incredible when you consider how many thousands of years boats have been sailing the Nile,” Pitt lectured. “Vessels of all civilizations were lucky to last twenty years before being lost by storm, fire, and collision. And those that survived usually rotted away from neglect. The Nile between the Delta and Khartoum has more sunken vessels per square kilometer than any other place on earth. Fortunately for archaeologists, the wrecks were covered over with silt and preserved. They could well last another four thousand years before they’re excavated.”
“No sign of cargo,” said Giordino, peering over Pitt’s shoulder at the vanishing ship. “As you suggested, she probably outlived her usefulness and her owners let her deteriorate until she sank as a derelict.”
The pilot of the research boat, Gary Marx, kept one eye trained on the echo sounder while scanning the river ahead with the other. A tall blond with limpid blue eyes, he wore only shorts, sandals, and a rancher’s straw hat. He quarter turned his head and spoke out of the side of his mouth. “That finishes the downstream run, Dirk.”
“Okay,” Pitt replied. “Swing around and make another run as close as you can to the shoreline.”
“We’re practically scraping bottom now,” Marx said flatly, without due concern. “If we come any closer we’ll have to tow the boat with a tractor.”
“No need for hysterics,” Pitt said dryly. “Just bring us around, hug the riverbank, and mind we don’t snag the sensor.”
Expertly, Marx turned the boat into the main channel, made a sweeping U-turn, and brought her parallel to the shore at a distance of no more than 5 or 6 meters. Almost immediately, the sensors picked up another wreck. The computer profiled this one as a nobleman’s personal ship from the Middle Kingdom, 2040 to 1786 B.C.
The hull was slimmer than those of the cargo ships, and a cabin graced its afterdeck. They could see the remains of a guard rail running around the deck. The tops of the support posts looked to be carved with lions’ heads. There was a wide gash in the port side, suggesting it sank after a collision with another ship.
Eight more ancient ships were discovered beneath the silt and duly recorded before the sensors struck the big casino.
Pitt straightened, his eyes set in concentration as an image, far larger than the previous contacts, sailed across his monitor. “We have a royal barge!” he called out.
“Marking position,” Giordino acknowledged. “You sure it has pharaoh written on it?”
“As pretty a picture as we’ll ever see. Take a look.”
Giordino studied the growing image. “Looking good. No sign of a mast. She’s too large for anyone but royalty to own.”
The hull was long, with a delicate taper toward the ends. The stern stem was sculpted in the shape of a falcon’s head, representing the Egyptian god Horus, but the forward section of the bow was missing. The high-resolution enhancement of the computer revealed the sides of the hull to be decorated with over a thousand carved hieroglyphics. There was a royal cabin that was also ornately carved. Banks of what remained of the oars still protruded from the hull. The rudder was a massive affair that looked like a huge canoe paddle and was braced to the side of the stern. The main attraction, though, was the great rectangular shape that sat on a deck platform amidships. It too bore carved sculptures.
Both men collectively held their breath as the computer hummed away. Then the profile swept across the screen.
“A stone sarcophagus,” blurted Giordino with uncharacteristic excitement. “We’ve got a sarcophagus.” He rushed over to his console and checked the readings. “The nonferrous scan shows large amounts of metal inside the cabin area and the sarcophagus.”
“Pharaoh Menkura’s gold,” Pitt murmured softly.
“What do we have for a date?”
“Twenty-six hundred B.C. The time frame and configuration are right on the money,”
“No sign of cargo,” said Giordino, peering over Pitt’s shoulder at the vanishing ship. “As you suggested, she probably outlived her usefulness and her owners let her deteriorate until she sank as a derelict.”
The pilot of the research boat, Gary Marx, kept one eye trained on the echo sounder while scanning the river ahead with the other. A tall blond with limpid blue eyes, he wore only shorts, sandals, and a rancher’s straw hat. He quarter turned his head and spoke out of the side of his mouth. “That finishes the downstream run, Dirk.”
“Okay,” Pitt replied. “Swing around and make another run as close as you can to the shoreline.”
“We’re practically scraping bottom now,” Marx said flatly, without due concern. “If we come any closer we’ll have to tow the boat with a tractor.”
“No need for hysterics,” Pitt said dryly. “Just bring us around, hug the riverbank, and mind we don’t snag the sensor.”
Expertly, Marx turned the boat into the main channel, made a sweeping U-turn, and brought her parallel to the shore at a distance of no more than 5 or 6 meters. Almost immediately, the sensors picked up another wreck. The computer profiled this one as a nobleman’s personal ship from the Middle Kingdom, 2040 to 1786 B.C.
The hull was slimmer than those of the cargo ships, and a cabin graced its afterdeck. They could see the remains of a guard rail running around the deck. The tops of the support posts looked to be carved with lions’ heads. There was a wide gash in the port side, suggesting it sank after a collision with another ship.
Eight more ancient ships were discovered beneath the silt and duly recorded before the sensors struck the big casino.
Pitt straightened, his eyes set in concentration as an image, far larger than the previous contacts, sailed across his monitor. “We have a royal barge!” he called out.
“Marking position,” Giordino acknowledged. “You sure it has pharaoh written on it?”
“As pretty a picture as we’ll ever see. Take a look.”
Giordino studied the growing image. “Looking good. No sign of a mast. She’s too large for anyone but royalty to own.”
The hull was long, with a delicate taper toward the ends. The stern stem was sculpted in the shape of a falcon’s head, representing the Egyptian god Horus, but the forward section of the bow was missing. The high-resolution enhancement of the computer revealed the sides of the hull to be decorated with over a thousand carved hieroglyphics. There was a royal cabin that was also ornately carved. Banks of what remained of the oars still protruded from the hull. The rudder was a massive affair that looked like a huge canoe paddle and was braced to the side of the stern. The main attraction, though, was the great rectangular shape that sat on a deck platform amidships. It too bore carved sculptures.
Both men collectively held their breath as the computer hummed away. Then the profile swept across the screen.
“A stone sarcophagus,” blurted Giordino with uncharacteristic excitement. “We’ve got a sarcophagus.” He rushed over to his console and checked the readings. “The nonferrous scan shows large amounts of metal inside the cabin area and the sarcophagus.”
“Pharaoh Menkura’s gold,” Pitt murmured softly.
“What do we have for a date?”
“Twenty-six hundred B.C. The time frame and configuration are right on the money,”
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