Original subtitles

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.