The Book of the Dead

  The Book of the Dead

  by

  Paul Davis

  ©Paul Davis 2014

  Paul Davis is hereby identified as author of this work in accordance with Section 77

  of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  First Published 2014

  For Özgün

  Prologue

  Where to start? At an ending...

  Kaires was at home, writing, aware that the Prefect was due back on the following day. Since he had returned to Alexandria, he had been reluctant - perhaps unable - to sit down and record the events that had so deeply affected the lives of so many, not least his own. But he could put it off no longer. He had been up most of the night, determined to lose no more time. Even now, at this late hour, he was still unsure if he could complete an account of something as yet unresolved. He couldn’t rest until it was all behind him, at least as far as possible, and he was exhausted. He hadn’t touched food since he had started writing, only a little water, and as the hours passed he was keenly aware of the weight of past events beginning to take its toll.

  He sat back in his chair to take a breath.

  A soft light was now entering through the small windows high in the wall behind him, and along with it the gentle cooling of the dawn breezes that swept across the harbour as the sun rose. He stretched forward and extinguished the lamp. He couldn’t remember ever having been so tired.

  As he picked up his pen again he paused at the sound of a knock at the front door. He heard Remi, his servant, scramble down the passageway and draw back the bolts to admit the visitor. After a few muffled words came another knock, this time at Kaires’s own door.

  'Who is it?'

  The door opened a fraction. 'A boy, sir, with a parcel. Says it has to be given into your hands. Won’t pass it on otherwise.'

  Kaires was immediately alert again. 'Show him in!'

  The door opened further and Remi stood back to allow the messenger to enter. 'Dr. Kaires?' he asked, slightly out of breath.

  Receiving a nod he removed a small box from a fold of his tunic and laid it on the table in front of him.

  'Who is it from?'

  The boy gave a name.

  Kaires carefully released the box from its wrappings. A note fluttered down on to the table. Ignoring it for a moment, he gripped the box and lifted the lid. As he saw what was inside, his throat caught, and for a moment he was lost.

  Remi shrank back, clumsy and uncomfortable, uncertain what to do. The boy leant forward to see what had caused such emotion. Not much, he thought, just a little chain with a lapis stone. What’s the fuss?

  Mastering himself again, Kaires stood up quickly.

  'Remi, get my cloak. We must lose no time.'

  But he already knew it was too late.

  The Book of the Dead

  Most people can get used to most things, given time. Being woken in the night by a pounding on the bedroom door is not one of them. But Aelius Gallus, Prefect of Egypt, didn’t concern himself with the possibility of inducing heart attacks in his staff. As he hardly needed any sleep himself, he seemed to view the habit of going to bed at all as something of an indulgence.

  So, on this night, wrenched from a deep sleep by a series of thumping blows that threatened to splinter the wood, Kaires, after the initial moments of blind panic and disorientation had passed, was not particularly apprehensive. He had lost count of the number of times he had been summoned from his bed in the small hours, heart pounding and fearful of some national catastrophe, merely to be consulted on some trivial point of etiquette and then summarily dismissed. If he had allowed himself to be affected by the Prefect’s whims, he might as well have thrown up his hands long ago and left Alexandria for the quiet life of a worker in the gold mines of Nubia. In moments of exasperation, Kaires sometimes wondered which would be the easier option.

  It was pitch black in the room. He reached out for his kilt, found it after a brief search, and fastened it about his waist. Avoiding the fragments of the pottery jug that he had knocked over on wakening, he groped his way to the door, trying not to disturb his sister in the next room. Hotepet would be awake, as resigned to these nocturnal disturbances as Kaires himself, and would probably be up when he returned, ready with some warm wine. He had long ago stopped apologising. She always said night and day made little difference to her, that, being blind, she had no sense of time. It wasn’t true, of course. She only said it to make him feel better.

  Sergius, the messenger, was waiting just outside holding a torch. Short, but thickset and muscular, Kaires had come to see this member of the Prefect's guard as a brusque but well meaning man, loyal to his master and protective of his needs. Not one to suffer fools gladly, and initially aloof, he had nevertheless not taken long to unbend to Kaires, sensing a common ground between the two. They were now fast on the way to becoming good friends.

  'What is it this time?' asked Kaires, unsuccessfully trying to hide his annoyance.

  'It’s serious,' Sergius replied. ‘Better hurry.’

  Like Kaires, he was well used to the Prefect’s ways, and his face was usually a mixture of wry amusement and resigned tolerance on these occasions. Now he looked grave, his features tight with concern. He said nothing further, but hurried on.

  Kaires’s bedroom was at the back of the house, opening onto a small garden courtyard. It was the time of year when the air wrapped itself around you like a blanket, hot, humid and oppressive, and it was only really possible to feel comfortable at the baths, where at least you were meant to sweat, and had the option of a cold plunge. But the garden, with its playing fountain and lush greenery, remained cool and fragrant; a place to linger whenever there was the chance.

  Sergius had gone ahead into the main body of the house. Kaires cursed himself for not taking a light from his, and stumbled after him. Remi was ready and waiting in the hall with his cloak.

  'I don’t need that great thing to suffocate me in this heat. I’ll go as I am. Just get another torch lit. Try not to wake my father.'

  Without trying to disguise a look of wounded pride, Remi turned to carry out his command, but Sergius stopped him.

  'There’s no need. There’s an escort outside.'

  'An escort?'

  Now Kaires was worried. The Prefect had never troubled himself to send one before.

  Remi fastened the cloak over his shoulders anyway.

  -0-

  It was not far to The Prefect’s Residence. It used to be the Royal Palace; in fact it still was a palace, but the Prefect didn’t like anyone to call it that. He was very touchy about assuming the trappings of royalty. The Emperor was more powerful than any king had ever been, and the Prefect was his personal representative; but it wasn’t politic to mention ‘King’ and ‘Emperor’ in the same breath. Despite his power, Augustus, ever mindful of his adoptive father Caesar’s fate, remained determined to maintain the fiction of a Roman Republic.

  As soon as Kaires arrived they were admitted. The guards at the gate greeted him with an unaccustomed look of respect. Amazing what an escort can do for your social standing, he thought. His sense of foreboding significantly increased.

  They went straight to the Prefect’s private rooms. Sergius barely knocked – just a gentle tap, Kaires noticed, not the thundering smash he had used for him - before indicating that he should enter. He stepped through, and Sergius closed the door behind him with a discreet but purposeful click. He was alone with Aelius Gallus.

  The Prefect sat before Kaires at his desk, lost in thought. He was wearing a white tunic, loosely belted, and his toga lay abandoned over a nearby couch. He was a tall man of military bearing, who even sitting down commanded a certain air of superiority over anyone near him. Tonight, for once
, there was no challenge in his gaze. He eyed Kaires for some time in silence. Kaires saw that something of a struggle was going on in his mind. As his doctor, translator, interpreter, consultant on local affairs and general factotum, in the short time that he had known Gallus he had come to read his moods with some accuracy. Even so, Gallus always had the capacity to surprise him. He could never be entirely sure what was going on behind those iron-grey eyes. This was no ordinary man.

  Egypt was a special province of the Emperor, outside senatorial control. As its Prefect, Gallus, the second to hold that title, was the man in charge, answerable only to Augustus himself. He had supreme power in the land, and his authority could not be questioned. He bore his years with dignity and grace. Despite his position, there was an engaging friendliness about him, an ability to make others feel comfortable, at least when it suited him. In other provinces he had resisted the temptation to feather his own nest, unlike so many of his colleagues, and earned popularity and respect with the local people. When the plum posting of Egypt came up, he was the perfect choice. He could still expect to go back quite rich, but in the meantime, Egypt would be run as efficiently as possible, and the Emperor’s coffers were increasing healthily every day, even though Gallus had only been in Egypt for a few months. While his capriciousness could drive Kaires to distraction, he was nothing if not fair, and there were few men for whom he had more respect.

  At last he seemed to reach a decision. Nevertheless, his voice betrayed a certain hesitancy.

  'Please take a seat, Kaires. I have a favour to ask of you.'

  Indeed a night of surprises. Whatever had happened to change Kaires’s status to such an extent? Direct orders or offhand requests were much more in his line. He sat down across from Gallus, on the opposite side of the desk.

  'There has been something of an unusual occurrence, and it strikes me you may be the best person to help.'

  Kaires was more puzzled by this. The Prefect was obviously uneasy. He had often asked the impossible of him without thinking twice. Now he must think that, for the first time, he might refuse. He decided to help him out.

  'What has happened, when did it happen, and what do you want me to do about it?'

  The corners of the Prefect's mouth twitched slightly. It was the closest he could come to a smile.

  'Straight to the point. How refreshingly unlike most of the officials I have to spend my time dealing with. The civil service seems to make an art out of prevaricating, as if to let anyone find anything out about anything would involve a loss of face. Probably it would, because most of them don’t know a damned thing in the first place. But I’m being as bad as they are. Someone’s dead. Deliberately killed, it seems. It happened late this afternoon, and I want you to find out who is responsible. Clear enough?'

  Well no, actually, thought Kaires. What on earth could it have to do with him? There was the military police and the judiciary to deal with that sort of thing. He wouldn’t know where to start. For the Prefect to approach him in this way suggested there must be some sort of personal involvement.

  'Who is it? Or was it? Someone I know?' Even then, he still didn’t see why he should be the one to look into the matter. Why him, for heaven's sake? He was a doctor. He helped out Gallus whenever he had to deal with the Egyptian nobility, or wanted to know the correct form at a ceremony, or any one of a thousand other trivial matters.

  'It’s all right, Kaires. I’ve gone about this in the wrong way. Let’s just start at the beginning. A while ago I was called to the Library. A scholar there had been found stabbed to death in one of the study rooms. I don’t know if you knew him – Zeno was his name. He was the chief archivist, perhaps not of any great importance outside the Museum. But the manner of his death was decidedly odd. Even so, it is not a matter that would generally concern me – or you – had it not been for what he was found with.'

  He paused. Whether it was a genuine reluctance to share the information, or simply for dramatic effect, Kaires could not tell. Gallus looked directly at him, as if for some final assessment, before opening a drawer at his side. He drew out a small, heavy, circular object and placed it carefully on the desk before Kaires. At once it caught the yellow light of the torches and oil lamps about the room, and threw it back a thousand times richer. Gold. A seal ring, with a revolving cylinder inscribed with hieroglyphs of the finest workmanship, a work of art complete in itself regardless of its function. Kaires picked it up to look at it more closely, feeling its weight, its warmth. It was truly exquisite. The cylinder turned smoothly on its axis, revealing a central cartouche above a series of strange diamond shapes of varying sizes. Diagonal lines marked either end, and a fine line connected the central cartouche with one of the diamond shapes. Kaires studied the cartouche, and read the name of its onetime owner.

  'How could he have come by this? It is the ring of Ptolemy XVI...'

  The son of Caesar and Cleopatra VII. Caesarion, the last of the Ptolemies.

  'That is the other thing you must find out for me. I need to know why it was found with Zeno. How it got there, and where it came from.'

  Kaires looked at him in disbelief.

  ‘I’m just a doctor. I haven’t the faintest idea how to go about something like this. What do I know of such things? I wouldn’t know where to start. Surely there are better people you can ask than me?'

  Gallus paused and again and had the decency to look a little uncomfortable.

  'You know, Kaires,' he began in a transparently false tone of concern, 'I really think you need a holiday. You’ve been looking a bit peaky of late. And it so happens that Zeno was to have accompanied several of the scholars from the Library on an expedition up the Nile. Ostensibly the object of this trip is to study various disciplines along the length of Egypt – Architecture, Temples, Religion, Fauna, Geology, and so on. The real reason, of course, is just to have a magnificent holiday at state expense. They’ve had the cheek to ask for Cleopatra’s barge, the one she used when she went up the Nile with Caesar. Of course it’s been stripped of all its luxuries but still… I suppose you just have to admire their nerve. Anyway, against my better judgement I’m letting them have it.’

  Inasmuch as it was possible, Gallus looked slightly shifty.

  ‘I have reasons of my own,’ he continued. ‘Now, as well as being an archivist Zeno was an historian. There are plenty of those coming on board already. What they really need is someone with a different interest. Flora, for instance. With your knowledge of healing plants and suchlike, how natural it is that you should be desirous of taking his place.'

  Kaires quickly considered this for a moment. Was he to join this trip? He had to admit to himself that it didn’t sound bad at all. He had never been further than a few miles outside Alexandria, and the thought of seeing all the fabled monuments of Egypt in the flesh, as it were, was rather appealing.

  'The Director will be informed that the expedition is to have the good fortune of your presence. No doubt he will be delighted, although he has decided he is too frail to go himself. Your Egyptian roots will probably come in very handy. He can have no reason to object, especially as you will come with my recommendation.'

  'Do I take it, then, that you have reason to believe that the person responsible for all this business with Zeno and the ring will be coming along too?'

  'There is no way of knowing, of course – but when you see the circumstances surrounding Zeno’s death it seems it must have been perpetrated by someone in the Library’s hierarchy. Sergius will take you there presently for a look. I will give you a letter of authority which you may use if and when you apprehend the person responsible, although you would probably be best to try and blend in as just another scholar in the meantime. No need to make a big thing of it. We wouldn’t want to put anyone on guard. While you are away my agents will continue to investigate here in Alexandria. They will arrange to inform you of any developments. But it is from you that I have the greatest hopes.'

  'When does this proposed trip actually l
eave?'

  'Sergius will take you now to see the body. You will then have the rest of the week to arrange your affairs before leaving on the Ides.'

  The Ides! That was only three days away. 'But…' Kaires began. Gallus cut him short.

  'As you have no time to lose, you had better get on with it.'

  'But…'

  'Sergius!' he yelled.

  The door opened immediately. Sergius must have been waiting just outside, ready for the Prefect’s call.

  ‘Take Dr. Kaires to the Library. He is keen to begin his investigation. You will offer him every assistance. And Kaires -’

  Gallus held out his hand.

  ‘I’ll have the ring back, thank you.’

  Kaires realised he was still gripping the seal ring tightly. He gave it another searching look, and with some reluctance placed it in the Prefect’s palm. It had a presence of its own. Still fascinated, the sense of it went with him as he left the room.

  -0-

  A death in the Library. There was no more peaceful place anywhere in the city. The Library of Alexandria was justly famous throughout the world. Of course everyone knew about the disastrous fire that destroyed much of the collection when Caesar first arrived in Egypt. Countless ancient manuscripts had gone up in flames, some of them the only copies in existence, and so lost forever. Under Cleopatra, the most learned of all the Ptolemies, the Library was largely rebuilt. Agents were sent out to scour the known world to restock (and even enlarge) the collection. But the Library itself was only a part of the Museum - a city in miniature, populated by some of the greatest minds in the Roman world. Inventors and philosophers, astronomers, mathematicians, historians, linguists, scientists and thinkers in every discipline, a vast complex larger than the Palace – or, as Gallus preferred, the Prefect’s Residence - itself. A seat of learning of which Alexandrians were deservedly proud.