stone wasn’t from Rosetta originally; it was only transported there as building material.” As they walked, the walls turned black with char; great scars scored the baked clay. “One hell of a fire,” muttered Rick as he photographed.
“You were telling me about the Rosetta Stone.”
“Yes. Copies were made, and there was a race to decipher it. Jean-Francois Champollion made the final breakthrough. He announced his results sometime in the 1820s.”
“Eighteen twenty-two. Friday, September 27, to be exact. Considered by many to be the birth date of modern Egyptology.”
Rick shrugged. “That’s pretty much it.”
“Not bad,” said Knox. “But you know what you haven’t mentioned yet?”
“What?”
“The inscription itself. What it says.”
Rick laughed ruefully. “You’re right. How about that?”
“You’re not alone. This great monument, this iconic image, and hardly anyone knows what it says.”
“So what does it say?”
Knox shone his flashlight ahead. The white marble of a portal glowed pale, and on either side lay ghostly wolves. “It’s known as the Memphis Decree,” he said as they pressed forward. “Written to commemorate Ptolemy Five’s accession in one nine six BC. The Golden Age of the Ptolemies had been well and truly over by then, of course, thanks to Ptolemy Four.”
“The party animal,” nodded Rick, crouching to photograph the wolves.
“Exactly. The Seleucid king Antiochus Three thought he was soft and ripe for plucking. He seized Tyre, Ptolemais, and much of the Egyptian fleet.”
“Spare me the detail,” said Rick. “We’re on the clock, remember.”
“Okay,” said Knox as they moved on. “There was a great battle at Raphia. The Egyptians won, and peace was restored to the land. It should have been good news.”
“But?”
“Taxes were already punitive, but Ptolemy had to raise them even higher to finance his war and then the victory celebrations. People left their farms and homes because they couldn’t afford to pay. Discord spread. There were massive uprisings across Egypt. Ptolemy Four was assassinated, and his successor, Ptolemy Five Epiphanes, was still only a child. When a group of rebels attacked military posts and temples in the Nile Delta, Epiphanes’ men went after them. The rebels took refuge in a citadel.”
“That’s right,” said Rick, snapping his fingers. “They thought they’d be safe. They were wrong.”
“They were very wrong,” agreed Knox as they walked down two steps to a second doorway. “According to the Rosetta Stone, Epiphanes’ men stormed it and put them all to the sword.”
“Charming.”
“You know where it all happened? A place called Lycopolis, in the Busirite administrative district.”
“The Busirite administrative district? Wasn’t that pretty much where we are now?”
“Exactly,” nodded Knox as they reached the portal. “Welcome to the citadel of ancient Lycopolis.”
Rick went through first, his flashlight held out ahead. “Oh, Jesus!” he muttered when he saw what was inside. And he turned and looked away, as though about to be sick.
“COME,” SMILED ALY SAYED. “This is no evening to waste in a library.”
Gaille and Elena followed him to his outside table. A breeze had turned the evening cool. Birds twittered in the distance. Gaille listened as Elena and Aly chatted amiably, exploring connections, mutual friends, and obscure sites they both had visited. After a while, he turned to Gaille. “Your poor father,” he said. “I think about him often. My esteemed secretary general did not greatly respect him, as you may know. For myself, I work only with people I respect. No man loved this country more.”
“Thank you.”
He smiled and turned back to Elena. “Now, tell me what it is you do in Siwa. Yusuf hinted mysteriously that you’d found something interesting in Alexandria.”
“You could say that.”
“And it has implications for Siwa?”
“Yes.” Elena took a set of Gaille’s photographs from her bag. “Forgive me, but Yusuf insisted I make you promise not to say a word.”
“Of course,” nodded Aly. “My lips are sealed.”
“Thank you.” She passed them to him, explained how they had been found and what they meant, then read out a translation of the Alexander Cipher.
“A tomb fit for Alexander,” murmured Aly as he leafed through the pictures. “And you hope to find it in two weeks?”
“We hope to make progress in two weeks,” said Elena. “Enough to be granted another two.”
“How?”
“The text gives several clues.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “It states that the tomb was in sight of the oracle of Ammon, that it was within a hill, that its mouth was beneath the sand, that it was excavated in secret. Tomorrow morning, with your permission, we’ll compile a list of all hills in sight of the oracle. Then we’ll visit them.”
He