Athena's Son

by Jeryl Schoenbeck

  A real Greek hero would slay these killers and rescue Berenike. What would Athena do? She was the goddess of strategy in war. She had brains and power. Archimedes lacked the power and cursed himself for being brainless at a time when decisive action was needed. Now there was no time left.

  Showing no emotion, the fifth man came up to Archimedes and grabbed him by his tunic. He reeked of stale beer and sweat. His grimy hand twisted the linen cloth around Archimedes’ neck and lifted Archimedes to drag him away. Archimedes reached up to pull the man’s hands off of him, but the grip was strong and tight.

  Suddenly the man’s eyes went wide as a shudder coursed through his spine, releasing his grip. He staggered back with a look of shock while blood trickled from his mouth. Archimedes stumbled back from the sudden release and saw a spear sticking into the man’s chest.

  The man feebly reached up to the spear but it was violently yanked back out of his chest, spraying a stream of blood into Archimedes’ face. The man fell like a heavy bag cut from a rope. A gnarled, muscled forearm with a rock fist gripped the spear and Archimedes twisted around to look into the cold, bronze face of Ajax.

  By the love of the gods, Archimedes prayed and wondered at the same time. It was a Greek hero.

  “Kill that Spartan fool!” Pollux yelled at the other four men. The four assassins were no strangers to killing, but they relied on sneak attacks or preying on the defenseless. They cautiously approached Ajax and looked apprehensively at each other, knowing this was a formidable opponent. Finally gathering the courage gained from outnumbering him, they rushed Ajax at the same time.

  Ajax rammed his heavy bronze shield into the man coming from his far left, sending him flying onto his back. At the same time his spear found a soft spot, this time into one of the sailors who approached from his right. The spear imbedded into the man’s throat, impaling him and making him squirm like a stuck fish.

  Ajax did not have time to pull the spear out, so he dropped it and reached for his xiphos, his short sword. He took a step back to give himself room to move as the two standing killers stepped toward him. The sailor had one of the khopesh, the sickle-shaped sword of the Medjay, and swung in an arc at Ajax. Ajax lifted his shield slightly and the khopesh clanged harmlessly off the edge.

  While this small battle commenced, the larger thug stepped back out of the way of the reckless sword of his accomplice. He only had his sailor’s knife and hoped his friend could finish off the Spartan. Then unexpectedly, Ajax opened his shield, exposing his bronze breastplate. The sailor took the bait and viciously stabbed the khopesh into Ajax’s stomach. The khopesh scraped across the breastplate, leaving a metal scar to match the dozens of others etched there. In one swift movement Ajax sliced his xiphos clean through the right arm of the sailor. The man screamed and rolled onto the gravel, blood pumping from his severed arm. That left the large man and the first man who got back up from the smash of Ajax’s shield.

  The large brute carefully picked up the shield and sword from the other Medjay while keeping a wary eye on the Spartan. The brute was big and brawny, but he was trained in street fighting and the Medjay’s weapons were nearly useless to him.

  The two killers circled Ajax from either side, hoping one would be able to make a lethal attack. Ajax ignored the smaller man and turned to face the large man. The large thug smiled, taunting the faceless Spartan, but Ajax stayed crouched behind his shield.

  The other man was now to the back of Ajax and, getting a slight nod from the large man, jumped at Ajax with his knife. Ajax spun back with the edge of his shield and caved in the man’s nose. The man dropped to his knees in a gurgled shriek and held in what was left of his face with his bloodied hands. Ajax didn’t stop to view the results but quickly faced the large man, who was now alone.

  Archimedes saw two men writhing on the ground, screaming and bleeding to death. Two others were on their way to Hades, leaving the large brute and Pollux, who was yelling advice at the large man.

  “Shut your mouth, Pollux,” the large brute bellowed back without turning. “unless you want to come and deal with this Spartan yourself!” The man made a couple feint attacks at Ajax, but Ajax stayed still and tense, ready for an opening.

  The large man smiled again and lowered his shield. “Your people are a dead race, Spartan,” he taunted. “You’re a relic of the past. I’m going to send you to Hades…” The patience that was drilled in Ajax with countless hours of training now paid off.

  Ajax lunged forward with his shield, smashing the wicker shield into kindling and sending splinters into the man’s face, momentarily blinding him. The large man slashed with the khopesh, fearing the Spartan was closer than he really was. Ajax was one deft step to the man’s left and rammed the bronze shield into the man’s sword arm, unbalancing him and exposing his fat side. The brute bellowed like an ox at slaughter as the xiphos carved deep into the side of him, spilling guts as the man made a last desperate hack with the khopesh. But Ajax was no longer within reach. He was marching toward his next victim, Pollux.

  “Stay away Spartan, I warn you,” Pollux was backing up and dragging the struggling Berenike with him. “I have no qualms killing the princess.” He first pointed his knife at Ajax, then planted it back against Berenike’s throat.

  “She is dead no matter what,” Ajax said. “So are you.” He continued his resolute march toward Pollux.

  The swift, efficient slaughter of the five assassins temporarily numbed Archimedes, but he now regained his senses as he realized the threat to Berenike. “Ajax, wait. He’s alone with nowhere to go.” He ran to catch up to Ajax. “Let’s try to plan something before he does kill her.”

  He was about to grab Ajax by the back of his breastplate when he heard a soft rush of wind and saw Ajax quickly reach up to a thin dart that was imbedded in his neck. Archimedes recognized that kind of dart.

  Ajax’s arm already hung useless at his side, dropping his xiphos, as the poison began to take effect. Archimedes stretched up on his toes and pulled the dart out, but he knew it was already too late. The design of the dart pushed the poison into the victim immediately upon impact.

  Ajax slumped to one knee and began breathing heavy, his immense shoulders heaving up and down in labored breaths.

  “Oh no, dear Athena,” Archimedes prayed. “It can’t be.” It was the same tragic ending suffered by the immortal Achilles, killed by a simple arrow guided into his only weak spot. Archimedes knelt down next to the weakened warrior and tried to hold him upright. “You have to stay awake, Ajax. We’ll get you back to Callimachus.”

  “I told you an old friend had plans for you,” Pollux laughed as he strode forward with Berenike.

  Archimedes twisted to see where the dart came from. There was a movement in the dark corner of the squalid buildings. Out of the shadows stepped Ptahhotep, wearing a wicked smile and holding a blowgun.

  Chapter 28

  There were few young heroes in Greek mythology, but Archimedes was determined to change that. He would probably die here, but it was better to be sent to Elysian Fields along with heroes such as Achilles than to whimper in dark Tartarus, where cowards were sent.

  Archimedes was going to put an end to the suffering caused by this wretched priest. He reached down to pick up the xiphos lying next to Ajax. It was heavier than he realized and changed his grip to use both hands. He staggered up with the heavy, compact sword and thrust it toward Ptahhotep.

  “You coward!” Archimedes cursed. “You wicked murderer!” The tip of the sword quivered uncertainly and Ptahhotep seemed only slightly concerned. “Your blood will mix with the thieves you hired, coward!” He drew the sword back to cut open the priest’s belly, but before he could swing the heavy sword, a blow to the back of his head knocked him to the ground unconscious, the xiphos skidding harmlessly across the alley.

  Archimedes woke up lying on a dirt floor with a dull throbbing in the back of his head. The room was damp and stifling with stale, musty air. Streaks of dust wafted through vert
ical streaks of the late afternoon sun coming from two narrow windows high up on the walls.

  Along the wall were various wooden crates and barrels. It was a small room with four heavy wooden beams supporting it. He had no idea where he was and tried to get up to get a better idea. The throbbing became unbearable and the room began to spin. He collapsed to the dirt floor and dry heaved, but there was nothing in his stomach.

  “I see you are back to your old habits, little goat,” Pollux taunted from across the room. “I was afraid I hit your soft head a little too hard.” He was sitting on a wooden box, cleaning his fingernails with his long knife. “Your friend still has some unfinished business with you.”

  Archimedes was too dizzy to completely understand what was going on. When he tried to reach up to feel the back of his head, something tugged at his wrists. His cheek was on the cold dirt and his heavy breathing stirred up dust and made him cough. Carefully, he bent his head down and saw that his wrists were tied with a coarse rope and the rope was attached to one of the wood pillars.

  Ptahhotep stepped into view. “You Greeks believe in the Fates, and now you will face yours, pagan.” He spit out the last word maliciously and kicked some dirt into Archimedes’ face. “I promised the true gods of Egypt that I would offer the skin off your back to atone for your earlier transgression. You come to Egypt with your simple Greek tricks and you dupe the false king with a water ploy.”

  Ptahhotep kneeled next to the curled up Archimedes and lifted his head and tilted it so he could see him. The hieroglyphs tattooed down his face were clearly visible. Archimedes tried reading them, but could only recognize a falcon and a rope before Ptahhotep gripped his face harder and shook it, saying, “Pay attention, boy. You once told me your goddess Athena bestowed certain gifts upon you. Where is she now? Where are your magnificent gifts? You didn’t escape your punishment, schoolboy, you only delayed it.”

  Ptahhotep was so enraged that he was spitting his words, like poison from a snake. He traced the scar on Archimedes’ cheek with the silver falcon’s beak. “This cut I gave you is nothing compared to what awaits you.”

  Archimedes wasn’t concerned with his own situation right now. He tried spitting the dirt out but his mouth was as dry as a stone. “Where is Berenike?” he asked hoarsely.

  Ptahhotep dropped Archimedes head in the dirt and got up. “The daughter of the false king is safe, for now. You should worry more about your own future, Greek.” He turned to the corner where Pollux lurked.

  “Pollux, get the whip from the other room. I’ll leave it to you to wring a confession out of this blasphemous delinquent. Take your time, but make sure he admits his crime. When you’re done, dump his body in the Nile for the crocodiles.”

  Archimedes tried to get up again, but the excruciating headache made him crumple to his side. Ptahhotep began walking out of the dank room when he turned and looked back at the indolent Pollux who stayed sitting on the box. “Well, what are you waiting for, wharf rat? Get the whip!”

  Archimedes rolled painfully to his stomach to see what Pollux was doing—or not doing. Pollux didn’t flinch after Ptahhotep’s orders. He continued nonchalantly digging his knife into his fingernails.

  “Didn’t you hear me? Get the whip!” Ptahhotep pointed to the other room.

  Pollux inspected his fingernails as if were an artist carving a statue of Isis. He finally made eye contact with the priest. “Believe me, there’s nothing more I’d like to do than flail the skin from this squirming eel,” Pollux replied. “But I don’t think he wants him dead.”

  He? Archimedes wondered. Who wants me alive?

  “You don’t take orders from him,” Ptahhotep snarled.”I found you in a wretched state, whimpering and wandering the streets of Alexandria. You were kicked off that ship and reduced to begging for scraps of food when you couldn’t steal it. I hired you and paid you. He is only here to help carry out my plans.”

  “His gold speaks louder than your preaching, priest,” Pollux said. “Anyway, you can ask him yourself,” Pollux pointed across the room with his knife. “There he is.”

  Both Ptahhotep and Archimedes turned to look at the silhouette of a man filling the open doorway. Archimedes cautiously raised his head to get a better look and managed to stay leaning on his left arm.

  The man stepped confidently into the broken light. He was well proportioned and wore armor similar to the Roman soldiers he saw walking the streets of Alexandria. Instead of the chain mail, however, he had a breast plate made of metal scales that reminded Archimedes of the silvery fish he caught in Syracuse. Across the man’s back he wore a red cape like Ajax; but unlike Ajax’s that bore the rips and stains of numerous battles, this cape looked like it never flapped in battle. His most striking feature was his wavy blonde hair that tumbled down to his shoulders.

  Ptahhotep looked shocked. “I didn’t expect you here. We agreed to meet at the tomb.”

  “Exactly why I am here, priest. The fools you hired to remove his coffin said it can’t be done. The door is too narrow and the coffin too heavy. I need this boy to do what grown men can’t.” The golden man walked over to Archimedes and knelt down beside him. “I’ve seen what you can do, Archimedes. You have to retrieve the body of Alexander the Great for me.”

  The golden man grabbed Archimedes wrists and pulled a dagger from a sheath on his hip. Archimedes tried to pull away but the man held on tightly and sawed through the rope with three swift cuts. Archimedes rubbed his raw wrists and wondered if this was some cruel joke. He looked first at Pollux, who was sneering, then to Ptahhotep, glowering with hatred, then back at the man.

  “Who are you?” Archimedes asked.

  “I am a specter, a ghost who wields the iron sword of retribution. I am god come back to life to reclaim my throne. I am Alexander IV, son of Alexander the Great, rightful heir to the kingdom of Macedonia.”

  Chapter 29

  Archimedes had gone from proving that Anubis did not walk the earth to having the ghost of a dead king appear before him. The son of Alexander the Great paced anxiously around the clammy room, gesturing wildly as he explained the chronicles of his life.

  He was not poisoned at age 13. His mother, Roxanne, was too cunning and well versed in using poison to let her own son be assassinated. She knew that the generals vying for control of Alexander the Great’s empire would want to murder her son, the legitimate heir. Before the traitors could carry out their plan, she sent Alexander IV off to Rome and in his place hired an innocent boy who looked nearly identical to her son.

  Roxanne martyred herself by allowing the assassins to poison her and the boy, giving Alexander IV the opportunity to live and grow up safely and secretly in Rome. Rome was the only civilization strong enough to protect him and young enough not to have generals who feared the legacy of his father.

  Yes, he knew his mother poisoned his father. She admitted putting increasing amounts of deadly nightshade in his wine to mimic the effects of a fever. Alexander IV held no grudge against his mother because it was part of her elaborate plan to make him the king. Remove the unfaithful and increasingly unstable Alexander the Great, and in his place raise a new king who would be under her influence. Now he has returned, he told Archimedes, to claim his father’s body, and with it, the birthright to the throne of Alexander the Great.

  “But why the body?” Archimedes asked. “Why do you need me?” He was beginning to wonder how many more people would die in order to own a man who was already dead. Hopefully this king without a kingdom would have a lucid moment and let Archimedes, and more importantly, Berenike, free. Wherever she was.

  “Don’t you see?” Alexander turned fiercely toward Archimedes. “The body is everything! Whoever has the body of Alexander the Great possesses the symbol of legitimacy to rule his empire. That is why General Ptolemy robbed the funeral train while it was returning to Macedonia. He stole a god! He knew its power. He knew the body would make Alexandria the center of the known world and at the same time compel the Egyptians a
ccept a Greek as their king.”

  Behind Archimedes, Ptahhotep gave a cruel snicker. “Exactly why I am helping, schoolboy. By ridding my people of the body of Alexander, I weaken the false king Ptolemy, and Kemet—what you call Egypt—can have a rightful ruler sit upon the throne meant for true sons of Ra. It was my idea to kill the workers at the lighthouse.”

  “Our partnership,” Ptahhotep gestured an indolent hand toward Alexander, “has mutual benefits. He wanted the body; I wanted to be rid of it. He needed a ruse to get to the tomb, I sacrificed a few laborers. I learned about the simple expedience of a dart and poison from one of the many foreign spies that roam with impunity under Ptolemy’s rule.”

  Pollux stretched his pink scar with a cruel smile of yellow teeth. “Strychnine. Clamps down on your heart like Hades himself reaching into your chest.”

  “I knew Ptolemy would eventually send his Medjay to guard the lighthouse,” Ptahhotep said, “thus leaving the tomb of Alexander the Great unguarded. The rumors of Anubis committing the murders were the lucky result of some large dog walking across the murder scene.”

  Romulus and Remus, the masters of deception and substitution. They admitted their wolf was at the murder scene, but their twisting, contorted confession only hinted at Rome being involved. They must have known Alexander IV was in Rome and then came to Egypt to bring back his father’s body. All their double talk and innuendo only served to protect their own backsides from any repercussions from this plot. He would have to deal with them later, if there was a later. Right now he was trapped with three violent and unpredictable men, the worst being Ptahhotep.

  All the running in the market and the dust from the floor made Archimedes’ throat feel like the Egyptian desert. He coughed before saying in a scratchy voice, “If I understand you correctly, you care so much about your people that you are willing to kill them.”