The Singer from Memphis by Gary Corby

Author:Gary Corby
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Crime Fiction / Historical Mystery
Publisher: Soho Press
Published: 2016-02-26T20:23:05+00:00

The Sparta Contract

We left the House of Tutu with much clasping of hands, kind words from the embalmer and our heads spinning from what he had told us.

“We must assume that Tutu’s idea is correct,” Herodotus said. “The sarcophagus containing the crook and flail is at Siwa.”

“Tutu is almost certainly correct,” Djanet said. “If Psamtik had been buried or cremated in Memphis, I would know it.”

This dogmatic statement caused us all to look at her askance.

“I made enquiries once, long ago,” Djanet explained. “Nobody could tell me a thing, not even the beggars, and they know everything that goes on in this city. Psamtik wasn’t buried in Memphis. Even a quiet funeral in the palace grounds would have been impossible to cover up; a soldier or a servant would be bound to talk.”

“So if it isn’t in Memphis, it must be at Siwa.” I said. “That makes sense.”

“Then that’s where we’re going,” Herodotus said. “Max, what else can you tell us about Siwa?”

“It is an oasis,” Maxyates said. “In the Egyptian tongue they call it the Field of Trees. Siwa lies very far to the west. So far west in fact that one must cross the desert. Siwa is in Libya, not Egypt.”

I laughed. “If Inaros finds out the crook and flail have been in his own homeland all this time, he’s going to kick himself.”

“And the oracle?” Herodotus prompted.

“It is most ancient and of the greatest holiness,” said Maxyates solemnly. “The Oracle at Siwa is like . . .” He thought for a moment. “You Hellenes have your Oracle of Delphi. Siwa is like that for the Egyptians and Libyans.”

“Then it is very important indeed,” said Herodotus.

“Yes.”

The matter seemed to be settled. I felt like a weight had been dropped from my back. We had a plan, and it took us out of Memphis. The whole party felt the same way; the mood became lighter.

Being in the southern part of the city meant we were close to temples that Herodotus was desperate to see. One of these was impossible to miss: a colossal statue of an ancient Pharaoh. Some fellow I’d never heard of, named Ramses. Like all Egyptian statues, the figure stood rigidly upright. Why couldn’t these Egyptians do a proper statue, like we Hellenes? But I had to give them credit for sheer size. This Ramses stood taller than any building in Athens. Standing at his feet, I had to look straight up to see his face.

“What did he do?” I asked, for surely anyone with a statue this big must be important.

“You’ve never heard of Ramses?” said Djanet, in shock. “What do they teach you Hellenes?”

“Mostly to quote from Homer,” I said.

Djanet sniffed.

“Ramses was the greatest ruler who ever lived,” Maxyates said.

“I thought that was King Menelaus, or Priam?” I said. “That’s what Homer says.”

“Ramses was greater than both,” Maxyates explained. “He was the greatest. At his mausoleum there is an inscription that says: I am Osymandyas—that was another name for Ramses—I am Osymandyas, the king of kings.

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