerk replied.
Then, as they began to walk out of the lobby, he called out after them. “You
know, someone else also came here asking about your grandson.”

“What? Who was looking for Scott?”

Sophia conversed with the clerk in
Bulgarian for a few seconds and then turned to Simon with a worried look.

“We need to hurry,” she said, with a
note of urgency in her voice that surprised him. She clicked through her cell
phone’s list of contacts to make a quick call, whispering into the instrument
as she walked. She ignored Simon’s puzzled look as they left the lobby, giving
no clues about what she had learned or whom she had called.