driving in cities but clearly
enjoying their trip in the country. On
the side of one was a logo for the Al Jazeera news network.
It had been
four days since he had left Amarna. Christmas Eve back in England, he thought
to himself in wonder as the heat from the midday sun beat down on his
shoulders. Back home, people would be doing their last minute shopping and
panicking about whether there were enough sprouts for everyone; here, a
procession of people had gathered in the desert around something his wife had
found. “What on earth could it be?” he wondered, images of a surreal modern day
Nativity playing out in his mind.
“ Assalaam aleikum, George!” a shout came
from above him. “Nice hat!”
Looking up he
saw Ben’s huge grin and waved. “ Waleikum
salaam ! How do I get up?” he shouted.
“Keep going,
you’ll see a path in front of you!”
“George!” Gail
shouted as she joined Ben.
He laughed and
made his way to the path. “Hello honey. Been having fun, I hear?”
The stone
stood six feet tall from the bottom of the excavation. A crowd of people stood
looking at the other side of it. George thought he recognised three of the
students from the dig, but there were five men with them he had not seen
before. A photographer circled the stone taking pictures. A tall man in his early thirties, he was
wearing khaki shorts and a blue sleeveless jacket covered in pockets, a camera
bag slung over his shoulder. He assumed that this had to be the reporter from
Al Jazeera.
At one end of
the excavation was a massive pile of sand and rock rising nearly five feet
high.
Gail took
George’s arm and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I missed you,” she whispered in
his ear.
“You found this ?” he replied in disbelief. “On your
own?”
“I was with
her!” Ben complained with a grin.
Gail laughed.
“It was just sitting here,” she explained. “And now it’s been excavated, it
looks like there’s a lot more to it.”
George stood
at the edge of the trench and looked at the stone. The two sides he could see from where he was
were rough stone, in contrast to the flat, smooth top. From this angle, it
looked totally unremarkable.
“We thought
that there may have been hieroglyphs under the sand on this side,” Gail said,
“but we were wrong. It simply goes down
to the base like that. It also looks like it was buried deliberately, judging from
the deposits we excavated.”
George walked
round to the back of the trench and was met by the Professor, who shook his
hand and asked him how his trip south had been.
“Not as
exciting as this,” he gestured towards the stone. “What is it?”
“It’s covering
something, but we don’t know what yet.”
“And what does that say?” he pointed to the
hieroglyphs. Compared to those that he had seen elsewhere in Egypt that week,
the engravings looked sloppy, almost rushed .
The top half were noticeably more worn from where they had been exposed to the
elements.
“Basically,”
Gail said from behind them, “it says Nefertiti.”
He glanced
over his shoulder at her and raised an eyebrow. She grinned from ear to ear. “So
how do you know there’s something underneath it?” he asked, looking at the Professor.
Mamdouh
climbed into the trench and stood at the end of the rectangular block. “Because
of these.” He pointed with his index finger at a series of rough, straight
lines scratched into the bedrock and ending at the edge of the stone. Where the
Professor was standing, the trench had been lengthened by at least fifteen
feet. The lines stopped just before the end of the trench.
“It was pushed
into place, and it now sits a couple of centimetres deep on what we assume must
be a small sill that runs around the edge of a hole beneath it,” Mamdouh said. “If
it was not covering anything, why would it have been pushed nearly five metres
along these grooves and placed so carefully at this precise point.” He put his
hands on his hips
enjoying their trip in the country. On
the side of one was a logo for the Al Jazeera news network.
It had been
four days since he had left Amarna. Christmas Eve back in England, he thought
to himself in wonder as the heat from the midday sun beat down on his
shoulders. Back home, people would be doing their last minute shopping and
panicking about whether there were enough sprouts for everyone; here, a
procession of people had gathered in the desert around something his wife had
found. “What on earth could it be?” he wondered, images of a surreal modern day
Nativity playing out in his mind.
“ Assalaam aleikum, George!” a shout came
from above him. “Nice hat!”
Looking up he
saw Ben’s huge grin and waved. “ Waleikum
salaam ! How do I get up?” he shouted.
“Keep going,
you’ll see a path in front of you!”
“George!” Gail
shouted as she joined Ben.
He laughed and
made his way to the path. “Hello honey. Been having fun, I hear?”
The stone
stood six feet tall from the bottom of the excavation. A crowd of people stood
looking at the other side of it. George thought he recognised three of the
students from the dig, but there were five men with them he had not seen
before. A photographer circled the stone taking pictures. A tall man in his early thirties, he was
wearing khaki shorts and a blue sleeveless jacket covered in pockets, a camera
bag slung over his shoulder. He assumed that this had to be the reporter from
Al Jazeera.
At one end of
the excavation was a massive pile of sand and rock rising nearly five feet
high.
Gail took
George’s arm and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I missed you,” she whispered in
his ear.
“You found this ?” he replied in disbelief. “On your
own?”
“I was with
her!” Ben complained with a grin.
Gail laughed.
“It was just sitting here,” she explained. “And now it’s been excavated, it
looks like there’s a lot more to it.”
George stood
at the edge of the trench and looked at the stone. The two sides he could see from where he was
were rough stone, in contrast to the flat, smooth top. From this angle, it
looked totally unremarkable.
“We thought
that there may have been hieroglyphs under the sand on this side,” Gail said,
“but we were wrong. It simply goes down
to the base like that. It also looks like it was buried deliberately, judging from
the deposits we excavated.”
George walked
round to the back of the trench and was met by the Professor, who shook his
hand and asked him how his trip south had been.
“Not as
exciting as this,” he gestured towards the stone. “What is it?”
“It’s covering
something, but we don’t know what yet.”
“And what does that say?” he pointed to the
hieroglyphs. Compared to those that he had seen elsewhere in Egypt that week,
the engravings looked sloppy, almost rushed .
The top half were noticeably more worn from where they had been exposed to the
elements.
“Basically,”
Gail said from behind them, “it says Nefertiti.”
He glanced
over his shoulder at her and raised an eyebrow. She grinned from ear to ear. “So
how do you know there’s something underneath it?” he asked, looking at the Professor.
Mamdouh
climbed into the trench and stood at the end of the rectangular block. “Because
of these.” He pointed with his index finger at a series of rough, straight
lines scratched into the bedrock and ending at the edge of the stone. Where the
Professor was standing, the trench had been lengthened by at least fifteen
feet. The lines stopped just before the end of the trench.
“It was pushed
into place, and it now sits a couple of centimetres deep on what we assume must
be a small sill that runs around the edge of a hole beneath it,” Mamdouh said. “If
it was not covering anything, why would it have been pushed nearly five metres
along these grooves and placed so carefully at this precise point.” He put his
hands on his hips
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