‘Jack, this is incredible. Lanowski’s just finishing his 3-D CGI map of the site. The final version should be streaming online in a few minutes.’
Costas turned back to his screen, and Jack continued staring at the image he had called up on his monitor before Macalister had come in. It was a still from the video he had taken with his helmet camera inside the volcano that morning; below it he had arranged a line of thumbnails of other Neolithic sites in the Near East that he had pulled up for comparison. The image from the morning was raw, unrefined, the foreground still specked with white where the light from his headlamp had reflected off particles in the water. But seeing it like that made it more vivid, as if he were still caught in the amazement of that moment when he had first entered the chamber. It showed the pillars standing like sentinels, three-metre-tall monoliths carved out of volcanic tufa, each one rising to a T-shape a metre or more wide. He could see animals carved in shallow relief on the pillars – lions, wild boar, scorpions and spiders, leopards and bulls. On the back wall of the cave he spotted something he had not seen on the dive: a bull’s skull fixed into a hole in the rock, half in and half out, the bone plastered over and the horns painted red. Above it was a painting of vultures swooping down on a headless human body, shaped crudely in outline; beside that were the spectral remains of painted animals, visible where they had not been hacked away and smoothed out. Not only the pillars but also the carvings on them seemed to have been freshly chiselled, sharply delineated. Out with the old, in with the new. Archaeologists had begun to talk about the Neolithic as a time of religious transition, a time when humans first conceived of gods with human characteristics, gods who were to play out all the human capacity for cruelty and greed in the mythologies of Mesopotamia and the Near East. Jack stared at the pillars. Was this where it had all begun? Was Atlantis the birthplace of the gods?
He held the mouse and dragged the image up to see the floor of the chamber. The lab analysis of the sample he had taken had just come through, showing that the stone floor had been covered in layers of terrazzo, burnt lime. Embedded within the lime was the most extraordinary sight of all: the plastered human skulls that seemed to be emerging from the ground in the same way that the bull’s skull was emerging from the rock wall. He scrolled over the other skulls, the ones without plaster, some of them fallen alongside the three stone basins he could now see, each about half a metre high and carved out of the living rock. The scattered skulls and the basins were partly covered with the calcite accretion that had settled over the floor since the inundation. It was a haunting, ghostly scene, with the pillars like rough-formed bodies standing in the background, towering over the toppled skulls. Jack tried to retain a professional detachment, but it made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. What had been going on here?
Costas slid his chair alongside, minimized the image and tapped a key. A three-dimensional lattice appeared on the screen, angled as if they were viewing it from the upper right-hand corner. The terrain mapper had been designed to project a holographic image on to the miniature screens inside their e-suit helmets, to help them navigate over seabed features in poor light conditions, using GPS, sonar, photogrammetric and other data previously fed into the computer, but here it was being used to build up a flat-screen isometric image of the site. As they watched, the grid lattice disappeared below a contoured image of the Black Sea bathymetry, zooming down to the abyssal plain in the centre of the sea and then rising up the slope towards the Turkish shore and their present position some fifteen nautical miles off the border with the Republic of Georgia. Jack saw the twin peaks of the volcano just below the surface of the sea, and then the slope where the flow of lava and other volcanic fallout had buried the ruins of the ancient city five years ago, in a terrifying eruption that had nearly cost them their lives.
‘I’ll pause it here,’ Costas said, tapping a key. ‘You remember when we left this place five years ago we thought the eruption would have destroyed pretty well everything of the lower town?’
Jack nodded. ‘You said you’d need a sub-bottom profiler that could see through lava to find out what was left. A powerful low-frequency echo sounder. The stuff you’ve been tinkering with in the engineering workshop at IMU for the last five years.’
‘Not tinkering, Jack. Perfecting.’
‘Okay. Perfecting.’
The image sharpened, showing details of rock outcrops and fissures on the slopes. It was like looking at an aerial view of Mount St Helens in Washington State after the 1980 eruption, a scene of utter devastation. Along the seaward slope, where Jack remembered five years before seeing dense pueblo-style buildings, all he saw now was a great slick like a frozen mudslide, completely burying the original rocky substrate and all of the ancient structures. His heart sank as he saw the scale of the destruction. ‘It’s much worse than I feared. Those were mud-brick buildings. The lava must have destroyed everything.’
‘Well, prepare to be amazed.’
Costas tapped a key and the image transformed. The wide beds of lava constricted to narrow flows down the side of the volcano, like frozen rivers. In between Jack saw ghostly rectilinear outlines covering the slope. Costas pointed at the upper part of the screen. ‘You’re right, the lava would have destroyed all the mud-brick structures in their path. Where we dived this morning was through one of the solidified flows from five years ago, and the only structure that survived was that stone pillar with the golden Atlantis symbol. But the lava flows are much narrower than we thought. When we were boring the tunnel yesterday, I used the submersible to take some core samples further down the slope, and I’ve just had a look at the results. Most of it is not lava but pyroclastic flow, solidified mud and ash. It looks as if the volcanic ash hardened with lime into a kind of hydraulic concrete, like the stuff we know the people of Atlantis used to make waterproof walls. Where the flow was pyroclastic, it didn’t destroy Atlantis. It actually preserved it.’
He tapped again, and the image sharpened further. Jack let out a low whistle. ‘Well I’ll be damned,’ he said. It was as if the flow had been peeled away to reveal intact structures beneath, a vast complex of flat-roofed buildings that seemed to have been built organically, reaching three or four storeys high and spreading up the slope of the volcano. Jack stared, shaking his head. ‘It’s fantastic. It’s like jumping back five years to when we first saw Atlantis from our Aquapods. I never thought I’d see that again.’
‘Well, we won’t be excavating it in a hurry. Even if the volcano goes quiet and we can get down there again, it’d be like mining on the moon. Roman Herculaneum was covered by pyroclastic flow from Vesuvius, and they’ve only excavated one fifth of the site in two hundred and fifty years. And Herculaneum’s not under a hundred metres of water poisoned by sulphur dioxide.’
Jack was still stunned by the image. ‘More so than anything we saw five years ago, this view is incredibly similar to Neolithic houses found elsewhere.’
‘That place on the Konya plain? Catalhoyuk?’
Jack nodded. ‘About three hundred kilometres south-east of here.’ He reached over and tapped one of the thumbnails, revealing an artist’s impression of a town rising out of a plain, the structures built together like an Indian pueblo in the southern United States. ‘Do you remember I took a few days off from the excavation at Troy last month to go there? A friend of mine is leading an expedition into the Taurus mountains to the south, looking for caves that might contain paintings and other clues to their Stone Age ancestors. The excavations at Catalhoyuk in the 1960s gave the world an image of what the first Neolithic towns looked like.’
‘It dates to the same time period as Atlantis?’
Jack nodded. ‘Early Neolithic, the first period of settled farming after the end of the Ice Age, beginning about eleven thousand years ago. Atlantis was inundated by the Black Sea in the late sixth millennium BC, but the radiocarbon dates we took from timbers in the buildings five years ago show that some of these structures date at least two millennia
before that. Catalhoyuk flourished in the eighth millennium BC. But there were even earlier Neolithic sites.’ He touched another thumbnail and the scene transformed to an image of a Near Eastern tell, an ancient city mound cut through by old excavation trenches with ruined walls protruding from the sections. ‘That’s Jericho, in the Jordan Valley, just north of the Dead Sea,’ he said. ‘You know the Old Testament story of Joshua leading the Israelites into the Promised Land, and coming to Jericho?’
Costas screwed up his eyes for a moment, then recited: ‘ So the people shouted when the priests blew with their trumpets: and it came to pass, when the people heard the sound of the trumpet, and the people shouted with a great shout, that the walls fell down flat.’ He turned to Jack ruefully. ‘The benefits of a Greek Orthodox background, and then a boarding school in New York where we had to memorize passages from the Bible.’
Jack grinned at him. ‘You never cease to amaze me. Is that how you got your interest in poetry?’
‘Nope. That was the Dead Poets Society, after school. We had to join something, and I hated sports. It meant I could hide in the back row and doodle submarine engine-room layouts.’
‘Some of the poetry must have washed off on you.’
‘That’s what Jeremy says. You know, he can declaim whole passages of Shakespeare. We do it when we’re alone in the engineering lab. That’s how I got that Othello quote.’
Jack shook his head. ‘Well, I just hope some of the poetry goes into the submersibles.’
‘Exactly what Jeremy said when we finished Little Joey.’ Costas sighed. ‘Little Joey, who has made the ultimate sacrifice.’
Jack put a hand on Costas’ shoulder. ‘I really am sorry.’ He turned back to the image on the screen. ‘The excavations at Jericho during the 1950s revealed a perimeter wall around the city almost four metres high, as well as an eight-metre-high stone tower. The conventional Biblical chronology puts Joshua about the middle of the second millennium BC. But the walls of Jericho didn’t date anywhere near that time. They dated a staggering six millennia earlier, to the eighth or even the ninth millennium BC. So the archaeology tells a far more fantastic story than the Bible. The excavations at Jericho were the first to put the early Neolithic on the map, and showed that collective endeavour to make large monuments like walls and towers was possible right at the dawn of civilization, at a time when most humans still lived as hunter-gatherers.’
Costas whistled. ‘And wasn’t Jericho the site where the first of those plastered skulls was found?’
Jack nodded. ‘Just like the ones in the inner sanctum we saw today. There was a connection between these early communities across this region, a connection in their religion, their belief system. But Jericho’s at the periphery of that early Neolithic world, at the south-west tip of the so-called fertile crescent that extended up to Anatolia and down through Mesopotamia. I believe that the true heartland lay here, along the Black Sea coast before it flooded, and down into Anatolia further south. And I’m not just talking about Catalhoyuk. Two other sites have revolutionized our picture of early-Neolithic religion.’
He touched another thumbnail, and Costas’ jaw dropped. ‘Holy cow,’ he exclaimed. ‘Those pillars. They’re almost identical.’ It was as if the underwater sanctum from Atlantis had been lifted out of the cave and on to dry land, and sunk in a depression in the ground to make it semi-subterranean, like a crypt. The photograph showed a partially excavated oval structure about ten metres across, with T-shaped pillars placed at intervals around a coarsely built wall. On the nearest pillars they could just make out low-relief carvings of animals and vultures, and what appeared to be a human arm.
‘That’s at Gobekli Tepe, about two hundred kilometres south of here on the Anatolian plateau,’ Jack said. He touched another thumbnail, and a similar image appeared showing a group of pillars arranged in rows within a chamber, sunk into the ground but rectilinear in shape. ‘And here’s Nevali Cori, the second site. There’s also another pillar with an arm, and a sculpture in the round showing a human head with a vulture on it.’
‘So this is why you were so excited when you saw that chamber today.’
‘It fits into a pattern. These are among the most extraordinary archaeological discoveries ever made.’
‘What’s the date?’ Costas asked.
‘That’s what makes these discoveries so earth-shattering. The Gobekli Tepe complex dates to at least 9000 BC. That’s eleven thousand years old. Before the first evidence for agriculture, before the first settled towns. Even before Jericho. This place was built by hunter-gatherers. They’re even calling this the world’s first temple, the Garden of Eden. But there’s something not right about that. Temples imply worship, and that’s a modern concept. Look at the vultures, the skulls. I don’t think anything was worshipped here. I think this was a place for ceremony, for ritual, but more like an access point to the spirit world.’
‘Like the idea of an axis mundi, a portal between hell and heaven.’
‘Except that our idea of the underworld, of hell, may be an invention of the developing religions after this period, something to frighten people into compliance. It’s from then on that priest-kings began to shape religion to their own purposes, invoking human-like gods that melded in the eyes of the people with the priest-kings themselves and were worshipped as one.’
Costas gestured at the pillars. ‘How long did this place last?’
‘That’s what’s so fascinating. Gobekli Tepe wasn’t transformed into a later religious complex. Some time around 8000 BC, it was deliberately buried. Thousands of years later, the same thing happens to henges and burial mounds in prehistoric Europe. In some places it may have to do with ancestor worship, with the idea that ancestors who were first venerated in these places had become too old and distant and needed to be parcelled away, to be buried to make way for the new. But I don’t think that provides the full explanation. I think we’re looking at the eclipsing of a whole belief system, one that was somehow still threatening enough for the new priests to order the destruction of the ancient ritual places, for those sites never to be used again. I believe the turning point came with the development of the first towns and cities, with the rise of priest-kings. They came at a time of new gods, gods that were beginning to emerge in the final period at sites like Gobekli Tepe when those pillars with the arms like humans were erected.’
‘And at Atlantis maybe the same thing was happening,’ Costas suggested, tapping a thumbnail to recall the underwater image from that morning. ‘This sanctum was once open-air, on the flank of the volcano. It was once a cave with paintings, but it looks as if all that old stuff was being upgraded, with those pillars and new carvings. At the end, there was only a small entranceway through a masonry wall, and then that was blocked off. Someone was trying to obliterate it.’
‘Exactly,’ Jack enthused. ‘And all of this involves planning and manpower, whether you’re creating the site or destroying it. It doesn’t take a race of supermen to build a complex like this one, but it does take plenty of toil and organization. If this was the Garden of Eden, it wasn’t a place to lie around in and eat apples. There was a lot of quarrying involved to make those pillars, using primitive stone and antler tools. They were free-standing monoliths: they’d been quarried and dragged into position. The biggest of them is thought to weigh at least twenty tons. Twenty tons. That was my point about the walls of Jericho. Hundreds of people were brought together to work on these monuments, persuaded by some authority to carry out back-breaking and dangerous labour.’
‘So how does the date fit with Atlantis?’
‘I think what we found today is really early, older than anything else. The cave paintings in that Atlantis sanctum are Palaeolithic, at least twelve thousand years old. And five years ago we found the other cave deep in the mountainside, the one we dubbed the Hall of the Ancestors, with organic paint pigments we radiocarbon-dated back at least thirty-five thousand years, as old as the earliest cave paintings anywhere in t
he world. This volcano was a site of religious significance way back into the Ice Age. Shamans must have come here from miles around to go deep inside the mountain and try to access the spirit world.’
Costas nodded again at the image. ‘So at the beginning of the Neolithic, say eleven thousand years ago, you’ve got a new group arriving?’
‘I’d suggest new ideas from within, even from the shamans themselves, a new generation perhaps who could see how the world around them was changing and wanted to maintain control over it. They were people with a new religious power they could impose on the local population. People with the drive and vision of the original settlers at the site, who could translate that energy in a different way. A group whose influence soon spread far and wide over Anatolia and the Fertile Crescent, to places like Gobekli Tepe and Catalhoyuk and Jericho.’
‘You said they had power over the local population, Jack. Is that how they built this place? Did they enslave the population?’
Jack pursed his lips. ‘It’s possible. Remember, the original people here were hunter-gatherers, the ones who found these caves and made the paintings. It’s even possible that organized agriculture was forced on them by the new priests as a way of having settled labour available to build religious monuments. That’s the kind of radical idea archaeologists started to play with when the temple at Gobekli Tepe was found, a temple older than the settlement around it, older even than the first evidence for agriculture. If we can pin that idea down, corroborate it, then Atlantis is an even bigger revelation than I could have imagined.’
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