The Alexander Cipher

WILL ADAMS

The Alexander Cipher

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Will Adams
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authors imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. Harper An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 7785 Fulham Palace Road, Hammersmith, London W6 8JB www.harpercollins.co.uk A Paperback Original 2007 1 Copyright Will Adams Will Adams asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN-13: 978-0-00-725087-5 Set in Sabon by Palimpsest Book Production Ltd, Grangemouth, Stirlingshire Printed and bound in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, St Ives plc All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publishers prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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After his death in Babylon in 323 BC, the body of Alexander the Great was taken in a magnificent procession to Egypt for eventual burial in Alexandria, where it remained on display for some six hundred years. Alexanders mausoleum was considered a wonder of the world. Roman emperors including Julius Caesar, Augustus and Caracalla paid pilgrimages. Yet after a series of earthquakes, fires and wars, Alexandria fell into decline and the tomb was lost. Despite numerous excavations, it has never been found.

ONE

I
The Ras Mohammed reefs, Sinai, Egypt Daniel Knox was dozing happily on the bow when the girl came to stand with deliberate provocation in the way of his afternoon sun. He opened his eyes and looked up a little warily when he saw who it was, because Max had made it clear that she was Hassan al-Assyutis for the day, and Hassan had a proud and thoroughly warranted reputation for violence, especially against anyone who dared tread on his turf. Yes? he asked. So are you really a Bedouin? she gushed. I mean, that guy Max said like you were a Bedouin, but I mean you dont look it. I mean, dont get me wrong, you kind of look it, I mean, your complexion and your hair and eyebrows, but . . . 9

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It was no surprise shed caught Hassans eye, thought Knox, as she rambled on. He was notoriously a sucker for young blondes, and this one had a charming smile and startling turquoise eyes, as well as an attractive complexion, with its smattering of pale freckles and pinkish hints of acne, and a slender figure perfectly showcased by her lime-green and lemon-yellow bikini. My fathers mother was Bedouin, he said, to help her out of her labyrinth. Thats all. Wow! A Bedouin gran! She took this as an invitation to sit. What was she like? Knox pushed himself up onto an elbow, squinting to keep out the sun. She died before I was born. Oh, Im sorry. A damp, blonde lock fell onto her cheek. She swept her hair back with both hands, holding it there in a makeshift ponytail, so that her chest jutted out at him. Were you brought up here, then? In the desert? He looked around. They were on the deck of Max Stratis dive boat, tethered to a fixed mooring way out into the Red Sea. Desert? he asked. Tch! She slapped him playfully on the chest. You know what I mean! Im English, he said. I like your tattoo. She traced a fingertip over the blue and gold sixteen-pointed star on his right biceps. What is it? 10

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The Star of Vergina, answered Knox. A symbol of the Argeads. The who? The old royal family of Macedonia. What? You mean like Alexander the Great? Very good. She wrinkled her nose. You a fan, then? I always heard he was just a drunken brute. Then you heard wrong. She smiled, pleased to be put down. Go on, then. Tell me. Knox frowned. Where did you even start with a man like Alexander? He was besieging this town called Multan, he told her. This was towards the end of his campaigns. His men were fed up with fighting. They just wanted to go home. But Alexander wasnt having that. He was first up the battlements. The defenders pushed away all the other assault ladders, so he was stranded up there alone. Any normal man would have leaped for safety, right? You know what Alexander did? What? He jumped down inside the walls. All on his own. It was the one sure way to make his men come after him. And they had too. Theyd torn the citadel apart to save him, and theyd only just got to him in time. The wounds hed taken that day had probably contributed to his eventual death, but theyd added to his legend too. He used 11

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to boast that he carried scars on every part of his body; except his back. She laughed. He sounds like a psycho. Different times, said Knox. You know, when he captured the mother of the Persian Emperor, he put her under his personal protection. After he died, she was so upset, she starved herself to death. Not when her own son died, mind. When Alexander died. You dont do that for a psychopath. Huh, she said. It was clear that shed had enough talk of Alexander. She rose to her knees, placed her left palm flat on the deck the far side of Knox, then reached across him for the red and white icebox. She threw off its lid, sampled each of the bottles and cans inside for cool, taking her time, her breasts swinging free within her dangling bikini-top as she did so, making the most of themselves, nipples pink as petals. Knoxs mouth felt a little dry suddenly; knowing you were being worked didnt make it ineffective. But it reminded him forcibly of Hassan too, so he scowled and looked away. She sat back down with a thump, an open bottle in her hand, a mischievous smile on her lips. Want some? she asked. No thanks. She shrugged, took a swallow. So have you known Hassan long? 12

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No. But youre a friend of his, right? Im on the payroll, love. Thats all. But hes kosher, right? Thats hardly the smartest way to describe a Muslim. You know what I mean. Knox shrugged. It was too late for her to be getting cold feet. Hassan had picked her up in a nightclub, not Sunday school. If she didnt fancy him, she should have said no; simple as that. There was nave and there was stupid. It wasnt as though she didnt know what she was doing with her body. Max Strati appeared around the line of cabins at that moment. He walked briskly over. What happens here, then? he asked frostily. Hed come to Sharm el-Sheikh on holiday twenty years before, had never gone home. Egypt had been good to him; he wouldnt risk that by pissing off Hassan. Just talking, said Knox. On your own time, please, not mine, said Max. Mr al-Assyuti wishes his guests to have a final dive. Knox pushed himself up. Ill get things ready. The girl jumped up too, clapped with false enthusiasm. Great! I didnt think wed be going down again. You will not join us, I think, Fiona, Max told her flatly. We have not enough tanks. You will stay here with Mr al-Assyuti. 13

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Oh. She looked scared, suddenly; childlike. She put her hand tentatively on Knoxs forearm. He shook her off, walked angrily towards the stern, where the wetsuits, flippers, snorkels and goggles were stored in plastic crates next to the steel rack of air tanks. A swift glance confirmed what Knox already knew; there were plenty of full tanks. He felt stress suddenly in his nape. He could feel Maxs eyes burning into his back, so he forced himself not to look round. The girl wasnt his problem. She was old enough to look after herself. He had no connection to her; no obligation. Hed worked his balls off to establish himself in this town; he wasnt going to throw that away just because some bratty teenager had misjudged the price of her lunch. His self-justifications did little good. He felt sick in the pit of his stomach as he squatted down by the crates and started checking equipment.

II
The MAF Nile Delta excavation, Northern Egypt Hello! called out Gaille Bonnard. Is there anyone here? She waited patiently for an answer, but none came. How odd. Kristos had been clear that Elena wanted help translating an ostracon, but there was 14

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no sign of her or her truck; and the magazine, where she normally worked, was closed up. She felt a rare flicker of irritation. She didnt mind making the fifteen-minute walk from the other site; but she did mind having her time wasted. But then she noticed that the hut door was hanging ajar, which it had never been before, not while Gaille had been there at least. She knocked, pulled it open, looked within, allowing in a little sunlight. The interior walls were lined with shelves, stacked with battery lamps, hammers, mattocks, baskets, rope and other archaeological equipment. There was a dark square hole in the floor too, from which protruded the top of a wooden ladder. She crouched, cupped her hands around her mouth, and called down, but there was no answer. She waited a few seconds, then called down again. When there was still nothing, she stood, put her hands on her hips, and brooded. Elena Koloktronis head of the Macedonian Archaeological excavation was one of those leaders who believed all her team to be incompetent, and who therefore tried to do everything herself. She was constantly running off in the middle of one task to see to another. Maybe that was what had happened here. Or maybe thered just been a mix-up with the message. The trouble was, it was impossible with Elena to do the right thing. If you went looking for her, you should have stayed where you were. 15

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If you stayed, she was furious that you hadnt come looking. She crouched again, her hams and calves aching from her long days work, and called down a third time, beginning to feel a little alarmed. What if Elena had fallen? She turned on a battery lamp, but the shaft was deep, and the beam was lost in its darkness. There couldnt be any harm in checking. She had no head for heights, so she took a deep breath as she put her hand on the ladder, reached one foot tentatively onto the top rung, then the other. When she felt secure, she began a cautious descent. The ladder creaked, as did the ropes that bound it to the wall. The shaft was deeper than shed imagined, perhaps six metres. You couldnt normally go down so far in the Delta without reaching the water table, but the site was on the crown of a hill, safe from the annual inundation of the Nile one reason it had been occupied in ancient times. She called out again. Still silence, except for her own breathing, magnified by her narrow confines. Displaced earth trickled past. Curiosity began to get the better of apprehension. Shed heard whispers about this place, of course, though none of her colleagues dared speak openly about it. She reached the bottom at last, her feet crunching on shards of basalt, granite and quartzite, as though old monuments and statues had been 16

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smashed into smithereens and tipped down. A narrow passage led left. She called out again, but more quietly this time, hoping thered be no answer. Her lamp started flickering and stuttering, then went out altogether. She tapped it against the wall, and it sprang back on like a fist opening. Her feet crackled on the stone chips as she advanced. There was a painting on the left-hand wall, its colours remarkably bright. It had evidently been cleaned, perhaps even retouched. A profiled humanoid figure dressed as a soldier but with the head and mane of a grey wolf was holding a mace in his left hand, and in his right a military standard, its base planted between his feet, a scarlet flag unfurling beside his right shoulder in front of a turquoise sky. Ancient Egyptian gods werent Gailles speciality, but she knew enough to recognise Wepwawet, a wolf god whod eventually merged with others into Anubis, the jackal. Hed been seen primarily as an army scout, and had often been depicted on shedsheds the Egyptian military standard he was holding here. His name had meant Opener of the Ways, which was why the miniaturised robot designed to explore the mysterious air shafts of the Great Pyramids had been christened with a version of his name, Upuaut. To the best of Gailles recollection, hed gone out of fashion during the Middle Kingdom, around sixteen hundred BC. By rights, 17

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therefore, this painting should have been over three and half thousand years old. Yet the shedshed that Wepwawet was holding told a different story. For depicted upon it were the head and shoulders of a handsome young man, a beatific look upon his face, tilted up like some Renaissance Madonna. It was hard to know for sure when you were looking at a portrait of Alexander the Great. His impact on iconography had been so profound that for centuries afterwards people had aspired to look like him. But if this wasnt Alexander himself, it was unquestionably influenced by him, which meant it couldnt possibly date to earlier than 332 BC. And that begged an obvious question: what on earth was he doing on a standard held by Wepwawet, over a millennium after Wepwawet had faded from view? Gaille set this conundrum to one side and continued on her way, still murmuring Elenas name, though only as an excuse should she encounter anyone. Her battery lamp went out again, plunging the place into complete blackness. She tapped her lamp again, and once more it sprang on. She passed another painting; as far as she could tell, identical to the first, though not yet fully cleaned. The walls began to show signs of charring, as though a great fire had once raged. She glimpsed a flash of white marble ahead, and two stone wolves lying prone yet alert. More wolves. She frowned. When the Macedonians had taken Egypt, 18

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theyd given many of the towns Greek names for administrative purposes, often basing them upon local cult-gods. If Wepwawet was the cult-god of this place, then surely this must be Gaille! Gaille! From far behind her, Elena was shouting. Are you down there? Gaille! Gaille hurried back along the passage. Elena? she called up. Is that you? What the hell do you think youre doing down there? I thought youd fallen. I thought you might be in trouble. Get out, ordered Elena furiously. Get out now. Gaille started to climb. She saved her breath until she reached the top. Then she said hurriedly: Kristos told me you wanted to Elena thrust her face in Gailles. How many times have I told you this is a restricted area? she yelled. How many times? Im sorry, Ms Koloktronis, but Who the hell do you think you are? Elenas face was red; tendons stood out on her neck like a straining racehorse. How dare you go down there? How dare you? I thought youd fallen, repeated Gaille helplessly. I thought you might need help. Dont you dare interrupt me when Im talking. I wasnt Dont you dare! Dont you dare! 19

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Gaille stiffened. For a moment she considered snapping back. It had barely been three weeks ago, after all, that Elena had called her out of the blue and begged her, begged her, to take a month out from the Sorbonnes Demotic Dictionary project to fill in for a languages assistant whod fallen ill. But you knew instinctively in this world how well you matched up against other people, and Gaille didnt stand a chance. The first time Elena had exploded, it had left Gaille shell-shocked. Her new colleagues had shrugged it off, telling her that Elena had been that way ever since her husband had died. She boiled like a young planet with internal rage, erupting unpredictably in gushes of indiscriminate, molten and sometimes spectacular violence. It had become almost routine now, something to be feared and placated, like the wrath of ancient gods. So Gaille stood there and took upon her chin all Elenas scathing and brutal remarks about the poverty of her abilities, her ingratitude, the damage this incident would doubtless do her career when it got out, though she herself would, of course, do her best to protect her. Im sorry, Ms Koloktronis, Gaille said, when the tirade finally began to slacken. Kristos said you wanted to see me. I told him to tell you I was coming over. Thats not what he told me. I just wanted to make sure you hadnt fallen. 20

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Where did you go? Nowhere. I just checked at the bottom. Very well, said Elena grudgingly. Then well say no more about it. But dont mention it to Qasim, or I wont be able to protect you. No, Ms Koloktronis, said Gaille. Qasim, the on-site representative of the Supreme Council, was every bit as secretive about this place as Elena herself. No doubt it would be embarrassing for Elena to have to admit to him that shed left the door unlocked and unguarded. Come with me, said Elena, locking the steel door, then leading Gaille across to the magazine. Theres an ostracon Id like your opinion on. Im ninety-nine point nine nine per cent sure of its translation. You can perhaps help me with the other nought point nought one per cent. Yes, Ms Koloktronis, said Gaille meekly. Thank you.

III
Are you an idiot? scowled Max, having followed Knox to the stern of the dive boat. Do you have a death wish, or something? Didnt I tell you to leave Hassans woman alone? She came to talk to me, answered Knox. Did you want me to be rude? 21

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You were flirting with her. She was flirting with me. Thats even worse. Christ! He looked around, his face suffused with fear. Working for Hassan could do that to people. Im sorry, said Knox. Ill stay away from her. Youd better. Trust me, you get on Hassans wrong side, you and your mate Rick can forget about your little project, whatever the fuck it is. Keep your voice down. Im just warning you. He wagged a finger, as if he had more to say, but then he turned and walked away. Knox watched him go. He didnt like Max; Max didnt like him. But they had a valuable relationship. Max ran a dive school, and Knox was a good, reliable dive instructor who knew how to charm tourists into recommending him to others they met on their travels; and he worked for peanuts too. In return, Max let him use his boat and side-scan sonar for what he disparagingly referred to as his little project. Knox smiled wryly. If Max ever found out what he and Rick were after, he wouldnt dismiss it so patronisingly. Knox had come to Sharm nearly three years before. Hed only been here four weeks when something extraordinary had happened; and it had been prompted by the very same tattoo that had caught Fionas eye. 22

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While hed been sitting on the front one evening, enjoying a beer, a powerfully built Australian man had come up to him. Mind if I join you? hed asked. Help yourself. Im Rick. Daniel. But everyone calls me Knox. Yeah. So Ive been told. Knox squinted at him. Youve been asking? They say youre an archaeologist. Used to be. You gave it up to become a dive instructor? asked Rick sceptically. It gave me up, explained Knox. A bust-up with the establishment. Ah. He leaned forward. Interesting tattoo. You think? Rick nodded. If I show you something, youll keep it to yourself, right? Sure, shrugged Knox. Rick reached into his pocket, pulled out a matchbox. Inside, embedded in cotton wool, was a fat golden teardrop about an inch long with an eyelet at the narrow end for a clasp or a chain. Specks of pink were accreted from where it had been chiselled out of coral. And, on its base, a sixteen-pointed star had been faintly inscribed. I found it a couple of years back, said Rick. I thought you might be able to tell me more about it. I mean, its Alexanders symbol, right? 23

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Yes. Where dyou find it? Sure! snorted Rick, taking it back, replacing it jealously in its makeshift home, then back in his pocket. Like Im going to tell you that. Well? Any idea? It could be anything, said Knox. A tassel for a robe, a drinking cup, something like that. An earring. What? frowned Rick. Alexander wore earrings? The star doesnt mean it belonged to him personally. Just to his household. Oh. The Australian looked disappointed. Knox frowned. And you found it in these reefs, yes? Yeah. Why? Its odd, thats all. Alexander never came near here. Nor did his men. Rick snorted. And I thought you said you were an archaeologist! Even I know he came to Egypt. He went to visit that place out in the desert. The Oracle of Ammon in Siwa Oasis. Yes. But he didnt travel via Sharm, believe me. He cut across the north coast of Sinai. Oh. And that was his only visit, was it? Yes, except for . . . And Knoxs heart suddenly started pounding crazily inside his chest as a wild idea occurred to him. Jesus Christ! he muttered. What? asked Rick excitedly, reading his face. 24

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No. No. It couldnt be. What? Tell me. Knox shook his head decisively. No. Im sure its nothing. Come on, mate. Youve got to tell me now. Only if you tell me where you found it. Rick squinted shrewdly at him. You reckon theres more? Thats what youre thinking, yeah? Not exactly. But its possible. Rick hesitated. And youre a diver, yeah? Yes. I could do with a buddy. The place isnt easy on my own. If I tell you, well go look together, yeah? Sure. OK. Then spill. Fine. But youve got to remember, this is pure speculation. The chances of this being what I think it is I get the point. Now spill. Long version or short? Rick shrugged. Ive got nowhere I need to be. Ill have to give you some background first. Alexander came to Egypt only once during his life, like I said, and then for just a few months. Across north Sinai to the Nile Delta, then south to Memphis, the old capital, just south of Cairo, where he was crowned. After that it was north again to found Alexandria, westwards along the 25

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coast to Paraetonium, modern Marsa Matruh, then due south through the desert to Siwa. He and his party got lost, apparently. According to one account, theyd have died of thirst except that two talking snakes guided them to the Oasis. Those talking snakes. Always there when you need them. Aristobulus tells a more plausible story, that they followed a pair of crows. Spend any time in the desert, youre pretty much certain to see some brown-necked ravens. Theyre about the only birds you will see in many places. They often travel in pairs. And theyre cheeky buggers too; if they cant find any snakes or locusts to eat, theyll happily scout around your camp site looking for scraps, before heading off back to the nearest oasis. So if you were to follow them . . . Rick nodded. Like dolphins in the Sea of Sand. If you want to put it that way, agreed Knox. Anyway, they got Alexander to Siwa, where he consulted the oracle, and then it was back into the desert again; but this time he headed east along the caravan trails to Bahariyya Oasis, where theres a famous temple dedicated to him, and then back to Memphis. That was pretty much that. It was off beating up Persians again. But then, after he died, he was brought back to Egypt for burial. Ah! And you think this was from then? I think its possible. Youve got to bear some26

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thing in mind. This is Alexander the Great were talking about. He led thirty thousand Macedonians across the Hellespont to avenge Xerxes invasion of Greece, knowing that hed face armies ten times larger. He hammered the Persians not once, not twice, but three times, and then he just kept on going. He fought countless battles, and he won them all, making himself the most powerful man the world has ever seen. When his best friend Hephaiston died, he sent him on his way on top of a beautifully carved wooden pyre eighty metres high; like building Sydney Opera House, then putting a match to it, just to enjoy the blaze. So you can imagine, his men would have insisted on something pretty special when Alexander himself died. I get you. A pyre was out of the question. Alexanders body was far too precious to be burned. Apart from anything else, one of the duties of a new Macedonian king was to bury his predecessor. So whoever possessed Alexanders body had a serious claim to kingship, especially as Alexander hadnt left an obvious successor, and everyone was jostling for position. Rick nodded at Knoxs empty glass. You fancy another? Sure. Thanks. Two beers, shouted Rick at the barman. Sorry. 27

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You were saying. People jostling for position. Yes. The throne was pretty much open. Alexander had a brother, but he was a half-wit. And his wife, Roxanne, was pregnant, but no one could be sure shed have a son; and, anyway, Roxanne was a barbarian, and the Macedonians hadnt conquered the known world to be ruled by a halfbreed. So there was an assembly of the army in Babylon, and they came to a compromise. The halfwit brother and the unborn child, if he turned out to be a boy, which he did, Alexander the Fourth, would rule together; but the various regions of the empire would be administered for them by a number of satraps all reporting to a triumvirate. You with me? Yes. One of Alexanders generals was a man named Ptolemy. He was the one who made the claim about the talking snakes as it happens. But dont let that fool you. He was a very shrewd, very capable man. He realised that without Alexander to hold it together, the empire was bound to fragment, and he wanted Egypt for himself. It was rich, out of the way, unlikely to get caught up in other peoples wars. So he got himself awarded the satrapy, and he bedded himself in, and eventually he became Pharaoh, founding the Ptolemaic dynasty, which ended with Cleopatra. OK? 28

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Their beers arrived. They clinked them in a toast. Go on, said Rick. It wasnt easy for Ptolemy, making himself Pharaoh, said Knox. Egyptians wouldnt recognise just anyone. Legitimacy was very important to them. Alexander was different: a living god of unquestioned royal blood whod driven out the hated Persians; there was no shame in being ruled by such a man. But Ptolemy was a nobody as far as the Egyptians were concerned. So one of the things he needed was a symbol of kingship. Ah, said Rick, wiping froth from his upper lip. Alexanders body. Ten out of ten, grinned Knox. Ptolemy wanted Alexanders body. But he wasnt the only one. The head of the Macedonian triumvirate was called Perdiccas. He had ambitions of his own. He wanted to bring Alexanders body back to Macedonia for burial alongside his father, Philip, in the royal tombs of Aigai in Northern Greece. But getting him from Babylon to Macedonia wasnt easy. You couldnt just load him on the first boat. He had to travel in a certain style. Rick nodded. Im the same way, myself. A historian called Diodorus of Sicily gave a very detailed description of all this. Alexanders body was embalmed and laid in a coffin of beaten gold, covered by expensive, sweet-smelling spices. And a catafalque thats a funeral carriage to you 29

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and me was commissioned. It was so spectacular, it took over a year to get ready. It was a golden temple on wheels, six metres long, four metres wide. Golden ionic columns twined with acanthus supported a high vaulted roof of gold scales set with jewels. A golden mast rose from the top, flashing like lightning in the sun. At each of its corners, there was a golden statue of Nike, the ancient goddess of victory, holding out a trophy. The gold cornice was embossed with ibex heads from which hung gold rings supporting a bright, multicoloured garland. The spaces between the columns were filled with a golden net, protecting the coffin from the scorching sun and the occasional rain. Its front entrance was guarded by golden lions. Thats a whole lot of gold, said Rick sceptically. Alexander was seriously rich, replied Knox. He had over seven thousand tons of gold and silver in his Persian treasuries alone. It took twenty thousand mules and five thousand camels just to shift it all around. You know how they used to store it? How? They used to melt it and pour it into jars and then simply smash off the earthenware. Holy shit, laughed Rick. I could do with finding one of those. Exactly. And the generals didnt dare stint on all 30

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this. Alexander was a god to the Macedonian troops. Skimping would have been the quickest way to lose their loyalty. Anyway, the funeral carriage was eventually completed. But it was so heavy that the builders had to invent shock-absorbing wheels and axles for it, and even then the route had to be specially prepared by a crew of road-builders, and it took sixty-four mules to draw it along. He paused to take another sip of his beer. Sixty-four mules, he nodded. And each of them wore a gilded crown and a gem-encrusted collar. And each of them had a golden bell hanging upon either cheek. And each of these bells would have had inside it a golden pendant tongue just exactly like the one youve got in your matchbox. Youre fucking with me, said Rick, the shock legible on his face. And, more to the point, grinned Knox, this entire catafalque, all this gold, simply vanished from history without a trace.

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