by Gary Corby
The High Priest said, with remarkable calm, “You have heard of the Persian army that died. Our god protected us then, and he will protect us again. Nor can any threat against me personally affect my decision. The worst that can happen is that I go to my house of eternity, where I shall have surcease from care. In which case you will have gained nothing.”
Markos fell silent.
I said, “Siwa is a lovely place, High Priest.”
“Thank you. It is.”
“We are in Libya, I believe.”
“We are.”
“Inaros is your Prince?”
“He is.”
“Know then, that it will greatly aid Prince Inaros if we can have access to that sarcophagus.”
The High Priest thought about my words for a long time.
“The prince is known to me. He is a fine man.”
“Yes, I know,” I said.
“Tell me, does Inaros know what you intend?”
The High Priest had already demonstrated his ability to eviscerate anyone who told less than the entire truth.
“Inaros knows for what we seek,” I said. “He does not know where we seek it.”
The High Priest spoke slowly. “I cannot help but feel that if Inaros knew you intended to open a grave—particularly the grave of one with whom he claims common ancestry—that he would not approve your venture, no matter the advantage to the prince.”
I couldn’t agree with the priest. Inaros might be a good man, but he was a politician, he was royalty, and he wasn’t insane. The prince of Libya would rip open any number of graves if it would make him king of Egypt. But there was no point saying that to a man of the High Priest’s ethics.
“Pharaoh Psamtik was not a good man.” Djanet spoke quietly.
The High Priest turned to her, in evident surprise. So did the rest of us.
“He was a poor Pharaoh,” Djanet went on. “He struck out at inferiors who could not strike back. What sort of man does that? Some said it was because he was insecure in his position. His father Amasis had reigned successfully for forty-four years; no one thought Psamtik could do the same. But by his actions Psamtik drove a man to turn traitor. A man named Phanes.”
“I have heard this,” the High Priest said.
“Do you know what Psamtik did, in the first battle against the Persians? He took the sons of the traitor Phanes, and right before their father’s eyes, and before the eyes of the Persians, and of his own men, he slit the throats of those small boys and bade his men drink the blood of children. Did you know that?”
“I did.” The High Priest winced.
“The Great King sent an ambassador to Psamtik, to give him a chance to surrender on terms. It was a better chance than I would have given him. Psamtik ordered the ambassador and his retinue dismembered. Did you know that?”
“Unfortunately, I did,” said the High Priest.
“This is the man whose sanctity you are preserving, and frankly, it isn’t worth it.”
The High Priest remained silent.
“This request is not about anyone’s advantage,” Djanet said. “It is about correcting the stupidity, the crimes, and yes, the atrocities perpetrated by the last Pharaoh of Egypt.”
Djanet paused. Only Diotima, Herodotus and I knew that Djanet was talking about her grandfather.
“Because of his failings, the people of Egypt have been left slaves to a foreign king,” Djanet said. “Now those people are caught up in a war to free themselves. They need help.”
“I agree with you completely,” said the High Priest.
“Then you will help us?” Herodotus said.
“I would, but unfortunately the sarcophagus isn’t here, and I don’t know where it is.” The High Priest spread his hands in an apologetic gesture.
Four days before, out in the desert, Diotima had said she’d scream if the priests told us that. I had to admire her self-restraint, because she constrained herself to a slight whimper.
Herodotus clenched his hands tight. “That news is . . . somewhat distressing.”
“But the sarcophagus was once here. I hope that we can help you,” said the High Priest.
“It was here, but now you don’t know?” I said, incredulous. “How do you lose a sarcophagus?”
“You must understand we are talking about a time when the ruling priest was the predecessor of my predecessor. What knowledge I have comes via two generations, who passed on these words in conversation. The final resting place of Psamtik was never central to the work of the temple, and events were somewhat chaotic.” The priest shot an aggrieved glance at Barzanes. “The priests back then expected to die at any moment at the hands of the Persians, and that our beautiful temple would be destroyed. When the God intervened to save them, they rejoiced. The fate of one corpse was not uppermost in their minds.”
“Understandable.”
“Thus at some point during this time, the sarcophagus of Psamtik, the last Pharaoh, disappeared, and no one knows what became of it.”
At the sight of our glum faces the priest said, “Do not despair. There is someone we can ask who knows the answer.”
“Who?” Herodotus asked eagerly.
“The god of this temple, Amun the Wise.”
“Oh.”
This wasn’t the answer we were hoping for. “Forgive me for asking, sir,” I said. “But would the God even speak to us?”
“This is an oracle, you know,” the priest of Amun said gently.
The idea that the oracle could save us didn’t fill me with hope.
“What must we do?” Diotima asked.
“If you would each prepare a question for the God, we will arrange for the divination.”
“You mean, right now?”
“Why not? The God is always with us,” the priest said, reasonably enough.
“Then I shall go first,” Djanet said. “My question is very simple. Where shall we find the sarcophagus of Pharaoh Psamtik?”
“I will go second,” I said quickly, because I saw a flaw in Djanet’s question. I said, “My question is a bit more complex. I ask Amun this: where shall we find the place which is his answer to Djanet’s question?”
I felt very pleased with myself. Oracles are known for giving tricky answers. The God might have answered, “In the desert” or “In a tomb” or “At the ends of the earth” and we would be none the wiser. Our entire mission had been spent thinking we’d come to the end, only to find another step. With my question I hoped to circumvent everything and get straight to the final answer.
Herodotus clapped his hands in appreciation. “Very good, Nico!”
Even the High Priest smiled. He said, “I think you will find Amun is not quite as mischievous as your Hellene gods.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” I said politely. But I didn’t change my question.
“My turn,” Markos said. “I ask the God, who should retrieve the crook and flail?”
Uh oh. Upon the answer to that question would hinge the fate of Egypt. I wasn’t the only one disconcerted. Herodotus, Djanet and Diotima glanced at each other with worried faces. Barzanes kept his usual inscrutable expression.
“Next?” the High Priest prompted.
“I will ask,” Barzanes said, “who shall rule Egypt?”
This was getting worse.
The High Priest raised an eyebrow. “It’s a good thing we have a god on hand. Nothing short of divine wisdom could answer these queries.”
The High Priest turned to Herodotus. “Is there anything you wish to ask?”
Herodotus rubbed his chin as he thought. “All the important questions seem to have been asked,” he said. “I can think of nothing that will add to the matter at hand. Would you indulge me in a personal question?”
“Of course.”
“Then I ask the God,
will anyone read my book?” Then, before any of us could react, he added defensively, “Well, you know, I wouldn’t want to spend years writing this thing and then have nobody read it. If the God says it won’t work, then I’ll stop now.”
“You shouldn’t do that, Herodotus,” I said. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned on this journey, it’s that you love this book you’re writing. Every time you write one of those interminable notes on your papyrus, you smile, completely lose track of the time, and end up staying awake all night scribbling. Of course you have to finish it.”
“No, no, Nicolaos. A book needs readers.”
“I promise I’ll read it!”
“Er . . . other readers.”
“Gentlemen, if you could reserve your discussion for another time?” the High Priest suggested. “The question stands, and the lady wishes to speak.”
Diotima glanced at Barzanes with an odd expression.
“I do have a question for Amun,” she said. Diotima drew a breath and asked, “Who is the rightful Pharaoh of Egypt?”
Oh dear Gods. What was my wife thinking?
But Diotima had obviously decided that Barzanes’s question had to be countered. She sent a sly glance Djanet’s way. Djanet, on the other hand, kept an admirably neutral expression.
“Then we are complete,” said the High Priest of Amun. “I must go to prepare the sacred vessel for the divination. You will be served refreshments.”
We ate and drank in silence. Except for Herodotus, who hummed a quiet, inoffensive tune that got on everyone’s nerves.
An acolyte entered to tell us that the priests were ready. I wondered what he meant when he said priests, plural. We followed him downstairs, to the large, wide courtyard, the same courtyard we had crossed when we arrived at the temple. But instead of entering, the acolyte led us to a terrace above, where seats had been arranged to face the courtyard. In the middle of the courtyard was a boat, one large enough to cross the sea. It was almost the size of Dolphin, Captain Kordax’s craft that had carried us from Athens. That thought made me wonder how Kordax and his men were getting on. Was he still stuck in Africa, like Diotima and me?
The boat in the temple of Siwa was a proper boat, with a hull and a keel, but no mast. It was upright because of triangular supports, of the kind used by shipwrights when a boat had been beached for repairs. About the boat stood a large number of men, perhaps fifty of them, though I didn’t count, all of them dressed as priests, all in bare feet, and with no hood or hat to keep off the sun. Going hatless in Siwa risked sunstroke, but I presumed they knew that.
The High Priest joined us on the terrace, arriving through a side entrance. I asked the question that was uppermost in all our minds.
“Why do you have a boat in the middle of the desert?” I said.
“Watch, and you will see,” he replied.
From seemingly nowhere a drumming began. It was almost as if the walls themselves made the sound. Then started a rhythmic metallic rattle in tempo with the drums, the sound of many small cymbals being shaken.
This went on for some time. The beat was seductive, hypnotic, the sound reverberated so much that it was all around us. The effect must have been even greater down below, for I realized the courtyard was acting like an amphitheater, reflecting the music up.
So gradually that at first I barely noticed, a flute began to play over the drums. It played at a very high pitch, in an unusual mode with a melody that was deeply foreign and yet strangely attractive.
“The music calls the God,” the High Priest explained.
A man with a deep voice shouted an abrupt command. I didn’t catch the word, but the priests down below obviously knew what to do.
They swarmed about the boat. Each man rolled up his sleeves and put his shoulder to the hull.
“Are they about to do what I think they’re about to do?” Markos said.
The priests hefted the boat. They instantly staggered, as well they might. Those men had to be incredibly strong merely to have got it off the ground.
“Dear Gods,” Markos muttered.
“Is that thing as heavy as it looks?” I asked.
“It is, believe me,” the High Priest said with feeling.
To our inquiring glances he added, “I used to be one of the carriers, back in my junior days.”
Now that he mentioned it, the High Priest’s arms did seem to be unusually well muscled.
Meanwhile the priests continued wobbling back and forth under the immense load.
“Do you see those men over there, the three upon the balcony?” The High Priest pointed to a ledge to the side. Three men stood there with stern expressions, their attention locked entirely on the action below. I had seen sergeants in the army with the same look when they drilled their troops. The sharp-eyed look of men who saw everything.
“They are the temple diviners,” said the High Priest. “Good men, all three of them. The diviners will provide you your answers. They read the God’s answer to each question by the movements of the boat. It is the God’s will, you see, that causes the sacred vessel to veer from side to side, and back and forth. Thus Amun communicates with his people.”
“So the crew holding it are pushed back and forth by the weight of the vessel, which is in turn pushed around by Amun?” Herodotus said.
“You understand. Precisely.”
Herodotus made the inevitable notes on his papyrus.
I said, “Can’t the crew sort of . . . ah . . . assist the God with his answer, by pushing the sacred vessel where they want?”
“You obviously have never tried to hold up that boat,” said the High Priest. “It’s all they can do to keep it off the ground.”
Another priest, of middle age and balding, read rapidly from a scroll.
“And the fourth man, beside the diviners?” Diotima asked.
“He is our official querent. The scroll from which he reads contains the questions you gave me.”
“I don’t understand a word he says,” Diotima said.
“He speaks a temple language, the language of Amun. It is a secret taught only to us priests. Question time lasts only as long as the carrier-priests can keep the sacred vessel off the ground,” the High Priest said. “Therefore the querent cycles through the list of questions with some speed, to get through everything before they drop the boat.”
The High Priest judged the state of the crew with a practiced eye. “Which will be right about now.”
A moment later, the carrier-priests dropped the boat with an enormous thud. Now I knew why the courtyard was covered deep in sand. The very solid sacred vessel was unharmed. The men dived out of the way. Other priests rushed in with the supports and jammed these under the hull, while the carriers lay in the sand panting in exhaustion.
Two gates opened along the far side of the court, to reveal a huge empty space. Men placed skids under the vessel. They dragged the oracle back home, its job done for the day. The gates closed behind it. I made a mental note never to become a priest of Amun. It was far too much hard work.
“Excuse me for a moment, I must speak to the diviners to collect your answers,” said the High Priest.
He returned quickly.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your answers. Amun has spoken.” He shifted through scraps of papyrus. Even from ten paces away, I could see that the papyrus he held had been scraped back for reuse many times. Paper was at a premium this far from the Nile.
The priest looked to Barzanes. “The God answered your question first. Who shall rule Egypt? Amun answered with one word: Persia.”
Barzanes rarely smiled, and he didn’t now, but the corners of his mouth curved up just the tiniest fraction. The rest of us scowled.
The priest turned to Markos. “Then to the Spartan gentleman. You asked who should retrieve the crook and flail. The God says this: Not only should Markos the
Spartan retrieve the insignia, but he must.”
Markos laughed.
The rest of us didn’t.
“I like this god,” he said. “I will be sure to tell the elders of Sparta of your service.”
“Of course, this supposes we find the sarcophagus,” I pointed out, in an effort to dampen his happiness.
“The God answered your question next, sir,” the High Priest said to Herodotus. “Will anyone read your book?”
“And the answer?” Herodotus leaned forward and looked tense.
“Not millions, but tens of millions will read your history.”
That was more people than existed in the whole world. The answer was obviously wrong, but Herodotus was pleased. His normally critical mind had been dazzled by an answer that was better than he’d hoped to hear.
I was disappointed. I couldn’t help but feel that the High Priest was telling each of us what we wanted to hear. I had thought the oracle genuine. But these oracular pronouncements were little different from the words a mere charlatan would utter to extract coins from the credulous. Had we wasted our time?
“I come now to the Egyptian lady’s question. She asked, where would she find the sarcophagus of Pharaoh Psamtik?”
“Yes?” Djanet said.
We all waited with bated breathe.
“Amun says this: he lies with the Great Tjaty.”
“What, back in Memphis?” Djanet fairly shrieked.
“I cannot add words to what a god says,” the High Priest answered. “The sarcophagus you seek lies with the great Tjaty. That is what Amun saw fit to tell you.”
“That’s not exactly helpful,” Djanet said.
“Never fear,” I said. “This is exactly why I asked my question. Where shall we find the place which is the answer to Djanet’s question. What did the God say?” I asked eagerly.
The High Priest rummaged through his slips of paper.
“See question one,” he said.