The Digger's Rest (16 page)

Mitch nudged Simon to wake him up when
he saw the girl with the refreshment cart coming around.
Hot coffee. Just what the doctor ordered,
he thought to himself with a chuckle. Simon was hard to
rouse, somewhere deep in the land of Nod. Mitch nudged him gently
again. “Simon, come on get up. We’re almost there.” Simon sat up,
rubbing his eyes. Mitch waved at the girl with the cart. She opened
the door. “Two large coffees, please,” he told her. She looked at
him strangely.

“
We only have one size, sir,” she said
and held up a pea sized cup. “Damn!” It’d slipped his mind for a
second that he wasn’t at a Starbucks in America.

“
Okay, make it four of those, please.”
Given his American accent, the girl smiled as she poured the
coffees, thinking to herself,
A stranger
from a strange land, explaining his faux pas.

Once Simon was more fully awake, he started
asking questions about why they were stopping.

“
I forgot I told an old friend I’d stop
by and see him when I was next in the area. It’ll only take us a
little out of our way.”

Simon still seemed like he was more asleep
than awake so when the train stopped at Salisbury, Mitch took
charge of the bags, hailing a porter to help. They were in a cab
before Simon knew it and, as per Mitch’s instructions, apparently
on their way to the closest car rental agency.

Less than an hour later, they were on their
way in a new SUV, Mitch taking it easy until he could get used to
driving on the left side of the road again. The site wasn’t far and
Mitch relied mostly on his memory on how to get there, creating a
diversion for Simon every time a road sign came up to give away
where they were going. “Simon, could you get me a piece of gum from
my shoulder bag in the back? Simon, could you look for a map in the
glove box for me please?” Then, when they got close, Mitch made
sure that Simon’s attention was focused on the road ahead. “Keep an
eye out for the next road sign will ya? I don’t wanna get lost,”
and there it was, clearly visible from the road on the hill in
front of them. “Simon, what’s that?” Simon’s jaw dropped,
speechless. “Simon, what is that?”

“
Oh…my…GOD! It’s…it’s…Stonehenge.”
Simon was beside himself. “Mitch, it’s Stonehenge!” he cried out,
tugging at Mitch’s jacket sleeve and pointing ahead of them. His
eyes went wide, glowing with childlike wonder and amazement as he
bounced up and down in his seat; calling him “Mitch” for the very
first time. ‘It’s Stonehenge. I can’t believe it!”

“
Why not, it’s only been here for about
five thousand years, give or take,” Mitch laughed, thrilled with
Simon’s reaction.

“
Can we go see it, huh? Please?” Simon
pleaded.

“
Well, we’re almost there. Better get
your camera out,” Mitch laughed again, thinking to himself,
This was definitely NOT a mistake.

Mitch had no sooner shut the engine off when
Simon jumped out of the car, homing in on the great circle of
Neolithic stones in an almost trance-like state of fascination.
When they got to the gate entrance, Mitch just pulled out his
wallet and paid for them, letting Simon go on ahead. Limping over
to the site, Simon’s camera came out and he began clicking away
frantically as he walked slowly around the structure, making sure
to get it from every possible angle.

Mitch took his time, having been there at
least a half a dozen times before, and stopped at the concession
stand. “Okay, I’ll take three tee shirts, one of each design, all
mediums, one of each of the big posters, one of your best books on
the subject, throw in a bunch of postcards too, and your biggest
coffee mug, please,” Mitch said to the man behind the counter,
resigned to the fact that he’d never be able to resist spoiling the
kid. It was just too much fun, and way too rewarding, for both of
them. Then, with his shopping bag in tow, he went and sat on the
closest bench to watch Simon walk round and round the structure,
soaking in every angle, every line and every nuance and shadow in
the changing light as the sun began to shift from morning into
afternoon.

It took about an hour for Simon to completely
exhaust himself and decide he was ready to go. They sat on the car
for a while to breathe and recoup, finally getting a chance to eat
the breakfast Madame Duvalier had made for them. The color in
Simon’s face from the fresh air and the excitement of the event
made him look healthier than he ever had as he chattered on and on,
flipping through the pages of the book Mitch had bought him.

When they stood up to get back in the car to
go, Simon looked at him closely, affectionately, his blue eyes
shining, and put out his hand for Mitch to shake. Mitch pushed it
away and opened his arms. “Come on,” he said and put his arms
around him, hugging him tightly.

Simon fell into them naturally and hugged him
back tightly saying with an emotional quiver in his voice, “Thank
you, Dr. Bramson, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Mitch pulled back sharply and looked at him,
forcing his eyebrows and forehead into a false image of sternness
and held up one finger. “Huh?”

‘
Thank you…Mitch,” Simon said
blushing.

The next stop would be their final
destination and Mitch took the opportunity offered by the remainder
of the trip to give Simon a primer on the history of the area.
Exeter was one of the oldest cities in England, pre-dating even
Roman times. Named after the river Exe, which runs through it, for
close to two thousand years it had been the center of civilization
for the Southwest of England, primarily inhabited by the indigenous
Saxons and the Celts from Ireland, Wales, French Normandy and
Brittany from its earliest recorded times.

It later became the Romans’ first real
foothold on the isle then called Britannica. It was from its
nearest neighboring county to the west, Cornwall, that the legend
of Arthur Pendragon, the once and future King of England first
sprang, with the castle ruins called Tintagel on the cliffs of the
northwest coast overlooking the Irish Sea laying claim to being his
birthplace.

Scholars throughout the world disagreed about
virtually every aspect of the Arthurian legend, from whether a man
known as “Arthur” ever even existed, to whether, if he did exist,
that he rose from the ranks of the Romans who stayed on in England
after the Empire pulled out. Another theory was that, like the
person known as Moses in the Hebrew Bible, he could not have been
one single person, but an amalgamation of many different men, who,
over time, became fused in the minds of those who passed on the
oral tradition, into one man.

At no time has any scholar, historian or
archaeologist ever brought forth any hard evidence to support any
one theory over the other. Then there was the connection to
Glastonbury, the reputed burial place of this man called Arthur.
Glastonbury, another medieval city located in Dorset, the county
north of Devonshire.

Logistically, Exeter, given its historical
timeframe, created what might be called a “triangle” of medieval
centers of civiliza-tion. So, following Jack’s logic, if Arthur was
indeed born at Tintagel or its environs, and if he indeed succeeded
in unifying the various native tribes of England into one nation,
even if it was only limited to the modern area known as the West
Country before dying and being buried in Glastonbury, then Exeter,
being the heart of Devon, the county between Dorset and Cornwall,
would have undoubtedly been subject to his influence, possibly even
directly. So it would follow that if there were powerful nobles
located in and around Exeter (and there most decidedly were) then
Arthur would have most definitely had to have contact with them
through alliances and treaties, even marriages, that would have
brought forth the unified nation. That would have been a political
certainty, and where there is political smoke, there most certainly
have been political fire. The only question that remained was for
them to find proof of it—if it existed.

On the other hand, it was just as likely, if
not more so, that their castle ruins were built sometime after the
alleged time of Arthur in the fifth century, but sometime before
the Norman Invasion brought William the Conqueror to England in the
eleventh century. There was a whole area of over five hundred years
to be taken into account, so to say it would be a crap shoot would
be a monumental understatement, but in a world where a King Tut and
the lost city of Troy could suddenly become un-lost through the
faith and efforts of the Howard Carters and Heinrich Schliemanns of
the world, the result of this particular expedition would certainly
be anyone’s guess.

In the end there was nothing to be lost, the
ruins were undoubtedly over a thousand years old and even if they
did turn out to be more William the Conqueror than Arthur
Pendragon, it would still be a nice, long, showy feather for any
art historian or archaeologist’s cap, particularly if you were
Mitchell Bramson, America’s leading medieval scholar, because in
his business, a thousand years of history is still a thousand years
of history so whatever was buried underneath those ruins would be
his ‘bread and butter.’

***

The drive down to Exeter was a long one, made
even longer by Mitch’s lack of familiarity with driving on the left
side of the road, and by then, in the encroaching dark. Simon
thought it was the craziest thing he’d ever seen and flinched
whenever he saw a car that seemed to be coming directly for
them.

It helped that they had so much to talk
about. Mitch gave a basic tutorial on what they were going to do,
what they were going to look for and where. He gave Simon a laundry
list of duties that were to be his primary responsibility including
keeping a daily diary of everything they did during the day. Who
did what; what was found where.

Simon was to keep very specific charts of
their activities, section by section, detailed graphs of the site
including land measurements and grid locations, photographing
everything they found, both in situ as well as after cleaning
later, measurements, physical descriptions and cataloging. On top
of that, he was to make accurate documentation of Mitch’s and Lady
Madeline’s observations as they went along. He was to video
everything from the perspective of a later showing at the Museum
and possibly news coverage if whatever they found turned out to be
big. But above all else, he was to understand that the truth about
what they were really looking for was to be kept amongst
themselves, which meant Mitch, Lady Madeline and himself,
exclusively.

Mitch explained that once they got there and
got settled, they would need to get some local men, maybe two or
three to start, to help with the lifting and carrying labor, the
heavy digging and any building reconstruction they could manage. He
explained that they would have to go out in the first few days and
gather whatever supplies they couldn’t bring with them, shovels,
spades, sifters, some run-of-the-mill garden tools and paint
brushes for dusting off delicate artifacts, and a small tent to set
up a daytime base of operations. Mitch had no idea what Lady
Madeline might be bringing, so he thought it best to plan ahead and
shift his plans later, if necessary.

They stopped for a leisurely dinner along the
way, so it was after seven in the evening before they hit the
Exeter city limits. But they still needed to find their way to the
site. According to the directions, they had another ten or so miles
into the country to get to the small village called Exton St. Cyres
where the work was to begin.

It’d already been a long day, an especially
exciting one for Simon, and they were both exhausted. Neither of
them could wait to get to the comfortable beds at the inn Lord
Cotswold had gotten for them. From what Jack had told them, he’d
rented an entire cottage for them for the month, which was attached
to the inn.

Neither of them could remember the name of
the inn they’d be looking for in the village and they were both too
tired to go digging through their papers, but from Mitch’s
experiences in small English villages, there’d probably only be one
anyway, so he figured it really didn’t matter. They’d ask the first
pedestrian they came across when they got into the village
square.

BOOK II

THE DIGGER’S REST

This ain't no party, This ain't no disco,
This ain't no fooling around. This ain't no Mudd Club, or C. B. G.
B.s. I ain't got time for that now.”

Life During Wartime,

……
..As performed by The Talking
Heads

“
And there you is, awaitin’
fer him…jes’ like a spider.”

………
Mammy to Scarlett O’Hara, referring
to the unsuspecting Ashley Wilkes, From Gone

With The Wind

Chapter VIII

LADY MADELINE AND SANDRINE

Wishin' and hopin' and thinkin' and prayin'
Plannin' and dreamin' each night of his charms That won't get you
into his arms So if you're lookin' to find love you can share All
you gotta do is hold him and kiss him and love him And show him
that you care Show him that you care just for him Do the things he
likes to do Wear your hair just for him, 'cause You won't get him
Thinkin' and a-prayin', wishin' and a-hopin'

Wishin' and Hopin'

……
..As performed by Miss Dusty
Springfield

Lady Madeline Cotswold knew from her earliest
memories as a girl that her life wasn’t to be one of frilly dresses
and frivolous romance. Born Madeline Newbury to a moderately
successful tobacco shop owner and a seamstress in Yorkshire, she
knew, above all else, she wanted to be an academic but not just any
kind of academic. She wanted to be a field researcher and
explorer.