The Porus Legacy

by Daniel Leston

  “Well, you’re right, it would be only be speculation on my part. However, if I were to guess—which I’m hesitant to do—I’d probably go back to what Omar here told us when we were still in Alexandria.”

  “Which is?”

  “The historians Cassius Dio and Plutarch relate how Octavian’s forces somehow reached Caesarian before he could board ship for India, convincing the boy’s tutor, Diodorus, to halt their departure. Whether through bribery or false promises, Caesarian and his group were persuaded to return—only to then see the lad murdered along the way, his body disposed of in an unmarked grave. For all we know, the initial betrayal may even have been negotiated right there on what eventually became Shadid’s plot of land. After all, the ancient port was once within walking distance from there.”

  He shrugged.

  “And as for burying the chest,” he continued, “I suppose one can envision a few possible scenarios that could account for it. Perhaps the most likely is it was done by Diodorus before leading Caesarian back north. Why not? Consider that the prime focus of the Romans would’ve been to locate and entice the young pharaoh back to Octavian. That being their sole mission, perhaps they never even had knowledge of the chest. If Diodorus held aspirations of one day secretly returning to retrieve it on his own, it simply never happened.”

  He hoped this satisfied Elizabeth.

  “And your second question, hon?”

  “This one’s going to be easy. If you’re so confident of everything you’ve said, then why in the bloody hell aren’t we out there digging right now? Guys, we’re wasting good daylight!”

  It was what he expected to hear.

  “That’s exactly the point. Is this something we want to do in broad daylight? I don’t think it wise. Getting a shovel is no problem. I saw a short-handle spade among the tools left in Shadid’s house. Believe me, I’m as eager as you both are to prove or disprove my theory—but the exercise can certainly wait until after dark.”

  Listening, Omar now looked at him suspiciously.

  “David, are you still concerned about what happened last week in Cairo? The possibility of our being somehow tailed by persons unknown?”

  David didn’t deny his fears.

  “Not to be an alarmist, but yes, I admit it still troubles me. It’s a gut feeling that simply won’t go away. Truthfully, I’d feel much better about us going out there tonight if I was armed.”

  Omar suddenly grinned.

  “Well, you can be, you know!”

  “Say again?”

  “I’ve never mentioned it, but I’m fully licensed to carry a pistol around with me in my suitcase. Ever since those riots and the minor plundering that took place several years ago outside the Egyptian Museum, the government authorities felt it appropriate I have one available to me at all times for emergencies. None ever occurred, of course, but if you feel more comfortable having it with you, then by all means, be my guest.”

  “I would.”

  “Then it’s settled. Should I get in touch with Karim and Lana? I know they’ll want to go with us. I imagine both would be highly disappointed if we don’t include them.”

  David shook his head.

  “I’d rather you didn’t.”

  Omar was momentarily taken aback.

  “Why not?”

  Trying not to offend, David chose his words carefully.

  “Simple logistics,” he replied. “I don’t want to draw more attention to what we’re doing tonight than is necessary. Just us being out there after dark is quite enough, don’t you agree?”

  This seemed to satisfy Omar.

  “Perhaps you’re right.”

  “And when you say us, David,” said Elizabeth, “I’m assuming that includes me, as well? If you’re contemplating for one second that I’m going to stay here while you two—”

  “Not to worry,” he assured her, knowing better than to even argue. “We’re a team. Always will be. Besides, under the circumstances, I can’t imagine how anyone could possibly stop you.”

  She gave him pleased wink.

  “Thank you for not forgetting.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  August 29 Of The Year 30 BCE.

  In late afternoon of their third day traveling northeast from the port of White Harbor, Lucius led them over a long, sandy rise and down into the established encampment of a contingent of roman cavalry. It appeared by the small amount of tents and horses that these men numbered no more than ten, and in all likelihood had been positioned here for at least the past several days. And probably even longer, surmised Diodorus, which now explained why Lucius showed no real surprise at finding them. By the man’s satisfied expression, it was clear he must’ve possessed foreknowledge of the site’s location.

  A planned rendezvous?

  If true, thought the sore and weary tutor, then it also answered his continuing puzzlement as to why they weren’t instead traveling due east toward the Nile. That was the route he had proposed, and one he knew from recent experience to be much preferable. Not only would that route facilitate a faster return to Alexandria, but also their lengthy journey could be accomplished in a state of far more comfort.

  With Lucius in charge, however, the decision hadn’t been his to make.

  It was regrettable, yet out of his control.

  What helped sustain Diodorus through this disappointing annoyance was his growing anticipation of eventually enjoying the familiar luxuries of the royal palace—not to mention the pampered lifestyle he so deeply missed. And how was it even possible to expect otherwise? If Caesarian was indeed going to be installed as a client king of Rome, he reasoned, then surely part of his reward for playing such a major role in returning the young pharaoh would be his continuance as the boy’s tutor.

  Though this rationale made complete sense to Diodorus, he also knew no such actual promise had yet been made. Now he felt compelled to get at least some clarification from Lucius at this evening’s earliest opportunity.

  They made camp and raised their spacious tent on a flat area adjacent to the roman site—yet not so close as to provide undue access or fraternization between the two groups. This separation was as Diodorus believed proper, consistent with the elevated status of Caesarian’s person and what he feared might become natural curiosity. After all, the soldiers appeared to be relatively young and had likely never seen a king, let alone a reigning pharaoh.

  Oddly enough, no such intrusive behavior developed.

  Were they under orders to avoid all contact?

  He pondered on this as Caesarian’s three attendants completed all of their ritual duties, eventually taking their young master into the roomy enclosure as the sun began its rapid descent. As was his habit, Diodorus sat outside, now experiencing an uneasy feeling that perhaps everything wasn’t quite as it should be.

  And what was Lucius doing? he wondered. Since the moment of their arrival, he’d spent the entire time inside what Diodorus assumed to be the commander’s tent. For what purpose, he couldn’t imagine.

  He found out as the sun finally fell below the horizon.

  Lucius’ features appeared unusually grim as he walked over and sat facing him in the deepening darkness. Before speaking, he audibly sighed as he fixed Diodorus with steadfast eyes that reflected something so momentous as to send a cold, involuntary chill down the older man’s spine.

  “I wish to say farewell before we part ways,” the man said softly, his voice barely audible. “As a soldier sworn only to obey orders, it was neither my intent nor obligation to do so. Yet I somehow feel I at least owe you this much.”

  Diodorus tried to make sense of these words.

  “Farewell? Explain yourself, Lucius. Why are we to now go in separate—” The intense expression on Lucius’ face froze the question in Diodorus’ throat, the answer and its dire meaning becoming all-too-obvious. By all the gods, he’d been totally deceived!

  To confirm this sickening realization, half a dozen soldiers with drawn swords now suddenly e
merged out of the darkness and rushed the tent’s entrance. Given no warning, none inside had the opportunity to offer any resistance. Within mere seconds, all were disarmed and brought out, the last being Caesarian. As they were then led away, the confused and shaken youth could only look back at his tutor in stunned silence.

  At the moment this took place, Lucius had firmly restrained Diodorus, relieving him of the small dagger that he hadn’t even thought to draw. Everything had happened far too fast.

  “Where are they taking—?”

  “You’ll learn soon enough.”

  Diodorus blinked in bewilderment.

  “So—so everything Octavian wrote in that scroll was a complete lie! Meant to deceive me and Caesarian into believing—”

  “Only what you wished to believe, Diodorus. No more than this. As for it being intentionally deceptive, no other method was thought workable. Necessity demanded it.”

  “Demanded that the life of a mere boy be taken from him?”

  Now it was Lucius who shook his head.

  “You’re a man educated in the harsh realities of this world, so don’t now pretend otherwise. After so many years of costly civil war, surely you can appreciate where Octavian has no choice but to dispose of anyone capable of disrupting his hard-won peace—and Caesarian Ptolemy certainly qualifies. Can you not imagine how dangerous it would be to future civil order if the boy was simply returned to Alexandria alive?”

  He paused before continuing.

  “Such a colossal risk can’t be taken. His physical resemblance to his divine father, Julius, is far too great. Quite undeniable. Who can predict how many older veterans might be drawn to him for this reason alone. At this critical juncture, two Caesars in the roman world is definitely one too many. Far better for Octavian if the youth ends up in an unmarked grave out here in the desert.”

  The comprehension of his own imminent death now brought a quivering weakness to Diodorus’s legs.

  “It’s time,” said Lucius. “Come.”

  He led the staggering tutor to the far side of the roman encampment.

  Here, out of sight, a sizeable pit had already been prepared in the sand. Around it stood the soldiers, several of them with bloodied swords. Forced to approach its edge, Diodorus looked down at the still figures stretched out at the bottom, his gaze settling on the body of Caesarian. His acute sense of guilt expanded as he did so, knowing how he’d unconsciously betrayed his trusting pupil for his own selfish purposes.

  Now he must pay the price.

  He heard Lucius draw his sword behind him—then mercifully nothing, for a single, hard thrust of cold steel into his back ruptured his heart, bringing an instant end to his self-inflicted anguish.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The Present.

  At ten minutes past midnight, with the moonlight so faint as to be almost nonexistent, David re-entered the boarded veranda of Shadid’s long-abandoned home. Once inside, the enveloping darkness forced him to pause and wait, allowing adequate time for his eyes to adjust. He possessed a flashlight, yet hoped it wouldn’t be needed. Though the chance of drawing attention out here at this late hour seemed remote, it was still a possibility to be avoided. Thus they’d also taken the precaution of driving the last few hundred yards with the SUV’s lights off, parking the vehicle well off the road alongside the ramshackle building.

  No point taking unnecessary risks.

  Fortunately, the layout of the single, large room ahead of him still remained fresh in his memory. When finally confident enough to continue, he cautiously stepped through the archway.

  Locating the wrinkled old tarp on the floor’s side corner proved no problem. There he crouched and pulled it aside, exposing the long handled spade lying beneath. Earlier he’d given it only a cursory glance. Now he feared to find it either damaged or cracked—though even if it were, he knew it must suffice. By its general weight and feel, however, it seemed sound enough to serve their purpose.

  Pleased, he carried it back onto the veranda.

  After rejoining Omar and Elizabeth, the three silently made their way over to the dig site. His having Omar’s holstered pistol attached to his belt helped alleviate his lingering concerns—but only marginally. It was a 9mm Beretta with a fully loaded clip, a model with which he was reasonably familiar. Despite this, his gut instincts still gave him a continuing sense of anxiety.

  Was he doing the right thing?

  David wished to hell he knew for certain.

  What he did know was he’d little choice in the matter. His theory of the chest’s existence had to be quickly verified one way or another.

  And it must be done tonight!

  Any further delay was unacceptable; far too risky on several levels—particularly if he was correct in assuming that someone who knew about the chest had orchestrated all those killings in Cairo. He could easily imagine where such a determined bastard would literally stop at nothing to possess it. And should his conjecture on both counts prove entirely off base? Well, then so be it. He’d been wrong in the past. On the other hand, if he were a hundred percent right about Shadid, things would become tricky. Every local authority he and Omar could muster would have to be notified and drawn in as fast possible to protect the find. After all, a national treasure was at stake.

  The next few hours would be pivotal.

  This was foremost on his mind as they reached the spot and began to dig.

  * * * *

  The bearded man standing alongside the passenger door of the parked jeep slowly lowered his night vision binoculars, thinking what he’d so far observed now warranted waking his boss back in Cairo. The shovel—plus the lateness of the hour—was the final tip-off. Everything now appeared to fit into the loose criterion provided him several days previous. Not exactly what he’d expected, to be sure, but definitely close enough in his estimation.

  He glanced at his jeep’s patient driver as he extracted a cell phone from his shirt pocket and tapped in a private number.

  After five rings, Tazir picked up.

  “What do you have?”

  “I believe it’s what you’ve been waiting for, sir. Manning and Bayoumi have returned to the same property they visited in daylight—and they’re taking great pains to be very secretive about it.”

  “Curious. Anyone else with them?”

  “Just Manning’s wife.”

  A lengthy pause at the other end.

  “No sign of Nazari or his daughter?”

  “No, sir.”

  “So what’s Manning up to at this moment?”

  The man took a second to once again peer through his night vision binoculars before responding.

  “He and Bayoumi have begun digging at a location about fifty yards north of the empty house—the same stretch of land they crawled over earlier.”

  “Then they’re obviously onto something. You were right to contact me.”

  “One more thing, sir. Manning’s now armed. He hasn’t been prior to tonight. Now he’s got a pistol with him.”

  “Ah, even more telling. All the more reason for you to exercise extreme caution. How soon can your men be moved into position?”

  “Another twenty minutes at most. They’ve already been told what I expect from them.” He paused. “So, is it a go, sir?”

  Tazir took his time before answering, as if weighing his options.

  “I’m going to gamble and say yes,” he finally confirmed. “I had hoped to take Nazari and his daughter at the same time, but this can still be made workable. I’ll leave it up to you to make alternate plans, so long as it’s handled competently. For now, Manning is your absolute top priority. Once the truck is in position, allow him what time he needs for his little excavation to either succeed or fail before you make your move.”

  “You think he’ll find what you’re both seeking?”

  “Not sure, but it’s apparent Manning is confident. At this point, that’s quite enough for me.” The tone of his voice now dropped a notch. “You and your p
eople are being extremely well paid, so failure at any level won’t be tolerated. And just remember one thing. Whatever he unearths, I will have it! Understand?”

  The bearded man respected the severity of the threat.

  “Yes, sir.”

  * * * *

  As minutes passed, the two men took turns digging, carefully shoveling out the loose, gravelly sand inside the circular depression. After better than an hour, a sizeable pit had already been created, its center approaching a depth of roughly three feet with no encouraging results to show for their efforts.

  An expanding sense of disappointment was fast becoming evident on their faces as David again relieved Omar of the shovel and began his rotation.

  Moments later, their prospects abruptly changed.

  It was while David was leveling off the bottom’s outer sides that the blade of the shovel grated noisily on something solid, instantly catching their attention.

  “Did that sound like metal to you?” asked Elizabeth.

  “I’d say so.”

  He dropped to his knees in the dim light to better examine the source, gently using his fingers to brush back the covering layer of sand. What he gradually exposed was a rectangular surface some twenty inches wide by thirty inches in length.

  A lid of some sort?

  No other explanation made sense as he continued to remove sand from its surface. And it was definitely metal the edge of his shovel had struck, for the sides and corners were banded by wide, thick straps of what was unmistakably bronze. He’d seen enough of this ancient metal over the years to recognize its distinctive greenish patina. As for what kind of wood was used in its construction, he’d no clue. All he knew with certainty was it appeared remarkably solid for it’s great age.

  Was this the fabled chest they sought?

  It sure as hell seemed so!

  Its overall dimensions were yet to be determined, for all of the surrounding sand must first be removed—and done in such a way as to not damage the artifact.

  They’d come too far to risk otherwise. As an eager Omar began to carefully do this, David grinned up into Elizabeth’s excited face, answering her unspoken question.