The Fox (36 page)

He slowly shook and lowered his head and was quiet for two breaths. He raised his face and looked at me with hope in his eyes. He took my hands and asked, “What can I do? How can I help?”

“Tell me how many Romans are here and when they are going further.”

“Ah. This encampment holds eighty men. These men will build and hold a fort. It is one of a line of forts that Agricola, the general, is building. He finally wants to rid himself of the thistle your king has buried under his horse’s blanket. The constant small attacks on the wall by the men from the north have angered him, so he advances. It is not a fast pace, but he is coming. He wants the forts built so he can hold the land and people as he takes them. He does not mean to let any Picts live free. That is the word that comes from Kinsey. I have heard there are many forts planned. You will need many good warriors, men and women, to defeat this fire. If you do not, it will scorch your land, burn you, and we will be slaves forever.”

It was urgent that I start back. I had the information my king ordered me to find. Now my duty was to tell him.

“I am going outside to the fire,” said Ofydd. “I will roast some meat and bring wine. Then you may sleep in here tonight. You will be safe; no one likes to come here. It reminds them of their mortality. However, you should leave before the dawn.”

“Ofydd, you earn yourself a place at the table of the chieftains and kings. After the battle, I will look for you. Or we may meet again on the other side. I will sing thanks to you.”

I left the encampment before the horses were up. Ofydd told me where the guards stood and I became like an ant and crawled by unnoticed. As I left the camp, I swore to myself and any gods listening, “My family will not fall to the Romans. I will not let Crisi grow up with no name or Jahna be taken again. I swear with all my life’s breath and blood.”

I stood on the trail above my home in the same spot Jahna loved to stand and overlook our valley. Women were trading secrets at the well, smoke came from the evening meal fires, and men lead tired ponies up the hill. The feeling was not of peace but of anticipation. We smelled war in the air, and I carried the truth of it in my heart.

There, I could just see her flowing, long black hair as she lifted it from her neck. Jahna was holding Crisi’s hand and walking to Kenric’s lodge. I choked back a groan of thankfulness and let my eyes feast on Jahna’s walk and Crisi’s playful jumping. My charge was to go to the king, but my wife and child would come first.

JAHNA

I lifted my heavy hair from my neck and said, “Crisi, I am not in the mood to chase you. I ask you to come calmly with me. You said you were hungry and the evening meal is ready at Kenric’s.” I had all but stopped cooking while Lovern was away. I was not hungry and now began to have pain in my gut more often. Earlier in the day, Sileas had commented on my thinness.

“You need to eat more, Jahna. Your cheeks are sinking, and I can almost see your bones through your dress. Do not let Lovern’s absence stop you from your meals. He will not want to see you have not cared for yourself when he returns.”

“Sileas, I eat when I can. It seems since the
mor dal
my hunger has grown less every day. I will be better when Lovern comes home. I miss his smell and presence. Do you know that I sleep with his old clothing? There is a small scent of him left in them, and I use them under my head at night. Yes, I will be well when he comes back. I will eat then.”

Just before Crisi and I entered Kenric’s lodge, I scanned the mountain trail as I had many evenings. Praying and hoping, but always disappointed. Tonight, habit lifted my eyes to the path. The setting sun was opposite, and the mountainside was golden in its ebbing light. I saw a figure stopped on the trail, a hand over his eyes to shade the sunlight. He looked at me. His eyes burned into mine. A rush of fear flooded from my body, replaced by gratefulness and tears. He was home. My arms lifted to him, and I screamed his name.

“Lovern! Lovern, you have returned! Oh, the gods are merciful!”

One moment I was alone in my realization that he was here, and the next all the people on the hilltop surrounded me. It seemed that I was in the middle of buzzing bees in a hive. Everyone went to meet him. He ran down the hill and when we all stood around him, he lifted Crisi in his arms, and gathered me as close as we could get with a squirming, laughing child between us.

“Let me be seated and eat,” he said when all asked the same and similar questions of him. “I will tell you of my journey.”

I could not let go of his arm, and traced his footsteps to Kenric’s lodge. Sitting at the table, I snuggled my face to his chest just to reassure myself I was not dreaming. There was the scent of a man’s weary body, but Lovern’s sweet honey odor also streamed into my senses.
Yes,
I thought,
he is home. If even for a short time, he is with me again.

Then, without bidding, my mind beheld our journey ahead. Lovern was to tell the king the Romans were coming. The druidess Firtha would be there. Her hag face appeared before me in the air. Venom dripped from the fangs of the snake in my belly.

C
HAPTER
20

AINE

May, 2005

I was feeling sorry for myself, but time slipped by quickly that night. Jim Cowley had called. He’d finished testing the contents of the urn I’d found in the cave. The last test he ran on the contents of the bowl came up with results showing the urn contained ashes of a female. As I was yelling for joy, he broke through with another tidbit.

“Aine, remember I told you your bronze urn, the Raven Bowl, looked like the one Marc found? Well, I had an expert on bronze engraving look at it and compare them. She said it looked as if the same artist engraved both. She wouldn’t put it writing, but I thought you would be interested.”

“Flippin’ ’eck!” I yelled.
Thought I would be interested? Calm down,
I told myself.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
“Yes. That’s incredible news. I understand. Just to hear someone else with that opinion is enough for me. Thank you so much, Jim.”

“I think you need to call in a Regional Archaeologist. Your site is becoming more and more interesting. I don’t have names here but could research it for you.”

I wanted more time to mull over his results before the rest of the world found out. As soon as I called in the government, I would have the reporters on site. I also wanted time to get more people here for security.

“Jim, give me a few days before we release this news. I’ll find out who the Regional is and make the call. I want to make sure I understand everything before the reporters from the publications inundate us.”

“OK, Aine. Call me before you release. I want to be ready, too.”

“Right, Jimmy. Thanks again.”

I grabbed my bottle of Laguvalin, ran into the living room of our rented house, and realized all the others had gone into town. It was Friday night, our traditional night out. I vaguely remembered hearing them invite me before Jim’s phone call, and my lack-hearted response, “No, not tonight, thanks.” Now I was alone. Only me, myself, and I, to drink my good scotch. Oh well, more for me. I sank to the floor and poured myself a drink.

“Actually, I can drink with you, Jahna. No, drink
to
you.”
Oh here I go, talking to my ghosts. Marc wouldn’t like this. But, Jahna might be listening. I’m not crazy yet.
“Thank you for leading me here, for getting me through the quagmire of my life to get me to this spot. This scotch isn’t the same as the honeyed mead you drank, but it’s pretty good. So here’s to you, Jahna.” The alcohol quickly heated my stomach.

The next day I shared the news about the urn with my crew and was buoyed by the cheers. “Yes, I agree. We’ve found a treasure. I truly think there is more to find so let’s go back to work. Be careful, don’t overlook anything and if you have any questions please ask. By the way, I am going to call in a Regional Archaeologist. I want this site to be put on the schedule. I hope it is classified as a national monument, but we will have to wait and see.”

About midday, I was down in one of the domiciles we were excavating. “Can we get some supports in this area?” I called to no one in particular. “The soil is shifting here and we may lose all the hard work we’ve done.”

“I’ll bring some timber over right away,” Terry said. He was one of my new hires. He had arrived last night, and, on the job for the first day, he was ready to fetch anything I needed.

“Thanks. And can you get me another bottle of water? We keep them in the large tent, under the table. Thanks again.”

The notification I posted on the University’s web page last Monday morning was already producing results. Four post-grads applied; one was here-Terry, and another on the way this weekend. The other two decided to go to the site in Wales where Marc was. That site was sucking away all the available people in country. My disappointment was tempered by the hope that they were tripping over each other there.

Smiling, I shook my head as I watched the lithe, dark-haired young man leap out of the excavated depression. It would have taken me a few minutes and maybe even someone’s hand to help me out of this hole. Oh God, how long ago had it been since I could move so freely? Now, my back and knees were always aching. It was the payment we gave to our profession – we traded our bodies for clues to the past.

I ruminated on the passage of time. The years since graduation were skimmed quickly – didn’t want to spend any breath on them. But here, on my hilltop, I wanted time to stop. I loved it here. I was comfortable here. Despite my problems.

There were never enough daylight hours to get everything done, even with the increase of workers. I seemed to be needed in four places at once, continually. Both Marc and George had taken their supervisory skills with them, and I was still learning how to delegate. It was hard to not watch over the shoulders of everyone here. I wanted all the information I could get about the people who had walked on this square, brought water up from this well and lived in these abodes so long ago.

It was also hard to admit to myself, but I missed George, and, yes, I especially missed Marc. I missed him even more as I watched Terry run across the field to the tent.

“Stay strong, Aine. Stay strong,” I whispered to myself. I was too busy during the day to have time to think, but the long nights and empty place beside me in the bed tempted me to call him. So far, I’d resisted calling for a whole week. I had a plan. Just get through seven nights, one night at a time, and then I could black out a week on my calendar. I already had one week blacked out, and one night crossed off on the second week. I was doing pretty well, in my eyes. As long as I didn’t spend too much time watching Terry.

I sighed and kneeled back down to brush more loose dirt off the fire pit in the lodge we had started calling the chieftain’s lodge. There were enough animal bones on the floor to indicate the serving of numerous large meals. It was logical; the chieftain entertained his troops continually. He loved the songs praising him. His warriors and hunters did most of the work and he demanded praise.
Just like today’s men,
I thought.
Can’t give credit where credit is due.

“Aine! Aine, there’s someone here to see you,” Terry called from the tent. I had told him to call me Aine, not Ms. MacRae. When he called me Ms. MacRae, I felt at least fifty years old. I was close enough to that as it was.

“OK, Terry. Would you please bring the wood to Tim and help him with this wall?” I climbed out of the pit and walked to the tent. An old truck was parked in the field just below the trail. Someone had walked up the trail while I was looking at the deer bones in the chieftain’s lodge fire pit.

I stepped from the sun into the tent, squinting to see in the shade. The tent was empty except for the dark figure in front of me. When my eyes adjusted, I saw his face. He looked like Mr. Treadwell would have looked at least thirty or forty years ago.

“Hi.” He walked to me, his hand out. “My name is Steven Treadwell.” Ah, a son.

I stepped closer and noticed that he had on new jeans. His blue button-down shirt seemed out of place on a farm but hey, if that’s what he wanted to herd his father’s cows in, then let it be. When we shook hands, I knew he’d done farm work in the past. His hand was strong but had lost the calluses his father’s hands still wore. He was into some sort of bookwork now. This land had lost him.