The Flames of Time (Flames of Time Series Book 1)

by Peter Knyte

  In any event, revitalised by our mint tea and with our better natures firmly subjugated for the day, we decided to head back to the hotel via one of the bigger Suq markets.

  A couple of hours later loaded down with nik-naks from the market, including some new paper for my journal, stuffed dates and a tourist map of the region, we finally stepped into the comparative cool of the hotel courtyard. The day had caught up with me by now, and the prospect of an afternoon nap was rapidly becoming my greatest priority. But as we stepped through the street doors into the courtyard I discovered both Harry and Peter had beaten me to it. Though both looked perfectly comfortable in their slumbers, Harry had clearly nodded off while in mid-read, judging both by the book that lay carelessly at his feet, and the reading spectacles still clinging precariously to the end of his nose. While Peter on the other hand displayed an obvious forethought and preparation, and seemed all the more comfortable for his shady high-backed rattan chair, footstool and hat, which covered his eyes.

  Stopping only to retrieve Harry’s book from the ground and place it on the table beside him, I decided to forego the al fresco sleeping arrangements of my companions in favour of my room, which was now mercifully cool. Throwing my things down as I entered. I splashed a little water on my face and neck before lying down and falling straight asleep.

  I could have quite happily slept through until the following morning, but after a couple of hours, feeling much refreshed and absolutely ravenous, I resisted the temptation to roll over for another forty winks and forced myself to get up.

  After a quick wash, and putting the things away I’d so unceremoniously dropped a couple of hours earlier, I made my way down to the lounge to see if anyone else was up and around.

  It seemed Androus had returned, and barring Jean I found them all in the lounge that was fast becoming our second home. Androus in particular seemed to have benefited from the rest and had lost that hollow look in favour of the gentle exuberance he’d displayed on our first meeting.

  Nobody appeared in any great rush to get back to business, so we waited for Jean to join us in his own time, which he did about half an hour later, following which we settled down to once more discuss our situation. It went pretty much as I was expecting at first. Harry with some support from Androus attempted to convey the magnitude of what we’d so far discovered, to be countered by Marlow and Peter with the prospect of what we could yet discover given just a little more time.

  It was a very civilised discussion, and with the benefit of a bit more rest, especially for Androus, we were all more relaxed about the points being made. But ultimately, as Harry very succinctly put it, ‘it came down to what we were going to do next’. Not telling the world about the ‘discovery of the century’ was one thing, but to just put things off indefinitely without any specific plan or direction was another. The scroll was all we had for now, Marlow’s dreams had lead us to the temple, but there was nothing more coming from him. Unexpectedly it was Androus who seemed to offer the solution to Harry’s question.

  ‘There is something I missed in my first reading of the scroll,’ stated Androus hesitantly, ‘it may yet be nothing ... my own misinterpretation of those unusual root-words.

  ‘As I told you earlier on today,’ he continued, slipping unconsciously into his sceptical academic mode,’ this scroll contains a narrative supposedly written by the fabled Utnapishtim or Ziusudra, a figure mentioned in the chronicle of Gilgamesh. Well, after resting this morning I had just a little time to further study the scroll before coming back over to join you. In that time I examined the version of the Gilgamesh story contained on the scroll, hoping that my familiarity with it would make the task a little easier. But I discovered that while the scroll version is similar in some ways it is quite distinctly different in several others, not the least of which being that Gilgamesh in the scroll version is successful in his quest and returns to his home immortal.’

  ‘Unbelievable,’ broke in Harry almost unconsciously,’ are you sure Chuk?’

  ‘I am my friend, the details I will be able to improve upon with time, but the overall meaning is clear. However, that is not necessarily the most interesting diversion from the story. As you’ll recall Harry, in the story of Gilgamesh we had before, he returns to his home unsuccessful, but wiser for his journey and accepting of his worldly lot, goes on to be a good king for the rest of his life and brings prosperity to his city. Almost as an afterthought the chronicle describes how Gilgamesh inscribes the tale of his travels onto a block of lapis lazuli which he then buries beneath the city gate and in so doing metaphorically re-founds the city upon his newly obtained wisdom.

  ‘All very interesting, the stone has never been found, but it has also never been really looked for. Now, curiously that same stone is mentioned in the scroll version of the story, but it is described as being carved while Gilgamesh is at the African temple. Its surfaces covered not only with the tale of Gilgamesh but also a description of the path beyond to the great temple.

  ‘Now the text is unclear, but the words used to describe the first great temple at the start of the scroll are very similar to those used in the description of the stone buried by Gilgamesh. It’s also described as lying beyond, but as the scroll is supposedly written by Ziusudra while he is still within the temple, it would be strange to describe his current location as beyond, you’d be much more likely to say, here or, in this place.

  ‘Obviously, if my translation is correct then the implication is clear. The stone buried by Gilgamesh beneath the gate of his city, contains not only the story of his quest, but also directions to the first great temple of Ziusudra.’

  ‘How much longer do you need to confirm your interpretation Androus?’ asked Marlow eagerly.

  ‘Another day perhaps two, to confirm my translation of this section,’ responded Androus, ‘weeks if not months for the rest.’

  I felt an energy fill the air as Androus spoke these words, with their suggestion of a way forward in our quest. I couldn’t help but look around the room at the faces of my friends to see the anticipation growing behind their eyes also, even Jean couldn’t hide is curiosity now.

  ‘We know that the African temple must have been perhaps four thousand years old before it was abandoned,’ commented Harry looking earnestly at Androus. ‘If the first temple was used for a similar period before it was abandoned then it could date back to seven or even eight thousand years BC.’

  ‘That would indeed be a remarkable discovery,’ responded Androus, ‘let alone if it were to contain some form of written language.’

  ‘We could perhaps do a little research on Uruk, Gilgamesh’s home,’ suggested Harry, with a large and increasingly infectious smile on his face. ‘Perhaps figure out how to the get there and what permissions we might need to do a little digging. You might even think of coming with us Chuk, and continuing your translation on route.’

  CHAPTER 10 - AZURE

  Our journey ahead, into the heart of Iraq, turned out to be a bit more involved than I’d first imagined. In essence I think I’d become accustomed to the way of doing things in Africa, and had forgotten the first fumbling steps I’d made, when I’d initially ventured forth from Nyrobi, massively over equipped with things I didn’t need, and surprisingly short of the things I did.

  Having said that, Africa was more a logistical problem than anything else, and of course I’d had my father’s journal to give me an idea of routes, guides, weather and a thousand and one other things. The Middle East was different. There were more subtle considerations to be taken into account, political sensitivities to consider and permissions and licenses to be gained, as well as up-to-date information to be sought. All of which took time, and by turns it demoralised and discouraged us almost as much as it delayed. But eventually we managed to get everything more or less in order, stamped, signed, approved, and ready to go.

  Androus’ local knowledge facilitated the process immensely, but as we found our way through the last of the red tape, we were st
ill struggling to get the information we wanted about our destination, the ruined city of Uruk or Erech. Both Androus and Harry knew of at least two partial excavations that’d been carried out at the site, but it was proving more difficult than we’d anticipated to get accurate records describing the parts of the city uncovered. This was information that would be critical to our own search once we got on site. So we had to get our hands on it quickly, before our various visas and permits ran out, and we’d have to go through the entire application process again.

  The following few days saw a frenzy of activity as we scattered across Jerusalem like madmen, trying to find everything we needed. While at the same time crossing the t’s and dotting the i’s with both the new government in Iraq and the British military presence still in the region to confirm our passage and archaeological exploration rights. Peter and Harry went off to sort out the equipment we might need again. It would be inconvenient to secure this in Jerusalem and transport it all the way, but we were hoping this would enable us to maintain a lower profile along the way.

  It was a whirlwind of activity, but somehow, three days later we were underway. There was still a lot we’d have to sort out on route, but we were going to be stopping, albeit fleetingly, in several large cities and towns along the way and Androus had friends he was confident of being able to call upon.

  I’d been looking forward to getting out and about again, back under the stars and into the wild. But within hours of setting off, stuck in the back of car in all the heat and dust, I was wishing for nothing more than my cool comfortable room back at the hotel. The further we went the less pleasant the journey became. The recent instability in the region had all but destroyed the local rail network. As such we no sooner got from car to train than we had to unload and transfer our things to cars or trucks, and then back onto a train.

  I don’t know how he managed to concentrate with all the disturbances and inconveniences along the way, but somehow every time I saw him, Androus seemed to be writing in his notebook or consulting one of the increasingly dusty reference books he’d brought with him. Despite the irritations of the journey I couldn’t help but be entertained at the distractedly eccentric figure he cast, with his bright silk cravats, always perfect moustache and pile of great learned volumes surrounding him.

  By the time we reached Baghdad, Androus had managed to confirm his interpretation of the Gilgamesh story on the scroll. The stone buried by Gilgamesh beneath his city’s gate, did indeed seem to have been carved while Gilgamesh was still at the African temple, which meant the directions it carried must refer to the first Great Temple. Not only that, but there were more details of how Gilgamesh had obtained the secret of ‘breath eternal’ from Ziusudra and returned with it to his home. Where, according to the scroll, he would ‘become the envy and the enemy of all mortal men’. For this reason Gilgamesh was also bestowed with a poison that would gradually ‘steal his breath and eventually seem to kill him, so that he may pass beyond before taking up his new true life.’

  Leaving Baghdad, we managed to secure half a day’s ride with an American diplomatic convoy, but the comfort and space of their vehicles was short lived and then we were dropped off again to make our own way. Now if Androus was a picture of eccentric abstractedness then Harry, when we were once more ‘dropped off’ was a picture of pure aggravation and irritation. He was struggling with the mass of maps and illustrations of the ancient city in order to try and divine the most likely location of the city gate. But whereas Androus was able to muddle along with his limited library, Harry was wrestling with a dozen, oversized maps, pictures, books and notes. He even had a couple of recent photographs taken by the Air Force while flying over the area.

  For the final leg of the journey we were once more on horseback and trekking through an almost perfectly flat landscape. In fact the terrain was so uncompromisingly level the ruins of the city didn’t seem to come into view until we were almost on top of them. To begin with they could’ve been mistaken for a natural rocky outcropping on the horizon, but then as we got closer and closer, oddly geometric angles and shapes began to be visible, and then patterns and lines in what had previously looked like simple mounds of earth.

  The entire place was made of mud-brick. Thousands, millions of them worn and sculpted by the wind and weather but still identifiable after thousands of years. As we drew closer to the outskirts of the great city wall I could finally make sense of what I’d been seeing. The walls, even today were still massive structures, but over time they had worn and weathered, sand had built up in places, while elsewhere sections had fallen away. But being made of brick it had fallen in sections, probably the same sections in which it had been built all those years ago, leaving behind oddly regular holes and gaps.

  There were numerous breaks in the wall, easily big enough for us to ride the horses through, but dusk was approaching and we’d been warned by one of Androus’s contacts in Baghdad that the ruins were still to this day occasionally inhabited by groups of brigands. So with this in mind we circumnavigated the walls for a while in search of a good place to make our camp. It had been a humid and hot day and with the exception of Harry and Androus we were all glad of a chance to rest and enjoy the cool of the evening.

  We decided to make our camp just beyond one of the larger openings in the city wall, on the north-west side of the city where the mighty ruins would shelter us from the prevailing winds. Winds which we’d been warned could whip up to a biting gale within minutes in this wide-open borderland between desert and marsh.

  I’d been expecting the camp and the environment to be similar to those we’d made in Africa. But the more we saw of this country the less that seemed to be true, and now as we stopped the differences were again evident. When I first arrived in Africa I’d thought the place had almost an odour of decay about it, which over time I’d become accustomed to and now apparently took for granted. But here in the desert I realised what I’d thought of as decay in Africa was also the fertile odour of life, even in the dry season. An odour that Uruk just didn’t have, for here the earth was almost sterile in its barrenness. Incapable of sustaining life, robbed as it was of every particle of moisture by sun and wind.

  The others were busy setting up the camp and directing the half dozen European friendly Kurdish servants we’d been able to hire in for the necessary chores. An hour or so later and our small camp was complete, and we were settling down to see whether Harry had been able to figure out a plan of action for the following day.

  The ground was still warm beneath our feet, as we gathered together around a low, flat topped mound of earth.

  Harry had the best of his maps with him, and he now spread it across our impromptu table to show us where we were and what we knew about the city behind us.

  It wasn’t particularly good news, the details just weren’t there. Even with the multitude of references he’d been able to find, both in the scroll and elsewhere, the landscape around had simply changed too much. All Harry could do was suggest where we concentrate our efforts on the north-west side of the city. There was little else to be done until the following morning when we could get into the city and have a look around.

  I was surprised at just how cold it was the following morning, and half expected to see a coating of dew on the baked earth when I got out of my tent, but if there had been any it must have been soaked up by the parched ground almost instantly.

  We were up and about in no time, and the first order of the day was to get our bearings by making our way into the centre of the city, where most of the previous excavation work had taken place. After Harry’s rather sombre outline of the situation the night before, we were hoping the orientation of the civic buildings, which we knew had been unearthed would give us a bearing upon a likely main gate.

  Riding into the ruined city was an almost unreal experience. We were talking amongst ourselves when we set off, but on entering the city the conversation quickly subsided as we beheld our surroundings. At times it was exactl
y what I’d expected, baked clay walls mostly collapsed and ruined with little to indicate what kind of structure the remains had once formed. But then a few yards further on they’d become almost whole. There were staircases and windows, upper floors and untold niches and shelves built neatly into the fabric of the structures. All they needed were a roof and few odds and ends of furniture and the place would be habitable. It gave the streets a ghostly air, as though the inhabitants were just hiding and life would spring up again as soon as we passed the corner.

  Finally the streets started to broaden out and we reached the heart of the city with the faded remnants of its mighty civic buildings. Previous excavations had been concentrated in this area and though the buildings were cleared of debris and dust giving them a peculiarly sharp quality, they were obviously less intact than the ordinary houses we’d passed along the way. It was nevertheless a fascinating place, especially in the company of Harry and Androus who translated the anonymous piles surrounding us into a wonderful picture of life as it may once have been.

  But as good as their understanding was, it quickly became clear there was no mighty avenue leading conveniently to the gate we wanted, and that the city had grown or evolved in a more haphazard way, without any kind of plan or structure. All of this meant we’d just have to split up and examine each of the gateways individually for anything that might indicate it was the one we were after.

  Anticipating that this might be necessary we’d each brought some basic hand tools to clear away the accumulated sand and debris. I was with Harry and Peter, while Marlow was with Androus and Jean with Luke. We agreed to meet back at the centre at midday and then we were off, each group in a different direction.