Golden Chariot

by Chris Karlsen

  “It’s Akkadian cuneiform,” Refik said.

  “The language of diplomacy,” Charlotte said. “Who’s the sender, and who’s the receiver?”

  “We can’t tell. That portion of the text didn’t survive.”

  “Here, where the writing changes--” Ursula Schweiger, a new team member like Charlotte, pointed to a line of faint pictographs at the bottom. “Is this a form of Egyptian hieroglyphs?”

  “No, it’s Luwian or Luwoglyphic,” Charlotte said, familiar with the design. “Looks like part of a list, but of what?”

  “The ship’s a merchantman. Odds are it’s a cargo list,” Gerard, one of the researchers suggested.

  “In a diplomat’s letter?”

  “Why not? Envoys traveled on merchant vessels. Not every kingdom possessed ships.”

  “True.” Charlotte ran a light hand over the clay amphora that contained the diptych. “Anatolian grey?”

  “Yes,” Refik said.

  “Luwian cuneiform and Anatolian grey pottery-know who I think the source is?” she said, encouraged by the combination.

  “Don’t jump to conclusions. Neither means it’s from Troy. Nor can we assume it’s a diplomatic letter,” Refik cautioned, reading her mind. She’d presented her theory to him when she petitioned the MIAR for a spot on the recovery operation.

  “But it could be.”

  “The Hittites had a large empire. This could’ve come from many places.” Refik turned from the display. “Everyone follow me,” he said, exiting the temporary conservation tent.

  As they walked together, he explained the details of the project. While he chatted, he read through paperwork, signed equipment inventories, or gave a quick pat on the shoulder to a passing colleague.

  Charlotte knew of him by reputation. Nautical archaeologists respected him. His harsh criticism of treasure hunters as exploiters seeking only personal gain incited heated debate. Treasure hunters routinely disparaged him on their blogs.

  Charlotte wanted to work with him since entering graduate school. His particular research concentrated on shipwrecks located in the Aegean and Eastern Mediterranean. Her field of interest, the Trojan War, focused on the same geographic area. If proof of her theory existed, she believed it was here.

  He led them to a picnic style table with wooden benches on each side and olive crates at the ends for extra seating. Canvas draped over poles sheltered the table from the sun.

  “Sit.”

  The group spread out. A few sat at the table, others lay on the ground, propped on their elbows. Charlotte sat at the far end of the long bench that faced the sea. A gentle breeze off the water blew refreshing cool air and welcome relief from the heat.

  Refik addressed the team. “For our new members who don’t know, a representative of the Ministry is present at all archaeological sites.”

  Atakan stepped from the shade of a cedar tree. He bent and said something in Refik’s ear. Refik gave a single word reply. “This is Atakan Vadim, our liaison and an archaeologist. He will also participate in the recovery process.”

  Atakan smiled and then walked toward an uncomfortable Charlotte. His appearance didn’t smack of good news. She hadn’t cared for the way their conversation in Santorini ended. The two of them assigned to this wreck might be coincidence, except she didn’t believe in coincidence. She never understood the absurdity of using a hypothetical with no basis in fact to explain unusual events. Very unscientific.

  There were dozens of other archaeological sites in Turkey. Why wasn’t he at one of them? Some backdoor wheeling and dealing went on for him to turn up here. His presence had to relate to her and the gulet incident. Or, it had nothing to do with the incident and was paranoia on her part. Paranoia was for the weak or the guilty.

  He bypassed the half-empty bench across from hers and crowded into the small space between her and the end of the bench. Any other place and time, she’d tell him, “Sit on the other side, why park here?” Today, she slid over to give him room.

  “Why didn’t you tell me in Santorini you’d be on this shipwreck?” she whispered.

  “You didn’t ask.”

  She faced front with her cheek on her palm and tried to ignore him.

  Atakan tapped her arm.

  She turned. “What?”

  “I didn’t know until I returned. I don’t make the assignment decisions. Our organization only has a handful of certified divers, one less with Ekrem’s death. It happens I was available.”

  The explanation sounded plausible. She still wasn’t convinced a behind the scenes deal hadn’t gone on.

  “Uh-huh.” She returned her attention to Refik.

  “You will be paired into individual teams for the duration of this season.” Refik announced the pairs. He came to Charlotte. “Dashiell, you’re with Vadim.”

  Chapter Seven

  Charlotte hid her consternation and gave Refik a simple nod. As a first-timer with Refik’s crew, she expected he’d partner her with one of the experienced members. That’s what she’d do. Atakan was new to the team too. Why stick them together? She suspected Atakan’s influence again in the decision, or more likely the Ministry’s.

  Finished with the assignments, Refik ordered everyone to begin loading equipment and personal belongings onto the MIAR research boat, the Suraya.

  Charlotte grabbed Atakan’s arm and pulled him aside. “The Ministry is behind this pairing. Don’t bother to lie. It’s obvious what’s going on. You’re here because that jerk Petalas suspects me of involvement in the gulet sinking. All of you can think what you want. I did nothing wrong.”

  “How paranoid you are.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t start the day that way, if you catch my drift.”

  “Our cultural heritage is precious to us. Turkey is rich in history and artifacts. My purpose here is to protect our relics and the integrity of the site.”

  “Yeah, and you just happened to be paired with me.”

  “Refik selected the partners. I had no say in the matter”

  No say in the assignment to this wreck, no say in partner choice, her bullshit meter spun at warp speed.

  “Charlotte, Atakan, get busy,” Refik called from the dock where a stacked pallet of wood waited to be loaded.

  Charlotte waved, acknowledging the order. “Paranoid, my ass,” she said loud enough for Atakan to hear as she walked away.

  “Whose designer bag?” Ursula asked. Tanned, with a white-blonde braid to her waist and German, she fingered the Gucci logo tag on Charlotte’s case.

  “Mine.”

  Ursula straightened as Charlotte approached. “Real or knock-off?”

  “Real.”

  “Re-al,” Ursula repeated to her twin sister Uma, stretching the word.

  Uma looked unimpressed. She wore her hair close cropped with sides that winged up, Euro-punk style, distinguishing her from her sister.

  Charlotte grabbed her case.

  “It’s a recovery project, not a resort. No one brings an expensive bag,” Ursula said.

  No one on Charlotte’s previous shipwreck team commented on her luggage. “I brought what I had.”

  “Whatever, as you Americans like to say.” Ursula turned to Uma. “Let’s go.” They left for the dock with their generic bags.

  “Nice luggage,” Atakan said, as he passed.

  “I brought what I had.” The two pieces she came with sank with the gulet. Her mother and stepfather gave her the luggage for her birthday. She contacted Gucci in Istanbul who air-expressed replacements to Bodrum. It never dawned on her to buy less expensive ones.

  #

  Bozburun Peninsula

  Scrub covered the rocky hills. The peninsula’s equally rocky shoreline surrounded the bay where this latest discovery rested. Not far from there was the site of the Glass Wreck, a sunken eleventh century merchantman discovered in the 1970’s.

  Local fishermen assisted the team, ferrying material and people from the Suraya to shore. Construction of the group’
s camp began immediately. Portable generators were connected first to start the food and fresh water chilling. Later in the afternoon, they’d set up the other generators for the computers and additional equipment.

  The women nailed thick mesh screening to two-by-four frames. The men hauled the sections to the flattest areas along the cliffs. There, they’d be assembled into various sized buildings, according to their purpose. The combined kitchen and dining hall and the water system were the first priority. The lab came next. Protection for the artifacts and preservation of conservation equipment was a major concern. After the lab, they fashioned hostel-style dormitories and a stall shower. Everyone assisted in attaching the heavy, woven straw mats used for roofing material. The crew finished the entire compound by the end of the day. The overall layout was similar to a wartime MASH unit, basic, but efficient. Project funds went to the operation and not to unnecessary amenities. They had everything they needed, enough for a group of “geeks obsessed with junk from some ancient yard sale” as Charlotte’s brother referred to archaeologists.

  Chapter Eight

  The Suraya anchored over the wreck between two barren islands. Refik unrolled a site-survey map across the console table in the ship’s bridge. Everyone gathered around to review the findings conducted by a submersible and an ROV.

  “That’s a nasty bit of business.” Charlotte pointed to a treacherous underwater ridge which ran unseen from the surface along the shore of one island. “I wonder if that caused the shipwreck.”

  “Maybe, could just as easily been a storm,” Refik said.

  After the review and a brief procedural discussion the slow process of excavation began. The ten individual teams had a specific assignment. One pair stayed onboard the Suraya as an emergency rescue unit. Each team was limited to twenty minutes underwater time. The descent and ascent took two minutes each, reducing work on the bottom to a mere sixteen minutes. Divers were allowed only two dives a day.

  Atakan was in charge of the Nikon camera while Charlotte carried a thousand-watt underwater light. A hundred-meter cable attached to the light ran on generator power from the deck of the Suraya. They’d take the latest pictures of the hull.

  “Help me go over the checklist,” Atakan said.

  He verified the items as she read off the equipment sheet. “Twenty-eight millimeter lens, long focus lens, exposure meter and camera bar.” She looked up. “Do you want me to carry the bar?”

  “No, I can manage, besides you have to deal with the light cable. Thank you, though.” He folded the bar into thirds and carried it upright like a foot soldier with a spear.

  She followed him to the platform. “Between the camera gear hanging off you and your dive gear, you look like one of the Transformers.”

  Atakan stopped and turned. “The action figures?”

  “Yes.”

  He checked his reflection in one of the bridge’s glass windows. “I do, don’t I? Which am I, a good one or an evil one?”

  “You tell me.”

  She hadn’t expected him to know who the Transformers were.

  “You read comics?”

  “Certainly not. My nephew has a set of the figures. What about you?”

  “I don’t read comics either. I rented the movie. Lots of slick CG work, I love that stuff.”

  #

  The warm, sapphire blue of the surface water turned colder and darker as they eased the fifty meters down the guidelines to the seabed. Absolute silence. Charlotte took a moment to enjoy the quiet and float, relaxed, free from gravity. This is how being in space must feel. On television, astronauts played like kids in their weightless environment. She believed they shared the same sense of liberty she experienced with every dive. She’d always felt a kinship with astronauts. Their helmets and suits reminded her of the ones used by early divers. Their air tanks were similar to a modern diver’s. Like the sea, space was an alien and spectacular world.

  She kicked away from the guideline and caught up with Atakan. They followed the grid markers established by the earlier teams through a field of pottery pieces.

  When they reached the wreck, they both paused. The currents swirled around the broken hull. They formed a vaporous veil in the faint light that filtered down from the surface. How lonely and forlorn the ship looked. Dead and forgotten, waiting three millennia for rediscovery. She tried to read Atakan’s expression behind the mask. Did the sight of the ship sadden him as well?

  Atakan set the light bar on the seabed for later use. She stood by as he attached the long lens. Finished, he gestured where he wanted her to light first. Initial pictures taken by the ROV showed the wreck positioned precariously on a steep slope of the ridge. Much of the port side lay in a protective layer of sand. The partial skeletal remains of the bow sat at an upward slant. Exposed to the open waters, shipworms had destroyed most of the wood. The stern rested downward at the severest degree of the incline.

  Atakan floated next to her, holding his wrist under the light. They checked their time. He’d photograph the exterior first. Then, if time permitted, as much of the bow’s cargo hold as possible.

  They approached from the stern. In the time from the original survey, a slide had occurred. Loose rocks covered more of the hull and the stern at the farthest point. The extent of the damage to the stern’s hold couldn’t be estimated pending thorough investigation.

  Seismic activity is a constant occurrence throughout the region. The slide wasn’t a surprise, but the danger it posed was a problem. The additional weight of the new rock layer coupled with the ship’s dicey position presented another hazard to a diver’s investigation. Movement, a shift in the distribution of weight, could send the stern into deeper water with the diver trapped inside. Or worse, newly displaced rocks might spill into the hold, crushing the diver. A horrible death either way.

  Atakan took pictures of the slide and they continued their examination of the exterior. Sections of the damaged bow lay among stone anchors and common tools of the era, adzes, ax heads and hammers. Remnants of a layer of dunnage protected another layer of goods which survived.

  They keyed on what appeared to be weapons, daggers and a sword. They kneeled to get a closer look. Atakan changed lenses while Charlotte gently hand-fanned the silt off.

  A sword. A single sword rather than a stock pile of weapons, rare for a Bronze Age cargo. If the shipment was intended as an ancient arms deal, there’d be a cache of swords and other weapons, spear tips and arrowheads clustered together. One sword with a few daggers were probably meant as gifts. The hilt appeared to have a faint ceremonial design and inset stones. They’d know more after cleaning.

  A Prince of Troy’s sword? Proof of Hektor’s existence? She’d need more than a sword, but it was a start. She needed a body of artifacts with irrefutable Trojan markings. From those, she had to find any reference, however vague, to the men of the Iliad. One big find would suffice. Photography forgotten, she reached for the artifact.

  Atakan grabbed her wrist before she touched the piece. He shook his head and mimed writing. The ship’s cargo needed to be tagged and the location of the artifacts documented first.

  They entered deeper into the bow hold. Stacks of medium-sized spherical and oval amphoras, many intact, and larger pithois still sealed were scattered around. She hoped some of the clay pots bore a design to help identify their origin. None did from her limited view.

  Atakan snapped more photos as they kicked further into the recesses of the wreck. In the corner, chunks of rotted wood mixed with the splintered sections of round pegs were piled together. Nearby were concretion encrusted metal pieces, possibly tin or copper items.

  The upper deck of this type of merchantman was limited to modest portions of the stern and less of the bow. One end was used as the crew’s living space and passenger area. The other flat surface held the ship’s anchors. The common construction of the time left the majority of the ship’s cargo exposed.

  The last unexplored interior area was in the part of the stern
most vulnerable to slippage. Here decking had collapsed into the hold burying part of the protected cargo.

  She panned the chamber with the light. Fragments of double-handled stirrup jars, broken oil lamps, cook pots and bowls littered the sand...the crew’s possessions. The sailor’s graveyard.

  Two mottled Moray eels streaked toward them from a crevice, as they eased around the far side. She immediately lit the section in case there were more. Fast and aggressive, with sharp teeth, the eels lingered in dark places.

  As she swept the area with the light, they discovered rows of Rhodian amphoras, a meter tall, blocked the entry into the deepest portion of the hold. The weight of their contents contributed to the stern’s excavation issues.

  Charlotte and Atakan attempted various positions from above, trying for a better view into the recess with no success. They swam closer to the ruined keel. The narrow space didn’t allow them to parallel each other. She tapped her chest and pointed, signaling she’d go ahead.

  She kept the light moving as she walked on the bottom. Something glinted as she swung past. A fraction of a bright object poked out from under chunks of hull. Trojan Gold?

  She waved Atakan over and swapped her light for his camera. Like he did earlier, she mimed where she wanted him to look.

  He went where she directed and quickly returned. He touched two fingers to his mask by his eyes and then back to the spot to indicate he’d seen the object. They checked the time. Their sixteen minutes were up.

  Chapter Nine

  “I need to report to the Director. I’m going to the village,” Atakan told Refik. Refik offered to let him use the Suraya’s phone. “Thank you, but it must be in private.”

  A local boatman greeted Atakan and Charlotte with a broad, snaggle-toothed smile. He gave Charlotte a hand into the small boat, helping her as she picked her way over his empty baskets. More outgoing with another man, he clasped Atakan’s hand between his calloused palms. Atakan returned the clasp in similar fashion with a rapid exchange of words and nods.