Finding the Rosetta Stone
Cleopatra, beautiful and proud, was still in her Golden Palace. She had ordered a stone to
be built within five days. The stone would record Egyptian hieroglyphics and be placed near
her pyramid so that the language of her country would never be forgotten.
Cleopatra had a lot of questions about the stone. What would the stone be called? Was it
the stone of glory? Could it be the stone of death?
When she looked over to the brutal battle, she always wondered, “does this war have to
happen?” once a scared Roman soldier shouted back “apparently, Queen, it does,” before
falling down with a khopesh in his leg.
Five days later......
Cleopatra’s handmaiden, Rosetta, had seen the stone hidden at the foot of the pyramid,
safe from the Romans who were destroying the remains of Egypt.
By midday Cleopatra had been found dead with a snakes fangs in her heart. She was lying
beside Anthony, also dead from a sword wound. When the Egyptians found out, they
surrendered and all was lost in cries of agony and the sound of devastation.
1800 years later......
French soldiers were moving toward an empty pyramid when a soldier claimed to have seen
something interesting. They all dug down in to the hot sand until they uncovered a stone
with writing that looked like an alien language.
“What is it?” asked one soldier, brushing away the sand with his hard, dirty hand. “It looks
valuable!” exclaimed another.
French soldiers often had arguments. They tried to read the writing on the stone but all
they could learn was that it might earn them money. They sold it to the British for the most
gold.
The stone was hauled on to a ship and sent across the British channel. The sailors were
suspicious of it, they thought it must be magical and stayed far away.
Eventually the stone arrived at the British museum. When an archaeologist saw the stone
he was daunted but asked, “Can I try to read this?” “Yes,” said the manager of the museum,
“but I think you are wasting your time.”
Fred Falda, the archaeologist went to work. As soon as he started, his mind went back to
battle, swords clashing and spears sailing through the air. He worked and worked. He
realised that the pictures were letters.
Many months later.....
“I’ve done it!” shouted Fred as he ran in to the manager’s office. “What’s going on? Those
pictures don’t mean anything” “but they do! I have found a new language!” “What? Maybe
it wasn’t a waste of time after all.” “We should call it the Rosetta Stone,” said Fred. “I am
sure this writing here means “Rosetta” I wonder who that was?”
The End
By Patrick Handley