Atlantis

They were standing by the railing on the upper deck as Sea Venture edged towards the western quay. Costas peered up at the densely wooded slopes above the town.

“Where did they go after the flood? They wouldn’t have been able to farm up there.”

“They would have needed to go a long way inland,” Jack agreed. “And this was a large population, tens of thousands at least, to judge by the number of settlements we saw on the sonar read-out.”

“So they split up.”

“It may have been an organized exodus, orchestrated by a central authority to ensure the greatest chance of finding suitable new lands for the entire population. Some went south over that ridge, some east, some west. Malcolm mentioned Israel. There are other obvious destinations.”

Costas spoke excitedly. “The early civilizations. Egypt. Mesopotamia. The Indus Valley. Crete.”

“It is not so far-fetched.” The words came from Katya, who had sat up and was now fully absorbed in the discussion. “One of the most striking features about the history of language is that much of it stems from a common root. Across Europe, Russia, the Middle East, the Indian subcontinent, most of the languages spoken today have one origin.”

“Indo-European,” Costas offered.

“An ancient mother tongue which many linguists already thought came from the Black Sea region. We can reconstruct its vocabulary from words held in common by later languages, such as Sanscrit pitar, Latin pater and German vater, the origin of English father.”

“What about words for agriculture?” Costas asked.

“The vocabulary shows they ploughed the land, wore woollen clothing and worked leather. They had domesticated animals including oxen, pigs and sheep. They had complex social structures and wealth differentiation. They worshipped a great mother goddess.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Many of us already believe Indo-European expansion went hand in hand with the spread of agriculture, a gradual process over many years. I now suggest it was the result of one migration. Our Black Sea farmers were the original Indo-Europeans.”

Jack balanced a sketchpad and pencil on the railing and quickly drew an outline map of the ancient world.

“Here’s a hypothesis,” he said. “Our Indo-Europeans leave their homeland on the Black Sea coast.” He drew a sweeping arrow east from their present position. “One group goes towards the Caucasus, modern Georgia. Some of them travel overland to the Zagros Mountains, eventually reaching the Indus Valley in Pakistan.”

“They would have seen Mount Ararat soon after striking inland,” Macleod asserted. “It would have been an awesome sight, much loftier than any of the mountains they knew. It may have become fixed in folklore as the place where they finally realized they had escaped the flood.”

Jack marked another arrow on the map. “A second group heads south over the Anatolian Plateau to Mesopotamia, settling on the banks of the Tigris and Euphrates.”

“And another north-west to the Danube,” Costas suggested.

Jack slashed a third arrow across the map. “Some settle there, others use the river system to reach the heartland of Europe.”

Macleod spoke excitedly. “Britain became an island at the end of the Ice Age, when the North Sea flooded. But these people had the technology to get across. Were they the first farmers in Britain, the ancestors of the people who built Stonehenge?”

“The Celtic language of Britain was Indo-European,” Katya added.

Jack drew an arrow west which branched in different directions like an overhanging tree. “And the final group, perhaps the most significant, paddle west and portage past the Bosporus, then re-embark and set off across the Aegean. Some settle in Greece and Crete, some in Israel and Egypt, some as far away as Italy and Spain.”

“The Bosporus would have been an awesome sight,” Costas mused. “Something that remained in the collective memory like Mount Ararat for the eastern group, hence the cataract of Bos mentioned on the disc.”

Katya stared intently at Jack. “It fits beautifully with the linguistic evidence,” she said. “There are more than forty ancient languages with Indo-European roots.”

Jack nodded and looked down at his map. “Professor Dillen tells me the Minoan language of Linear A and the Phaistos symbols is the closest we have to the Indo-European mother tongue. Crete may have seen the greatest survival of Indo-European culture.”

Sea Venture was now drawing alongside the quay at Trabzon. Several crew had jumped the narrowing gap and were busy laying hawser lines to secure the vessel. A small group were gathered on the dockside, Turkish officials and staff from IMU’s supply depot who were keen to hear about the latest discoveries. Among them was the handsome figure of Mustafa Alkozen, a former Turkish naval officer who was IMU’s chief representative in the country. Jack and Costas waved across at their old friend, happy to renew a partnership which had begun when they were stationed together at the Izmir base and he had joined them to excavate the galleys of the Trojan War.

Costas turned back and looked at Macleod. “I have one final question.”

“Fire away.”

“The date.”

Macleod grinned broadly and tapped a map case he was holding. “I was wondering when you’d ask that.”

He took out three large photographs and passed them over. They were stills from the ROV camera, the depth and co-ordinates imprinted in the lower right-hand corner. They showed a large wooden frame with stacks of logs alongside.

“It looks like a building site,” said Costas.

“We came across it yesterday beside the house with the shrine. New rooms were being added at the time the village was abandoned.” Macleod pointed to one stack of wood on the sea floor. “We used the ROV’s water jet to clear away the silt. They’re recently felled trunks, the bark still firmly in place and sap on the surface.”

He opened his case and took out a clear plastic tube about half a metre long. It contained a thin wooden rod.

“The ROV has a hollow drill which can extract samples up to two metres long from timber and other compacted materials.”

The honey-coloured grain was remarkably well preserved, as if it had just come from a living tree. Macleod passed it to Costas, who saw at once what he was driving at.

“Dendrochronology.”

“You got it. There’s a continuous tree-ring sequence for Asia Minor from 8500 BC to the present day. We bored into the heart of the log and found fifty-four rings, enough for dating.”

“And?”

“In Sea Venture’s lab we have a scanner which matches the baseline sequences in a matter of seconds.”

Jack looked questioningly at Macleod, who was enjoying milking the drama for all it was worth.

“You’re the archaeologist,” Macleod said. “What’s your estimate?”

Jack played along. “Soon after the end of the Ice Age but long enough ago for the Mediterranean to have reached the level of the Bosporus. I’d say eighth, maybe seventh millennium BC.”

Macleod leaned on the railing and looked intently at Jack. The others waited with bated breath.

“Close, but not close enough. That tree was felled in 5545 BC, give or take a year.”

Costas looked incredulous. “Impossible! That’s way too late!”

“It’s corroborated by all the other tree-ring dates from the site. It seems we underestimated by a millennium the time it took the Mediterranean to rise to its present level.”

“Most linguists place the Indo-Europeans between 6000 and 5000 BC,” Katya exclaimed. “It all falls into place perfectly.”

Jack and Costas gripped the rail as Sea Venture’s gangway was secured to the quayside below them. After so many adventures together they shared the same hunches, could second-guess the other’s thoughts. Yet they could scarcely believe where they were leading, a possibility so fantastic their minds