The Treasures of Suleiman

by The Treasures of Suleiman (retail) (epub)

  ‘Don’t give them anything,’ Rashid had instructed, ‘or by the time we reach the next bend there will be dozens waiting. Word travels fast when westerners are loose with their money.’

  Brandon had chilled out, especially as Hakim had explained that while they were on his boat, it was acceptable to ease the severe dress code they had heeded in Aswan. Though bikinis were definitely out, shorts and T-shirts were allowed and India shared her time between sunbathing and interrogating Rashid and Hakim about the history of the area. At lunchtime Hakim anchored in the centre of the river and disappeared into his tiny kitchen to produce a much-anticipated lunch.

  ‘Rashid, is it safe to swim?’ asked Brandon.

  ‘Swim?’ said India. ‘What about the crocodiles?’

  ‘There are no crocodiles north of the Aswan Dam,’ said Rashid. ‘Since it was built, they have died out from here to the Mediterranean. However, along this stretch there are strong currents that can drag you under within seconds. I would not recommend it.’

  As delicious aromas started to float out of the cabin, Brandon took the opportunity to get to know Rashid better.

  ‘So, where are you from, Rashid?’ asked Brandon. ‘You’ve hardly said anything about your background since we met.’

  ‘My family are of the Saljik,’ said Rashid. ‘Once we were many and great tribes wandered the deserts of Iraq and Iran, but a thousand years ago many took the coin of the Turks and travelled north to the lands of the Ottoman. Soon, many lost the ways of our ancestors and now, very few live the old way.’

  ‘What about you, personally?’ asked Brandon.

  ‘I too am guilty of this,’ said Rashid. ‘I spent the first sixteen years in the tents of my family and learnt their ways but always I needed more. It was very hard for a boy learning how to survive in the deserts when often the camel trains were overtaken by cars or planes crossing the skies high above. These things intrigued me and finally my father allowed me to attend school in one of the towns. It was a great mistake as I became hooked on learning and eventually left my family to study full time in the colleges of Istanbul. Finally, I managed to get an internship with a museum and am working my way toward a degree in archaeology.’

  ‘So why were you in Samothrace?’ asked Brandon.

  ‘Holiday,’ said Rashid. ‘Though you have to admit, the history there is intriguing.’

  ‘What do you think about this little adventure?’ asked Brandon.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, it’s not exactly legal. How does this sit with the official within you?’

  ‘Brandon,’ said Rashid, ‘in this part of the world, things are not often as they seem and everyone makes their living the best way they can. I am no different and have to admit the thought of this treasure intrigues me.’

  ‘And you are comfortable with this whole thing?’

  ‘I am,’ said Rashid.

  ‘So, how long until we get to Kom-Ombo?’ asked Brandon, changing the subject.

  ‘Hard to say as we are at the whims of the desert wind,’ said Rashid, ‘though I expect it will be sometime tomorrow morning.’

  ‘And what do you think we will find?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Rashid. ‘I have not been to this site before. I hope that whatever the clues allude to, they have not disappeared over the last five hundred years.’

  ‘Lunch is ready,’ called India and they made their way to the rug that was already laid out with trays of lamb kebabs and bowls of vegetables.

  ‘I’m going to have to start running again when we get back,’ groaned Brandon as he sat down.

  ‘Oh, shut up and enjoy,’ said India.

  * * *

  The following morning Brandon woke late to the rocking of the boat. He sat up, his head aching from the late drinking session with Rashid and Hakim. Picking up a bottle of water he joined India, who sat at the front of the boat, watching the world go by.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said as he joined her.

  ‘Good morning, what time is it?’

  ‘Nine thirty,’ she answered.

  ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’

  ‘You were away with the fairies,’ said India. ‘Anyway, I was enjoying this too much.’ She indicated the stunning scenery at either side of the river. Camels stood alongside the water’s edge, brought down by their handlers for their morning drink, stirring flocks of ibis into flight. Fishermen made their way out into the centre of the river, casting their nets from their boats, and the sound of the bells hanging from the necks of ox-drawn carts echoed across the river. Silver kingfishers hovered above the Nile before piercing the waters like arrows to secure their own breakfasts.

  ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ she asked.

  ‘I suppose it is,’ agreed Brandon, taking a drink from the water bottle. ‘What’s that place up front?’

  ‘That’s the outskirts of Kom-Ombo,’ she said. ‘Rashid reckons we will be there in a couple of hours.’

  ‘Good,’ said Brandon, ‘perhaps then we’ll see if there’s anything in this whole treasure map thing.’

  India stood up.

  ‘I’m going to take a dip before we get to the civilised areas,’ said India. ‘Hakim said the river is safe here so it might be our last chance for a while. Care to join me?’

  ‘No thanks, I’m going to get some breakfast if there’s any left.’

  ‘We saved you some fried fish,’ she said. ‘I’m sure Hakim will sort you out.’

  She made her way into the cabin and five minutes later, as he picked on flakes of cold but delicious fish, Brandon watched the girl dive headlong into the Nile.

  Chapter 10

  Kom-Ombo

  India and Brandon sat on the quayside, waiting for Rashid to come out of Hakim’s cabin. India was dressed in her long skirt and long-sleeved blouse while Brandon had put on his cream slacks and shirt. When Rashid emerged, they looked up in surprise as he was dressed very similarly to them.

  ‘You’re not wearing your thawb,’ said India in surprise.

  ‘No, the place will be swarming with tourists,’ said Rashid. ‘This way I will probably fit in much better.’ He placed a straw hat on his head and donned a pair of dark sunglasses.

  ‘Well, now I look like an infidel,’ said Rashid, ‘I have just got to start acting like one.’

  ‘Very funny,’ said, Brandon sarcastically. ‘Come on, let’s get up there.’

  They walked along the dusty road from the quay and up a double set of steps to the top of the sandstone escarpment. It was only ten o’clock but already the tourist coaches were being lined up in the car parks below and the Nile cruise ships were jostling for position along the riverbank.

  As they reached the upper half of the steps, the temple eased into view until it rose above them like a recoiling cobra, still magnificent despite its antiquity. In front of them lay two flights of granite steps leading up to the remains of the outer perimeter wall of the complex. Through the opening, five enormous pillars held up a set of lintels, all that remained of the roof, but further back they could see a network of chambers and walls leading deeper into the temple.

  At the base of the steps, hundreds of stalls sold all sorts of souvenirs for the thousands of daily tourists and they had to negotiate their way past them all, each seller adamant that their wares were the cheapest. Eventually they reached the entrance and joined the throng already exploring the ancient temple.

  ‘It’s wonderful,’ said India, staring up in awe at the magnificent ruins reaching high above her head.

  ‘I have to admit,’ said Brandon, ‘it does take your breath away.’

  They walked into the interior of the temple, taking in the grandeur of the surroundings. Every wall was covered with carvings of Egyptian life from over 2,000 years earlier. Many of the original colours were still evident, hinting at the vibrancy that must have filled the majestic halls.

  They shuffled forward, caught in the human tide that flowed through the ruins, each subgroup led by
their guide explaining the history of the building. All around them shutters clicked and mobile phones were held up, each capturing the images for themselves and each likely to decay long before the granite monuments around them.

  Rashid tapped India on the arm and nodded his head to one side, indicating she should follow him. She passed on the message and all three walked out through a side corridor and into an antechamber.

  ‘Wow, what do you think?’ gasped India. ‘Isn’t it superb?’

  ‘There are monuments greater than this all over this country,’ said Rashid. ‘This is but a pile of ruins in comparison.’

  ‘I know that,’ said India. ‘But still, did you see the colours?’

  ‘Let’s not forget what we have come for,’ said Rashid and turned to Brandon. ‘Do you have the rest of the message?’ he asked.

  Brandon pulled out the folded paper and read the next line.

  ‘“Scorn the gods that stand in peace and seek the life that spurts from death.”’

  ‘Any ideas?’ he asked.

  ‘Not really,’ said India. ‘Why don’t we all split up to explore this place and meet back here in an hour or so. Three sets of eyes and three different perspectives have to be better than one.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Brandon, ‘though don’t wander off on your own as you could attract unwanted attention from the locals.’

  ‘I think I will be OK,’ said India and nodded toward one of the many white-suited policemen wandering around the ruins.

  ‘OK, one hour,’ said Brandon as they re-entered the temple to start their search.

  India stood at the entrance to the museum for a few minutes before discreetly joining a tour party with an English-speaking guide. While Brandon wandered through the ruins alone, Rashid made use of his local knowledge by engaging some of the locals in conversation. An hour later they met again in the antechamber.

  ‘Any luck?’ asked Brandon.

  ‘Well, I know the temple is a double temple,’ said India, ‘dedicated to both Horus and Sobek. The left-hand side is dedicated to Horus, the falcon-headed god of the sky, while Sobek started off as a god of the waters and was represented by a crocodile-headed man.’

  ‘The whole right side of the temple seems to be dedicated to Sobek,’ said Brandon. ‘There were even mummified crocodiles in one of the side rooms.’

  ‘Yes, I saw them,’ said India. ‘Apparently this part of the Nile used to be swarming with the beasts and that’s why they built the temples here. They even have the remains of a pool outside where tame crocodiles were kept and deified.’

  ‘But why a double temple?’ asked Brandon. ‘Is it common in Egypt?’

  ‘Well, many temples have images of many of the pantheon,’ said India, ‘but these seem to have been built specifically to these two.’

  ‘It does seem strange,’ said Rashid, ‘as though they are linked in some references, others refer to them as sworn enemies.’

  ‘Enemies?’ said Brandon. ‘Hang on.’ He fished out his paper and read it again.

  ‘“Scorn the gods that stand in peace,”’ he read. ‘The fact that they share a temple suggests they stand in peace, but what does it mean by scorn?’

  ‘I suppose it could mean that we are looking in the wrong place,’ said India. ‘Perhaps the clue leads elsewhere, away from the temple.’

  ‘Let’s take a look outside,’ said Brandon, and the three walked from the cool shadows of the temple and into the large courtyard surrounding the site.

  ‘“Life that spurts from death,”’ said Brandon.

  ‘OK, what do we have here?’ They walked around the grounds looking at the crocodile pools, the birthing house of Ptolemy and the Chapel of Hathor. Finally they stopped at a large, walled well, disappearing into the ground at their feet.

  ‘Wow,’ said Brandon. ‘That’s impressive, what is it?’

  The perimeter wall around the well was shaped like a western keyhole and slightly lower than chest height. The wall itself was topped with a steel handrail to stop over-keen tourists from toppling over and into the deep shaft within. A set of steps descended about ten feet between the two straight parts of the perimeter wall but was sealed off with a glass and steel panel. Within the circular wall itself a stone-lined shaft fell away, culminating in a pool of water far below.

  ‘It’s called a Nileometer,’ said India, ‘similar to a well but built for the priests of the temple to ascertain the levels of the Nile when it flooded. Somewhere down there, measurements would be marked on the walls and the priests would read off the level of the Nile by comparing the water level against the markings.’

  ‘Is that what that opening is for?’ asked Brandon, pointing out a doorway cut into the wall about halfway down.

  India looked down and saw that the opening was the start of a second set of steps that led almost down to the water itself.

  ‘I suppose so,’ said India, ‘but I’m not sure why they would have two sets of steps.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ said Brandon, ‘but it doesn’t help us.’

  As they walked back toward the temple once more, India turned to face Brandon suddenly.

  ‘“Life that spurts from death,”’ she said. ‘Of course.’

  ‘You’ve worked it out?’ asked Brandon.

  ‘Yes, we are giving this Bora far too much respect and seeking inner meanings that are not there. He is actually quite straightforward. Look, the first line says “Scorn the gods that stand in peace”, well that obviously refers to the temple, but another word for scorn is look away, or turn your back. If we turn our back on the temple, what do we see?’

  They turned and looked across the courtyard.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Brandon, ‘except for the well.’

  ‘I told you,’ said India, with an air of impatience, ‘it is not a well, it’s a Nileometer.’

  ‘OK, OK, keep your claws in,’ said Brandon, ‘a Nileometer. What about it?’

  ‘Well, think about it,’ said India. ‘“Seek the life that spurts from death.” What is the one thing that the whole of Egypt relies on, the one thing that was here before the first Egyptian even walked across the sands?’

  ‘The Nile?’ asked Brandon.

  ‘Exactly,’ said India. ‘The Nile is Egypt, and its waters supply life to the whole country. Without the Nile, this area of Africa would be nothing more than a massive desert, so when Egyptians refer to life, they often mean water. The Nile represents life, while beyond her reach lies the desert, or in other words, death. When the verse says “life that spurts from death”, it means water that spurts through sand.’

  ‘Like a spring?’ Rashid asked.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘But there are no springs,’ said Rashid, ‘or any records of any springs. The waters in the Nileometer were fed by an underground channel leading from the Nile.’

  ‘Yes,’ said India, ‘but let’s not forget that by the time Bora was here in the sixteenth century, these ruins were probably abandoned and I wouldn’t be surprised if the Nileometer was silted up to a certain degree as there would be no priests to keep the channels open.’

  ‘I don’t follow,’ said Brandon.

  ‘Look,’ said India, ‘we know that Bora was here after the temple fell into disrepair. Now, imagine that the Nile flooded, as it did every year while he stayed here. If the bottom of the Nileometer was silted up and the Nile level particularly high, then the pressure of the water would force its way up through the sand and give the impression of a spring. At the very least it would seem strange that every year a sand-filled shaft filled with water, and don’t forget, after being filtered through the sand the water would be extraordinarily clean.’

  ‘But the locals would have known why, surely.’

  ‘Not necessarily. Most of the people who lived around temples during its heyday devoted their lives to the gods whom the temples were dedicated to. When they fell into disuse, many would move away or simply die out over the years and the traditions were forgotten. Don’t for
get, most of Egypt was hidden for hundreds of years and even the meaning of hieroglyphics was forgotten until the discovery of the Rosetta Stone.’

  ‘What’s the Rosetta Stone?’ asked Brandon.

  ‘A slab of granite found by one of Napoleon’s soldiers during his Egyptian campaign,’ said India. ‘It was carved in 196 BC and contained a decree telling the people how great Ptolemy the Fifth was and that all temples and citizens were to worship him every year throughout the land.’

  ‘Like a bank holiday?’ Brandon asked.

  ‘Yes, something like that,’ said India, giving him a withering look. ‘Anyway, the point is the Rosetta Stone had the same message written in three different languages: hieroglyphics, which was considered the language of the gods, demotic, which was the language they used to write their documents at the end of the late Egyptian period, and Greek, the historic language of Ptolemy’s forefathers. As the message was the same, a French scholar named Champollion managed to decipher the Hieroglyphics, and his discovery formed the basis for reading them ever since. All of a sudden, the history of this strange country opened up before the world’s eyes as their history was carved in every tomb, temple or historical building throughout the land.’

  ‘So what about around here?’ Brandon asked.

  ‘Who knows?’ said India. ‘The incumbents could have died out, moved on or may have been invaded by Nubian tribes from the south. Whatever happened, it is very plausible that by the time of Bora, no one knew the purpose of the Nileometer and they thought it was some magical place where water just appeared through the sand.’

  ‘Sounds plausible, I suppose,’ said Brandon.

  ‘Let’s take another look,’ said India, and they returned to the perimeter wall. They walked around the Nileometer wall several times, talking about the possibilities.

  ‘OK,’ said Brandon, ‘the last line of the letter.’

  ‘“Yet heed not the signs of plenty, for the devil demands ten cubits.”’

  ‘Something about food?’ suggested Brandon, and when there was no answer, he looked up at India and Rashid. Both were smiling at him.