by Daniel Diehl
“Oh, how wonderful.” Glancing from Jason to Beverley, his lined face broke into a huge grin. “I do believe you are the first two of my students to marry. How marvelous.” Then, turning to Jason, he added “And how shall you and I address each other?
“Well, you can call me Jason and, since you asked, I agree to dispense with the Doctor, but if you don’t mind, I’m still going to call you professor. Without your support I don’t think they would ever have let me back into grad school after I left in the middle of the semester and took the entire rest of the year off.”
“Nonsense, my boy. I just made a few small nudges and dropped the right words in the right ears. How would it have looked to have one of my most promising students expelled just because he had family emergencies to deal with?” Jason nodded his thanks and waved the compliment aside as Daniels continued. “And speaking of your family, how is your grandfather? I think it was splendid the way the two of you took off together and went to all those exotic places; Mongolia and Africa and whatnot? Is he well?”
During their time together Jason had passed Merlin off as his grandfather to divert any possible questions about why he was running all over the globe with an old man with a waist length beard. Now, despite the understandable confusion about the old man’s identity, he knew exactly who Daniels was referring to and the loss of his friend and mentor still cut deeply.
“I’m afraid my granddad passed away. It’s been almost five years ago, now.”
“I am so sorry, Jason. He must have been a truly extraordinary man to have had so many wide ranging interests at his age.”
Anxious not to see the conversation turn maudlin, Beverley tried to shift the subject to something less sensitive.
“So, Professor, what brings you way out here? How did you find us?”
Cheering up immediately, Daniels smiled and answered. “As you no doubt know, my dear, the archaeological fraternity is very small and no one can hide effectively for very long – at least not from an old tomb raider like myself. Besides, I was attending a symposium in Oxford and since I was so close I hired a car and drove down to say hello.”
“Thirty miles is a long way to travel just to say hello.”
“Nonsense. Since I retired my time is my own and I rather miss staring down into holes in the ground. So tell me, what sorts of finds is this little dig producing for you other than that most impressive mosaic?”
“It is brilliant, isn’t it, Professor? I keep telling Jason how outstanding it is but he’s only interested in post-Roman occupation of old Roman sites.”
With an apologetic cough, Daniels said “That much I already knew about Jason’s work, Miss…er…Beverley. You see, I did have a small ulterior motive for coming down.” While he was talking Daniels had been unzipping a small briefcase that had never left his side. Now, he extracted a book with a brightly colored dust jacket and held it out toward Jason. On the front cover it said Shining a Light on the Dark Ages; below were the names Jason Carpenter and Beverley McCullough. “You see, I have a copy of your book and I was wondering if you would both mind signing it for me.”
“I’m flattered, Professor.” Jason dusted his hands off again and reached for the book and pen as Daniels held them out expectantly.
“Not at all, my boy. And Cambridge University Press, no less. I am impressed.” As Jason opened the book and signed his name on the title page, Daniels continued. “So tell me, how did you find this villa? Barbury Castle has been poked and prodded since archaeology was in its infancy almost two centuries ago, but no one had ever located any Roman ruins before. What led you to this site?”
Jason shrugged and passed the book to Beverley as he spoke. “The usual, actually. The dry weather last autumn left brown spots in the grass indicating there might be walls buried here. Then I used ground-sounding radar to confirm it. Nothing all that creative, really.”
“But what made you suspect that this site might have seen Roman period inhabitation?”
“Well, like I said in our book, when civilization collapsed after the Romans pulled out, I think it was only natural that people started reusing both Roman buildings and older Iron Age fortifications. They had lost so much technological know-how that reuse of existing structures only makes sense.”
“I understand that. But why did you suspect the Romans had put a villa near Barbury?”
“Oh, that’s easy. The old hill fort provided them with ready-made fortifications. Add a new stockade wall, a gate house and presto-change-o, instant fort.”
“Very good, my boy. A logically thought out hypothesis and one which, it would seem, is paying off for you.” Daniels waved a hand in a broad, sweeping circle taking in the entire area of the trench. “So have you made any finds to indicate that this villa was reused by the Britons or Saxons after the Romans left?”
Jason scuttled across the chalky floor of the trench, grabbed a shallow plastic tray and returned to his seat before handing the tray to his guest. “Understand, Professor, I’m only really interested in reoccupation by the Britons before the Saxons became dominant.”
Carver Daniels raised his eyes from the tray, peering at Jason over the top of his glasses. “That gives you a rather narrow window, does it not?”
“Yeah, it does. It kind of limits me to the period between 400 and 600 AD. I know the Saxons were in England by 450 but the Britons generally held them in the eastern part of the country till after 550. And, as you obviously know, by 600 the Saxons had pretty much taken over nearly all of what we now think of as England.”
Daniels declined to answer but creased his brow and nodded absently as he stared at the contents of the white plastic tray. In addition to a portion of a comb made from deer antler and a few small pot shards, there was a flat piece of transparent blue-green glass about the size of the palm of a man’s hand. After picking the objects up one at a time he carefully returned them to the tray and handed it back to Jason.
“The glass is particularly nice. I assume you believe it to be Roman era window glass?”
Jason smiled and nodded enthusiastically. “That’s exactly what I’m thinking. But the important thing is that I found it out here”, Jason waved his hand at the ground immediately in front of where he was sitting, “beyond the exterior face of this later extension to the villa.”
“So you conclude that it was reused by the Britons when they occupied the structure after the Romans left. Is that it?”
Excited now, Jason scooted closer to the edge of the grassy step on which he sat, leaning forward, talking as much with his hands as with words. “That’s exactly it. I’m really glad you understand.”
Daniels waved his head from side to side slightly, the slight creases never leaving his forehead. “You do realize, Jason, that the glass fragment could have wound up where you found it in any one of a hundred ways. The fact that it was lying near what was once the exterior surface of a wall - which may or may not have been built by the Britons - is not proof of reoccupation during your time period.”
“Of course I understand that, Professor.” Jason’s voice had taken on a slight edge of urgency, hoping that he could extract more approval than caution from his old mentor. “I know it takes a lot more than one tiny find to build a credible case but I have to build my case one piece of evidence at a time.”
Daniels reached across the corner of the trench and laid a gentle hand on Jason’s arm. “May I be perfectly frank with you, my boy?”
“Sure.” Jason shifted slightly uncomfortably as he nodded. “I always appreciate your critiques.”
“I know the period of the Britons is your special area of interest, and we know so little about that period of history that anything new you can prove will be of the greatest interest to the scientific community…” Now Daniels started shifting as uncomfortably as his former student. “You see, it’s just that as I read your book, and your theories about that era, I couldn’t help but remember some of the rather strange things you and your grandfather seemed to be int
erested in. I understand your continued interest in that extraordinary blue orb we excavated at Tintagel, I still often wonder about it myself. But some of the other things like the Ark of the Covenant and the Arthurian legends…” He left the sentence unfinished but his implication was clear enough.
“No, no, professor. I appreciate your concern but, honestly, I’m not looking for the Holy Grail or proof that King Arthur was real or anything like that.”
Carver Daniels placed his hands on his knees, levered himself into a standing position and laid a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “I am so very glad to hear that, my boy. Forgive me for even thinking such things, but do understand that I only have your best interest at heart.”
Rising to look the old man in the face, Jason smiled, nodded knowingly and continued to lie. “That’s ok, Professor. I understand, and I appreciate your concern, and I promise I’m not developing any crack-pot theories about Camelot or anything.”
Daniels smiled, nodded and let out a massive sigh. “Good. I’m glad I didn’t upset you. It was never my intention to do so. Now, before I go, you must tell me,” here he looked back and forth between Jason and Beverley, “is your dig on borough property or on private land?”
Having stayed out of the discussion related to Jason’s particular area of expertise, Beverley now picked up the thread of the conversation. “Actually, we started out in a private meadow that abutted the park, but when we started uncovering the villa, particularly that brilliant mosaic floor, the borough council gave us permission to open a section of trench on their property. Now they’re negotiating with the farmer to buy a bit of his land and incorporate it into the park to protect it.”
“Oh, that’s splendid. I’m so happy for both of you. And I look forward to seeing your paper on the entire dig when it’s completed. And if I can be of any assistance at all, please don’t hesitate to ring me up. I’m always happy to help.”
After a few moments during which friendly, congratulatory words were passed around, Daniels picked up his briefcase, tucked it under his arm, smiled and nodded. “This has been marvelous but I really must be going.”
“Oh, please Professor,” Beverley waved her hands in a stalling gesture. “Stay for tea. We have plenty and would love to have you.”
“No. No. I do appreciate the offer but I honestly must get back to Oxford. The symposium is having some sort of a meet-and-greet thingy tonight and I don’t dare miss it. Besides, I think I fancy a bit of a lie-down before girding my loins for a social evening.”
“You used to love those things.”
Daniels winked at Beverley and patted her arm. “I used to be the center of attention, too. Now I’m just one more ageing duffer among a vast sea of boring old geezers.”
As Beverley escorted Carver Daniels back toward the camp and his car, Jason returned to his work. When Beverley paused long enough to call back to him, reminding him that dinner would be ready in an hour and that he should avoid getting involved in anything, Jason responded with a quick glance over his shoulder and a wave of acknowledgement. Then, when he was sure his guest was well beyond the line of sight, he extended his hands and grinned as the trowel and whisk broom flew through the air and came to rest snuggly against his palms.
Later, it took Jason just under two minutes to walk from the eastern edge of the trench to the small encampment where he and Beverley had lived for the past eight weeks. The most notable feature of their compound was the large, bright yellow marque tent that served as a work space and office where their finds were sorted, photographed and catalogued. Here, too, was the ancient generator supplying electricity for their equipment and the caravan camper parked next to the tent. At twenty-six feet in length the camper was hardly spacious but, like so much in life, it was only a temporary arrangement, so it was bearable. The last component to their camp was the ancient blue Range Rover that had brought Jason, Beverley and their equipment to rural Wiltshire and ferried them back and forth on their occasional trips to the town of Swindon located a scant two miles north of Barbury Castle hill fort.
Jason pushed back the flap on the butter-colored tent door and stepped inside just far enough to set the white plastic tray containing the day’s finds on the long folding table. He patted the edge of the tray once, in satisfaction of a good day’s work, and strode the few yards toward the smell of food wafting from the open door of the camper. Lifting a pair of hands holding a peeled carrot and a knife, Beverley offered a quick peck of a kiss and a smile.
“I’m sorry, Jase, but it’s going to be a half hour till the chicken is ready. Dr Daniels’ visit just threw me off schedule a bit.”
“Don’t worry about it, Babe. I can use a little relax time, anyway.” Letting out a great “oof” sound as he plopped down into the caravan’s small dining booth, he looked toward his wife and allowed a weary smile to wash across his tired face. “So how was your day?”
“Oh, I got everything from yesterday photographed and catalogued, so I guess it was a good day.” Glancing over her shoulder at the sound of Jason digging through one of the cabinets she asked “What are you looking for?”
Hoisting an ornately framed antique mirror onto the dining table, Jason gently wiped a few specks of dust from its face, staring at the badly deteriorated, heavily carved frame and the oval crystal face with a large section broken off near the bottom.
“Thought I’d get some scrying practice in before we eat. And afterwards I need to go out to the tent and check over today’s stuff.” Throwing his head backward as far as it would go, he stared at the ceiling for a moment before closing his eyes and rolling his head from side to side. “God, I really ought to spend some time later trying to decipher another page or two of Merlin’s Libra Praecantatio folio, too.”
Turning to face him, Beverley put her hands on her hips and scowled. “Jason Carpenter, what you really ought to do is get a good night’s sleep. You were up all last night with that bloody book, you worked all day today in the hot sun and now you look like death in a bucket.”
Jason raised his head and let out a long sigh. As he started to wave one hand across Merlin’s old scrying glass he nodded assent. “You’re right, as always. I’m pooped and I know it. Just give me an hour or two in the tent and I promise I’ll come to bed.”
Turning back to her work Beverley drew her mouth into a tight line and shook her head. “One hour. Not a single minute more, do you understand?”
Nodding to himself as he passed his hand across the face of the mirror, writing in the air with one finger and mumbling half to himself in broken Latin, he paused long enough to answer. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m not joking, Jason. One hour or I’m coming out to get you.”
“Seriously, Babe. One hour. I promise.”
The face of the mirror started to cloud over with strange, amorphous gray and black shapes until, after more than a full minute, it cleared to reveal a woman in an expensive business suit drinking wine and talking to another woman seated next to her on a bar stool. Since the scrying glass did not transmit sound it was impossible to tell what they were talking about. A moment later the scene shifted. Jason stared at it for a moment before his face broke into a huge grin.
“Hey, Babe, come look at this.”
“Why? What do you see?”
“Quick, before I lose it.”
Beverley laid the half-peeled apple on the counter and took two steps, pausing to stare over Jason’s shoulder. “What are we looking at?” In the mirror was the image of an elderly man standing in front of a full length mirror, tying a necktie. Although his face was only visible as a reflection in the glass and his head was thrown back to expose his collar, it was obvious that he was singing at the top his voice.
“I caught him getting dressed.”
“I can see that, Jase, but who is he and why should I care?”
“Don’t you recognize him? That’s the vice president.”
“Of what?”
“Of the U.S.”
“O
h, you’re kidding.” Beverley leaned closer, peering at the man in the mirror. Finally she smiled and drew herself back to a standing position, snickering. “Bloody hell, it is, isn’t it.”
“I just wish I could control this stupid thing.” Jason sighed again and shook his head. “Five years of work. You’d think I would have figured out how to drive the damn thing, wouldn’t you.”
Patting his shoulder solicitously, Beverley walked back to the counter. “You figured out how to turn it on. You must be the first person in a thousand years to do that.”
“Yeah, but how much good is it if I can’t direct where it goes. It just wanders around aimlessly spying on people.”
“You’ll get it.”
An hour later, after the small chicken had been reduced to a pile of bones and a wine bottle stood empty on the table, Jason gathered up the plates, scraped the detritus into the waste bin and put the dishes in the sink. Returning to where Beverley was bent forward, wiping the table, he pressed himself against her and slid his hands around her waist, giving her a quick squeeze.
“I’m going out to the tent for a bit, Babe.”
Rubbing against him provocatively as she stood up and turned around, she kissed him gently and whispered in his ear. “If your skinny carcass isn’t back in here in one hour, I promise you there won’t be any nookie for you tonight, little man.”
Offering a huge, shit-eating grin and a nod of understanding, Jason extricated himself from her arms and stepped out the door. There was still enough sun in the summer sky to give the interior walls of the yellow tent a soft, warm glow, making any occupant feel like they were inside a big, happy-faced yellow balloon. The weird golden hue lent a slightly surreal atmosphere to their workroom that always made Jason smile, and this evening was no exception.