It's March 30, 1900, on the island of Crete in the Mediterranean.

A few miles in shore on a flower-covered hill overlooking the sea, a dig is underway.

Arthur Evans, a 48-year-old English archaeologist, leans on his

stick and lowers himself into a long trench carved out of the earth. A local digger stops his

shoveling and looks on as Arthur, in a spotless white suit, kneels to examine what the man has found.

The wind gusting in from the coast blows dust off the shattered remnants

of an ancient vase. Arthur peers closely at the half-buried shards of pottery. He is severely

short-sighted, but refuses to wear glasses, making everyday life difficult. But Arthur finds

it invaluable for excavations when close, detailed examination is paramount.

As he looks over the pottery, exposed to the air for the first time in thousands of years,

there's an excited shout from the other side of the site.

Arthur looks up as other diggers abandon their work to rush across the mound in the direction of the shouting.

Arthur climbs up out of the trench and hurries to follow them.

As he approaches the crowd, the Englishman finds a young digger, his face shining with sweat and

excitement. He's holding a long, narrow bar of clay that he's just pulled from the earth.

He passes it gently to Arthur. And even with

his poor eyesight, the archaeologist can see at once that there's something special about it.

The dull rectangle of clay is inscribed with strange symbols, a mixture of lines, pictures,

and circles. It's clearly writing. but when the young digger asks Arthur

what it is exactly, all Arthur can honestly say is, I don't know. Over the weeks and months

of excavation that follow, Arthur and his team unearth a vast complex of interlocking rooms and hallways buried beneath

the hilltop. Arthur identifies it as the Bronze Age City of Knazos. The discovery makes the

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