‘Yes, the thing is, Rashid,’ said Brandon, ‘we came across some writing in an old document, and though it is probably nothing, thought it would be interesting to find out what it meant.’
Rashid’s heart beat a little faster. Not only had fate delivered the two people he had been watching directly into his hands but now they were actually seeking his help. Truly, God was great.
‘Do you have the document with you?’ asked Rashid.
‘No, not the original,’ said Brandon, ‘though I do have a copy.’ He pulled out the paper and slid it across the table.
Rashid pulled out a pair of spectacles and leaned over the text, hardly daring to breathe, such was his excitement. His mind raced. Within one day of arriving he was already staring at a message that had eluded many of his predecessors. His first instinct was to lie about the message, yet he remembered what his father had said about aiding these people and besides, they might have more information.
‘Well, do you understand it?’ asked India.
‘I think so,’ said Rashid, ‘though your representation of Turkish writing is, shall we say, interesting.’
‘Really?’ mumbled Brandon. ‘I thought it was quite accurate.’
‘It does not matter,’ said Rashid. ‘I can read enough to assume the complete words in context to the sentence. The language is indeed Turkish of a dialect known as Kabatuk. Kabatuk was used by officials from the fourteenth to the seventeenth century. It eventually died out with the end of the Ottoman Empire.’
‘But you can understand it?’
‘I can, though I have to say, it makes little sense.’
‘What does it say?’ asked Brandon.
Rashid drew a pen from his pocket.
‘May I?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ said Brandon and watched as Rashid inserted corrections or separated groups of letters with slashes. Eventually he wrote down a series of English words and passed the note over to India.
When impostors wear the beard in the land of the great house, Iteru withholds her bounty from cities of gold.
Scorn the gods that stand in peace and seek the life that spurts from death. Yet heed not the signs of plenty, for the devil demands ten cubits.
‘Wow,’ said Brandon eventually. ‘It seems like someone is playing hard to get.’
‘It doesn’t make sense,’ said India.
‘Any idea at all?’ asked Brandon, reading the note again.
‘Nothing,’ said India. ‘In order to read clues such as these you need to know the context in which it was written. It could be anywhere, Turkey, Greece, Rome…’
‘Egypt,’ interrupted Rashid.
Both turned to stare at the man.
‘Egypt?’ asked India. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘Miss Summers,’ said Rashid, ‘I hope you do not think me rude, but I am a student of archaeology and find this conversation intriguing. Could I be so bold as to enquire as to the purpose of your enquiries?’
‘It’s nothing, really,’ started Brandon.
‘Mr Walker,’ said Rashid, ‘the note is written in Kabatuk and is obviously a clue to something greater. I assume that the original is of some antiquity and would like to think the authorities are fully aware of your possession of this document.’
Both India and Brandon remained quiet.
‘Or perhaps not,’ said Rashid. ‘This is of great concern to me and I should inform my museum; however, I need not do this.’ He paused before continuing. ‘I am not a stupid man, and even in our brief time together can see you seek something of great cultural value. I am an archaeologist and am just as excited about this as you seem to be. The difference is, I specialise in the history of this part of the world, and if you can see yourself trusting me then I may be able to help.’
India hesitated and looked at Brandon for guidance.
‘With respect, Rashid,’ said Brandon, ‘we have only just met you. How do we know who you are?’
‘I will provide my documentation for your inspection,’ said Rashid. ‘But in the meantime, let me give you a gesture of my worth. I have no knowledge of what it is you seek and do not know the provenance of this verse, yet already I know exactly the place these words speak of.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes, as I suspect do you, Miss Summers, for it is written before your very eyes.’
India looked stunned.
‘How do you work that out?’ she asked.
‘Miss Summers,’ said Rashid, ‘from our short conversation you seem to be a scholar of antiquity, yet you miss the obvious. The final place relies on local knowledge, yet if you un-cloud your eyes you will see the name of the country as clear as day.’
India looked at the document again, dissecting the first sentence in her mind.
When impostors wear the beard in the land of the great house, Iteru withholds her bounty from cities of gold.
Thirty seconds later her eyes widened in understanding.
‘Well?’ asked Brandon. ‘Do you see anything?’
India smiled up at Rashid.
‘Of course,’ she said, ‘I should have noticed before. I feel slightly embarrassed.’
‘No need for embarrassment, Miss Summers,’ said Rashid. ‘Sometimes we cannot see the sky for the clouds.’
‘Excuse me,’ said Brandon, ‘could someone please enlighten me?’
‘Sorry,’ said India, ‘I’ll explain. The words “great house”, when taken in a certain context, are probably amongst the most famous words in the world. In Egypt they are written as ‘PR-AA’ – I can’t tell you how they are pronounced in Egyptian as I cannot speak the language. I can, however, tell you how they are pronounced in Greek, as that is how the pronunciation came down to us and indeed most cultures.’
‘And that is?’ asked Brandon.
‘FAR-RO,’ said India, ‘or as everyone in the world knows it, pharaoh. Great house is a reference to the pharaohs, hence the link to Egypt.’
‘But why was a pharaoh called a great house?’ asked Brandon.
‘He wasn’t,’ said India. ‘The institution of the pharaoh was called the great house. The actual people themselves were simply called kings and queens but over the years the name pharaoh became synonymous with the ruler of Egypt. The fact is, in all the historic documents uncovered since excavations began and throughout all the hieroglyphics discovered on every tomb, pyramid or temple throughout Egypt, not once is the king referred to as pharaoh.’
‘Hang on,’ said Brandon. ‘I may not be religious, but even I remember the term pharaoh being used in the Bible in Sunday school. Doesn’t it say that Moses went to the pharaoh and said let my people go, or something like that?’
India glanced at Rashid nervously before answering.
‘Brandon, the accuracy of the enslavement of the Israelites in Egypt is subject to much debate, and this is not the place or the time. Suffice to say, everyone agrees that the term pharaoh means great house in Egyptian.’
‘But…’ started Brandon.
‘Brandon,’ interrupted India, ‘please, not now. I am a historian, not a theologist, please trust me on this.’
Rashid leaned forward.
‘Mr Walker, India is right, though I suspect she avoids the discussion to prevent a pointless argument about religion, an entirely admirable sentiment in my eyes. However, back to the task in hand, I assure you there is more information in the first sentence to confirm my suspicions. Please be patient, soon all will become clear.’
‘OK,’ said Brandon, ‘I’ll run with it. What about the rest of the sentence?’
India continued.
‘I don’t know if you are aware, Brandon, but false beards were worn by many Egyptian rulers as a sign of their office. This did not mean they were unworthy, but to keep a trimmed beard throughout their lives was seen as an unnecessary burden. Instead they wore a false beard on state occasions. However, there were times throughout Egyptian history when people not of royal descent declared themselves ruler, usua
lly by right of conquest. I believe the phrase “when impostors wear the beard” refers not to a place but a time.’
‘When?’ asked Brandon.
‘Difficult to say,’ said India. ‘Throughout history there were probably hundreds, but I assume the writer of this letter would only be familiar with the more famous ones.’
‘And who were they?’
‘Alexander the Great was one, Darius the Third was another, but mostly the Ptolemaic dynasties, I suppose.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, the first one was a general serving in Alexander the Great’s army. He was sent to govern Egypt in Alexander’s name but after Alexander died, Soter, as he became known, declared himself King Ptolemy the First. He was soon accepted as the true king and he and his descendants ruled for over three hundred years, right up to the time of Cleopatra. You have heard of her, I take it?’
‘I saw the film,’ said Brandon. ‘Elizabeth Taylor.’
‘Brandon, take this seriously,’ said India. ‘Cleopatra was actually one of the Ptolemy dynasty and, as a matter of fact, the seventh queen to use that name. The Ptolemaic was the last of the Egyptian dynasties, after that they were ruled by Rome, amongst others.’
‘Very good,’ said Rashid. ‘You know your history, India, and I agree, the first part of the sentence refers to a time. However, the sentence also refers to a place.’
‘The city of gold,’ said India, reading the note again. ‘Could be Berenike, I suppose. The timeline is right.’
‘And where is that?’ asked Brandon.
‘West coast of the Red Sea,’ said India. ‘It was a busy Egyptian port close to the old gold mines of Jebel Allaki, the source of a lot of the Egyptian gold and built by the Ptolemaics.’
‘It seems to fit,’ said Brandon. ‘Perhaps that’s the place referred to in the letter.’
‘No,’ said India, thoughtfully. ‘It can’t be.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because the words say, “Iteru withholds her bounty from cities of gold”.’
‘And what does that mean?’
‘Simple one this,’ said India. ‘Iteru is the ancient Egyptian name for the Nile, and her bounty is seen as the annual deluge of mud from the inundations that happens each year when the river floods, or should I say, when it used to flood.’
‘Doesn’t it flood anymore?’
‘No, since the Aswan Dam was built, the river water has been controlled. Anyway, the sentence refers to the Nile withholding her bounty. Berenike is nowhere near the Nile, so it can’t be that. The place we need to find has to be along the banks of the Nile and probably lower than the first cataract.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Brandon.
‘Areas of the Nile that are shallow and broken up with boulders and rapids. Most are impassable by river craft and to all intents and purposes, the first cataract represented the southern edge of the civilised Egyptian Empire.’ She looked at Rashid before continuing. ‘That’s it,’ she said, ‘the extent of my limited knowledge. I know about the history of the Egyptian gods but when it comes to the smaller places, I am at a loss.’
‘You have done very well, India,’ said Rashid, ‘so allow me to finish off. The place you are looking for is a small agricultural village on the eastern edge of the Nile and you are correct, it lies about fifty kilometres downstream of Aswan.’
‘And how do you know it is the right place?’ asked Brandon.
‘Because it exists on the site of an ancient Egyptian city called Nubt,’ said Rashid. ‘In English, Nubt means city of gold.’
India smiled.
‘I didn’t know that,’ she said. ‘But if it was a city, it must be huge. How on earth would we know where to begin?’
‘It was, but the sentence is exact, it says that “Iteru withholds her bounty”, meaning the inundation mud. There is a place in the town where, due to the steepness of the banks, the waters never used to deposit the mud, and as it was relatively safe from the annual floods, the Egyptians decided to build a temple to the gods of the river. That place is the temple of Kom-Ombo.’
Chapter 8
Topkapi Palace 1554
Pasha was furious. The soldiers he had sent to arrest Bora had come back empty handed. It had always been his intention to double cross the man and the young girl, as there was no way he could allow them to live and reveal his part in the theft.
The plan had been simple. The girl would steal the map and give it to Bora, he would smuggle it out of the palace and Pasha would arrange his arrest and subsequent execution for his part in the theft. In the meantime, Pasha would obtain the map and the girl would be found dead in an apparent suicide due to the loss of her lover. It was virtually perfect, but not only had the stupid girl ripped the map, the half that they had managed to steal was now long gone, along with the boy.
‘You will find him,’ he hissed to the Saljik assassin now standing in his rooms. ‘Find him and obtain the document he carries. Whatever it takes, you have my authority to carry it out. Torture his family, kill his stock, I don’t care, but whatever you do, find out where he is and bring back the document.’
‘What about him?’ asked the assassin.
‘He has caused me upset and has the power to implicate me in events better left unspoken,’ said Pasha. ‘When you find him, kill him as slowly as you can. Do this and I will pay you a hundred men’s wages. Bring me the document and I will double it. Do you accept?’
‘I do,’ said the black-clad man and turned to leave the building.
Pasha grabbed his arm.
‘This will remain our secret?’ he asked.
‘I am of the Saljik,’ said the man, ‘and our word is our bond. I will die before discussing an arrangement.’
‘Understood,’ said Pasha. ‘Send word when you are successful.’
The man nodded and left the building.
* * *
Bora had run until he could run no more. For days he had wandered through the backstreets of Constantinople, begging for food and hiding in the dark places, afraid to return to the house of his mother in case it was being watched. Finally, at the end of his tether, he crept under the cover of darkness to a place where he knew his brother would pass. Eventually he saw him approach and whispered his name out of the darkness.
‘Savvas,’ he hissed.
The passing man paused and peered into the shadows.
‘Who is there?’ he asked.
‘It is I, Bora, your brother.’
Savvas looked around in concern before stepping into the alleyway.
‘What are you doing here?’ asked Sawas. ‘You are sought by the guards of the sultan.’
‘I know,’ said Bora, ‘and I am at my wits’ end. If they were to find me I would be dead within the day.’
‘Why, what is it you have done?’
‘Nothing that was not tricked upon me,’ said Bora. ‘I will not elaborate as it will place you in danger, but I need your help.’
‘Bora, I love you dearly, but the guards are in our house daily. They follow me to the market and have even threatened our mother. I cannot help you, for her sake.’
‘Savvas, I starve,’ said Bora. ‘Just some food I beg.’
The brother took a loaf from his sack and handed it over.
‘Take this,’ he said and rummaged through the bag again before handing over some cheese.
‘Here, it is the best I can do,’ said Savvas, ‘you must leave this place. It is only a matter of time before someone sees you and sells your whereabouts to the palace.’
‘I know,’ said Bora, ‘but how far will I get without food and money? I fear my time is nearly over.’
Savvas stared at his brother. They had been close all their lives and it hurt to see him in such a state. Finally he reached under his cape and offered Bora a small leather pouch.
‘What is this?’ asked Bora, through a mouthful of bread.
‘I have sold two goats, today,’ said Savvas. ‘Take it, it is all I have.’
<
br /> ‘Savvas, I cannot take all your money, just enough for food will suffice.’
‘We will manage, you will not. There is probably enough here for passage on a boat. Use the money to get as far away from this place as you can.’
Bora took the money hesitantly, before throwing his arms around his brother.
‘I will not forget this, Savvas,’ he said. ‘One day I will return these coins a thousand times over.’
‘Just be safe, brother,’ said Savvas. ‘Now, I must go.’
They said their goodbyes and after Savvas disappeared into the darkness, Bora made his way down toward the docks at the edge of the city. Two days later, he stood at a rail on a trading ship heading west toward the Sea of Marmara. As it passed the edge of Constantinople, he looked up at the city of his birth one last time, not realising he would never see it again.
* * *
Pasha stormed down through the town with only one bodyguard accompanying him. Despite the disappearance of the young man there was still a chance he could retrieve the situation. The harem girl’s death had been accepted by all as suicide and the remaining half of the map had been removed to the treasury for safe keeping.
This was a lucky outcome that he had not dreamed of for he had full authority over the treasury and enjoyed unlimited access. The last few nights he had pored over the remaining half of the map but despite his best efforts, he could see nothing that might substantiate Muhiddin’s claims. Finally he had reasoned that perhaps the missing right half of the map wasn’t so important after all and the key the old admiral had given the girl might be all that was required to reveal the secret.
He reached the house he was seeking and stood to one side as the soldier barged his way in. Inside, Elmira stood up in alarm.
‘What do you think you are doing?’ she asked, before recognising the financier. ‘Pasha, what do you want? Why are you here?’
Her father struggled up onto his elbows.
‘Elmira, who is it? What’s happening?’
‘You know why I am here, Elmira,’ said Pasha, ignoring the old man. ‘I want the key and I want it now.’
The Treasures of Suleiman Page 8
