Will Adams - The Alexander Cipher

"The one on the left is Akylos. The occupant of the tomb."

Knox frowned. The name Akylos was strangely familiar. But why wouldn't it be? It had been common enough among Greeks. "And the other?" he asked.

"Apolles or Apelles of Cos."

"Apelles of Cos?" asked Knox incredulously. "You don't mean the painter?"

"Is that who he is?"

Knox nodded. "Alexander the Great's favorite. Wouldn't have his portrait made by any other artist. He often dropped by his studio to bore everyone silly with his views on art, until finally Apelles told him to shut up, as even the boys grinding the colors were making fun of him."

Gaille laughed. "That took some courage."

"Alexander liked people with a bit of brass. Besides, Apelles knew how to flatter as well as mock. He painted Alexander with a bolt of lightning in his hand, just like Zeus. Where is this? Does it say?"

"Ephesus, as far as I can make out, but you can see the lacunae for yourself."

"It would make sense," said Knox. "Alexander went there after his first victory over the Persians." He reached past her, closed the file, and brought up another: soldiers wading through water. "Perga," he said. He glanced at her. "You know about this?"

"No."

"It's on the Turkish coast, opposite Rhodes. If you want to head south from there, you can hike over the hills, which is hard work, or you can go along the coast. Trouble is, you can only manage this route when a northerly is blowing, because it pushes the sea back far enough for you to get through. There was a southerly when Alexander set out, but you know Alexander-he just kept on going, and the wind switched just in time, lasting just long enough for him and his men to get through. Some people say that it was the seed for the story of Moses parting the Red Sea. Alexander passed through Palestine shortly afterwards, after all, while the Bible was still a work in progress."

Gaille pulled a face. "That's a little fanciful, isn't it?"

"You shouldn't underestimate the impact of Greek culture on the Jews," said Knox. "They wouldn't have been human if they hadn't been a little dazzled by Alexander." Many Jews had tried to assimilate, but it hadn't been easy, not least because a centerpiece of Greek social life had been the gymnasium, and "gymnos" was Greek for naked, so everything, by definition, had been on show. The Greeks had prized the foreskin as a fine piece of divine design and had considered circumcision barbaric. Many Jews had therefore tried to reverse the mohel's work by cutting free the skin around the base of their glans or by hanging metal weights from what little they had.

"I don't mean fanciful like that," said Gaille. "I'm only saying that bodies of water miraculously drying up to enable the hero to get through aren't exactly unknown in ancient myth. Nor are floods sent to destroy enemies. If I had to put my money on a historical precursor, I'd bet on King Sargon."

"The Akkadian?"

Gaille nodded. "A thousand years before Moses, two thousand before Alexander. There's a source describing how the Tigris and the Euphrates dried up for him. And he already has an established point of similarity with Moses."

Knox frowned. "How do you mean?"

"His mother put him in a basket of rushes and set him on the river," said Gaille. "Just like with Moses. He was found by a man called Akki and raised as his son. Mind you, changelings were a common enough motif. It gave the poets a way to show a kind of cosmic justice at work. Take Oedipus, left out by his father to die from exposure, only to return to kill him."

Knox nodded. "It's amazing how the same stories keep cropping up again and again across the entire Eastern Mediterranean."

"Not that amazing," replied Gaille. "It was a massive trading block, after all, and merchants have always loved trading tall tales."

"And the region was infested by minstrels, of course. And you know what minstrels have always been famous for."

"Wandering," grinned Gaille, glancing up and around. Their eyes met and held for a moment, and Knox felt unsettling flutters in his chest. It had been too long since he'd had a woman to share his life and passions with, not just his bed. Far too long. He turned in mild confusion back to the screen. "So this is a map of Alexander's campaigns?" he asked.

"Not exactly," said Gaille, a little flustered herself. "Of Akylos's life. The two just happen to be the same." Without looking his way, she brought up another picture: a walled city surrounded by water being menaced by an outsize satyr, an anthropomorphic Greek god, part man, part goat. "This one has me puzzled. I thought it might be Tyre, looking at the walls and water, but-"

"It's Tyre, all right," said Knox.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Tyre was famously impregnable," he told her. "Even Alexander had problems with it. One night during his siege he dreamed that a satyr was mocking him. He chased and chased it, but it kept eluding him, until finally he caught it and woke up. His seers interpreted it by pointing out that 'satyros' was made up of two words, 'sa' and 'Tyros,' meaning 'yours' and 'Tyre.' Tyre will be yours. It'll just take time and effort. And so it proved."

"Unhappily for the inhabitants."

"He spared everyone who took sanctuary in temples."

"Yes," said Gaille tightly. "But he slaughtered two thousand of their fellow citizens by nailing them to crosses."

"Maybe."

"There's no maybe about it. Read your sources."

"The Macedonians often crucified criminals after they were dead," replied Knox calmly. "Like the British hanging them on gibbets. To discourage others."

"Oh," frowned Gaille. "But why would Alexander consider the Tyrians criminals? They'd only been defending their homes."

"Alexander sent in heralds to discuss terms before laying the siege. The Tyrians murdered them and hurled their bodies from the ramparts. That was an absolute no-no back then." He glanced at Gaille again, puzzled by something. "This is one hell of a tomb for a shield bearer, don't you think? I mean, a forecourt, an antechamber, and a main chamber. Not to mention Ionic columns, a sculpted facade, bronze doors, and all these paintings. It must have cost an incredible amount of money."

"Alexander paid well."

"Not that well. Besides, this is how Macedonian kings were buried. It feels, I don't know, presumptuous, doesn't it?"

Gaille nodded. "They're raising the plinth tomorrow afternoon. Maybe that'll give us some answers. You're going to be there, aren't you?"

"I doubt it, I'm afraid."

"But you must come," she said earnestly. "We wouldn't have discovered it without you."

"Even so."

"I don't understand," she complained. "What's going on?"

There was pain in her eyes, as well as confusion. Knox knew he couldn't prevaricate any longer. He pulled a face to let her know he had a difficult subject to broach, then stood up straight, putting distance between them. "You know how I said earlier there was something I needed to tell you?"

"It's that damned Knox, isn't it," scowled Gaille. "He's your best bloody friend or something."

"Not exactly."

"Let's not let him come between us," she begged. "I was just shooting my mouth off last night. Honestly. He means nothing to me. I've never even met the man."

Knox looked steadfastly into her eyes, until realization began to dawn. Then he nodded. "Yes, you have," he told her.

It took Gaille a moment to assimilate fully what Knox was saying. Then her expression went cold. "Get out," she said.

"Please," he begged. "Just let me-"

"Get out. Get out now."

"Look. I know how you must feel, but-"

She went to her door and threw it open. "Out!" she said.

"Gaille," he pleaded. "Just let me explain."

"You had your chance. You sent me that letter, remember."