Napoleon's Pyramids (28 page)

“In a harem, no man except the master can enter, or even learn what goes on,” insisted Ashraf. “I know a nobleman who did not flee the French, Yusuf al-Beni, who has retained possession of his house and his household. He has a harem for his women and could give the priestess refuge. Not as a harem girl, but as a guest.”

“Can Yusuf be trusted?”

“He can be bought, I think.”

“I don’t want to sit blinded from events, sewing with a bunch of silly women,” Astiza said. Damnation, she was independent. It was one of the things I liked about her.

“Nor do you want to be dead or worse,” I replied. “Ashraf ’s idea is excellent. Hide there as a guest, with the medallion, while I go to the pyramids and Enoch and I solve this thing. Don’t go out. Don’t give the neckpiece any significance, should anyone in the harem see it. Our best hope is that Silano’s scheming may be his undoing. Bonaparte will see through it and realize the count wants these powers for himself, not for France.”

“It’s just as risky to leave me alone,” Astiza said.

“You won’t
be
alone, you’ll be with a bunch of silly women, as you said. Stay hidden and wait. I’ll find this Book of Thoth and come get you.”

N
apoleon’s visit to the pyramids was a grander excursion than the visit I’d made earlier with Talma and Jomard. More than a hundred officers, escorting soldiers, guides, servants, and scientists crossed the Nile and hiked up to the Giza plateau. It was like a holiday outing, a train of donkeys bearing French wives, mistresses, and a cornucopia of fruits, sweets, meats, and wine. Parasols were held in the sun. Carpets were spread on the sand. We would dine next to eternity.

Conspicuous by his absence was Silano, who I was told was conducting his own investigations in Cairo. I was glad I’d tucked Astiza safely out of the way.

As we trudged up the slope I reported Talma’s hideous death to Bonaparte, to gauge his reaction and plant doubt in his mind about my rival. Unfortunately, my news seemed to annoy our commander more than shock him. “The journalist had barely started my biography! He shouldn’t have wandered off before the country is pacified.”

“My friend disappeared when Silano arrived, General. Is that coincidence? I fear the count may be involved. Or Bin Sadr, that Bedouin marauder.”

“That marauder is our ally, Monsieur Gage. As is the count, an agent of Talleyrand himself. He assures me he knows nothing about Talma, and in any event he has no motive. Does he?”

“He said he wanted the medallion.”

“Which you said you lost. In a nation of a million restive natives, why do you suspect only the people who are on our side?”

“But
are
they on our side?”

“They are on
my
side! As you will be, when you begin to solve the mysteries we brought you here for! First you lose your medallion and calendar, and now you make accusations against our colleagues! Talma died! Men do in war!”

“They don’t have their heads delivered in a jar.”

“I have seen parts worse than that delivered. Listen. You saw the defeat of our fleet. Our success is imperiled. We are cut off from France. Rebel Mamelukes are gathering in the south. The population is not yet resigned to its new situation. Insurgents commit atrocities precisely to sow the kind of terror and confusion you’re exhibiting. Stand fast, Gage! You were brought to solve mysteries, not create them.”

“General, I’m doing my best, but Talma’s head was clearly a message…”

“A message that time is of the essence. I cannot afford sympathy, because sympathy is weakness, and any weakness on my part invites our destruction. Gage, I tolerated an American’s presence because I was told you might be useful in investigating the ancient Egyptians. Can you make sense of the pyramids or not?”

“I am trying, General.”

“Succeed. Because the moment you are of no use to me, I can have you jailed.” He looked past me, the admonition given. “Ah. They are big, aren’t they?”

The same awe that I’d felt on my initial visit was experienced by others as they came within view of the Sphinx and the pyramids behind. Customary chatter went silent as we clustered on the sand like ants, the depth of time palpable. Their shadows on the sand were as distinct as the pyramids themselves. It was not the ghosts of the long-vanished workmen and pharaohs I experienced, but rather the serene spirit of the structures themselves.

Napoleon, however, scrutinized the monuments like a quartermaster. “As simple as a child might build, but they certainly have size. Look at that volume of stone, Monge! Building this big one here would be like marshalling an army. What are the dimensions, Jomard?”

“We’re still digging, trying to find the base and the corners,” the officer replied. “The Great Pyramid is at least seven hundred and fifty feet on each side and more than four hundred and fifty feet high. The base covers thirteen acres, and while the building stones are huge, I calculate there are at least two and a half million of them. The volume is large enough to easily contain any of the cathedrals in Europe. It is the largest structure in the world.”

“So much stone,” Napoleon murmured. He asked the dimensions of the other two pyramids as well and, using a Conte pencil, began jotting calculations of his own. He played with mathematics in the way other men might doodle. “Where do you think they got the stone, Dolomieu?” he asked as he worked.

“Somewhere nearby,” the geologist replied. “Those blocks are limestone, the same as the bedrock of the plateau. That’s why they appear eroded. Limestone isn’t very hard, and wears easily from water. In fact, formations of limestone are frequently perforated with caves. We might expect caves here, but I must assume this plateau is solid, given the aridity. Reportedly there is also granite inside the pyramid, and that must have come from many miles away. I suspect the facing limestone also came from a separate quarry of finer rock.”

Napoleon displayed his calculations. “Look, it is absurd. With the stone in these pyramids you could build a wall two meters high and one meter thick around all of France.”

“I hope you don’t expect us to do so, General,” Monge joked. “It would weigh millions of tons to take home.”

“Indeed.” He laughed. “At last I have found a ruler who eclipses my own ambition! Khufu, you dwarf me! Yet why not simply tunnel into a mountain? Is it true the Arab tomb robbers didn’t find a corpse inside?”

“There is no evidence anyone was ever buried here,” Jomard said. “The main passage was blocked by enormous granite plugs that seem to have guarded…nothing.”

“So we are presented with another mystery.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps the pyramids serve some other purposes, which is my own theory. For example, the pyramid’s placement, near the thirtieth parallel, is intriguing. It is almost exactly one-third of the way from the equator to the North Pole. As I was explaining to Gage here, the ancients hint that the Egyptians might have understood the nature and size of our planet.”

“If so, they are ahead of half the officers in my army,” Bonaparte said.

“Equally striking, the Great Pyramid and its companions are oriented in the cardinal directions of north, south, east, and west more precisely than modern surveyors typically achieve. If you draw a line from the pyramid’s center to the Mediterranean, it exactly bisects the Nile Delta. If you draw diagonal lines from one pyramid corner to the opposite and extend those, one going northeastward and one northwestward, they form a triangle that perfectly encloses the delta. This location was no accident, General.”

“Intriguing. A symbolic location to tie upper and lower Egypt together, perhaps. The pyramid is a political statement, do you think?”

Jomard was encouraged by this attention to his theories, which other officers had jeered at. “It is also interesting to consider the pyramid’s apothem,” he said enthusiastically.

“What’s an apothem?” I interrupted.

“If you drew a line down the middle of one face of the pyramid,” the mathematician Monge explained, “from point to base, so that you divide its triangle in two, that line is the apothem.”

“Ah.”

“The apothem,” Jomard went on, “appears to be exactly six hundred feet, or the length of the Greek stadia. That’s a common measurement found throughout the ancient world. Could the pyramid be a standard of measurement, or be built to a standard that long predates the Greeks?”

“Possibly,” Bonaparte said. “Yet using this as a measuring stick seems an even more absurd excuse for such a monument than a tomb.”

“As you know, General, there are sixty minutes in each degree of latitude or longitude. That apothem also happens to be one-tenth of one minute of one degree. Is this mere coincidence? Even odder, the perimeter of the pyramid’s base equals half a minute, and two circuits a full minute. Moreover, the perimeter of the pyramid’s base appears to be equal to the circumference of a circle whose radius is the pyramid’s height. It’s as if the pyramid was sized to encode the dimensions of our planet.”

“But dividing the earth into three hundred sixty degrees is a modern convention, is it not?”

“On the contrary, that number can be traced to Babylon and Egypt. The ancients picked three hundred sixty because it signifies the days of the year.”

“But the year is three hundred sixty-five,” I objected. “And a quarter.”

“The Egyptians added five holy days when that became apparent,” Jomard said, “just as we revolutionaries have added holidays to our thirty-six ten-day weeks. My theory is that the people who built this structure knew the size and shape of the earth and incorporated those dimensions into this structure so they’d not be lost, should learning decline in the future. They anticipated, perhaps, the Dark Ages.”

Napoleon looked impatient. “But why?”

Jomard shrugged. “Perhaps to reeducate mankind. Perhaps simply to prove that they knew. We build monuments to God and military victory. Perhaps they built monuments to mathematics and science.”

It seemed improbable to me that people so long ago could know so much, and yet again there was something fundamentally
right
about the pyramid, as if it were trying to convey eternal truths. Franklin had mentioned a similar rightness to the dimensions of Greek temples, and I remember that Jomard had tied everything to that strange Fibonacci number sequence. Again I wondered if these games of arithmetic had anything to do with the secret of my medallion. Mathematics made my mind fog.

Bonaparte turned to me. “And what does our American friend think? What is the view from the New World?”

“Americans believe things should be done for a purpose,” I said, trying to sound wiser than I was. “We’re practical, as you said. So what is the practical use of this monument? Perhaps Jomard has a point that this is more than a tomb.”

Napoleon was not fooled by my rambling. “Well, the pyramid has a point, at least.” We dutifully laughed. “Come. I want to look inside.”

W
hile most of our party was content to picnic, a handful of us entered the dark hole on the pyramid’s north face. There was a limestone portal marking the pyramid’s original entrance that had been constructed by the ancient Egyptians. This entry, Jomard explained, was only revealed when Muslims stripped off the pyramid’s casing for stone to build Cairo; in ancient times it had been disguised by a cleverly hidden hinged door of stone. No one had known precisely where it lay. So before it was revealed, medieval Arabs made an attempt to plunder the pyramid by simply starting their own entry. In 820, Caliph Abdullah al-Mamun, knowing that historians recorded a northern entrance, had a band of engineers and stone masons chew their own tunnel into the pyramid in hopes of striking the structure’s corridors and shafts. As luck would have it, he began below the earlier door. It was this excavation we entered.

While their guess of the entry’s placement was off, the tunneling Arabs soon struck a narrow shaft inside the pyramid that had been built by the Egyptians. Just under four feet high, this shaft descended from the original entrance at an angle that Jomard had calculated was twenty-three degrees. Crawling upward, the Arabs found the original entrance to the outside and a second shaft ascending into the pyramid at the same slope the first descended. Such an upward shaft had never been mentioned in ancient chronicles, and it was blocked with granite plugs too hard to chisel through. Sensing he had found a secret pathway to treasure, Al Mamun ordered his men to tunnel around the plugs through the softer surrounding limestone blocks. It was hot, dirty, noxious work. The first granite plug was succeeded by another, and then a third. After great effort they rejoined the upward shaft, but found it was now plugged with limestone. Determined, they excavated even that. Finally, they broke through, and found…

“Nothing,” Jomard said. “And yet something, which you will see today.”

Under the geographer’s direction, we reconnoitered this architectural confusion of entrances and junctions, and then stoop-walked to peer down the descending shaft that the Arabs had first encountered. The blackness at its end was total.

“Why a slope and not steps?” Napoleon wondered.

“To slide things, perhaps,” Jomard said. “Or maybe this is not an entry at all but serves some other function, such as a pipe, or a telescope pointed at a particular star.”

“The biggest monument in the world,” Bonaparte said, “and it makes no sense. There’s something here we are missing.”

With the help of torches carried by local guides we cautiously made our way downward about one hundred meters, stepping sideways for purchase. Carved blocks gave way to a smooth shaft through limestone bedrock, and then the shaft ended in a cavelike room with a pit and an uneven floor. It seemed unfinished.

“As you can see, this shaft seems to lead nowhere,” Jomard said. “We’ve found nothing of interest.”

“Then what are we doing here?” Bonaparte asked.

“The lack of obvious purpose is what is intriguing, don’t you think? Why did they dig down here? And wait, it gets better. Let’s go up again.”

We did so, panting, and sweaty. Dust and bat guano stained our clothes. The air in the pyramid was warm, moist, and musty.

Back at the junction of tunnel and shafts, we now ascended above our original entry point and entered the ascending shaft so laboriously excavated by al-Mamun’s men. This one rose at the same angle the initial one descended, and again, it was too low to stand upright. There were no steps and it was awkward to climb. After sixty meters, hot and panting, we emerged at another junction. Ahead, running level, was a low passage that led to a largely featureless room with gabled roof that the Arabs had dubbed the Queen’s Chamber, even though our guides told us there was no evidence any queen had ever been buried there. We crawled to it and stood up. There was an alcove at one end, possibly for a statue or upright coffin, but it was empty. The room was remarkable only in its plainness. Its granite blocks were absolutely featureless, each weighing many tons and so finely jointed that I couldn’t slip a piece of paper between them.

“The gabled roof might deflect some of the pyramid’s weight to the chamber walls,” Jomard said.