Athena's Son

by Jeryl Schoenbeck

  Archimedes walked into the room and set the scroll on the table. “I found it.” He put the scroll on the table and it rolled slightly away from Berenike. He sounded less enthusiastic than he had been before he ran into Remus.

  Berenike reached over and detained the runaway scroll. “I think I may have figured out a possible solution to the sun rising. Obviously, when you first read the phrase ‘sun rising in the west’, you assume the disk of fire, spelled s-U-n. What if reads son, s-O-n, like a boy?” She looked up, beaming, but noticed Archimedes was looking back out the door. “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh,” Archimedes turned toward her. “That Roman,” he pointed back to the hall, “Remus Decimus, was out there again. He was here the other day spying on us. Then he magically appears at your father’s court. Something is up with him. He seems to be able to conjure himself to wherever he wants.”

  “Are you sure he’s a spy? I see him in father’s court all the time. Although he comes off aloof at times, he seems sincere and friendly enough to me.” She started to unroll the scroll Archimedes brought. “So what can we find out from this? Did Savas help?”

  Archimedes walked over to her side. “He did tell me there weren’t as many Egyptian constellations as there are Greek constellations, but that makes it easier to find the one we need. I’ll try to identify the Egyptian constellation somewhere on this scroll and you read to me what it says.”

  Archimedes scanned the map of the sky with his finger, slowly tracing the dark stars drawn on the papyrus. “First, I have to find a map of the winter sky. The stars change with the seasons, and Orion appears in the fall and winter sky.” He kept unrolling more of the crackling papyrus as he carefully scanned the drawings, finally stopping at a rectangle filled with dark, simple stars. “Let’s see, this cluster must be Gemini. Just to the east…this must be Orion, and this is his belt. What does that say?” He indicated a short line of writing.

  Berenike pulled the scroll over to her. “Give me a moment.” Berenike mouthed out consonant sounds and then leaned back with a quizzical look. “It says that is the Crown of Osiris.”

  Archimedes paced slowly around the table, deep in thought. “So what we have so far is a murder, a possible son—boy,” he turned toward Berenike and emphasized ‘boy’, then resumed his pacing “rising in the west, and finally, a crown.” He looked out the open window, the late afternoon rays of sun streaming straight into his face. Archimedes took a deep breath, and let out a slow sigh. “It’s getting late, Berenike, I should get back to the school for supper.”

  “What?” Berenike jumped up and glanced out the window. “Sweet Isis.” She quickly gathered the scrolls. “I have to get to the palace. Father is going to kill me if I’m late for supper again!”

  And me with you, Archimedes feared.

  As Berenike checked the different scrolls to see which ones she was keeping and which ones would be left behind for Savas, she opened Archimedes’ entrance scroll from Callimachus. She scanned the scroll for a few moments. “Archimedes,” she said hesitantly, “where did you get this scroll from?”

  Archimedes turned from the window. “That? It’s my entrance scroll to the school, from Callimachus.”

  “But Callimachus wrote this? It’s from him?” The unease in her voice brought Archimedes over.

  “Well, no. It’s just some papyrus Ipuwer was writing on when Ptahhotep was going to have me whipped. Why?”

  Berenike was quickly uttering breathless consonant sounds, eyes dashing back and forth across the scroll. “It talks about the murders and the lighthouse. It says…it says there needs to be more murders.” She looked up at Archimedes, her face going pale.

  Archimedes grabbed the scroll, looking it over as if it were written in blood. It seemed, to him, that it was.

  Chapter 22

  “Incredible.”

  Callimachus and Herophilos used the same adjective to describe what lay before them. For Herophilos it was the dart; for Callimachus it was the entrance scroll.

  When Archimedes returned to the school, he searched the library and classrooms and finally found Callimachus and Herophilos eating supper in the dining hall. He explained that he had two crucial clues to the lighthouse murders and the three scholars moved to a vacant corner of the hall to discuss them confidentially.

  Archimedes was starving after his busy day. A servant brought him a bowl of fish and barley soup, a slice of cheese, and a goblet of watered wine. Archimedes reached over to a plate of warm flatbread to scoop up the thick, steaming soup.

  Between bites he succinctly explained where each of the objects came from. Herophilos was impressed how Archimedes applied the physiology of the human body to the pneumatic cannon. Callimachus said he would like to inspect the cannon after the investigation settled down.

  Herophilos shook the dart after Archimedes explained the rattling sound inside. “Of course I will have to try to open it up, although it is obviously the work of a fine craftsman. My first guess, judging the length of the needle to be about two inches, is that it is designed to penetrate the chest cavity and lodge in the victim’s heart.” He held it and admired it as if it were one of his instruments that were used to keep people alive.

  “Don’t you see, Callimachus?” Herophilos said. “When the dart hits the chest, the abrupt stop pushes a weight inside the needle forward, injecting the heart with whatever poison was inside. That way the poison isn’t depleted on the body’s exterior. It injects the full dose only when it is inside the heart. Depending on the poison used, the heart could stop within seconds. That is why we saw no signs of poisoning during the autopsy. Ingenious”

  “Diabolic seems more apt in describing it,” Callimachus said. “Humans are adept enough at killing each other without finding more efficient ways of doing it.”

  “Well certainly, Callimachus,” Herophilos tried appeasing him. “I’m not advocating any murder. But even you must admit that the design is cunning, if not ingenious.”

  “I should think you would be more offended than me, Herophilos,” Callimachus replied. “I am no physician, but I believe your Hippocratic Oath denounces any type of poisonous drug.”

  “Bah, forget the dart,” Herophilos said. “You have my opinion on how lethal it is. What does that scroll say?” He picked up a piece of bread and took his frustration out on it, ripping it in half and chewing it furiously.

  “While I don’t know demotic as well as you know the insides of a human body,” Callimachus inclined his head toward the sputtering physician, “I can read most of the scroll. It definitely implicates Ptahhotep in, if not the murders themselves, at least conspiracy in them. Ipuwer is shrewd enough to not use names; or more likely, Ptahhotep is shrewd enough to tell him not to. However, it states that someone orders more workers to be murdered at the lighthouse.”

  ‘They are not effective enough,’ Ipuwer quoted someone in the scroll.

  “While this may not be sufficient evidence to convict a High Priest, it certainly should interest Pharaoh Ptolemy enough that he would want him brought in for questioning,” Callimachus said.

  “You can bet that butcher Ptahhotep is mixed up in this,” Herophilos said.

  “All the same, we need to present both items, the dart and scroll, to Ptolemy for his judgment. You have done well, Archimedes. I am sure Pharaoh Ptolemy will be pleased with your results.”

  “I did have a lot of help from Princess Berenike.” Archimedes tried to show some modesty. “She helped me with my murder investigation, and I helped her with her theory about Alexander the Great.”

  “Yes, I’ve noticed you two have been spending a lot of time together,” Callimachus teased him. “How is your new friendship going?”

  “Well,” Archimedes tried to deflect any hint of a girlfriend. “Well, like they say, atropa bella donna.” He wasn’t sure if he even used it right.

  Herophilos perked up. “Atropa bella donna? Where did you hear that?”

  “It was on the scroll Berenike found,” Archi
medes said. “It was written by an Egyptian physician who attended Alexander on his last days. Why?”

  “Atropa bella donna is Latin, it is the name for a very poisonous plant called deadly nightshade. Vicious stuff. It slowly kills the victim, it could even mimic the symptoms Alexander is reported to have shown before he died. But deadly nightshade is not potent enough for our murders,” he cautiously touched the needle. “Too slow to act. For the instant deaths our poor workers suffered, it would need to be something along the lines of strychnine.”

  “Deadly nightshade,” Archimedes whispered to himself. “Wait until Berenike hears about this.”

  “What’s this about deadly nightshade?” a hissing voice interrupted. It was Remus Decimus.

  How does he always show up when murders are discussed? Archimedes thought.

  “Good evening Remus,” Callimachus said. “Would you like to join us for something to eat?”

  Archimedes thought Callimachus was too polite to this spy.

  “No,” Remus murmured, “no. Thank you for your kindness, to be sure. I am only passing by, and thought to caution the young scholar on the dangers of poison.” He leered at Archimedes. First his comment about poison arrows in the library, Archimedes thought, and now this.

  Herophilos sidetracked the conversation. “We were just discussing Archimedes’ recent anatomy lesson. Innocent as that.”

  “Certainly, certainly,” Remus hissed. “Well, I am on my way to meet with Pharaoh Ptolemy. I was invited to dine with him and his lovely family.” He directed the last two words at Archimedes. “Thank you for a pleasant conversation, gentlemen. Good evening,” he nodded. “Good night.”

  “Bah, a worm from the same rotten apple as the priest,” Herophilos spit.

  Archimedes stepped out into the late evening air. Even though the day’s heat still radiated off the stone walk, the light breeze was cool and comforting. He breathed it in and exhaled all of the last few days’ problems.

  He felt good after the hearty meal. The lighthouse murders are now back in the hands of the Pharaoh. Let him deal with the dart, the scroll, and Ptahhotep. Now Archimedes can concentrate on his schooling. And Berenike.

  He thought back to the library. Berenike. What a beautiful name. What a beautiful Muse. He looked up into the early night sky. It wasn’t dark, just twilight, but the first bright star of Skorpios, the scorpion, was just beginning to appear in the southern horizon. Skorpios, the scorpion sent by Apollo to kill Orion because he dared to love Apollo’s twin sister Artemis. The Fates interfered and prevented Orion from becoming the lover of Artemis, the goddess of the hunt.

  What did the Fates have in store for Archimedes? Did Berenike feel the same about him as he did for her? You are such a fool. When would a princess ever love a common schoolboy? You better quit thinking about it all the time because you’re going to drive yourself crazy, he thought. He smiled at his immaturity. He looked back to the southern horizon, but a movement off to his left caught his eye.

  Glancing over, he saw Remus ducking into an alley. It had to be Remus; there was just enough of a moon to identify his garish purple cloak with gold trim. Now what? Hoping to catch the devious Roman in the act of spying again, he quickly jogged over to the alley. This time there was no mistaking the Roman’s intentions. There was no library or meeting excuse Remus could use while dodging into an alley in the evening.

  Archimedes ran across the dusty street and slowed his pursuit as he neared the alley. The nearby buildings housed various shops on the lower floor and homes on the upper two floors. He leaned his back tight against the mud brick wall and slowly peered around the corner, but could not observe any movement or any purple clothing. After standing quietly for a moment, he could only detect the rustling of rats digging through some rotting vegetables dumped in the alley. The smells of decay, human waste, and stale air invaded his nostrils.

  He took some tentative steps into the narrow lane, but it got darker as he went deeper, the high walls blocking out the sliver of moon. Then even more cautiously he took slow, purposeful steps farther in, tilting his head to listen for any betraying sounds or movements.

  The broken mud bricks and sand crunched under his sandals, sounding loud enough to Archimedes to wake the dead, and making it more difficult to listen for Remus, so Archimedes stopped again to listen.

  First, it was only his breathing and thumping heart that throbbed in his eardrums. Then he heard the sound of footsteps crunching in the alley. Heavy footsteps, behind him. Archimedes’ twisted at his waist to see the shadowy figure of a man blocking the alley, the dull glow of moonlight flickering off a dagger. Archimedes slowly retreated and faced the threat, not sure if he should run into the black, decrepit alley or hope that the man didn’t see him and would walk away. That hope was soon dashed.

  “Make things easy for yourself, boy, and come over here. Don’t want to ruin that nice white robe with any of your blood, do we?” The man wore only a short kilt and had an Egyptian accent.

  Who in the name of Zeus was this? Archimedes’ heart pounded in his ears. Why was he so stupid as to go down a dark alley?

  “Don’t bother running, boy. I can hunt you down as easy as a one-legged rabbit. There’s someone who wants to talk to you. Now, come here!” Before his brain even registered it, Archimedes took off running deeper into the alley.

  He didn’t know where the alley went or if it dead-ended, he just ran. It was too dark to make out details, and he only found the first turn to the right by running smack into the wall. He staggered, tripped, but kept running. The heavy footsteps followed closely.

  His chest ached and his breathing became shallow, not because he was tired, but from the frantic breathing of pure fear. Feat of an unknown alley, fear of a man with a knife, and fear of dying.

  Panic set in and he became disoriented. He slammed into the corner of a wall and bruised his shoulder. Where is the end of this alley? Then a dreadful thought occurred. What if this alley is a dead end? He scanned for any window, any door that might provide safety or another human that could help him.

  Little details flashed past, like a piece of rope he thought about picking up and using for a trap or a weapon. A piece of pottery cut his foot and he considered grabbing that for a shoddy knife, but the panic keep his legs pumping.

  Archimedes dared to look back, then he tripped over a step that led to a back door. The shards of brick and stone tore into his knees and hands as he tried to catch himself. He skidded and rolled up against the wall. He looked back for the broken pottery, but the man was already running past it.

  The man slowed and Archimedes could hear his heavy breathing. The man chuckled. “Only made it worse for yourself, you did. Now I might have to cut you a bit before we go visit you friend.” The mocking threat froze Archimedes. He looked around for a place to hide, for a person to help, but the man stepped closer and Archimedes could make out enough of his grizzled face to see him sneer.

  The stones and trash crunched under his footsteps and the man held the knife up to catch the moonlight. “That was fun, wasn’t it? You’re a fast one, he didn’t tell me that. It is probably best if it slice your hamstring a little to slow you down.” The man began to crouch down toward him. “Don’t move, boy, this will…by the love of Isis!” The man stopped, stood up, and looked beyond Archimedes.

  For a moment, Archimedes wasn’t sure what the man was cursing for. He considered getting up and running, but the man was so frozen, he finally followed the direction of his stare. At first there was nothing. Then a slow blink revealed two eerie yellow eyes smoldering in the depths of the alley. The same eyes that watched him from his window the other night.

  “Mother Isis, it can’t be,” the man was nearly crying. “Anubis is alive!” He could hardly speak he was so choked with fear. “The God of the Dead is collecting hearts to take to the underworld!” The man lifted his dagger in reflex, but looked at it as if it was the first time he had seen it. Then he took two slow steps backward.

&nb
sp; “Blessed Athena!” Archimedes whispered, horrified. The god of death does walk the earth! The glowing eyes continued forward, enlarging into a murky shape as the unearthly yellow embers swayed toward Archimedes.

  Archimedes scrambled backwards, bumping up against the cool mud bricks. His legs kept churning in the soft dirt, scraping his back against the wall, hoping it would break open and allow him the safety of whatever room was behind it. He looked back at the thug, who managed to break from his stunned trance and begin scrambling out of the alley.

  From behind Anubis came the rattling of a chain and a voice whispering, “Invado!” With that, the ghostly shape bounded forward toward Archimedes. He fell over to his side and covered his head with his arms, hoping death would be quick, like it was for the workmen.

  The wraithlike blur charged past him targeting the man. The thug cried out in shock to Isis once more, dropping his dagger, scrambling and clawing his way out of the alley, away from Anubis, away from certain death.

  A rush of wind and a horrifying growl followed the man down the alley. The man now tried leaving the alley the same way Archimedes entered it, but running, bumping and scrambling for his life.

  Again Archimedes wanted to get up and run, but his body was numb. His mind couldn’t think clearly and he wasn’t even sure anymore of which direction would get him back to school.

  Suddenly, a screeching sound stabbed Archimedes’ ears. The gray shape slowed and aimed its yellow eyes back toward Archimedes as the thug continued out the alley.

  Athena, save me.

  For a moment there was nothing. No crunching steps to betray the approach of the monster. No more screams from the thug. Was he already dead? It was just Archimedes and his heartbeat. Then the yellow eyes came around the corner.

  The yellow orbs were no longer in a hurry and kept a slow, measured pace toward this easy kill. What happens to a Greek boy who’s killed in Egypt? Does he go to his Greek gods or the Egyptian underworld? Is getting killed by a god less painful than a knife?