rudder, but no sign of steering oars."

"Acknowledged," said Giordino.

Pitt pulled a knife from a sheath strapped to one leg and pried at the

underside of the hull near the keel.  The point revealed soft metal.

"We have a lead-sheathed bottom," he announced.

"Looking good," replied Giordino.  "Doc Gronquist wants to know if there

is any sign of carving on the sternpost."

"Hold on."

Pitt carefully wiped off the growth over a flat section of the sternpost

just before it disappeared upward into the ice, waiting patiently for

the resulting algae cloud to drift away.

"There's some kind of a hardwood plaque imbedded into the sternpost.  I

can make out lettering and a face."

"A face?"

"With a curly head of hair and heavy beard."

"What does it read?"

"Sorry, I can't translate Greek."

"Not Latin?" Giordino asked skeptically.

The raised carving was indistinct in the shimmering light that filtered

through the ice.  Pitt moved in until his face mask nearly touched the

wooden plaque.

"Greek," Pitt stated firmly.

"Certain?"

"I used to go with a girl who was an Alpha Delta Pi."

"Hold on.  You've thrown the bone pickers into spasms."

After nearly two minutes, Giordino's voice returned over the earphones.

"Gronquist thinks you're hallucinating, but Mike Graham says he studied

classical Greek in college and asks if you can describe the lettering."

"First letter resembles an S shaped like a lightning strike. Then an A

with the right leg missing.  Next a P followed by another handicapped A

and what looks like an inverted L or a gallows.  Then an 1. Last letter

is another lightning strike S.

That's the best I can do."

Listening over the speaker inside the shelter, Graham copied Pitts

meager description on the page of a notebook.

He scrutinized what  appeared  to  be  a  word  for  several  moments.

Something  was  out  of  place.  He  struggled  to  jog  his memory, and

then  he  had  it.  The  letters  were  Classical  but Eastern Greek.

His thoughtful expression slowly turned incredulous.  He furiously wrote

a short word, tore out the page and held it up- in modern capitals it

read, S A R A PI S

Lily stared at Graham questioningly- "Does it mean anything?"

Gronquist said, "I think it's the name of a Greek-Egyptian god.  "

"A popular deity throughout the Mediterranean," agreed Hoskins.  "Modern

spelling is usually 'Serapis.  "'

"So our ship is the Serapes," murmured Lily pensively, Knight grunted.

"So we might have either a Roman, Grecian or Egyptian shipwreck.  Which

is it?"

"We're over our heads," answered Gronquist.  "We'll need the expertise

of a marine archaeologist who knows ancient Mediterranean shipping to

sort this one out."

Below the ice, Pitt moved across the starboard side of the hull,

stopping where the planking vanished into the ice.  He swam around the

sternpost to the port.  The planking looked warped and bowed outward.  A

few kicks of his fins, and he could see a section that was stove in by

the ice.