Spiral: Book One of the Spiral in Time (9 page)

“It’s for us, my dear,” he said to her questioning look. “Sir Mortimer’s book on the first excavations at Maiden Castle in the late 1930’s.”

Germaine picked it up. It was heavy. She raised one eyebrow at Aubrey.

“We might need it,” he said, rather sheepishly. “I had to beg the director of the Dorset Museum to lend me his copy. It’s a first edition and costs a fortune to buy now—over ₤200, if you can even find it. They don’t publish this kind of book any more, or very rarely. All the maps and diagrams are in exquisite detail on fold-out papers. Old Sir Mortimer noted everything he found—every burial site, building or artifact, and, especially, all the storage pits.

“You’ll see,” he said. “There are hundreds of pits all over the site. The storage pits are what we are most likely to run into—they’re everywhere.”

Germaine looked at Aubrey’s flushed face and placed the books back into the pack, hefting it over one shoulder. “I’ll carry it,” she said in a firm voice. “You’re the guide today.”

The gate was at the west entrance to the hillfort where English Heritage had erected a big sign with an aerial view of Maiden Castle. It showed several complicated earthen ramparts circling around the hillfort. Yesterday, from afar, she had thought it looked familiar, but this aerial view seemed strange.

Only one barricade and a ditch – there is only one, the thought raced through her mind. She shook her head. She must be confusing it with other hillforts. There were obviously several ramparts. The picture showed a large grassy area at the top of them.

“There’s an old Roman temple site about there.” Aubrey pointed to a place on the sign. “It’s close to where the dig is. There was a small Celtic hut site behind the temple. That’s what they blew up. It’s completely gone.”

A ghost of a thought—something about the Celtic hut—flitted through Germaine’s mind and she drew a quick breath. Her heart fell.

Somehow, she knew that had been a sacred site.

She was anxious to get to work. They started up the path, a long, upward slope, steep and still muddy from yesterday’s storm. Moist heat rose from the wet path as the morning air warmed. Aubrey sweated and fanned himself with his hat. Germaine kept an anxious eye on him—the hike was a challenge for an overweight, over seventy year old.

Dressed for work, Germaine wore light-weight hiking boots and her favorite long khaki pants with lots of pockets. Each pocket held something she had learned over the years was essential—a small notebook, a pencil, her own special trowel, lip balm and a tube of her favorite sunscreen. The sun was warm, but her wide-brimmed, canvas hat kept out sun or rain.

Then the path entered the ramparts, a steeper, confusing set of earthworks that surrounded the entire site. It grew harder to stay steady on the slick mud. The air smelled of wet vegetation and animal droppings. Aubrey led the way as they navigated the many turns between the high, earthen mounds built to defend the hillfort above.

He stopped for a moment to catch his breath, and pointed above his head.

“Anyone coming through this maze was picked off by defenders on stone platforms high above the path. Some of the ancient warriors used sling shots, lethal weapons in trained hands.” Aubrey started off again, trudging upward on the twisting path.

Germaine’s neck prickled and the middle of her back felt sensitive. She felt someone watching her and turned. Another hiker stood poised far above on the top of the rampart—a scruffy looking, red-haired boy of thirteen or so. What was he doing up here? Probably one of the demonstrators.

Something whizzed by her face. Germaine looked back and saw the boy again. He was swinging something around his head.

A stone flew toward her! She ducked and slipped on the muddy path, falling to her hands and knees. Another stone flew past her head. When she looked up again, he was gone. Angry, she stood and tried to rub off the worst of the mud. What was that child trying to do? He aimed at her! Germaine remembered Aubrey’s story about the hillfort’s defenders and felt uneasy. And vulnerable.

At least the book was protected. She picked up the pack and looked for Aubrey. He was far ahead now. His hat in hand, fanning his face, Aubrey’s pink head shone in the sun as he disappeared over the top of the path. She hurried to catch up.

At last, she reached the top of the final rampart, and was out in the open with only the sky above. A broad footpath ran along the top of the inner perimeter. The breeze she had felt pushing against her back on the way up, now swept over the top, blowing the grass on the footpath flat. Long streaks of clouds scudded across a wind-swept sky, remnants of last night’s storm system.

Still nervous, she looked around for the delinquent boy. But she was alone. Aubrey had waved and gone on ahead, striding toward the excavation site in the grassy middle of the hillfort, a covered area surrounded by field tents.

She drew a deep breath of the clean air and turned around slowly, admiring the view from this high perspective. Down below were neatly marked fields, pale gold and brown, like stitched pieces of mending. Thin patches of dark green forest edged some of the straw-colored rectangles. A few fields showed the bright green of early summer crops sprouting in the mild English air. She could see Dorchester off to one side, the horizon hazy there with the blur of modern life. A road leading toward the town had small cars moving along, all reduced to toys on the large, grand landscape. The chaos and confusion of the people down below in the car park didn’t reach up here.

She climbed down from the top of the earthen rampart and started walking toward the tents. The rampart created a protective barrier. Down below it, the tall grass barely rippled in the faint breeze. The air seemed muffled, just the sound of the wind passing high overhead. She stopped and listened intently, not even sure what she thought she might hear.

The trained archaeologist in her looked around, trying to imagine the meadow as it once was. There were no clues. It was empty. Yet people had lived and died here for six thousand years.

And loved,
whispered a voice in her head—a woman’s voice.
He is gone.

Then someone was crying, faint and far away.

It faded into the distance.

Germaine looked around, shaking her head. There was absolutely no one nearby. She was imagining things. “What is happening to me—am I losing my mind?” She wondered out loud. First, she was attacked by a boy who disappeared, and now she was hearing voices, just like at the conference. Was this some physical reaction to the stress of the past year? There had to be some logical explanation. She was a trained scientist; any mysteries could be traced and explained by modern science. After all, she did not live in the dark ages.

She walked a few steps farther and stopped. Her heart hurt as though from a great loss. She wanted to weep! Her eyes smarted and a tear rolled down her cheek. Her reaction to the interview on the TV had been so strong and now this. She hadn’t felt this emotional in months.

A flash of anger swept away the intense feeling. A hot rage swept through her. It was this cursed dig with its Druids and explosions! She should be working on the book. Why had she agreed to do this?

Wiping her eyes, she looked back at the rampart and thought she saw the boy with red hair, behind a clump of tall grass.

She started running toward the camp.

Conan Ryan stood in front of a tent, watching his crew stack boxes of supplies. He greeted her with a friendly smile. Out of breath, Germaine only nodded in response. She caught his eyes looking at her muddy pants and hands.

“At least the site will be dry to work in,” he said.

Germaine chose to ignore that comment as they joined Aubrey. A tarp, covering the blast site from yesterday’s rain, was pulled away by Conan’s crew.

“This whole area is bigger than I expected,” she said. The hole was deep. She felt a flash of vertigo as she looked down and grabbed hold of Aubrey’s arm. He gently patted her hand.

Aubrey lifted a handful of silt and chalk from the edge; it was pulverized. “What on earth was that boy thinking? And how did he survive this?” He let the soil drift slowly from his hand.

“The police inspector thinks the impact of the explosion threw him away from the worst,” Conan said.

Aubrey shook his head. “Let’s go down and take a look. We’ll all feel better getting to work.” Police tapes were strung all around the edge. They ducked under the barriers and carefully climbed down a ladder.

“It must be over eight feet deep,” said Germaine.

“Closer to twelve,” Aubrey said. “It’s a good five feet or more above my head.”

There was an odd note in his voice, and Germaine gave him a sharp look. She frowned. Even though it was cooler at the bottom of the pit, beads of sweat covered his forehead, and his face looked flushed.

He caught her look and smiled. “Too much climbing for me. Out of shape. That’s why I wanted you to come along and help out. Young and strong! Good for carrying heavy books.”

“So let’s get started, Madame Director,” Conan said with a quick smile. “It’s all marked off and photos have been taken. I set up the baseline and marker pegs above. Sir Aubrey said work it on a grid and gradually expand the site.”

“Very efficient. Did you get here at dawn?” Germaine asked.

“Nope. Slept here. Sir Aubrey ordered a small crew up here, for site protection, until you see how you want to proceed.”

Aubrey gave Germaine a look that said he was leaving nothing to chance, or scavengers who might come at night and make off with valuable artifacts.

Finding the bone was easy now; Aubrey knew exactly where to look.

At the first tentative exploration with her trowel, Germaine felt the soil give way easily. The explosion had pulverized the ground and left it soft and friable.

She gave a short, surprised laugh. A good omen! Sometimes the gods hand you a gift and it’s best to open it quickly and be thankful. Usually, excavating a site took quite a while: first to locate the precise place to dig, and then to start the laborious task of digging into compacted soil with care, to not harm any artifact. The Druid’s explosion saved a lot of time. This would go fast.

She felt in one of her pockets for her notebook and pencil, and made a quick drawing of the initial find spot. She started brushing soil away from the bone with a fine brush. It came loose easily. The removal of the large bone revealed several smaller ones and, embedded in the soil, a skull.

Her breath sounded unnaturally loud in the muted silence of the pit as her finger tips touched the skull. She carefully brushed the soil away. Soon the skull lay before them, unmoved for two or three thousand years or more.

“A burial. Or this might be a sacrifice,” Germaine said, gently lifting the skull. “And who were you?” She always wondered. It was part of a person, even though long dead.

Conan carefully held up one of the smaller bones. “Rib cage bones,” he said. “It looks like this person had been in a fight. See this slash mark? I would guess a dagger, but perhaps a sword.”

She looked at him with a professional, appraising eye. He was good. He had set the site up without her direction. She had noticed the brightly colored grid markers all around the site before they climbed down the ladder. Off to one side at the bottom were neat piles of buckets, a few trowels, a measuring stick and brushes. She would not have done it any differently. A good man to have along. He caught her eye and flashed another grin. Germaine felt her black mood lifting.

Conan took photographs as she drew a diagram of the bone placements. The chalky earth was incredibly loose, as though turned deep with a pitch fork. Minutes later, the soil yielded up a long metal piece. She raised it up to the light and handed it to Aubrey. It was bronze, crusted with a light, blue-green patina. He gave her a slight nod. It matched the piece he rescued yesterday.

“There’s something underneath,” Germaine said. She carefully brushed away more soil.

It looked like a small hoard: things ritually deposited, perhaps to the gods. A twisted bronze torq lay over a sword broken in two pieces. The sword had been deliberately cut in half. Next to the broken sword lay all that was left of a wooden shield: the copper and iron boss that had decorated the middle. Germaine lifted the boss gently with her trowel and, incredibly, barely visible, a few, tiny slivers of decayed wood lay underneath.