Athena's Son

by Jeryl Schoenbeck

  “Come with me Archimedes, I want you to meet my father, Pharaoh Ptolemy II,” Berenike said. He followed obediently. He was out of his element and knew the only escape was back on Helios’ chariot. Archimedes made a mental note to never again get on a chariot with Agrippas.

  The court administrator did not seem pleased that Berenike ignored his suggestion that she wait, but he could not argue.

  Berenike led him to a door guarded by two men wearing metal skull caps, leather cuirasses, and holding spears. The wall behind them was covered in rich, colorful scenes of Egyptian gods and the pharaohs. An image of the god Horus holding the hand of Pharaoh Ptolemy II was on the left of the door and on the right the now-dead Ptolemy I was standing behind Osiris. The scene demonstrated that the Ptolemys were accepted by Horus, protector of the pharaohs. Osiris, dressed in the white linen of mummification and wearing the white cone crown, ruled the underworld. Running up and down between the figures were hieroglyphs, as Berenike explained, for public display.

  The mismatched pair walked through the doorway and Archimedes was finally able to catch his wits. “Berenike, what evidence do you have that there was a plot to cover up Alexander’s murder?”

  “Meti hints that the symptoms Alexander showed were not consistent with a natural illness,” she said. “And he had some crazy line in there about dangerous women.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Archimedes said under his breath.

  “What did you say?” Berenike asked.

  “I said, ‘I don’t know it,’ meaning I’ll have to read the scroll,” he stammered.

  “Hmmm,” Berenike scowled at him.

  They entered the next room. It was held up by red columns developing into palm fronds at the top. The tiled floor was a pattern of different shades of blues imitating water. Two smoking braziers were on each side of the room, saturating the room with the heavy scent of sandalwood. Mulling around were ambassadors from Greece, Persia, Nubia, and other lands.

  Scribes were sitting and busy writing, probably in the demotic script Archimedes saw earlier. Several immodestly dressed women danced in one corner, eyes black with kohl, writhing to music performed by two men playing a lute and drum. They girls were much younger and prettier than the women he had seen dancing in the marketplace.

  Across the room, several men sat behind tables carefully weighing gold and silver on scales. The precious metal was gifts to the pharaoh from visiting ambassadors who came to seek favor with the king of Egypt. The scene of smoky music, squirming bodies, and glittering metals was nearly enough to hypnotize a novice to the court of the pharaoh.

  Against the far wall were two more guards. Controlling the flow into the throne room was a vizier dressed in a long white kilt, wide gold necklace, and holding a scroll of who would be allowed in and in what order.

  While Archimedes tried to slow the advance of Berenike and take in all the activity, the vizier held up a practiced finger, asking solemnly but respectfully for Berenike to wait. He may as well have tried to stop the chariot earlier; Berenike breezed through, Archimedes in tow.

  To Archimedes, each succeeding room seemed to get smaller while growing in importance. The red tiled throne room was no exception. Archimedes’ eyes adjusted to the light and he stood in awe.

  Sitting in a large gold throne was Pharaoh Ptolemy II, the living Horus, wearing the double crown of Egypt. A small opening in the roof allowed the blazing sun to stream in from the back of the throne, flooding the pharaoh and the room in light. The light symbolized that the sun god Ra was in the room and approved of the pharaoh. Two more guards stood behind the pharaoh and on the wall behind them was Ra, the falcon-headed god, painted in rich colors.

  Ptolemy was holding an elaborate gold crown in his lap and talking with several men while two scribes sitting cross legged on the floor were frantically scribbling down the proceedings. The crown was shaped into a laurel and appeared to be the center of the discussion. One of the men turned and, to Archimedes’ surprise, it was Callimachus, standing impassively while someone else was arguing and pointing his finger at him.

  “It is too intricate to measure,” Callimachus calmly said to the other man. “Besides, it is physically impossible for a metal to change properties.”

  “Everything that arrives in port is diminishing, shrinking, or changing” the other man was arguing, “and this crown is no exception. It is no longer pure gold!”

  Archimedes had to lean to look past Callimachus, and there, seated next to Pharaoh Ptolemy, was the fanatical priest, Ptahhotep. He was the other man arguing with Callimachus.

  Archimedes tried to twist his hand out of the grip of Berenike, when his eyes landed on one more man.

  Although Archimedes left him far behind in the dust of the stampeding chariot, there was the spying Roman, fist tapping against his mouth, returning the stare of Archimedes.

  Chapter 15

  Ptahhotep abruptly stopped his tirade, dropped his hand and his jaw followed. The insolent schoolboy from the other day dared to walk into an audience with the pharaoh, unannounced and uninvited.

  “What is this blasphemous outlaw doing here? This boy knows no bounds; now he trespasses into pharaoh’s throne room!” Ptahhotep was shaking with indignation.

  Everyone turned to find out what demon from the underworld crawled into the room. The spying Roman narrowed his eyes.

  Berenike, self-assured, still clung to Archimedes’ hand. Archimedes changed his mind about the chariot. Now he welcomed a brisk ride out of there.

  “Princess Berenike,” Ptolemy laid the crown on a dark wooden table inlaid with ivory. “What is the meaning of this intrusion? Who is this boy?”

  “Pharaoh,” Berenike went down to her knees, pulling the traumatized Archimedes down with her. When Archimedes bent his head to the floor, his repaired wooden owl dropped from his neck and tapped on the tile floor. “I am sorry to interrupt. I have more information about the death of Alexander. My new friend Archimedes has offered to help me solve his murder. I did not know you were in audience,” she skillfully lied. Even under the intense scrutiny of these men, Berenike dared a quick glance at Archimedes and winked.

  Blessed Athena, does nothing instill fear in this reckless girl? Archimedes’ tongue was so dry it felt like he licked the dusty chariot clean, but he managed to mouth a meek, “Get me out of here.” He wasn’t sure if he was praying to Athena or pleading with Berenike.

  “Oh, no, Berenike, not more of your absurd theory about his murder,” Ptolemy said in exasperation. When Berenike mentioned her Alexander murder theory, the Roman spy took a step back like he was going to leave the throne room. Ptolemy turned to him and said, “Remus, there is no need to leave. We will continue our discussion of the gold crown.” The Roman nodded and stayed put. He kept his eyes on Archimedes and continued to tap the back of his fist against his mouth.

  Ptahhotep glowered at Archimedes, creasing the hieroglyphs on his face. He was dressed in a full white robe, but still had the same golden necklace and the silver band on his arm. He took a step off the platform he shared with Ptolemy and the finger pointed again. “This insolent schoolboy has a history of disrespecting the gods. He incited a riot and gambling in front of the Temple of Horus. He was to be punished but Callimachus interfered with my orders.”

  The delinquent schoolboy was still clinging to the glass globe that Berenike had at the library. The intense sunlight was hitting the elliptical glass and the rays passed through it, focusing on Archimedes’ hand and burning him. Archimedes wanted to yell in pain, but held it in by biting his lip. He furtively put the glass under his tunic.

  He whispered to Berenike, “When we were at the library I saw that Roman. He was spying on us. I recognize him.”

  The princess shifted her head without lifting it and looked at Remus. “Are you sure? He could not have beaten us to the palace.” She smiled, “At least, not the way we drove.”

  Callimachus addressed the pharaoh. “Archimedes is my student, Pharaoh. He is a talent
ed alchemist, scientist, and mechanic. Ptahhotep simply misunderstood the situation. Archimedes’ intention was only to help a man with his cart. Unfortunately, it occurred it front of the temple. Be assured, Pharaoh, he is penitent for the misunderstanding and swears to Zeus it will never happen again.” Callimachus bowed toward Ptahhotep, knowing the mention of a Greek god would make Ptahhotep think twice about continuing the argument.

  Ptahhotep was furious, but not foolish. He understood, just as Callimachus did, the delicate equilibrium the pharaoh needed to keep between the two distinct religions. There were the traditional Egyptian gods of the people who made up most of Egypt. However, the majority of Alexandria worshipped the Greek gods. Ptolemy did, after all, have Greek blood running though his veins. If Ptahhotep admitted that Archimedes’ only transgression was complimenting Ptolemy’s lighthouse as a triumph of Greek engineering, he would lose the argument.

  “A talented alchemist, scientist, and mechanic,” Ptahhotep mocked Callimachus. He would play the same game. “Since Callimachus puts such great faith in this schoolboy,” he sneered, “and this schoolboy can fix what we Egyptians cannot, he can prove it now by solving your problem with the crown.”

  Archimedes could see his hot breath condensate on the polished tile floor. He did not want anything to do with this confusing discussion of the gold leaf crown, especially if it concerned Ptahhotep and the Roman.

  “Stand up, Archimedes.” Pharaoh’s command echoed against the cool tiles of the throne room.

  Archimedes slowly got up, hoping Berenike would follow. She did not. She only shrugged her shoulders. The fire in her appeared to ebb.

  “Princess Berenike says you can unravel her murder mystery. Callimachus pays you great respect as an exceptional scientist. Ptahhotep brands you a heretic. It seems everyone has a strong opinion about you. However, I would like to find out for myself what your skills are.” He picked up the crown from the table. “Callimachus, give this crown to your student and explain our problem. Scribes, continue to record our meeting.”

  Two scribes were seated on the tiled floor keeping a record of the discussion. From what Berenike explained at the library, one was writing in Greek and the other in demotic. One of the seated scribes rolled back the scroll, scanned it and dipped his reed brush in the ink jar of his palette.

  Callimachus walked over to Archimedes with the crown and whispered so the scribes would not hear, “How in the name of Zeus did you end up here with Princess Berenike of all people?”

  Archimedes took the golden wreath. “I am sorry, Callimachus,” he whispered. “We met at the library.” Then he added, “That Roman. I saw him at the library just before I came with Berenike. He was spying on us.” Archimedes peeked to see if the spy was watching.

  “Remus Decimus?” Callimachus asked. “That is impossible. He has been with us the last two hours.”

  Archimedes was dumbfounded. How in the name of Hermes could he be in two places at once?

  Callimachus spoke so everyone could hear. “At issue here is more than what this gold crown is composed of. What we really are discussing is the fate of Pharaoh Ptolemy’s lighthouse and the unsolved murders that are connected to it.”

  “They are not unsolved; we know who is punishing the workers!” Ptahhotep yelled as he jumped up from his chair. “The killings are the retribution of Anubis!”

  “Ptahhotep,” Ptolemy chided him. “Let Callimachus continue.”

  Ptahhotep angrily sat back down.

  “Eleven workers have been killed at the site with no wounds or obvious signs of death,” Callimachus said. “Workers are quitting as the fervor of the Anubis rumors increases. Now the effects of the murders are moving beyond the construction site. Merchants are claiming because of the curse there is less grain in their cargo holds than when they first left port. Some say their animals are dying as they get close to Alexandria. Still others allege that the curse is causing precious items to turn into worthless junk.”

  Callimachus lifted the golden laurel. “Which brings us to this crown. It was brought as a gift by Remus Decimus, Rome’s ambassador to Pharaoh Ptolemy.”

  The ubiquitous Roman spy gave a slight bow. “It is pure gold, I assure you,” he smiled. “It is a gift to symbolize the friendship between our two nations.” He had a silky voice and devious smile. His grin reminded Archimedes of when his father described a particularly offensive merchant of having ‘the smile a cat gives a mouse just before he eats it.’

  “Blessed Ptahhotep,” Callimachus said, “being a religious advisor to Pharaoh, believes the murders are the work of Anubis and that the curse now extends to anything shipped to Alexandria. This gold crown, Ptahhotep asserts, is no longer gold, but is mostly silver and bronze with only a small amount of gold.”

  Archimedes held the crown up to his face and inspected it closer. The gleaming laurel was cool, smooth, and heavy. It was designed to look like a laurel of grape leaves, the same kind Olympic winners would have placed on their heads. This crown was expertly crafted with delicate leaves to mimic real grape leaves. The difference is that this laurel is made of gold. Or was.

  “If I may, Great Pharaoh,” Remus interjected with his soft voice and sly smile. “As a representative of the Republic of Rome, we recognize the importance of trade with our Egyptian friends.” The smile again. It was like he had to force the smile on like makeup. “I urge you to separate the murders of your courageous men from the work they are doing.”

  “We have the same goals, Remus,” Ptolemy replied. “I understand the financial consequences all too well. But while your only interest is continuing our successful partnership, mine includes the feelings of my people. I have even pulled some Medjay from the tomb of Alexander to help patrol the lighthouse, but we continue to find dead men.”

  Berenike could not sit still any longer. She got up and took the crown from Archimedes. The rings on her fingers made a light clink against the gold leaves of the crown. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She set it on her head without letting go so it did not mess up her carefully braided hair. She brought it back down and smiled at Archimedes. “Pretty soon that toad Ptahhotep will want to count the grains of sand in the desert to make sure someone isn’t stealing it.”

  Archimedes suppressed a laugh. He wondered if it was possible to count sand.

  Callimachus put his hand on Archimedes’ shoulder. “Pharaoh asked me for my opinion; that is why I left you at the library. My opinion, of course, is that there is no curse. Missing wheat or dead animals can be attributed to many logical causes. A crown that changes from pure gold to part silver or bronze would be cursed. The dilemma, Archimedes, is in order to calculate the amount of gold we have to melt it down. Pharaoh Ptolemy has asked his advisors, scientists, and priests for an answer. We can find none.”

  Callimachus whispered to Archimedes. “It is impractical to melt down every gold item that arrives in port because most of their value is in their design. We can melt down this single crown, but Ptahhotep could insist that every piece of jewelry, statue, or treasure is cursed. How do we calculate the amount of gold without destroying every object?”

  Archimedes was no longer listening. His mind was absorbed on the magnificent gold crown he was holding. Callimachus was right that melting and weighing it would reveal any silver or bronze, because metals have different weights. One cube of gold weighs nearly twice as much as the same cube of silver or bronze.

  If it were a solid lump it could easily be weighed for gold content because it would be a known volume. But the complex design made weighing it impossible because the volume could not be determined. He wished he at least had his alchemy kit with him.

  Ptahhotep saw the insolent Greek boy rendered to a silent fool. He leaned back in his chair and scoffed at Archimedes. “Great Pharaoh, the schoolboy has no answer. He is more charlatan than scientist. Let me commence with his intended punishment when he mocked the gods back at the temple.”

  “You may return the crown, Berenike,” Ptolemy fi
nally stated. “We either melt down every piece of gold that comes to Alexandria or we accept Ptahhotep’s accusation that the lighthouse is cursed.”

  Callimachus was about to take the crown from Berenike when the slave that met the chariot earlier came in with the cup of water and bowl of dates that Berenike requested. He respectfully bowed to Pharaoh Ptolemy and walked over to Berenike, who was still holding the gold laurel crown. He tried handing the bowl to Berenike, who was trying to pass the crown back to Archimedes. Archimedes reached for the bowl of dates and crown at the same time. The crown knocked the bowl out of the servant’s hands causing dates to spill on the floor. Some bounced under Ptahhotep’s chair and one date popped up and plunked into the cup of water, squirting a few drops of water on Archimedes.

  The slave gasped and Berenike snickered.

  “For the sake of the gods,” Ptahhotep sneered, “give me that crown before you dunk it in the cup too.” He got up and walked over to Archimedes. He yanked the crown away and gave Archimedes a hateful glare. “Pick up those dates under my chair, you fool!”

  Archimedes was crushed. It seemed the more he tried to help people, the angrier the priest got. He felt like he let Callimachus and Pharaoh Ptolemy down. Especially Callimachus. Callimachus stood up for him twice now and Archimedes began to fear he wouldn’t live up to his teacher’s expectations.

  He walked over and crawled under Ptahhotep’s chair. It was beautiful cedar wood with intricate engravings of Horus and his mother Isis. The detailed carvings opened the back of the chair to the sun, letting shadows of Horus speckle across Archimedes’ tunic. His cheek with the scab brushed against a leg of the chair and the pain reminded him of the slap Ptahhotep gave him yesterday. He continued picking up the wayward dates and putting them in his tunic.

  Pharaoh Ptolemy was discussing something with Remus, Berenike was chiding the servant, and Callimachus and Ptahhotep were arguing again. For the first time today, it seemed to Archimedes, no one noticed the 12-year-old schoolboy from Syracuse. He got up, brushed himself off, and strode over to Callimachus.