All language subtitles for Hidden.Beneath.the.Cities.S01E08.Bones.Beneath.and.Coffins.and.Coins.1080p.DSNP.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H.264-KHN_track3_[eng]

Excavations at Petra,

Jordan's most historical
ancient city,

reveal a remarkable discovery.

The plaza in front
of the treasury

was once a flat courtyard,
but it's more than that.

It's also the roof
of a hidden tomb.

So who were these people

and why were they buried here?

A cache of coins
is found

beneath a 17th century
Scottish hunting lodge.

Beneath
the hearthstone slab

of the fireplace,
they found a pot.

Inside were 36 coins.

The hoard fits
Glencoe's plundering past.

Gas workers digging
trenches in Lima, Peru,

uncover a pair
of mysterious tombs.

One contained
human remains

still wrapped in a torn bundle.

The other was empty.

Who was
the individual buried here?

Why was the second chamber
left empty?

And what do these remains reveal
about the coastal societies

that flourished long before
Lima became Peru's capital?

Below the busy
streets of the world's cities

exists a hidden
realm of wonder.

Sprawling ancient complexes,

mysterious tombs,

top-secret military bases,

strange structures,

and lost artifacts,

buried beneath our feet
and long forgotten,

until now.

Underground marvels are exposed
to reveal what lies...

Hidden Beneath the Cities.

In the deserts of modern-day
Jordan, south of Amman,

lies Petra, a city that once
served as the capital

of the Nebataean Kingdom.

The Nabataeans
began as nomads

from the Negev Desert,

but rose to power
by dominating incense routes

across a vast network that
stretched over 1,200 miles

and connected southern
Arabia, Africa, and India

to the Greco-Roman world.

But their real wealth
came from taxation.

One historical account
suggests they charged

up to 25% on imported goods,

turning Petra into a hub
of both commerce and control.

The Nabataeans
carved monumental cities

into sandstone cliffs,
including Petra,

which covers over
100 square miles.

Petra was
annexed by Rome in 106 CE,

and repeated earthquakes,

particularly in 363
and again in 551,

severely damaged
its infrastructure.

As trade routes shifted, Petra's
commercial importance declined,

and by the early Islamic period,

it was no longer
a major settlement.

When Western explorers
arrived in the 1800s,

they found a city of monuments,

but little evidence of the lives
once lived among them.

In 2024,
excavations at Petra's

most iconic monument,
Al Khazneh,

referred to as "The Treasury"
in English, reveal a surprise.

The plaza
in front of the Treasury

was once a flat courtyard,
maybe decorated with fountains,

maybe a pond,
but it's more than that.

It's also the roof
of a hidden tomb.

And inside that tomb, 12 intact
skeletons have been found

alongside bronze, ceramic,
and iron artifacts.

That is an extraordinary
discovery for Petra,

because there, human remains
are rarely found

after centuries of looting.

The tomb itself
is nine feet tall

and measures around
18 by 18 feet.

While Petra's porous sandstone,
humidity, and seasonal flooding

likely caused the loss of
delicate materials like fabric,

dating evidence of the tomb

points to between
the 1st century BCE

and the 1st century CE,

right at the height
of Nabataean power.

Initial indications
of a subsurface chamber

near the site were documented
as early as 2003,

and other tubes were
identified a year later.

But it was only recently
that new surveys

using ground-penetrating radar

confirmed structural anomalies
under the forecourt,

which ultimately led

to the chamber's rediscovery
and excavation.

So who were these people
and why were they buried here?

And what might this reveal
about the Nabataean world?

Certain burial
details hint that the space

may have held
sacred significance.

Little is known
of Nabataean religion,

but it appears to have been
polytheistic and symbolic.

A priestly class,
including both men and women,

oversaw rituals involving
the worship of sun and sky gods.

So if the treasury held
spiritual meaning,

could the 12 individuals
buried here

represent a religious order
of some kind,

tasked with preserving the
sanctity of the site itself?

The Treasury's
iconography blends figures

like Isis-Tyche, Castor, Pollux.

It's got these carved obelisks
which draw on

Egyptian and Hellenistic
and Nabataean traditions.

And all that visual language
suggests that this monument

may have served
not only as a tomb,

but as a sacred
or cosmological space,

a place that reflected
the elevated status

of the people
who were buried here.

Across the ancient world,

the number 12 carried
powerful symbolic weight.

It marked time--

12 hours of day,
12 hours of night--

and aligned with the months,
zodiac signs,

and celestial cycles.

Some traditions saw it
as the meeting point

of sacred and secular,

or the sum of life and fortune.

So in that context,
the burial of 12 people

may have been
a deliberate statement.

One of the skeletons
was found clutching

the broken top
of a ceramic vessel.

It had a curved silhouette
which looked a lot like

the way the Holy Grail is
depicted in Hollywood movies.

Whether this object was
a marker of status

or served in a funeral rite

or maybe symbolized a sacred
offering, we just don't know.

Archaeologists have described it
as just a "humble jug"

so its exact purpose here
is a mystery.

Some features
of the burial may indicate

a decision shaped by disruption
rather than design.

The skeletons include
adults and children,

possibly of both sexes,

all found undisturbed
as originally interred.

So was this a rapid,
improvised burial carried out

in response to some unexpected,
potentially catastrophic event?

A lot of Nabataean
tombs at Petra

were built for long-term
commemoration,

with libation channels
and even banquet rooms.

In these spaces, the living
could engage with the dead

through these big ceremonies

involving incense
and food and light.

But the interior
of the Treasury is stark.

It's this massive cube
cut into the rock

with three small antechambers.

That simplicity might mean
it functioned

as an emergency burial site.

Maybe it's a place that was
triggered by disaster or disease

or even violence.

The Treasury
likely dates to a time

of rapid expansion and
encroaching Roman pressure.

While no direct evidence
of internal conflict

or mass killings
have been reported,

the fact that the tomb
was so concealed

that it avoided
centuries of looting

raises the possibility
that these individuals

were meant to be concealed
instead of commemorated.

Other excavations at
North Ridge have revealed signs

of seismic damage,
like collapsed masonry.

And all that is likely linked
to a huge earthquake

that we know happened here
in the year 363.

Now there's no direct evidence
of a major earthquake

during the Treasury's
construction,

but a similar
structural failure nearby

could have caused sudden death,

which would have prompted that
chamber's use as a burial site.

But not all the evidence

supports a crisis scenario.

Research suggests that
Petra's population

was relatively healthy.

The skeletons so far
show no clear signs

of illness or trauma,
and the Treasury itself

has long been considered part
of Petra's funerary landscape.

Evidence of other voids
in the Treasury suggests

that there may be other
unexcavated tombs nearby,

raising the possibility

that this wasn't
an improvised burial at all.

The strongest
evidence of the identities

of the interred may lie
in the sheer scale

of the monument itself.

The Nabataeans placed
immense cultural value

on protecting and
commemorating the dead.

At Petra, over 1,000 tombs are
carved into the landscape.

Around 600 of them are marked
by monumental facades

that publicly signal
the identity and stature

of those buried within.

In a society where visibility
signaled prestige,

could a discovery like this
be the final resting place

of an elite
or even royal family?

Many believe the
Treasury was likely constructed

as a royal mausoleum or crypt

during the reign
of Aretas IV Philopatris,

who ruled the Nabataean Kingdom
from around 9 BCE to 40 CE,

a time when
monumental construction

reinforced dynastic power
and political order.

So it is possible
the 12 individuals buried here

were part of that lineage.

Roughly 300 miles
south of Petra,

in Saudi Arabia, another
Nabataean site shows

how status was signaled
through scale and design.

At what is now
the Hegra Archaeological Site,

the Nabataeans carved
111 monumental tombs

into sandstone cliffs,

94 of those with
elaborate facades.

Many also included
built-in wells,

showing a deliberate blend
of hydraulic planning

and architectural display.

So these tombs function not only
as burial places,

but as permanent markers
of elite status

by projecting identity
and wealth and prestige

out into the desert terrain.

I mean, these are just amazing.

More than 50 tombs
at Hegra bear inscriptions,

some protective,
some dedicatory.

At Petra, those kinds of
inscriptions are less common.

Some say that this may
reflect the city's role

at the center
of Nabataean power,

where proximity to authority
may have offered protection

that didn't need to be
carved in stone.

The tomb beneath the Treasury
seems to fit that pattern;

no inscriptions and no surviving
record of who was buried there.

The Treasury is among
the most commanding monuments

in Petra, which makes it
reasonable to assume

the individuals buried beneath
it were of considerable status.

But the elements seem to have
consumed any fragile clues

that the Nabataeans may have
left as to their identity.

Whether this was a sacred
collective, victims of a crisis,

or something we don't yet
fully understand,

the findings raise even more
questions about the site itself

and what exactly
Nabataean burials entail.

The Nabataeans left
behind few written records,

and much of Petra
remains unexcavated.

Major questions remain
about how people lived,

what they believed,

and what secrets still lie
buried in the sand and stone.

Just over 60 miles
northwest of Glasgow,

in the heart
of the Scottish Highlands,

lies Glencoe, a steep-sided
valley with towering peaks

and a rich ancient history.

The clan system
is central to Scottish heritage

and rooted in the Highlands.

A clan is a kinship community

formed around a shared
surname and ancestry.

The word comes from
the Gaelic term clann,

meaning "children"
or "offspring,"

evoking the idea of family,
not only through blood,

but through shared history,
culture, and identity.

At its head stood the chief,

regarded as the head
of the wider family,

with members looking to him
for support and protection.

For nearly 400 years,

Clan Donald commanded
the West Highlands and Hebrides.

Their chiefs bore the title
Lord of the Isles,

and their reach was second
only to that

of the kings of Scotland
and England.

The MacDonalds of Glencoe were a
smaller branch of this dynasty,

led by Alasdair MacDonald,
or Maclain.

The McDonalds had
a fearsome reputation,

which inevitably led to legal
troubles and rivalries

with their neighbors, especially
the powerful Campbell Clan.

By the late 17th century, they
lived under the feudal authority

of the Campbell Earls of Argyll.

While their loyalty remained
fixed on the Stuart Kings,

it was a volatile mix
of politics

that made Glencoe a fault line
in the Highlands.

In August 2023,

during an excavation at a rural
17th century hunting lodge,

which had once been
the summer house

of the McDonalds of Glencoe,

a University of Glasgow
archaeology student

discovers a hidden container
in an unlikely place.

Beneath
the hearthstone slab

of the fireplace,

they found a pot with
a small, round, pebble lid.

Inside were 36 coins
minted across Europe

between the late 1500s
and the 1680s.

Since none of them were struck
after the 1680s,

and the site was in use
from 1646 to 1692,

it's likely they were buried
sometime before then.

Among the other finds
were simple household items:

a spindle whorl
for making thread,

a dress pin, and a pitchfork--

reminders of the everyday lives
of those who work the land.

They also uncovered a musket
and fowling shot,

gun flint, and a powder measure,

pointing to the lodge's use
as a base for hunting.

It's an impressive find

for what looked to be
an ordinary rural house.

But the most striking detail
is what never happened.

You don't stash a pot of coins
under the hearth

unless you plan on
coming back for it.

And that's the real
mystery here.

Why was it buried
in the first place?

And why did no one return
to retrieve it?

The strongest clue may lie

in the world
these clans inhabited.

Raids, reprisals, and ransoms
drove the Highland economy.

And the hidden pot of coins

may be a trace of those
unsettled times.

In the Highlands,

cattle were the backbone
of wealth.

With little arable land,

herds were central
to the country's economy

and way of life,

and reiving--these were raids
to steal cattle--

became a dangerous
but essential practice.

It allowed clans like
the McDonalds to assert power

and replenish resources
in a precarious landscape.

Lochaber, the region that
included Glencoe,

was regarded as an epicenter
of these raids.

So could the Glencoe hoard
be the profits of that trade?

From the 14th

to the 17th centuries,

the Anglo-Scottish border

was a true frontier.

Cattle rustling, feuds,
arson, murder,

intimidation, and pillaging
were routine,

even considered honorable ways
to prove valor to your kin.

Raids could be planned
like military operations,

lasting days with
bands of armed men,

or as simple as a moonlit ride

to plunder a single farm
before dawn.

The hoard fits
Glencoe's plundering past.

The coins might have been
spoils stolen in a raid,

or money to pay out
in ransom or protection

if the McDonalds themselves came
under pressure from rivals.

They also found fine wares
from England, Germany,

and the Netherlands, which could
suggest this household traveled

or had connections to
wider trade as well as raiding.

That combination
could have brought

different forms of wealth
into Glencoe

and may help explain why
a hoard of mixed coins

was concealed here.

But here's the issue.

Cattle raiding brought wealth,

but it was also about
stealing crops and animals

in order to feed yourself.

Raids were seasonal,
often timed in autumn

when food stores ran low,
and whatever profits came in

would have likely
been reinvested

into livestock or land--
not hoarded as coins.

That's why a pot of money
buried beneath a hearth

is really hard to explain
as the spoils of reiving.

It doesn't match the way
that the economy worked,

so there's likely a different
reason for concealing it.

Among the mix of
currencies, one coin stands out

as a piece that
may carry meaning

beyond its monetary value.

The MacDonalds of
Glencoe were staunch Jacobites,

supporters of King James VII
of Scotland.

Loyalty to the Stuart Kings
could sometimes be expressed

through objects like coins
and medals bearing their image.

One coin in the hoard
was also pierced,

perhaps to be worn
as a token of allegiance.

Is it possible this hoard
was a hidden pledge

to the Jacobite cause?

King James was
the second son of Charles I,

who was executed after
the English Civil Wars.

Raised Protestant, James
converted to Catholicism

in 1668 or '69, a choice
that reshaped his politics

and made him suspect
to many of his subjects.

As tensions mounted,
James fled to France.

In 1689, Parliament declared
the throne vacant

and crowned William of Orange
and his wife,

James's daughter Mary,
as co-monarchs.

But within months, James'
supporters rose in rebellion

to restore him to the throne.

In July, Highland Jacobites
under Viscount Dundee,

among them Clan MacDonald,

met the King's Army
at Killiecrankie,

their charge breaking the lines

and killing over 1,000 troops
in a stunning victory.

In the context
of the 1689 uprising,

the Glencoe coin hoard may
take on a different meaning.

Among the coins were pieces from
France and the Papal States,

predominantly Catholic realms,

suggesting the hoard
may have been kept

as a token of Stuart allegiance,

a loyalty viewed with hostility
by the new crown.

In 2020, on
the shores of Loch nan Uamh,

roughly 30 miles
northwest of Glencoe,

another Jacobite hoard
came to light.

This one tied directly
to the final uprising.

Using metal detectors

around a ruined agricultural
settlement and house,

an amateur archaeology team
discovered a cache

of more than 200 musket balls,

together with gold and silver
coins and gilt buttons.

The find is believed to be part
of an arms shipment from France

that reached Lochaber
just two weeks

after the Battle of Culloden
in April 1746.

The Battle of Culloden
near Inverness

was the final clash
of the Jacobite cause.

In less than an hour, around
1,500 Jacobites were killed,

ending any serious Stuart
challenge to the throne.

The cache at
Loch nan Uamh was uncovered

at a dwelling once home
to a Gaelic poet,

who had tutored the prince and
later fought in the uprising.

The musketballs also
matched the caliber

of French-supplied weapons
used in battle,

establishing a clear link
to the Jacobite cause.

But the stash
at Glencoe is different.

The coins were found at
a known hunting lodge

alongside everyday items.

It looks more like
a domestic mix

rather than a straightforward
military stockpile.

Interpreting the hoard
as a Jacobite pledge

might explain the pierced coin
and some of the foreign pieces,

but it also raises questions:

Why bury them so soon
after the 1689 rising,

and why were they
never retrieved?

In February 1692,
soldiers accepted as guests

in MacDonald homes
turned on their hosts.

The betrayal, remembered
as the Massacre of Glencoe,

is one of the darkest chapters
in Scottish history,

and the hoard may be
its last surviving witness.

The McDonalds
and the Campbells

had a long, tangled history.

By the late 17th century,

their rivalry was bound up
in politics,

and in the wider fight
for the throne.

The McDonalds held
to the deposed King James,

while the Campbells aligned
with William III.

Determined to secure
loyalty in the Highlands,

the government ordered all
chiefs to swear allegiance

to William III
by January 1, 1692.

Money, land, and indemnity
were offered as incentives,

but refusal meant punishment

under the full weight
of the law.

News reached Glencoe
only on December 28th.

Three days later, Chief Maclain
set out to swear the oath

that would protect his clan,

only to be told it must be
witnessed by a sheriff

60 miles away in Inveraray,
the Campbell stronghold.

Delayed by Campbell troops,
he arrived late,

pleaded for acceptance, and left
believing his oath would stand.

In early February,

about 120 men from
the Earl of Argyll's regiment,

led by Campbell,
arrived in Glencoe,

claiming Fort William was full.

True to Highland hospitality,
the McDonalds took them in,

feeding and sheltering them
for nearly two weeks.

But in the pre-dawn
hours of February 13th,

as a blizzard swept
through Glencoe,

the mask of friendship fell.

Captain Robert Campbell of
Glenlyon had received orders

to turn on his hosts

and kill every MacDonald
under the age of 70.

Early that morning,
the slaughter began.

It was believed
Chief Maclain was shot

as he tried to rise
from his bed.

His wife froze to death
in the snow.

Some 38 McDonald men, women,
and children were killed,

though many who fled into the
glen later died from exposure.

That urgency may explain
why the hoard was concealed,

but the coins themselves

could also have served
a more ordinary purpose.

Mixed European pieces like these
were sometimes used

as gaming tokens,
and gambling is well recorded

in Gaelic poetry and tradition.

It's a reminder that
even in times of turmoil,

people held on to the rituals
of daily life.

The Glencoe hoard
preserves a fleeting moment

when a familiar world was
shattered by betrayal.

Its survival is
a buried testament

to the violence that
transformed the Highlands

and to the fragile
traces of life

that history nearly erased.

Just eight miles inland
from the Pacific,

central Lima rises on the south
bank of the Rímac River,

known as El Pulpo,
"the octopus."

Its influence spreads
into every corner of Peru.

Between around
200 and 700 CE,

the Lima culture flourished
along Peru's central coast.

Its rulers are
thought to have been

the most elite warriors
among them.

And those rulers built
adobe pyramids,

they built irrigation canals,

they raised fortified towns,

and they established these
great centers like Ychma,

later known as Pachacámac.

The city's landscape
is defined by extremes.

It lies within Peru's
coastal desert,

which has almost no native
plant or animal life,

and receives less than half
an inch of rainfall each year.

This is among the lowest for
any major city in the world.

Today,
Lima is a metropolis

of more than 11 million people,

nearly a third
of Peru's population

living within 27 square miles.

It serves as both a major port

and the nation's financial
and industrial hub,

powering economic growth
with industries that range

from fish processing and cement

to furniture, meat,
and metal goods.

In late July of 2025,

utility workers
digging trenches

to expand a gas network in
Lima's Puente Piedra District

uncover something
beneath the street.

Just over six and a half feet

from the front gate of a house,

they broke into the ground
and found two tombs.

One contained human remains,
still wrapped in a torn bundle

and placed in a seated position,
knees drawn to the chest.

The other was empty.

Beside the body
were four clay vessels

and three carved
pumpkins, or gourds.

Their bold red, white, and black
designs are characteristic

of the pre-Incan
Chancay culture,

which thrived on Peru's
central coast

between 1,000 and over
1,400 years ago.

The tombs
may appear simple.

They're just unlined pits
cut into the earth.

But their meaning is anything
but straightforward.

Who was the individual
buried here?

Why was the second chamber
left empty?

And what do these remains reveal
about the coastal societies

that flourished long before
Lima became Peru's capital?

Across Peru,
ancient cemeteries

have faced centuries
of intrusion,

scientific and otherwise,
leading some to wonder

if Lima's empty grave
wasn't by design.

The torn bundle could
point to a disturbance

by grave robbers known
in Peru as huaqueros.

They were notorious
for the destructive way

they tore into burials
to strip them of valuables.

Could the damaged bundle
and the empty tomb

beside it be
the work of looters?

In Peru,
the practice of looting graves

for ceramics or metal objects
is widespread.

It's been documented since at
least the arrival of the Spanish

in the 16th century.

Despite heritage laws,

plundering has remained
a constant issue,

which is why you often
have to wonder

whether a damaged burial

reflects ancient ritual
or robbery.

Chancay burials
in particular, like this one,

have been prime targets.

And it's no wonder; they're
known for their well-preserved

textiles, pottery,
and figurines,

which fetch huge prices
on the international market.

So it's very possible that the
empty grave once held offerings

that were just
taken away long ago.

Nearly 400 miles
northwest of Lima,

at Huaca Rajada, one site
demonstrates the vulnerability

of Peru's ancient burials,

the stakes involved
in their protection,

and how narrowly
some histories survive.

In the late 1980s,

huaqueros tunneled
nearly 20 feet down,

coming within just three feet
of a royal burial chamber.

They worked around the clock
with guards,

stripping treasures
as they went.

Rival looters,
angered at being left out,

tipped off the authorities,

and a police raid that
ended in deadly gunfire

finally secured the site.

Only then could archaeologists
enter the chamber.

That's when
they discovered

the great Lord of Sipán:

a warrior priest in his mid-30s,
interred about 1,500 years ago.

The chamber held a two-foot-wide
solid gold crown,

dozens of pieces of gold
and turquoise jewelry,

and more than 1,200
painted ceramic vessels.

At the time, it was described as
the most valuable ancient tomb

ever found in
the Western Hemisphere.

The site was eventually
enclosed with barbed wire

and guarded by police.

Even so, artifacts linked
to Sipán continued to surface

on the black market,

with pieces seized
as far away as Los Angeles.

Illicit trade in antiquities
earns hundreds of millions,

if not billions of dollars
each year.

So if anything was once
inside Lima's empty tomb,

it may have already passed

into those same
black market channels.

Roughly 75 miles
north of central Lima,

in the Huaura Valley,

excavations at Rontoy have
uncovered a Chancay tomb

that highlights
the ongoing risk of looting.

In 2007, archaeologists
opened a small test pit

at Rontoy beside three niches
in an adobe wall

that had been exposed
by looters.

Beneath the fill of wall
fragments and plastered floors,

they uncovered this
large layered textile--

more like a mummy bundle
than an offering.

They were worried that looters
were going to come back,

so the team expanded the trench,
they removed it quickly,

and they took it
straight to the lab.

When the team returned,

they found fresh looters' pits
scarring the platform.

The would-be thieves
had missed the tomb

by only about three feet, but
damaged nearby architecture.

Later excavations revealed
a much larger chamber,

its floor scattered with corn
stalks, pottery, and textiles.

Looters tend to move
fast and usually leave signs,

like holes, debris or damage.

But in Lima, there were
no indications of looting.

The second chamber,
though empty,

was sealed and undisturbed.

This suggests its emptiness
stems from something else.

Across
the ancient world,

commemoration took many forms.

Some structures are meant
to honor the dead

without ever holding
their remains.

One possibility is that
this was a cenotaph,

or a symbolic grave

for someone whose remains
were never recovered.

The Chancay culture included
communities of fishermen,

and the Pacific could
easily claim lives.

Families may have needed a place
to mourn and make offerings.

Could this sealed vacant chamber
have served that role?

Placing an empty grave
beside an occupied one

may have been a way
of symbolically reuniting

loved ones in the afterlife
after one of them

had maybe disappeared at sea
or something like that.

In Chancay burials, the dead
were often accompanied

by textiles, pottery,
and figurines

that seem to represent
ritual attendance or offerings.

The exact meaning
of all those artifacts

really isn't very well
understood,

so it's possible that
even an empty chamber

had a cultural significance that
we just don't fully understand.

More than 7,500 miles
from Lima,

on the Black Sea coast
near Varna, Bulgaria,

archaeologists discovered
a Copper Age cemetery

where absence itself seemed
part of the burial design.

Excavations uncovered
nearly 300 burials

dating between
4600 and 4200 BCE.

Some contained skeletons
laid out with gold diadems,

scepters, copper weapons, and
Mediterranean shell ornaments.

But others held
no bodies at all,

only offerings
of gold and copper,

sometimes richer than the graves
that did contain the dead.

The symbolic graves
sometimes even featured

life-size clay masks placed
where a head should have been.

They may have honored
ancestors or individuals

who died far away, providing
a place for families to mourn

and perform rituals
in the absence of a body.

But here's
the difference.

At Varna, the cenotaph still
contained offerings and objects

standing in for the absent dead.

At Puente Piedra in Lima,
the second tomb was empty.

That points to a different and
perhaps more straightforward

interpretation of the evidence.

One explanation
is that nothing about

the Puente Piedra discovery
is unusual at all.

The Chancay were
a coastal people,

renowned for their fishing,
for their ceramics,

but above all,
for their weaving.

And so their dead were laid in
these beautiful funerary bundles

built up layer by layer
with textiles

and with other offerings
enclosing the body.

At Puente Piedra,
one chamber held a bundle

while the second was empty.

People who have looked
at these things carefully

have noted that Chancay
cemeteries are complex,

and they vary a ton
from one to the other.

So the pair here may
have been very special,

or they may not be
special at all.

Across the Andes,

bundle burials show
striking diversity.

Some are layered with elaborate
textiles and ornaments,

others are more modest.

In some cases, bodies were
laid beneath textiles

rather than enclosed
by a bundle.

Colonial records describe
bundle making as a public event,

and the number and quality
of wrappings and ornaments

may have reflected the status
a person held in society.

The second chamber may
have been left unfinished,

or the body once inside,
could have been removed

during the Chancay
period itself.

In some cases, textiles were
even added to bundles

long after burial.

That ongoing interaction
with the dead

means it's possible the torn
cloth and the empty grave

could be traces
of that same practice.

Just over 480 miles
down the coast,

at Cerro Colorado,

a Chancay burial
shows the complexity

of these bundles and burials

and the stories they can tell
when preserved.

At the site,
archaeologists identified

more than 10 techniques

of textile preparation
and decoration,

from standard woven fabrics
and tapestries

to headnets and gauzes,

crafted in both cotton
and camelid wool.

One case is that
of a fisherman who in his life

had endured severe dental
problems and spinal problems.

He was even deaf
in his final years,

but at death, he was treated
with extraordinary care.

His body was wrapped
in 25 layers

of cotton textiles
and tapestries,

including a rare alpaca
or llama wool garment

decorated with
serpent-like figures.

Now, maybe those figures
represent creatures

from the sea, we don't know.

But the labor invested
in his burial suggests

that he held
very special status.

Maybe for his skills as a leader
in the community,

maybe he was a great fisherman
in his younger years,

maybe he was just an elder
that was very beloved.

What makes this case
striking is that the grave

showed no signs of reopening
beyond damage by modern looters.

In many Chancay tombs, burials
were revisited over time,

with new layers added.

The fisherman's tomb,
by contrast,

was sealed once
and left untouched,

a reminder of just how varied

Chancay funerary practice
could be.

At Puente Piedra,
they also found traces

of reed roofing and wooden posts
within adobe matrices.

But the textile bundle
was badly deteriorated,

and overall,
the evidence is thin.

Nearby finds suggest
this was once part

of a much larger cemetery,
but we're left with few clues

about how to interpret
the sealed empty grave

or how it may have
been conceived

alongside the one
that was occupied.

The pre-Incan tombs
beneath the streets of Lima

hold traces of history still
emerging from the earth

and remind us of how much the
Chancay story remains untold.

Situated near
the eastern coastline

of England's
Lincolnshire County,

about 66 miles
from the city of Leeds,

is the tiny village of Tetney.

Tetney is a cozy
maritime community

of just over 1,700 people,

surrounded by incredible
natural beauty.

East of the village
are the Tetney Marshes,

containing 1,500 hectares
of mudflats,

salt marshes and dunes, much
of which is now protected land.

This area has a long
and at times disturbing history.

There's a terrifying story
from the 9th century

when Vikings attacked the town
and burned down the church.

Reportedly,
there were no survivors.

Centuries later, at
the end of the First World War,

Tetney would become an early
telecommunications hub.

In 1927, it was the site
of a Marconi Beam station,

part of a state-of-the-art
network that connected Britain,

India, and many other countries

throughout the British Empire,

all by using a long-range
radiotelegraphy system.

In July of 2018, the
owner of the Tetney golf course

is expanding a pond
on the property

when an excavator strikes
something solid in the mud.

A team of archaeologists from
the University of Sheffield

just happens to be conducting
a research excavation nearby

and agrees to investigate.

What they find is astonishing.

There was a large
wooden sarcophagus

encased in the earth that had
been carved out of a trunk

of a massive oak tree

and measured approximately eight
feet long and three feet wide.

Rather than hollowing out
the entire log,

the carver split the log in two,
hollowing out the larger half,

then using the thinner
second half as a lid.

Inside,
they found human remains

belonging to a male who was
likely in his late 30s

or early 40s when he died.

He would have stood
about 5 feet 9 inches,

which was pretty tall
for the time.

And his bones showed marks from
a degenerative joint disease

called osteoarthritis, which
suggested that he had engaged

in strenuous,
repetitive labor for years.

So who was this mysterious man?

By combining
radiocarbon dating

with an analysis of the coffin
and its artifacts,

researchers can
place the burial

within the early Bronze Age,

approximately 4,000 years ago.

This region in Britain

has been rich with discoveries
from prehistory.

Over 350 Bronze Age barrows
have been found here,

along with a number
of Neolithic barrows.

You can imagine that
the dense forests

and the proximity to water would
have been highly attractive

to hunter-gatherer communities
from this era.

At this time
in history,

there was a sea change
in the culture of early man,

brought about by the arrival
of new people

from continental Europe.

These humans were
genetically different

from the earlier tribes that
had settled in the region,

and they brought new practices
and inventions with them,

including metalworking
and a style of pottery

known as beakers.

Over the next several centuries,
these Beaker people

quickly became the dominant
cultural force in Britain,

replacing over 90% of
the region's existing gene pool.

A social hierarchy
emerged with leadership

centered around chieftains,
warrior kings,

and heads of families.

Importantly, these tribes had
a fresh worldview on death

and the afterlife,

and burials became
much more elaborate.

So, could the man in the coffin
have been an important member

of the community that lived here
4,000 years ago?

As the archaeologists
continue to investigate

the coffin, they make
a surprising discovery

underneath the human remains.

The body had been
laid on a bed of plants,

which included moss,
sprigs or leaves

from yew or juniper trees,
and a scattering of hazelnuts.

Among the plant bedding
were tiny leaf buds,

which means the burial had
very likely taken place

in the spring,
a time of renewal and rebirth.

The symbolism of a spring burial
could have connoted

deep spiritual meaning that
would have been fitting

for a shamanistic character,

a spiritual leader
in the community.

As a shaman
for his tribe,

he would have had incredible
power and influence,

providing insight and connection

to the community's ancestors,
deities, and rituals.

The same year,
archaeologists

in southwestern Siberia at
Novosibirsk's Ust-Tartas site

unearthed two
Bronze Age burials

that like the Tetney site

appear to be imbued
with spiritual symbolism.

These burials
were determined to be

from the Odinov culture
about 5,000 years ago.

One of the remains
was accompanied

by a stunning set of artifacts.

Inside the grave, archaeologists
found the skulls of birds,

along with several bird beaks.

The beaks were grouped
into a single object

behind the deceased
individual's skull.

It appeared to be the remnants
of a ceremonial headdress

or garment meant for performing
rituals of some kind.

The nearby grave
was even more astonishing.

It featured two levels.

The top tier held
the remains of two children

who would have been
approximately 5 and 10 years old

when they died.

The lower tier featured
an adult male,

and like the bird man's grave,

he was buried with a number
of fascinating artifacts,

one of which appeared to be
the remnants of a bronze mask.

Archaeologists also found
polished stones near his body,

all of which suggested this man
and the male with the bird beaks

were involved in rituals
for their Bronze Age community.

By contrast, the Tetney
site lacks definitive signifiers

associated with
a spiritual leader.

There's no doubt that
this grave shows evidence

of unique funerary traditions
and cultural beliefs,

such as the bed of plants,
and even the log coffin itself,

but there's no clear evidence
that this was a shaman's burial.

But the tall man's
coffin has another surprise

for researchers--

an incredibly unique object
buried alongside the deceased.

Inside the sarcophagus,

a perfectly preserved axe
laid with the remains.

Its stone head was still
fastened to its wooden handle,

which measured just
over a foot long.

The head was not fashioned from
flint, as might be expected.

Rather, it had been carved
out of limestone

that contained the fossilized
imprints of ancient coral.

It's beautiful.

This object
strongly suggests

the man was a leader
within his community.

But the inclusion of
a weapon inside a grave

could also be indicative
that this man was a protector.

Could he have been
a revered warrior?

Almost two centuries
before the discovery

of the Tetney Man,
in July of 1834,

an amateur archaeologist
named William Beswick

in North Yorkshire's
Gristhorpe Village

excavated a similar barrow
on his own land.

Beswick and his small
team unearthed a massive oak log

that measured over six feet long

and more than three feet
in diameter.

Much like the Tetney discovery,

it had been preserved
in waterlogged land.

And this log was also
soon discovered

to contain human remains:

a Bronze Age male known today
as the Gristhorpe Man.

There was an abundance
of intriguing artifacts

laid inside this log coffin--

a vessel carved out of bark
which had once contained milk,

and a wicker basket which showed
evidence of food residue.

There was also tools made of
flint, and tellingly, a dagger.

Just like
the Tetney Man,

the Gristhorpe Man was above
average height for his time,

about six feet tall, which
again, would have given him

some degree of status
in his community.

But there was something else
about Gristhorpe Man's remains

that provided a clue
to his identity.

His bones displayed a number
of healed fractures,

which indicated that the man
was likely a warrior.

Now, the axe
Tetney Man was buried with

was likely symbolic,

as it does not appear to be
a functional instrument of war.

And it's extremely rare.

There have only been 12 like it
found in Britain.

Its size and decorative details
suggest it was probably used

in a more ritualistic manner,
like a king's scepter.

He might have had something
akin to royal status

within his community.

While the Tetney
man's exact lineage

remains elusive, the evidence
found at his burial site

overwhelmingly points to his
importance within the tribe.

This burial was clearly
a communal effort,

one almost certainly
brought about

by a deep respect
for the deceased--

the log sarcophagus,

the gathering of the plants
for the bedding--

all of this would have taken
coordination by the community.

And the choice of oak
for the coffin

was almost certainly
significant.

In many cultures, oak has
long been a symbol

of longevity and strength.

As such, this coffin was not
just a vessel for the body,

but a statement
of the man's authority.

To date,
there have been approximately

65 early Bronze Age log coffins
found across Britain.

And there may be many more
of these mysterious barrows

that have yet to be discovered.