17
39 Miles Southwest of Herat
Herat Province
Afghanistan
February 14, 2013
Lourds’s excitement built as he followed Boris down the passageway. Electrical cables ran the length of the tunnel, and bright lights ripped away the darkness. Somewhere from deep in the cave system, a generator thumped out a steady rhythm. Uniformed ANP guards stood at junctures in the cave system.
“I’ve been very careful to preserve the site since I found it.” Stone dust coated Boris, and he sounded tired.
“You found it last night?”
“Yes. And started calling you immediately.”
“And the media in between that.”
“Of course. This has the potential to be stupendous. Did you know that no one knows where Alexander the Great’s final resting place is?”
“Yes.” Lourds negotiated a sharp turn and reflected on what he could remember of the Macedonian ruler from the information he’d reviewed on the plane trip. “Alexander died in 323 BCE—”
“Of mysterious circumstances.”
Lourds nodded. “Possibly mysterious circumstances. He might have died from an overdose of hellebore.”
“That was never proven.”
“No, but it is known that Alexander was grieving over the death of Hephaestion, one of his generals and a nobleman in his own right. They had been friends since childhood.”
“Yes, and Aristotle wrote of them that they were ‘one soul abiding in two bodies.’ There is some conjecture that they were also lovers. But that is neither here nor there. So much about Alexander isn’t known, not the least of which is how he was able to conquer so much of the known world. And remember that Hephaestion’s death was also a mystery.”
Lourds’s interest was piqued. “What we do know is that after Alexander died, he was laid to rest in a gold sarcophagus that bore the shape of a monkey or an ape. That was placed inside another gold casket.”
“Then Ptolemy hijacked the funeral procession and took it to Memphis. Memphis, Egypt, of course, which contributed its name to the Decree of Memphis that collected the second round of the Ptolemaic Decrees.”
“Ptolemy kept Alexander’s body for a time. Supposedly to fulfill a seer’s vision that Alexander would be laid to rest in a place that ‘would be happy and unvanquishable forever.’”
“Yes. There was already talk circulating that possession of Alexander’s body would bring fortune and favor from the gods.”
“The Greeks, Macedonians, and Egyptians all looked to the gods for everything under the sun. That was the way their cultures were set up.”
“I know. And there Alexander lay, until he was moved to Alexandria. He didn’t fare so well after that. Ptolemy IX Lathyros, the last of the Ptolemys’ offspring, had many problems, not in the least of which was a fickle mother—”
“Cleopatra III. Reportedly a madwoman.”
“—who forced him to marry his sister—”
“Cleopatra IV.”
“—and then forced him to divorce her and marry still yet another sister, this one younger than the first.”
“Cleopatra Selene I.” Lourds often marveled at the family histories he uncovered in his studies. “The Kardashians pale by comparison. People these days don’t know how convoluted familial relationships and injustices can be.”
“True.” Boris shot him a glance. “I cannot believe you even know who the Kardashians are.”
Lourds shrugged. “I teach college. I have to keep up with popular culture so I can speak to students in their own language. I speak Lady Gaga as well.”
“As much as the world changes, the more I think it stays the same. Most people will forever be enthralled by gossip and theatrics.” Boris took another left and continued on. “Cleopatra IV was angry at being ousted from her marriage to her brother and being replaced by her younger sister. She went off to Cyprus and married Antiochus IX Cyzicenus, the ruler of the Greek Seleucid Kingdom, which was created from conquests made by Alexander the Great in the Near East and in Asia.”
“Where Turkmenistan, Pamir, and some of Pakistan is located today.”
“Yes. In the meantime, Cleopatra III ruled for a time with Ptolemy IX, then claimed he tried to murder her and had him deposed. She put her favorite son, Ptolemy X—Ptolemy IX’s younger brother—on the throne.”
“You know, I don’t understand how the Greeks didn’t invent psychology back when things like this would have been going on. Freud would have had a field day with mothers like her.”
“I agree. At any rate, she started a chain reaction of murders while playing her games with her sons. She grew tired of Ptolemy X and put Ptolemy IX back on the throne. Ptolemy X killed his mother and resumed the throne, only to be killed in battle. When Ptolemy IX resumed the throne yet again, the kingdom was strapped for cash. He replaced Alexander’s gold sarcophagus with a glass one and had the gold melted down and converted into drachma to pay off his debts.” Boris halted in front of a carpet that had been draped on one wall of a passageway that ended in a tumble of rock. “That angered the citizens of Alexandria, and they rose up and killed him. A case could be made that Alexander was not lying at rest in a land that was ‘happy and unvanquishable forever.’ In fact, it almost seems that a curse followed Alexander around.”
Lourds surveyed the carpet but didn’t move toward it. He didn’t want to rob his friend of his presentation. But he was anxious to see what was on the other side of it.
“The citizens of Alexandria took Alexander’s body back to their city for safekeeping. While the body lay there, the Roman emperors came calling. According to documentation, Pompey, Julius Caesar, and Caesar Augustus visited the tomb.”
“It’s a wonder that Augustus didn’t trigger a war when he accidentally knocked Alexander’s nose off.”
“That’s a story that was never verified. Caligula was also supposed to have taken Alexander’s breastplate. Then, in 200 AD, Emperor Septimius Severus, who sacked the Ctesiphon, the capital of the Parthian Empire, closed the tomb to the public.”
“Enough time had passed by then that the Alexandrians didn’t protest.”
“Also, the Roman Army was in full bloom. The emperor would have dealt harshly with any kind of uprising. Supposedly, his son—Caracalla, one of the most evil emperors ever to spring from the loins of the Caesars—visited the tomb because he was a great admirer.”
“That man would have never held a candle to Alexander the Great.”
“Agreed. Alexander would have killed Caracalla for the massacres and other atrocities he committed.”
“Not in the least of which was his granting of Roman citizenship to all freemen so he could tax them. They became Romans whether they wanted to or not.”
“And they paid their taxes or faced the consequences.” Boris nodded. “You also know of the Alexander Sarcophagus that was found in Sidon in 1887?”
“Of course. But it never belonged to Alexander. It was only named that because it had bas-relief images of Alexander fighting the Persians at the Battle of Issus.”
“Exactly. That sarcophagus is believed to be the final resting place of Mazaeus, a Persian noble and Babylonian governor.” Boris smiled and his weary eyes gleamed. “Through all of that, no one knows the final resting place of Alexander the Great. But you and I, Thomas, through our good fortune—”
“I would attribute whatever fortune we have to your dogged perseverance, and that’s how I’m going to present it to those news people waiting outside.”
Boris nodded. “As you wish. By whatever means, we now have a chance to find out where Alexander the Great has been laid to rest.” Pulling the carpet aside, he waved Lourds into the tomb.
18
39 Miles Southwest of Herat
Herat Province
Afghanistan
February 14, 2013
Lights hung from the tomb’s low ceiling and splashed brightness around the rough stone walls. The ceiling made an arch o
ver the small room, but even the highest point was close enough for Lourds to reach up and touch.
The stone sarcophagus occupied a carved niche in the wall. The niche was about eighteen inches taller than the sarcophagus, whose heavy stone lid sat slightly ajar.
Lourds spoke without taking his eyes from the bas-relief on the sarcophagus’s side. “You opened it?”
“I could not resist.”
“I wouldn’t have been able to either. Did anyone help you?”
“An intern. Evan. He’s probably off sleeping. Or playing one of his videogames. He has no true vision for what we do.”
Lourds crossed over to the sarcophagus and knelt. He dug a flashlight from his backpack and played the beam over the carved images, bringing them into sharper view. Boris had obviously spent some time cleaning them up. They were dust free.
The images were plain, rough, and beautiful at the same time. The central figure was a caped warrior on horseback, a shield on his left arm and a spear in his right hand. His cape streamed out behind him, floating over the warriors that rode at his heels. Another army lay in the distance on the right.
Most curious of all, though, was the image of a man sitting behind the army on the left. Small and unassuming, he was in a crouched position and held a stylus in one hand as he worked on a sheet of papyrus.
There was writing under the man. Lourds leaned forward so he could examine it. “This is Ancient Greek.” He knew the language intimately. It was an independent language that had come from the Indo-European family. Originating in the Balkans, it had the longest history of being in use, spanning thirty-five hundred years.
“You can read it?”
Lourds did. “‘Here lies the scribe Callisthenes of Olynthus. Placed here after his murder by his friends at court.’” He paused. “Some friends they turned out to be.”
“The sentence construction and word usage is comparable to that used in Alexander’s time, isn’t it?”
Lourds nodded. Excitement stirred up in him, building quickly now. He worked to keep it tamped down. Boris was already excited enough for both of them. He needed to be the steady one, the one who would challenge the enticing leaps of both logic and fantasy.
“The language has been around for three and a half millennia. You know that. Let’s get our ducks in a row.”
“This ties to Alexander, Thomas. I can feel it in my bones.”
“We need to find out what’s in these bones. Where are the documents you said you found?”
“Inside the sarcophagus. I didn’t want to chance moving them any more than I had to. Not until you were here.”
“I’m here now.” Lourds stood. “Let’s have a look at Callisthenes.” He grabbed one end of the sarcophagus lid and Boris grabbed the other. Together, they managed the massive stone slab and lifted it from the bottom, gently settling it onto the floor with a series of scrapes.
Inside the sarcophagus, a skeleton lay draped in rags. Whatever else Callisthenes might have been, he was a small man. His hands lay over his heart, and his feet were crossed.
Lourds shined his flashlight over the skull. “He has all of his teeth. He was probably a young man when he died.”
“When he was murdered, you mean.”
“I don’t see any signs of fractures to the skull or the ribs. They all appear intact.”
“You can kill a man by slicing his throat too. Or by forcing him to drink hemlock. Either way, it’s still murder.”
Lourds nodded.
“But there is something more.” Boris pointed to the skeletal feet. “Have a look here.”
Moving down the length of the body, Lourds shined his light on the dead man’s feet. Several of the metatarsal bones were broken, and there was a hole through the talus of each foot.
Boris stood grimly at Lourds’s side. “Crucifixion, yes?”
“That would be my guess, but you’ll need someone more expert on it to give a better opinion.”
“No, I trust us. We’ve seen these kinds of things before. And look at how the ankle joints are shattered and separated. I would bet that this man was crucified upside down.” Boris shook his head. “That would be a most painful way to die.”
Lourds silently agreed.
“The documents are here.” Boris pointed to a collection of clay pots that occupied one corner of the sarcophagus.
Lourds had been so engrossed in studying the skeletal remains that he had overlooked the pots. Scrolls filled the pots. Gently, Lourds removed one of the scrolls. The Greek language was easy enough to read. Callisthenes had possessed a good hand for his craft.
“‘Now it came to be that my lord, King Alexander III of Macedon, also known as the Great, was in terrible wrath after discovering the excesses and abuses committed by the satraps he had put into power to govern in his name while he sought out more glories on the battlefield.
“‘There was a military governor named Vahyadata who had caused to be executed three young women he took to be wives and later claimed to have lied to him about their virginity. When my lord discovered this, and that the young women lay in fresh graves, his righteous anger knew no boundaries.
“‘My lord rode his horse into the palace of Vahyadata, threw a rope around the man’s neck, and dragged him from the palace and into the street. There, the populace of the city spat upon the foul murderer, cursed him each in their way, and cheered on my lord.
“‘The satrap proved not to be hardy enough to make it to the end of the street. Still, my lord’s anger was so fierce that he did not give up dragging the body until dogs ran up after it and tore it to pieces.’”
Boris shifted and smiled slightly. “Not exactly bedtime reading, is it?”
“No, but it does have the ring of authenticity about it. What makes you so certain the location of Alexander’s tomb is revealed in here?”
With great care, Boris lifted one of the scrolls from the pot. “This is the scroll I read from.” He handed it to Lourds.
The scroll was different from the others, and it took Lourds a moment to spot the snakes engraved on the ends of the wooden roller that held the papyrus. “You saw this?”
“It was what first caught my eye.”
Lourds ran a finger across the roller end. The carving had faded over time and only stood out faintly. “Evidently, you have better eyes than I do.”
“I stared at them for a long time before I chose one to look at. I had the benefit of patience.”
“I am being patient.”
“I know. Now, the scroll, please.”
Lourds opened the scroll and began to read. “‘I am Callisthenes of Olynthus, from the town founded by Olynthus, the son of Heracles and Bolbe.’” He grinned. “Well, now we have proof that Heracles was real.”
“You say that in jest, my friend, but there are many things in this world that we do not know.”
Lourds paused, recalling the showdown he’d had with United States Vice President Elliott Webster. Webster’s disappearance from the world was still an unexplained mystery, but Lourds knew the truth of it, and it was the most supernatural thing he had ever witnessed.
“You are right, Boris. I stand corrected.” Lourds cleared his throat and continued reading. “‘Now am I come to recite the last will and testament of my lord, King Alexander III of Macedon, also known as the Great. It has come to my lord’s attention that death waits for every man, even a man like him, after the passing of his beloved friend, Hephaestion, son of Amyntor and General in the army of my lord.
“‘These final tenets are written in the secret language devised by my lord and will describe what will be done with his mortal shell, as well as his personal armor and sword. These things must be done to preserve balance in the world.’” Lourds stopped reading.
“Well?” Boris gestured impatiently. “Don’t stop now. Go on.”
“I can’t.” Lourds sighed with frustration. “This is where the code begins.”
“That should be simple enough for you.”
&n
bsp; Lourds showed his friend the scroll. “This isn’t the Greek alphabet, and it isn’t cuneiform either. This is something new.”
“Ah, well, we knew this couldn’t be all easy. There had to be some stumbling blocks.”
“Stumbling blocks? Do you know how long it could take to decipher a code?”
“No. But I know I have the right man on the job.” Boris clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, my friend. Put those scrolls away for further examination later. For the moment, let us go bask in the glory and accolades the media is primed to deliver unto us.” He smiled. “After that, we will drink vodka the Russian way.”
Shaking his head, Lourds knelt and packed the seven scrolls into a protective box inside his backpack. “This is not going to be as easy as you seem to think it will be, and I still have every intention of spending some kind of Valentine’s Day with Layla.”
“As well as proposing?”
“Yes.” Lourds stood and hefted his backpack over his shoulder. He resettled his hat.
“Come on then. After you are a newly minted celebrity—again—she will most certainly be in love with you.”
They headed out together. Just as they entered the passageway, the distinct, staccato roar of rifle reports echoed from the front of the cave.
A few feet away, Anna Cherkshan stood working on a computer tablet, doubtless reviewing her notes for the story or already writing parts of it. Startled by the cracks of the small arms fire, she looked up, then shoved her tablet PC into her messenger bag and ran toward the front of the cave.
“Anna! Wait!” Lourds’s shout seemed to galvanize her into greater effort.
“I can’t! There’s a story going on out there, and I need to see it!”
Fearing for the young woman’s safety, Lourds held the backpack strap crossing his chest and ran after her with Boris racing along behind him.
19
39 Miles Southwest of Herat
Herat Province
The Oracle Code (Thomas Lourds, Book 4) Page 11