All language subtitles for Hidden.Beneath.the.Cities.S01E03.Hidden.Hypogeum.and.Lost.Letters.1080p.DSNP.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H.264-KHN_track3_[eng]

Beneath Naples, Italy,

the occupant of a centuries-old
tomb is called into question.

Researchers suggested
that one of the graves

in the monument
is not what it seems.

In the cliffside
caves of the Judean Desert,

an archaeologist makes
a grim discovery.

They uncovered
Roman cult objects,

Hebrew and Aramaic manuscripts,

and the skeletal remains
of at least 17 individuals.

But who carried these
objects into the cliffs and why?

A massive limestone
cave structure is discovered

below the streets of Malta.

What we now call
the Hal Saflieni Hypogeum

revealed itself as a sprawling
subterranean labyrinth.

But who carved
this intricate

subterranean labyrinth? And why?

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.

23 miles northwest of Italy's
iconic Amalfi Coast,

nestled in the country's
Campania region,

is the bustling city of Naples.

Naples is
a quintessential Italian city,

but interestingly it was founded
by Greek settlers in 600 BCE.

After centuries of rule by
a shifting array of leaders,

it joined the newly unified
Kingdom of Italy in 1861.

The city has
incredible historic monuments,

centuries-old palaces,

and because of its Catholic
roots, over 450 churches.

It's also a city
on top of a city.

Deep below
its cobblestone streets

is an abandoned metropolis
called Napoli Sotterranea.

An awe-inspiring underworld

made up of ancient
Greek and Roman ruins.

One of the most
fascinating historical sites

in Naples is situated
at the center of town,

the Monumental Complex
of Santa Maria la Nova.

It was founded in 1279
as a Franciscan citadel,

but it eventually became
a cultural hub for the city,

collecting artistic works
from the Renaissance

and Baroque periods.

Today, it boasts a museum,
a breathtaking church,

and cloisters that are lined

with the tombs and
monuments of nobles.

In 2014, a startling
claim from outside the walls

of Santa Maria la Nova shakes
the spiritual foundation

of this historic landmark.

Researchers suggested
that one of the graves

in the monument Saint Giacomo
della Marca Cloister

is not what it seems.

The marble tomb
was sculpted

by a renowned Italian artist
named Jacopo della Pila

and has all the hallmarks

of an elaborate
Renaissance-era design.

There's a large decorative arch
adorned with rosettes

and an insignia depicting
the Madonna and Child.

And a series of remarkable
carvings adorn the tomb,

including a dragon and
a pair of opposing sphinxes.

For hundreds of years,
the tomb was always assumed

to be that of Matteo Ferrillo,

a powerful nobleman
in 15th century Naples.

But the scholar contends that
the tomb is merely a decoy

designed to conceal
the secret burial site

of its true occupant,

a 15th century prince
named Vlad III Draculea,

a man who would become
the inspiration

for none other
than Count Dracula.

It's an astounding proposition.

Prince Vlad dedicated
most of his adult life

to fighting back the expansion
of the Ottoman Empire,

and he became known for his
cruel and brutal tactics

on the battlefield.

He was particularly famous
for executing his victims

by impalement, earning him
the moniker Tepes,

which means "the Impaler."

Reportedly,
during a winter battle

against the Ottomans in 1476,
Vlad was decapitated.

His head was preserved in honey

and sent to the sultan
in Constantinople.

But it's never been clear

where his headless corpse
was eventually buried.

In the 15th century,
the Kingdom of Naples

was a military powerhouse

and a known ally to those
fighting the Ottoman Empire.

So it's plausible that
after his untimely death,

Prince Vlad's followers
may have fled Romania

and brought his corpse
to Naples for burial.

It's also been
suggested that the prince

wasn't killed in battle.

Instead, he was captured
by the Ottomans

and ransomed by his daughter,

who had previously escaped
to the Court of Naples.

It's alleged that Vlad was
then brought to the city

to live out the rest
of his days,

and upon his death,
he was secretly entombed

at the monumental complex

to protect the body
from his enemies.

Researchers point
to the sculptural details

carved into the sarcophagus
as clues about its inhabitant.

The dragon carving is
interpreted as a key symbol

linking the tomb
to Vlad Draculea,

a reference to his last name,
Son of the Dragon.

And like his father before him,
Prince Vlad was a member

of an order of knights called
the Order of the Dragon.

The image of the two
sphinxes could also be

a coded message, representing
the Egyptian city of Thebes,

which proponents claim to be
phonetically similar to tepes,

the Romanian word for "impaler."

But these
interpretations of the carvings

are fairly tenuous,
to say the least.

We see sphinxes and dragons
as common motifs in many pieces

from the Neapolitan Renaissance.

But there's another
clue carved into the marble,

that confounds even
the harshest skeptics

of the Naples burial.

Hidden beneath the tomb
there's a strange inscription

that doesn't seem to be written
in any known language.

When the characters
of the epigraph were analyzed,

it was estimated that
it was likely written

in the 16th century,
after the tomb was installed.

So why would someone
chisel these letters

into the back of a tomb
100 years later?

The bizarre writing
is fuel for proponents

of the Naples burial theory,

but critics challenge the very
premise of Vlad's arrival here.

We know that
Prince Vlad had three sons,

but there's no certainty
that he had a daughter.

It makes the entire idea
that Vlad somehow survived

the battle with the Ottomans

before being whisked away
to Naples seem highly suspect.

But if we can assume
he was killed in battle,

what happened to his body?

For centuries,
local folklore in Romania

told an altogether
different story

of Prince Vlad's final days.

It was said that after he was
killed on the battlefield

and beheaded by the Ottomans,

monks recovered his body to give
it a proper Christian burial.

The corpse of Vlad
reportedly was transported

to the Snagov Monastery, located
on an island near Bucharest,

where he was buried in front
of the church altar,

hidden away from anyone who may
have wanted to defile the grave.

So could this be
the final resting place

of Vlad the Impaler?

In 1933, archaeologists
received permission

to excavate the unmarked grave.

Inside the tomb,
they found a coffin

and a collection
of bizarre artifacts,

including fragments
of prehistoric pottery

and horse bones.

A second monastery
in Romania may hold

a more credible claim
to the body of the prince.

In 1461, Vlad founded
his own monastery

in Comana, Romania.

It was located just
south of Bucharest,

where the prince
would meet his end

during that fateful
winter battle.

After he was killed,
it seems entirely possible

that the prince's followers
would have transported him

to his own monastery.

And here's where
it gets interesting.

Sometime in the 1970s,
a group of archaeologists

supposedly excavated
the monastery grounds

and discovered a tomb.

However, as enticing as
it may be, there's no proof

that the tomb found at Comana
was Vlad the Impaler.

The excavation was
poorly documented,

so it's unknown if the remains
were ever analyzed

or where they're
even housed today.

Another problem
with the Comana theory

is that the original church
founded by Vlad was demolished

and then rebuilt
in the 16th century.

Even if we can assume that
Vlad was buried there,

it's highly unlikely
the original tomb

would have survived
the monastery's demolition.

Ultimately,
the real occupant of the tomb

may be hidden in plain sight.

There's a clear
inscription written in Latin

stating the name of
the Neapolitan nobleman

it was commissioned for:
Matteo Ferrillo.

Lying on top of the sarcophagus

is a stone effigy
of Ferrillo himself.

Notably, the facial features of
the effigy bear no resemblance

to the famous painting
of Vlad Draculea,

which sits today in
the Ambras Castle in Austria.

The dragon carved
into the marble tomb

is actually the official crest
of the Ferrillo family.

And a winged dragon was also
a symbol associated

with the kings of Aragon,
whom Ferrillo had served.

And there's another
important feature to the tomb

that makes Vlad's
Naples burial problematic.

The tomb itself
is dated to 1499.

This flies in the face
of the accepted timeline

around Vlad's death.

If he had died
on the battlefield

in the winter of 1476,

why would his headless body
have been transported to Naples

over 20 years later
to be buried in the tomb

of the Ferrillo family?

In June of 2025,

an international team
of researchers

from Italy, Estonia, and
Romania make a startling claim

about the mysterious
inscription.

They claim they've
managed to decipher the text

on the back of the tomb.

Incredibly, they allege it's
the epitaph of an individual

who is not Matteo Ferrillo,
but that of Vlad the Impaler.

The full text of the
epigraph has not been released,

nor has it been submitted to a
third party for academic review.

So we have no idea what
methodology they're using

to decipher the inscription
or what it might say.

The decoded text
could be a revelation,

a gross misinterpretation,
or an elaborate hoax.

At this point,
we just don't know.

Far from solving
the mystery of Dracula's tomb,

the translated epigraph
has instead created

more questions than answers.

For now, the story of Vlad the
Impaler's final resting place

remains as mythic as the tale

of the fictional vampire
he inspired.

About 20 miles
south of Qumran,

near the modern border
of Jordan,

the Nahal Hever stream winds
through the Judean Desert.

The Judean Desert,
located east of Jerusalem,

spans about 580 square miles,

stretching between the
Judean Hills and the Dead Sea.

Its proximity to ancient urban
and religious centers

like Bethlehem, Hebron, and Arad

made it a critical crossroads
throughout history.

The caves scattered
across the desert

have served as refuges
since prehistoric times.

Their remote, rugged terrain
offered natural concealment,

making them ideal shelters
for rebels, religious sects,

and anyone fleeing conflict
or persecution.

After the 1947 discovery
of the Dead Sea Scrolls

at Qumran, these caves
attracted intense interest

from both archaeologists
and looters alike.

The region's extreme aridity
helped preserve

organic materials
exceptionally well,

making these caves
rare repositories

of cultural and
historical evidence.

In 1960, an Israeli
archaeologist climbs

into a hidden cave carved
into the cliffs of Nahal Hever

on the western bank
of the Dead Sea,

bringing to light a trove

untouched for nearly
2,000 years.

After crawling
nearly 450 feet

into the bat-infested cave, they
uncovered Roman cult objects,

copper vessels, incense shovels,
Hebrew and Aramaic manuscripts,

and the skeletal remains
of at least 17 individuals.

Most of these artifacts date
to a period of intense upheaval

and Roman suppression
in the second century CE.

The so-called
Cave of Letters

lies 300 feet below
the Judean Desert plateau

and 650 feet above
the valley floor.

Inside, the cave splits
into three vaults,

each reachable only by squeezing
through narrow, rocky gaps.

So far, nearly 1,800 feet of
passages have been explored.

Interest in the cave
began years earlier,

when Bedouins reported
fragmentary finds

north of Masada.

But when excavators
returned in 1961,

they found an even
larger trove--

dozens of papyri,
legal contracts,

and biblical manuscripts.

But they also found
everyday items,

such as utensils, baskets,
textiles, jewelry, clothing,

all of which offers us
a glimpse of survival

on the desert's edge.

But the deeper
purpose of this hidden cave

is still a total mystery.

We don't know who carried
these objects into the cliffs.

We don't know why.

But the bigger question is,
how did they hope to endure

in this totally
unforgiving place?

And what do these traces reveal
about how they balanced

resistance, faith,
and everyday life?

The cave of letters
may have served a purpose

deeply tied to
writing, language,

and cultural identity.

Texts from the cave
reveal at least four

distinct private archives,
offering rare insight

into daily life, legal disputes,
and social networks in Judea

during the first and second
centuries CE.

So could the Cave of Letters
have been used

to safeguard family memory
and legal identity?

Among these archives,
35 separate papyrus scrolls

belonged to a woman
named Babatha,

the daughter of a wealthy
Jewish landowner.

Born around 104 CE in Mahoza,
south of the Dead Sea,

she inherited her father's
date orchards

and became
an independent landowner.

In 106 CE, the region was
annexed by Rome,

forcing locals to navigate
new legal systems

and Roman provincial courts.

Babatha's archive
included marriage contracts,

property deeds, court petitions,
and loan records

show how she actively
defended her rights

as a twice-widowed mother,

even confronting Roman-appointed

guardians in Petra.

Written in Greek, Nabataean,
and Aramaic,

these documents reveal
her wealth, her authority,

and underscore how crucial
written records were

for protecting property
and social standing

under Roman rule.

The team also uncovered
Babatha's personal belongings.

Jewelry, expensive clothing,
sandals, a mirror, cosmetics,

all of it carefully stashed
in a rock crevice

and then covered with a stone.

Now, that suggests
she intended to come back.

So even while fleeing,

she prioritized preserving
her identity and rights.

And this reinforces the idea
that the Cave of Letters

functioned as a sanctuary
for safeguarding

vital personal
and legal records.

10 miles to the north,

evidence at
the Wadi Murabba'at caves

reveals a strikingly
similar pattern.

In 1952, excavations at
the site uncovered textiles,

baskets, ropes, and
a substantial collection

of leather and papyrus fragments

written in Greek, Hebrew,
and Aramaic.

Most date to the early
second century CE,

including a Greek
marriage contract from 124.

Further evidence
that families carried

legal and personal records
while fleeing Roman forces.

This pattern supports the idea
that the Cave of Letters

was chosen as a secure location
to protect important materials

during times of crisis.

The last document
in Babatha's archive

dates to August 132 CE
in Mahoza.

Soon after, she likely fled
south as Roman forces advanced,

ultimately seeking shelter
in the Cave of Letters.

Her carefully deposited
archive provides

rare archaeological evidence
of how Jewish families fought

to preserve their rights
and identities

in the face of upheaval.

And it also raises
the possibility

that the cave's role extended
beyond just simple storage.

Other evidence
inside the cave suggests

a sudden, organized occupation

tied to a critical moment
of resistance and a tragic end.

Inside the cave,
archeologists found

11 to 15 letters
from Simon Bar Kokhba.

He's the leader of
a fierce Jewish uprising

against Rome during
Emperor Hadrian's reign.

So the question is,
could this cache indicate

that the cave once functioned
as a hidden command post

as Roman forces were closing in?

Seven of these letters
were addressed

to his deputy commander, issuing
orders for supplies and arrests.

These documents anchor the cave
to the revolt's second phase,

around 132 to 135 CE,

when fighters shifted from open
battle to guerrilla tactics.

By that time,
the rebels had turned

to defensive strategies,

creating a network of
hidden strongholds in caves

and remote hideouts throughout
Judea to stall Roman advances.

This fierce resistance was
driven by Emperor Hadrian's

severe measures, including
the founding of Aelia Capitolina

on the ruins of Jerusalem,

with plans to build
a temple to Jupiter

over the destroyed
Jewish temple;

acts that pushed many
to the breaking point.

By 2015, archaeologists
had recorded about 350

of these hideouts
across 140 villages.

The Cave of Letters fits
within this strategy.

It's a concealed sanctuary

reached only when surface
positions are no longer tenable.

Around 25 miles
south of Jerusalem,

just west of the Dead Sea,

another cave offers a chilling
glimpse into a community

pushed to the edge under siege.

The Cave of Horror,

accessible only by descending
200 feet on ropes,

was discovered in the 1950s
and used as a hidden refuge

during the Bar Kokhba Revolt,

which was a Jewish rebellion
against Roman rule in Judea.

Archaeologists have since
uncovered 40 human skeletons,

including a child
wrapped in cloth.

Roman encampments found directly
above the cave suggest

that those inside were besieged,
cut off from supplies,

and ultimately died
of starvation.

Like the Cave of Horror,
the Cave of Letters shows

a carefully planned
attempt at survival.

But evidence inside
challenges the idea

of a final military fortress.

The presence of women
and children,

combined with extreme heat
and a lack of water,

suggests it wasn't designed
for prolonged defense.

The conditions of
the remains supports this:

skulls were separated
and gathered in baskets,

jaw bones are missing,

long bones are wrapped in mats.

These are all signs of
crisis-driven makeshift burials.

And the absence
of violent trauma

also indicates that
these individuals

likely died from starvation,
not combat.

While the letters
from Bar Kokhba

point to an organized
military presence,

the cave's proximity
to En Gedi,

a communal settlement
and key economic center

from which rebels fled during
the revolt's final stages,

suggests that local fighters,
possibly joined by families,

used it as an emergency refuge,
not a fortified holdout.

Together, these clues point
to a short-term shelter

during extreme danger, rather
than a permanent military base.

This perspective also
opens the possibility

that the cave's use
began even earlier,

during an older and
equally desperate chapter

in Jewish history.

Archaeologists uncovered
about 80 new fragments

of the Dead Sea Scrolls
in the Cave of Horror,

dating from the third century
BCE to the first century CE.

These fragments,
including sections

of The Book of the Twelve Minor
Prophets written in Greek,

offer a glimpse into
the religious mindset

of refugee communities.

Beyond family
archives and rebel hideouts,

some interpreted evidence
from the Cave of Letters

as holding secrets
tied to the fall

of Jerusalem's
holiest sanctuary.

During the original
excavations,

archaeologists uncovered
bronze objects,

including incense shovels,

originally believed
to be Roman items,

but possibly plundered
by Bar Kokhba's fighters

from En Gedi.

But decades later, another team

proposed a bold
reinterpretation.

Could these objects actually
date to the first century CE,

hidden after the destruction

of Jerusalem's second temple
in 70 CE?

Excavations in 1999
and 2000 uncovered coins

from multiple periods, including
a Nabataean coin from 106 CE,

a Trajan coin
from around 113 CE,

a silver coin of Vespasian
dated to 70 CE,

and a First Revolt coin
from 68 CE.

Together, these finds suggest
that the cave may have been

occupied even before
the Bar Kokhba uprising,

perhaps during the earlier
First Jewish Revolt.

About 100 miles
north in Migdal

on the western shore
of the Sea of Galilee,

another discovery may shed
light on the movement

of sacred objects and
practices beyond Jerusalem.

Archaeologists uncovered
a delicately crafted

bronze incense shovel and jug

in a 2,000-year-old
Jewish settlement.

Magdala was once a bustling port
and later a military base

for Jewish rebels against Rome
and held a large synagogue

dating to the early
first century CE.

The shovel was from
the Second Temple period

and was likely used
to rake coals

during ritual incense offerings,

though it might have also served
practical daily purposes.

The Magdala shovel
closely resembles

the incense shovel found
at the Cave of Letters,

and that parallel suggests that
implements originally tied

to temple rituals in Jerusalem

were present across
distant communities,

possibly carried by the people
who lived there

seeking to protect their
sacred practices and objects

from Roman pressure.

In the end,
no definitive evidence confirms

that the Cave of Letters
was occupied

during the first century CE.

And whether it served
as a temporary refuge,

a secure archive, or a secret
treasury for temple relics,

that's all still up for debate.

The cave's full story
is yet to be unfolded.

The Cave of Letters
holds a stratified record

of refuge, resistance,

and the effort to safeguard
identity under Roman rule.

Each artifact unearthed not
only expands our understanding,

but also deepens the questions

surrounding the cave's
shifting roles across time.

Two miles
south of Valletta,

perched on a low
limestone ridge

above Malta's Grand Harbour,
sits the modern town of Paola.

Paola lies at the
center of Malta's urban sprawl,

just beyond the capital.

Built in the 17th century to
ease overcrowding in Valletta,

it became a home for
dock workers and laborers

tied to the booming harbor.

More than 9,000 people live here
in less than one square mile.

Malta is a crossroads,

an island just 60 miles
south of Sicily.

Its central position in
the Mediterranean made it a hub

for trade and cultural exchange
for millennia.

Malta's story begins
long before recorded history.

By about 5200 BCE, Neolithic
settlers had arrived

from Sicily, mainly fishermen,

hunters, and farmers
who lived in caves.

But by 3600 BCE, they were
constructing megalithic temples,

vast stone complexes that
predate both Stonehenge

and the pyramids of Egypt.

In 1902,
during the construction

of a housing subdivision
on Hal Saflieni Street,

a stonemason falls
through a roof

and stumbles into
something strange.

There was
a hollow chamber

beneath the soft limestone.

Initially, the discovery
was suppressed

to avoid disrupting
construction.

But in 1903, once most of the
homes had already been built,

it was formally reported.

The Valletta Museum
assigns a Jesuit priest

to lead the first
official excavation.

What he uncovers is unlike
anything Malta had seen.

What we now call
the Hal Saflieni Hypogeum

revealed itself as a sprawling
subterranean labyrinth.

The oldest chamber was
likely a natural cave

that was gradually transformed
into a complex

of over 30 rooms
across three levels.

It descends to a depth
of nearly 35 feet

and stretches across
almost 5,400 square feet

beneath the modern city.

There are no
straight lines,

just fluid organic curves, and
all of it was carved by hand,

using nothing but stone,
horn, and antler.

The complex is dated at
over 6,000 years old,

making it one of the most
extensive and best-preserved

Neolithic environments
ever found.

But who carved this intricate
subterranean labyrinth? And why?

Another archaeologist
takes over the excavation

of the Hal Saflieni Hypogeum

and discovers
something unexpected.

The chambers,
especially those

on the lower level
and near the entrance,

were packed with
dense red earth,

around three feet deep
in places.

Embedded in it were bones,

Neolithic pottery,
tools, and beads.

They also found burial chambers
in the upper level.

Given the density and placement
of these remains,

it seems like it may have been
used as a burial site.

It was first believed
that the Hypogeum

may have functioned as
a vast secondary ossuary.

Bodies would have been
defleshed elsewhere

and only the bones brought here.

Some estimates suggest that
based on the site's scale,

layout, and depth,
it was estimated

that it could have
held the remains

of up to 7,000 individuals
accumulated over centuries.

When some of the skulls
were re-examined in the 1980s,

surprising clues jumped out.

One skull had clear signs
of sun exposure,

suggesting that it had been
left to dry before burial.

That tells us that
there may have been

a secondary burial practice.

Some of the skulls
are removed for examination,

and the results are
rather surprising.

They have an elongated
cranial shape

known as dolichocephaly,

and later tests showed evidence
of thalassemia intermedia,

a blood disorder that can
lead to bone abnormalities.

In antiquity, physical
traits like elongated skulls,

or even extra digits,
were often interpreted

as signs of semi-divine
status or ancestry.

And interestingly, similar
cranial features appear

in depictions
of New Kingdom pharaohs.

It raises the possibility

that this wasn't just
a communal burial site,

but a sacred resting place
for individuals

believed to hold special status.

But the burials here
don't fit a ceremonial pattern.

One skeleton at Hal Saflieni was
found twisted on its right side,

frozen in a contorted position
consistent with cadaveric spasm.

That's the kind
of muscular rigidity

that occurs in sudden,
traumatic deaths, like drowning.

That stands in sharp contrast
to ritual burials

at nearby sites like Bur-Meghez,

where individuals with
similar elongated skulls

were carefully placed in
a uniform left-facing pose.

And in one chamber,
over 120 skeletons

were crammed into a space that
could barely fit a dozen bodies.

The remains were so mixed up
and disturbed

that artifacts were found
inside skulls.

Whatever happened here,
it wasn't a structured burial.

Just half a mile
away, at Santa Lucija,

researchers discovered a site

with noticeable parallels
to the Hypogeum.

They found
a subterranean chamber

filled with red soil,
disarticulated bones,

and a chaotic scattering
of pottery and tools,

as if the contents
had been dumped in there

from the surface.

Given the site's proximity
to the Hypogeum,

could the same kind of event
have unfolded there?

One theory points
to the alluvial nature

of the deposit, suggesting
a catastrophic flood

swept through
the original entrance,

carrying centuries of
artifacts, human remains,

and ochre-stained soil
into the open chambers below.

Similar material found
near the original entrance

supports this idea.

But as the chambers
deepen, so does the complexity.

And some features seem designed
not for the dead,

but for the living.

Red ochre spirals,
checkerboards,

and honeycomb patterns cover
the walls and ceilings--

Malta's only surviving
prehistoric paintings.

Figurines of birds and animals,

some small enough
to be worn as pendants,

appear carefully placed.

And at the heart of it all,
the so-called Sleeping Lady,

which is a ceramic figure
of a reclining woman,

was found in the main hall,
which is the largest room.

There's also an
interesting parallel at Tarxien.

Figures representing diseased
body parts were found there.

They displayed exaggerated
abdominal swelling,

hollowed iliac regions,
and a kyphotic spine,

which could reflect
health issues,

such as abdominal tumors.

It suggests that those temples
may have served

a votive or healing function,

where people left offerings in
the hope of divine intervention.

So maybe that's what was
happening at the Hypogeum, too.

At the core
of the Hypogeum,

one team discovers
the so-called Holy of Holies,

a chamber that closely
mirrors the design

of Malta's
above-ground temples.

Just in front of it,

they found a set of carved
floor holes, likely used

for pouring libations
or securing ritual offerings.

These same features appear
on other above-ground sites

in Malta, like Ggantija.

It suggests a shared
ceremonial language

between the worlds
above and below.

That continuity
runs deeper.

Beveled cornices,
pitted stone surfaces,

even trilithon-style doorways,

all echo what we see
at other Maltese sites.

And a carved plate featuring
horned bulls was found,

which mirrors the motifs
found at Tarxien,

a nearby archaeological complex.

Near the entrance
of one of the decorated rooms,

there's a carved hand,
eight inches long,

with six fingers
instead of five.

It's far larger than
any normal human hand.

In many ancient cultures,

polydactyly was seen
as a sign of divinity,

and it's been tied
to cult ceremonies.

On the second level,
archaeologists uncover

one of the most
mysterious features

in the entire structure,

and the clues shift from
the visual to the acoustic.

Inside the so-called
Oracle Room,

there's a two-foot-wide
hemispherical niche,

about the height
of a man's mouth,

carved directly into the stone.

When someone speaks or hums
at that exact spot,

the effect is astonishing.

Low tones are amplified 100-fold

and carry throughout
the entire complex.

You could be in a completely
different chamber

and still hear every word.

There's also
a carved projection

behind the oracle niche

that functions almost
like a sounding board.

A voice projected from that spot
could create the illusion

of sound coming from all around

and with echoes lasting
seven to eight seconds,

amplifying even a single phrase.

All this suggests
the Hypogeum was designed

as a ritual performance space,
long before places like Delphi.

Archaeologists notice
that even the ceiling appears

to have been shaped
like a waveguide,

carefully contoured to help
direct and amplify sound.

Inside the Oracle Room,
it was discovered

that when a male voice
hits certain tones,

the entire chamber resonates.

Studies have shown that
frequencies in this range

can alter brain activity,

much like we've found inside
megalithic chambers in the UK.

It's likely the space was
deliberately engineered

for chanting or incantation

to induce hypnotic, trance-like
states of consciousness.

Recent 3D wave
simulations suggest

those resonant peaks
weren't accidental.

To produce them, the builders
would have needed to calibrate

six to eight non-adjacent walls
across multiple chambers,

each within only four to 10
inches of precision.

That level of
geometric coordination

across separate spaces
is no coincidence.

The hypogeum is one of
the oldest known examples

of engineered resonance
in human history.

Between
3600 and 2500 BCE,

Malta's prehistoric builders
constructed

more than 30
megalithic temples,

an architectural legacy

unparalleled in Neolithic Europe.

What makes these
temples remarkable

isn't just their age,
it's their sophistication.

Each site is
uniquely engineered,

but most follow
a recognizable pattern.

A concave facade,
a central passage,

and a series of semicircular
chambers, or apses,

arranged symmetrically.

The scale is staggering.

Builders quarried, transported,
and raised limestone blocks

weighing up to 20 tons
to heights of nearly 20 feet.

This kind of construction
demanded coordinated labor,

shared engineering knowledge,

and long-term planning
across generations.

The Hal Saflieni
Hypogeum takes that ambition

even further.

It's the only known subterranean
labyrinth of its kind

in Neolithic Europe,
from 4000 to 2500 BCE.

In many ways, it feels like
an intentional attempt

to surpass everything
above ground.

Artifacts dating
to the 1700s,

such as a coin from
the Knights of St. John

and a French cannonball,

hint that the Hypogeum
may have been exposed,

or at least partially known,

long before its official
rediscovery in the 20th century.

But if anyone understood what
it was, we have no record of it.

Today, the
Hal Saflieni Hypogeum stands

as a testament to the ingenuity
and imagination

of a society at the dawn
of agriculture.

But for all we've uncovered--

its artistry, acoustics,
and architecture--

much of its meaning remains
sealed in stone,

buried under the city.

On Kenya's
southeastern coast

lies Kilifi County,

a region renowned for
its dazzling beaches,

spectacular landscapes,
and rich biodiversity.

Unlike a lot
of northern Kenya,

which is quite dry, this part
of the country is humid

and tropical with lush forests

that are home to a wide variety
of plant species and wildlife.

It's an ecotourism hotspot.

The coastal areas
near the Indian Ocean

have sweeping mangrove forests;

important breeding grounds
for mollusks, crustaceans,

and many species of fish.

They also help protect
the coastline

from growing sea levels
and damaging storms,

and they play a vital part

in capturing atmospheric
carbon dioxide.

Just under 10 miles
inland are the Dzitsoni Uplands,

a series of limestone hills
almost two miles wide,

situated in an ecotone,

which is a transitional area
between two biomes.

In this case, the intersection
of grassland savanna

and tropical forest.

The hills are pocked
with natural rock shelters

and extensive cave complexes.

One of these complexes
is known as Panga ya Saidi,

a multi-chambered cave system
that extends over half a mile

with a cavernous main chamber

that reaches 1,100 square feet
at its widest.

It's partially unroofed,
and the limestone walls tower

almost 100 feet above
the cave floor in some spots.

In 2010, a team
of international researchers

arrives at Panga ya Saidi

to investigate the history
of Indian Ocean trade

along East Africa's coast,

only to discover much more
than they bargained for.

They quickly realized
after the initial surveys

that the site may be far more
scientifically important

than they'd initially thought.

And so began a decade-long
series of excavations

that may upend long-held beliefs
about human evolution in Africa.

They discovered 19
unique stratigraphic layers

showing evidence
of human presence

going back about 78,000 years.

That is the longest
uninterrupted

archaeological sequence
in East Africa.

That stretches from
the Middle Stone Age

all the way to about
500 years ago.

One school of thought
was that modern human behavior

in Africa began during a
somewhat short and sudden burst

around 50,000 years ago.

It's known as
the Human Revolution Theory,

a time when early Homo sapiens
showed a major cognitive leap

possibly because
of a genetic mutation

or a change in brain function

resulting in more complex
language and abstract thought.

But the archaeological
record at Panga ya Saidi

seems to fly in the face of
the Human Revolution Theory,

showing evidence
of prolonged gradual change

much different from
other early human

archaeological sites in Africa.

Throughout
the excavations,

the researchers discover
hearths, ash layers,

and man-made features
like pits and hollows.

They also found
over 30,000 stone artifacts

which provide this great record

of how tool technologies
evolve over time.

If you go back to the earliest
inhabitants of the cave,

in the Middle Stone Age, like
78,000 to 73,000 years ago,

you see tools that
are characterized

by these large flakes.

Those people were using
variations of what's called

the Levallois technique,

where you take a big stone and
you chip off fragments of it,

and you make sort of a rounded
top and a flat bottom,

almost like a turtle shell.

Artifacts at the site
from the later Stone Age,

around 67,000 years ago,
show a shift to smaller tools

and a change of material
from limestone

to finer-grained
quartz or chert.

But what's interesting is that
the new tool technologies

did not simply replace
the old ones.

Instead, they appear in the same
stratigraphic layers,

one dating to roughly between
51,000 and 48,000 years ago

and again, much later,

at around 14,000 to 1,000
years ago.

This tells us that
the people who inhabited

Panga ya Saidi may have been
an isolated conservative group

resistant to change,

and that the area was not
a focal point of innovation.

So while changes
may have been occurring

in other parts of Africa,

the people living here

were content with their
way of life and customs,

and saw no need to be influenced

by what was happening
in other communities.

But this begs the question,
what was it about Panga ya Saidi

that made it such
a comfortable refuge?

Analysis of ancient
biological material

from the site may just
provide some insights.

They found
animal teeth and remains,

and microscopic traces
of plants.

When the data was examined,

it showed that the region
around the cave--

the transitional area
between grassland savanna

and tropical forest--

remained largely unchanged
over the millennia,

which provided the people with
a stable supply of resources,

even at times when
other areas of Africa

would have been too hostile
to sustain life.

One long-held theory
holds that innovation

in early humans was mainly
caused by having to adapt

to changing climates and
environmental conditions.

But that doesn't match
the evidence at Panga ya Saidi.

Because despite
not facing stresses

induced by their surroundings,

the people here still
progressed and evolved,

but didn't do so
out of critical necessity;

they did it out of choice.

One of the discoveries

that the research team makes

becomes the most important
and surprising.

Under the overhang of
the cave, roughly 10 feet deep,

they discovered
the remains of a child

between two and a half and
three and a half years old.

The body was in
a flexed position,

lying on its right side, with
knees drawn towards the chest,

suggesting a shrouded burial.

The position of the head
showed signs of collapse,

indicating that a support,
possibly a pillow,

may have been there
at the time of burial.

The remains are dated
to the earliest occupation layer

of the site,
roughly 78,000 years ago,

making it the oldest known

deliberate human burial
in Africa.

It represents not just an early
example of funerary practice,

but an important indicator
of abstract thought,

cultural nuance,
and community care.

And it took place thousands
of years before the proposed

Human Revolution Theory
supposedly gripped Africa.

Overall, the
discoveries at Panga ya Saidi

show that some early humans
engaged in prolonged, gradual

technological and social change.

Maybe the people
of Panga ya Saidi existed

in an isolated, comfortable
environment that allowed them

to evolve organically
over a longer period of time.

The picture that emerges

is that at the time
of early humans,

Africa was maybe more of a
mishmash of distinct cultures

living in vastly
different environments,

not a uniform group of people.

Each culture adapted, innovated,
and evolved in unique ways,

but they all contributed
to the overall origins

of the human species
as we know it today.

Like many significant
archaeological discoveries,

Panga ya Saidi answers
a lot of questions,

but arguably raises even more.

Future excavations
may just continue

to further our understanding

of humankind's journey
through the millennia.