Free Crusader Gold by David Gibbins

like a lamp.
    Costas let out a low whistle. “That’s some candlestick.”
    “The menorah.” O’Connor spoke with barely suppressed excitement. “The most revered symbol of Judaism, placed immediately in front of the sanctuary in the Temple. The menorah represents the light of God, and harks back to the ancient symbol of the seven-branched Tree of Life. The Temple menorah was one of the most sacred treasures of the Jewish people, second only to the Ark of the Covenant.”
    “How old was it?” Costas asked.
    “There are those who believe the Temple menorah was the Tabernacle menorah itself, divinely ordained when God instructed Moses on the Mount,” O’Connor said. “Rabbinic tradition has it that God showed Moses the menorah drawn in fire and that divine light was radiated in pure gold. The earliest mention of the menorah is in the Pentateuch, in the Jewish Old Testament. In the Book of Exodus God instructs the Israelites on the form of their wilderness sanctuary, their Tabernacle, the basis for the Holy of Holies in the Temple built by King Solomon in Jerusalem a thousand years before the Romans arrived.” He closed his eyes and recited from memory.
    “And thou shalt make a candlestick of pure gold…. And there shall be six branches going out of the sides thereof; three branches of the candlestick out of the one side thereof, and three branches of the candlestick out of the other side thereof…. And thou shalt make the lamps thereof, seven; and they shall light the lamps thereof, to give light over against it. Of a talent of pure gold shall it be made.”
    “A talent.” Costas stroked his chin thoughtfully. “How much was that?”
    “The biblical talent was about thirty-four kilograms, seventy-five pounds,”
    O’Connor replied. “But don’t take it at face value. A talent was the biggest unit of weight in common use and was probably used in the Old Testament figuratively, to represent the largest weight that people could readily quantify.”
    “It took at least ten Roman soldiers to heave the menorah, five on either side.”
    Costas was peering at the image on the screen. “The base looks at least a metre across, and I’m assuming that was gold too. If the arch was carved only a decade after the triumph, then many people in Rome would have seen the original, so the sculpture’s probably not an exaggeration. With the base, my guess is we’re looking at three hundred, maybe three hundred and fifty pounds of gold, four or five talents at least. That’s millions of dollars at today’s bullion rates.”
    “It’s priceless.” O’Connor said tersely. “A symbol of nationhood, of a whole people. Nobody would ever value the menorah solely in monetary terms.”
    “But that’s surely the point.” Jeremy turned and looked at O’Connor, his voice nervous but persistent. “The Vikings couldn’t care less about symbols of nationhood. Costas is right to see it in cash terms. In the Viking homeland, silver was the main bullion, and gold was at a huge premium. You hardly ever find it in Viking hoards. Three hundred pounds of gold would have assured Harald Hardrada’s place as the most powerful man in all of Scandinavia. So given the chance for a quick loot, he and his companions opted for the largest gold object they could lay their hands on. Substitute Vikings for Romans carrying the menorah and you’ve got a snapshot from one stormy night on the Golden Horn almost a thousand years later.”
    Jack nodded as Jeremy spoke, his respect for the younger man’s knowledge increasing. “An extraordinary image. But before we get to the Vikings, let’s work out how on earth the menorah found its way to Constantinople.”
    Half an hour later Jack stood with Maria and Jeremy in front of a building the size of an aircraft hangar, a stone’s throw from the edge of the estuary.
    O’Connor had asked for a break to search the IMU database for some key references, and Jack had taken the opportunity to give the