by Jay Penner
I slept poorly that night, my heart was hammering at my ribcage, and it was hard to breathe amidst the anxiety.
That night I dreamt that Alexander's corpse, bedecked in regal purple and full armor, was lying on the dusty ground, and four large hyenas ripped his body apart.
Morning arrived, and Arrhidaeus walked into my tent as I dressed. He seemed anxious. "I'm here to explain the route today, Deon, as there are some changes."
Of course, there was, you pig, I thought but listened impassively.
Arrhidaeus continued, “We progress west, and then we turn South for a short distance before we turn North again.”
“That makes no sense, General. Why are we adding distance? We are already delayed by several days.”
He glowered. “The path from here through Sidon is not conducive to the procession, and the road-menders worry that we might damage the wheels.”
“The path looked fine to me—"
He cut me off, “Are you a road mender, Deon? What knowledge do you possess to behave like an expert at roads?”
I had no answer to that.
Doubt crept into me—what if I was wrong, what if all this an elaborate trick played on me? What if Arrhidaeus had spurned Ptolemy’s attempt to suborn him?
I pushed aside the thoughts and apologized.
“Forgive my tone, General. I am as anxious as you are to reach the destination.”
Mollified, he explained the plan. “We will turn South and travel until it is evening. And then tomorrow morning we swing west again, bypass the hills, and turn north onto the main trade route. Do you understand it now?”
I simmered at the condescending tone but nodded. With that, Arrhidaeus barked his order for us to get ready within the hour and prepare to move before sunrise.
He stopped before stepping out of my tent.
“I am also ordering most of the baggage train to take the shorter route and not follow the procession. This will keep us light and help us move quickly. They will reconnect with us once we reach Sidon.”
At dawn, the party split to two; most of the baggage train, including children and women, priests, augurs, cooks, physicians, bookkeepers, and some road menders, took the walking path straight northwest to Sidon. The rest of us, the five hundred forward guard and a hundred rear guard, along with the temple draggers, headed west on a different route until we hit the plains near the sea.
We moved slowly until Sun appeared at our eye level. Soon, I saw the grey, featureless hills that Arrhidaeus mentioned, stretching a vast distance, as far as the eye can see, and between the Sea and us. The General ordered us to halt by the side of one of the hills but stay in formation. The men sat where they were and rested until further notice. I noticed, from the corner of my eye, a flame waving back and forth on the hill. We all knew enough about flame messengers.
My gut told me that whatever would happen would happen very soon. I rode along the periphery of the procession, all the way to the front, signaling the men embedded in the forward guard. My bag was ready with a hammer, a small, sturdy metal rod that would be useful for lock-picking and breaking, some bread, and a vial of physician-recommended concoction that helped heal wounds.
And then, just as the sun began to set bathing us in light orange glow, we heard the unmistakable distant sounds of a march—the rhythmic clap of horse hoofs on hard ground, the light thud of footsteps, the change in the atmospheric texture due to dust, just around the corner of the edge of the hills ahead of us.
All members of the procession noticed the sounds and those who were resting scrambled to their feet. At a far distance, we saw a significant military formation turn the corner from the hills, straight onto our path.
Arrhidaeus rallied the troops and appeared at the head, and he asked that everyone come closer to hear him. The soldiers held their breath as the ominous distant sounds of an approaching army neared. They then quickly assembled a tall podium with a ladder in front of Arrhidaeus, and he scrambled to the top, so we could see him and hear more clearly. He began, “Soldiers! Fear not, I have just very recently, only two days ago, received a message from the great Ptolemy who heads the army you see ahead. He wishes to pay his final respects to King Alexander, endow our procession with Egyptian symbols of everlasting life, supply our caravan with rewards for a smooth journey, and send us off to Sidon.”
I was shocked.
Ptolemy himself?
I signaled my lieutenants to be ready and rode towards the front closer to Arrhidaeus.
In the waning light of the evening I could not make out his expression, but I knew he was looking at me as I neared his podium. While the front guard looked on, I signaled to the members that pledged allegiance to Perdiccas and me and rode close to Arrhidaeus.
My voice is sound enough to make myself heard.
I addressed Arrhidaeus, “General, may I speak a few words as well on this auspicious occasion?”
I had placed my bet on the fact that he would allow me to speak, knowing that impeding me would create suspicion among the troops. He made a half-hearted gesture approval.
I faced the men and spoke as loudly as I could, “What a glorious day for us to have the great Ptolemy himself visit this procession! I must add more to the noble reason that Ptolemy is here,” I paused to ensure that the entire assemblage hung on to my every word.
Then I expanded my lungs and shouted as hard as I could, “Arrhidaeus is lying. Ptolemy is here to steal Alexander’s body and take it to Egypt! You will all be crucified if you let this happen!”
My loud voice boomed across the group. I registered the shock and confusion among the soldiers.
Arrhidaeus shouted, “Insubordinate son of a worthless whore—don’t listen to him! He—"
I yelled again, my voice carrying over his. His bodyguards began to edge closer to where I was. No one wanted a battle when everything seemed so hazy. “Why would Ptolemy meet us not in a royal setting in Sidon but hidden plains and hills here?”
There was a murmur of assent. Arrhidaeus was frozen, unable to decide his next action. I pushed on. “Is this how you want to be remembered—impotent men that stood by when an unholy alliance stole their King’s body?”
“Enough of your lunacy. Arrest him!” Arrhidaeus screamed. He was trembling and looked frantic as the dying orange sunlight reflected off his glistening cheeks and helmet.
I retrieved my horn and blew it, signaling my troops and lieutenants to act. Immediately, several voices rang out within the groups, sowing fear and confusion, “Arrhidaeus tricked us. Ptolemy is stealing the body. Turn the Funerary temple!”
The situation spiraled out of Arrhidaeus’ control. Skirmishes broke out among the front guard, with pushing and shoving, accusations and counter-accusations hurled at each other. The bodyguards whisked away Arrhidaeus, but at a distance, I could see him mount his horse and try to bring the front to discipline. A great plume of dust rose and began to mask the scene, and the entire procession descended to utter chaos.
I galloped to the funerary temple, jumped, and hung on to the balustrade. A guard ran to grab me, but someone from my group clubbed him to the ground. I hauled myself up and entered the chamber.
This time, I knew what I was looking for, and I moved quickly to the corner which had the box with the contents I had waited so long to reveal.
I pulled the metal rod from my bag, inserted it to a gap between the lock and the latch, and then struck it repeatedly with my hammer. After a few powerful knocks, the hinge connecting the latch broke, releasing the lock.
I opened the box, and in it were several papyri, some jewelry (a few chains, rings with precious gems on them, several bracelets), a few larger official parchments I had seen in the courts before, and then a thick, hide covered, and carefully packaged object.
I retrieved the package as that was what I looked for, and my heart thudded furiously in my chest. I also picked some jewelry with two intentions—warding off anyone who might get too interested in the package and reward
ing a few of my closest men.
I stepped out and jumped down, and one of my men scooped and took me behind the lines. The situation had turned into a full-fledged battle by this point, and Ptolemy’s forces were upon us. There was no longer any clarity on who was fighting whom—was the front fighting the rear? Was the front fighting amongst themselves and the rear?
Ptolemy’s forces were not slaughtering Arrhidaeus’ guards—they had formed a protracted line of shield-bearing phalanx encircling us from our left, while the cavalry tried to subdue the guards with clubs instead of swords and javelins.
And then, to my shock, Ptolemy himself appeared in the front of the phalanx and the cavalry, resplendent in his uniform—his purple plume rising high on his helmet, red robe flying in the air; to his sides were symbol bearers with bright lamps, carrying flags with emblazoned with the ram’s head and elephant skin symbols of Alexander. Arrhidaeus appeared on Ptolemy’s side and began to exhort his procession to comply and not fight. The sight slowed everyone for a few moments, soldiers absorbing the surreal scene of seeing one of the most revered generals in front of them, now accused of trying to steal the corpse of their beloved king.
It was getting dark, and I realized that there was no longer a possibility for me to prevent the theft of the temple—not without full reinforcements from Perdiccas. Along with two of my lieutenants, I turned my horse, and we galloped away under the enveloping darkness and cover of dust.
SYRIA
❖
The three of us rode without rest for hours to find a place to sleep and plot the next course. We finally saw the twinkling lights of night lamps—a small Phoenician village less than an hour from where we were. We finally rode into it as quietly as we could, and curious dogs inspected the horses. The homes were far and spread, with some muddy clusters in-between.
We found an isolated house, away from the cluster of dwellings, on the far edge of the town. It was large, styled in the way of Phoenician merchants, with big stone blocks, an archway, and a small courtyard in the front with a dry fountain. Olive trees decorated the garden behind the walls.
We scaled the compound and got to the heavy wooden door, and it seemed unlikely for us to break through it.
So, I decided to try a ruse.
I knocked on the door, and spoke loudly,
“Regent Perdiccas’ officers seek your help with the King Alexander's procession.”
I heard footsteps inside and saw the yellow glow of a night candle under the door. There was a low murmur of a man’s voice and another of a woman.
“What do you want? We are armed!” came the gruff male voice from behind the door.
I almost laughed at the absurdity.
“We intend no harm; we are only here on orders of the Regent.”
“What does a Regent want from a common man in a village?”
“He does not send us to you specifically, old fool! We are collecting household artifact from each region to include in King Alexander’s tomb. It’s an honor unless you prefer to forego it!”
It was all nonsense, but I had little to lose. Besides, I did not want to hurt an innocent family.
“What if we are not interested?”
I pretended to get angry.
“Well we didn’t ride here for hours to be insulted, and if you refuse to let us in, I will have my soldiers forcibly enter the house, and we will set fire to it after we leave!”
I shouted a few military-sounding phrases and had the others yell their response in unison.
After several tense moments, I heard a worried woman’s voice. “You promise you will not hurt us?”
“I would not be outside negotiating with you if we wanted to hurt you, but do not test my patience.”
I heard the iron bolt release from the latch, and the heavy door gently opened inwards. Inside were a dignified man and a small, frightened woman beside him.
Behind them were two teenage girls—they had to be the daughters. I understood the parents’ predicament allowing soldiers into the house. I had to put out the fear quickly before this escalated and anyone else hiding in the house came out to attack us.
“Is there anyone else in the house, hiding, armed?” I asked and deliberately drew the man’s attention to my hand on the kopis. My companions fanned out to the large living room and stood quietly near the two doors that went into other rooms.
A flicker of uncertainty crossed the man’s face, and one of the girls began to sniffle. “If you are honest with me, your family will come to no harm. But if you are lying, and anyone else comes through these doors surprising us, we will not hesitate to kill all of you and take your daughters away. Is there someone else in the house?”
In a trembling voice, with his hands out in the front to show he would not try anything risky, he said, “My young sons are in the room, and they are armed. I will ask them to come out. They are young. I ask you respectfully not to hurt us.”
I nodded. He yelled for his sons to come out and told them to walk into the living room slowly. I moved closer to the wife and held her forearm firmly. The women began to cry. The man stood quietly, tensed, and I watched him to ensure he made no moves.
Two boys, no older than ten, stepped gingerly into the room. They had farm sickles in their hand, useless against soldiers, but I had to admire them for the foolish courage. I signed them to drop the sickles and go to their parents.
Then, I addressed them: “As I have told you before, we intend no harm. We need some food, and quarters to stay for the night. We are not here to take your artifacts or listen to your stories. You behave, and you will all be safe.”
There was vigorous nodding from all heads.
“And if you are nice, I might even tell you some delightful stories about Alexander himself, because I used to ride with him!” I said, as I ruffled the hair of one of the boys who stared at us in wonder. The parents relaxed. The man put his arms around his wife and daughters and continued to look at us without expression, but his eyes were no longer full of fear and anger.
“I see your daughter admiring my handsome face, old man, you must have some hideous men in your village,” I said, smiling.
That released tension and one of the girls guffawed as she wiped her nose and teary face. The man remained expressionless. He ordered the wife to prepare food.
We ate for the night; a basic staple of salted goat’s meat, grain soup, and some strange wine—courtesy of our unwilling hosts. As I watched the woman scurry about, her daughters helping the mother, the sons in quiet attendance beside their gruff, protective father, I could not but help imagine my life had I not enlisted in the army. I wondered if I would ever again experience that simple life. Apollonia was a wonderful cook, and her lamb recipe was the best I had ever known. The image of her face bent over a fire, with her curly hair over her eyes as it reflected the golden light, flashed in my head. I shook it off.
We rested—one of us watching over the others in turn. I made sure to wrap the leather bag around me to ensure no one would steal it from me, and so far, my companions had not asked what was in it and why I was so protective of it.
Finally, late at night when it was my turn to watch, I got my chance to lay my eyes on what I had pursued so hard, for so many months, and with such risk. General Eumenes had ordered me to bring the package intact to him, but I had decided not to obey that order.
I lit a lamp and removed myself from the room, retiring to the front porch. I had locked the family in a room, just as a precaution, and had to admonish the boisterous boys who were insistent that we tell them more Alexander stories. Satisfied that I was alone, I removed the hidebound package from my bag, and gingerly cut the rope around it.
I removed the cover, and inside it was another wooden box, engraved with symbols of the sun and concentric circles with a bull in the center. After a few attempts, I realized that I could open it by gently pressing on the sun’s image on top.
Inside the box was beautifully preserved, thick papyrus scrolls,
about eight sheets, bound together by an ink-stained deep blue thread, knotted at the top.
I removed the thread carefully, feeling a deep sense of respect for the will of the greatest King the world had ever known.
Then I gingerly spread the eight sheets to see about a quarter of each. The first two were newer and were in distinctly different handwriting. They did not look anything like a will.
Instead, it was a letter from Plato to a man named Axiandros.
Plato? The great Plato?
Greece’s greatest philosopher! I had known his work very well as a student of history and teacher of philosophy before I became a soldier. I recognized Plato’s writing and the symbols that represented his work.
The remaining sheets were much older, and the papyrus had aged to a deep brown, but the dark ink on top was still clearly legible. The writing there was exquisitely elegant, with flowing, unrecognizable script in the top half of each page, and bold, beautiful letters in Greek on the bottom half.
It dawned upon me that Eumenes had lied. This was no will—and what he tried to hide was in my hands now.
I separated the older pages and first began to read Plato’s letter.
Plato to Axiandros wishes you wonderful harvest.
We have spoken much of my account of Atlantis in Timaeus. Your astute mind, no doubt, has realized that I have grown a tree from the seeds of truth of the wise Solon’s account of his meeting with the Egyptian priests at Sais. But I must unburden my mind to you—my trusted sources told me of another fact; that before Atlantis’ destruction their king built a new city in the distant desert. There they transferred their treasures and weapons; weapons that seem not of this earth but bequeathed to them by terrible gods. I have ancient papyri that tell, in a most teasing way, where this city lies. These secrets can unleash great violence upon this earth if the benefactors of said secrets were tyrants; besides, as you are aware my old friend, that I am no longer of the sound body to undertake strenuous adventures to unravel this delectable mystery.
After much ponder, many nights of thought, and great consideration, I have concluded that to reveal this would do nothing but to stir malcontents of the Republic and further endanger our peoples. One may
