The Pyramids of Giza

Circa 350 CE, Memphis, Egypt

After trekking northward for three days, Ahmose neared the Nile Delta. It would be several months until the river indulged in its annual overflow, which coincided with the resplendent rise of Sirius in June, and several more months until the flood’s peak in September when murky, mineral-rich water engulfed and impregnated the river’s banks. But he could easily discern where the Nile Valley began—a stark line, which the flood rendered the year before, that offset the russet, rocky desert from dark, virile soil. Ahmose walked due east, wrestling with the weariness eager to creep into the marrow of his bones, until the sands of time coerced him to a propitious place, the edge of the Nile River.

In the distance, Ahmose could see the great pyramids, their polished white limestone casting off a powerful solar luminescence trumped only by the sun itself, to whom the pyramids, with their sun-ray shape and sunbeam gleam, paid homage.

“Praise the gods!” he said, falling to his knees and bowing to the earth.

Four days prior, Ahmose had been called in a dream from his hometown of Arsinoe in the Egyptian desert to the pyramids near the Nile Delta. On that night, a deep sleep had overcome him, like a midst covering the earth, and while in the folds of slumber, the god Orion, the great huntsman, had come to him. Ahmose had seen Orion once before, as a young boy, when Orion instructed him in the art of bow hunting, a craft which Ahmose excelled in, having become a celebrated antelope hunter among his townsmen. This time, however, Orion’s appearance was of a very different nature.

“Go north to the great pyramids, for it is there that your ultimate catch will be harnessed,” Orion had said.

Ahmose had learned of Orion’s connection to the ancient pyramids from his father who had spoken in wild gestures of a legend regarding three colossal pyramids situated near the Nile Delta. The three great pyramids, he had said, were an earthly reproduction of a stellar constellation—the constellation of Orion, god of hunting, also associated with death and the afterlife. The pyramids matched the three stars in Orion’s belt, both in alignment and proportion. They were a perfect imitation of their celestial counterpart, he had said.

Within each pyramid were burial chambers where ancient Egyptian royalty from the age of the pharaoh’s, thousands of years before Ahmose’s time, were laid to rest. From these chambers, airshafts extended leading to the pyramids’ exterior, and these shafts pointed directly toward the constellation of Orion, his father had said. The souls of the royal deceased would ultimately travel through these shafts, being projected directly toward Orion and into the afterlife on a straight path, easy and free of perils, unlike the fate all other souls who would need to embark on a dangerous journey through the underworld to get to the afterlife. The pyramids, his father had said, were not simply splendid tombs, but machines designed to aid the pharaoh’s journey to the distant stars. They were created to serve as the pharaoh’s gateway to the afterlife.

By the time night fell, Ahmose had journeyed to the base of the largest of the three pyramids. There he leaned in silence against its massive limestone blocks, staring up at the constellation of Orion, lying in wait for some further message or instruction. As Orion’s belt came into perfect alignment with the three pyramids, they seemed to shine brighter, so bright, in fact, that the entire plateau became illuminated by starlight. It was at that moment that Ahmose spotted a young woman, her wide hips and narrow waist accentuated by the silky black tresses running down to the small of her back, looking up at Orion with the same wonder in her eyes. When she caught sight of Ahmose, their gazes becoming locked upon one another, he immediately knew that she was the “ultimate catch” that Orion, the great huntsman, had been referring to.



The Truth of the Matter: The Orion correlation theory, which posits that the three greatest pyramids in the Giza complex were intentionally designed and built to correspond to the three stars in the belt of the Orion constellation, is a hypothesis in pyramidology first presented in the late 1980s. This story’s explanation of the reason for this correlation is true. The characters in this story are fictional.

Spartan

Circa 400 BCE, Sparta, Greece

Atreus danced for hours to the sound of jingling cymbals and castanets on his wedding day. He had just turned thirty years of age, and the time had come for him to marry. It was, in fact, mandated by the state.

Atreus’ bride had been captured by her bridesmaid and, in line with tradition, her head shaved bare to the scalp, a rite of passage signaling her entry into a new life. She was then dressed in menswear—a simple cloak of linen and a pair of oversized, open-toed sandals with a red tongue—before being laid down upon a bare mattress in a dark room.

“I wish you luck,” her bridesmaid whispered. “May the greatest of pleasures greet you this eve,” she said, giggling upon exit.

Atreus looked forward to visiting his new bride, whose belt he would unfasten with great pleasure. He would visit her with the same enthusiasm time and time again, for it was an escape from his austere and rigid mode of being—an escape from the Spartan way of life.

Atreus was reared from birth in the ways of self-discipline, like all men of Sparta. Once emerging from his mother’s womb, he was bathed in wine. He showed himself to be a strong child, not protesting like a weakling as two of his siblings had done; both were thrown into the chasm on Mount Taygetos with all other newborns of the feeble variety, as per the orders of the city’s elders. Atreus had been accepted into society where he would be meticulously cultivated into a Spartan citizen and soldier so that others across the Greek-speaking world might one day know his name; in this way, all men of Sparta were raised—as fighters and survivors.

At age seven, Atreus began his military training, leaving his home to live in a communal mess where youth underwent constant military drills—running, jumping, and weapons training of all kinds—and studied reading, writing, music, and dance. He was also taught to endure hunger and thirst, pain and hardship, fatigue and sleep deprivation.

Atreus was made to walk without shoes, bathe in the cold waters of the river Eurotas, and wore the same piece of cloth every day, receiving a new one from the state once a year, by which time every boy’s garment was ripped and worn thin. He slept on top of a mat of straw and reed cut from the riverbanks, without a blanket or headrest, and was often given broth in meager portions as his main meal. He was encouraged to steal food to help fill his belly, the state believing theft, and the stealth it required, to be a military exercise. Though if he were caught, Atreus would be punished, made to endure a harsh flogging, which he would be forced to suffer in silence lest he be beat again.

At age twenty, Atreus and his mess hall mates each entered a club, comprised of fifteen members, where emphasis was placed on cultivating a sense of brotherhood—reliance upon another. Thanks to his militaristic prowess, Atreus was accepted into the club Krypteia, which trained in the summer, winter, and spring months for combat in the months of autumn during which time his club declared war on the state’s helot population.

In the autumn, the state sent Atreus and his brothers out to the countryside where the helots—members of the slave population—lived, and were given a mere dagger to supplement their skills and cunning. They were instructed to kill any helot they encountered at night, advised to take food and any other useful furnishings, particularly clothing and potential weaponry, to help them survive the killing season. Atreus showed he was willing to kill, even at such a young age, proving to the Spartan leadership that he was worthy of joining their ranks.

Atreus had looked forward to his thirtieth birthday since childhood, for then he would be wed. When he first caught site of his bride, the light cascading down upon her when he open the door to her room, he was pleased. Almost every day of his wedded life, except at times of war, he would delight in an afternoon romp with his bride. Yet, as the sky dimmed each night, he would rush back to his barracks where, up until the ripe age of sixty, he was required to eat and sleep. Such was the Spartan way of life.



The Truth of the Matter: The fictional elements in this story are its characters.

Testimony

Circa 200 BCE, Rome, Italy

Herminius had been sitting in a crowded prison for days, pleading with the gods for mercy as he awaited trial in Rome’s court. He took solace in the friendship of a haggardly old man, his wrinkles etched deep by time, who stood accused of stealing another man’s sheep. The old man was distressed and heedlessly chewed his nails, which he bit down to the nubs, but his constant chatter kept Herminius’ mind occupied. He spoke incessantly of his innocence, though his accuser was of higher class and thus had the upper hand in court. If the old man simply agreed to having stolen the animal, he would pay his accuser the value of the property, but if he denied it and was still found guilty, he would have to pay double the value—an expense that would cost him his livelihood.

As for Herminius, he had taken out the eye of a surely youth after excessive flirting with his wife prompted a stern slug to the youth’s face, a slug made bolder, and stronger, by goblets of nectarous wine. He cracked the youth’s eye socket, but worse still, his spiked ring poked straight into the youth’s iris, filling his sight with a sickening mixture of blood and metal. His accuser was rumored to have forty-eight witnesses willing to testify—the maximum allowed—but it was uncertain whether the youth’s father would demand and eye for an eye, or if he would seek to recover the amount of profit lost from his maimed son’s now less-than-bright future employment prospects. Hermenius’ stomach turned as he pondered his fate, his body trembling and sweating in anticipation of his immanent encounter with Roman law.

Rome first established a code of laws in 450 BCE, during the time of the Republic, after a plebian revolt. The common people had demanded to know their rights. A ten-man commission was established and a list of laws and penalties drawn up, called the Twelve Tables, which made crime and punishment more transparent.

From the corner in which he sat, cradling his knees in sorrow, Herminius glanced up and around the prison, looking pitifully upon those in a worse predicament than he—those who faced the death penalty. Most kept their silence, not wishing to speak of the crimes with which they had been charged, though it was well known which trespasses carried such a grave sentence: crimes of violence, incendiarism, carrying a weapon with criminal intent, or purchasing, selling, or administering poison. Upper class citizens charged with such a crime were generally exiled for a given time and their property confiscated. Common people were brutally flogged or given a life’s sentence in the mines, though in the time of the Empire, they could request the arena where they would meet a grander and quicker death. Those from the lowest rungs of society would be buried alive, thrown from a cliff, crucified, impaled, or set aflame.

Without warning, a set of guards lifted Herminius by the arms.

“The court awaits you,” one of the guards said.

Herminius was brought to a rectangular building near the forum where a judge sat on an elevated seat at the far end of the room, and the jury, who ruled by majority vote, sat on benches on one side, opposite the witnesses.

The judge called Herminius’ accuser and the witnesses forward to take an oath swearing they would not speak falsely. Each man placed his right hand on his testis—placing one’s hands on something so sacred guaranteed the truth of one’s testimony—and each man took his oath. And so Herminius’ trial began, and several hours later, with many tears and pleas for appeal—of which none were ever allowed—the trial ended.



The Truth of the Matter: This is by far the most contested etymology addressed yet. Although many do not agree in an association between “testis” and “testimony,” some believe it to be true, and the relation was too amusing to ignore. One of the greatest pieces of evidence cited by scholars in support of this association comes from the Bible where it states, “And Abraham said unto his eldest servant of his house... Put, I pray thee, thy hand under my thigh, and I will make thee swear by the Lord...’” (Gen. 23:2–3, KJV). The vast majority of other details in this story—including the history of Roman law and the crimes and punishments listed—are true. The characters are fictional.