Atlantis

centimetres larger than had been visible during the excavation.

The result was laid out in front of them under a glass panel on the table, a ragged sheet about thirty centimetres long and half as wide, its surface densely covered by writing except for a gap in the middle.

“Extraordinary coincidence that the camel should have put its foot right in it,” Katya said.

“Extraordinary how often that happens in archaeology.” Jack winked at her after he had spoken and they both smiled.

“Most of the great finds are made by chance,” Hiebermeyer continued, oblivious to the other two. “And remember, we have hundreds more mummies to open. This was precisely the type of discovery I was hoping for and there could be many more.”

“A fabulous prospect,” agreed Katya.

Dillen leaned across to take the projector remote control. He straightened a pile of papers which he had removed from his briefcase while Hiebermeyer was speaking.

“Friends and colleagues,” he said, slowly scanning the expectant faces. “We all know why we are here.”

Their attention shifted to the screen at the far end of the room. The image of the desert necropolis was replaced by a close-up of the papyrus. The word which had so transfixed Hiebermeyer in the desert now filled the screen.

“Atlantis,” Jack breathed.

“I must ask you to be patient.” Dillen scanned the faces, aware how desperate they were to hear his and Katya’s translation of the text. “Before I speak I propose that Dr. Svetlanova give us an account of the Atlantis story as we know it. Katya, if you will.”

“With pleasure, Professor.”

Katya and Dillen had become friends when she was a sabbatical fellow under his guidance at Cambridge. Recently they had been together in Athens when the city had been devastated by a massive earthquake, cracking open the Acropolis to reveal a cluster of rock-cut chambers which contained the long-lost archive of the ancient city. Katya and Dillen had assumed responsibility for publishing the texts relating to Greek exploration beyond the Mediterranean. Only a few weeks earlier their faces had been splashed over front pages all round the world following a press conference in which they revealed how an expedition of Greek and Egyptian adventurers had sailed across the Indian Ocean as far as the South China Sea.

Katya was also one of the world’s leading experts on the legend of Atlantis, and had brought with her copies of the relevant ancient texts. She picked up two small books and opened them at the marked pages.

“Gentlemen, may I first say what a pleasure it is for me to be invited to this symposium. It is a great honour for the Moscow Institute of Palaeography. Long may the spirit of international co-operation continue.”

There was an appreciative murmur from around the table.

“I will be brief. First, you can forget virtually everything you have ever heard about Atlantis.”

She had assumed a serious scholarly demeanour, the twinkle in her eye gone, and Jack found himself concentrating entirely on what she had to say.

“You may think Atlantis was a global legend, some distant episode in history half remembered by many different cultures, preserved in myth and legend around the world.”

“Like the stories of the Great Flood,” Jack interjected.

“Exactly.” She fixed his eyes with wry amusement. “But you would be wrong. There is one source only.” She picked up the two books as she spoke. “The ancient Greek philosopher Plato.”

The others settled back to listen.

“Plato lived in Athens from 427 to 347 BC, a generation after Herodotus,” she said. “As a young man Plato would have known of the orator Pericles, would have attended the plays of Euripides and Aeschylus and Aristophanes, would have seen the great temples being erected on the Acropolis. These were the glory days of classical Greece, the greatest period of civilization ever known.”

Katya put down the books and pressed them open. “These two books are known as the Timaeus and the Critias. They are imaginary dialogues between men of those names and Socrates, Plato’s mentor whose wisdom survives only through the writings of his pupil.”

“Here, in a fictional conversation, Critias tells Socrates about a mighty civilization, one which came forth out of the Atlantic Ocean nine thousand years before. The Atlanteans were descendants of Poseidon, god of the sea. Critias is lecturing Socrates.”

“There was an island situated in front of the Straits which are by you called the Pillars of Hercules; the island was larger than Libya and Asia put together. In this island of Atlantis there was a great and wonderful empire which had rule over the whole island and several others, and over parts of the continent, and, furthermore, the men of Atlantis had subjugated the parts of Libya within the Columns of Hercules as far as Egypt, and of Europe as far as Tyrrhenia. This vast power, gathered into one, endeavoured to subdue at a blow our country and yours and the whole of the region within the Straits.”

Katya took the second volume, looking up briefly. “Libya was the ancient name for Africa, Tyrrhenia was central Italy and the Pillars of Hercules the Strait of Gibraltar. But Plato was neither geographer nor historian. His theme was a monumental war between the Athenians and the Atlanteans, one which the Athenians naturally won but only after enduring the most extreme danger.”

She looked again at the text.

“And now the climax, the nub of the legend. These final few sentences have tantalized scholars for more than two thousand years, and have led to more dead ends than I can count.”

“But afterwards there occurred violent earthquakes and floods; and in a single day and night of misfortune all your warlike men in a body sank into the earth, and the island of Atlantis in like manner disappeared in the depths of the sea.”

Katya closed the book and gazed quizzically at Jack. “What would you expect to find in Atlantis?”

Jack hesitated uncharacteristically, aware that she would be judging his scholarship for the first time. “Atlantis has always meant much more than simply a lost civilization,” he replied. “To the ancients it was a fascination with the fallen, with greatness doomed by arrogance and hubris. Every age has had its Atlantis fantasy, always harking back to a world of unimagined splendour overshadowing all history. To the Nazis it was the birthplace of Uberman, the original Aryan homeland, spurring a demented search around the world for racially pure descendants. To others it was the Garden of Eden, a Paradise Lost.”

Katya nodded and spoke quietly. “If there is any truth to this story, if the papyrus gives us any more clues, then we may be able to solve one of the greatest mysteries of ancient history.”

There was a pause as the assembled gathering looked from one to the other, anticipation and barely repressed eagerness on their faces.

“Thank you, Katya.” Dillen stood up, obviously more comfortable speaking on his feet. He was an accomplished lecturer, used to commanding the full attention of his audience.

“I suggest the Atlantis story is not history but allegory. Plato’s intention was to draw out a series of moral lessons. In the Timaeus, order triumphs over chaos in the formation of the Cosmos. In the Critias, men of self-discipline, moderation and respect for the law triumph over men of pride and presumption. The conflict with Atlantis was contrived to show that Athenians had always been people of resolve who would ultimately be victorious in any war. Even Plato’s pupil Aristotle thought Atlantis never existed.” Dillen put his hands on the table and leaned forward.

“I suggest Atlantis is a political fable. Plato’s account of how he came by the story is a whimsical fiction like Swift’s introduction to Gulliver’s Travels, where he gives a source which is plausible but could never be verified.”

Dillen was playing devil’s advocate, Jack knew. He always relished his old professor’s rhetorical skills, a reflection of years spent in the world’s great universities.

“It would be useful if you could run over Plato’s source,” Hiebermeyer said.

“Certainly.” Dillen looked at his notes. “Critias was Plato’s great-grandfather. Critias claims that his own