They circled past the Lavra’s tallest structure. A blue-and-white tower speared three hundred feet into the sky. Its conch-shaped golden belfry shone brightly in the morning light. Under it lay one of those sacred cave springs, said to have been summoned forth by Saint Sergius himself.
But no one will be sipping from those holy waters today.
Currently, the belltower’s entrance was cordoned off, guarded by a cadre of Russian soldiers with assault rifles. So, either an excavation was underway, or one was about to be started.
Anna led them past the tower and over to a tree-lined street, paved in bricks. The crowd of tourists dwindled around them. This corner of the Lavra was devoted to a theological academy. Three hundred monks still worked and lived here, maintaining the Lavra as a working monastery. Such academic pursuits drew little interest from the public.
Away from the crowds, Anna halted her act as a guide. There remained only a few people idling around this section’s meditative gardens. She led their group toward the towering white walls that surrounded the Lavra.
The Ringing Tower rose directly ahead of them.
Gray searched, but he spotted no military presence. Clearly Sychkin had not solved the riddle drawn in the old Greek text.
But will we fare any better once we’re inside?
Gray crossed with the others, passing by a small fire station to reach the tower’s entrance. His left ankle throbbed in his boot. He had swallowed several tablets of ibuprofen, but the long walk challenged the meds’ effectiveness.
To distract himself, Gray inspected the tower’s four white tiers, all rising to a green-tiled belfry, some sixty feet above. Its elegant façade, decorated with arches and pilasters, was pierced by arrow slits, a reminder of the era when the Lavra needed such fortifications. Still, when this tower’s bell would ring out during the eighteenth century, it was not to warn against intruders, but to mark the beginning and end of classes held at the Trinity Seminary, a theological school that continued to this day.
“We can enter through here,” Anna said.
She drew everyone toward stone steps that led up to an archway. The tower’s stout door stood open, but a small souvenir shop next to it was shuttered, a testament to the lack of interest in this remote corner of the Lavra.
They all crossed through the archway and into a cavernous entry hall. The white plaster walls and vault of the roof were decorated witha few faded frescoes of haloed figures. A single wall sconce cast a sad, bluish hue over the space.
“Looks like we have the tower to ourselves,” Bailey noted, staring around the deserted space.
Jason frowned. “Just as well. We have no clue where to even begin looking for a lost library.”
Bishop Yelagin inspected an alcove to the right, where a stone staircase spiraled upward. A rope closed off access to the heights.
“I don’t hear any footsteps or see any lights up there.” Yelagin brushed cobwebs from the velvet rope with his silver staff. “Definitely looks undisturbed.”
Gray stepped to the opposite side, to another alcove, only this one’s staircase led down. “If there’s a library here, one that’s remained undiscovered after so many centuries, it’s likely under us.”
He unhooked the rope barrier, careful not to disturb the dust, lest it give away that they had passed this way.
Monk headed down first, withdrawing a flashlight from his pack. “Nothing creepy about exploring a tower dungeon.”
Jason followed next, trailed by Anna, Yelagin, and Bailey.
Gray took up the rear, resecuring the rope behind him as he set off down the winding staircase. He also deployed his own flashlight. Underfoot, the steps had been worn smooth, slightly depressed in the center, eroded by centuries of sandals traversing up and down. The walls were initially made of brick, part of the tower’s foundations, but they eventually turned to raw limestone.
“How far down does this go?” Monk asked, his disembodied voice echoing up from the turns below.
“Each tower is different,” Yelagin answered him. “This one had a wine cellar beneath it, where the monks stored hundreds of casks, enough to serve the whole compound.”
“That may be why it’s so deep.” Anna ducked her head from the low roof. “Summers can be stifling, and winters bitter. But underground, an even temperature would protect the wine.”
“And maybebooks, too,” Bailey astutely added.
Gray glanced up the steps. He pictured the religious school that was still operating as it had been during the time of Ivan the Terrible.Had the tsar picked this site due to its proximity to that place of learning?He remembered how Ivan had employed scores of scholars to translate the old books. If he ever wished to reopen his library, having it located here, steps from a school of higher learning, would make sense.
“Finally,” Monk called back, clearly having reached the bottom.
They all wound down to him, spilling into a vaulted space carved out of the limestone. Someone had tiled the floor long ago, but it was cracked and aged, pocked with missing sections, showing raw rock. Niches had been carved into the walls, possibly to secure the most precious casks of wine.
Jason slowly circled in place. “I wonder if this could’ve been one of the caves that the monks had used during the Lavra’s founding.”
