The Forbidden Tomb

62

After discussing it with Sarah, Cobb decided to show Manjani the images of their underground adventure. The viewing wasn’t only meant for his benefit, it was also for theirs. Despite his glowing reputation, Manjani still needed to prove his worth. The more insight he could provide, the more they would show him. And if at any point he appeared to be deceitful, they would shut down his access completely.

But first, they needed to go somewhere private.

Since his arrival in Amorgos, Manjani had been living in a small cottage near the harbor. Aside from Internet access, the location gave him everything he needed. The neighborhood was clean and safe, and it was within walking distance to the café, the marketplace, and the port. In less than fifteen minutes, he could be surfing the web, buying groceries, or making a quick getaway to a neighboring island.

And the view was simply breathtaking.

As much as they envied the panorama from Manjani’s porch, Cobb and Sarah were taken aback by the lack of décor inside the bungalow. Thanks to their former careers, both of them were familiar with the never-in-one-place-for-long lifestyle, but Manjani’s place took that notion to the extreme. His only furniture was a battered table, some mismatched chairs, and a threadbare mattress.

One end of the table served as his office with a mouse, keyboard, and external monitor for his laptop, while the nearer end was reserved for meals. There was a lone cast-iron skillet on the stove in the kitchen and a single set of tableware in the drying rack next to the sink. It was clear that he had no intention of entertaining guests.

Cobb noted the lack of creature comforts in Manjani’s cottage and wondered if it was done out of guilt, as if any enjoyment would somehow disrespect the memory of the students who had died under his command.

As if he viewed their deaths as the end of his life.

As an ex-soldier, Cobb was quite familiar with the syndrome.

Sympathy wouldn’t help. Neither would pity.

The best remedy was to give him a reason to live.

At that moment, the merits of interior design were the furthest thing from Manjani’s mind. The only things he cared about were the pictograph and the grotto that they had discovered under Alexandria. He walked to the far end of the table and connected his laptop to the peripheral devices. Once he was done, he powered up the system.

‘All yours,’ Manjani said.

Cobb had rightly assumed that Manjani wouldn’t have access to the Internet at his place — he checked his e-mail at the café, after all — which meant they wouldn’t have access to the images and footage on Garcia’s website. Not wanting to drag an iPad with him to Greece, Cobb made do with what they had. He connected his smartphone to the computer via a small adapter and then, using software that Garcia had stored on the device, accessed the files that had been uploaded to his phone’s hard drive.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than nothing.

Cobb had his choice of dozens of files but started with a video clip of Sarah and Jasmine entering the hole in the wall of the far side of the chasm. Instead of watching the screen, Sarah watched Manjani as he viewed the footage for the first time. She noticed a familiar gleam in his eyes, one that she had seen before. It was the same reaction as Jasmine’s when they had reached the concrete pillars.

Manjani practically glowed. ‘There’s your Roman temple.’

The news wasn’t unexpected. Cobb had always been confident with Jasmine’s assessment of the underground architecture. Still, it was nice to hear a prominent expert like Manjani support her theory without being prompted.

‘Tell me,’ Manjani said, ‘are you familiar with assimilation?’

‘The word, yes. How it applies to the video, no.’

‘The Romans,’ he said as he studied the video, ‘were masters of assimilation. So much so that the concept is often referred to as Romanization.’

‘Sorry. Still drawing a blank.’

‘What about Latinization?’

Cobb held up his hands. ‘Speak to me like I’ve never read the dictionary cover to cover — because I haven’t.’

‘Me, neither,’ Sarah admitted.

Manjani smiled apologetically. ‘It means that the Romans adopted the best things from the cultures before them and passed them off as their own. For instance, the Romans took the Grecian tale of Zeus and created the Roman god Jove. It’s basically the same story — they just changed the name of the main character to suit their needs.’

‘I did that once in high school: they called it plagiarism.’

‘Touché,’ Manjani said with a laugh.

Cobb pointed at the screen. ‘How does that apply to the temple?’

‘To understand the temple, you have to understand the historical climate of Alexandria. Although the city is located in Egypt, it was founded by a Macedonian king who encouraged assimilation long before the Romans. In fact, many believe they took the concept from him. I know that America is often called the “world’s melting pot”, but Alexandria earned that title long before — particularly when it came to religion.’

‘How so?’

Manjani glanced at Cobb. ‘Long before the arrival of the Romans, the high priests of Amun-Ra, the almighty sun god in the Egyptian pantheon, wielded great influence in Egypt. Not surprisingly, they used their connection to the god for much more than spiritual growth. The priesthood controlled vast tracts of land, as well as nearly all of the country’s ships. For a time, they were as powerful as the pharaohs, if not more so.’

‘And yet they adopted the Roman way of life?’

‘They did,’ Manjani replied, ‘but only as a means to an end. Their “conversion” was a ruse that allowed them to continue their worship of Amun-Ra in a Roman city despite the wishes of the emperor and the growing popularity of Christianity. They believed the only way to survive was to conform to the Roman standards of priesthood. And yet they never lost their true identity. When Severus ordered the tomb to be hidden from public view, they took it as a personal affront. To the emperor, Alexander was nothing more than a conqueror. To the high priests of Amun, he was the actual son of god.’

‘Jesus,’ Sarah murmured. She caught herself before the others could mistake her words for blasphemy. ‘I mean literally. The high priests thought of Alexander in the same way that Christians think of Jesus Christ.’

‘That might be oversimplifying it a bit,’ Manjani said, ‘but the parallels are there. Unfortunately, the emperor’s decision to hide Alexander’s tomb meant that followers of their faith could no longer worship him properly. This, of course, put the priests in a very difficult position. For decades, they had been hiding in plain sight, dressed in the priestly robes of the Empire while worshipping Amun behind closed doors. But now they were forced to take a stand for the preservation of their religion. They were forced to do something desperate.’

‘Like what?’ Cobb wondered.

‘They decided to steal his body.’