Golden Chariot

by Chris Karlsen

  “What are these?” Rachel tapped a fine thread of gold, one of several placed around the bell-shaped base.

  “Mere decoration, I believe, flecks of gold to catch the light.” Talat returned the artifact to the table.

  Uma lifted the second jar and felt along the body the way he’d shown Rachel. She was Rachel’s competition in a secret contest, a bet between the women on the team. Uma stood at Talat’s left elbow to perform the ritual while Rachel stood on his right. The competitors bracketed him as each attempted to earn some advantage with the unwitting prize.

  Talat wasn’t exceptionally handsome by any stretch of the imagination. The same height as Charlotte, 5’8, she thought him on the short side for a man. Thin, with wavy dark hair, dark eyes and a strong jaw, he was ordinary looking. He did sport a less common, well trimmed Fu Manchu mustache that made his long nose appear longer.

  Two great qualities and one generous endowment to his anatomy drew women to Talat like proverbial bees to honey. They appreciated his affable, easy-going nature and his wickedly droll sense of humor. Nothing or no one was sacred, including himself. He was the first to laugh when someone gave him a good ribbing. Quick with a smile, he was a welcome peacemaker when differences of opinion between team members became heated. Even the men appreciated the last. Only Uma could prick his temper and that was rare.

  “You? You want to enter the contest?” Charlotte asked, when Uma said she wanted to be in the competition. “You’ve pissed him off more than once.”

  Uma smiled and insisted on entering.

  The considerable “gift” he’d been graced with, whether bestowed by the gods, or a result of good DNA, stirred the most interest and discussion among the women. From day one, it was a hot topic of conversation in their dormitory. All the males on the team wore Speedo style swimsuits. And that was where Talat’s exceptional boon revealed itself. The first night, sweaty and weary from loading equipment and construction work, the ladies fell onto their cots. Instead of sleep, they immediately talked about Talat. More specifically, they talked of his “package.”

  Over the past weeks, the conversations had finally warped into a challenge between Rachel and Uma. Who’d be first to have sex with Talat? Wagers were made. Three of the women bet on Uma. Ursula and Charlotte put their money on Rachel.

  “You’re betting against your sister?” A surprised Charlotte asked.

  “Normally, I wouldn’t, but Talat strikes me as a breast man. Rachel makes my sister look like a plank.”

  Charlotte exchanged a smug grin with Ursula when Rachel managed to brush Talat’s bicep with her tits as she questioned him about the amphora.

  “Your money must be on Rachel,” Atakan said, leaning close.

  The smug grin disappeared as Charlotte tried to hide her surprise and feign nonchalance.

  Who told him about the bet? Supposedly, it was a secret. If he knew, did Talat?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Refik’s session ended and the group split off to different areas of assignment.

  Charlotte and Atakan barely got comfortable with their sketch pads, when she asked, “How’d you know? The bet is between us women, so who told?”

  “Everyone knows, including the prize,” he said with a smart-ass smirk and needless brow action.

  “Don’t wiggle your brows at me, Slick. Answer the question.”

  “Can’t do.”

  “Do you know who Talat favors?” she asked for curiosity’s sake. The information didn’t change anything. Bets were made.

  “No, he’s being very circumspect. We men have our own wager going.”

  “Who’s your money on?”

  Atakan smiled. “I doubled down and bet he’d do a threesome.”

  “Really?” She thought about it for a moment. “You know, I can see Talat in a three-way.” Thinking about it more, she was peeved with her short-sightedness. “You dog. I wish I’d thought of that.”

  “I’ve worked with Talat before. You’re not the first group of women who are captivated by...his...his...”

  Atakan had painted himself into a corner. Mr. Uber-male, who’d be the first to say “real men don’t look at other men’s ‘stuff’,” was stammering and stumbling to describe another man’s “stuff.”

  This was too good to pass up. Charlotte propped her elbows on the table. Chin in her palm, she blinked, airhead-like, as though fascinated by what he’d say next. “Captivated by...what? Do tell.”

  “I know what you’re doing.”

  “Oh, what?”

  “You are screwing with me.”

  “You think?” She ignored his stern look. “I can’t help noticing the Freudian overtones of your deduction.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  She opened her mouth prepared to graphically analyze the sexual connotation implied, but Atakan stuck his hand out and cut her off.

  “Don’t explain. I’m sure whatever you meant, I’d find disturbing.” He laid several soft lead pencils and an eraser on the table and set his pad on his lap.

  Charlotte adjusted her amphora’s angle and started her sketch.

  Talat’s date for the pieces and the diptych’s age and language showed the trend of recovered artifacts going her way. The exact year(s) of the Trojan War remained unknown since historians differed in opinion. His analysis put the new amphoras close to her timeline range.

  “I can make a legitimate claim these pots came from Troy as easily as Mycenae. It’s logical. If a king, like Priam, wanted to export luxuries like ivory and beads for safekeeping, he’d secrete them in this manner.”

  Charlotte anticipated the inevitable circular debate her Troy comments usually generated. Since their first adversarial exchange on the cliff, one or the other regularly threw the gauntlet down. Then, the verbal wrangle was on. The tenor of the subsequent discussions changed. She enjoyed their philosophical tug of war and considered it good experience. All Atakan’s counterpoints to her comparisons were valid. She’d face them when the time came to present her dissertation.

  Not all of the conjectures she threw at Atakan were aimed at building a solid argument for her case. Sometimes she did it to mess with him. She’d take an unremarkable relic, a piece generic in origin and spin an outrageous way to link it to Troy. Today, he predictably played devil’s advocate in their game.

  “More crazy talk?” he countered. It was his favorite opening salvo. “You’re ignoring the obvious. The ship came from Mycenae, or the pieces were obtained at a port along the trade route. Placing small treasures in a sealed jar was a common form of transport, which you well know.”

  Charlotte expected he’d argue that exact point and formulated her defense while he waffled on in his superior way. The cocky tone was standard, and she dished it right back with great relish. The loftier he tried to sound, the more exaggerated she parroted his tone.

  “They’ve found a large quantity of Mycenaean pottery at the Troy site.” she said. “The assumption is Greek artisans were imported to the city to work. Therefore, it is just as reasonable to say the pottery came from Troy.”

  Atakan made circles with his finger next to his temple.

  “If the jars came from other ports, why hide them under a layer of ordinary Anatolian pottery? Why not use the commonplace pottery from elsewhere?” she asked.

  He shaded the horse’s flank with the side of his pencil and didn’t answer.

  “What, no response?”

  “I’m certain there’s a logical explanation,” he said as he erased and redrew the animal’s legs.

  A welcome afternoon breeze wafted through the room ruffling Charlotte’s hair. The canvas flaps of the large tent were usually pinned up unless a storm was predicted. The fresh sea air kept the lab from becoming a stuffy sweatbox. She crossed her arms over her head enjoying cool relief as it blew across her neck and shoulders.

  “You love to mock me. But remember, lots of controversial theories and their authors were denounced at first. Galileo for example,” she
said, lowering her arms. Tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ears, she peeked at his sketch. “Your chariot looks like a goat cart.”

  “I’m not finished.”

  A mix of scrounged, hard on the butt folding chairs and second hand wooden chairs with straw seats were used in the lab. In village cafes, the wooden ones lent a quaint, old world look. In the lab tent...not so much. The straw-bottomed chairs wobbled and creaked in protest with the occupant’s smallest movement. Charlotte sat in them gingerly, half expecting to wind up on her tush. Among the scientists, the general consensus was the chairs were comparable in age to the artifacts.

  Atakan’s groaned as he shifted his weight and leaned over. He glanced at Charlotte’s excellent sketch then up at her and gave a short grunt. “You took the easy one. A child can draw birds and snakes,” he said, erasing his sad rendition of a chariot.

  “Want some help? The horse really sucks.”

  “No. You know Galileo is not a good comparison for your situation.”

  He was up to something and foolish as asking was, she did it anyway. “Oh? Why?”

  “Galileo’s theory was right,” he said, grinning.

  She ignored the comment and removed her amphora from the stand and started picking at one of the gold threads.

  “What are you doing?”

  “These don’t strike me as decoration. I bet there’s a practical purpose for them. They remind me of the metal strapping used in construction.” She rotated the pot a complete turn. “The manner they’re affixed to the artwork is as likely to blend into the artwork rather than catch the light. I know he’s very knowledgeable, but I question Talat’s assessment.”

  “May I?” Atakan stuck his palm out.

  Charlotte handed him the amphora.

  He rotated the pot too, first to the right and then the left, rubbing his thumb over the strands. “Good observation. I think these are fasteners.”

  He laid the piece on the table and walked to the lab’s tool chest. The metal chest stored every hand-held tool used in the lab, air drills and bits, flathead chisels, and a variety of less used instruments. He rummaged through the top shelf and then the three sectioned drawers.

  “Got them.” He held up a pair of fine-tipped, needle-nosed wire cutters.

  He sat at the table and picked up the piece, angling it so a bright stream of sunlight shone onto the base.

  “You aren’t?” Charlotte stared wide-eyed as a rush of panicked thoughts crossed her mind. What would Refik do if Atakan damaged the ancient jar? What would he do to her for allowing it?

  “You can’t. No, you can’t. Stop! Are you insane?” She lunged for his hand, knocking her chair to the floor in the process.

  Atakan snatched the amphora out of her reach. “Relax. As an agent of the Ministry, I can approve certain liberties taken with the artifacts. I give myself permission to investigate the true purpose of the threads.”

  “Yeah and you approved of me not sending the emergency balloon up when you were trapped. That almost got me sent home. Now this. You’re killing me here.”

  She righted her chair and sat with her hand over her eyes.

  “What are you doing?”

  “When Refik goes ballistic, I can honestly say I didn’t witness the willful destruction of an artifact.”

  “You’re the one who questioned the purpose of the threads. Uncover your eyes and watch.”

  Charlotte uncovered her eyes. “Just so you know, if I get slammed for this, I’m killing you.” Even if Atakan hadn’t insisted she watch, she’d have peeked, too curious not to.

  He snipped the first strand, not in the middle but at the base so as to minimize damage if they were simply decorative. A slight separation in the jar’s body appeared with the cut, a fraction of division.

  “Cup your hands and hold them under the bottom.”

  He continued until all the threads were cut. The base fell into Charlotte’s hands as he snipped the last one.

  Across the top of the lower section was a narrow band of pictographs, a Luwoglyphic prayer to Artemis. It was an unusual addition. Nothing they’d found on the wreck had a similar feature. But it was the interior of the upper half that fascinated them. A band of combined cuneiform writings and glyphs two inches wide was imprinted on the clay. They moved to the doorway of the lab where the light was brightest.

  “This is amazing. It’s bilingual,” Charlotte said.

  “The cuneiform is the traditional Hittite diplomatic script. I recognize several words.” Atakan pointed to one of the Luwoglyphs. “This is from the Hatti king—“

  “Hattusili,” Charlotte interrupted. “Hattusili’s reign...” she trailed off, speculating how it helped her.

  “Yes, I know what you’re thinking. Depending on what timeline you’re using, his reign coincides with the war.”

  “Both Hattusili and the seated man are holding scepters. This is a message from one king to another.”

  Atakan studied the writings for a moment. “I agree.”

  “I’d love to know who the other king was.” Charlotte ran a finger over the message. “This wasn’t inscribed directly onto the clay. The impression was made with a cylinder seal.”

  “Yes.”

  “Think this is symbolic of an agreement between kingdoms?”

  “That’s a good interpretation, certainly within the realm of reason.”

  “Let’s go with that for the moment and assume this hidden agreement is part of a royal envoy’s diplomatic pouch. Would the envoy carry either this royal seal or a similar one in order to solidify additional negotiations?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “I’d love it if there was a royal seal in the cargo.”

  “Ankara and the Ministry would esteem such a find.” Atakan went to the storage cabinet and pulled a camera from the shelf. “Let’s get pictures. If something happens to the amphora we’ll have a copy of the script.”

  “You two have your heads together conspiratorially. What are you up to?”

  Charlotte gave a little jerk at the sound of Ursula’s voice. She hadn’t heard her approach.

  “Look.” Charlotte showed her the inside of the amphora. “You’re hot to recover a rare cylinder seal. How about a king’s?”

  “Show her the detail work after I finish,” Atakan said.

  Charlotte repeated the theory she and Atakan had about the two kings.

  Atakan took several more photos then stepped to the side as Ursula examined the imprinted message. She pulled her cell phone from the pocket of her shorts and snapped a couple of pictures of the king’s images. “We have to find the royal seal.”

  The desperation in her voice was a little bizarre. Although Ursula spoke aloud, Charlotte had the feeling she wasn’t talking to either her or Atakan.

  “Ursula, we’re only speculating there’s a seal in the wreck. We can’t know for certain.”

  “It’s there. I know it.”

  Charlotte found needed encouragement with these new amphoras. Overall the majority of recovered pieces were disappointing. None had contributed any solid evidence for her theory. Her doctorate was at stake. Ursula had her degree. Why was she so driven to find this particular relic?

  “Finding one would be great. I get that. But, if we don’t, it’s not a tragedy. There’ve been a good number recovered over the years. It’s not like we lost the Holy Grail.”

  “For me it is.” She gave Charlotte a weak smile. “Everyone has their dream find. A golden seal is mine. It’s the only reason I applied for this project, which has so far been disappointing.”

  Atakan stopped scrolling through the pictures on the camera’s Sim card and stared hard at Ursula. “How strange—an archaeologist who isn’t thrilled with Bronze Age relics.”

  “You criticize me for having the temerity to be honest, because I won’t lie and pretend passion for pottery and tools.”

  “It is through those mundane relics you disparage that we obtain a true picture of our ancestors,
” Atakan said.

  “Who are you to judge me?”

  “Why are you copping this attitude with him?”

  “It’s all right, Charlotte. Let her speak,” Atakan said. “Please, go on.”

  “I am not afraid of your position. I will speak my mind. What does a lowly government worker know of personal achievement? You’re a glorified babysitter, here to oversee the site. My goals are higher.”

  She turned to Charlotte. “This is his job, nothing more. Surely your aspirations are not satisfied with our limited artifacts.”

  Ursula saw her as an ally against Atakan for some reason, a gross mistake.

  “My goals are different. They’re specific to my degree. If what I hope we discover is not achieved, yes, I’ll be extremely disappointed. However, I’ll never regret being part of this project and working with artifacts of this period.”

  “You are afraid to admit the truth in front of him.”

  “Afraid to speak because of Atakan, never. Afraid you’ve lost your mind, yes.”

  “The world press responds to shiny objects. Discover a room of mummies and it’s a human interest story at most. Discover one mask comparable to King Tut’s and you’re both on a magazine cover. I need a grand, shiny object to make my reputation in the profession.” Ursula looked from Charlotte to Atakan and back.

  “If you two are happy being ordinary then you’ll never understand my ambition.”

  Ursula walked out.

  Charlotte shook her head. “Wow, what an ass.”

  Atakan’s expression was intense but inscrutable as he watched her leave. Charlotte respected his control. She wouldn’t be as circumspect.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “After that tirade, I’m ready for a glass of wine,” Charlotte said as they entered the café. “I’m surprised you stood for it.”

  “I don’t have to justify myself or my job to her. Besides, to a great extent everything she said was true. I wouldn’t call myself a babysitter, but yes, as an agent of the Ministry, I am a guardian of the site. I am a civil servant. I fill a need.”

  The bakery woman hugged Atakan and welcomed him back. She continued to hold on and thanked him for bringing Charlotte. He gently extricated himself from the woman’s short, chubby arms.