But Alexander’s was not the only dead body in the room.
The light was so dim, and the images at the far end of the room were so arresting, that I failed to see the obstacle at my feet. I stepped against it and tripped, and only Rupa’s strong hand and quick reflexes saved me from falling flat on my face. I staggered back and looked down at the body of an Egyptian soldier. He lay on his back, his open eyes staring at the ceiling and his fist still clutching his sword. If he had put up a fight, he had failed to wound his adversary, for there was no sign of blood on his blade. But of blood there was plenty; it formed a pool around him, flowing from a wound in his abdomen.
“Why have you brought me here, Rupa?”
He made no answer, but merely gestured for me to follow. We crossed the room and approached the golden chain that bisected it, beyond which sightseers were not permitted. From its perimeter, the sarcophagus was still several arm’s lengths away, but one could clearly see the familiar profile of Alexander and the play of the dim light upon the strands of golden hair tucked beneath the golden laurel wreath. The sight gave me a shiver, and I appreciated the patience of the multitudes who waited for hours to stand in that spot for a brief moment and gaze upon eternity.
Without hesitating, Rupa ducked under the chain and strode directly to the sarcophagus. I felt a pang of superstitious dread, then did likewise. There were no guards to stop us, and the watchful stare of the conqueror’s statue showed no signs of displeasure at our invasion of his sanctum.
I stood beside Rupa, and the two of us looked down at the face of Alexander the Great.
I frowned. At such close proximity, the sight of that mummified countenance was not as edifying as it had been when viewed from a few steps farther back. Some semblance of the original flesh remained, but the inner life that had given it beauty had long since fled. The skin was like worn papyrus stretched thin over the bony protrusions of the cheeks and the chin. Those responsible for admitting visitors to the tomb seemed to have gauged exactly how far back to place the golden chain so as to take full advantage of the flattering effects of soft lighting and distance.
“What do you think, Rupa? A bit the worse for wear, isn’t he?”
Rupa nodded. Then a youthful voice piped up: “But he’s not all that bad when you consider he’s three hundred years old!”
I gave a start. “What in Hades—?”
From the dark space between the sarcophagus and the statue beyond, a face popped into view, followed by another.
“Mopsus! Androcles! I might have known. But how—?”
“We came here through the tunnel, of course,” said Mopsus.
“What tunnel?”
“The secret tunnel that begins under the rose garden in the palace, runs past the turnoff to the great Library, and then takes you straight on to this place. It comes out just behind that statue. There’s a little panel you slide back, some steps to go up—if you’re as tall as Rupa, you have to bend a bit and duck your head when you climb out—and then you’re here, in Alexander’s tomb. It’s one of the first passages we discovered.”
“We?” said Androcles. “I was the one who found this passage.”
“I said, it was one of the first passages we discovered, and we—sometimes you, sometimes me—have discovered quite a few such passages since we started exploring the palace,” Mopsus insisted.
“Yes, but I’m the one who found this passage. I found it with no help from you or anybody else, and then I was generous enough to share the knowledge with you. So, properly, you should say, ‘It’s one of the first passages Androcles discovered.’ Admit it!”
“I’ll admit no such thing. You’re just being stupid. Isn’t he, Master?”
I sighed. “So that’s what you’ve been up to, since we arrived at the palace? Snooping in every nook and corner, looking for trapdoors and sliding panels? You’re lucky you’re still alive!”
“But no one ever stopped us, Master,” said Androcles. “Everyone at the palace seems to like us. Some of the guards even give us bits of sweets when they see us.”
“Oh, yes!” said Mopsus. “Especially that guard who’s stationed in the garden with the long reflecting pool. Sweet Tooth, we call him, because he always has the best sweets, little honey dabs thickened with flour and flavored with rosewater and rolled in crushed almonds. Delicious!”
I imagined the two of them, smiling and laughing, the picture of innocence, charming their way past every checkpoint in the palace. In time the guards had no doubt grown so used to them that they allowed them to come and go as they pleased, even allowing them to bring along their hulking, but harmless, friend, Rupa.
I shook my head. “So you’ve been here before?”
“Oh, yes,” said Androcles. “We like to come after sunset, when the tomb is closed to visitors. They lock those doors to the foyer, and this room is completely empty.”
“And dark!” added Mopsus.
“Yes, you have to bring your own lamp. But it’s rather nice, being able to wander about and study the murals on the walls, and visit with Alexander the Great with no one else about. They put the lid on the sarcophagus at night, but Rupa is strong enough to lift it off. I think Alexander is in wonderful shape. I only hope that I’ll look like that when I’m three hundred years old. You can almost imagine that he might sit up and start talking!”
“For better or worse,” I said, “the high art of Egyptian embalming seems to have been lost in the centuries between Alexander’s day and ours. They’re no longer able to perform this kind of magic. Just as well. Can you imagine future generations lining up to have a look at Caesar’s perfectly preserved body? But I still don’t understand how you came to be here today. And where has everyone gone?”
“The three of us were in the palace,” said Androcles, “minding our own business—in the rose garden, as it so happened, watching Alexander the cat chase a butterfly—when one of the courtiers ran by, telling everyone that the king was on the balcony at the Tomb of Alexander, rousing the people against the Romans. Suddenly the rose garden was empty, and there we were, sitting on the very bench with the false bottom that lifts up to let you into the secret passage. We had to come see what was happening for ourselves, and this was the quickest way. When we came out of the tunnel, this room was empty, except for a single Egyptian guard; everyone had gone outside to listen to the king. We were hiding in the shadows behind one of those big pillars, trying to think of a way to slip past the guard, when suddenly there was a commotion from the foyer, and then the king himself came rushing in. We could tell it was the king, even though he wasn’t wearing his crown. I think he was heading for the secret tunnel. But there were Roman soldiers after him. The Egyptian guard tried to stand in their way. That’s him over there, lying in a pool of blood. For a moment we thought the Roman soldiers were going to kill the king as well, and I think the king thought so, too. You should have seen the look on his face!”
“And heard the curses he was shouting against his sister and Caesar!” added Mopsus.
“Anyway, the soldiers fell into a tortoise formation around the king—shields up all around and overhead, and spear points poking out—and went marching out, taking the king with them. Heading back to the palace, I suppose. We stayed out of sight and followed them as far as the foyer, and then who do you think we ran into?”
“Merianis,” I said.
“Exactly! And she told us that you’d been with her, but somehow you were separated, and with everything going on in the square, there was no telling what might happen to you. So we sent Rupa and Merianis to look for you, while Mopsus and I decided to stay right here, so as to be ready to take you straight back to the palace through the secret tunnel.”
“Actually,” said Mopsus, “we stayed here because Androcles was afraid to go out into the square. He said we might get trampled on, being so small, and it was better to send Rupa out looking for you, because Rupa is big enough to take care of himself.”
“I was not afraid,”
insisted Androcles. “Staying here was just part of my plan, and now you can see how cleverly it all worked out.”
“Indeed,” I said. “But what happened to Merianis?”
I looked at Rupa, who shrugged.
“I suppose you lost her rather quickly in the crowd?”
He frowned and nodded.
“No need to look sheepish, Rupa. If finding me was her priority, Merianis would have been doing that instead of ducking into the foyer to see what was happening with Ptolemy and the Roman soldiers sent to fetch him. It was good of her to let you know that I might be in danger, but I’m not surprised she slipped off on her own instead of helping Rupa search for me. No doubt she’s eager to run ahead of that Roman tortoise and report back to her mistress about everything that took place here. Curious; Merianis must not know about this tunnel leading back to the palace, or else she’d have gone that way.” I frowned. “Merianis has been a good friend to us, boys—helpful, thoughtful, full of good humor—but we mustn’t forget that her true allegiance lies elsewhere.”
“You make her sound like a soldier, Master.”
“Because I think she is one, Mopsus, no less than a man who carries a sword and shield.”
“She’d never hurt you, Master!” said Androcles.
“I’m sure she won’t—as long as I don’t run afoul of her mistress. What a joke the gods have played on me this time! I’ve managed to survive one bloody civil war, only to find myself dropped into the midst of another, about which I care nothing. But from my experience of these conflicts, I know that even the most uncommitted bystander is seldom allowed to remain neutral. The palace is a battleground. Cleopatra and Ptolemy are rival generals, marshaling their forces. Caesar is the strategic stronghold they’re both eager to claim; all other battles will count for nothing if one or the other can win over Caesar and the Roman might behind him.”
“But, Master, you should have heard the curses the king was screaming against Caesar when the soldiers took him away!” said Androcles. “The king must hate Caesar with all his might.”
“I suspect the exact opposite is true. The king may be a Ptolemy to his fingertips, with a regal bearing and a certainty of his own divine place in the world; but he’s still a boy not in control of his emotions. When he railed against Caesar, he sounded less like a general rallying his troops, and more like a spurned suitor. As for Caesar, he’d like very much for the siblings to patch up their differences and get on with the business of ruling Egypt and repaying their debts to Rome; then he could congratulate himself on settling the Egyptian Question and go wrap up the loose ends left over from his own civil war. But neither the king nor the queen may be willing to settle for half of Egypt—or half of Caesar. Caesar may finally have to choose one over the other. Before that happens, we may all be forced to takes sides, whether we want to or—”
All four of us abruptly turned toward the alabaster antechamber that led up to the foyer, from whence came the sounds of footsteps, a scuffle, and loud shouting.
“Looters?” said Mopsus.
“Soldiers?” said Androcles.
“Or mere sightseers?” I suggested. “In any case, I think it’s time for us to head back to the palace. Androcles, show me the passageway.”
“Certainly, Master. Step around to the back of the statue.”
I gazed into a black void at the foot of the statue. “Is there no light at all in the passage? No air?”
“The first part is rather dark,” said Androcles, “but farther on there are grates and vents that let in little patches of light and puffs of fresh air. Here, I’ll go first, and lead you by the hand. Mopsus can follow. Rupa can come last and close the panel behind us; it’s rather heavy. Just be careful, Master, not to hit . . .”
“Ouch!”
“. . . your head!”
CHAPTER XIX
“People are still rioting all over the city,” said Merianis. “Days have passed since the king threw his tantrum, and yet the people remain in a fury. The rabble-rousers claim that Caesar is holding the king captive against his will—”
“A squadron of Roman soldiers did march Ptolemy back to the palace,” I observed.
“But they never laid a finger on him! The king returned of his own volition—”
“After one of his guards was slain in the Tomb of Alexander!” “Someone had to protect the king’s person on the way back to the palace; that crowd had turned into a rioting mob, as you saw for yourself, Gordianus. Anyway, once the king was back in the palace, safe and sound, Caesar and Pothinus together managed to calm him. Negotiations between the queen and the king continue, under Caesar’s supervision. But the city is in chaos.”
“Alexandrians are famous for this sort of thing,” I observed. “The Alexandrian mob drove the previous king out of the city; it took a Roman army to get him back in.”
“Which is why Ptolemy should have known better than to incite the mob’s fury. Most of their anger is directed against the Romans, of course, but even the palace guards are afraid to venture out into the streets. Alexandria is utterly lawless! The Museum is shut up tight—all those scholars afraid to even look out a window!—and so is the Library. No new books for you, Gordianus! You shall have to reread the ones I already brought.”
“Yes, do, Master!” said Mopsus, flinging himself on the bed beside me. “Read the part about Alexander and the Gordian knot again. Is it true that’s the origin of your family name? ‘In the land of Phrygia there reigned King Gordian, who was born a peasant but became the king because of an oracle—’ ”
“I see no need to read the tale again if you’ve memorized it,” I said. “As for the origin of the name Gordianus—”
But there was no stopping Mopsus. “ ‘And many years later, Alexander passed through Phrygia and the city of Gordium, named for King Gordian, and he was presented with the Gordian knot; for the oracles claimed that no man could conquer Asia unless first he undid the Gordian knot, which was so deviously tied that even the cleverest man could not undo it, and so tightly tied that even the strongest man could not undo it. Whereupon Alexander—’ ”
Androcles interrupted, jumping into the middle of the room and pantomiming the action he described. “Whereupon Alexander took out his sword, and with a great whack and a whoosh, he chopped it right in two, and the knot fell apart at his feet, and everyone bowed down to the new king of Asia—hooray!—Alexander, the only man strong enough and clever enough to undo the Gordian knot!”
“That’s not how it goes!” complained Mopsus.
“Close enough.”
“But you left out the part about—”
“I didn’t leave out anything important.”
“You’re just jealous that you don’t remember the words.”
“It’s the story that matters, not the words.” Androcles again mimed hacking at a knot with a sword. “With a great whack and a whoosh, he chopped it right in two!”
Mopsus did likewise, jumping about the room and slicing the air with an invisible sword. “With a whack and a whoosh—”
Rupa made a face and covered his ears. Merianis sighed. “The boys grow restless, trapped inside all day.”
“Restless, indeed!” Not only were they unable to go about the city, but I had forbidden them to make any further explorations in the palace’s secret passages. “If only I could send them out on some errand. A very long errand.”
Merianis smiled. “Perhaps you and I should go out for a bit.”
“I think not! The last time I ventured out with you, Merianis, I very nearly got my head staved in by bloodthirsty dockworkers. For all I know, they’re still out there hunting for Romans.”
“But I have another idea. Come with me, Gordianus.”
“Where?”
“Trust me!”
I looked at her askance.
“With a whack and a whoosh!” shouted Mopsus.
“He chopped it in two!” cried Androcles.
I winced. “Very well, Merianis. Take me away
from here. Quickly!”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
It seemed at first that we were heading toward the Roman sector, but at some point Merianis turned down an unfamiliar corridor, and I found myself in a part of the palace unknown to me. I was amazed anew at the extent and the opulence of the royal complex.
At last we stepped into the bright sunshine of a garden that fronted the harbor. We crossed the garden, breathing warm, jasmine-scented air, and descended several flights of steps. The cloudless sky was dazzling. The galleys of Caesar’s small fleet were scattered here and there across the water, their prows turned to face the harbor entrance, which was barred by a massive chain. Beyond the great harbor, impossibly big, loomed the great lighthouse of Pharos.
Merianis led me to a pier made of stone that projected a considerable distance into the harbor. We passed a series of small buildings, their rooftops decorated with colorful pennants. Beside a squat statue of Bes, the Egyptian god of pleasure, a flight of steps led down to a little skiff. I sucked in a breath, for the boat was exactly like the one in which Pompey had taken his final journey, its prow carved in the shape of a standing ibis with wings outstretched and its rim decorated with ornate carvings of crocodiles, cranes, and Nile river-horses, the images plated with hammered silver and inlaid with bits of lapis and turquoise for the eyes.
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