The Stolen Crown

By Eugene Hudson

Jonathan Cooke and his wife Olivia both work for the antiquities division of Yale. Jonathan is an expert on ancient languages and Olivia works with ancient artifacts. Their expertise has now seen them recruited to conduct a study of Ethiopian artifacts at the British National Museum in London.

The relics have been in the museum ever since they were seized after the Ethiopian despot Tewodros II was deposed by the British in 1868, yet their very presence is regarded as a dishonor for many Ethiopians who now demand they be returned.

On arrival in London, Jonathan and Olivia are forced to abandon their first visit to the museum due to the protests outside and when they do arrive the following day, with curator Wilfred Stevens, it is to discover that the most valuable exhibit, a solid gold crown known as the crown of an Ethiopian King, has been stolen.

Now the race is on to find the thief and return the artefact to its pride of place.

Before long a suspect is revealed in the form of Ethiopian security guard Tesfaye Ghebreyesus, but Jonathan and Olivia aren’t so sure it was him and together they set out to prove his innocence and find the true culprit.

But will their investigations uncover the real villain? Can they absolve Tesfaye of blame? And how will Wilfred Stevens react when his world is about to come crashing down?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eugene Hudson
• Release date: Feb 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005833817

Eugene Hudson

Eugene Hudson was born and raised in Sandusky, Ohio. After earning two Bachelor degrees in Political Science and Information Technology from Bowling Green State University he went to work in the tech and finance world. The consummate professional, Eugene has dedicated his life to helping others while secretly pining for the opportunity to sneak away on a grand adventure based on a whim.Influenced by the literary worlds of Clive Cussler and the infamous Horatio Hornblower, Eugene does what he can to create similar journeys his readers can immerse themselves in. He has a natural love for writing that he continues to cultivate and it is his unique perspective that allows these new worlds to blossom into literature gold.Eugene enjoys those quiet hours with his wife and son but has a wild streak as well. He is fond of the thrill of amusement parks, traveling to as many places as he can, and spending time on the shore of Lake Erie.The one thing he wishes his readers to walk away with is having the satisfaction of going on an epic journey with him as they immerse themselves in his world.You follow Eugene on Facebook at www.facebook.com/EugeneHudsonAuthor or on Instagram at www.instagram.com/eugenehudsonauthorOr check out his books and signup for his newsletter at www.EugeneHudson.com

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Prologue

April 13th, 1868

Magdala, Ethiopia

How did it come to this? Tewodros II, Emperor of Ethiopia, asked Abel, his valet and confidant. They used to be our allies and now, look at how things came to be between us and the British.

Tewodros II, also known by his Anglicized name, Theodore, did not feel much like a regent anymore. In fact, he was immersed in dismay at the manner in which most people of his beloved country had turned on him and much of his amity with the British Empire had soured. Once a friend of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, Tewodros now faced her empire’s wrath because of one act of desperation.

I understand, my lord, Abel replied solemnly, but many of your people know that your actions were simply coursed to force an outcome for Abyssinia. It was not out of malice, my lord. Abel tried to console his king, but he too, knew why the British and Indian belligerents were on their way to Magdala. He dared not voice it, of course.

The citizens of Ethiopia had revolted against their emperor by late 1862 already; discontent was thriving throughout most of the land. Tewodros was engaged in continuous military campaigns against a myriad of rebellious forces and local militia. Abyssinia suffered a threat from the looming encroachment of Islam from Ottoman Turks and Egyptians that constantly invaded Ethiopia, and he soon found his defenses inadequate against their repeated attempts.

No, it was not out of malice, but I suppose in war, there are no guarantees when you act out of urgency, the king sighed at the head of the massive oak table in a private chamber within his stronghold. His fingers grazed the items that had formerly brought him such joy, gifts from other monarchs and leaders, when they still considered him a friend.

Outside, the night air was hot, but what stifled his breathing was not the arid temperatures. His apprehension came from the impending doom that rode on the night breeze, billowing into his compound to deliver his sentence. Abel left the room to attend to his other duties, leaving the emperor in solitude with his thoughts.

Holed up in his fortress in Magdala, he felt by no means safer from the coming onslaught of the British expedition sent to dissolve his power. His reminiscence tormented him as he sat by the oak table, waiting for the inevitable and lamenting what was. Running his fingers down his mustache with slow, thoughtful strokes, Tewodros gave great thought to his next move, but genuinely found only the morose in his contemplation.

Not too long ago, he recalled writing Queen Victoria that their two great Christian Empires should be natural allies in the region. The queen had not so much as recoiled at the statement and even gifted the Abyssinian ruler a pistol that he had admired while visiting, so it was with much bewilderment that Tewodros learned that the British Empire ultimately chose to side with Ethiopia’s enemy—Egypt.

After countless skirmishes and battles against the steadily invading Islamic forces, Tewodros sought out aid from Britain. He had lodged a request for aid in providing Ethiopia with much needed modern firearms which his empire lacked, but to his dismay, Britain refused.

They gave me no choice, he whispered, his head hanging. Long locks of hair draped over his shoulders, covering his fine white garment. They turned on me when I needed them. How else could I have forced their hand?

Aptly, his subliminal toils caused his brow to warm and perspire under the thin golden band around his head that proclaimed him emperor. He found it ironic and disturbing, but he had to confront his erroneous efforts in forcing the hand of the British Empire by seizing British diplomats and missionaries as hostages. Naturally, Britain did not appreciate their people being used as bargaining chips, but instead, it had only exacerbated matters.

Tewodros had a sliver of solace: From the beginning, Britain had made it clear that they did not wish to subjugate Abyssinia, but to merely depose Tewodros II and release his British captives.

They don’t wish to kill me. He shook his head, his disappointment and fury mounting from the distress of his anxiety. Alone in the lavish chamber, Tewodros raised his voice in frustration. But what is worse than death would be to be a shamed emperor, betrayed by his allies in favor of his enemy!

His eyes welled with tears of ruin and defeat as he mumbled to himself, feeling despair grip his heart. Inside him, he knew that most of Ethiopia’s people welcomed the British intervention and deposition of Tewodros II, and he could not bear the betrayal he felt. Most of his army had somehow dwindled in number, dissipating upon the imminent arrival of the British expedition. In fact, he had barely one thousand troops left to defend him against tens of thousands of Indian and British battalions preparing to storm his stronghold and most probably remove him from power in the worst way he could imagine.

Never trust the influence of Egypt on these people, he wept hopelessly, for they surely come to kill me. Not only do they desire to remove my crown, but I am certain they wish to remove my very head! Bastards!

The anger at this deceit and hostility coursed through Tewodros as he considered the decisive turn of his fate, and he slammed his fist down on the large oak table, sending a priceless golden crown clattering to the floor.

Ha! he laughed maniacally at the ironic incident, tears obscuring his vision as he contemplated the sign that symbolized his coming end. How cruel! How cruel you are, my God!

Furious at the tip of his doom, Tewodros rose up from his seat, picked up the fallen crown of Egyptian gold, and hurled it once more hard against the wall. He laughed in empty defeat, but his laughter and the sound of the clanging crown was suddenly drowned by the din of gunshots coming from outside.

They are here, he said plainly, his mind and heart numb from the inevitable come to fruition. Let me give them a proper welcome, for they will not have the privilege. I shall take the privilege from them so that they will remember their treachery.

Pulling the once valued pistol from his pocket, Tewodros listened to the ruckus outside his door, the sound growing ever louder as his enemies advanced. Screams and the thunderous clap of gunfire echoed through his breached fortress as the dejected emperor thrust the pistol to his temple. As he counted the footsteps rushing up the stairs right outside his door, the Ethiopian emperor smiled in sorrow and spite as he pulled the trigger.

Just as his limp body hit the floor, British troops kicked down the chamber door and stormed inside. Shocked, they stood for a moment. Before them, the monarch lay dead on the floor, his skull shattered by a fresh gunshot wound that birthed a crimson halo around his head.

He’s gone, one British soldier gasped.

His commander entered the room and noticed the discarded crown, cast aside moments before by Tewodros. He scoffed at the sight and remarked sarcastically, Well—at least we’ll have something to remember him by.

1

Present Day

Hartford, Connecticut

It drizzled over the quaint but above-average area of West Hill in West Hartford. The neighborhood was quiet, apart from the occasional car whooshing by, splashing up the dormant puddles of the day. The sidewalks slept without the regular dog walkers and joggers, safely inside as the night grew colder. Yellow glows danced inside the windows of houses along the flanks of Brunswick Avenue, most of them with grand history and a lot of leisure value.

Of course, the area was perfect for the more esteemed citizen, but still modest enough for the average professional to live there. Under the waning dusk light, the double story residence of the Cookes stood sentinel, hiding slightly behind a huge beech tree that marked their yard. Inside, Johnathan and Olivia Cooke discussed a new development.

Both Jonathan and his wife worked at Yale University. He specialized in ancient languages under the Department