The Fox (37 page)

“Hi. Is your father okay?” We were still on this land only by his permission.

“Yes. He’s fine. He asked me to come up and talk to you.”

I didn’t like the sound of this. Why didn’t he come himself? “Would you like a bottle of water?” I reached under the table and grabbed one for me.

“Sure, thank you.”

We twisted the bottles open. I drank half of mine, and he took a sip.

“Well, what can I do for your father?”

“He asked me to come up and tell you that he has decided to put his land up for sale.”

I was in the middle of another swallow and spat out the water in my mouth as I went into a violent coughing spasm.
Oh no. Oh no. Oh my Lord, no.

He came up behind me and started pounding my back. Coughing, I pushed him away. He was hurting more than helping.

“Oh my, when?” I asked when I caught my breath. Now it became imperative to get started on my quest to have this site identified. Oh gods, I should have done it earlier. But I never thought….

“Da said to say that you can have this summer but a major hotel chain is looking to buy some land in this area and he wants to get his foot in the running.”

“But we just found this village! We’ll need to be here for a few years, excavating this hill fort.”

“He said you wouldn’t be pleased.”

Not pleased? I was panicked!

“I’m here from Coventry. Dad called me in. He wants me to handle the sale.”

His smile reminded me of a snake ready to strike.

“I am sure we could get you some excavating rights built into the contract. I’m sure you know that Scottish law allows development around sites like this. I mean, wouldn’t a hotel like a new archaeological site on its land? It would be a draw to the new kind of tourists – what are they called? Eco-tourists. They love to come and ‘do’ things. They could help you dig!”

Gods above. I could see it now. Untrained people coming in through a turnstile gate, picking up their visors and trowels in the gift shop and creating potholes in Jahna’s home. I sat down hard on a stool and almost fell over. He reached out to catch me as my arms started wind-milling.

“Oof.” Oh gods, I had hit him right in the nose and it started bleeding. He backed away from me and I pushed myself up off the ground to look at his injury.

“Oh no! I am so sorry! Let me get some ice. Yikes, we don’t have any up here. Oh here, let me put some pressure on it. No, don’t lean your head back, the blood will go down your throat and make you sick.”

“No,” he said nasally, his nose pinched shut with his thumb and finger. He had his blue kerchief out, trying to wipe his blood from his chin and shirt. “I’ll get it.” He continued to back away from me and then turned to go down the path. “Actually, that’s all I came for. I’m sure it will stop soon. If not, Da has ice.”

He took off for his car at a trot while I stood at the tent door and watched. At the open car door, he reached in and grabbed a paper bag. “I forgot,” he yelled up the hill. “Da found these in the peat the other day and thought you’d want them. I’ll leave the bag here.” He leaned over and set the small bag on a boulder by the path, obviously not willing to risk another encounter with me.

I stood rooted to the ground. I really needed to talk to someone. Someone with more experience running sites than I had. As my senses came back into focus, I looked around and saw everyone watching me. They had gathered around the tent, having heard the whole exchange. “Well, he said we have the rest of this season.” I shook my head and shrugged. “From now on, I have one of two goals: either this site gets scheduled as a historic monument or we find a pot of gold. I think we have a better chance of finding that pot of gold right now. Terry, would you run down and grab that bag for me, please?”

He handed it to me and I stuffed it into my pocket. I wasn’t ready to open it. Everyone shuffled back to where they had been before the bad news interrupted our good day. I walked to the opposite edge of the hill, overlooking the peat bog and Mr. Treadwell’s long-haired Highland cattle. I spent a few quiet minutes thinking about my future. Who should I contact? Of course, Marc’s name came into mind immediately but I really didn’t want to call him until I had exhausted all my other routes.

I started to sit on the green grass lining the side of the hill to think over my options when the contents of the bag dug into my leg. “Ouch!” I dug it out of my pocket and opened it.

From the clanking, I could tell the clumps were metal, but I couldn’t see any shapes. I dumped three pieces out of the bag into my lap and picked one up. Though centuries of bog grime covered it, I recognized it. I quickly picked up the other pieces and intently looked them over. Gods, they were bronze horse harness fittings! I could almost make out the engraving and could see a bit of color. This could just be the pot of gold we were looking for, the evidence I needed to sway a council. The bog would be included on the site map with the hill fort, the urn was dated, and contents identified as human. My site was important. It was as good as gold to me, and others, I hoped.

“Tim, Lauri, everyone! Come here!” I yelled as I ran to the tent. “Look! These were found in the bog!”

Kendy took them from me, her polishing cloth in hand. As we stood and watched her, the gleam of bronze that had not seen the light of day in centuries started glinting in the afternoon sun. Then we saw the engravings.

“We need to get these cleaned and dated,” Lauri said, excitedly. “But they sure look beautiful right now! Should we send them to Glasgow?”

“Yes. Please catalog and wrap them. Bring them home and I’ll take them to the post tomorrow. I am going to go find Mr. Treadwell and take pictures of where he found them.” Normally, we’d map and take pictures of the objects on site but it was too late for that.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Treadwell.” His son had answered the door at my knock and watched over his father’s shoulder, protectively, as I spoke.

“Now, lassie. It will do no good to try to talk me out of selling. My lads want no part of my father’s land excepting the money it’ll bring. They tear my heart out but what’s a faither to do? I’ve no other family to leave it to so I may as well sell and go live in Coventry. I don’t know what I’ll do there.”

“Da,” Steven said. “Shirley and me said you would be living near us in that new retirement apartment complex.”

“Ach, aye. Maybe I can scritch a vegetable garden along the highway that runs just behind.”

“Mr. Treadwell, I need to take pictures of where you found the things you sent me today.”

He nodded and stepped out the door. “Stay here laddie, I wouldn’t want you to get your nice shoes muddy.”

He and I started through his fields. “I am sorry that your sons don’t want the farm,” I said.

“Yes. Well, there’s little to be done about it. No use crying. My only hope was to be able to live out my life on this land. My da and his da and his died here. I wanted to do the same. Now I will die in the city.” A deep sigh and shake of his head told me all I needed to know. He was not the one who instigated the sale of this land.

“Mr. Treadwell, there may be a way I can help. You’ve found some very important pieces in your bog. They’re bronze harness fittings. I’m sending them off to Glasgow for cleaning and dating, but they may be just what I needed to get this property sale delayed. I can get your land on the Scheduled Monument Consent list for consideration. I’m calling in a Regional Archaeologist and we could have your whole farm listed. There isn’t much money available for that, but at least your land would be preserved. If that’s what you really want.” In my heart, I was praying he would say yes.

“I’ll tell ye. We have no real indication where the hotel wants to buy, but my son says he can talk them into coming here. He says maybe since we have been on the land so long, the hotel would be named after us! Can ya just see it? Treadwell’s Inn. Ach, but Mrs. Dingleberry would have her knickers all bunched up, that’s for sure.” The smile on his face told me my chances were very small if existing at all.

We walked the rest of the way in the traditional Scottish silence. I was nauseated and he, I was sure, tired from talking so much.

The bog was wet; I was glad I wore my wellies. He stepped up to a recently dug trench.

“Here. I came out here when my son came two days ago, to get away from his constant talking. I cut a row and in the middle, about here, my spade hit the metal. Did you say they were harness bits? Why would they be throwing good things like that into a bog?”

“At the time the village on your hilltop was occupied, I think it was early in the first century, the people believed in many gods. They made sacrifices to these gods. We have found bronze swords and other items in bogs that were once lakes. Their priests, the druids, asked for valuable and personal items to be given to the gods. There were even human sacrifices at times.”

He stood looking over the bog while I walked up and down the row, taking pictures. I thought he was imagining the history that had taken place here.

“He’s been here almost every day, recently.”

“What?” I looked up, and noticed Mr. Treadwell looking across the bog to the trees on the other side and turned to look myself.

“That fox,” he said, pointing with his chin. “Lately, he’s been here more than usual. What a creature. I wonder if there are many chickens missing around here? Mine have been okay. I keep them locked up at night since I first saw him. He’s a big one.”

Ravens erupted from the trees, flying into the sunset. The fox Mr. Treadwell referred to stood stock still just ten feet away, not taking his eyes off us, not blinking. Then he rose and turned. His long, bushy tail carried proudly behind, he strutted into a row of oak trees. The chills on the back of my neck made the fine hairs on my arms stand up. I had the distinct feeling of being judged. I hoped the verdict was favorable.

Back at the farmhouse, I asked Mr. Treadwell not to make any hasty decisions. “And please don’t remove any more items. I’ll call you as soon as I hear from someone.”

“I’ll no make any promises, lassie. We’ll take it day by day.”

I knew by then that I needed to go talk to George. He could guide me to the right people. Maybe even call in a few more favors and get the sale stopped or at least slowed.

“This is my mobile number. I am going to London for a couple of days. Please call me if there is any change or new development.”

“Right.” He took the slip of paper and tucked it away in his pocket. I hoped it wouldn’t get mixed in with the receipts for cattle feed and other things in the farmer’s pockets.

The next day, I stopped at the post to mail the harness bits to Glasgow. Tim was in charge of the site for the time I would be in London, with strict instructions to call me with any questions throughout the day and reports every evening. I didn’t expect to be gone longer than two nights. I hadn’t called George, but I knew he would be okay with my visit. He always had been in the past.

I found a Fort William paper to read on the train. One article interested me above all the rest. A local mall had been increasing the size of its parking lot and stumbled across a pit of bones. All construction stopped until the coroner determined the bones weren’t human. They were the bones of what looked to be a stag. Before they paved over the pit, an archaeologist removed the bones. It was surmised that because of the positioning of the bones and antlered skull, the stag had been sacrificed. Interesting, I thought, as the train sped its way to London, but not unusual. Finds like that happened everyday in Great Britain.

C
HAPTER
21

JAHNA

82 AD M
ARCH
-A
PRIL

My body ached from our anxious and hurried lovemaking. We had fallen together as soon as we were alone.

“I must leave when the sun rises,” he said.

His hand caressed my hair and my leg was strewn over his bare thighs. I wanted to never have the warmth of his body leave me again.

“You are just returned from a difficult journey,” I said. “Must you go again so soon?”

By moonlight filtering through our small window, I saw a look I had never seen before on his face. His head seemed to sink in to his body and his brow creased. A light dimmed in his eyes.

“If it were in my power to change our world right now, I would make it stop here,” he said, “with you in my arms, the smell of lavender in your hair and my need for you sated. I do not have those powers. I am afraid, Jahna.
Tha gaol agam ort,
and I will love you forever, but I am afraid I cannot protect you and Crisi. I have seen what happens to those captured. Our people cannot rest until our future is secure. We are going to be in a fight for our land and our lives. Our children’s children’s children’s lives.”

His heart raced under his breast as he clutched me even closer.

I felt his fear but after a few breaths, his heart raced for another reason.

“However,” he said with a smile creeping back into his eyes, “I have a few moments to spare. We do not have to leave at this moment.” His hands gently traced familiar paths on my skin, raising warm feelings deep inside me. “Let me remind myself of your body.” His hands stopped on the side of my chest. “Jahna, I feel bones on you I have not felt before. Are you not eating?”