The Seven Wonders: A Novel of the Ancient World (Novels of Ancient Rome)

by Steven Saylor

  Looking displeased, Kemsa nonetheless did as he was told, and the two men began to descend.

  “But are you up for this, Teacher?” I said. “You’ve exerted yourself so much already today, and the sun is so hot—”

  Even as I stated my doubts, Antipater started climbing.

  Grumbling at Antipater’s willful nature, I followed. When I reached the top, panting for breath, my efforts were rewarded beyond my wildest expectations.

  The tip of the Great Pyramid must originally have been capped in gold or some other precious metal, to judge by the remnants of pins and clamps that had fixed the metal to the rough-hewn stone beneath. That splendor was no longer to be seen—someone had looted the metal long ago—but the view was spectacular, and like no other on earth. As I slowly turned from north to south, I saw the vast green Delta, the sprawling city of Memphis, the sinuous Nile vanishing into the distance, and the rugged mountains of Arabia beyond. Below us, the various temples and shrines on the plateau looked like models built by an architect; among them I noticed again the large, incongruous sand dune we had passed on our way. To the southeast, I gazed upon the Great Pyramid’s rival; its peak was clearly below our level, but it was still enormous. Turning to the west, I beheld the fearful beauty of the Libyan wilderness, a trackless waste of jagged mountains and gorges.

  I had thought no view could match those from the Mausoleum in Halicarnassus or the ziggurat in Babylon, but to stand atop the Great Pyramid is truly to look down upon the world as the gods must see it.

  The desert wind whistled in my ears and dried the sweat from my brow. For a long time Antipater and I crouched in that timeless spot, taking in the view. Eventually, gazing down at the foot of the pyramid, I saw our guide and the stranger from the sarcophagus, sitting in the shade cast by the camels and sipping water from one of the skins the guide had brought.

  “I’m thirsty,” I said.

  The climb down was trickier than the climb up. We proceeded with caution, taking our time. At any moment, I feared that Antipater might lose his grip and take a tumble—but it was I who made a careless move near the bottom and found myself sliding out of control down the last fifty feet, landing in a pile of sand at the bottom, unharmed but quite embarrassed.

  Kemsa allowed me only sips of water, saying it was dangerous to swallow too much, too quickly. To take our midday meal, he suggested we retire to a nearby temple. With the stranger mounted behind Kemsa, we rode our camels to the smallest of the three pyramids. Beyond it, we came upon three much smaller tombs, also pyramidal in shape but built in steps, which I had not noticed before.

  “How many pyramids are there in Egypt?” I said.

  “There are many, many pyramids,” said Kemsa, “hundreds of them, not only here on the plateau, but all along the Nile. Most are very small in comparison to the Great Pyramid.”

  Before one of these minor pyramids stood a small but beautiful temple dedicated to Isis. Brightly painted columns shaped like stalks of papyrus flanked the entrance. Normally there would have been worshippers in attendance, Kemsa explained, but on this day everyone was at the festival in Memphis. Sitting on the steps of the temple in the shade, we took our meal of flatbread, wild celery, and pomegranates.

  Reluctantly, the man from the pyramid accepted a bit of our food.

  Antipater paid him little attention, but I was curious. “You say your name is Djal?”

  The man nodded.

  “How long were you in there?”

  Djal frowned. “I have no way of knowing. I entered on the seventh day of the month of Payni—”

  “But that’s two days ago!” said Kemsa, giving him a dubious look.

  “You’ve been in there all this time?” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you have any light?”

  “I had a torch when I entered. But it soon burned out.”

  “Did you have food or water?”

  “None.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I lay in the sarcophagus, as the priest—a priest from this very temple—instructed me to do, and I awaited the coming of the one who would save me. I thought perhaps Anubis would appear with a message from the gods, or one of my ancestors from the Land of the Dead—maybe even the ka of my poor father! But no one came. I lay in the darkness, waiting, sometimes awake, sometimes asleep, until finally I could not tell if I woke or slept, or even if I was still alive. And no one came. Oh, what a fool I’ve been!” He began to weep again—or rather, to go through the motions of weeping, for I think there was not enough moisture in him to produce tears.

  “You promised to tell us your story,” I said quietly, thinking to calm him.

  He nibbled a bit of bread and took a few sips of water. “Very well. I am Djal, son of Rhutin. I have lived in Memphis all my life, as did my ancestors before me, going back many generations, even to the days before the Ptolemies ruled Egypt. The prosperity of my family has varied from generation to generation, but always each son has taken care to see that his father was given the proper rites when he died, and was mummified according to the standards of the first class, never the second or third.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

  Our guide cleared his throat. “Allow me to explain. There are three categories of mummification. First class is very expensive, second class much less so, and third class is very cheap, only for the poor. When a man dies, the embalmers present the family with a price list of every item required for the funeral, and the family decides what it can afford.”

  “And this includes mummification?”

  “Yes.” Kemsa shrugged. “This is something all Egyptians know.”

  “But I don’t. Tell me more.”

  “A great many skilled artisans are involved in the process. One man examines the body and inscribes marks to indicate where the cuts should be made. Another man uses an obsidian blade to make the incisions. Then the embalmers reach inside and remove all the internal organs. Those that are vital, like the heart and kidneys, they wash in palm wine and spices and place in sealed jars. Those organs that are good for nothing, they dispose of. The brain is the hardest thing to get rid of; the embalmers must insert slender iron hooks and tweezers into the nostrils to pull out all the useless bits of gray matter. The cavities in the body are then filled with myrrh and cinnamon and frankincense and other spices known only to the embalmers, and then the incisions are sewn up and the body is packed in saltpeter. After seventy days, the body is washed and wrapped in long strips of the finest linen, and the mummification is complete. This is the first-class method, which everyone desires, and the result is a body flawlessly preserved, with the hair and eyebrows and even the eyelashes perfectly intact, so that the dead man appears merely to sleep.”

  “Remarkable!” I said. “And the second method of mummification?”

  Kemsa raised an eyebrow. “Those who cannot afford the best must settle for the middle way. No cuts are made and no organs are removed. Instead, the embalmers fill large syringes with cedar oil and inject the fluid through the dead man’s anus and mouth and then plug him up, so the fluid cannot run out. The body is packed in saltpeter for the prescribed number of days, then the plugs are removed and the fluid is drained out of him from both ends. The cedar oil dissolves the internal organs, you see, and the saltpeter desiccates the flesh, so that what remains is mostly hide and bones, but such a mummy is protected from corruption and bears some resemblance to the original, living body. Still, such a mummy is not suitable for display, even to family members. Would you care for more pomegranates?”

  I shook my head, feeling slightly queasy. “And the third way?”

  Kemsa shuddered. “Let us not speak of it. As I said, it is only for the desperately poor who can afford no better, and I do not think you would like me to describe the results.”

  I nodded. “If a body is mummified in the best way, what then becomes of it?”

  “The mummy is returned to the family, and placed inside a wooden
case inscribed with the formulas needed to reach the Land of the Dead. Some cases are very ornate, but others are less so, depending on how much the family spends—”

  “For our fathers, the sons of my family never purchased less than the very best of mummy cases!” cried Djal suddenly. Then he lowered his face and was silent again.

  “So the mummy is put in a case,” I said, “and then what becomes of it?”

  “After the funeral rites,” said Kemsa, “the mummy is taken to the family vault and leaned against the wall, upright in his case, so that when his descendants visit they may gaze upon him face to face. If the family is too poor to purchase a vault in a consecrated area, they may add a room to their house, and keep their ancestors there. Some people actually prefer such a room to a cemetery vault, for it makes it convenient for them to converse with their ancestors every day.”

  I considered this. “If a man’s spirit moves on to the Land of the Dead, of what use is his mummy?”

  Kemsa looked at me as if I were a simpleton. Djal wailed and buried his face in his hands.

  Kemsa explained. “After death, the ka is freed from the body and seeks to find its way through many perils to the Land of the Dead. But for the ka to survive, it is essential that the earthly body be preserved from decay and supplied with all the everyday needs of life. The ka is not immortal; if the mummy perishes, the ka, too, will perish. That is why the mummy must be preserved and protected. That is why a man’s descendant must give regular offerings to his mummy—so that his ka may continue to thrive in the next world.”

  “Oh, what have I done!” cried Djal, throwing back his head and beating his fists against his chest. “What have I done?”

  “What has he done?” I whispered to our guide.

  Kemsa drew back his shoulder and looked sidelong at the wretched man. “I think I know. You bartered the mummy of an ancestor, didn’t you?”

  Djal shuddered and stiffened. “Yes! For a handful of silver, I gave away the mummy of my father!”

  “What is he talking about?” I said.

  “This man is the lowest of the low,” declared Kemsa. “He has used the mummy of his father as collateral.”

  Antipater’s eyebrows shot up. “Herodotus writes of such a practice. If a man finds himself in dire straits, he may use the mummy of a family member to obtain a loan. So this practice still exists?”

  “Only among those who have no respect for the dead,” declared Kemsa, who spat on the ground.

  “I was desperate,” whispered Djal. “The floods came late two years in a row; twice my crops were ruined. All I had left I invested in a caravan to bring incense from Arabia. Then my wife and little daughter both fell ill. I needed money to pay the physicians. And so—”

  “You gave up the mummy of your father in return for a loan?” I said.

  Djal nodded. “There is a man in Memphis named Mhotep who specializes in such loans. A greedy, wicked man—”

  “No man is more wicked than he who abandons the mummy of his father!” declared Kemsa.

  Djal raised his chin defiantly. “I had every expectation that I would be able to repay the loan. But then the caravan was lost in a sandstorm, and with it the last of my fortune. All the money Mhotep lent me I had already spent, on physicians. My daughter recovered, but my wife is still ill. The repayment of the loan will fall due at the commencement of the annual inundation, which will happen any day now, and I have nothing to give to Mhotep.”

  “Sell your house,” said Kemsa.

  “And put my wife on the street? She would surely die.”

  “You first duty is to your father. I’ve heard of this Mhotep. Do you know how he treats the mummies he collects as collateral? As long as there is a chance of repayment, he keeps them in a sealed room, crowded together and starved of offerings but safe from the elements. But if a debtor defaults, the mummy is never seen again. They say Mhotep dumps them in a ravine in the Libyan mountains, where insects and lizards and jackals feast on the remains, and whatever is left is turned to dust by the sun, then scattered by the wind—”

  “Stop!” Djal clutched his face and shuddered.

  “Tell them what happens to a man who gives up a mummy for a loan and never redeems it,” said Kemsa. “You cannot speak? Then I will tell them. If this wretched fellow should die without recovering the mummy of his father, the law forbids that he should be mummified, even by the standards of the third class. Nor can he be given funeral rites. His body will rot. His ka will perish forever.”

  “Oh, what have I done?” cried Djal. “What a fool I am!”

  “But you spoke of someone coming to save you,” I said. “That was why you were in the pyramid, wasn’t it?”

  “When I saw the hopelessness of my situation, I went to the priesthoods of all the temples in Memphis, begging for their help. Only the priests of Isis showed any interest in my plight. They disapprove of men like Mhotep and would drive them from the city if they could. They called upon Mhotep and appealed to him to be merciful. At first he refused, but the priests were persistent, and at last Mhotep told them: ‘Let this man Djal answer the second riddle of the sphinx, and I will return the mummy to him!’ He said it with a smirk, of course, because no one yet has been able to answer the riddle.”

  “A second riddle of the sphinx?” I said. “Just the other day, seeing the sphinxes outside the Temple of Serapis, Antipater and I recalled the famous riddle that was posed to Oedipus. But I’ve never heard of a second riddle.”

  “Nor have I,” said Antipater.

  “No?” said Kemsa. “Everyone in Memphis knows it. Mothers tease their children with it, for no one can solve it. It goes like this: I am seen by all who pass, but no one sees me. I posed a riddle that everyone knows, but no one knows me. I look toward the Nile, but I turn my back upon the pyramids.”

  Antipater snorted. “Like most riddles, I suppose there’s an obvious solution, but it sounds like nonsense. How could a thing be seen by everyone, yet be invisible?”

  “You were unable to solve it?” I said.

  “How could I possibly do what no one else has been able to do?” said Djal. “The riddle mentions the pyramids, so finally, in desperation, I came here, to the Temple of Isis that stands in the shadow of the pyramids. I prostrated myself in the sanctuary and prayed to the goddess to show me the answer. One of the priests overheard me. I explained my situation. He prayed with me, and told me that Isis had shown him a solution. I was to enter the Great Pyramid, lie in the empty sarcophagus I would find inside, and await the coming of the one who would show me the answer to the riddle. It seemed a mad thing to do, but what choice did I have? As night fell, when no one was watching, the priest showed me the entrance to the pyramid, and lit a torch to light my way. I descended the passage alone. I found the sarcophagus. I lay inside it, like a dead man. When the torch burned out, I was in darkness. But I trusted Isis, and prayed incessantly, and awaited the coming of the one with the answer. But alas, no divine visitor ever came! Only … you.”

  Djal cocked his head and gave me a strange look. I thought nothing of it, until I saw that Antipater and Kemsa were also looking at me in a curious way. And so, I suddenly realized, was a tall, imposing figure who suddenly loomed behind us in the doorway of the temple.

  The newcomer was dressed in a long linen gown with splendid embroidery. The garment fitted tightly across his chest but below his midsection it hung in loose pleats to his feet. His head was completely shaved. His staring eyes were outlined with kohl.

  “Priest of Isis!” cried Djal, prostrating himself on the steps. “I did as you commanded me, but Isis never came. Nor did Anubis. Nor did any god or messenger, only this young man—a Roman who calls himself Gordianus.”

  The priest continued to stare at me. “How curious, that Isis should have sent a mortal to do her bidding—and a Roman, at that!”

  I cleared my throat. “No one sent me. Zoticus and I are travelers. We came to Egypt to see the Great Pyramid, because it’s one of the S
even Wonders of the World. It was only by chance that we came on this day, and that we found a guide who knows how to enter the pyramid, and that this poor fellow happened to be inside.”

  “Only by chance, you say?” The priest pursed his lips. “What sort of man are you, Roman?”

  “A man who solves riddles!” declared Antipater, rising to his feet. He gazed at me as if he were seeing me for the first time.

  I shrugged, feeling thoroughly disconcerted by the way they all stared at me. “To be sure, on our journey, I have had occasion to use my powers of deduction—”

  “On occasion?” said Antipater. “You do so invariably, I would say. Think about it, Gordianus. First in Ephesus, when that girl was shut up in the cave, and then in Halicarnassus, when the widows—”

  “There’s no need to recite our whole itinerary!” I snapped.

  “But don’t you see, Gordianus? You are a solver of riddles—like your father. I’ve seen you do it time and again. It would seem that you possess a special ability, a power, that others do not. Such gifts come from the gods. And here we find ourselves at the consummation of our journey, at the first and greatest of the Wonders, and what should appear but a riddle—awaiting you to solve it.”

  “But Teacher, I don’t know the answer. I heard the riddle just now, and I have no idea what it means.”

  “Are you sure? Think, Gordianus!”

  I mumbled to myself, reciting the bits I could recall. “Seen by all who pass … no one sees me … a riddle that everyone knows, but no one knows me … I sit among the pyramids…” I shook my head. “It means nothing to me.”

  “But you are the one sent by Isis,” said the priest. “Come, let us pray to her, at once!”

  We followed the priest inside. The walls of the sanctuary were covered with hieroglyphics recounting the story of Isis, the great Egyptian goddess of magic and fertility, sister-wife of Osiris and mother of Horus. The images dazzled me, though at the time I knew little of her story—how she gathered the scattered remains of Osiris after he was slain by the evil Set and oversaw the miracle of his rebirth.