“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 g
rave. 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.”