had the gold melted down and converted into drachma to pay off his debts.” Boris halted in front of a carpet that had been draped on one wall of a passageway that ended in a tumble of rock. “That angered the citizens of Alexandria, and they rose up and killed him. A case could be made that Alexander was not lying at rest in a land that was ‘happy and unvanquishable forever.’ In fact, it almost seems that a curse followed Alexander around.”
Lourds surveyed the carpet but didn’t move toward it. He didn’t want to rob his friend of his presentation. But he was anxious to see what was on the other side of it.
“The citizens of Alexandria took Alexander’s body back to their city for safekeeping. While the body lay there, the Roman emperors came calling. According to documentation, Pompey, Julius Caesar, and Caesar Augustus visited the tomb.”
“It’s a wonder that Augustus didn’t trigger a war when he accidentally knocked Alexander’s nose off.”
“That’s a story that was never verified. Caligula was also supposed to have taken Alexander’s breastplate. Then, in 200 AD, Emperor Septimius Severus, who sacked the Ctesiphon, the capital of the Parthian Empire, closed the tomb to the public.”
“Enough time had passed by then that the Alexandrians didn’t protest.”
“Also, the Roman Army was in full bloom. The emperor would have dealt harshly with any kind of uprising. Supposedly, his son—Caracalla, one of the most evil emperors ever to spring from the loins of the Caesars—visited the tomb because he was a great admirer.”
“That man would have never held a candle to Alexander the Great.”
“Agreed. Alexander would have killed Caracalla for the massacres and other atrocities he committed.”
“Not in the least of which was his granting of Roman citizenship to all freemen so he could tax them. They became Romans whether they wanted to or not.”
“And they paid their taxes or faced the consequences.” Boris nodded. “You also know of the Alexander Sarcophagus that was found in Sidon in 1887?”
“Of course. But it never belonged to Alexander. It was only named that because it had bas-relief images of Alexander fighting the Persians at the Battle of Issus.”
“Exactly. That sarcophagus is believed to be the final resting place of Mazaeus, a Persian noble and Babylonian governor.” Boris smiled and his weary eyes gleamed. “Through all of that, no one knows the final resting place of Alexander the Great. But you and I, Thomas, through our good fortune—”
“I would attribute whatever fortune we have to your dogged perseverance, and that’s how I’m going to present it to those news people waiting outside.”
Boris nodded. “As you wish. By whatever means, we now have a chance to find out where Alexander the Great has been laid to rest.” Pulling the carpet aside, he waved Lourds into the tomb.
18
39 Miles Southwest of Herat
Herat Province
Afghanistan
February 14, 2013
Lights hung from the tomb’s low ceiling and splashed brightness around the rough stone walls. The ceiling made an arch over the small room, but even the highest point was close enough for Lourds to reach up and touch.
The stone sarcophagus occupied a carved niche in the wall. The niche was about eighteen inches taller than the sarcophagus, whose heavy stone lid sat slightly ajar.
Lourds spoke without taking his eyes from the bas-relief on the sarcophagus’s side. “You opened it?”
“I could not resist.”
“I wouldn’t have been able to either. Did anyone help you?”
“An intern. Evan. He’s probably off sleeping. Or playing one of his videogames. He has no true vision for what we do.”
Lourds crossed over to the sarcophagus and knelt. He dug a flashlight from his backpack and played the beam over the carved images, bringing them into sharper view. Boris had obviously spent some time cleaning them up. They were dust free.
The images were plain, rough, and beautiful at the same time. The central figure was a caped warrior on horseback, a shield on his left arm and a spear in his right hand. His cape streamed out behind him, floating over the warriors that rode at his heels. Another army lay in the distance on the right.
Most curious of all, though, was the image of a man sitting behind the army on the left. Small and unassuming, he was in a crouched position and held a stylus in one hand as he worked on a sheet of papyrus.
There was writing under the man. Lourds leaned forward so he could examine it. “This is Ancient Greek.” He knew the language intimately. It was an independent language