On Etruscan Time Read Online Free PDF

eye was modern.
    Ettore nodded. “I think you understand how we work, now. Susanna said you may try in the trench when you showed me you could do the work. Would you like to?” He gestured behind him.
    â€œSure!” Hector said. There had to be more interesting things than eye-shaped stones there. Maybe he’d find the tomb of a pharaoh. No, that was Egypt. Still, there had to be tombs here someplace. As Ettore said, the Etruscans didn’t just throw dead bodies in the trash. Or not usually.
    â€œI will be next to you,” Ettore said. “Come on.”
    Ettore lowered himself into the trench and Hector followed. “Here.” Ettore handed him a toothbrush and a small pick. “The dirt down here is different from what it is near the surface. Do like so.” With the sharp end of the pick, he gently poked at the hard-packed earth, then brushed off what he had loosened. When he reached a lump of something that didn’t crumble, he left it in its place and worked next to it, loosening more soil. He kept on until Hector could clearly see the hard object that now stuck out from the surrounding dirt. Ettore pulled it out and shrugged. “This time, just a rock. Next time—who knows?”
    Hector held the tools awkwardly. The air was damp and thick in the pit, making it hard to breathe. It even smelled moldy. He prodded the dirt tentatively and nothing happened. “Don’t be scared,” Ettore said. “You need to hit it—bam!—to break it.” So Hector poked harder and was rewarded by a shower of earth. “Good,” Ettore said. “I’ll work here next to you, so you can ask me if you have a question.”
    Hector poked and brushed, brushed and poked. Twice he thought he’d found something, but in both cases it was only a stone. “Don’t worry,” Ettore said when Hector showed him his finds. “There are surely potsherds down here.”
    â€œPotsherds?” Hector said.
    â€œOr shards,” Ettore said. “Pieces of pots. They might not be beautiful, but they are useful to us. We can use them to tell how old is what we find around them.”
    Hector was getting bored and thought of telling Ettore he’d had enough for the day. Then something sticking out a bit from the dirt wall caught his eye. It was hard to say what was different about that particular dark lump, but once he saw it, he couldn’t stop looking at it.
    â€œCan I dig over there?” he asked, pointing with his brush. Ettore glanced over, seemed not to notice anything unusual, and said, “Certainly.” He told Hector some more about what was so important about pieces of pots, but Hector stopped paying attention, because this time he was certain he had found something. It was black, not reddish like the dirt or gray like stone, and it was smooth and shiny.
    Ettore noticed his concentration and moved closer. A couple of times he seemed about to take the pick from Hector’s hand, but instead he stopped and let Hector do the work himself. Hector felt his heart leap with excitement as he realized that what he was slowly revealing to the dim light inside the trench was a shiny piece of pottery, curved and smooth.
    When the sherd was finally freed from the surrounding dirt, Hector gently pried it out and turned it over in his hands. “Here,” Ettore said and passed him a bowl of water. “Wash it off.” Hector hesitated. “Come on,” Ettore said. “It has survived rain and earthquakes. A little water won’t hurt it.” So Hector dunked the sherd in the water and swished it around.
    The curved piece of clay was no larger than his hand, and a soft black. White letters, slanting downward, were painted all over it. Hector passed the sherd to Ettore.
    â€œWhat does it say?” he asked. Ettore shook his head, glanced at the spot where Hector had found it, and wrote something in his notebook.
    â€œTake it to