They rode to the gates, up to the great city.

They rode to the great city from the land of death.

“We are men of God, men from the Carpathians.

We are monks and holy men, but we bring only evil news.

We bring news of a plague to the great city.

Serving our master, we come weeping for his death.“

They rode up to the gates and the city wept with them

When they came in.

“‘Ye gods, how peculiar and frightening,’ Turgut said. ‘Are all your native songs like this, madam?’

“‘Yes, most of them,’ Helen said, laughing. I realized that in my excitement I’d actually forgotten for two minutes that she was sitting next to me. With difficulty I forced myself not to reach a hand out to grasp hers, not to stare at her smile or the wisp of dark hair against her cheek.

“‘And our dragon at the top, hidden among trees-there must be a connection.’

“‘I wish I could have seen it.’ Turgut sighed. Then he slapped the edge of the brass table so suddenly that all our cups rattled. His wife put a gentle hand on his arm, and he patted it reassuringly. ‘No-look-the plague!’ He turned to Selim and they exchanged a rapid fire of Turkish.

“‘What?’ Helen’s eyes were narrow with concentration. ‘The plague in the song?’

“‘Yes, my dear.’ Turgut combed his hair back with his hand. ‘Besides the letter, we found one other fact about Istanbul in this exact period-something my friend Aksoy already knew, actually. In the late summer of 1477, in the hottest weather, there was what our historians call a Little Plague. It took many lives in the old Pera quarter of the city-what we call Galata, now. The bodies were impaled through the heart before they were burned. This is rather unusual, he says, because normally the bodies of the unlucky ones were simply burned outside the city gates to prevent further infection. But it was a short plague and did not take so many people.’

“‘You think these monks, if they were the same ones, brought plague to the city?’

“‘Of course, we do not know,’ Turgut admitted. ‘But if your song describes the same group of monks -’

“‘I have been thinking of something.’ Helen set her cup down. ‘I cannot remember, Paul, if I told you about this, but Vlad Dracula was one of the first military strategists in history to use-how do you say?-illnesses in war.’

“‘Germ warfare,’ I supplied. ‘Hugh James told me.’

“‘Yes.’ She tucked her feet under her. ‘During the sultan’s invasions of Wallachia, Dracula liked to send people who were sick with plague or smallpox into the Ottoman camps disguised as Turks. They would infect as many people as possible before dying there.’

“If it hadn’t been so gruesome, I would have smiled. The Wallachian prince was formidably creative as well as destructive, an enemy clever in the extreme. A second later I realized that I’d just thought of him in present tense.

“‘I see.’ Turgut nodded. ‘You mean that perhaps this group of monks, if they were indeed the same monks, brought the plague with them from Wallachia.’

“‘It does not explain one thing, however.’ Helen frowned. ‘If some of them were sick with the plague, why did the abbot of Saint Irine let them stay there?’

“‘Madam, that is true,’ Turgut admitted. ‘Although if it was not the plague, but another kind of contamination-but there is no way to know.’ We sat frustrated, contemplating this.

“‘Many Orthodox monks came through Constantinople on pilgrimage even after the conquest,’ Helen said finally. ‘Maybe this was simply a group of pilgrims.’

“‘But they were looking for something they apparently didn’t find on their pilgrimage, at least in Constantinople,’ I pointed out. ‘And Brother Kiril says they are going to go into Bulgaria disguised as pilgrims, as if they weren’t actually pilgrims-at least, that’s what he seems to be saying.’

“Turgut scratched his head. ‘Mr. Aksoy has thought about this,’ he said. ‘He explains to me that most of the great Christian relics in the churches of Constantinople were destroyed or stolen during the invasion-icons, crosses, the bones of saints. Of course, there weren’t so many treasures here in 1453 as there had been when Byzantium was a great power, because the most beautiful ancient things were stolen by the Latin Crusade of 1204-you no doubt know about this-and taken back to Rome and Venice and other cities in the West.’ Turgut spread his hands before him in a gesture of deprecation. ‘My father told me about the wonderful horses on the Basilica of San Marco in Venice, stolen from Byzantium by crusaders. The Christian invaders were just as bad as the Ottoman ones, you see. In any case, my fellows, during the invasion of 1453 some of the church treasures were hidden, and some were even taken out of the city before Sultan Mehmed’s siege and concealed in monasteries outside the walls, or carried in secret to other lands. If our monks were pilgrims, perhaps they came to the city in the hope of visiting a holy object and then found it missing. Perhaps what the abbot of the second monastery told them was the story of a great icon that had been taken safely to Bulgaria. But we have no method of knowing, from this letter.’

“‘I see now why you want us to go to Bulgaria.’ I resisted again the urge to take Helen’s hand. ‘Although I can’t imagine how we’d find out more about this story when we got there, let alone how we’d get in. And are you certain there is no other place we should search in Istanbul?’

“Turgut shook his head somberly and picked up his neglected coffee cup. ‘I have used every channel I could think of, including some-I am sorry to say-that I cannot tell you about. Mr. Aksoy has looked everywhere, in his own books, in his friends’ libraries, in the university archives. I have talked with every historian I could find, including one who studies the graveyards of Istanbul -you have seen our beautiful graveyards. We cannot find any mention of an unusual burial of a foreigner here in that period. Mayhap we have missed something, but I do not know where else to look in a quick time.’ He gazed earnestly at us. ‘I know it would be very difficult for you to go to Bulgaria. I would do it myself, except that it would be even more difficult for me, my friends. As a Turk, I could not even attend one of their academic conferences. No one hates the descendants of the Ottoman Empire the way the Bulgarians do.’

“‘Oh, the Romanians try their very best,’ Helen assured him, but her words were tempered by a smile that made him chuckle in return.

“‘But-my God.’ I sat back against the cushions of the divan, feeling awash in one of those waves of unreality that had been breaking over me with increasing frequency. ‘I don’t see how we can do this.’

“Turgut leaned forward and set before me the English translation of the monk’s letter. ‘He did not know either.’

“‘Who?’ I groaned.

“‘Brother Kiril. Listen, my friend, when did Rossi disappear?’

“‘More than two weeks ago,’ I admitted.

“‘You do not have any time to lose. We know Dracula is not in his grave in Snagov. We think he was not buried in Istanbul. But’-he tapped the paper-‘here is one piece of evidence. Of what, we do not know, but in 1477 someone from Snagov Monastery went to Bulgaria -or tried to. It is worth learning about. If you find nothing, you have tried your best. Then you can go home and mourn your teacher with a clear heart, and we, your friends, will honor forever your valor. But if you do not try, you will always wonder and grieve without relief.’

“He picked up the translation again and ran a finger over it, then read aloud, ‘”It is most dangerous now for us to linger even a day and we shall be safer even in our progress through the infidel lands than we are here.“ Here, my friend. Put this in your bag. This copy is for you, the English one. With it here is a copy in the Slavonic, which Mr. Aksoy’s monastic friend has written out.’