that had come from the Indo-European family. Originating in the Balkans, it had the longest history of being in use, spanning thirty-five hundred years.
“You can read it?”
Lourds did. “‘Here lies the scribe Callisthenes of Olynthus. Placed here after his murder by his friends at court.’” He paused. “Some friends they turned out to be.”
“The sentence construction and word usage is comparable to that used in Alexander’s time, isn’t it?”
Lourds nodded. Excitement stirred up in him, building quickly now. He worked to keep it tamped down. Boris was already excited enough for both of them. He needed to be the steady one, the one who would challenge the enticing leaps of both logic and fantasy.
“The language has been around for three and a half millennia. You know that. Let’s get our ducks in a row.”
“This ties to Alexander, Thomas. I can feel it in my bones.”
“We need to find out what’s in these bones. Where are the documents you said you found?”
“Inside the sarcophagus. I didn’t want to chance moving them any more than I had to. Not until you were here.”
“I’m here now.” Lourds stood. “Let’s have a look at Callisthenes.” He grabbed one end of the sarcophagus lid and Boris grabbed the other. Together, they managed the massive stone slab and lifted it from the bottom, gently settling it onto the floor with a series of scrapes.
Inside the sarcophagus, a skeleton lay draped in rags. Whatever else Callisthenes might have been, he was a small man. His hands lay over his heart, and his feet were crossed.
Lourds shined his flashlight over the skull. “He has all of his teeth. He was probably a young man when he died.”
“When he was murdered, you mean.”
“I don’t see any signs of fractures to the skull or the ribs. They all appear intact.”
“You can kill a man by slicing his throat too. Or by forcing him to drink hemlock. Either way, it’s still murder.”
Lourds nodded.
“But there is something more.” Boris pointed to the skeletal feet. “Have a look here.”
Moving down the length of the body, Lourds shined his light on the dead man’s feet. Several of the metatarsal bones were broken, and there was a hole through the talus of each foot.
Boris stood grimly at Lourds’s side. “Crucifixion, yes?”
“That would be my guess, but you’ll need someone more expert on it to give a better opinion.”
“No, I trust us. We’ve seen these kinds of things before. And look at how the ankle joints are shattered and separated. I would bet that this man was crucified upside down.” Boris shook his head. “That would be a most painful way to die.”
Lourds silently agreed.
“The documents are here.” Boris pointed to a collection of clay pots that occupied one corner of the sarcophagus.
Lourds had been so engrossed in studying the skeletal remains that he had overlooked the pots. Scrolls filled the pots. Gently, Lourds removed one of the scrolls. The Greek language was easy enough to read. Callisthenes had possessed a good hand for his craft.
“‘Now it came to be that my lord, King Alexander III of Macedon, also known as the Great, was in terrible wrath after discovering the excesses and abuses committed by the satraps he had put into power to govern in his name while he sought out more glories on the battlefield.
“‘There was a military governor named Vahyadata who had caused to be executed three young women he took to be wives and later claimed to have lied to him about their virginity. When my lord discovered this, and that the young women lay in fresh graves, his righteous anger knew no boundaries.
“‘My lord rode his horse into the palace of Vahyadata, threw a rope around the man’s neck, and dragged him from the palace and into the street. There, the populace of the city spat upon the foul murderer, cursed him each in their way, and cheered on my lord.
“‘The satrap proved not to be hardy enough to make it to the end of the street. Still, my lord’s anger was so fierce that he did not give up dragging the body until dogs ran up after it and tore it to pieces.’”
Boris shifted and smiled slightly. “Not exactly bedtime reading, is it?”
“No, but it does have the ring of authenticity about it. What makes you so certain the location of Alexander’s tomb is revealed in here?”
With great care, Boris lifted one of the scrolls from the pot. “This is the scroll I read from.” He handed it to Lourds.