The Fox (26 page)

He paused, as we made our way downstairs. “Oh, we did date the pottery.”

I stopped and turned to him, hoping for the information I had been praying for.

“We got a date of 80 AD plus or minus fifteen years,” he said. “I know you were looking for a pre-Roman site and it looks like we have one. Remember the lump of metal you went back into the cave for? It looks like it’s a bronze clasp or pin with the head in the shape of an acorn and a bronze bracelet. The pin was probably a cloak clasp.”

“WAHOO! The year is perfect!” I gloried briefly in the moment and grinned at him. Oh yes, this was going to be a very good day. I could feel it. “Is there any food left? I need breakfast,” I said and walked as quickly as my back would let me. My back ached, and I hung onto the glossy, oiled balustrade for balance. Marc trailed behind.

Mrs. Dingleberry had insisted I eat breakfast and dinner in my room; it had been days since I had been in the dinning room while food was being served. My mouth watered as I entered and smelled the bacon and coffee.

This was Mrs. Dingleberry’s heaven. Cooking and cleaning was her forte; nursing was not. I had eaten well while recuperating, but she just barely tolerated having me around all day. Guests weren’t meant to be here unless it was mealtime or bedtime. I’m afraid I caused her some schedule upset. Today she would be rid of me for most of the day, and I could imagine her oiling and polishing to her heart’s content. I smelled the lemon oil along with her delightful breakfast.

“George! Good morning! Hi, Tim, Lauri. Good to see all of you.”

“Aine!” they chorused as they twisted in their chairs to see me. “Congratulations on the funding! Good to see you out of bed.”

“George. You’re my savior. Thank you for talking to the ‘powers that be’ and securing the money. Marc told me you were also using some of your grant money to fund us. We’ll pay you back. My heart is touched by your trust in me.”

“You’re welcome. But the news that brought University money to you, of course, was the Raven Bowl. My influence hardly played a part in the decision.”

“The Raven Bowl?” I asked looking at Marc.

“That’s what the press is calling the bronze bowl you found. We don’t know what’s in it, but the beauty of the bowl is enough to bring attention up here. The lab started spreading the word,” Marc returned.

“Wow. ‘The Raven Bowl.’ It’s good. I like that.” I knew Jahna would have liked it, too.

George stood up, walked over to me and kissed my cheek. His nose was perpetually wrinkled from keeping his gold, rimmed glasses on. He was balding; it seemed more since my accident. He ran his hand over his head as a nervous habit, and it looked as if he had rubbed most of his hair away. He was rubbing it right now. “I was wondering when you were going to get out of bed. Are you going to stay downstairs today? I have some reports you can read to catch up. There is a great reading chair in the library.”

“Actually, George, Mrs. Dingleberry and I have already walked through every room here in the inn that I am allowed into. She wouldn’t let me alone until she was sure I wouldn’t keel over in her parlor!” Mrs. Dingleberry scurried in at that moment with a tray of warm scones and scowled.

“Do you see that puzzle set up on the table over there?” I pointed across the room. “I’ve been working on it for two days while you were at the dig. I even helped Mrs. Dingleberry dust the furniture! She wants me out of here. She’s had me walking up and down at least two sets of stairs and three rounds of the rooms for two days, now, to strengthen my legs. I’m going stir crazy. I
am
going to the hill today.” I noticed Mrs. Dingleberry quivering, probably with happiness at having me out from under foot.

She turned from the buffet she was loading with more food and said, “I must go down into town today and was going to ask one of ye to stay with the lassie. She’s fine.”

George looked at me, then Mrs. Dingleberry, and then turned and looked at Marc. “What? You’ve gone and jumped over the gunwales on this one! This injured woman can’t go to the site!” He harrumphed.

I tried to calm him. “I’ve already promised Marc I wouldn’t do anything to get in your way. I just want to walk around and see what you’ve found.”

Lauri reached in front of me to get the butter for her warm scone. “We’ve found some more postholes and a fire pit. We have a coal layer, and we think we are in the center of a dwelling,” she said, ready to take a bite of her scone. “It’s near the southern walls, next to the double gate.”

I looked at Marc with raised eyebrows. “Is it a domicile?”

He nodded slightly. We were so close. I could feel her. My neck tingled. I thought that the feelings and dreams would end when I found where she was buried but yesterday, as I looked out the window toward the hill, I had a feeling that I had to go to the site today. I couldn’t shake it. My gut was telling me that it was urgent that I get to the hill. My shoulder was aching, and I could feel my back trying to spasm, but dammit, I was going.

“Mrs. Dingleberry, your coffee is perfect this morning. Thank you. Marc, would you please pass more of those wonderful currant bannocks? Oh, and the butter?” I asked.

Marc watched me eat with an amused grin. I could swear he was waiting for me to burst out of my clothes.

After breakfast, they jumped into the jeep and I eased myself in, over George’s protests. “OK, George, I’ll a take a pillow to lean against. I think Mrs. Dingleberry will let us take the rose patterned one in the dining room.”

As we bounced along the farm road, me sitting against the rose pillow, I remembered the last time I came this way seven days ago. The dream was in my head from the night before. I could feel Jahna at my elbow, directing me. I had found her tomb that day, and had almost found mine.

We arrived, and I felt as if I’d come home. I was amazed as I looked around the site. George and Marc had called in more workers and there were fifteen people here now. I was involved in discussions about the increase back at the inn, but was not expecting to see them here yet. It reemphasized how long I had been gone.

There were several people on the east side with sonar equipment, looking for disturbances deep in the soil. To the west, I saw surveyors staking plots for further digging. On the trail, a crew worked on the cave where I had been trapped. A larger tent had been raised for meals and laying out artifacts to photograph and catalog. It also contained a stockpile of supplies, snacks, and water. It looked as if we planned to stay awhile.

I inhaled the odor of freshly overturned earth, the intoxicating smell of my work, smiled, gingerly slid out of the jeep and limped to Kendy and Matt. Marc and George had registered the site with the West of Scotland Archaeology Service. That meant the news would spread. Matt and Kendy had volunteered to be on site at night. The world around a dig tended to start coming to look and take anything that isn’t nailed down once a site was registered. We would hire security guards as soon as I could afford it and I notified the local police. They couldn’t make a regular stop but were aware we were here. When the security did come – soon, I hoped – Matt and Kendy could go back to sleeping in a real bed. The looks on their faces told me they really wouldn’t care where they slept as long as it was together. I wished I could be that young again and have a fresh start to my life. Although, I have to admit, my start so far with Marc was pleasing. I smiled with the memory of our one recent night of lovemaking.

“I see the press is here,” I said and nodded toward the tent. “I want to avoid them.

“Oh, no problem,” said Matt. “They stay inside, protected from the always expected showers. We hardly ever see them.”

The reporters were as anxious about the carbon dating and material composite results as we were and would send the results to the local papers and the archaeological societies. Bronze bowls were news in both circles. I was pleased, even with the extra work and money spent on guards, that news of our find,
my
find, was making it out to the world. I wondered how many cameras would show up if there turned out to be a cremated human body in the bowl.

Matt laughed. “Aine, you are looking good for being so close to becoming one of our artifacts!”

Kendy poked him in the ribs and frowned at him. “Seriously, Aine, should you be here? You look as if you still hurt a bit.”

I tried to wave her comment off, but George looked at me with his “I told you so” look and then walked away.

I shrugged my good shoulder. “I have to admit that I’m not feeling as good as I was a week ago, but wild pigs couldn’t keep me away for another day. Wow! We look legitimate now. It’s amazing what an increase in funding can do!” I turned to Kendy, who was still standing near me. “Kendy, please show me what you have. I haven’t seen your drawings for at least seven days.”

Tim and Matt picked up trowels and sifters and stepped into the ever-increasing hole. Marc trudged back to the jeep to get his computer and George was off to direct the surveyors, I’m sure to their dismay.

“I’d love to! It’s so much fun being here at the beginning of things. We’ve several structure outlines already plotted, and I’ve had a bit of fun with them. I needed something to do while Matt and I were stuck out here.” She grinned crookedly at me. She opened her sketchbook. As she leafed through it, I could see the drawings she’d made before my accident. She had different views of the cave the way it looked before the slide. My mouth went dry with the memory of the mountain falling on top of me. My bruises seemed to step up their demand to be noticed. Then she turned the page. They had found more postholes and she drew them just as they looked in the excavation. But there was more.

“I drew this one for fun, to give us an idea of what this side of the village might have looked like. It keeps me motivated to remember these aren’t just holes in the ground, they were homes and places of work.”

The drawing was a composite of the total excavation site, the structure in front of us with the fire pit in the middle, other structures that were being uncovered, and those we might uncover later. She superimposed a half sphere built with a short, circular, stone wall about fourteen inches high, continuing to the roof in wooden planks and mud or wattle and daub for each of the excavation sights. The roofs were thatched. It looked as if she had been sitting in the courtyard of the fort while it was being lived in. And it looked familiar.

“Oh, did anyone tell you that we found pieces of quartz in three of the postholes that are at the back of this structure?” she asked absentmindedly. “We found the stone from the walls scattered all around, as you would expect. We were charting, and removing them when I noticed one of the postholes had a flat stone in the bottom. I lifted it to find a piece of white quartz under it. It looked deliberate enough to raise my curiosity. We found the same flat stones in two other holes and with quartz under them, also. The flat stones look like river stones but the quartz isn’t found around here. They seem to be an offering to a god or goddess. Have you ever seen them before, Aine?”

My legs went wobbly but not from my injuries. I grabbed the back of a camp chair that was near the edge of the excavation and sat down.

“No, I’ve never seen it before in a dig.”
I’ve seen it but I can’t tell you where,
I thought,
or you’d think I was crazy.
“Go get that chair and come sit beside me,” I said pointing to another camp chair to the side of the tent. I looked at the actual excavation, and back to the picture. There it was. The pattern of the postholes and the stone wall of the structure led to the defense wall and touched it. It wasn’t a round circle. It created an alcove, of sorts. That and the quartz made it jump out at me.
We are in Jahna’s home,
I thought. We had found her home.

Trying to sound calm, I said, “Kendy, look at the postholes toward the back of the structure.” I pointed to the excavation. “They don’t go all the way around, but in this picture you have drawn them in as if they do,” I continued, handing her sketchbook back to her.

“Yes, I see that. I was supposing the rest of the holes would be uncovered, maybe today.”

“I’ll bet there won’t be anymore holes uncovered for this structure. I have a feeling. This structure didn’t stay round but took this jog to join with the fence. Look. It could create a private alcove by hanging a blanket. One of the first private bedrooms in Scotland!”

“Well, Aine,” she said looking at me out of the side of her eyes. “No one should ever say you don’t have a good imagination!”

I smiled at her and looked back at the drawing with déjà vu.

Mr. Treadwell walked up to Kendy and me just at that moment. “Good morning,” I said.

About 5’6” tall, I was sure he had been taller as a young man. But now, age and hard work had caused his body to disfigure with arthritis. He still carried the rugged look of one who has worked outdoors all his life. His white hair tufted just above both ears, and he was clean-shaven. His watery blue eyes had seen too many days in the sun, and deep lifelines creased his face. His muddy boots were least twenty years old and he smelled of tobacco and scotch. His voice lilted with a strong Highland mark, and it made me feel as if I were home on Skye.

“Good mornin’, lassie. I ken ye were here. I would appreciate it if ye did not scamper into any more caves. I would like not havin’ anyone kill’t on my land.” I noticed he was serious.

“Kendy, would you mind if I spoke with Mr. Treadwell for a few minutes? I’ll look at the rest of your pictures later,” I requested.

“No problem. I have to get back to work. You can find me here when you’re ready.” Kendy looked relieved as she picked up her drawing pencils and notepad and slipped down into the dig near the newly excavated fire pit. She proceeded to start drawing the layers Matt and Tim were uncovering.

“Mr. Treadwell, I hope not to have to go into a cave again for a very long time,” I replied, knowing in my heart I would go into another one in a heartbeat if I thought something was there. “Would you give me a hand up, please? I would like to take a short walk with you.”

Mr. Treadwell extended his arthritis-bent hands, and I took one as gently as I could. As I started to pull myself up, I began to twist my back. “Ouch! Oh that hurts!” I sat back down into the chair, tears just squeezing out of the corners of my eyes.