Authors: Arlene Radasky
The Fox (48 page)
“Don’t be daft. Let’s wash our hands and eat a good supper.” He raised his voice and called to my crew, “‘Tis time to break for the night.”
They all looked at me. “Okay. We can come back tomorrow.” I turned back to him. “We haven’t found what I’m looking for yet.”
“Do we know what that item is?” he asked.
“No. Not yet. I’ll know when I see it.”
“Well, lassie, ye have another day.”
Back at camp, I told everyone what Mr. Treadwell told me. “I’m calling the Regional Archaeologist tonight. If the hilltop is listed, the hotel still could buy the rest of the land. Unless we find something in the bog. We’re going to have to work extra hard tomorrow, but tonight, why don’t all of you go into town and have a good supper on me? Kendy, you know which place accepts my charge card, would you please take care of it? I’m going to spend the night here.”
Laurie hugged me. “Aine, we’ll stay as long as you need us. This is a fab site and we like working for you. No worries, it’ll all work out. As my Mom says, ‘Just think positive!'”
“Thank you, Laurie. I’ll remember that.” They descended to the vehicles.
“Don’t forget we’re working tomorrow. Don’t you kids get lost in town!” Laughter and cheerios echoed after the departing cars. They were all kids. Boy, I really missed Marc.
“Just think positive. Just think…Oh, bloody hell. I’m talking to myself now. Well, if I’m going to talk to someone, I may as well talk to a ghost.” With that, I picked up a torch and started down the back way to the bog.
Sitting on the wall of a cut row of peat, labyrinth in hand, I spoke again. “I know you’re here. I need to know exactly where I’m supposed to dig. Is that a stupid thing to ask a ghost?” I looked around to see if anyone appeared, half worried it would be Stephen. No, still just an empty bog.
“What am I looking for?” I asked the air. No answer.
It was late, the moon was setting and I was chilled. I stood to start back to camp. “Hey! Out there. Yoohoo! I just remembered I brought my labyrinth. You liked it last time. If I say a prayer over it, will you come?” I decided to try. I closed my eyes, rubbed the path of the labyrinth and words floated easily into my mind.
Blood of our blood.
Do not forget us.
In the darkest of the nights, buried we lie.
We dream to have our voices heard again.
We beg you to find us, to bring us back.
Blood of our blood.
Do not forget us.
Our souls continue with the gods.
We died for you, we live through you.
Tell our story so we may live again.
Blood of our blood.
When the prayer was completed, I opened my eyes. “There you are!” The light bobbed again just in front of me. It bounced up about two feet above the ground and back down to touch it. “There? Is that where it is? Do we dig there tomorrow?” The light blinked out and I rushed over and laid my labyrinth on the spot. It was all I carried besides the torch, batteries almost gone, and my mobile. I spent the rest of the night fitfully sleeping and waking, cold and stiff, with the feeling of someone watching me and wondering just what I meant by “blood of my blood.”
The sun’s pink rays peaked over the mountain and I dialed Tim’s mobile. Dew-covered and shivering I said, “Tim, I’m in the bog. Send the team, will you? And have them bring a big thermos of coffee and something to eat. I know I’ve woken you up and it’ll take a while, but please get everyone on the move. Thanks. See you soon.” Tim barely had time to utter a sound. I calculated ten minutes to brew a pot of coffee while dressing, and twenty minutes on the road. Another five minutes to hike in from the car and I’ll have coffee in about thirty-five minutes if I didn’t die from exposure before then. Ah, the sun was getting higher and warmer.
My crew, Larry, Darcy, Jane, and Tom arrived with coffee and baskets of food.
“Larry, please bring the yellow tape. I want to mark a grid.” I walked a square around the spot where my labyrinth lay. As excited as I was about digging in that exact spot, I knew we had to go about this correctly or we might disturb something and devalue its importance. We started digging.
2:25. I looked at my watch for the umpteenth time. In the warm sun, the midges gathered around us. Until today, we were mercifully free from them, but it seemed they arrived in force. Maybe they knew we were leaving and wanted to be sure to get a taste of us before we were gone. Little buggers.
My job was slogging through the piles of mud that were shoveled my way. Larry and Tom were digging, and the girls pulled the peat apart, all looking for anything unusual. I stood to stretch my aching back, and felt nauseated. Had I eaten too many croissants? I stood up and walked to where we had a blanket out with water and snacks. I didn’t want to lose my lunch in front of the kids.
Suddenly, an intense feeling washed over me. I had felt this when we buried Donny. I recognized it as grief and the agony of not understanding why he had to die. My body was bent over with silent sobs. Then, it passed. I tried to understand what had just happened. Did I miss George that much? I hoped I was quiet enough so no one noticed me.
Tom yelled out, “I’ve found something! Here!”
“Oh, wow!” Jane said. “It looks like a…. Oh my God. Come here everyone!” We were already crowding around her, me wiping tears from my face. “It looks like a leg!” she said.
I jumped into the trench and stooped down to look at its wall. Folds of a leathery material lay imbedded in the peat. “Let me see what you have there, Jane.” She handed it to me. It was a human leg. A mummified, peat-dyed human leg that had lain in the bog for who knows how many years. Weak kneed, I leaned against a pile of peat. We’d found it. I’d found him. Tom had shoveled through the leg of a bog body. In my heart, I knew it was the body of the ghost.
“Okay, okay.” My mind raced to think of the procedure we should follow. “We can stop digging now.” I laid the leg in the trench just below the rest of the uncovered body. “We need to have the authorities out here to assure them that this isn’t a recent crime. Tom and Jane, please take pictures of this site and its surroundings. And make sure we have the GPS locators marked and recorded properly. Larry, could you go to Mr. Treadwell’s and see if someone is home? We need to let them know about this. Darcy, get on your mobile and call in the local coroner and police. Call Tim to secure the hilltop. No one is to come up there until we have this figured out. I want to work with the police and make sure this recovery is recorded in every way possible as we dig the body out.”
I climbed out of the trench. My hands trembled as I dialed Jimmy’s number in Glasgow. “Hi, Jimmy?”
“Hello, Aine? What’s up? More ashes?”
“No. Not more ashes, Jimmy. I need you to find the right person to come and help me protect this site. And if I’m right, I’ve something here that’ll make your day. Heck, it’ll make your year!”
J
UNE
, 2005
“I have a contact at the British Museum,” Jimmy had said. “Dr. Andy Cardwell. He’ll know how to get the ball rolling. I’ll fax him my prelim report, and he’ll jump on it like a fox on a mouse. Can I give him your mobile number?”
I called Marc, told him what I’d found and made arrangements to pick him up tomorrow evening at the train station.
Andy Cardwell called. I’d worked with him in London and respected him. He said he’d be flying in tomorrow evening as well, and had requested that the local coroner wait to inspect the scene until he was there.
“I know him,” said Andy. “Dr. Jancle. He is a bit of an amateur archaeologist and is as excited about the possibilities of this as we are. I think he hopes as much as we do that this is not a modern crime scene. He said he’d wait.”
The next morning, yellow police tape surrounded the bog and a uniformed policeman stood guard. We didn’t have access, but I didn’t have to worry about looters, just Stephen Treadwell, who was talking to the guard as I walked up.
“Constable?” said Stephen. “Do you think the sale of the property can still go through? I don’t want anything to stand in the way of my father being able to retire.” He had such an innocent and serious look on his face. I almost wanted to slap him.
Worried about his father retiring my foot, he just wanted the money.
I definitely wasn’t going to throw a spanner in the mix here, but I knew if it were what I suspected, the sale could be on hold for a while. And I didn’t think the older Mr. Treadwell would mind a bit.
“I don’t know about any sale of any land, sir,” said the constable, “but you and the lady will have to leave now. My orders are to keep everyone away until we determine what this is.”
Stephen took off in his truck, dust spinning from its back tires, and I walked up the hill.
All the evidence pointed to it being an ancient person. It must have been a sacred lake. Other sacrificial items had been found there. This body was probably an important person. I could hardly think straight, imagining all the possibilities. And I was dizzy and constantly having to pee. I spent the day on the hilltop, my crew working while I sat in a chair, watching the bog and making trips to our portable facility. Gods, I didn’t need the flu on top of everything else.
I met Marc at the train station and after I made a stop in the WC, he said, “Aine, you’re pale. Are you feeling well?”
“Not really. I think it’s a touch of the flu. I’ve been so excited that I haven’t slept well. That may be exacerbating it. I’ll be better in the morning. Now come on, our bed is waiting.”
I fell asleep after our lovemaking. The bed that had seemed so empty and cold was warm and comforting.
My mobile rang five times before I could find it under the pile of clothes that we had dumped in our rush last night. I laid back down and answered.
“Hello?” I sounded muffled to my ears, and my mouth tasted like pickled herring. Not a good way to start a day or a conversation. I told myself not to move too fast, and I might just be able to last through this call.
“Is this Aine MacRae?”
The voice was not familiar, and I winced. I had to pee, and my stomach was just beginning to wake up.
“Yes, it is.”
“This is Mr. George Weymouth’s solicitor, John Critchfield. I wanted to double-check the address we have for you. I am sending a messenger to you with papers for you to sign.”
“What? What do I need to sign?” My bladder was beginning to scream.
“Mr. George Weymouth left you a good sized sum of money and you need to be able to prove your identity to the messenger and then sign the papers he is carrying. After he returns, we can transfer the funds to any financial institution you request.” I walked to the bathroom as he spoke.
“Can’t he just bring the check here and let me sign it so I can get the cash? I am short of funds and could use it now without going through a bank account.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea, Ms. MacRae. We are talking about a very substantial amount here.”
I didn’t think George had much money, and as I sat down on the toilet, I remembered Sarah telling me he had divided it up between her, the university and me. I was sure not much was coming to me. “Just how much is a substantial amount?”
He told me. Later, I hoped my scream drowned out the sound of my peeing. One thought ran through my mind. I would have enough to buy Mr. Treadwell’s farm and several surrounding farms if I wanted. Oh my God, I was going to be able to work on my site and not worry about making a living elsewhere for a very long time. Marc would be able to retire and work with me, to the chagrin of his peers.
Marc and I arrived at the bog to see Andy talking to a man I assumed was Dr. Jancle, and a woman with a camera, all crouched in the trench. Andy smiled at us through the muck on his face and gave us the thumbs up. A weight lifted off my chest. In a few minutes, he climbed out and walked to us.
“Hi, Aine. This looks really good. Dr. Jancle and I agree that a sample should go to Glasgow to have it carbon dated as soon as possible. I’m going to carry it myself. It should only take a day or two. We aren’t going to move anything until the results come through. If it is what I think it is, then I will get a team here to remove the body.”
“That’s good news. I’m glad you’re going to be a part of this, Andy.”
“A part of it, yes, Aine. But if it is an ancient find, your name will be the one on everyone’s tongue. Good job.”
The rest of the day I was giddy and bounced around like a child. I blamed my now constant dizziness on not being able to eat. I blamed that on what Andy had said and the fact I had signed the solicitor’s papers and designated a bank for the inheritance later that same day.
When I woke up the next morning and spent thirty minutes hanging over the toilet, Marc drove me into the doctor’s office in Fort William.
“This is ridiculous. No flu lasts this long,” he said.
He was right. I was seven weeks pregnant.
“Of course! That explains all the moodiness and throwing up! I’m pregnant! We’re going to have a baby! Oh no, do you think I’m too old to be a mom? Marc, I am so sorry! I don’t want to cry, but I don’t know what to think.”
“Aine. I love that we’re going to have a baby. I’m happy! I’ve wanted a family, and now you’re pregnant. With our baby.”
