The Atlantis Papyrus

by Jay Penner

  As she returned to the kitchen, Apollonia checked that no one was watching, and then she placed her back to the cold stone wall and began to weep. All she knew was that her husband was far away, and that he was alive, and that after a campaign in a strange, mysterious land called India the army was headed back. She did not know where.

  The tears flowed, but there was no one wipe them away.

  BABYLON, MESOPOTAMIA

  ❖

  The omens were foreboding. It had been several days since Alexander appeared in front of the troops. There were rumors abound in the capital, and generals worried what would happen if he died without anointing a successor. It was now day eight of his fever, and we were convinced these were Alexander’s final days. I had seen soldiers die of similar symptoms in the humid swamps of India and the backwaters of Babylon.

  The generals moved from a state of disorganized panic to a state of controlled worry on how to rule the empire after his death. Added to this complication was the fact that Craterus, the most respected and distinguished of all his generals, was on the way to Macedon, per Alexander’s orders, before the King fell ill. This meant the steady hand of a popular leader was unavailable if there was a full-scale riot.

  Eumenes asked that I join him and the others in the King’s bedchamber.

  Late afternoon the King opened his eyes.

  He looked at his senior men—the Diadochi—his potential successors. Ptolemy and Seleucus, looking haggard with worry, stood by Perdiccas. The others were on the other side of the bed.

  Eumenes stood dressed as a scribe, with a writing parchment in his hands. His demeanor conveyed that he posed no threat and had no interest in the political power play ahead. One could only guess if the others brought this charade, for Eumenes was as ambitious and skilled as any man in that circle.

  The King’s unfocused gaze wandered among the people clustered around him, and his mouth produced little more than a stream of guttural sounds: the first of any noise we had heard from him in two days.

  Ptolemy took the bold step and asked loudly, "Alexander, who do you appoint as your successor?"

  Alexander did not answer, instead he looked at his pregnant wife Roxane who stood a foot behind Perdiccas. Even in the fog of his fever, I wondered if the King saw the danger to his barbarian wife and unborn child.

  Alexander feebly lifted his hand, the one with his imperial signet ring, and I could see the Diadochi tense—was he about to offer his ring to the presumed successor? His hand came half-way from the bed, and at that moment, the light shone briefly on the purple gemstone perched on the ring, blinding some. Perdiccas moved quickly, too fast for the others to react, and knelt before the King's hand. He gripped Alexander’s forearm in a sign of deep reverence and kissed his palm. And as if to accept the gesture he gently pulled the ring off Alexander’s finger and raised it above his head.

  The message Perdiccas sent was unmistakable; Alexander had anointed him, successor.

  I could see Ptolemy’s enraged expression, but he held back, for Ptolemy was nothing if not a calculative man biding his time. Seleucus seemed dazed, and a fleeting smile passed Eumenes face.

  At that moment, Alexander’s hand fell.

  It never rose again.

  Alexander’s death created a vacuum that appeared unfillable. His vast empire extended from Macedon all the way to the border of India. Even the most illustrious of his generals paled compared to the “man god” who was now dead and had not anointed a successor, even though Perdiccas claimed that role. Alexander had no male heir to the throne to appoint. His pregnant wife was Bactrian and not from the Macedonian royal houses, much to the chagrin of the generals. Her strange mannerisms, accent, and barbarian heritage frustrated them. With the birth of Alexander’s child impending but not yet assured, the natural next of kin was his idiot half-brother Philip Arrhidaeus, who exhibited the mental capacity of a 6-year-old.

  Ptolemy, who wanted Egypt, received the satrapy of this rich and fertile land by the Great River.

  Perdiccas would be regent for the empire and act as the regent protector of the half-wit King Arrhidaeus, who lacked the ability to speak a few coherent sentences, much less to rule.

  Seleucus would govern the eastern provinces of Asia.

  Eumenes, whom I still served, finagled a surprising victory from the spoils of Alexander’s death—he received Cappadocia, with its fine horses and powerful cavalry. He was delighted. He had gone from a scribe to a satrap.

  Perdiccas. Ptolemy. Seleucus. I sensed that these men would play a great role in the future of the vast empire.

  Craterus and Antigonus were the other two notable characters, but I was unsure what role they would play in the theater that would unfold.

  I stayed put with control of a small unit, with the primary purpose of guarding Eumenes through these dangerous times, as he navigated his new responsibility and prepared to leave for Cappadocia when the time was right. I was certain that he would take me with him. But while greater men quarreled for what is theirs, I had my own worry. My earnings were far from enough for pay Krokinos’ debt, and the uncertainty of these times made me very anxious. Eumenes receiving Cappadocia was good news—it would get me much closer to home. I planned to ask leave of him, request a bonus for myself for my service, and go to free my family.

  I was also planning to ask for a substantial loan which I hoped he would entertain.

  It was at this time that I received the next letter from my wife.

  My dear husband. When will the gods bring you to us? We hear the King is returning. Our days are full of sorrow and nights wet with tears. Krokinos starves us when he is angry. His lecherous son eyes Alexa. He says you have two years, or we will die in the depths of earth. Please beg your generals to free you. Come back to us.

  That letter pierced my heart. They had not known of course know yet that Alexander was dead. I imagined my Apollonia at Krokinos’ house, worn, weathered, doing back-breaking work as my little girl probably played nearby. I imagined them shouted at, and I began to feel greater anxiety about returning. But asking to return now would not bode well for me and going back with only a fraction of what I needed to secure their freedom would be risky for me—physically and financially. They had to wait for me some more. We had two years, that was more time than I needed to work out an arrangement to repay my debts.

  Meanwhile, embalmers had begun to mummify Alexander’s body. They would then place his body in a sarcophagus, housed in a magnificent horse-drawn funerary temple. Perdiccas would arrange for a parade from Babylon to Macedon for burial in the royal tombs.

  The tense months began in the fetid, sweltering weather. I had to be patient until we moved to Cappadocia to seek my release and request my bonus and loan. I sent a letter to Krokinos asking him for patience and that I would be returning soon, and an additional message to my wife asking them to wait a little longer.

  BABYLON, MESOPOTAMIA

  ❅

  Eumenes had much to do. Alexander's procession would leave soon and Arrhidaeus—an able commander who was well known to Perdiccas—would lead it to Macedon through Syria. The body was a potent symbol. Whoever had it would gain legitimacy as a ruler.

  Perdiccas often muttered that Alexander’s mother would crucify him and feed his body to the dogs if the Diadochi did not cremate her son in the Argead royal tombs as was the custom in the Macedonian royalty. Alexander’s wish to be buried in the temple of Ammon in Egypt could not be honored.

  Eumenes was sure of one thing: The Empire would soon erupt into a bloody war, with each general vying for parts of each other’s satrapies, or even perhaps the entire empire. The personal relations and ambitions were sure to create fissures quickly.

  Even his life would soon be in danger.

  Craterus was on the way to Macedon. War with Perdiccas was just a matter of time.

  Ptolemy, who received the richest satrapy after Persia, would undoubtedly come under attack from Perdiccas or Craterus eventually—it was simp
ly too valuable a province to stay on its own.

  Perdiccas. Ptolemy. Seleucus. Craterus.

  He would have to keep an eye on these four—though his allegiance now was to the Regent Perdiccas. Antigonus waited in Phrygia, and no one knew what he would do.

  For now, Eumenes decided, he would continue as planned to take Cappadocia under his control, a fantastic region that would be a great starting point for him to build his power and presence. And it was time for him to finally unlock Callisthenes’ secret. But there was one problem. It had become impossible to gain access to Callisthenes' papers.

  The papers went under Craterus’ control just after Callisthenes’ imprisonment. When Craterus left for Macedon, he had transferred them to Perdiccas. Neither men knew its importance, but Eumenes could not gain access without arousing suspicion.

  He was a Royal Secretary, yet circumstances had prevented him. It was incredibly frustrating.

  In his misguided sense of devotion to Alexander, Perdiccas had decided that most of the royal papers that were neither a will nor Alexander's plan, would be buried in Alexander’s tomb.

  Eumenes thought he could persuade Perdiccas—but he soon thought the better of it. In times such as these friendships meant little, and if the temperamental Perdiccas even suspected something afoot, Eumenes might forever lose the papyri, and his life as well. The gods knew he had attempted several times—bribes, stealth, and even excuses of study for posterity—all were frustrated by Perdiccas’ loyal guards. Perdiccas even scolded him once when the guards revealed one such attempt. Further inquisitiveness would only raise suspicion.

  So, Eumenes hatched a plan.

  Eumenes walked alone through rings of security. He felt miserable with his sweaty wet armpits and itchy scalp. Even the cold marble floors and wavy curtains of the palace did not bring relief. The new Regent had made himself busy administering the empire on behalf of the new King Arrhidaeus and coaxing and cajoling the other generals to take stations and pledge allegiance.

  Perdiccas was also waiting nervously to hear from Craterus if he would continue his journey towards Macedon, for he did not want this famous general to turn back for whatever reason.

  Eumenes walked along a wide, ornate corridor and entered a large, well-appointed room. Perdiccas’ official chamber, once Alexander’s. Eumenes felt a tinge of envy—only if he could wield this power and authority!

  Perdiccas sat on a flat bench decked with gold-embroidered finery and customary purple cushions, symbolizing royal stature. He dressed in his Macedonian military costume—a deep brown cuirass, purple plumed helmet, and an ornate sheathed kopis on his waist. He pretended to be reading when Eumenes entered.

  “Good to see you after many days, Eumenes!”

  “Greetings Perdiccas, no doubt you have been busy managing the empire—I hold no grudge for you not meeting an old friend for many days.”

  Perdiccas raised an eyebrow. Whether it was for Eumenes referring to him as an old friend for he saw himself as the King and deserving of such respect or because Eumenes termed it as a grudge.

  “We must talk about the plans for the procession of Alexander’s body back to Macedon. Alexander’s mother wonders why the wait,” Eumenes said.

  “That old hag should keep her mouth shut and let me decide what to do!” Perdiccas grumbled.

  The stress was beginning to affect him.

  He looked haggard with bags under his bloodshot eyes, and his fingers trembled nervously as he paced about. But Eumenes knew that Perdiccas would not take on the Royals so early, as it would be a fatal mistake.

  “The body of Alexander is of immense value, and you know that more than anyone else,” Eumenes said. This was a touchy subject. Perdiccas looked up, and without expression nodded Eumenes to continue. “It is important that we take the King to his rightful resting place, and that journey goes without a hiccup.”

  “You are bold to insinuate that the Diadochi would attempt something so foolish.”

  “Do you really believe that no Diadochi will attempt to benefit from the King’s body?”

  Perdiccas stayed quiet. For all his faults, the one redeeming quality was his fanatical loyalty to Alexander, even after the King’s death. Eumenes continued to exhort. “Do not be naïve. Times have changed, and it is in both our interests to see the procession reach its destination safely.”

  Perdiccas signed. “Go on, Eumenes,” he said.

  “Plan the procession not just with Arrhidaeus, who I know you believe to be loyal to you, but also with someone else who can keep an eye on that man.”

  “That may be prudent,” Perdiccas remarked.

  “Move the procession North along the river before dropping towards Damascus and then Sidon. This will keep the route away from potential incursions.

  “Once in Sidon move it North along the sea—always guard the right and watch the sea to the left.

  “Reveal the route to no one. It is both our desire that the King rests at his rightful place, under his mother’s watch.”

  Perdiccas and Eumenes then refined the approach, security, and organization associated with the procession. And then came the time which Eumenes waited for Perdiccas to ask.

  “Eumenes, this is a good plan. Who might act as a trustworthy eye on Arrhidaeus?”

  Eumenes leaned back and crossed his arms. His eyes squinted, and he placed a finger on his lips and grunted dramatically. “I have one name—a man that has worked closely with me and I trust.”

  “Do I know him?” asked Perdiccas, as he looked intently at Eumenes over the wine cup.

  “Deon, the son of Evagoras, who has served as my adjutant. You have seen him several times. He is loyal and a great observer who can report anything that seems out of place,” said Eumenes.

  “What is his history? I do not remember the details—since when has he served us?”

  Eumenes briefly described Deon’s background, role, and service record. “Sounds like a good man. He is loyal to you Eumenes, but me?” Perdiccas smiled with a wicked curl of his lips.

  “I have no doubt. His loyalty to me extends without question to you too.”

  Perdiccas nodded.

  “I think a talent will ensure that he stays on the task,” Eumenes said, explaining that Deon had need for money.

  “A talent, you say? That is ten years of his earning!”

  “Depends on the price you assign to the task, Regent.”

  Perdiccas leaned on his cushion and nibbled on a date. He looked outside the window that opened to show the vista of the river. At a distance, the remarkable gardens built on a terrace looked like a forest that hung from the skies. Perdiccas stood and placed his hand on Eumenes’ shoulder. Then he walked with the Greek and directed him towards the door. “You have given me much to think, Eumenes. In these challenging times, I am glad to have you by my side. Wait here.”

  Perdiccas dismissed Eumenes and went back to his table.

  Perdiccas completed his plans after considering Eumenes’ advice, and that of several others. The impressive horse-drawn funerary temple, over twenty feet wide and fourteen feet tall, and holding Alexander’s sarcophagus, would be a remarkable sight as it passed through towns and cities. Three important boxes would go with the sarcophagus.

  The first—personally inspected by Perdiccas, would hold a large cache of the most precious personal artifacts—four kopis’ and a javelin, replicas of Alexander’s Persian diadem and scepter, breastplate, helmet, and a copy of the royal diaries.

  The second—the most precious gifts bestowed upon the king from various lands.

  The third—papers, some administrative, and some from Callisthenes’ collection. Perdiccas decided these would act as historical relics.

  Arrhidaeus would lead the procession guarded by a contingent of front and rear guard. Following the procession would be the baggage train with the soldier’s belongings, supply, mechanics and road menders, engineers, cooks, cleaners, accountants, treasury officers, translators, wives and children of t
he soldiers, priests, augurs, physicians, healers, and messengers.

  Perdiccas composed his orders.

  “… The King’s procession shall be guarded by among the finest of the cavalry and infantry.

  I appoint Arrhidaeus as the officer in charge. He shall have the power and authority of the Regent to direct the affairs of the procession, retaliate against incursion as he sees fit, and deliver the King to his mother. The council rewards Arrhidaeus with ten talents of gold.

  To support Arrhidaeus in this task and to act as captain of the rear guard, I appoint Burrhus. The council awards him two talents of gold on success of this mission.

  To access, examine, or steal contents of the funeral temple will result in crucifixion.”

  Perdiccas knew these were not ordinary times, and he had an uneasy feeling that clever Eumenes was up to something. So, he had chosen a man he knew—Burrhus.

  Perdiccas remembered Deon—the man with the extraordinary memory, skilled in military tactics and strategy, and close to Eumenes all these years. Close bonds did not bode well in such missions, and high intelligence was often a source of mischief—something Perdiccas had enough to deal with. Besides, Deon’s history was difficult to find. There were rumors that he once ran a brothel, and that he was also a teacher. This made the man complex and unpredictable, not something Perdiccas wanted to risk.

  Burrhus, another officer recommended to him, on the other hand, was a brute.

  Perdiccas' intelligence officers had recounted an example of Burrhus personally crushing the heads of every male member of a captured party. He had then handed the women to the infantry for their personal pleasure and thrown the children off a cliff.

  That was what he needed, a man who would obey rules blindly with loyalty but was just intelligent enough to follow delicate orders.