The Atlantis Papyrus

by Jay Penner

  Soon, the infantries and the cavalries intermingled. The Indian archers struggled with their powerful bows tall as their height. The muddy earth made it difficult for them to anchor the bows and draw the bowstring. We cut them down as they stood.

  The Indian mahouts pushed the elephants forward into of our phalanx. The beasts, frightened by the bristling spikes, filled the air with their trumpet. Men screamed as the elephants trampled or threw them with their powerful trunks. Soldiers on mounted platforms hurled javelins with remarkable accuracy. I watched in horror as one such terrifying missile swooshed from the air hitting the rider next to me, lifting him off his saddle. He had no time to scream as the spear ripped through his chest and impaled him to the ground. He hung like a grotesque doll.

  I came to two more of my men twitching on the ground, and I stabbed them to a merciful death. I maneuvered my horse to avoid the beasts and the missiles. And when it began to struggle and stumble on the wet ground, realizing the danger, I dismounted.

  Groups of men engaged in hand-to-hand combat as the horse riders circled.

  One of the Indians, still a boy, rushed towards me. Intense hatred burned in his eyes. He swung his sword without control—a child’s mistake—and I thrust my kopis into his belly. He screamed, and I twisted before pulling the blade out. He collapsed and began to roll in the ground. I let him bleed.

  That was when I saw one of our generals on the ground, trying to fend off blows from a hirsute giant and his companion. As I ran to protect the general, the larger attacker turned towards me. Orange and white paint decorated his forehead and chest, and waist length wet hair clung to his body. He held a flat, broad sword that dripped crimson in its edges. He turned towards me and swung. The tremendous impact of his sword on my shield sent jolts of pain up my shoulder. The giant lost his footing on slippery ground and fell on his back.

  Meanwhile, the general managed to get to his feet but seemed dazed. As he wobbled, the second attacker lunged. I stepped sideways, swung my kopis, and hacked his arm off at the elbow. The Indian screamed. His arm, with the bone jutting beneath the severed muscle, dangled in front of the shocked general’s face.

  Sharp pain exploded up my right thigh. The giant had recovered and slashed me on my hamstring as he got back to his feet.

  I screamed and stumbled.

  He gripped and raised his sword to deliver a life-ending blow on my skull. My helmet would be no match for the violence of the impact. But this was not my first battle, and I would not allow it to be my last.

  I dropped to my knees, raised the shield, and plunged my kopis into his inner thigh. He recoiled in pain and jumped back. I could not see his face with my shield cover, but I could see the legs. Before he recovered, I swung down with all my might and severed several of his toes.

  He fell.

  I rose to my feet, ignoring the sharp, terrible pain in my thigh. I swung the kopis at an angle, striking at the giant’s neck with force, but the blade hacked half his neck and stuck. I had to use considerable strength to pull it out, and then I hacked him again. And again. And again. Until my fear-induced rage reduced, and his head rolled off.

  I then staggered towards the enemy whose arm I had severed. He was rolling on the wet, muddy ground, howling, clutching his almost separated hand. I gripped the general's shoulder to steady myself. Then I put my foot on the Indian’s face and pushed it into the ground. After futile thrashing about, his convulsing body went quiet.

  We both stared at each other. The general looked dazed. The attack had split his helmet on the side. He looked at me and grinned, as rivulets of red came down by the side of his ear.

  “I owe you my life.”

  “You can thank me later, general Eumenes!” I said as we stood back to back waiting for support.

  “What is your name?” he asked.

  “Deon, sir. Son of Evagoras.”

  Soon, others joined us, and we fought the hordes.

  What Porus' troops lacked in training, they made up in fanatical bravery. There was no doubt in my mind that most of these wretched souls came from the farm to the battleground. When would they retreat and avoid this needless slaughter? I hoped the battle would be over before the sun reached mid sky.

  Meanwhile, our army began to gain the upper hand. The elephants, now running amok among friend and foe, had become a liability. Porus struggled to lead his forces against an experienced and disciplined army.

  I was losing blood. My head throbbed, and the world around me dissolved into a medley of greens, reds, saffron, grays, and browns. I collapsed and felt the soft wet mud around my fingers and knees. The pain seemed to disappear into a fog of fear.

  Is this it?

  Those were my thoughts as I fainted.

  My house looks small, yet beautiful, with the mountains in the backdrop. The walls are white, the tiles on the roof have a reddish tinge, and a poorly drawn image of Poseidon adorns the space above the door. There is my wife. Apollonia. It has been years, but she appears unchanged—her long, light brown hair curls and rests on her bare shoulders. She wears an elegant necklace made of gold flowers—it is the one I gave her before we fell on hard times. Next to her is my daughter, Alexa. How much she has grown! All I remember her is as a baby, chubby, fretful, and trying to put her little fingers in my mouth. She runs to me; I ruffle her short hair and pinch her freckled cheeks.

  I pick Alexa up and walk up to my wife who holds my hand and leads me into the house. Apollonia is petite, I lean to my right and kiss the top of her head. She says something to me, but it is not clear what she says, but we are suddenly sitting on the floor for dinner. We eat noisily, and my daughter’s eyes open wide time to time and my wife scolds me not to tell scary stories. But I tell her something silly, and she laughs with food in her mouth, and it splatters on me. This life is so perfect. Suddenly the floor shakes, and the clay jars and cups crack and turn to dust, the walls of the house vanish, and we are in a dirty, rocky area. There are many almost naked men and women around us, they are dirty, sweaty, and their bodies are scarred. Up ahead is an entrance to a mine—I remember reading about them, gold mines, terrible places with no gods where people go to die. Two burly guards seize my wife and daughter and begin to drag them to the entrance. They scream and shout for help, and my chest begins to beat erratically. I am frantic and try to scream, but no words come out. I try to run towards them, but my limbs do not move, it is as if my body refuses to obey to my mind’s commands. I watch as their figures become smaller and smaller until they vanish into the darkness. I strain with every strength in my sinews and begin to scream soundlessly, and just then—

  I woke up in a makeshift medical tent, gasping for breath. Two of my men hovered from above, staring down with concern. One had his hand on my shoulders, trying to keep me from moving. It took me several minutes to calm down. I drank some water and closed my eyes in relief. A physician had tended to the angry deep gash on my thigh. I asked a fellow soldier on my side what happened. Had we won?

  He smiled through a bandaged face. “News is this was a close one. Porus has surrendered. We destroyed their cavalry. Coenus attacked them from behind, and with the help of Craterus, inflicted significant casualty on their infantry.”

  I sat up slowly, wincing as pain shot up my leg.

  “I do not want to spend any more time in India,” he whispered surreptitiously, looking around.

  I said nothing. While we won, the strain of fighting a fanatical enemy in inhospitable conditions had demoralized the troops. If this ill-prepared army was so hard to fight, how would we face the enormous armies of the King of India?

  Besides, in the past two months, many soldiers had fallen sick in the terrible weather. They vomited copiously, their bodies were racked by fever, and some lay where they fell—and the physicians let them be.

  Raja Paurava—that was what they called Porus—had surrendered, and the official story was that he responded with ‘in a kingly way’ when Alexander asked how he wished to be treated. But oth
er accounts told us that the two men got into a shouting match, and the Indian had threatened Alexander that if he were killed or imprisoned, then every tribe would resist us in our march east. And the King, recognizing the difficulty in continuing without cooperation, had decided to give Porus the kingdom back and expanded his territory.

  Why fight when we could have achieved that through dialog? I wondered. But I was no king, so my thoughts meant little.

  Two days later, the officers’ physician visited me, inspected the wounds, and said gravely, “You are unlikely to command any fighting unit soon.”

  Every few hours physicians cleaned my wound and poured a foul dark liquid on it that caused me to cry in pain. On the third day, the wound began to crust, but pus oozed from it. I developed a fever that lasted several days, but the physicians, who had seen such injuries many times over, knew how to manage it.

  I longed for home like never before. Few in the army knew my story and the dire situation of my family. The deadline would expire in less than four years, and if I did not discharge my debt, my family would be sold to slavery. The campaigns were only moderately rewarding, and generous bonuses were uncommon to men of my rank. There were few pillages as most new regions surrendered to the King having known his reputation. I stole when I could, to add to my baggage, but I was still a long away from shoring enough coin to repay my debt. A luxurious life was only a dream.

  Ten years of war, and not much to show for it. That realization was stronger today than it ever was. The fervor for battles and conquests was gone. The dreams of making large piles of money had seeped away in the deserts of Persia and washed away in the rains of India. And now this injury would end my career in the army and seriously impair my ability to continue to earn until my return. Imagining my wife and daughter in a caravan of beaten and bruised slaves, shackled and dragged like animals, exceeded all the pain I knew.

  I prayed to Dionysus, Poseidon, Zeus—every god that graced the world—to have a plan for me. By the end of a full moon, I was finally able to walk with my crutches. I looked sick, but a soothing bath in the now calm river elevated my mood. I joked with my former troops that if there were anyone that could take on the Indians beyond the Hydaspes, it would be me. This vicious, limping warrior with his fearsome crutches would demoralize the Indian King’s army!

  On the thirty-first day, an officer paid me a visit.

  “Deon, son of Evagoras?”

  “Yes?”

  He eyed my bandaged thigh. “You are the cavalryman who was wounded a few weeks ago protecting General Eumenes?”

  I nodded.

  “The General requests your presence at dinner.”

  At the appointed hour, I hobbled to Eumenes’ tent and stepped in past his guards. He sat alone at the far end of a small table laid out for dinner. He wore a comfortable, crisp white loose-fitting garment, and there was no customary helmet, cuirass, or kopis.

  Watching him in close quarters and in a relaxed environment I was struck by how slight Eumenes was. He was shorter than me, of slight build, and his face was delicate and intelligent. And unlike me, he had a full head of hair, even if an unruly mop of curls. What I noticed most was his eyes—inquisitive and shrewd.

  In one corner was a small, expertly carved idol of Zeus—brows furrowed, a thunderbolt in his raised hand, torso covered by a bright red fabric. Eumenes did not forget his Greek heritage. He gestured me to come in.

  “I am honored to be here, General,” I said as I moved nervously near the table.

  “Sit down, soldier. Share a meal with me. We have a few peaceful days before Alexander moves again. So, I thought, ‘why not know a man that saved my life?’”

  “I have learned too late that saving generals would get me to dine with them.” I regretted the instant those words came out of my mouth, which paid little heed to what my head said—be deferential to a general!

  He laughed, open-mouthed and free. He had several crooked, yellowed teeth. Only a few years separated him and Alexander. “Considering the results of such an endeavor, that might not be advisable.”

  I nodded.

  Eumenes studied me. He had a bowl of deep-purple, fragrant fruit, and put one in his mouth. He said nothing, and whether by design or unintentionally, he made me uncomfortable, and I fidgeted in my seat.

  “You look nervous, Deon,” he said, with a sly smile.

  “It’s not often that a simple soldier is summoned to dine with a general, sir.”

  “You are not a simple soldier, are you?”

  I swallowed. I did not know where this conversation was headed, but my stomach began to growl in the presence of delicious food. I eyed the table hungrily.

  “Go ahead and eat, it is rare even we get something like this—do not think the officers feast every day while the soldiers starve. You can answer me later.”

  I placed one delicious morsel in my mouth and enjoyed the spice of pepper and some other ingredients I did not recognize. “I am but a cavalryman, and have been for a long time, sir.”

  “I have heard that while you are a great fighter, you are also an outstanding trainer. That is quite a rise from a simple farmer.”

  “I am humbled by the praise, General.”

  “And people tell me you are extraordinarily observant of the surroundings around you.”

  I raised my eyebrows. Eumenes had been inquiring about me. But where his men were wrong was in that I was no farmer, and they had not found out that I was a well-regarded teacher of mathematics and philosophy, and I had memory that never faded with time. I remembered everything I heard, read, or saw. No one knew that, and I had used it to my advantage when I wanted to. Except that all my intelligence had failed me when I ventured into the business of brothels in the desire to make money and lost considerable sums. The foolishness and recklessness haunted me ever since.

  But Eumenes’ words took me back to a late evening during the Persian campaigns, years ago. I was sitting near a few other very senior men, one of them the great Ptolemy himself. While most of what they spoke was banter, I remembered Ptolemy uttering to someone to his right—

  You think Eumenes is a mere bookkeeper, but that man is an astute judge of character. Before you know, he might be the one you bow to.

  “Some think it is a gift, but when you are at war for years, the powers of observation leave a great many undesirable memories in the mind,” I said, without exposing the nature of my memory.

  He stood up and picked a parchment absentmindedly. “Where are you from, Deon? Do you have a family?”

  “A wife, sir. Back in Macedon. A daughter who will enter womanhood in just a few years.”

  “Do you miss them?” he asked, as he read what was in his hand and frowned.

  I smiled nostalgically and nodded. Was Eumenes testing me for something?

  “She must be awaiting your return,” he continued.

  “Whether she squeals in joy at the sight of a balding, broken-toothed lout is a question, sir,” I said deprecatingly. If only the General knew that my wife was now a servant in my lender’s house. My head or teeth would be least of her concerns.

  “You are not the most attractive soldier we have, and you could use some hair on your head. Why not wear the hair of some Indian’s head that you cut off, eh, Deon?”

  “My wife may not appreciate the look of a Macedindian, sir.”

  Eumenes laughed. “I am sure she is proud of what you do—serving in the army of the greatest king on earth.”

  What good was pride if my wife never got to see me? If I never saw my daughter grow? If I never experienced some of the luxurious life I had seen the rich live. “I am sure she is, general. So she says in her letters.”

  My wife’s last letter was a year ago, delivered from the empire’s messengers, and its contents still burned in my mind.

  My dear husband, I hope you are well. May Poseidon protect you and deliver you back to us. Alexa grows by the day, and I worry for her safety as she enters her womanhood. They say the mi
nes are a terrible place, and he threatens that he will sell us there. I pray that King Alexander returns home. We long to see you.

  Eumenes grinned as he gingerly ate a mouthful of meat and drank some wine.

  “What about your family, sir?”

  He seemed taken aback by my frank question.

  “I have a wife and a son. Both back in Cardia. And just like you, Deon, I have not seen them in years.”

  He changed the subject again. “So, what do the physicians say about your ability to lead the troops?”

  “I cannot lead a charge anytime soon—"

  “Then you are no longer useful for the army,” He said sternly, as he leaned forward, clasped his hands, and stared at me.

  That stung. The realization that I would no longer lead my troops in honor of the King was painful, and now to hear it directly from a general, no less, was a blow—my chest hurt. To lose my position would also dent my earning and jeopardize my mission to free my family!

  “I’m only joking, soldier! I lack the natural humor you have, but the army could use a man of your talent. Many talents.”

  I was immensely relieved.

  “I am always at your and the King’s service. I do not want to go home in disgrace as a wounded, discarded soldier,” I said, bowing deferentially.

  Eumenes nodded and smiled. “I have the perfect position for you in mind.”

  BY THE HYPHASIS RIVER, INDIA

  ❖

  My active military duty ended with my injury. Eumenes hired me as an adjutant, and my job was to support him on a diverse range of topics—from minor administration to military tactics to replaying conversations with other senior leaders, including other generals. My pay was marginally better than as a soldier and with less risk.