Hittites. Turkey. Asia Minor.”
“Yeah? So what’d you find that was so interesting?” Phil inquired, swallowing her bait. Kate glanced at Max and knew what he was thinking—the dance isn’t over.
“A man and woman, caught in flagrante delicto, with his penis still engaged, preserved in a peat bog … for almost a thousand years. Can you imagine?” Cleo gave Phil a wide-eyed, innocent look. “She was wearing a heavy gold anklet,primitive but absolutely gorgeous.” He started grinning. “As for later, I hate to impose when you’ve already done so much, but I’m sure questions are going to come up. Maybe we could talk occasionally, about the scans, I mean.”
“Sure, anytime,” Phil agreed. “I’m off Wednesday afternoons. How about if I come by the museum this week, let you show me around? That way I could answer any questions you think of between now and then.” He dug for his wallet again, extracted a card, turned it over, and scribbled a number on the back. “That’s my unlisted number at home, in case you need to reach me after hours.”
As they walked toward the parking lot, Phil commented, “A thousand years, huh?” He gave Cleo an appraising look. “That gold anklet must’ve really been a dilly.”
Back at the clinic, Max and Phil picked up where they left off—near the top of the male skull. For a minute utter silence pervaded the small room, as if all of them were holding their breath, waiting.
“There’s the second skull,” Max murmured, then let several images come and go before adding, “wrapped every bit as neatly as Tashat.” He turned to Kate. “I didn’t see any evidence of rewrapping on her, did you?” She shook her head, aware that he was deferring to her.
“He’s also old enough to be her father,” Phil put in. “That second suture looks fully closed, but the last one is—what do you think, Max?—halfway?”
“I’m not very keen on estimating age from skull sutures alone, but the first one is almost obliterated. That makes him past forty but shy of forty-seven.” He sent Cleo a knowing grin. “Pretty ancient.”
“He also has more than teeth in his mouth,” Phil observed. “Whatever it is, it reads like bone. Any idea what it could be?” He looked to Cleo, who shook her head.
“I’ll play with the contrast later, see what I can get,” Max said. “Browridges and mastoid processes confirm sexual determination. So do the shape of the arch and size of theteeth. His cusps also show more wear than hers, which fits his age.”
Phil crooked a finger at Cleo, motioning her to come closer. “Want to show you something. Cartilage is opaque to X rays, so it looks like this. The growth plates are really just connective tissue, to allow the long bones to grow. When a kid stops growing it means the cartilage has formed bone, which is more porous, like this. That happens first in the hands and feet, last in the collarbone, also earlier in girls than boys. Anyway, the point is, Max is right. Everything from the metacarpal and phalangeal epiphyses in her hands to the distal ends of the humerus and tibia, the long bone here”—he touched his upper arm—“and the shinbone says she had her full growth. She had to be at least twenty.”
“Great,” Cleo mumbled, “I can hardly wait to tell Dave.”
Max glanced at his watch. “I’d like to do one more composite, so Kate can see what’s under that foot mask.”
A few seconds later another ghostly apparition materialized in the black void of the monitor.
“Her feet must be tightly bound,” Phil commented, manipulating the image to view Tashat’s feet and ankles from the front, then the back, left and right profiles, and finally from below—the soles. “Could those lines be folds in the skin, Max?”
Max mimed wrapping them with his hands, first one way, then the reverse, and shook his head. “They run almost at right angles to the creasing you’d expect with folds. Anyway, those edges appear to be
“Yeah? So what’d you find that was so interesting?” Phil inquired, swallowing her bait. Kate glanced at Max and knew what he was thinking—the dance isn’t over.
“A man and woman, caught in flagrante delicto, with his penis still engaged, preserved in a peat bog … for almost a thousand years. Can you imagine?” Cleo gave Phil a wide-eyed, innocent look. “She was wearing a heavy gold anklet,primitive but absolutely gorgeous.” He started grinning. “As for later, I hate to impose when you’ve already done so much, but I’m sure questions are going to come up. Maybe we could talk occasionally, about the scans, I mean.”
“Sure, anytime,” Phil agreed. “I’m off Wednesday afternoons. How about if I come by the museum this week, let you show me around? That way I could answer any questions you think of between now and then.” He dug for his wallet again, extracted a card, turned it over, and scribbled a number on the back. “That’s my unlisted number at home, in case you need to reach me after hours.”
As they walked toward the parking lot, Phil commented, “A thousand years, huh?” He gave Cleo an appraising look. “That gold anklet must’ve really been a dilly.”
Back at the clinic, Max and Phil picked up where they left off—near the top of the male skull. For a minute utter silence pervaded the small room, as if all of them were holding their breath, waiting.
“There’s the second skull,” Max murmured, then let several images come and go before adding, “wrapped every bit as neatly as Tashat.” He turned to Kate. “I didn’t see any evidence of rewrapping on her, did you?” She shook her head, aware that he was deferring to her.
“He’s also old enough to be her father,” Phil put in. “That second suture looks fully closed, but the last one is—what do you think, Max?—halfway?”
“I’m not very keen on estimating age from skull sutures alone, but the first one is almost obliterated. That makes him past forty but shy of forty-seven.” He sent Cleo a knowing grin. “Pretty ancient.”
“He also has more than teeth in his mouth,” Phil observed. “Whatever it is, it reads like bone. Any idea what it could be?” He looked to Cleo, who shook her head.
“I’ll play with the contrast later, see what I can get,” Max said. “Browridges and mastoid processes confirm sexual determination. So do the shape of the arch and size of theteeth. His cusps also show more wear than hers, which fits his age.”
Phil crooked a finger at Cleo, motioning her to come closer. “Want to show you something. Cartilage is opaque to X rays, so it looks like this. The growth plates are really just connective tissue, to allow the long bones to grow. When a kid stops growing it means the cartilage has formed bone, which is more porous, like this. That happens first in the hands and feet, last in the collarbone, also earlier in girls than boys. Anyway, the point is, Max is right. Everything from the metacarpal and phalangeal epiphyses in her hands to the distal ends of the humerus and tibia, the long bone here”—he touched his upper arm—“and the shinbone says she had her full growth. She had to be at least twenty.”
“Great,” Cleo mumbled, “I can hardly wait to tell Dave.”
Max glanced at his watch. “I’d like to do one more composite, so Kate can see what’s under that foot mask.”
A few seconds later another ghostly apparition materialized in the black void of the monitor.
“Her feet must be tightly bound,” Phil commented, manipulating the image to view Tashat’s feet and ankles from the front, then the back, left and right profiles, and finally from below—the soles. “Could those lines be folds in the skin, Max?”
Max mimed wrapping them with his hands, first one way, then the reverse, and shook his head. “They run almost at right angles to the creasing you’d expect with folds. Anyway, those edges appear to be
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