The God’s Guardian (The Pharaoh’s Promise #3)

Chapter Three

Bhaskar put down his quill and sat back, acknowledging that nothing could completely hold his attention today. Growing up in the mountains of Uttarakhand had not given him any context to prepare him for the magnificence of the Great Library. Even the many awe-inspiring sites he had visited on his long journey had not prepared him.

Elegant columns soared above him to support vast, ornate ceilings painted with fantastical scenes of the Greek gods. Shelves upon shelves of scrolls stretched out in every direction, more than he had imagined existing in the entire world. The dry woody scent of papyrus and the sooty undertones of ink filled the air, the aroma of tens of thousands of scholars carefully recording their thoughts for posterity.

He had indeed met Eratosthenes, almost swooning in the presence of such greatness. The old man had given him a tour of the library, explaining how to use the pinakes to locate scrolls. There were so many that even grouping them by subject was not sufficient. Within each category, they were also arranged by the first letter of the author’s name, truly an innovative way to organize the vast contents of the library.

Eratosthenes had personally shown him the library’s collection of astronomical texts and, with some surprise, helped him find some scrolls that dealt with translations of hieroglyphs. After Eratosthenes returned to his own work, Bhaskar had carried an armload of scrolls to this quiet corner where he now sat. He had intended to start with the astronomical texts and save the hieroglyphs until later. In the light of day, his conviction that the inscriptions on the sundial were important seemed laughable. But instead of the scrolls on planetary movements, he found himself reaching into his bag for the piece of papyrus where he had painstakingly copied some of the inscriptions the night before.

He sorted through the scrolls he had found until he located the ones regarding hieroglyphics, picked what looked like a promising one, and rolled it out on the table.

Some time later he sat back with a frustrated sigh. He had learned both Brahmi and the Greek alphabet growing up. While planning his trip, he had brushed up on demotic knowing it would be useful outside the more scholarly circles. He had even taught himself a little hieratic, fascinated with the older, more hieroglyphic form of writing. He thought it would be an easy task to jump from hieratic to pure hieroglyphs, but today he had made little progress. Were these two symbols the same? He moved his piece of papyrus directly onto the scroll so the images were closer and still couldn’t decide. Both had series of stars and wavy lines, but the number of each and arrangement was different. The stars were almost definitely ideograms—symbols representing the concept of a star or night—but the wavy lines were trickier. Were they part of the star ideogram? Were they another ideogram or could they be a phonogram, indicating the sound of water? The subtle differences in the arrangement might change the meaning entirely, and that was before factoring in idiom or some ancient astronomical shorthand.

“You must be the new astronomer from India.”

He started at the voice, then looked up to see one of his fellow scholars, a Greek with neatly styled curls and a distinguished beard, smiling at him. “Yes, I am Bhaskar,” he replied.

“I am Callias. Eratosthenes mentioned you are working on a translation and might appreciate some help.”

Bhaskar gestured to the bench where he sat. “Please, join me. I would be very grateful for any insight. I know a few of the hieroglyphs, but I admit I am out of my depth. Is ancient Egypt an area of specialty for you?”

“The Eighteenth Dynasty is my particular interest,” Callias said, settling onto the bench beside him. “Eratosthenes mentioned you saw the cartouche for Ra, who was heavily worshipped in that era. I’m familiar with many of the ancient hieroglyphic styles, though outside the eighteenth and nineteenth dynasties I might miss some of the subtleties.” He leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the papyrus. “Is this it?”

Bhas moved the papyrus so that it sat between them on the table. “I know Ra, and I think these are the symbols for Sebegu and Tioumoutiri. But this one —” he pointed to the cluster of stars and wavy lines he had been puzzling over.

“The Celestial Nile,” Callias said. Then, at Bhaskar’s confused frown, “I’m sorry, I don’t know the Sanskrit term. We call it the Galaxias Kyklos in Greek.”

“Ah.” Bhas was familiar with the phrase from his correspondence with Greek astronomers. “The road of stars across the sky. We say the Akshara Mandala. And this one?” He pointed at a symbol that appeared almost as often as Ra.

“Osiris,” Callias said. “The god of the afterlife.”

Bhaskar chewed on his lip. What was the god of the underworld doing on a sundial? Unless, of course, the sundial had been designed by someone who had simply copied random, ancient hieroglyphs to sell as novelties to rich patrons who would never know the difference.

But then Callius continued, “He is the balance to Ra. Look, when you see a symbol with the deities combined like this it represents Ra and Osiris in unity—Ra-Osiris. They embody the cycle of life, death, and rebirth—two aspects of the same divine force.”

They were both quiet for a moment, Bhas turning over the concept of Ra-Osiris. They were similar to Ardhanarishvara, maybe—inseparable and complementary.

“Where did you find this?” Callias traced his finger along the hieroglyphs.

Bhas hesitated, feeling an inexplicable reluctance to reveal the inscription’s origin. “I came across it on my journey,” he said carefully. “The celestial symbols caught my eye, and I thought it might be worth examining, even if just to practice my translations.” He couldn’t bring himself to admit that they were spending valuable research time on hieroglyphs from a sundial likely intended for a wealthy collector’s curiosity cabinet.

“Indeed, some of the symbols clearly reference the heavens, but astronomy is not my area of expertise. This, for example,” Callias pointed at a series of symbols, “seems to depict the movements of the planets along the ecliptic or maybe it charts a specific celestial event. I’m not certain which one or the significance.”

Random celestial hieroglyphs? Or the observations of a learned astronomer? Bhas had no way of knowing, but the possibilities glittered before him like the Galaxias Kyklos itself, the celestial river, waiting for him to explore its depths.

He leaned closer to examine the passage with Callius. “Do you think it could be related to a specific alignment? An observation from an ancient might help validate some of my own calculations regarding the heavenly movements.”

Callius paused, obviously unwilling to commit. “Possibly. But we should be cautious. Interpreting these things too hastily can lead to misunderstandings. I would need to research the astronomical meanings and their symbolism in the Eighteenth Dynasty. Was there more to the inscription? It might help if I saw the larger context.”

“This is the only part I have with me,” Bhaskar said, now caught in his semi-lie. Could he admit to having more without revealing where he found it? Of course, if the inscription turned out to be noteworthy, he would have to produce the sundial eventually. For now, he did not want to make himself a laughingstock, the foreign scholar who spent his day translating gibberish from an ornamental timepiece. “The symbols are near the sign for Osiris. Might someone at the Temple of Osiris or even the Serapeum know their meaning?”

“Maybe.” Callius sounded reluctant. “But you should be careful. The priests have been known to confiscate scrolls and artifacts they believe to be important religious finds. The commander of the Osiris temple guard is particularly zealous. You don’t want to come to his attention.”

“I will keep that in mind.” Even isolated in the mountains, Bhaskar knew enough scholars to recognize how possessive and secretive some could be when they thought they were on the trail of a significant discovery.

They bent their heads back over the inscription and Bhaskar became more and more excited as he pointed out some of the other astronomical symbols he thought were significant. Callius appeared restrained, but under his calm exterior Bhaskar thought he detected an excitement equal to his own.

“If you have more, bring it tomorrow,” Callius urged him. “I believe you are right. The inscription is from the Eighteenth Dynasty. The scientific advances of that age are legendary. It would be my pleasure to continue the translation. Perhaps solving it will benefit both our disciplines.”

Bhas tried to remain calm at this further evidence of interest from Callius. He reminded himself that Callius did not know the origin of the glyphs. It could all still come to nothing, but far in the distance he heard the dice tumbling in rhythm with the possibilities swirling through his head.

They bid each other good-bye, Callius promising to look into some of the astronomical symbols and Bhas agreeing to bring more of the inscription on the morrow.

To his surprise, the library was nearly empty and when he stepped outside the shadows were already lengthening. His gaze went to the skyline where the sky glowed orange as the sun descended behind the buildings. To his left, he could already trace the faint line of Mrigashira rising above the rooftops. How had the day flown so quickly? The first hour of the night would soon begin.

His pace quickened. Thoughts of hieroglyphs and sundials vanished. Instead, dark eyes surrounded by thick, curling lashes filled his thoughts. He glanced at the sky again, gauging the position of the sun and stars.

He had overslept this morning. While he looked presentable enough for his colleagues, for Anu he wanted to look more than presentable.

At any other time, he would have paused to savor the experience of Canopic Street—the heart of the most cosmopolitan city in the world. At the moment, all he could see were obstacles. The middle of the street was congested with carts and the occasional chariot or horseback rider. The edges were crowded with pedestrians and wares spilling out from the numerous shops and stalls. Merchants stepped into his path as they called out their last bargains of the day. Smaller entrepreneurs walked the streets themselves, stepping into his path to offer every kind of merchandise. He dodged a group of women, laughing as they examined a decorative clay pot, and almost ran into a lamplighter, only narrowly avoiding the flame of his torch.

Finally, he could see his street ahead.

He didn’t see the urchins until one barreled into him, knocking him into the street.