But everyone calls me Knox.’
‘Yeah. So I’ve been told.’
Knox squinted at him. ‘You’ve been asking?’
‘They say you’re an archaeologist.’
‘Used to be.’
‘You gave it up to become a dive instructor?’ asked Rick sceptically.
‘It gave me up,’ explained Knox. ‘A bust-up with the establishment.’
‘Ah.’ He leaned forward. ‘Interesting tattoo.’
‘You think?’
Rick nodded. ‘If I show you something, you’ll keep it to yourself, right?’
‘Sure,’ shrugged Knox.
Rick reached into his pocket, pulled out a matchbox. Inside, embedded in cotton wool, was a fat golden teardrop about an inch long with an eyelet at the narrow end for a clasp or a chain. Specks of pink were accreted from where it had been chiselled out of coral. And, on its base, a sixteen-pointed star had been faintly inscribed.
‘I found it a couple of years back,’ said Rick. ‘I thought you might be able to tell me more about it. I mean, it’s Alexander’s symbol, right?’
‘Yes. Where d’you find it?’
‘Sure!’ snorted Rick, taking it back, replacing it jealously in its makeshift home, then back in his pocket. ‘Like I’m going to tell you that. Well? Any idea?’
‘It could be anything,’ said Knox. ‘A tassel for a robe, a drinking cup, something like that. An earring.’
‘What?’ frowned Rick. ‘Alexander wore earrings?’
‘The star doesn’t mean it belonged to him personally. Just to his household.’
‘Oh.’ The Australian looked disappointed.
Knox frowned. ‘And you found it in these reefs, yes?’
‘Yeah. Why?’
‘It’s odd, that’s all. Alexander never came near here. Nor did his men.’
Rick snorted. ‘And I thought you said you were an archaeologist! Even I know he came to Egypt. He went to visit that place out in the desert.’
‘The Oracle of Ammon in Siwa Oasis. Yes. But he didn’t travel via Sharm, believe me. He cut across the north coast of Sinai.’
‘Oh. And that was his only visit, was it?’
‘Yes, except for …’ And Knox’s heart suddenly started pounding crazily inside his chest as a wild idea occurred to him. ‘Jesus Christ!’ he muttered.
‘What?’ asked Rick excitedly, reading his face.
‘No. No. It couldn’t be.’
‘What? Tell me.’
Knox shook his head decisively. ‘No. I’m sure it’s nothing.’
‘Come on, mate. You’ve got to tell me now.’
‘Only if you tell me where you found it.’
Rick squinted shrewdly at him. ‘You reckon there’s more? That’s what you’re thinking, yeah?’
‘Not exactly. But it’s possible.’
Rick hesitated. ‘And you’re a diver, yeah?’
‘Yes.’
‘I could do with a buddy. The place isn’t easy on my own. If I tell you, we’ll go look together, yeah?’
‘Sure.’
‘OK. Then spill.’
‘Fine. But you’ve got to remember, this is pure speculation. The chances of this being what I think it is—’
‘I get the point. Now spill.’
‘Long version or short?’
Rick shrugged. ‘I’ve got nowhere I need to be.’
‘I’ll have to give you some background first. Alexander came to Egypt only once during his life, like I said, and then for just a few months. Across north Sinai to the Nile Delta, then south to Memphis, the old capital, just south of Cairo, where he was crowned. After that it was north again to found Alexandria, westwards along the coast to Paraetonium, modern Marsa Matruh, then due south through the desert to Siwa. He and his party got lost, apparently. According to one account, they’d have died of thirst except that two talking snakes guided them to the Oasis.’
‘Those talking snakes. Always there when you need them.’
‘Aristobulus tells a more plausible story, that they followed a pair of crows. Spend any time in the desert, you’re pretty much certain to see some brown-necked ravens. They’re about the only birds you will see in many places. They often travel in pairs. And they’re cheeky buggers too; if they can’t find any snakes or locusts to eat, they’ll happily scout around your camp site looking for scraps, before heading off back to the nearest oasis. So if you were to follow them …’
Rick nodded. ‘Like dolphins in the Sea of Sand.’
‘If you want to put it that way,’ agreed Knox. ‘Anyway, they got Alexander to Siwa, where he consulted the oracle, and then it was back into the desert again; but this time he headed east along the caravan trails to Bahariyya Oasis, where there’s a famous temple dedicated to him, and then back to Memphis. That was pretty much that. It was off beating up Persians again. But then, after he died, he was brought back to Egypt for burial.’
‘Ah! And you think this was from then?’
‘I think it’s possible. You’ve got to bear something in mind. This is Alexander the Great we’re talking about. He led thirty thousand Macedonians across the Hellespont to avenge Xerxes’ invasion of Greece, knowing that he’d face armies ten times larger. He hammered the Persians not once, not twice, but three times, and then he just kept on going. He fought countless battles, and he won them all, making himself the most powerful man the world has ever seen. When his best friend Hephaiston died, he sent him on his way on top of a beautifully carved wooden pyre eighty metres high; like building Sydney Opera House, then putting a match to it, just to enjoy the blaze. So you can imagine, his men would have insisted on something pretty special when Alexander himself died.’
‘I get you.’
‘A pyre was out of the question. Alexander’s body was far too precious to be burned. Apart from anything else, one of the duties of a new Macedonian king was to bury his predecessor. So whoever possessed Alexander’s body had a serious claim to kingship, especially as Alexander hadn’t left an obvious successor, and everyone was jostling for position.’
Rick
