The Atlantis Papyrus

by Jay Penner

  So, Ptolemy announced the construction of a temple dedicated to Alexander and appointed Cleomenes supervisor for construction. Cleomenes demanded bribes for the award of contract work, imposed outrageous terms, threatened the bidders with imprisonment or worse, and shamelessly used either Ptolemy’s or Perdiccas’ name to coerce the contractors. Once the undercover inspectors reported to Ptolemy that they had enough evidence of Cleomenes’ corruption and would not hesitate to speak against him in an open court, Ptolemy announced that Cleomenes conspired to profit from Alexander’s death and had him arrested.

  To try to profit from the death of a King still seen as a god was sacrilegious, and no one was willing to protect such a man to their detriment. After a short show trial, a shouting Cleomenes was tied hand and feet, placed onto a raft, just wide enough to lay his body, and left adrift in the center of the Great River. Hanging from three corners of the raft were large pieces of meat.

  Egyptian royalties, court ministers, and Macedonian officers alike watched the frightened Cleomenes who now saw the swarms Crocodiles approach the raft, attracted by the wriggling of his ample body and the meat hanging from the sides. Cleomenes wept as the Crocodiles began to tug on the meat, and the raft started to tilt. In a last bid to save himself, Cleomenes implored Ptolemy through loud lamentations.

  “I swear I will resign from my post and vanish into the wilderness, Ptolemy!”

  “I weep for my actions, but gods know that I will forever be true to you, Ptolemy!”

  “I will never forget your mercy, and I shall be a slave by your side to my very end, Alexander’s worthy successor!” And so forth, while his greedy, terrified eyes scanned the churning waters around him, with hundreds of bodies slithering below the surface and snouts sticking above.

  Ptolemy watched impassively while some Egyptian ministers closed their mouth with their palms and giggled.

  Eventually, the snouts rose higher in the water and the Crocodiles began to push their faces onto the raft. Cleomenes began howling as the jaws began to get closer to him, and finally a beast lunged out of the water and clamped its otherworldly jaws on Cleomenes’ thighs. Cleomenes flailed about and kicked frantically with his other leg to no avail until another dark visage rose and grabbed him by the ankle. Eventually, Cleomenes was dragged into the water, screaming, and the sacred Crocodiles he once threatened to have killed now ripped and feasted on his rich flesh.

  Ptolemy smiled as he saw the waters turn red. He then turned to matters of greater importance, which was the preservation of his satrapy and legitimacy of his reign. He was aware of the plans to cremate and bury Alexander’s body in the royal tombs in Macedon, and that Arrhidaeus handled the construction and transportation of Alexander’s funerary temple.

  He had been trading messages with Arrhidaeus the past few months.

  SYRIA

  ❖

  We reached the outskirts of Damascus, and the weather was pleasant and a respite from the heat. It gave a chance for the procession to rest and replenish.

  My relationship with Arrhidaeus had deteriorated beyond repair. We had quarreled and shouted at each other because his guards would follow me wherever I went, and it gave an impression to the rest of the troops that they could not trust me. There were rumors that I was trying to steal personal possessions of Alexander so I could sell it to the highest bidder.

  These rumors could cost me my life if it reached the ears of any of the Diadochi.

  Four days ago, I had seen some men enter Arrhidaeus’ tent. People went to meet the General for many reasons, but what was different was that I remembered seeing them two months ago when we were on the journey through Syria. What made these visitors most interesting was while they were Macedonian, there were subtle, yet distinct signs of Egyptian decorations and mannerisms about them.

  The leader wore a symbol seen on members of the Egyptians royal courts. He bowed in the presence of Arrhidaeus, a style reminiscent of officers who tended to Alexander during his trips to Egypt.

  So why did this Egypt-based Macedonian officer see Arrhidaeus more than once? The developments alarmed me. I summoned my messenger and asked him to rush to Babylon with a message to Perdiccas.

  I addressed Perdiccas thus:

  “Honorable Regent,

  I have witnessed Macedonian officers from Egyptian courts meet Arrhidaeus more than once. I urge you to send a contingent at the earliest to Sidon and relieve Arrhidaeus of his duty.

  Your loyal soldier,

  Deon, Son of Evagoras”

  Once the messenger returned to me, I planned to send him up to Cappadocia to repeat the message to Eumenes.

  I had a hunch.

  But I had my mission, my rewards to earn, my family to free, and my master to please—and what this development portended was unsettling.

  And today, the men returned at dawn. They spent time in Arrhidaeus’ tent until lunch. After lunch one of the leader’s henchmen wandered out towards one of the lavatory ditches, and I hurried to him as he went about his business of streaming the plants.

  “Greetings soldier, it sure is a beautiful day here!”

  He seemed irritated by a stranger’s appraisal, interrupting his urgent business by the bushes. “Well, it is—"

  “I have not seen you around, did you join us recently?”

  He looked surprised.

  “Well, I have been with Arrhidaeus’ guards for quite some time now, you might not have seen me,” he said, as he urgently shook his little general.

  “Indeed, I am not in the front. I am with the rear guards. Did your lot enjoy the massacre of the bandits as we did?”

  A flicker of anxiety passed his face.

  “Yes, yes, we did,” he said, unconvincingly.

  He began to walk briskly, eager to get away from me. I kept pace with a friendly, nonchalant attitude.

  “Too bad we could not catch the leader. Would have been nice to make an example of him.”

  “Of course, but sometimes you have to let them go to keep the population happy.”

  “You are so correct. I know of only two leaders who adopted such magnanimous policies to profound effect. Our beloved King Alexander was one, and I heard Ptolemy was the other.”

  “Ptolemy is indeed—"

  He stopped. “I have to get back to the commander to prepare for evening duties, so if you will excuse me, sir.”

  “Of course, may the gods be with you.”

  I knew then I had to do something.

  The man emerged from the tent to relieve himself after an entertaining evening with dancers and wine. It was quiet everywhere as the procession contingent rested.

  He felt a heavy blow to his head and darkness envelop him.

  When he woke, his head hurt, and he was unable to place himself. He realized his attackers had tied him and stuffed a foul rag into his mouth. He struggled to no avail, the ropes were thick, and the knots were well constructed. He tried to use his training to see if he could reach the knots but realized they his captors had expertly positioned them outside his reach.

  This was not the work of common thieves.

  He took stock of his situation. All he could make out in the darkness was that he was in a narrow path between two boulders, and the ground was rocky. There were no flickering lights of the tents, sounds of chattering people, clanging of the utensils, or the light whinnying and grunts of horses. He realized that they had transported him to a location far away from where he remembered he was.

  He heard rustling, shuffling of footsteps, and then the foulness of another man's breath on his neck. He tried to turn and felt a sharp slap on the back of his head, not painful by itself but hurt since the blow to his head had split the skin.

  "Keep your mouth shut until we ask you."

  That quiet voice sounded familiar, but he was unable to place it.

  "And if you shout, we will slowly slice off a piece of your ear. And we may not stop there."

  He nodded frantically. There was no point in struggling
until he found out what they wanted. Someone removed the gag, and he took a deep breath and shuddered.

  "We have a few questions for you, soldier. Answer them, and you can be on your way."

  That voice. It sounded… recent. From the sounds and whispers, he figured there were three to four men behind him. Too many for him to try anything adventurous, and impossible if they were all military, which his gut said they were.

  "We know you are not part of the procession, so tell us, where did you come from and what is your business with Arrhidaeus?"

  He felt a cold fear rise within his bones.

  "What? I conduct official business on behalf of The Viceroy of Macedon and you—"

  A strong hand gripped his index finger and pulled it back violently. The finger bent as far as it could and broke like a twig, the snap clear to everyone around.

  One of the men thrust the gag back in his mouth before he could scream in shock and pain.

  His eyes bulged from his sockets, and he felt bile rise in this throat. He gasped and took several sharp breaths, rocking back and forth, and finally bent over ready to vomit. Someone removed the gag, and he emptied his stomach. It had been a long time since he was in battle or experienced violence. He had grown soft.

  Experience told him that no one withstood prolonged torture.

  He had a family.

  A comfortable living back home.

  And nothing was worth prolonging this.

  "You can spare yourself a lot of pain. We have a pretty good idea of where you might be from, but we want that from you before we can trust your answers,” said the leader. his quiet voice carrying in the cold.

  Through the red haze of pain, it dawned upon him—the voice was that son of a whore who had accosted him in the morning!

  He felt strong fingers on his middle finger.

  "Egypt! Egypt! I come from Egypt! Stop! What do you want?"

  "Good. What are you doing here?"

  "We are here on behalf of Governor Ptolemy to see the magnificent hearse, offer our prayers, and offer any support before the procession heads north."

  "So, you came here just yesterday to meet Arrhidaeus for the first time?"

  "Yes, The Governor was eager to find out if the procession did justice to the King!"

  There was silence. It sounded like they were conferring amongst themselves. He relaxed slightly. Much to his horror, he felt someone grasp some of his flesh by his side, and then the cold sensation of a blade against it.

  And he felt the blade slice off a piece of his side.

  He screamed again, but this time his voice was dead. Tears streamed from his eyes, and his legs and arms began to shake uncontrollably. He felt warm blood soak into his tunic.

  "I will ask you again. Did you meet Arrhidaeus here for the first time?"

  He rocked back and forth.

  "No. No, no, no…" He began to cry, his shoulders shaking, and spit running down his lips. "This is our fourth meeting with General Arrhidaeus…"

  "Good. Tell us the truth, and it will be over soon, what business does Ptolemy have with Arrhidaeus?"

  The man went silent for a few moments, contemplating the situation. His attackers stayed quiet, still behind him, but there was no one grabbing or cutting. With clenched teeth and rising anger, he asked:

  "Is it so difficult to guess?"

  He felt breathing, but nothing else. Then the leader spoke, “I have no interest in guessing.”

  The man spat and hung his head low. He knew they would not let him go alive—so he prayed to the gods, begged mercy of those he sinned against, bade farewell to his family, and finally through clenched teeth he described the scandalous plan.

  My mind was in turmoil—I had to decide my move. So far, we had seen no sign of Ptolemy’s army.

  First, I brought to confidence some of my most trusted lieutenants. They were angry, worried, and upset just as I was. Then, I asked them, to find out for me, every junior man in the front guard who hailed from upper Macedon or northern Greece. These were hardy men fanatically loyal to their lands and Alexander.

  I then dispatched a rider, away from Arrhidaeus’ eyes, towards Sidon to check if he could find a battalion at rest. Meanwhile, I knew Ptolemy’s agents were frantically inquiring as to the whereabouts of one of their men.

  I had one of my men tell the investigators that he had seen the man slip away towards the notorious night market—a place for witchcraft, fraudsters, and whores. A place where fortune-seekers went to consult with questionable shamans, or to sleep with women or boys, but not without considerable risk. The place was known for robbery, murder, and extortion.

  Within a day, I got news from my sources that the investigators had dropped the idea of finding the missing man.

  Two days later my messenger from Sidon returned, and he reported no garrison stationed anywhere near Sidon, but he did tell me an intriguing tidbit—that local merchants had reported an unusual amount of food grain, fruit, wood, metal, wine, and oil purchases, and that daily merchant caravans headed south of Sidon. It was possible to hide a sizable force in this terrain.

  Eventually, we traveled to Sidon and settled at the southern outskirts. One of my fondest memories was my stroll through Sidon's central shopping market. The main path was wide, made of beautiful sandstone, and on both sides, olive trees circulated a gentle fragrance. Behind these trees were buildings and shops built by the Phoenician kings before Alexander’s arrival.

  The locals treated the trees with religious reverence as there were flowers, beads, purple colored strings, fresh and remnants of spoiled fruit on the ground around them.

  I sought out the biggest and best-preserved garment shop in the market and found one with the owner behind the mud stall. The place was grand—cloth cut of the finest fabric, curtains, tunics, all in beautiful colors and brilliant designs hung on the walls and wood poles.

  "What would the general like for himself and his ladies?"

  The shopkeeper grinned a toothless smile, and I smiled at his shameless tactic. My attire showed no insignia of a general, but he had called me as such—inflating my ego, just as I did Arrhidaeus recently. Flattery made its way, with no regard to rank, wealth, beauty, or gender!

  I looked at a gorgeous garment hung on a pole that jutted from the roof the shop. It was lustrous deep blue and embroidered in gold, depicting two fighting lions—another Phoenician symbol. I decided to buy it, with a deep longing for my wife, far away and waiting for me for so many years.

  I told him I would buy it and he shook his head with great appreciation for my taste. And then I decided to engage the man in small talk. "I heard there have been several merchant caravans going south and they've been buying a lot from the market here?"

  The old man nodded vigorously—he seemed eager to talk to me, a ploy to make me buy a few more of his lovely garments for the women back home. "Ah, yes, General. Of course. Lots of purchases of food and materials from here in the past several days. It has been a very good week for us!"

  "Tell me, old man, I hear many high-ranking officers were here as well buying your wares."

  "I must admit that I profited handsomely. The general who visited me purchased four different dresses for his many Egyptian wives," he cackled, looking comical with his empty mouth and few remaining few teeth, as if like little mountains rising in the Phoenician desert.

  "What makes you think he has Egyptian wives?" I asked, trying to sound innocent.

  "Oh. It was not hard to guess. Said he was here for a visit. He told me to be quiet when I enquired about his army and why he was here," he said, narrowing his eyes under the bushy eyebrows, holding a palm near his mouth as if spilling a secret, but grinning merrily like a boy up to no good behind the bushes with his neighbor. "Imagine that poor man, troubled every day by four wives speaking in strange tongues. Just imagine the cacophony in his house! Maybe he purchased those dresses to tie them up and stuff their mouths!"

  He laughed uproariously at his wit, his belly shook,
and his eyes closed imagining that scene—and I could not help but laugh with him.

  But this confirmed the presence of a senior officer, even if not a general, in the vicinity in just the last few days. There was no question that there was a garrison somewhere nearby, hidden, ready to strike. But when?

  And how would Ptolemy engineer the attack?

  I pretended like I was casually curious.

  "Don’t you lie, dirty old man, I bet you wished you had five young wives of your own. Was it just the general or were there many soldiers too?"

  "My equipment cannot handle that many!" He bellowed. His breath shaking his great white beard that flowed from his chin to the middle of his chest. "But no… no soldiers. You know that our local king does not like intruding armies."

  I nodded. That explained the absence of a garrison within city limits. But it was easy to hide a few thousand men further south in hilly terrain, away from the routes.

  "So, what do you think of this one, sir?" He pointed to another shimmering purple dress in the Phoenician style, with no embroidery but had several small metal bells attached at the waist. "You can announce your arrival in style!"

  I laughed. I imagined myself like a cow with bells around its neck, as I had seen during the Indian campaigns. "I enjoyed the talk, but I must return. Make sure to visit the procession once it heads this way."

  "Of course, sir. And I will bring my wives to it. But they might try to steal the gold!" he laughed again, and I shook my head with mock disapproval.

  Your wives would not be the only ones with plans to steal.

  I wrapped my purchase, tucked it under my arm, and began to walk away, and then he said

  "Well, it seems tomorrow is an important day—that other general said they would finish their training tomorrow evening and return to Egypt."

  That night I summoned my lieutenants and described my modified plan. They then reached out to their allies in the front guard, and some of those men came to me for confirmation.

  So far, there had been no betrayal.