On Etruscan Time Read Online Free PDF Page B

Betsy—to your mother,” he instructed. “Perhaps she can read it.” Hector climbed out of the trench and ran to where his mother sat, now wearing her broad-brimmed hat as the sun climbed higher.
    â€œMom! Mom! Look what I found!” He held the piece of broken pot toward her.
    â€œHeck, you’re not supposed to be messing around in the trenches,” his mother said, frowning up at him.
    â€œHe wasn’t making a mess.” Ettore had joined them. “He was helping, with Susi’s permission and mine. And see? He made a discovery.”
    â€œSorry,” his mother said. “I just thought—never mind. Let me see.” Hector gave her his find and leaned over as she scrutinized it.
    â€œ You found this, Heck?” He nodded. “I’m impressed,” she said. “There are some whole words here. Look.” By that time a small crowd had gathered. A pot with writing on it must be more unusual than he had thought.
    â€œSomething about zusleva, ” she murmured. “That’s ‘offering,’ or ‘sacrifice.’ Then fanu —that’s ‘sanctuary,’ or ‘temple.’ Then the same word three times: clan, clan, clan. ‘Son, son, son.’” She shook her head. “I wish there were more—it’s impossible to tell what it means just from these few words. There’s no way to know what they’re talking about.” She groped for her pen and pad and carefully copied the letters from the sherd.
    One of the archaeologists glanced at his watch and said something, and they started to drift back to their trenches and pack up their tools. A lot of them said “congratulations” and “good job” to Hector as they went past, and he flushed with pleasure.
    â€œWow, it’s late,” his mother said. “Lunchtime.” She handed the sherd to one of the archaeologists, who carried it to the shed.
    â€œGood work,” Ettore told him. “You hungry?”
    â€œStarving,” Hector said. “What time is it?”
    â€œAlmost one o’clock,” Ettore answered. “Come on.” Hector picked up his tools, and as they passed the shed, he put them back on the shelf. Then he trotted after Ettore, who was now talking with another archaeologist.
    Hector was starting to feel sleepy again, and the heat of the afternoon wasn’t helping any. He slowed down to follow the adults through the narrow stone arch, hoping he wasn’t tagging along too closely, looking like a little kid who had to hang out with the grown-ups. But on the other hand, he didn’t want to get separated from the rest of them. He had no idea where they were going.
    As the shade of the wall hit him, Hector glanced up and blinked. He shook his head and looked again, but he hadn’t been mistaken. Squatting on the edge of the enormous gray rock that made up the right-hand side of the arch was a boy in a long white shirt, looking solemnly down at Hector, his hand raised in greeting.

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    Hector’s hand went up involuntarily—not to return the greeting but to shield his eyes from the sight of the boy. He gave Hector a queasy feeling. How did he get up on top of that arch? What was he doing there? And why were the others ignoring him? Hector broke into a trot.
    His mother was waiting for him at a bend in the road. She smiled and pointed into a doorway, then went inside before he could speak to her.
    The people from the dig were seated at long tables, like in a cafeteria. His mother patted the plastic chair next to her, and he slid into it. His hunger was replaced by shyness at having to eat in front of these people he didn’t know, who were speaking all sorts of languages. He took a bite of bread. It was disappointing after the delicious roll of that morning.
    Who was that boy? he opened his mouth to ask, but then his mother also bit into the bread. “Ah, tasteless Tuscan,” she