Who am I, Indiana Jones? Is there any possible means at my disposal to create a map that will help others find this place? More importantly; find their way back again?
I don’t even know where here is other than somewhere on the north coast of Antarctica. That doesn’t help much, it’s all north coast. I was blown off course halfway between Ascension and the Falklands, GPS fried by a lightning strike, sextant smashed in the same storm.
I know what it is. It’s a storehouse of treasure. Not just any treasure, a treasure that has been missing for seven hundred years. The symbols carved into the rock tell me who this mass of wealth and knowledge belonged to. No other group carved two knights riding tandem on a single horse.
It’s here, it’s really here, the Holy Grail of biblical archaeology. Most disciplines have some kind of Holy Grail, but this is the actual Holy Grail. It isn’t what I was expecting. I knew better than to expect a gaudy gold thing encrusted in jewels, but this is just too much, or maybe it’s just too little, I can’t decide. It’s just a plain earthenware cup with some symbols etched into the side. I immediately recognize Aramaic.
For once in my life, my college major has come in handy. People laughed when I told them I wanted to study dead languages. At first glance I couldn’t believe it. I had to laugh when I read it the second time.