The Crusader ("The Crusader" Prequel to "Kingdom Come") (4 page)

"Well,
I've had enough for one night," he said quietly, climbing from the trench.
"I suppose we should call Dr. Becker and make a report."

"I'll
do it," Bud said quickly; too quickly. When David looked as if he didn't
believe the man's word, Bud merely shrugged and hoisted himself from the hole.
"I want to talk to Rory first. So she understands what's going to
happen."

Peck
emitted a long sigh. "She understands, Bud. She's understood the potential
consequences from the beginning. It doesn't matter how you confirm the fact
that her project is ended; it's still going to hurt. And you can't ease the
pain no matter what you say."

Bud
gazed into the heated night sky, a billion stars glittering wickedly against
the heavens. After a moment, he clucked with regret. "I realize
that," the two men began to move in the direction of the camp.
"Still, I don't want her to feel like she's failed. We've still come up
with some marvelous artifacts in spite of everything."

The
smell of roasting pig was heavy as they drew near to the encampment. David eyed
the glow from the cooking fires, realizing he was going to miss the rustic
atmosphere when they returned to the States. He was quite at home roughing it
among the natives, which made him ideal for this profession. And the fact that
he had the sensitivity of a rock, as Rory had so delicately phrased his
character, made him perfect for a job that took him far away from the normal,
compassionate populace.

A sensitivity,
however, than was oddly intact this night. "But we didn't find her
crown," he replied belatedly to Bud's statement. "To her, that
constitutes failure."

 Bud
watched the man disappear into the clutter of canvas structures, chewing his
lip in thought. No, they hadn't located their ultimate goal and in a way, Bud
blamed himself for the disappointment. Perhaps he could have worked harder.
Perhaps there was something here and he was just too blind to see it. Or maybe
he should have discouraged the dig from the beginning and saved them all the
trouble.

The
workers were eating beef and lentils as he made his way to his tent. A quick
wash, a change of clothes, and then he would find Rory and try to comfort her.
Try to comfort them both.

CHAPTER
THREE

The next
day emerged dusty and uncomfortable. The howling desert winds blasted the
barren hills like a furnace as Rory sat in Bud's tent, her long chestnut hair
wound up on top of her head and her loose cotton shirt already soaked with
sweat. They were seated around a folding table, David a few feet away and
toying distractedly with a pen. His laptop computer was open and engaged, a
message on the screen waiting to be emailed to the head of the Archaeology and
Anthropology department of the university.

Bud was
lingering by the open flap of the tent, conversing with the foreman in Arabic.
But Rory wasn't listening to their conversation; at the moment, her thoughts
were centered on the cessation of funds and the closure of her dig. Since
retiring to her tent the night before in the throes of defeat, she'd pondered
little else. She simply couldn't believe it had come down to this.

When the
brief dialogue came to a conclusion, the foreman ducked away and Bud turned to
his subdued colleagues. His eyes were riveted to Rory, his heart aching for the
conversation to come. Quietly, he took a seat.

"I
didn't see you at breakfast," he said softly, noting the circles under her
eyes and pale complexion in spite of the heat. "You know the rule; you've
got to eat something before going out in the field. It's too easy to collapse
in this heat with an empty stomach."

She
sighed faintly, the hazel eyes coming up from the tabletop. "I'm not going
out in the field today, Bud. None of us are, I would guess."

His
gentle expression faded, feeling Peck's intense stare. But his focus remained
on Rory. "I went to your tent last night after supper, but you were
already asleep. I'd hoped we could talk about the situation."

Rory
shrugged. "I wasn't asleep. I just didn't want to talk to anyone. I sort
of needed to come to grips with this by myself."

Bud held
her gaze a moment longer, feeling the pain radiating forth from the intense
hazel eyes. David had been right; there wasn't anything he could do or say to
ease the ache of failure and he suddenly felt frustrated with his impotency.
But facts were facts. "I just don't know what else I can do, Rory. I'm
sorry. I really am. I don't think there's any doubt that we've found an ancient
trash dump and there simply isn't enough, at this point, to keep us here."

He saw
her swallow, struggling to maintain her composure even though she knew what his
answer would be. After a moment, she nodded as if to acknowledge the fate of
her precious project. "Then I suppose you should go ahead and email your
report to Becker. Tell him what a fool I made out of him and the
university."

"That's
not true," Bud said firmly. "We found some priceless pieces that will
easily compensate the funding that supported this dig. You have nothing to be
ashamed about."

Rory
stood up, turning away from the table. Her back was damp with perspiration, her
shapely legs glistening with sheen. Bud watched her as she wandered to the edge
of the tent, trying not to stare at her perfect bottom when he realized David
wasn't being quite so discreet. As Rory paused at the tent flap, Bud cast his
associate a withering expression, causing the man to look away in
embarrassment.

"I'm
not, really. It's just that I can't believe what's happened," she uttered
softly, her gaze focused on the encampment that was still for the most part.
After a lengthy pause, she sighed heavily. "Archaeology has always been my
passion. When I was a kid, my mom bought this old house and I liked to dig in
the backyard because a hundred years ago, that's where people buried their
trash. I found all sorts of old milk bottles and broken plates, and I loved it.
My mom thought I was nuts."

Dr. Peck
tossed the pen he had been toying with aside. "Hell, I was even worse. I
used to dig up old animal bones and my parents thought I was going to be a
grave robber."

That
statement brought a smile to Rory's pallid lips. "I'm not surprised, Dave.
You always were a little weird," when Peck met her smile and looked away
sheepishly, the hazel eyes focused on Bud. Her smile faded. "It's not like
I didn't research all of my facts before going ahead with this project. I spent
the majority of my graduate studies in Rome and Istanbul, studying Byzantine
manuscripts that had been translated from ancient Arabic text. Particularly,
several parchments that had to do with the Christian Religion's influence on
the Third Crusade as translated by a monk named Ottis. The guy really knew his
stuff, Bud. He was so... convincing."

Bud
nodded slowly; he had heard all of this before. "I saw the copies of the
scripts, Rory. And you have all of the translated information here. If I
thought you had been off base, I wouldn't have agreed to head this undertaking
in the first place. I know you were convinced of the authenticity of the facts.
I was, too."

Arms
folded across her chest, Rory kicked at the ground in frustration before
meandering back to her colleagues. Reaching the table, she suddenly slammed her
palm against the peeling surface.

"Damn,"
she hissed, her mannerisms growing more animated as she spoke. "It's got
to be here. I know it is. But we're not looking in the right place!"

"Where
else are we going to look?" Peck was always the voice to contradict her
theories and Bud cast him a warning glance. Now was not the time to say I told
you so. "We followed your leads, the information provided. Rory, do you
realize what we were looking for in the first place? You're talking about a
biblical relic to end all biblical relics; the actual crown of thorns that
Jesus Christ wore on Mount Calvary. And the fact that we were looking for a
Christian artifact on the grounds of a Muslim mosque just never added up."

Rory
stared at him, the warmth from not a moment before vanished. "I told you
why, Dave. The transcripts stated that the crown had been buried secretly, but
I don't know why. It wasn't very clear," she was struggling to keep calm.
"Look, I never entered this field with the intention of finding Christ's
bones. Although my degree is in Biblical Sciences, my emphasis is the Crusades.
But when I came across an obscure reference to the crown of thorns while
studying for my doctoral thesis, I just couldn't let it go. It was like an
addiction, one that I had to pursue or regret the rest of my life."

David
shook his head, lowering his gaze. Watching his grim expression, Rory was
seized with the familiar anger she quite often felt as a result of Peck's
cynicism. Since the moment the project began, she'd been defending her ideals
to him almost daily. "You never did believe in what we were doing
here," her voice was uncharacteristically cold. "God only knows why
you agreed to this assignment, because your heart certainly wasn't in it. The
harder I tried to prove my theories, the harder you tried to shoot me
down."

"That's
not true," David rose from his chair defensively. "If I didn't have a
good amount of faith in your speculations, nothing in the world could have
convinced me to participate in this dig. But I'll admit that Biblical
Archaeology isn't something I put a lot of trust in."

"Why
not?" Rory demanded.

Peck threw
up his hands. "Because you're chasing myths. To most scientists, the Bible
is just a book full of folklore and stories. It's not fact!"

Rory
turned away from him, growling with irritation. "Neither was the city of
Troy, but Schliemann proved that it did, in fact, exist."

"The
city of Troy and biblical relics are two different things," David's
argument was gaining steam. "There were varied sources confirming Troy's
whereabouts. You're basing all of your ideals on one single book and the
writings of men who believed in the existence of God and angels and demon
sorcery."

Rory
paused by the edge of the tent, her cheeks mottled with heat and emotion.
"Then you're telling me I'm basing my beliefs on the ignorance of
religious idiots?"

"I
telling you that your willing to give the tales of medieval monks more credit
than you should. And your blind faith has cost the university a hell of a lot
of money."

She
continued to gaze at him, blinking slowly as her composure slipped another
notch. "Did it ever occur to you that the ancient manuscripts may be
correct? That, maybe, the tales Byzantine monks spent their lives putting to
paper just might have some basis? Or do you just assume they're all a bunch of
ignorant asses simply because they don't have a Ph.D. in Anthropology like you
do?"

David
let out a long sigh; it seemed like every time they delved into this subject,
the exchange became increasingly bitter. But in his opinion, his argument was
valid. Moreso as of last night. "You'd make a hell of a theologian, Rory.
But you've got a lot to learn about archaeology."

Rory's
control was dangerously close to breaking. The urge to plant her fist into
David's eye was overwhelming. "And you've got a lot to learn about faith,
Dr. Peck. Not everything in this world is subject to hard facts and logic.
Sometimes there is more truth in the unknown than the known."

Before
the verbal battle grew out of control, Bud decided to intervene. "Enough
of this," he said in a tone that discouraged further argument. "We've
been through this before and I'm sick of this constant bickering. Dave, sit
down and shut up. Rory, come over here and sit. Your pacing is digging holes in
my floor."

Jaw
ticking, Rory reluctantly did as she was asked, refusing to look at Dr. Peck
across the table. Bud watched her a moment, feeling her tension and
disappointment.

"Look,"
he said quietly. "I'll see what I can do about extending this project
another month or two. Maybe you're right... maybe we're not looking in the
right place."

David
let out a harsh hiss before Rory could respond. "We're looking exactly
where she said to look, Bud," his voice was strained with irritation.
"What will it take to convince you that the crown of thorns is exactly
what I said it was from the beginning - a myth. It's not here; nothing
is!"

Bud's
expression was tight. "You're contradicting yourself. Only a minute ago
you were saying that you wouldn't have agreed to come on this dig if Rory's
facts hadn't been somewhat solid."

Peck
held Bud's gaze a moment before looking away. "She presented a hell of an
argument, Bud. Enough to make me think that maybe she was right. And you
thoroughly believed her, so I guess I just went along with the general
opinion," his voice was softened as he focused on Rory. "But I've got
to tell you this; your ultimate goal to not only locate the crown but to match
whatever DNA blood evidence might exist with similar swatches from the Shroud
of Turin is about the craziest thing I've ever heard of. Just what are you
trying to prove, anyway?"

Rory was
staring at her hands. She should have been used to Dr. Peck's personal attacks
by now, but when it came to her pet project, her skin wasn't as thick as it
should have been. "I'm trying to do what all scientists have been trying
to do since the beginning of modern archaeology," she replied quietly.
"I'm trying to shed some truth on myths and legends. In my case, the
reality of Biblical fables."