The Alexander Cipher Page 0,31
forms naturally there, in great congealed pools.”
Mohammed grimaced. “People used mummies as medicine?”
“Europeans did, yes,” said Ibrahim, giving the big builder a grin. “But, anyway, Alexandria was right at the center of this trade, which is one reason we’ve never found even fragments of mummy here, though we know for sure that mummification was practiced.”
They moved on to another chamber. Mansoor lit up a plaster seal with his flashlight. It had faint traces of paint on it, a scene of a seated woman and a standing man clasping right hands.
“The wife has died,” Ibrahim explained to Mohammed. “This painting is known as a dexiosis, a kind of farewell, with them saying good-bye for the last time.”
“Maybe he’s in there with her, too,” muttered Mohammed. “They seem pretty crowded, these tombs.”
“That’s because there were so many people in Alexandria, and not enough space. Some estimates say that a million people lived here in ancient times. Have you seen the necropolis at Gabbari?”
“No.”
“It’s huge. A true city of the dead. And there’s Shatby and Sidi Gabr, too. But still they weren’t enough. Particularly after Christianity became popular.”
Mohammed frowned. “Why so?”
“Before the Christians, many Alexandrians opted for cremation,” he explained. “See these niches in the walls? They’re designed for urns and caskets. But Christians believed in resurrection, you know. They needed their bodies.”
“This is a Christian necropolis, then?”
“It’s an Alexandrian necropolis,” answered Ibrahim. “You’ll find believers in the Egyptian gods, the Greek gods, the Roman gods, Jews, Christians, Buddhists—every religion on earth.”
“And what happens to them now?”
Ibrahim nodded. “We’ll study them. We can learn a great deal about diet, health, mortality rates, ethnic mix, cultural practices. Many other things.”
“You’ll treat them with respect?”
“Of course, my friend. Of course.”
They went back out, into another chamber. “What’s this?” asked Augustin, pointing his flashlight through a hole in the wall to a short flight of steps disappearing down into the dark.
“I don’t know,” shrugged Mohammed. “I didn’t see it before.”
Ibrahim had to duck low to get beneath, and Mohammed had to go on his hands and knees. Inside was what appeared to be the tomb of a wealthy family, separated by a line of carved pillars and pilasters into two adjoining spaces. Five stone sarcophagi of different sizes stood against the walls, all decorated with a rich confusion of styles and faiths. A portrait of Dionysus was carved into the limestone above depictions of Apis, Anubis, and a solar disk. Stone recesses above each of the sarcophagi held Canopic jars, perhaps still containing their original contents: the stomach, liver, intestines, and lungs of the deceased. Other objects glittered on the floor: fragments of funerary lamps and amphorae, scarabs, small items of silver and bronze jewelry studded with dulled stones. “Marvelous,” murmured Augustin. “How can the robbers have missed these?”
“Perhaps the door was concealed,” suggested Ibrahim, kicking at the rubble. “An earthquake, or just the passage of time.”
“How old?” asked Mohammed.
Ibrahim glanced at Augustin. “First century AD?” he suggested. “Maybe second.”
They came at last to the level of the water table. Steps disappeared tantalizingly down into it, hinting at more chambers beneath. The water had risen and fallen dramatically over the centuries; if they were lucky, it might have prevented the robbers from looting whatever lay beneath. Augustin stooped and made ripples with his hand. “Do we have the budget for a pump?” he asked.
Ibrahim shrugged. Pumping was expensive, noisy, dirty, and all too often completely ineffective. It would also mean running a fat pipe along the passage and up the stairwell, which would get in the way of the main excavation. “If we must.”
“If you want me to explore first, I’ll need a buddy. These places are death traps.”
Ibrahim nodded. “Whatever you wish. I leave it up to you.”
NESSIM WAS DRIVING through Suez when his cell phone rang. “Yes?” he asked.
A man’s voice. “It’s me.”
Nessim didn’t recognize his caller, but he knew better than to ask. He’d contacted a great many people last night, and few of them were keen on having their connection with Hassan known. Cell phones were notoriously vulnerable; you had to assume you were being monitored at all times. “What have you got?”
“Your man has a file.”
Ah! So the Egyptian Security Service had a file on Knox. Intriguing. “And?”
“Not over the phone.”
“I’m on my way to Cairo now. Same arrangement as last time?”
“Six o’clock,” the man agreed. And the phone went dead.
KNOX WAS STILL STANDING out on Augustin’s balcony, expecting at any moment that the glass doors would be pushed open and