The Atlantis Papyrus

by Jay Penner

  Dedication

  To my father, for his humor and talent, and my mother, for her love

  Contents

  AUTHOR'S NOTES

  INTRODUCTION

  THE BEGINNING

  PART 1: FRIENDS AND FINDERS

  PART II: DANGEROUS JOURNEYS

  PART III: WATER AND DUST

  PART IV: ROCKS AND BLOOD

  NOW

  COMING NEXT

  The Atlantis Papyrus Copyright © 2019 by Jay Penner. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover designed by Jay Penner

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Jay Penner

  Visit my website at https://www.jaypenner.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: April 2019

  Jay Penner

  AUTHOR’S NOTES

  The further we go into the past, the greater the challenge with historical accuracy. Often, the sources are contradictory, and events and sequences are muddy. Anachronism becomes increasingly visible as terms and concepts we know all too well might have just not existed but have to be used to make the reading less cumbersome. As this is not an academic treatise, I have taken certain liberties, but I hope that you, dear reader, will enjoy and come along for the ride.

  ONCE YOU FINISH

  If you enjoyed the book, I would greatly appreciate a review on Amazon. Reviews are the lifeblood of authors and your kind words will make a world of difference. The end of this book has links to take you to the review page.

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  INTRODUCTIONS

  Key figures and terms that appear in the book.

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  Alexander the Great—King, built an empire that stretched from Macedonia to India

  Eumenes of Cardia—Alexander's Greek Royal secretary, rising general and star in the King’s court

  Perdiccas, Ptolemy, Seleucus, Antigonus, Craterus—Alexander’s generals, vied for the empire after the King’s death

  USEFUL TERMS

  Referenced multiple times in the book.

  Kopis—Short sword with a forward-curving blade

  Sarissa—12–13-foot long spears

  Stade—5.4 stadia = mile (1 stade =~550ft.)

  Cuirass—a piece of armor consisting of breastplate and backplate fastened together

  Chiton—a single sheet of woolen or linen fabric work plain or with overfolds

  Alexander’s Empire at the time of his death

  Locations—Then: Now (approximate boundaries)

  Macedon, Greece: Macedonia, Greece

  Egypt: Egypt

  Phrygia, Cappadocia: Turkey

  Armenia: Armenia

  Media, Persia, Gedrosia: Iran

  Babylonia / Mesopotamia: Iraq

  Syria: Syria, Lebanon, Israel, Jordan, Palestine

  Nabataea: Portions of Jordan, Saudi Arabia

  Parthia: Turkmenistan

  Sogdiana: Uzbekistan/Tajikistan

  Bactria, Gandhara: Afghanistan / North Pakistan

  India: India/Pakistan

  Hydaspes River: Jhelum (Pakistan)

  Hyphasis River: Beas (India)

  THE BEGINNING

  MACEDON

  ❖

  Twelve armed men surrounded us in the wet courtyard. Apollonia stood weeping with our frightened baby; their sobs drowned by the steady sound of rain on the cracked brick roof.

  “Tell her, Deon, tell her about your glorious business,” Krokinos said, pointing at my wife. I said nothing. My face burned with shame, and blood dripped from my nose to the rainwater that swirled around my bruised knuckles.

  “A bright young man, a scholar even, but all that means nothing because I need to know how you will repay me,” he said.

  “What is he talking about?” my wife screamed, and I had no courage to answer her. Instead, I addressed Krokinos. “I will find a way Krokinos,” I said, struggling back to my feet.

  “How many times have I heard that before, Deon? You think tutoring little rich brats will make the money you owe me? You should have stayed in your world of Plato and Aristotle, and left the world of whores to us,” he said, and I dared not look at my wife.

  She had no idea what I had done. Krokinos nodded at his men, and two rushed to seize my wife and daughter. “Leave them out of this!” I screamed and lunged forward. Three others blocked my path, and another man kicked the legs under me. I fell, and the men placed their feet on my back, preventing me from standing. I gasped and spat out the mud and water that enveloped my face.

  My wife’s screams and my daughter’s wails mingled with rhythmic music of the raindrops.

  Krokinos’ goons lifted me to my feet again. He ordered his men to bring us all into our living room. I begged Krokinos, “Let them go, Krokinos! I will repay you!”

  “Your house smells of piss,” he said, drawing laughter. “I will have to teach your wife to do a better job at cleaning.” Krokinos wiped his face with his wet tunic and loomed over me. I watched him with intense hatred.

  I could break his bony body like a twig.

  Break his bird nose and crush his skull like a crow’s egg.

  Push a dagger up his—

  One of the burly men grabbed my daughter and began to carry her away. My wife fought him, and I struggled fruitlessly. Krokinos forced his palm on her mouth and shouted, “He is not going to kill your little girl, so shut up! I need to talk to you both.”

  We quietened, and as if by cue the thrashing on the roof reduced in intensity. “I am an honorable man, Deon. And this is what will happen,” Krokinos said, as I strained to look at his face.

  “Your wife and daughter will remain my hostage and as servants—”

  “No,” I struggled against the restraints. Blood rushed into my head like a roaring river through a gorge. He looked on nonchalantly.

  “—And you have time until my son turns of marriageable age. If you do not repay me by then, I will sell them to the mines.”

  I walked quietly, one among the many soldiers in a column that stretched as far as the eye could see. Somewhere at the head of the vast body of soldiers was King Alexander who planned to take on the Persian empire by marching directly into the Lion’s den.

  I hoped that the military conquests would help me earn a handsome salary and make large bonuses. The generals promised plunder, and I would regain my wealth and reunite with my wife and daughter—now in servitude.

  A few years, I had promised her, I would be back. I would free them, and we would all live a comfortable retired life. Apollonia had nodded with those lifeless, sunken eyes. I held her hand and enveloped little Alexa’s, knowing that if I did not return, those hands would be digging unforgiving earth in terrible gold mines in Ethiopia until they died. And they would never know what it was that I did to condemn them to such a life.

  As dust obscured my vision and long, ominous sarissas rattled, I walked into an uncertain future.

  PART I

  FRIENDS & FINDERS

  Circa 327 BC

  “…the madness of love is the greatest of heaven's blessings...” –Plato

  A FEW YEARS LATER, BACTRIA

  �
�

  Royal Secretary Eumenes shivered in the cold morning wind of the desolate, brown-yellow Bactrian landscape. His leather cuirass and military helmet were useless against the miserable chill. He cursed under his breath—at thirty-six his body was beginning to feel the effects of the harsh climate and the relentless pace of the campaign. Unlike many of his peers, Eumenes had none of the layers of fat and muscle that protected the larger men. His small stature and wiry frame were the joke of many a Macedonian General, and his Greek heritage did him no favors in the royal court.

  Eumenes watched as the guards bought the frail creature out of his wheeled cage. He wondered how they ignored the foul stench that emanated from the man, whose skin was covered with abrasions and pus oozed from many wounds. What a fall from glory, Eumenes thought, for the condemned man was Callisthenes of Olynthus—Alexander the Great's court historian, and grandnephew of the famous philosopher Aristotle.

  Even though he struggled to walk, Callisthenes seemed to smile and bask in the soft morning sun, ignoring the cold. A dirty mop of hair covered his face, and his visible ribs shook violently as he coughed. He looked up at the sky, muttered something, and then stretched his back. He then slowly reached down to touch the ground and collected the gray dry grass and dust, looked at it for a while, and slapped his palms together dispersing the dust and grass in the air. The guards led him up a grassy, rocky mound before a wooden platform. They removed his shackles, and he shuffled around. The Pezhetairoi encircled the wooden platform and waited for their commander. General Ptolemy would arrive and proclaim royal orders.

  But Eumenes did not want to be here.

  A week ago, Callisthenes had begged Eumenes for his life, clutching the rusted iron bars of his cage.

  Tell me, Eumenes, what fool would die with a magnificent secret if he could barter it for his life?

  Take it to the King!

  Tell him to spare my life in return for what will make him invincible now and forever!

  I may look mad, but my mind has not lost its fidelity, Eumenes, see beyond my wretched state and consider what I have to say!

  I promise that you will gain too, Eumenes, believe me!

  What Callisthenes had said was astonishing. Whether it came off a fertile or delirious mind was unclear. If what he said was true, there was a strategic advantage in holding it close to the chest. It caused him distress to see Callisthenes this way, for they shared a similar station. Eumenes too had come far from his scholarly origins. At an early age, Eumenes had been the private secretary of Philip II of Macedon, Alexander's father. He had seen the intrigues of the royal court and the growth of Alexander. After Philip's death, he continued to work by Alexander's side. It was as if Callisthenes was like a brother.

  Poor Callisthenes. His role was to chronicle the King’s conquests and create a royal diary that would live on through the ages. But some time ago, he fell out of favor with the King because Alexander began to adopt Persian customs. The mutual dislike had grown, and eventually, Callisthenes was implicated in a conspiracy to kill Alexander. Ever since then the historian’s life was in a cage, wheeled behind the army like an animal.

  Ptolemy arrived, resplendent in his polished metal and leather cuirass and yellow-plumed helmet. He looked at Eumenes and nodded, acknowledging his presence. With dramatic flair he shook his red cape, and then walked up to Callisthenes.

  As everyone watched, Ptolemy pulled out the order roll from its cover. Callisthenes looked at the men around him. Eumenes felt their eyes connect—it was as if Callisthenes searched for hope.

  “Callisthenes,” said Ptolemy sternly, “For your role in the conspiracy against the King, the council sentences you to death. In recognition of your service, we grant you a merciful end.”

  Callisthenes shook. His lips curled as he tried to speak, but the words died in his throat. The guards had denied water to him the last two days, so no doubt his tongue was swollen. Two men seized him from behind, and one placed a noose around his neck. Callisthenes’ eyes bulged from his sockets. The men dragged him on rocky ground, and flesh ripped off his feet. For a fleeting moment, Callisthenes’ terrified eyes connected with Eumenes. It was as if they screamed 'coward!' The historian tried once more to open his mouth and say something, but the noose choked his words. Eumenes lowered his head.

  Callisthenes was hauled up a platform to higher ground. Soldiers stared at the noble who struggled to preserve dignity in his last moments. Giving Callisthenes no time to speak or say his prayers, the executioner stepped behind, swung a thick rope around Callisthenes' neck, and began strangling him. The historian’s face turned purple as the noose tightened around his neck and his frantic hands grasped and fought hopelessly with the tightening snare. Callisthenes’ eyes bulged bloodshot and frantic, his tongue protruded between the bloody lips, his tunic soiled from a discharge of urine, and finally his frail body shuddered one last time.

  Forgive me.

  Eumenes begged Callisthenes in his mind. But some secrets were too valuable to share.

  BY THE HYDASPES RIVER, INDIA

  ❖

  “Deon, are you ready?” asked the rider next to me. But it mattered not to the King or the Gods if I was not. Hundreds of lumbering war elephants loomed out of the mist. Porus, the Indian Satrap of this region, had placed them strategically in the center, supported by his infantry. His cavalry waited on his left.

  O’ Poseidon, I pray thee, may my head not greet an elephant’s leg.

  It was as if the gods were angry at our incursion into this land. A storm had raged through the earlier night as we crossed the Hydaspes in the dark to surprise Porus. Swelling waters had threatened to sweep me away, and my fear of drowning had added to my terror of crossing. But our deception had worked, and Porus learned of our move too late. Porus dispatched his son, with half his army’s cavalry, but we routed them in a pitched battle early at dawn.

  Porus’ son was dead. And so was Alexander’s beloved horse, Bucephalus.

  To our right, the Hydaspes swelled. Deep brown water, abundant with twigs, weeds, plants, rats, and snakes, spread far from the bank. The mud, dredged from churning waters, was knee deep in places. The smell of sweat, death, rot, fresh leaves, and wet mud permeated the air. We had moved away from the bank and found drier, flatter ground as we readied to engage.

  The densely packed armies, stretching one mile on either side, eyed each other from a distance. The fluttering banners, riders on bedecked horses, blocks of sarissas, colorful plumes on thousands of helmets all gave the scene a feel of great festivity—except that this would soon be an offering of blood to thirsty gods and kings. The first major battle to conquer India was about to begin.

  “Look at Ptolemy’s wives waiting for him, they are huge!” bellowed someone, and nervous laughter followed. The rider next to me nudged me with the rear of his javelin, “Not quite like the greeting to your wife’s arms, Deon?”

  Would I ever get back to my wife?

  Would I hold my daughter again?

  It was as if a snake gently squeezed my chest. Would I be a forgotten unknown lying dead in the foreign mud so far away from home? Would I leave them condemned?

  My mind snapped back to the present. The great King Alexander himself would lead the right-wing and engage Porus’ cavalry.

  General Seleucus would lead the central infantry and target Porus’ elephants and infantry. The fearsome phalanx would be crucial in dealing with the beasts.

  General Coenus would lead the left-wing cavalry, swing wide, and come behind Porus’ Infantry. This would force Porus to split his cavalry, which, as we noticed, remained on his left.

  The famed general Craterus, for some reason I could not fathom, was not in the main attacking force but waited on the opposite bank of the Hydaspes. He would cross once the battle ensued and come upon the rear of Porus’ army.

  We would soon find out if the strategy worked.

  “Hold. Wait for command,” Perdiccas’ voice carried in the quiet. I saw the King’s
distinct purple plume far ahead and to my left.

  What a distinction to fight by his side!

  I took a deep breath, straightened my back, and puffed up my chest. My horse stirred impatiently under me—I patted and soothed its neck. The gentle tinkles of the bells attached to the horses, the light rustling of leaves, the constant sound of swirling waters of the Hydaspes, all gave a false sense of idyllic bliss.

  The clouds which had parted to allow the sun to peek closed again and the raindrops began to fall. Then there was the first distinct whistle that prompted the thousand-strong archery to let loose a frightening mass of arrows upon the enemy. We watched mesmerized as the bolts flew across the dark sky and began their murderous descent. I knew our charge orders would now arrive at any moment.

  And then there it was—the shrill whistle of attack and the great shout from thousands ready to battle. The horse's manes glistened as we galloped to engage Porus’ forces. Mud kicked up from their thundering hoofs dirtied the ground and men.

  The verdant greenery was about to turn bloody and brown.

  We angled towards Porus’ cavalry, avoiding the elephants and attacking his horses as planned. Coenus split away from us, and I knew the infantry would soon begin its purposeful march forward.

  Their cavalry rushed at us with admirable bravery. But their riders were not as well trained. The quiet morning had devolved into a hellish nightmare with the music of death. We swung our kopis’ and thrust our javelins, and hacked heads and limbs began to pile on the ground. Our Scythian horsemen rained arrows as they rode, and we cut through the enemy’s formations. I marveled at the Scythians’ grace—they were like lethal dancers on horses.

  Thousands fought for the honor of their lands and for their lives. My face was wet with rain and specks of blood, and the faces and bodies became a blur as we swung and slashed. As it is in these battles, the carefully designed formation devolved in chaos at contact. Horses ran amok and trampled men who fell off the saddles. Some dismounted and preferred to fight their battle on the ground.