The Emperor Awakes

by Alexis Konnaris

  ‘Temperance is the virtue that is the mean to control emotions, courage is the mean when seeking honour and wisdom is the mean when seeking knowledge. In extreme situations such as the one you have the honour and pleasure to encounter and be involved in, and when you have to save someone from danger or from one’s self or from harming someone else, exceeding the mean is not only allowed but required for an honourable life. Be a worthy successor to us, to those that preceded us and to those that followed and who held and expanded the dream of Alexander the Great and of Ptolemy I.

  ‘You need the knowledge Ptolemy has acquired. You will find answers in his greatest treasure. But we cannot let you go without gifts for solving our riddle. Before you go to your next destination, there is something at each of our homes to help you on your journey three keys to the three greatest Greek cities to wake him and give him life with the blood of his lost child.’

  ‘To wake who?’ Aristo shouted. But the three philosophers had already left. Aristo then brought himself and Giorgos back to earth. ‘So Alexandria is the next stop. Ptolemy I’s greatest treasure was his library which no longer exists.’

  ‘No, Aristo, that’s not strictly true. There is a new one, its modern successor, the Bibliotheca Alexandria, founded in 2003 A.D.’

  ‘You are right. Then that is where we must go next. But we need to collect those gifts, those keys from the three philosophers’ homes first. What do you think they meant with that?’

  ‘My guess would be that “their homes” is a term for where they practised their art. For Plato it would be his Academy, for Aristotle his Lyceum and for Socrates that would be the Agora, the market of ancient Athens where he spent most of his life rubbing everyone the wrong way, or at least that’s how many saw it, being as they were humiliated by Socrates’ mind and his deployment of the dialectic method, to lead them to contradict themselves.’

  ‘Great. Let’s do it.’

  * * *

  Giorgos and Aristo left Keramikos and went to the site of Plato’s Academy first, but they found nothing and nothing happened there. They were about to give up when they caught glimpse of a man who looked like Plato, strangely dressed in Athenian attire of the 5th century B.C. The man was beckoning them over.

  They hesitated, but he became insistent and they decided that they had nothing to lose. They cautiously followed him. He led them to a quiet spot where he put in Aristo’s hand a strange object in the shape of a square with rounded edges and a hole in the middle, elaborately decorated with strange characters that looked Pallanian, the whole thing made of a metal-like object neither Aristo nor Giorgos could recognise.

  Then the man disappeared into thin air and another man materialised next to him who looked like Aristotle. He led Giorgos and Aristo to the site of Aristotle’s Lyceum where he gave them a similar-looking object and the same story continued with him vanishing and a man looking like Socrates appearing and leading them to the ancient agora where he gave them another similar object after which he also disappeared into thin air.

  Giorgos and Aristo then went back to the hotel where they packed and got the first flight to Alexandria. They arrived there just before five in the afternoon and checked into their hotel. They dropped their luggage in the room and, within five minutes, were out of the door and on their way to the Bibliotheca Alexandrina located on the coastal road connecting the Western and oldest part of the city with the more recent Eastern end of the bay near the former summer palace of the former King of Egypt, Farouk.

  They found the library easily. Its design was distinctive and from reflecting the sunlight, visible from far away. Its roof was a half-disc on its side at an angle, all made of glass panels. They had seen pictures of it on the internet, but it was their first time seeing it in the flesh, in all its glory. Its impact on the observer was awe-inspiring silence. It looked like an alien saucer that was about to fly away.

  The Bibliotheca Alexandrina, the new library, was the modern aspiring successor to the Ptolemies’ legendary Library of Alexandria, one of the ancient world’s seven wonders. The new library was founded in 2003 A.D. and it was a glorious testament to the achievements of modern Egyptians with the ambition to rival and probably match their illustrious ancestors.

  Giorgos and Aristo went straight for the front entrance looking forward to the glorious interior. However, the moment they passed inside they just stood there in total confusion. For instead of the interior of the Bibliotheca Alexandrina, they were standing at a high point out in the open looking down at an Alexandria of long ago.

  Neither of them tried to understand what just happened, but took it in their stride as part of this crazy mission. They did have some warning from Aristo’s mother to expect the unexpected. She didn’t say, though, the unexpected may involve some form of time travel. They looked at their clothes, which had changed too. Giorgos laughed.

  ‘That’s a mighty attire you are sporting there.’

  ‘Don’t laugh. You are no better fashion model yourself. Giorgos, tell me, do you know what year it is?’

  ‘Well, judging by the progress on the unfinished Pharos or Lighthouse, it must be between 290 and 275 B.C. and by the way, that’s a chiton you are wearing and, if I’m not mistaken, we are dressed as Athenians.’

  ‘You? Mistaken? Surely not.’

  CHAPTER 27

  Alexandria, Egypt

  287 B.C.

  Alexandria shone brightly, flaunting its glory and supremacy over other cities. The great harbour was buzzing with the activity of one of the gateways to the goods of the world from the depths of Africa to the deserts of Arabia and the lands of the Hindus beyond and the Mediterranean Sea up to Carthage and further afield to the gates of Hercules, the mouth of this historic sea and its exit to the unknown.

  A few metres above sea level, in the distance, overlooking the harbour and the city below, Ptolemy was standing on the balcony of his palace with his arms stretched wide, surveying and attempting in his mind’s eye to encompass his domain as the master that he was of all that he surveyed and that extended beyond his embrace in every direction, even including the sea of which he was the undeniable, and at least in this period in time, unchallenged overseer, the undisputed ruler in the Eastern Mediterranean, up to the coast of Asia Minor, including the island of Cyprus and all the way North to Crete and West up to the seas overlooking Cyrene and the strategic island of Melite (present-day Malta) and its smaller satellite isles or, more correctly, rocks.

  Sicily though evaded him and he craved it for no apparent good reason. He could not deny to himself that its position was strategic. And he smiled at his achievement in only a few miserable years. He was proud of the strength and wealth that was his Egypt.

  For he was Ptolemy I Soter, the King and Pharaoh of all of Egypt, the successor to all the Pharaohs and their glorious dynasties that came before him; such an exalted heritage and such weight on his shoulders. He knew he was worthy of such inheritance and history and achievement.

  And let’s not forget that he was also successor to Alexander, yes, the one and only, the Great, the general of generals, that great strategist, the founder of this great city, whose tomb had pride of place in Ptolemy’s capital, shielding inside his sacred and now divine body.

  Alexander had become a god and he was worshipped and embraced as such in the whole of the Egyptian lands, within boundaries that enclosed a vast expanse, Alexander the divinity, worshipped as one of the greatest of the pantheon of Ptolemaic gods that encompassed Greek and Egyptian deities and honoured and loved them all.

  Ptolemy turned to his visitor who had been patiently waiting a few steps behind. ‘My dear Hieronymus, our work at the Library has only just begun and may my successors prove worthy and keep my dream alive and expand it.’

  A royal servant interrupted.

  ‘Your Majesty, Demetrius of Phaleron is waiting to see you.’

  ‘How long has he been waiting for? By the gods, Antinas, you have no respect for old age. Bring him here. Have you a
t least offered him a seat to rest his old bones, some water or wine, perhaps?’

  Antinas lowered his head and bowed to his king so low that he almost prostrated himself on the floor. Ptolemy was about to dismiss him when he heard a familiar voice.

  ‘Ptolemy. Your servant has not seen me before? He deserves a good whipping. I’m not getting any younger, you know. It’s not a secret that your ambitious library project is keeping me busy.’

  ‘I knew you were the right person for the job. It must be torture to leave your now primary home, is it not?’

  ‘It is indeed. It is indeed. May your ambition for it keep expanding together with its size, so as to keep me fit and sustain my soul.’

  ‘Well, you have always been fit. But some fresh air will not make you ill, let alone kill you. Demetrius, I have a mission for you. I hear some canny souls in Pergamon are attempting to bypass my ban on the export of papyrus by experimenting with a new material made of animal hides. I want to know what progress they have made.’

  ‘I will not ask whether your source is reliable.’ Demetrius saw Ptolemy’s thunderous expression, eyes shooting fire and shut up.

  ‘You’ve never questioned my information before. How dare you do so now?’

  Demetrius was aware he had overstepped the mark and putting familiarity to one side, deployed a respectful tone suitable to the great king before him. ‘My king my intention was not to doubt you. Please forgive me.’ He could not help himself. He had to say it. But Ptolemy caught his thought before it was transformed into words.

  ‘You think it improbable, don’t you?’ ‘No, my Great King. I will go personally’ ‘First, do not patronise me, Demetrius. Drop the formalities. We’ve known each other for far too long. And though I would trust you with my life, you are to remain here. You are too valuable to me. I want you to send someone else that you can trust, but who is also expendable. The journey is perilous.’

  ‘As you wish. I believe I have someone in mind.’

  ‘Good.’ Ptolemy turned to look at his beloved city deep in thought. That was Demetrius’ cue to leave.

  Demetrius bowed gently and walked away. Now, with that out of the way, Ptolemy needed to tend to two well-travelled visitors who had just landed in their midst from afar. He waited and when Demetrius was out of earshot he turned his attention to Hieronymus.

  ‘My dear Hieronymus, how is progress at the Pharos? Will I see my lighthouse finished, do you think, before I die? I have passed by in disguise and I did not like what I saw. Construction appears to have slowed lately. Work should have been even faster as I get older. I’m not getting any younger, you know. Maybe I should pay the site a visit, undisguised, to speed things up.’

  Ptolemy paused and extended his arm towards the city before them. Hieronymus next to him was looking at his feet, deep in thought.

  ‘Hieronymus, feast your eyes. Do not ignore the feast before you at your feet. Isn’t it a spectacle? My creation in only a few years, out of nothing. Alexander may have planted the foundation stone, but it was I that gave it life and the nutrition to grow. And it has grown, beyond my expectations and wildest dreams. The greatest city on earth.’

  * * *

  Giorgos and Aristo were not far behind. But they had taken a detour. Aristo could never resist markets and the market by the harbour called to him like a flower to a bee.

  Giorgos saw Aristo veering off course at every turn and soon after every attempt to correct his deviation, or so it seemed, from their intended destination when relief at such an apparent success quickly turned to annoyance. ‘Come on, Aristo, let’s go. Why are you going that way?’

  ‘I want to see that stall over there. Oh, and that one … Yes, I’ll have two of that… and … look at that … look at those pancakes and the honey … yes, two of those … and I have to get some of that.’

  ‘What’s got into you? You are behaving like an impetuous child. You sound as if you have regressed to the age of ten. Come on, leave that, we have to go.’

  Aristo winked conspiratorially at Giorgos to remind him about such a thing as a sense of humour. ‘Hold your horses. How often do get the chance to be here? It’s never happened before and it’s not likely to happen again. Oh, what is that smell? Let me just see that stall over there. It will be the last one, I promise.’

  Giorgos rolled his eyes to the heavens. But Aristo pretended to relent feigning disappointment. He was really playing with Giorgos after all. What Aristo was really looking for was for valuable manuscripts and he found a contact from whom he bought two with coins that he had found inside a small pocket in his chiton.

  That would be their passport as visitors into the Great Library. Ptolemy, determined to make his Library the greatest in the world, decreed that every visitor to the city was obliged to leave behind a manuscript for the Library’s collection.

  Giorgos and Aristo reached the great Library where, as visitors from Athens, and bringing with them the ultimately desirable gift to Ptolemy, two rare manuscripts, they expected to gain favour with the King and entry into the inner parts of the Library.

  After a short meeting with Ptolemy, they were led on an honorary tour of the Library they had so generously endowed, and about which they had heard so much and were dying to see for themselves.

  During the tour Giorgos and Aristo noticed that the building was unusually quiet for this time of the day. They asked their guide who simply smiled and looked away as if he did not understand their question.

  As they were passing by shelf after shelf choked full and brimming to its lips with papyrus scrolls, their eyes caught a glimpse of something that looked unlike any of the expected contents of the collection, not a scroll but something shiny. It was only a brief glimpse that stared them in the eye and sent the light through their eyelids and burned their skin, as if rushing to brand itself, its memory upon them.

  They both screamed, but their scream died inside their vocal chords that went on strike and never left their locked lips. Their guide seemed to be oblivious to their predicament and impervious to their reactions. He kept walking and smiling to himself. His lips seemed to be moving of their own volition, but nothing came out. His arms were glued to his sides, the movement of his hips was awkward and his walk unsteady.

  Their guide then stopped in the great hall of the Library. He briefly looked around the numerous shelves extending as far as the eye could see, furiously searching for something. His stare seemed to settle on a point on the opposite wall, as if he could not see anything else in that magnificent space, as if his life depended on it. He was transfixed, but his face retained its mask of gentle expression, occasionally blighted by colour in his cheeks or knocked into the shape of a crooked smile.

  Giorgos and Aristo’s eyes followed the guide’s gaze and settled on a strange small statue in a niche at eye level, above a shelf that seemed to hold a collection of strange manuscripts different from the others. They went close to study this little creation. It just did not fit in this exalted space.

  They looked around at the statues having pride of place in their little heavily adorned niches near the ceiling. They seemed to have a theme, except for the small statue, which at closer inspection turned out to be a bust.

  ‘It looks Byzantine. What is it doing here?’

  ‘That’s what I would like to know.’

  ‘Aristo, the face looks familiar …’ Giorgos stopped and turned around as if in search of something. ‘Wait a minute. Where’s the guide? He seems to have just vanished into thin air. He was standing right there only a moment ago. And another thing, I cannot hear birdsong or the running water.’ He stared at the fountain. ‘Aristo it looks as if time has stopped, but we are still conscious and moving. What’s going on?’

  Without warning the bust’s features became distorted and it came alive and started to speak. At the same time another voice rose behind them. They turned and they saw the guide standing before them again. Where had he disappeared to earlier?

  The guide suddenly sto
pped talking. A huge smile broke on his face, which turned into a malevolent laugh that echoed around the hollowed space, building in volume and intensity to a high crescendo. The walls and the shelves were resonating.

  Aristo felt his own body resonating. He looked over at Giorgos. He too seemed to be resonating and at the same frequency, like a suspension bridge tossed about by an earthquake. They both hit the ground at the same time, writhing in agony, covering their ears, holding their heads in their hands and shaking their head from side to side, in a vain attempt to banish this torture. The ordeal stopped as suddenly as it began.

  Giorgos was surprised to discover he could still hear his voice; that he even had a voice to hear in the first place. He was relieved his ears had not been smashed to pieces together with his brain, which he would expect had turned to mash. But thankfully it hadn’t as it was not gibberish that came out of his mouth. ‘I don’t think I can take any more of this. First a burning light, now this. That’s a high cost to pay for this mission.’

  ‘Well, Giorgos, you know what they say. No pain, no gain.’

  ‘I don’t think when they said it that they had this in mind. Anyway … that bust… that face … does it look familiar to you?’

  Aristo stared at it and thought for a while. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Doesn’t it look like the face of the last Byzantine Emperor, Konstantinos XI Palaiologos?’

  ‘It could be.’

  As they were looking at it, the bust left its niche and flew around the hall touching different parts of the building as it went. They looked up and followed its progress.

  There, close to the roof, they could see words appear and disappear across the four corners of the hall, place-names in shining crystal letters as if made from gleaming diamonds: “Constantinople”, “Athens”, “Alexandria” and on the fourth wall, instead of a place-name, the following inscription appeared: “Save the places that cure the soul.”