Berlin, Monday, 28 August 1939
Arriving early, Freyja enjoyed the museum’s quiet, knowing the day ahead would be hectic. She climbed the stairs to the atrium’s first floor then strolled through the three exhibition salons of the Schliemann Collection. The sun shining through the tall windows formed rectangles of light on the parquetry. A faint scent of wax polish hung in the air.
The galleries were filled with ancient Trojan riches. She passed cabinets displaying anthropomorphic vessels, pottery, weapons, loom whorls and crystal buttons. She paused in front of four ceremonial axes, admiring the patterns on the green jade. Then she gravitated back to the main salon. It housed the Great Treasure of Priam.
She studied the trove within the glass display case. A copper cauldron and battered pan were the largest items. There were also a heavy silver vase and plate, gold cups, goblets, dishes and vases. The metal of some was corroded and black, the others lustrous. Added to the hoard were numerous silver talents, bronze axe blades and daggers, a few with ancient dirt still clinging to them.
Her gaze rested on the exquisite “Jewels of Helen”. The gold was not brightly burnished but retained its ancient patina. Four thousand years old. A Trojan noblewoman from the distant past once wore it. Freyja found the jewellery’s condition breathtaking after surviving millennia.
She often fantasised slipping on the arm-rings, donning the thin fillet headband and the neck torque, and threading the hair spirals through her own. There were many earrings from which to choose – twists, studs or tassels. Two multi-strand beaded necklaces also tempted her. Her fondest dream, though, was to wear the larger of the two headdresses. A magnificent shimmering tiara known as the “Great Diadem”. To experience her brow sheathed in a fringe of tiny golden chains, and feel the touch of long side tassels brush her temples and shoulders.
At the sound of footsteps, Freyja swivelled around. Darien Lessing crossed to her, wearing a khaki dust jacket, a satchel slung from his shoulder.
‘Such beauty trapped behind glass,’ he said, lingering on Helen’s Jewels. ‘Which of the two headdresses do you imagine wearing?’
She was startled he’d read her thoughts. ‘Why not both?’
He chuckled, placing his satchel on the table. ‘I presume Unverzagt rang you last night to say we must start packing the priceless items? The situation with the British is deteriorating. The foreign conference delegates have left Berlin in case war breaks out.’
‘It’s all very disturbing,’ she said. ‘Hopefully, cool heads will prevail.’
‘On all sides,’ murmured Lessing. He gestured to the display cabinet. ‘It’s particularly vital Treasure “A” is protected.’
‘Don’t reduce the magnificent exhibits in Priam’s Treasure to a boring letter of the alphabet,’ she said, studying the Great Diadem again. ‘The noblewoman who wore this headdress must have felt beautiful. Perhaps it was a gift from her husband. Certainly, she must have been a princess or queen to afford such riches.’
He studied her, head aslant. ‘Why, you’re a romantic, Fräulein. But I’m pleased you don’t think it was actually Helen of Troy who wore it. It’s dated from one thousand years before Homer’s Troy.’
She was annoyed by his condescension, hoping Herr Dietrich would arrive with the packing materials soon. Every German schoolchild knew about the Trojan gold and Heinrich Schliemann, the tycoon turned archaeologist who found it. He’d been inspired to locate Troy after reading about the lost city as a boy. He’d then amassed a fortune to fulfil his dream. But she also knew, disappointingly, the legendary King Priam never owned the items in the treasure that lay before her.
