by Jay Penner
“Who is your father?”
“He was a local chief, sir.”
“You do not look entirely Persian.”
“My father spent time with the Greeks, sir.”
“Which of your parents is Greek?”
“Mother, sir.”
“Are your parents alive?”
She hesitated. “No, sir.”
I had become tired of questioning her and let her be. If she did not want to talk, I cared little to force her. Instead, I enjoyed her feminine presence—to watch her lovely eyes, her beautiful smile or irritation, her soft voice, and everything that was contrary to the rough band of boorish soldiers.
The Governor had entrusted me with her, and she had helped me several times in this journey as we navigated safe routes. I would tolerate her for now.
“How did you learn so many languages, Eurydice?”
“We moved around when I was a child. I had the ability to learn the local tongues very quickly, sir.”
I watched her green eyes as they looked downwards to her feet as we sat to eat. I had asked her to come sit with me while the others created a perimeter.
I heard some sniggering but let them be.
“Were you a slave?”
She seemed taken aback by the question.
She was. Who is this woman?
She chewed slowly on the lamb chunks before answering.
“I was, sir.”
“Where?”
This time she did not answer. I shifted my position—she seemed nervous, but I sat next to her. I had to know who this woman was and if she posed a threat. I placed a finger below her chin and raised her face towards me. In those eyes I saw anger and her face reddened, but she said nothing.
“Where?” I said, this time with a harder voice.
She looked at me and finally answered in a measured voice, “Syria. Phoenicia. Nabataea. Egypt. Cappadocia. I was rescued by Governor Eumenes.”
My questions after that elicited very little response, and she finally said, “No more, sir.”
We had spent several nights with various local tribesmen, listening to their stories and legends, much to the frustration and irritation of my companions. They did not understand why, and I told them that often messengers hid secret codes and that tribesmen warned in songs—only fools would believe that story, but they knew not to question their commander.
So far, I had no luck. Barely any story I heard was of interest or matched to the scrolls—and those that we heard, fables from Babylon and elsewhere—were too fantastical or vague to help in the search for the second Atlantis or the original.
On this day, we sat around a fire, entertained by the local tribe. The men’s hawkish eyes, beak nose, and wide mouths made me wonder if they were brothers, or if their whole tribe married among siblings—but I refrained from asking such questions.
The chief was a tall, leathery old man on whom hair grew from every visible surface, like grass on fertile river banks. He regaled us with stories and bawdy poems, some in mangled Greek, and some in a local dialect which Eurydice translated with embarrassed discomfort.
I goaded him to tell me ancient songs of his ancestors, and that those were what I found most enjoyable. A few songs were interesting, but nothing useful, but one, which he said came from his great ancestors from the sea, was next.
His deep voice merged with the crackling of the fire as he sang a folktale. He stood and swung his arms up and down, letting his white robes flow in the gentle night wind. Eurydice translated the song to me.
O’ beautiful moon of the water,
You were the pride of the Seas,
You were the eye of the gods,
Yet your men were blind to their deeds,
What cruelty, what ambition,
Thy hubris at divine displeasure,
Even when the earth shook, and the birds cried,
Even as the rocks burned, and the trees died
Yet your men they were blind to their deeds,
And your mighty carved into the rocks,
A new lord’s abode, in the knife’s tip,
For their gold, their bronze, and their sacred silver,
But god is the master, god is the giver,
Your land is His, not for the king to keep,
You displease the gods, your innocents weep,
Then fiery anger rose from the sea,
Smote your homes,
Burned your bones,
Once a moon for the birds above,
Now a blind eye, my beautiful love
We were mesmerized by the voice and the deep longing in it, as if in a distant past the man had experienced whatever he sang, in another life. For a few moments there was silence and just the sounds of flames and the smells of warm, smoke infused wind from the burned wood.
When Eurydice translated the poem to me, it felt as if the finger of the gods had brushed my back—my hair stood up and a chill coursed through my veins. I remembered those words from the papyrus as clear as day.
…towards the far desert, where a knife’s tip awaits, seven days from the sea on burning sands and towering canyons. Three days north from the tip, within golden walls and red rocks, in there they found a magnificent mountain, and a hollow within, where they carved the last city of a great empire
And the last line from the older story.
now but lifeless rock and ash, like a blind eye as it looked to the heavens in despair.
I turned to the chief, “What a beautiful song! Your voice is a gift of the heavens.”
He accepted the compliment graciously, and his men nodded approvingly.
“This poem, is it about an island? You will pardon my ignorance of the background.”
The old man was enthusiastic to answer the questions. “It is. It is about a beautiful island, shaped like the moon, in the deep blue waters of the Aegean. And then the legends say the gods burned it, and all that was left was like a blind eye, whatever that means.”
“Does this island really exist?”
“I do not know. We are land dwellers, captain. But our people say that long ago, there were men from the far seas, and that this song is a story of their ancestors.”
“What is the Knife’s tip?” I asked.
The man adjusted the wood, and the embers cracked and reignited the fire, sending small sparks to our faces.
“The Knife’s tip?”
“Yes, your song mentioned a Knife’s tip—or that was what my translator called it,” I said, glancing at Eurydice.
“Ah, yes, she translated it correctly! The knife’s tip is the end of something long and strong, like my penis!”
And he laughed uproariously at this very clever ending, and the men joined. I laughed along. Eurydice shook her head.
“Do you know where this Knife’s tip is, so I can find some treasure for myself?” I said, flippantly.
The old man turned serious again.
“Well, our people around these regions, from Syria to Nabataea to Libya, call the edges of sharp mountain ranges as Knife’s tips. There is one nearby, but there is one much further North, there are more in Egypt, and there—”
“But are they all within days of walk from the Sea?”
He looked surprised at the question, as it was oddly specific. “You take the poem too seriously, commander,” he said, laughing, “yes, the one to the south of here is within days of walk from the sea, but then so is the one far north, and two in Libya.”
I nodded.
“I just enjoy these stories, they keep my spirit happy in all this darkness,” I said.
“Well, if you must waste your time and look for a mythical king’s mythical treasure, then the nearest one is a few days walk from Sharuhen near Gaza,” he said.
“You may not find that King’s house,” yelled another man, and then he dramatically looked at his companions and said loudly, “but you may find his penis there,” pointing to the old man. They cackled again.
“Oh, make sure you have no wives following you,”
another man said, eyeing Eurydice, “she may not appreciate you being penetrated by another man!”
I got up, looked behind and patted my bottom frantically, much to their roaring laughter.
After the mirth died and we exchanged parting pleasantries, I sat down to contemplate what I had heard. I had no time or manpower to scour the continents. I decided at that time that the prudent course of action was to complete the mission at hand and begin the search in the Aegean.
But how? I did not know yet. The seas were vast.
The next morning, we continued southward, but not before I made the tribal leader explain to me again the locations of three different Knife’s tips—including one that was in visual distance, a hazy outline far away from where we were, tantalizingly close but agonizingly far.
I watched as the man blinked his unfocused eyes. Blood seeped from a deep gash in his throat into the dry cracks in the ground.
One of my soldiers.
Appointed by Governor Eumenes himself to guard me on this mission, now about to come to an ignominious end.
Eurydice stood behind his head.
Her face was flushed red.
Her nostrils flared, and her chest heaved.
Her hair was disheveled, and her attire was torn in two places.
A prominent bite was clear on her neck.
She held her blood soaked serrated dagger in a white knuckled grip.
“Execute this bitch!” shouted one of the dying man’s friends, and he lunged at Eurydice and backhanded her viciously. She staggered and fell but made not a sound—I ordered my men to restrain him.
“You should call a court,” he again, and some others nodded—although unsurely.
I put on my helmet and ordered everyone to stand back. I then walked to Eurydice who still lay on the ground. Her sand matted hair hid her face.
“Stand up,” I said, and then when she did not move, I bent forward, gripped her under her arm and pulled her to her feet.
I then addressed the soldiers.
“There will be no court—”
“She murdered one of our men! Who does she think she is?” The man’s friend shouted again, his face red with anger.
“Keep your mouth shut or I will have you whipped for insubordination,” I warned him. That silenced him and the others. The gurgling sounds as air escaped the dying man’s severed throat was distracting. His hands were beginning to twitch.
“He was not her master and had no rights over her. Governor Eumenes assigned her to support me in this mission just as you were. You have seen her skills, and her conduct has always been honorable, even if sometimes insubordinate—” I said, as I turned to her.
She stood bowed. I continued, “I see no reason to call court. He did not win her as a spoil of war, nor buy her in trade, or pay for her services. He tried to rape her and that is as plain to see as the afternoon sun on this desert. The gods willed that she defends herself, and she did. Does any man here believe otherwise?” I said, and no one answered.
I then pulled out my kopis and stabbed the dying man to end his life. As a respect to service rendered until now, we stood around him with our heads bowed and prayed to the gods.
Eurydice looked away and spat on the ground. I ignored the disrespect.
“Go back to your tent and rest, Eurydice,” I said, and then spent time with the rest of the men explaining my decision and calming inflamed tempers.
Then I headed to Eurydice’s tent. When I entered, she scrambled back to her feet. She looked at me with great sadness—her eyes were wet, but there was no anger in them. I moved forward and gripped both her arms gently, and she began to weep. Her body shook, and I stood paralyzed unsure how to react. It had been a very long time since I held a crying woman. For a fleeting moment I wondered if this is how my wife would face me once I returned home.
I let her be until she finally pulled back and wiped her face.
“We will see this through together,” I said, quietly.
We rode hard. To our left, the dusty Nabatean desert stretched as far as the eye could see; Egypt, our next stop, was ahead. Eurydice had elevated herself—she had gained the group’s respect, her opinions showed intelligence, and her courage gained our admiration. I began to understand why the Governor demanded she go with me—he had seen in her a fine mind and a skilled operative. Besides, her language skills were invaluable.
We stopped only occasionally to rest, and with a little sleep each night, we arrived near the Great River. The signs of a major siege and battle were all around us—deserted roads, checkpoints, and fearful eyes of children and their parents.
At dawn on the fourth day after we entered Egyptian borders, we joined the final stretch to the South to a route to take us to Perdiccas, who, we were told, was near the apex of the tributaries of the Great River. The landscape had changed from orange and yellow hues of the desert to lush greenery, with olive and fig trees, lentil and other grain fields, and flower gardens dotting the banks of the river.
When we reached a fort called the Kamelonteichos, the scouts told us that after a failed attempt to capture the fort and cross the Great River, Perdiccas had moved his army South opposite Memphis. This was a worrying sign—while I disliked the Regent for his cruel ways, he was a very capable commander. I had hoped that Ptolemy’s troops would turn and defect to Perdiccas. That had not happened.
I had heard that three senior leaders were with Perdiccas—Peithon, Antigenes, the chief of the Argyraspides, and Seleucus—and yet why was this force unable to destroy Ptolemy?
The signs became clear as we turned south and went along the route that the army had moved. There were funeral pyres and ditches, with hundreds of bodies, many half-burnt and left unceremoniously—stripped of their battle gear and clothes, and many thrown in the shallow hurriedly dug up ground. In the rising heat of the morning, the acrid stench of burned bodies and rotting corpses permeated the air, and we retched as we passed them by. This disgraceful abandonment and mistreatment of his dead men left to the vagaries of nature rather than proper rituals sickened me and only strengthened my hatred for Perdiccas.
That was not the end of what we saw as we progressed further south.
Rows of crucifixion posts had been dug into the soft earth, and on each hung a severely beaten and murdered soldier. Whether this was for disobeying an order, for just not pressing forward, or something else—I did not know. One of the men, bloodied and hung on a crude post, stirred and moaned as we passed by. Unable to ignore, I thrust my kopis through his chest to give him a merciful end. We then inspected forty bodies for signs of life and ended six more lives. We prayed for them all.
As we neared Memphis, we saw the signs of Perdiccas’ army on our side of the river. Across the river was the formidable fortress of the city, behind which were the grand temples built with golden colored sandstone and topped with white limestone that shone brightly in the Sun. There, in plain view, was the army of Ptolemy. I had no doubt that the wily General was there, among his troops, taunting Perdiccas and scheming how to defeat the Regent.
We got through two check posts, and from the look on the faces and the defeated body language of the soldiers, we concluded that Perdiccas’ hopes of a rapid, decisive attack and submission of Ptolemy had been dashed. But once he found out Eumenes’ victory, I was sure there was no question that they would be energized and would wait until they were supported by Eumenes’ army.
Finally, after moving slowly through grimy, hastily constructed makeshift tents, lavatory ditches, and horse sheds, we arrived close to the senior officers’ quarters. The generals’ tents were obvious with their elaborate construction, orange flags that lay limp on the hoisted poles, and the number of guards.
At the final checkpoint were a group of heavily armed men led by a heavyset man who was naked from the waist up, and wore a dirty, blood and mud stained waist cloth. He was bald, clean-shaven, and wore large gold rings on his ears. He held a big, spiked club in his hand, adorned by unsightly coppe
r bracelets.
I imagined that the Pharaohs wept in shame at this specimen.
It was the strangest sight, an Egyptian captain of a Macedonian guard assembly, on Perdiccas’ side?
“Stop there,” he said, accompanied by two guards. The others surrounded my bodyguards.
“Greetings, I come with a message from Governor Eumenes to the Regent. These are my companions,” I said politely, but authoritatively.
He stood still as if he had not heard me.
I was impatient.
“May we proceed? It is critical that we meet him at once.”
“Get down.” His words were gruff and firm. My bodyguards sensed the tension and one of them yelled at the man.
“Let us through, you fool! If Perdiccas finds you delayed us he will nail to you the posts and let you rot.”
“What message?” he asked. His guards assumed a combative position and drew their swords. I had to be tactful, for I did not know what was causing this hostility. Were they worried that we might be Ptolemy’s henchmen?
“Tell message. We will allow. Order, no let anyone.”
There was no point in me getting angry with this Pharaonic barbarian, and the worst we could do is escalate the situation. There was commotion at a distance. However, we were unable to get any closer.
“Eumenes has defeated Craterus and Neoptolemus. He will arrive in a month’s time. We need to speak to the Regent.”
Something registered with the brute.
“Wait. Move, guards kill.”
He turned and sauntered towards the generals’ quarters. The guards, who looked afraid of this man, stood rigidly making no eye contact and showing no signs of friendliness.
We would have to wait.
MEMPHIS, EGYPT