by Dave Bartell
He walked back to his hotel to get sleep. His train for Paris left mid-morning, where he planned a long weekend with a friend.
19
Central France
Darwin jerked back at the blast of sound as another high-speed TGV flew past the window. He did not sleep well the night before and had been lost in thought watching the rolling green fields. He winced at a kink in his neck and rolled his shoulders to work it out.
A sharp scent bristled his nostrils. Looking around, he saw an old lady behind him dabbing on perfume. He cringed at the intense powdery floral smell. He needed coffee anyway and headed for the bar car, where he joined the queue of passengers waiting for service. He flicked through the photos of the Clermont-Ferrand tube, thinking of ways he could share them and still keep Richard’s trust.
“Bonjour,” said the server behind the counter.
A finger tapped Darwin’s shoulder from behind. He glanced up to see he was next.
“Bonjour,” said the server with more volume.
“Désolé. Bonjour,” said Darwin. He ordered a triple cappuccino and a chocolate croissant. He began walking back to his seat. Halfway through the next coach, he choked on his coffee when he read the headline on today’s edition of Le Monde that lay on an unoccupied seat:
ROMAN DIAMONDS FOUND IN ICELAND
Darwin picked up the paper with his free hand and coughed again from the coffee that had gone down the wrong way. He began reading and braced himself against the seat back as the train swept through a curve on its way to Paris. The sub-headline announced:
€10,000,000 IN UNCUT GEMS
A photo of diamonds, some coins, and pottery shards topped the article about an accidental discovery in eastern Iceland. Part of a university dig site had caved in when a truck had parked too close. He looked closer. The face on one coin was identical to the coins found in London and Herculaneum.
“Merde,” he said and looked around. It was early afternoon, and the train had few passengers. He tucked the paper under his arm and continued up the aisle. Back at his seat, he scanned a few websites on his mobile, but there were no more details available. He thought of Agrippa’s crude map and its markings in Caledonia. Bits of the treasure farther north were perplexing, but Darwin’s gut told him this dig site in Iceland held the answer. Could this be an entrance? Iceland was one of his original ideas for “land of fire and ice” but, he had lumped it into the improbable category.
He needed to get there.
Swiping to a travel app, he found a flight from Charles de Gaulle Airport to Reykjavík the next morning. He emailed his friend in Paris that something came up and he could only stay one night. She would be disappointed, but each knew the relationship was not destined for permanence.
He also knew the secret would not keep. That guy Van Rooyen, who bought the scrolls from his dad, had pestered Emelio from time to time for more information. And Amelie’s reference to that other man still bothered him. This would be his, the Lacroix discovery. He would prove his grandfather was right.
20
Reykjavík, Iceland
Icelandair flight 680 descended toward Keflavík International Airport. The plane bucked as Keflavik’s legendary crosswinds pushed the Boeing 757 out to sea, where angry whitecaps streaked the North Atlantic Ocean. Reykjavík was farther up the coast, a human oasis perched on the edge of snowcapped volcanoes and glaciers.
The jet nosed into the wind, giving Darwin a view almost down the glide slope. At the last moment, the pilots powered the craft straight. The tires yelped, and the plane rocked side to side before settling and the reverse-thrust was applied.
On the ground, this part of Iceland looked like recent pictures from the Mars rovers, brown and desolate. He remembered reading that a quarter of Iceland’s population was killed by the Laki volcano eruption in 1786. It spewed enough poisonous compounds into the atmosphere to create a global crop catastrophe that claimed another six million lives. The text speculated that the French Revolution was catalyzed by the agricultural collapse brought on by Laki’s wrath.
He collected his case from baggage claim and headed into Reykjavík. At least he had an advantage. His favorite professor, Barry Hodgson, was well connected to all things Roman in the UK and Scandinavia and introduced him to Kristín Johansdottir, the head of archeology at the University of Iceland. He was meeting her for a drink later today.
Darwin sat at a reserved table, figuring it would be easier than trying to pick out a stranger at the bar. The pub was full of people meeting after work. He saw the hostess walking toward his table with a woman in tow, probably Kristín. She looked to be in her forties about average height with thick shoulder-length brown hair that bounced as she walked. Her face broke into a delightful smile when she recognized an acquaintance who waved from the bar.
“Doctor Johansdottir, I’m pleased to meet you,” said Darwin as he stood and offered his hand.
“Nice to meet you as well, Darwin,” she said shaking his hand with a warm grip. “And, please, call me Kristín; only my students call me doctor.”
“Kristín it is, then. Thanks for meeting me. What will you have to drink?”
She ordered a Chardonnay and Darwin settled on a lager.
“How long have you known Barry?” asked Darwin.
“We did graduate work together at the University of London. He had just developed an interest in the late Roman Britannia period and I was looking for connections between Romans and the Nordic countries. He was quite the charmer back then.”
“Barry Hodgson?” asked Darwin, thinking of the middle-aged guy he had last seen in Newcastle.
“Oh, yes, all the girls wanted to be on Barry’s digs. They were the most fun and, besides, he got the best projects.”
They swapped a few stories about Barry’s research projects and laughed about how students got the worst of the jobs.
“What’s your interest in this dig?” she said.
“I’d like to get ideas on how the Romans came here. Talk to the researchers on site,” said Darwin.
“Sure. Anything in particular?”
“For starters, when did the Romans visit?”
“We won’t have the C14 results until next week to confirm whether the site dates to the Roman era or if someone just left Roman artifacts during a later visit. We know that the Nordic countries used Roman coins for a long time after Rome fell.”
“Have you found any underground structures?”
“Like what? What have you heard?” she asked, leaning in.
“Caves? Tunnels?”
“I’ve known Barry a long time, and he told me he trusts you. Can you agree that whatever I tell you stays with you?” she said, tapping her index finger on the table.
“I’ll ask you before doing anything. You have my word,” said Darwin.
She swirled her wine and took a sip.
“We found something. It’s all broken up because of the basalt lava structure, but one of my grad students, Pétur, had a geologist he knows check it out. She confirmed there is a lava tube. Is that what you mean?”
“It’s what I was hoping for,” he said. “It’s a radical theory I’ve been researching.”
“Which is?”
“I have evidence that suggests the Romans used tunnels in Londinium for military purposes.”
“How does that relate to Iceland?” she asked.
“I’m not sure, but Romans didn’t value diamonds like we do, and that makes this dig unique. Did Roman miners come here to explore? How did they get this far north? Where did the diamonds come from?” said Darwin.
They talked a while longer about his Roman theories and history of the Icelandic people before she excused herself to get home before her kids’ bedtime. She agreed to call Pétur the next morning and tell him to give Darwin access.
After she left, Darwin took a seat at the bar and ordered another lager. He struck up a conversation with two locals who said they were planning a holiday to San Francisco. They bought h
im a lager as thanks. Their drinking continued for a few more rounds as others joined in.
21
Darwin woke up to a brightly lit hotel room and a roaring headache. It had been dark when he had fallen asleep, sometime around 2:00 a.m. He stumbled to the bathroom wondering why he felt like he had not even slept and discovered it was just 3:30 a.m. Iceland was a few weeks away from the summer solstice and already neared endless daylight. He yanked the heavy drapes across the window and fell back into bed.
At 9:40 a.m. he felt more human, but needed strong coffee. After a long shower, he walked to a local coffee bar he had noticed the night before. The brisk morning air tempered his throbbing head, but he winced at the wave of noise that met him when he pushed through the door.
“Góður dagur,” called out the barista.
“Ah, good morning,” said Darwin, his brain refusing to conjure up anything besides English.
“American?”
“No.”
“English?”
“Corsican,” said Darwin, struggling to make conversation.
“We don’t get many of those. Rough night, eh?”
“Didn’t start out that way.”
“They never do,” added the barista. “I got just the thing for you.”
“Which is?”
“Thor’s Hammer!”
Darwin walked to his rented car and climbed in the driver’s seat. He sipped the coffee and sat a while to let the caffeine trickle charge his uncooperative brain. When he felt his headache ease, he started the drive and followed the voice on his maps app as it talked him through downtown Reykjavík. The road eventually expanded, and the cars thinned out.
Thin clouds muted an otherwise vibrant green landscape as he settled in for the four-hour drive along Iceland’s southern coast. Farther up the road, the clouds formed dark bands that cast deep shadows on the hills. When the sun burst through, he squinted and fished sunglasses out of his pack.
The entire landscape bore evidence of Iceland’s volcanic heritage. Ragged rocks churned the soil softened only by layers of spongy moss and other ground-hugging greens. Steam vented from five or six places. He imagined that travel would have been slow before road construction.
Just past Hvolsvöllur, the view changed to flat green farmland for another hour before transmogrifying into a lunar landscape. Tufts of grass dotted the roadside in their desperate bid for life and, far inland, a jagged line of mountains cut the sky.
The moonscape soon faded back to grass and shrubs, and he finally reached Hof, more an outcrop of humanity than a town. There were about fifteen buildings, including the cabins where he was supposed to stay. He had planned to meet Pétur there at noon, but the late night and slow morning had held up his arrival to about half past. As he pulled up, a man about his age approached the car.
“You must be Darwin. I’m Pétur Ólafsson.”
“Darwin Lacroix. Nice to meet you.”
“Sorry it’s gloomy today,” said Pétur. “We should end up with a better afternoon.”
“That’s okay; it reminds me of Berkeley most mornings.”
“Yeah, how is it there? I’ve heard the archeology department’s huge.”
“I like it,” said Darwin. “Strong department, and there’s plenty of technology with all the Silicon Valley companies vying to help. There’s an awesome music scene too.”
“Cool,” said Pétur. “I’ll get my backpack. The girls left for the dig, so I’ll have to ride with you.”
Once in the car, Pétur explained that his girlfriend, Assa, and her friend Eyrún had driven to the dig about twenty minutes earlier. “Kristín told me you are an expert on Roman dwellings, especially those on the outposts of the early Roman Empire,” Pétur continued
“Sort of. I’ve always had an interest in the Romans as explorers and what drove them at the frontiers of their civilization,” said Darwin.
During the drive, Pétur talked about his PhD in forensic archeology. He had written his dissertation on Viking agriculture and food storage techniques. He also mentioned coauthoring a paper on the use of linguistics, archeology, and DNA genetics to determine the age and origin of the Icelandic language.
22
The Dig Site, Eastern, Iceland
“Slow down. Turn off here.” Pétur directed Darwin to pull off on an unmarked two-wheel track toward the ocean. The dig site was on the coastal plain downslope from the Oraefajokull Glacier a little less than twenty kilometers from Hof. About six hundred meters down the track they came upon two cars and an all-terrain vehicle.
Yellow tape staked out a fifty-meter square around the site and three pits were in various stages of excavation. One of them had a large hole in its corner and deep tire tracks from what must have been several large vehicles. Darwin figured that must be the spot where the truck sank. Overall, it looked like a typical dig.
“That’s Hilmar’s ATV. The farmer across the road. We’re on his land and he stops by every day to see what’s going on,” said Pétur.
“Uh oh,” said Darwin.
“No, he’s a cool old-timer, full of stories. Probably a rich old-timer after the diamonds are sold off.”
“Hey, Pétur. I need you to look at this,” a young man yelled as they got out of the car.
“I’ll be right back, Darwin,” said Pétur.
Darwin walked toward two women talking to an older man.
“Halló,” said Darwin.
“Góður dagur,” said the taller woman.
“Do you speak English?” asked Darwin.
“Yes,” said the shorter one.
“Thanks. My Icelandic is all but exhausted. I’m Darwin.”
“I’m Eyrún,” said the taller one. “This is Assa and Hilmar.”
They shook hands all around, and Darwin learned that Eyrún worked as a geologist for Stjörnu Energy. She had come out on her day off with Assa, a reporter for Fréttablaðið (The Newspaper).
“California is a long way off,” said Hilmar, a solid wall of a man whose age was difficult to guess. Long winters and working outside had weathered his face like the side of an old barn. “My uncle went there once during the war. What brings you all the way here?”
“I teach early Roman history and archeology at the University of California, Berkeley. The Roman artifacts fit into a theory I’ve been working on,” said Darwin.
“You have to admit we’re a long way from Rome,” said Hilmar. “What’s the theory? I’m a history buff. Lot of reading time here in the winter.”
“Basically that the Romans explored much farther north of Caledonia, ancient Scotland,” said Darwin.
“Hmmm, I suspect you have a lot more to tell,” said Hilmar, and he turned to the others. “I’ll see you all at the house later for dinner. My wife, Margrét, is cooking up a storm.”
They agreed on 7:00, and Hilmar motored his ATV up the track as Pétur wandered back over and led Darwin around the site.
“These are the foundations of three huts,” Pétur began. “We’ve had to move a meter of the alluvial soil that washed down over the centuries. The river was probably a reason for the village in this location. It’s the largest spawning river for salmon on this side of Iceland.”
He described a fishing settlement that contained at least a dozen structures and supported fifty or more people. For the fish, there would have been drying racks made of driftwood. The rich volcanic soil made it possible to grow food plants in summer.
Darwin looked back to where Eyrún stood talking with Assa. Her eyes are amazing, he thought, like the ice near the bottom of a glacier. Her skin, framed by long, dark brown hair, glowed clear and smooth in the bright summer light. But it was her smile that gave him the warmest feeling. Hers was a natural beauty. He stumbled on a rock and brought his attention back to Pétur.
“This hut has a cellar that appears to be naturally occurring. While it’s unique, we would have stopped our digging here were it not for the truck sinking in that corner,” said Pétur, pointing.
Darwin walked toward it. Wheel ruts slanted into a hole about two meters across. Dirt caved in around the edge of the hole that dropped into a space about three meters deep. An orange extension cord snaked into the opening and a light illuminated the spot near the foundation. At the bottom lay large chunks of basalt.
“Do you think the people knew this room existed?” asked Darwin.
“Not likely,” answered Pétur. “The wall on the cellar side is solid. It’s not clear if it was closed from a cave-in or the people who left the jar of diamonds and coins sealed it off. We’re perplexed about where the Roman stuff came from. There appears to be no entry.”
“What’s the age and origin of the settlement?” Darwin asked.
“We won’t have the carbon dating for a week, but the construction and artifacts show early second millennium. Probably between 1000 and 1300,” said Pétur.
“Could they have brought the coins and diamonds from Europe? Maybe Viking raiders who buried a treasure and later settled down?”
“Possibly, but it’s too early to tell.”
“This seems far off the beaten path,” said Darwin looking at the vast empty plain, trying to imagine why anyone would choose this as a landing spot. “How did you find it?”
“You have to think back to an age where there were fewer cities and most people lived in small village groups. They knew how to forge a living from the land. Back then if you didn’t kill it or grow it, you starved to death,” said Pétur. “Also, we Nordic peoples have a legacy of exploration. Similar to the Romans,” he added.