Joshua Bryan Thompson Camila

Camila

Joshua Bryan Thompson

I know you have been concerned with my anxiousness towards my birthday approaching. Although, I will no longer be feeling twenty-two (I know you rolled your eyes there, and yes, I had two, ha, ha, I’m so punny). I don’t mind being twenty-three; in fact, in many ways I’ve been twenty-three my whole life. No, the old man is not complaining about his knees again. I actually have a bit of a confusion. When we met in Mr. Moses Geometry class in 10th grade I think, I told you I was from Athens, Greece, and I was born August 3, 2000. I remember this made you feel better about recently moving to the great state of Tennessee yourself. The young Argentinian girl then explained that she had two cousins from Greece about our age. I can’t believe I live in a world where your mother, Hana, fled Tunisia during the Arab Spring and moved to Italy to become a doctor. Then you got married and went to Mexico only to later be offered a job in America. Hana decided to take one final vacation to Argentina where she and Chole discovered you begging for food and smuggled you back into America to adopt you. All of that is to say in the world that I come from you would never have siblings and cousins from not one, not two, but from three continents! Four if you count the Garcia family. To think I live in a world I only dreamed about when I was a boy. Oh, I keep avoiding the subject, choosing to think of any nostalgia over the truth. You always did say I was bad about that, especially when I’m nervous. Well, I’m petrified! Camila, I did the math recently. Not a strong suit of mine, but stick with me. I’ll be turning 593 next week.

No, I’m not exaggerating. I really am a medieval man, technically a late medieval man. At least I was honest about my place of birth, Athens Greece, but in 1430. I’m sure you’re having a big laugh right now! I have no doubt you texted all six of your sisters about this. Something along the lines of: “Girls, my man has gone crazy! Send some help or a malet!” I’ve always found it charming that you call your first cousins sisters also. Such a different world than the one I was born in.

Now I think my offering an explanation would be appreciated, if it’s not too late already. I know I’ve always been the History and English guy, and you’re the braniac when it comes to math and science. That’s always been our special dynamic as we worked through school together. However, I need you to keep track of some names and dates from now on. You can do that for me, my Camila?

During the late stages of the Byzantine Empire, sometimes referred to as the Eastern Roman Empire, there were internal conflicts between the nobles and my father, Emperor Constantine XI Palaiologos. They fought for the remaining land and power of the once grand empire. However, this had been collapsing for about 300 years. Then it was basically reduced to what you call modern day Greece. Shortly after I was born, another civil war commenced. My mother had fled to what you know as Turkey, but at the time it was referred to as the Ottoman Empire. She wanted to escape the ongoing war. You see, my father had struck a deal with the Sultan in exchange for a foothold in Europe. The Ottomans used this foothold to build a monstrous empire stretching outside of the Balkans nearing Vienna at one point. Lousy Polish Cavalry, I’m telling

you! We were this close to conquering the city of Vienna. But I’m getting ahead of myself. After the Turks (that’s usually what we called them) defeated my father’s enemies, all Byzantine subjects were meant to return to the empire. However, given that my mother was little more than a slave from Crimea, and I myself was an illigimate heir to the throne, my mother begged the Sultan to hide her from Constantine’s fury. The Sultan, Murad ll, granted my mother’s safety in his palace under two conditions. My mother had to serve him as one of his wives. It was common practice back then that Sultans could have hundreds of wives all living in the palace. The other condition was I was to be reconstructed into a Janersary Corp Fighter, an elite addition of the Ottoman Military, when I came of age, at six years old.

Fast forward to the year 1453. I had recently been granted the title Officer by Mehmed II, Murad’s son who was the new Sultan. Despite Muhammed having the title of Sultan, he was not respected by the elder council. They thought he was too young to rule. Afterall, he was only twenty-one at the time. Even younger than me. However, Mehmed had a plan. I wouldn’t expect a Roman Cathlioc girl like yourself to know what I’m going to explain next, but in the Quran, the Prophet Muhammed spoke of a prophecy about the conquest of the city of Constantinople. This is the capital of both the Byzantine Empire and the Christian world at the time. Here is the exact scripture, “One day Constantinople will be conquered. Great is the commander who will conquer it.” With that in mind, it is no surprise that Muhammad approached the other officers and commands of the corps to prepare for the conquest of Constantinople. In summary, after fifty-five days on May 29, 1453, my father Constantine XI Palaiologos was slain in battle. Constantinople fell to its knees instantly. Mehmed II declared victory. The Byzantine Empire was dead.

Under Ottoman Law, soldiers were allowed to raid a conquered city for three days and take any treasure they desired as payment. During that time, I and a few of the higher ranking commanders raided Hagia Sophia. That is technically a mosque today, but at the time, it was the most important church in the Christian world. There were gold and silver coins with my father’s face printed on them, excessively large silver candlesticks, fine china, Persian rugs, and various religious paintings and statues commissioned from the early Renaissance artisans. I’m just trying to give you an idea of what this palace of the Christian world looked like. We had been given orders directly from Mehmed himself to “take whatever treasure your heart desires, but any secrets you find of the Christian world belong to me.” On our second day of raiding, behind a crumbled, poorly lit corridor, lie a room full of scrolls. The majority of which were official decrees from my father, or the Orthodox Church itself. The commanders were rapidly losing interest and wished to return to raiding the church, but I insisted on staying. There just had to be a reason for this room existing. Why hide this when nothing here is worth stealing? Or so I thought.

On my fourth hour, I came across a small golden box which was hidden in a crack at the back wall. I didn’t notice it until the sun was in my eyes, which made me squint. I pulled out the box with great enthusiasm. My mind raced with the possibilities. It was tantalizing for me. There was a possibility that the golden box was the Ark of the Covenant. It was not! When I opened the box, I did not uncover a broken tablet. Instead, I found a scroll with coordinates. I showed the scroll to the commanders, and they pulled an old map from the library. It showed that the coordinates led to the middle of the Mediterranean Sea. We reported our findings to Mehmed II, and with his permission, we were granted an expedition.

Two weeks after the battle, the commanders and I sailed to the coordinates to discover a small uncharted island. This was not uncommon back then, but what was peculiar was that this island was hidden from every other conceivable map. This piqued our interest further. We docked, and with guns and swords in our hands, we traveled through the heavily dense jungle-like terrain. We expected a battle from the last of the Byzantine Army. What we found was a pyramid on top of the highest hill in a clearing in the center of the island. This was like no pyramid I had ever seen before. Do you remember the family trip to Mexico last year? You said I was like a kid in a candy store when we were exploring the ancient native museums. Remember how we decided to take a family portrait on top of the Pyramid of the Sun? Chole said we needed to offer a sacrifice to enter, and that I would do nicely. That is exactly what the pyramid on the island looked like.

We entered the mysterious pyramid. Edged all across the walls were paintings of various stories from the Bible. We decided to follow the path of the stories. The stories appeared in order of events depicted in the Bible. As we neared the end of the Revelation section, you know, the end of the world, there were seven golden trumpets and four horsemen of the apocalypse. We came across an iron locked door with the Byzantine flag etched into the door. The door was located under the final horsemen, Death. With enough gun powder, the door blew clean off its hinges to the other side of the room. To our amazement, on the other side of the door was an oasis filled with tropical trees, bushes, an impossibly high waterfall that filled a deep pool in the center of the room. As we approached the water, I spotted a stone mound at the edge. Inscribed on the stone was a quote from the Bible: “Whoever drinks the water that I shall give him will never thirst. But the water that I shall give him will become in him a fountain of water springing up into everlasting life.” Our hearts raced as we pondered if we had in fact come across the elusive Fountain of Youth.

Before a decision could be made, yelling flooded into the main chamber. “Stop thieves or be killed in the name of the Lord Almighty!’’

We drew our weapons; then we pressed head first into battle. Gun powder, lead, and blood flew into the air as we battled the pyramid guards. I now know that these guards were part of the infamous Knights of Templar. The battle was not long, only a minute or two before the last guard fell dead. As I looked around to celebrate our victory, I realized the Knights’ standoff was not in vain. I was the sole survivor of the battle. I returned to the oasis and cried out in pain, falling to my knees expecting to die from my wounds. I am unsure of what possessed me to look up at the waterfall, but as I laid my eyes on it, I remembered the words from the stone: “Whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him will never thirst. But the water that I shall give him will become in him a fountain of water springing up into everlasting life.”

Desperate to live, I dragged my mangled bloody body to the edge of the water and dunked my head in the pool, swallowing as much water as I could before coming up for air and passing out on the edge. When I woke up five or six hours later, I wasn’t just alive, I was more vigorous than I had ever been. My wounds had miraculously healed, and I felt the strength of a hundred men. I stood up, taking one final look at the oasis. For I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, I had discovered the Fountain of Youth. And that is why my beloved Camila, I’m preparing to celebrate my 593rd birthday.

Forever yours, Xaiver Constantine