A Love Dig

A Love Dig

by Emma Kareno

Published by Emma Kareno at Smashwords

Copyright © 2013 Emma Kareno

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

CHAPTER 1

The sun had just passed its zenith and was pouring its heat on the men carefully shifting the soil around the ancient bricks, exposing them to daylight for the first time in at least a thousand years. It was hard work, demanding not only physical strength but meticulous care and attention to detail. All three men were without shirts, dressed only in old jeans or combat trousers covered in dirt, with work boots and gloves. They were squatting down, working on their separate squares of ground with small garden shovels and brushes, with their eyes scanning the area for any objects or fragments of brick or pottery. They were clearing the floor of a Roman bath house, slowly revealing the structure of the heating system with its hypocausts and furnace. After several hours of work, Tony was feeling the strain in his back and his eyes were smarting. He was ready for a break.

Tony put down his tools and stood up. The sun had already turned his skin golden brown and now continued to deepen the tan on his bare upper body, on the muscles covered with a film of perspiration and dust. He took off his working gloves and dropped them next to the tools. He stretched his spine, relaxing his arms and shoulders, and looked across the excavation at his two companions. They were both still at work, knees bent and eyes on the ground. Their shovels and brushes were making soft scraping sounds, but Tony was aware of the silence that had fallen behind him. A short distance away, in another corner of the bath house excavation, two women had stopped their work, their eyes following his every move. Tony was used to the admiring gazes of women; he was not surprised or flattered by their attention, neither did her take it for granted. Most of the time, he simply ignored it.

Peter, a break? Tony called. It was far too hot to speak in complete sentences. A young man with golden hair looked up over his shoulder when he heard his name mentioned. He lifted his hand to shade his blue eyes from the glaring sunlight and smiled, catching sight of the female couple behind Tony. Then Peter pressed his hands against his knees and stood up. He had mud smeared across his chest. He was wearing only a pair of faded jeans cut off just above the knees.

Get a drink? Peter suggested. Tony did not answer. They both looked across the uneven grass field towards a caravan, where cold cans and bottles were sitting in a cool box. They saw a woman step out of the caravan door. Tony recognized Jan from her long legs and long, blonde hair. He did not feel like facing her right now and turned his back to the caravan. Peter grinned, reading his thoughts and understanding his reluctance.

Swim? Tony said, thinking of another way to get out of the heat and relieve the weariness in his limbs.

OK. Peter accepted. Both stepped out of the excavation and walked towards the third man of their group, a black man still bending down staring at the ground through his spectacles with great concentration as if willing the earth to give up its secrets. He was taller and considerably wider than the other two. He would not have looked out of place in a boxing ring.

John? They called to him.

Hm? Was all the answer they got back.

Swim?

No trunks.

So? This answer from Tony made John look up and consider the options. His eyes moved from Tony and Peter to the two women, who were now returning to their work.

Right, he said, skinny-dipping. He put his gloves and brush carefully next to the area he had been clearing of the last pieces of debris. Then he joined the other two. Together they walked across the grass towards the line of trees which marked the bank of the river.

It felt good to enter the shade of the trees after the glare of the sun in the open field. Their branches formed a living wall between the three men and the outside world. No one would be able to see them from the excavation site. Quickly, with a sense of urgency, the men tore away the few pieces of clothing they were wearing and rushed into the cool water. The river made a deep pool here, just before it passed the bath house. Perhaps, long ago, Roman soldiers had been swimming here on a hot summer day like this As the gentle fingers of the slow current caressed his tired muscles, Tony floated in the water on his back and rested his eyes on the sun-dappled foliage of the trees bending above the river. Closing his eyes, he could feel the centuries melt away. He imagined he had just returned from patrolling the area north of the fort; back from the Scottish wilderness peopled by hostile natives to the safety of the well-organized, civilized Roman enclave. The stone walls and turf ramparts of the fort had marked his home maybe even for the past ten years, and he hardly remembered his native country, which would be, Tony decided, most likely Gaul. Peter, with his golden Saxon looks, would have to be a recruit from Germania, and John from the African Province. Things had not changed much during the past couple of millennia; no noises of the modern world penetrated the green dome of the trees. It might just as well have been the end of the second century as the beginning of the twenty-first.

Tony felt content. He was thoroughly enjoying his Scottish holiday. Sarah, one his girlfriends, had suggested it. Usually Tony's holidays were road trips. He wanted to have the freedom of movement and always felt the need to see as much as possible during the short, valuable periods he could afford away from London. This, according to Sarah, only added to the stress and pressures of his working life. He ended up driving hundreds of miles, rushing from one place to the next, never letting himself relax. The object of his holiday travels had been reduced to ticking off as many sights as possible listed in his guide book, without ever stopping to study and understand the significance of the places he visited. This time it’ll have to be different, Sarah had declared. She had been standing in the middle of the lounge in Tony's flat, her hands on her hips, looking down at Tony, who was lying on the sofa with a laptop perched on his stomach and guide books and travel brochures scattered around him. She had suggested a working holiday; physical work would keep him occupied and he might even learn something useful. Instead of travelling alone and brooding on his work back home, Sarah had reasoned with him, Tony would be forced to meet new people, work together with them and do something that would be new to him, something he would not necessarily be good at. In short, it would remove him entirely from his everyday environment at the law offices and give him a good chance to chill out and renew his energy. Sarah knew just the kind of holiday that would do the trick: archaeological field work in the Scottish Borders.

At first Tony had been dead against it. The idea of having to work with a bunch of strangers in a muddy hole in the ground, digging out fragments of pottery and small bones somewhere in the windy and rainy moors of Scotland, had not appealed to him as the ideal way to spend his precious short weeks of summer holiday. But just because the whole idea was so outlandish, he decided to at least look into it. He paid a visit to the British Museum and bought Carcopino’s book on ancient Rome. He became intrigued by the Romans. The way they conquered and managed a vast empire made a strong impression on him: the way they developed literacy and public administration; their superb military organization; their feats of engineering. All this appealed to Tony's nature, which valued precision and organization almost as much as conquest and daring. Romans had not only circumnavigated the island of Britain but had penetrated all the way to Scotland and, for a period, controlled the land up to the river Tay. The more Tony learned about the Romans, the more he felt that the world and people in it had not changed much. The Romans' way of thinking, it seemed to Tony, was not that different from his own. By the time he finished his exploration of Roman history, he was keen to see it first hand. He followed Sarah's suggestion and booked himself a place as a ‘paying guest’ at an archaeological dig in southern Scotland. For almost two weeks now, he had been working with a group of professional archaeologists and other guests like himself on an excavation of a bath house adjacent to a Roman fort. The fort itself dated to Flavian times in the first century, but it had been re-occupied in the second century, and the bath house had been built during this later period. First, it had been simply digging: filling wheel-barrows with soil and piling it up on large tarpaulins, because it all had to be examined again, some of it even put through a sieve to make sure that no fragments of Roman origin we missed. Once the trenches were open and excavated to the level of Roman times, things became more interesting: big shovels were exchanged for smaller ones and brushes were used to clear the old bricks. It was painstaking work, but it was also intensely satisfying to get your hands dirty and your body covered in grime, to feel the muscle ache and to fall into bed exhausted every night. Tony could not remember the last time he had slept so well.

Tony swung his body around and dived into the deep greenness of the water. Blithely, like a seal, he arched his back and for a fleeting moment his pale, round buttocks rose from the water as he slid under the surface. Had there been anyone to see it, she might have lifted her eyebrows and concluded that the man had evidently not been sunbathing in the nude. When Tony re-surfaced, he could hear distant laughter and the occasional clinking of tools. The second team, which included the long-legged, blonde Jan, had returned to their work. They were at the initial stages of another phase of the excavation project in an area further upstream. This brought Tony's mind back to the present day and the immediate future. They were waiting for the arrival of a new archaeologist called in to help in the supervision of their work.

John. Tony called, pulling himself with a few easy strokes towards the man, who like a big, dark sea-monster floated in the current. The new boss. You know her, don't you? Peter swam closer as well, wanting to hear what John would say.

Yes, we've worked together before and I know her quite well. John replied with his strong Glaswegian accent. It had taken both Tony and Peter several days to learn to understand it.

So what can you tell us about her? Tony asked.

Anne's a tough woman with no mercy for the living and respect only for the long dead. John said.

You mean she's much worse than Michael and will make us work harder. Peter interpreted his words.

She's a woman dedicated to her work and cares about little else. John paused for a moment. And she expects everyone else to show the same dedication. She specializes in the social history of the Imperial era and for the past year she's been working on an excavation in southern Tunisia. She's published one book so far and ...

Yes, all right, Peter interrupted him impatiently, but what's she like? Is she pretty? It seemed that Peter could not have cared less about the new boss's professional credentials. He was interested in quite other aspects of her.

Anne has a painfully sharp tongue, she's extremely bad-tempered and, worst of all, she's breath-takingly beautiful. John sighed, launching himself into a long slide across the pool of water.

Peter and Tony exchanged a meaningful look; a beautiful woman, even a bad-tempered one, was always a welcome addition to their little community.

Tell us more. Peter demanded. Do you think she would be ...

Forget it. John interrupted him firmly and hit the surface of the water with his fist, breaking Peter's train of thought with a strong splash. Unlike the other women around here, Anne Mackenzie does not mix work and love. She's not interested in a man unless he's been dead for at least a thousand years. She's never been known to indulge in any excavation romancing. John was quite adamant.

Despite your best efforts? Tony asked laughing, leaning back and letting the water support his naked, partly submerged body.

Despite my best efforts. John admitted. And believe me, I've been trying for years.

Maybe she does not like black men or men with glasses. I might have better luck. Peter said with a hopeful tone.

No, it's not that or anything that simple. She's proved as much.

So you got quite close to her, then ... in your best efforts. Tony teased John.

Close enough for it to become quite painful. John confirmed. He would not say any more, no matter how hard the other two pressed him for details.

While the three men were enjoying their swim in the river, the woman they were talking about turned her car off the road and through the gate that lead into the field of the excavation site. She drove carefully across the bumpy ground and parked close to the slightly tattered caravan.

Hello, Anne! Welcome! The words greeted her as soon as she had turned off the engine and opened the door of her car. She could see Professor Thomas Crawford hurrying towards her on his long, gangly legs, waving his hand in the air. He appeared full of energy and enthusiasm, and genuinely pleased to see her. Anne stepped out of her car and shook her crumpled dress to straighten out the worst creases. Not that it really mattered, she thought, not here in the field.

Hello Tom. How are you? She shook the strong, bony hand offered to her. There was dried mud not only on his knees but even on the side of his bearded face.

I see you are full at work. Anne observed smiling. She had known Professor Crawford for a long time, but was always a little surprised at the man's appearance outside the university. The dignified and composed professor she was used to seeing in front of the lecture theatre or in a book-filled office, stood before her grinning like a truant schoolboy. His pin-striped suit had been exchanged for a pair of old shorts and a well-worn shirt. It was clear that the professor was enjoying the field-work. There is a little bit of Indiana Jones in every archaeologist, Anne thought.

Anne, how nice to see you. It's been ages. Mrs Crawford was walking towards them. She was considerably younger than her husband and very pretty with shoulder-length, dark hair and lips almost constantly curved into a smile.

Hello, Lynne. Anne greeted her. She still found it difficult to think of Lynne as Mrs Thomas Crawford. They had been undergraduate students at Glasgow University, both studying history and archaeology and attending the lectures of the celebrated Professor Crawford, when Lynne had suddenly decided on a radical career change. She had charmed the professor off his podium and into matrimony. That had been six years ago and despite the almost twenty years' age difference, the couple seemed happy together.

I'm very glad you could come at such short notice. Tom Crawford said. It was most unfortunate ... what happened to Michael, I mean. It just goes to show that archaeology can be dangerous.

How is he? Anne asked. She had received an urgent phone call from Professor Crawford just as she had arrived back in Scotland from an excavation in Tunisia. She had been looking forward to a few weeks of utter idleness in the green and pleasant summer of her home country after a strenuous period of work in the Saharan desert. However, when Professor Crawford had asked for her help, she had abandoned all thoughts of a holiday and accepted. The professor's assistant Michael Ferguson had met with a nasty accident; he had