Celtic empire, p.21
Celtic Empire, page 21
“That’s the same era as Meritaten,” Summer said.
“The body was adorned with a bronze necklace that contained turquoise-colored beads. Faience beads, they call them. They are believed to have originated in Egypt. They are, in fact, identical to faience beads in the gold collar piece worn by Tutankhamun.”
“Could the skeleton,” Summer asked, “have been Meritaten?”
“No, it was a young male. They refer to the lad as the Prince of Tara.”
“If his remains have survived,” Dirk said, “then so could Meritaten’s.”
“Where could she be buried?” Summer asked. “You said that she died at Slieve Mish. Is that a specific battlefield?”
Brophy shook his head. “It’s a mountain range extending along the Dingle Peninsula. The battle likely occurred over a long front and lasted for weeks, possibly months. The historical accounts suggest she was buried between Slieve Mish and the sea.”
“How big an area would that be?”
“Nearly twenty kilometers long. But we don’t have to search that much ground. Our task is a bit easier.” He smiled. “It’s why I had you meet me in Tralee. Just five kilometers south of here is where we need to be.”
“Not in the mountains?”
“No, just a picturesque glen. Glenscota, it’s called. The historic burial place of Queen Scota.”
40
Pitt returned to the manor well after dark. He nosed the battered Mini against a stone wall to conceal the front-end damage, then strode to the estate’s entrance. McKee’s guardian, Rachel, stood just inside the door and gave Pitt an unfriendly nod. The rotunda was otherwise empty. Pitt made his way to his room, which was dimly lit by a small table lamp. He found Loren in bed, asleep.
He sat on the edge of the bed and brushed Loren’s hair from her face. Her eyes nudged open with a struggle.
“There you are,” she whispered. “I couldn’t stay awake. Must be the jet lag. I had some dinner brought to the room, if you’re hungry.” She motioned toward a covered platter on a side table.
Pitt kissed her on the cheek. “Get some rest. I’ll join you shortly.”
She smiled, closed her eyes, and drifted back to sleep.
Pitt stepped to the tray and lifted the cover, revealing a plate of grilled salmon and potatoes. He took a few bites, poured a glass of wine from an open bottle, and sat by the picture window.
The loch appeared as a black ribbon unfurled across the landscape. A handful of yellow lights twinkled from the low gray hills on the opposite shore. To the south, Pitt found a dark smudge on the water, the outline of the tanker. Sipping his wine, he stared for a long time at the tanker and the invisible facility behind it.
* * *
• • •
IN A LOW-LIT ROOM on the second floor, Evanna McKee watched his every move on a color video monitor. An entire wall of monitors captured the live feed from a dozen security cameras around the manor, including a handful concealed in select guest rooms. She watched as Pitt finished his meal, undressed, and climbed into bed.
“He doesn’t appear to be a ghost,” she said in a hard voice.
At a desk across the room, Audrey looked at her mother and shook her head. “Irene reported that while she tried to run him over outside the lab, he slipped by her and escaped.”
“Did he penetrate the facility?”
“He got no farther than the front gate.”
McKee came over and sat across from her. Heavy makeup she wore for her earlier speech made her face look thick and pasty under the fluorescent lights.
“I watched the video of his interview with Richards.” She frowned. “I think Pitt knew he was not speaking to the real Perkins. Why did the fool rush back to the lab so quickly? He should have known better.”
“He was anxious to test the water sample Pitt gave him.”
“And?” McKee leaned forward, her face a tightly wound spring.
“There’s no reason to worry, Mother. There were zero concentrations of our biological products. Richards thinks Pitt just took some water from the loch.”
“He knows something, or else he wouldn’t be here.”
“Professor Nakamura indicated that he’d received all the El Salvador water samples taken by the agriculture scientist. They were recovered from his office. Pitt is only guessing—but, I agree, he is dangerous.”
“How long are they staying?”
“Even though the seminar ends tomorrow, I extended Loren’s invitation for an extra day, along with the World Bank director. Both are new this year, and represent very influential positions. I thought we could work the two of them together.”
“Very well,” McKee said. “But keep a close eye on Mr. Pitt. If he approaches the lab again, kill him on the spot.”
“That may jeopardize our influence with his wife.”
McKee’s eyes burned with malice. “Then we’ll just have to amplify the treatment.”
The door opened, and Riki Sadler stepped in holding a cup of tea, which she presented to McKee. She sat down beside her.
“Mother, I just received a call from the NUMA pair that disrupted our tomb recovery operation in Amarna.” Riki spoke slowly and with reverence, not wishing to stir her mother’s temper.
“I thought they were dead.”
“I did as well. There was no sign of them when I left the dive site in Lake Nasser. I don’t know how they survived.”
“They proved to be quite an annoyance in Egypt.”
“When I arrived in Amarna, I didn’t realize Dr. Stanley was so close to uncovering the tomb. Their presence was unexpected.”
“Do they know anything?” McKee asked.
“They’ve uncovered the link between the Egyptian princess Meritaten and the Apium of Faras.”
McKee leaned forward with a furrowed brow. “So they know the power of the apium. I saw a photo of the tomb mural. It seemed to confirm its use as a remedy for the plague.”
“Father knew of it when he found a reference on a monument in Thebes, yet he was never able to verify its existence.”
“If this apium was a cure for the plague, then it would act as a cure for our developed agent,” Audrey said.
“The NUMA people, they must also know it’s extinct?” McKee asked.
“I think so. I just learned they believe Meritaten is buried in Ireland, in the person of Queen Scota. And they think she may have the apium in her tomb.”
“Queen Scota?” McKee said. “Is there evidence of her grave?”
“Apparently, there is a gravesite in County Kerry that has never been properly investigated.”
“You must go there and ensure nothing comes of it. Take the company jet. Leave as soon as you can, and take Gavin and Ainsley with you.” She stroked her daughter’s hair. “We are on the verge of great things. Let us be strong at this critical hour.”
“Yes, Mother.” Riki rose and left the room.
McKee watched her leave, then gazed at Audrey. They were so different, her two daughters. Riki was innately kind and naïve in the ways of the world, while Audrey suffered no such afflictions. It was Frasier’s doing, she knew.
Arriving home drunk late one night, he had staggered into one of his daughter’s bedrooms in the dark. Perhaps he was seeking Evanna, or more likely his stepdaughter, Riki, yet he fell in with Audrey. Never a word was said, but the damage was done. Audrey became a bitter shell of her former self, while Evanna rekindled the anger she had suppressed for years. No more, she had told herself, and she acted to ensure it.
McKee spoke to Audrey with worry. “Your stepsister shows uneasiness.”
“She was feigning interest in Pitt’s son to determine what he knew. Maybe she is reluctant to kill him.”
McKee nodded. “She’s not strong like you. She never has been. Perhaps we shouldn’t have protected her from the truth.”
“There is no need to relive the past now,” Audrey replied stoically.
“If only she were as strong as you. Perhaps she can still learn. Call Gavin and tell him to kill the son in Ireland at the first opportunity.”
She turned back and gazed at the monitor of Pitt’s room, wondering if she should do the same with Dirk’s father.
41
Winding down a narrow country road five kilometers south of Tralee, Summer was shocked to see a roadside marker proclaiming FEART SCOITHIN.
“Scota’s grave?”
“Aye,” Brophy said from the backseat. “Vale of the Little Flower, as the spot is called. Pull off here. We’ll have just a short hike.”
Dirk found a clearing beside the road and eased the rental car to a stop. He opened the trunk and removed the crate they’d picked up at Shannon Airport. Inside he found a rectangular box, an LED panel, four wheels, a frame, and a wrench. He assembled the pieces into the shape of a lawn mower, with the screen mounted on the handlebars.
Brophy shook his head. “You going to mow the grass with that thing?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Dirk said. “It’s a ground-penetrating radar system. If the soil conditions cooperate, it will give us a peek at any subsurface objects.”
“Like a sarcophagus?”
“Like a sarcophagus.”
“Then let’s go cut some grass.” Brophy grabbed a shovel from the trunk and turned from the car.
He led them through a gate that fronted a small groomed trail. Grassy hills rose in an arc before them, but the path angled through a narrow valley lined with birch trees and heather. Dirk flipped over the radar system so he could tow it across the trail on two wheels.
Brophy pointed to his right. “The high hill over there, that’s Knockmichael Mountain. We’re at the eastern end of the Slieve Mish Mountains. And it was somewhere near here, in this glen above Tralee,” Brophy continued, “that the great battle took place. Meritaten and her forces fought the ruling tribe and defeated them, taking control of the land. But she died during the engagement.”
The scenic glen, with a babbling brook called Fingal’s Stream meandering through it, looked peaceful. Summer found it hard to imagine the battle between Bronze Age warriors armed with axes, swords, and spears, fighting hand to hand across the sedate countryside. A growing black cloud, threatening a rain shower, darkened the skies.
They climbed the trail for thirty minutes, crossing a small bridge over the stream. The trail ended in a wide clearing dotted with stones and surrounded by young oak trees. At the far end, boulders covered a small hillside capped by a concrete cylinder grave marker.
Brophy waved toward the marker. “Bloody hideous thing. Don’t pay it any heed for the location. We should search the whole clearing.”
Dirk lowered the radar system’s rectangular antenna until it grazed the ground, then powered the unit on. He adjusted the gain until a cluster of wavy gray lines filled the top half of the screen. Similar to airborne radar, the device sent microwave pulses into the earth, which were reflected in the form of a two-dimensional image.
Brophy leaned over Dirk’s shoulder. “How’s it looking?”
“While the system’s designed to reach a twenty-foot depth, we’ll be lucky to scan a third of that. The soil is probably clay-based and moist, which is not friendly to ground-penetrating radar.”
“Or lost artifacts,” Summer said.
Brophy smiled. “Makes it harder to dig, too. Someone burying something wouldn’t likely go too deep.”
Brophy followed with Summer as Dirk pushed the GPR unit across the clearing. Dirk made orderly passes back and forth, snaking around upraised stones as necessary. He stopped at one point and had Brophy dig down a few inches until he struck a rock.
“Just testing.” Dirk smiled. “I had a dark spot that looked like a stone.”
Brophy scowled and leaned on the shovel. “I’m not here for the testing, I’m here for the finding.”
Dirk laughed and pushed the unit ahead to escape the Irishman’s wrath. He bypassed a few small targets as he worked his way to the rock-strewn monument. From there he enlisted Summer’s help to muscle the device up the hillside, maneuvering it between and around the stones that surrounded the marker.
Brophy sat on a rock watching, waiting for a cry of “Eureka!” It never came. They carried the unit back down the hill and joined Brophy on two nearby stones.
“Either she’s not here,” Dirk said, “or she’s buried deeper than we can see.”
Summer gazed at the valley that cut through the hills above them. “Could she be farther up the glen?”
“Possibly.” Brophy pulled out his clay pipe and lit a bowl of cherry tobacco. Its sweet aroma drifted over the clearing. “She could be anywhere in the Slieve Mish Mountains, I suppose. One could spend a lifetime kicking over stones and never find her.” He waved his pipe across the site. “One thing bothers me a wee bit. Our major Bronze and Iron Age burial sites are elevated spots, at strategic positions. This site is neither.” He waved his pipe toward the highest hill to the north.
“If it was me, I’d have buried her there, atop Knockmichael. But then, I wasn’t standing here, weary from a fight, thirty-five hundred years ago.”
“I agree.” Dirk rose to his feet. “Unless they buried her here in the heat of battle and never came back for her.” He began pushing the GPR across the clearing again. As he weaved around a large rock, a small blur appeared on the screen. It was one of the targets he’d ignored earlier, appearing small and indistinct next to the protruding stone. As he walked perpendicular to the earlier survey, it showed a thin, linear shape. He circled over the object a third time, stopped, and asked Brophy for the shovel.
He passed it to Dirk. “Another stone?”
“Something small, whatever it is.”
He slid the blade against the face of the exposed stone and scooped out a mound of dark, compact soil. “Surprised we saw much of anything through this,” he said. He expanded the hole, knowing the object was roughly a foot deep. The dense soil came out surprisingly easy, and he dug until the shovel clinked against a hard object.
He gently moved away the covering dirt. Summer dropped to her knees and reached into the hole, brushing away the loose soil with her hands.
“It’s a statue.” She waved away Dirk’s shovel. She clawed at the ground, pulling away small clumps of dirt until she exposed the object.
It was indeed a carved statuette, made of heavy gray stone, and nearly a foot long.
“Go ahead, take it out.” Brophy stood at the edge of the hole, leaning over her shoulder.
Summer pulled away more dirt until the statue came free. She gently lifted it from the hole and raised it in the air, like an actor winning an Oscar, holding it for the others to see.
It was a roughly hewn figure of a barefoot woman wearing a robe. Only, it featured the head of a lioness.
“Look at the headdress!” Summer said.
The figure wore a striped nemes headdress, commonly depicted on the images and funerary masks of Egyptian pharaohs.
“I believe that’s Sekhmet.” Brophy’s voice rose an octave. “If my memory serves, she was considered an Egyptian warrior goddess, feared as the ‘lady of terror.’” He raised a brow at Summer. “She was also a healer who could avert plague and cure illness.”
“I thought you were a Celtic historian?” Dirk said.
“I interned at the British Museum for a year in their Department of Ancient Egypt,” he said with pride.
Summer turned it over in her hands. “There’s no doubt it’s Egyptian?”
“Not unless someone planted a tourist souvenir for a hoax.” Brophy ran a finger over the statue. “Certainly looks like the real thing.”
“While it appears to be a genuine artifact,” she said, “there’s no evidence of a grave. Do you think it’s deeper than the GPR can read?”
“Perhaps, since this was only a foot deep.” Dirk kicked a clod of dirt back into the hole. He bent and pointed at the large stone.
“There’s something.” He brushed away a layer of soil that clung to the now exposed rock face. The dirt fell away, revealing a line of symbols carved into the rock.
“Hieroglyphics?” Summer asked. It was her turn for her voice to rise in pitch.
“Professor,” Dirk said, “hand me that shovel again.”
He dug down several more inches, exposing a flat section of stone. Faintly carved on its face was the image of a boat, with a clear line of hieroglyphics inscribed beneath.
Summer squeezed next to Dirk to take a closer look.
“It is! The markings are Egyptian hieroglyphics.”
“Well, I’ll be,” Brophy said, eyeing the inscription over her shoulder.
“This would make for a nice tomb marker.” Summer pulled out her phone and snapped several pictures. “I’ll see if Max can translate it.”
Dirk pointed to the image of the boat. “Looks similar to an Egyptian barque or Byblos boat.” He ran the GPR in expanding circles around the stone, then chased Summer out of the hole and dropped the unit into the pit. He studied the screen and shook his head. “Not seeing anything else in the vicinity.”
The clouds overhead began to open up, delivering a handful of sprinkles that grew into a downpour.
Brophy gazed skyward. “Perhaps the gods are telling us that’s all to be found here.”
“Or all that we’re meant to find.” Dirk pulled the GPR from the hole. Summer passed the statue to Brophy and grabbed the shovel. She refilled the pit, burying all signs of the carvings on the rock.
“I’ll notify the university,” Brophy said. “This should incite the archeology department to perform a thorough study.”
Dirk dragged the GPR back to the car and tossed it into the trunk as the others climbed inside. As he hopped into the driver’s seat, Summer checked her phone.
