CHAPTER THREE
The next day emerged dusty and uncomfortable. The howling desert winds blasted the barren hills like a furnace as Rory sat in Bud’s tent, her long chestnut hair wound up on top of her head and her loose cotton shirt already soaked with sweat. They were seated around a folding table, David a few feet away and toying distractedly with a pen. His laptop computer was open and engaged, a message on the screen waiting to be faxed to the head of the Archaeology and Anthropology department of the university.
Bud was lingering by the open flap of the tent, conversing with the foreman in Arabic. But Rory wasn’t listening to their conversation; at the moment, her thoughts were centered on the cessation of funds and the closure of her dig. Since retiring to her tent the night before in the throes of defeat, she’d pondered little else. She simply couldn’t believe it had come down to this.
When the brief dialogue came to a conclusion, the foreman ducked away and Bud turned to his subdued colleagues. His eyes were riveted to Rory, his heart aching for the conversation to come. Quietly, he took a seat.
“I didn’t see you at breakfast,” he said softly, noting the circles under her eyes and pale complexion in spite of the heat. “You know the rule; you’ve got to eat something before going out in the field. It’s too easy to collapse in this heat with an empty stomach.”
She sighed faintly, the hazel eyes coming up from the tabletop. “I’m not going out in the field today, Bud. None of us are, I would guess.”
His gentle expression faded, feeling Peck’s intense stare. But his focus remained on Rory. “I went to your tent last night after supper, but you were already asleep. I’d hoped we could talk about the situation.”
Rory shrugged. “I wasn’t asleep. I just didn’t want to talk to anyone. Especially you. I sort of needed to come to grips with this by myself.”
Bud held her gaze a moment longer, feeling the pain radiating forth from the intense hazel eyes. David had been right; there wasn’t anything he could do or say to ease the ache of failure and he suddenly felt frustrated with his impotency. But facts were facts. “I just don’t know what else I can do, Rory. I’m sorry. I really am. I don’t think there’s any doubt that we’ve found an ancient trash dump and there simply isn’t enough, at this point, to keep us here.”
He saw her swallow, struggling to maintain her composure even though she knew what his answer would be. After a moment, she nodded as if to acknowledge the fate of her precious project. “Then I suppose you should go ahead and fax your report to Becker. Tell him what a fool I made out of him and the university.”
“That’s not true,” Bud said firmly. “We found some priceless pieces that will easily compensate the funding that supported this dig. You have nothing to be ashamed about.”
Rory stood up, turning away from the table. Her back was damp with perspiration, her shapely legs glistening with sheen. Bud watched her as she wandered to the edge of the tent, trying not to stare at her perfect bottom when he realized David wasn’t being quite so discreet. As Rory paused at the tent flap, Bud cast his associate a withering expression, causing the man to look away in embarrassment.
“I’m not, really. It’s just that I can’t believe what’s happened,” she uttered softly, her gaze focused on the encampment that was still for the most part. After a lengthy pause, she sighed heavily. “Archaeology has always been my passion. When I was a kid, my mom bought this old house and I liked to dig in the backyard because a hundred years ago, that’s where people buried their trash. I found all sorts of old milk bottles and broken plates, and I loved it. My mom thought I was nuts.”
Dr. Peck tossed the pen he had been toying with aside. “Hell, I was even worse. I used to dig up old animal bones and my parents thought I was going to be a grave robber.”
That statement brought a smile to Rory’s pallid lips. “I’m not surprised, Dave. You always were a little weird,” when Peck met her smile and looked away sheepishly, the hazel eyes focused on Bud. Her smile faded. “It’s not like I didn’t research all of my facts before going ahead with this project. I spent the majority of my graduate studies in Rome and Istanbul, studying Byzantine manuscripts that had been translated from ancient Arabic text. Particularly, several parchments that had to do with the Christian Religion’s influence on the Third Crusade as translated by a monk named Ottis. The guy really knew his stuff, Bud. He was so… convincing.”
Bud nodded slowly; he had heard all of this before. “I saw the copies of the scripts, Rory. And you have all of the translated information here. If I thought you had been off base, I wouldn’t have agreed to head this undertaking in the first place. I know you were convinced of the authenticity of the facts. I was, too.”
Arms folded across her chest, Rory kicked at the ground in frustration before meandering back to her colleagues. Reaching the table, she suddenly slammed her palm against the peeling surface.
“Damn,” she hissed, her mannerisms growing more animated as she spoke. “It’s got to be here. I know it is. But we’re not looking in the right place!”
“Where else are we going to look?” Peck was always the voice to contradict her theories and Bud cast him a warning glance. Now was not the time to say I told you so. “We followed your leads, the information provided. Rory, do you realize what we were looking for in the first place? You’re talking about a biblical relic to end all biblical relics; the actual crown of thorns that Jesus Christ wore on Mount Calvary. And the fact that we were looking for a Christian artifact on the grounds of a Muslim mosque just never added up.”
Rory stared at him, the warmth from not a moment before vanished. “I told you why, Dave. The transcripts stated that the crown had been buried secretly, but I don’t know why. It wasn’t very clear,” she was struggling to keep calm. “Look, I never entered this field with the intention of finding Christ’s bones. Although my degree is in Biblical Sciences, my emphasis is the Crusades. But when I came across an obscure reference to the crown of thorns while studying for my doctoral thesis, I just couldn’t let it go. It was like an addiction, one that I had to pursue or regret the rest of my life.”
David shook his head, lowering his gaze. Watching his grim expression, Rory was seized with the familiar anger she quite often felt as a result of Peck’s cynicism. Since the moment the project began, she’d been defending her ideals to him almost daily. “You never did believe in what we were doing here,” her voice was uncharacteristically cold. “God only knows why you agreed to this assignment, because your heart certainly wasn’t in it. The harder I tried to prove my theories, the harder you tried to shoot me down.”
“That’s not true,” David rose from his chair defensively. “If I didn’t have a good amount of faith in your speculations, nothing in the world could have convinced me to participate in this dig. But I’ll admit, Biblical Archaeology isn’t something I put a lot of trust in.”
“Why not?” Rory demanded.
Peck threw up his hands. “Because you’re chasing myths. To most scientists, the Bible is just a book full of folklore and stories. It’s not fact!”
Rory turned away from him, growling with irritation. “Neither was the city of Troy, but Schliemann proved that it did, in fact, exist.”
“The city of Troy and biblical relics are two different things,” David’s argument was gaining steam. “There were varied sources confirming Troy’s whereabouts. You’re basing all of your ideals on one single book and the writings of men who believed in the existence of God and angels and demon sorcery.”
Rory paused by the edge of the tent, her cheeks mottled with heat and emotion. “Then you’re telling me I’m basing my beliefs on the ignorance of religious idiots?”
“I telling you that your willing to give the tales of medieval monks more credit than you should. And your blind faith has cost the university a hell of a lot of money.”
She continued to gaze at him, blinking slowly as her composure slipped another notch. “Did it ever occur to you that the ancient manuscripts may be correct? That, maybe, the tales Byzantine monks spent their lives putting to paper just might have some basis? Or do you just assume they’re all a bunch of ignorant asses simply because they don’t have a Ph.D. in Anthropology like you do?”
David let out a long sigh; it seemed like every time they delved into this subject, the exchange became increasingly bitter. But in his opinion, his argument was valid. Moreso as of last night. “You’d make a hell of a theologian, Rory. But you’ve got a lot to learn about archaeology.”
Rory’s control was dangerously close to breaking. The urge to plant her fist into David’s eye was overwhelming. “And you’ve got a lot to learn about faith, Dr. Peck. Not everything in this world is subject to hard facts and logic. Sometimes there is more truth in the unknown than the known.”
Before the verbal battle grew out of control, Bud decided to intervene. “Enough of this,” he said in a tone that discouraged further argument. “We’ve been through this before and I’m sick of this constant bickering. Dave, sit down and shut up. Rory, come over here and sit. Your pacing is digging holes in my floor.”
Jaw ticking, Rory reluctantly did as she was asked, refusing to look at Dr. Peck across the table. Bud watched her a moment, feeling her tension and disappointment.
“Look,” he said quietly. “I’ll see what I can do about extending this project another month or two. Maybe you’re right… maybe we’re not looking in the right place.”
David let out a harsh hiss before Rory could respond. “We’re looking exactly where she said to look, Bud,” his voice was strained with irritation. “What will it take to convince you that the crown of thorns is exactly what I said it was from the beginning – a myth. It’s not here; nothing is!”
Bud’s expression was tight. “You’re contradicting yourself. Only a minute ago you were saying that you wouldn’t have agreed to come on this dig if Rory’s facts hadn’t been somewhat solid.”
Peck held Bud’s gaze a moment before looking away. “She presented a hell of an argument, Bud. Enough to make me think that maybe she was right. And you thoroughly believed her, so I guess I just went along with the general opinion,” his voice was softened as he focused on Rory. “But I’ve got to tell you this; your ultimate goal to not only locate the crown but to match whatever DNA blood evidence might exist with similar swatches from the Shroud of Turin is about the craziest thing I’ve ever heard of. Just what are you trying to prove, anyway?”
Rory was staring at her hands. She should have been used to Dr. Peck’s personal attacks by now, but when it came to her pet project, her skin wasn’t as thick as it should have been. “I’m trying to do what all scientists have been trying to do since the beginning of modern archaeology,” she replied quietly. “I’m trying to shed some truth on myths and legends. In my case, the reality of Biblical fables.”
“All you would succeed in proving is that both relics belonged to the same man if, in fact, you were successful in linking them. There is no way to prove that it was Jesus Christ. And there wouldn’t be any way of proving he was anything other than an ordinary man.”
“But I can try to give more accurate credence to his myth. You of all people should appreciate the tangibility of hard fact.”
“We do,” Bud interjected, casting David a stern look that indicated he dare not contradict him. “Which is why I’m going to try and buy us a little more time. We’ve put a lot of work into this dig to see it end on such a negative note.”
Back to the subject of extending the dig; it was obvious that Peck continued to disagree and he lurched from his chair. Leaving the tent in a huff of skepticism and irritation, Bud watched the tent flap swing back and forth in the wake of his colleague’s departure. Scratching his head, he sat back in his chair.
“I’m sorry about Dave,” he offered weakly. “I’ve worked with the man for twelve years and he’s always been like this.”
Rory looked up from her hands, cocking an eyebrow. “Like what? A jerk?”
Bud smiled, his perfect teeth gleaming within his square, stubbled jaw. “He certainly can be. But he’s one of the smartest guys I know and I wouldn’t be without him.”
A faint smile on her lips in response to Bud’s grin, Rory gazed steadily at the man who had become her friend and boss over the past fourteen months. A man who would have done anything in the world for her. Including risk his reputation on a dig that was clearly a waste of time.
Rory liked Bud. She always had. And she’d known from the beginning that he was in love with her, although she had tried not to encourage him. He was a good-looking guy, his masculine features and crew-cut blond hair a tremendous comfort in a land full of dark-haired strangers. But she simply didn’t feel an over amount of attraction to him and she wondered, when he realized his infatuation with her had nearly ruined his reputation, if he wouldn’t grow to hate her. She hoped not.
Taking a deep breath to chase away her annoyance with Peck, she put a palm on Bud’s hand. “You said it yourself, Bud. There’s nothing on that hill but an ancient trash dump and I doubt that a month or two or even twelve would do a whole lot of good. Maybe you should just go ahead and fax Becker your report and see what he says.”
Bud stared into her green eyes, wondering if he and Rory would ever make as good a pair as Louis S.B. and Mary Leakey. He certainly intended to spend the rest of his life pursuing that thought. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice raspy as her touch sent bolts of electricity through him. “I mean, I can stall for time.”
She smiled and he went weak. “Time for what? For Dave to become even more of a jerk and time for you and I to dig an even bigger hole into nothingness? Thanks for your support, but maybe we’d better go ahead and end this now. While we’ve still got our dignity.”
Bud thought a moment, still fixed on her beautiful face. But visions of him kissing her luscious lips infiltrated his mind until he had to look away or risk doing something drastic. Christ, he hated to see it all end like this.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
There was nothing more to say. After a moment, he nodded faintly. “All right,” he sat forward, reaching for David’s laptop computer. Rory released his hand, rising from her chair as Bud began to sequence the fax command.
She wandered to the canvas opening, watching Bud type with his index fingers. The more she came to grips with the cessation of her dig, the more her anguish threatened to overwhelm her. By the time she turned away from her supervising archaeologist, she could hardly breathe with the pain in her chest.
“Let me know what he says, huh?” she asked softly, exiting the tent. “I’ll be around.”
Bud stopped typing long enough to watch her heart-shaped bottom fade into the brilliant sunlight. With a sigh of sincere regret, he finished the last of the command and pressed enter.
Dr. Uriah Becker received the email a half hour later.
*
The winds had died by early afternoon but the temperature remained unbearable. As the camp lounged lazily in a attempt to seek some relief from the heat, Bud went in search of Rory to give her the just-received reply from Dr. Becker. When he failed to find her in her tent, he spent a half-hour scouring the grounds. But it was soon apparent that she was not within the camp perimeter and his concern mounted as he widened his area of search.
In triple-digit heat he headed for the excavations on the distant rise, concerned that she was struggling in the last few hours of her project to prove her point. Sweating profusely, he was somewhat disturbed to see David coming down the hill toward him. Baseball hat stained with perspiration, Dr. Peck’s expression was grim.
“She’s going to kill herself, Bud,” he said severely. “She’s up in that damn trench again, digging as if her life depends on it. I tried to get her to come out but she won’t even talk to me.”
Bud sighed heavily, rolling his eyes with regret. “How long has she been there?”
David turned to follow him as Bud continued up the hill. “I don’t know. Hours, at least. She’s as red as a beet.”
Bud winced. “That’s not like her at all. She’s usually so careful about sun exposure.”
David agreed. “No water, either.”
Bud’s expression hardened. “Christ,” he swore softly. “Like it or not, she’s coming out of there if I have to carry her.”
“You’ll probably have to.”
Reaching the top of the slope, Bud’s gaze immediately fell on Rory’s chestnut head bobbing in the trench. Catching a glimpse of an extremely red face, he put his hand on David’s arm in an urgent gesture. “Go get some wet towels, Dave. And hurry up!”
David fled. Marching to the edge of the trench, Bud jumped to the dirt several feet below. Rory was furiously, meticulously, sectioning earth with a pickaxe, a method used to loosen sod for later removal and processing. When the pickaxe came up, Bud grabbed hold and yanked hard.
Rory almost toppled with the strength of his pull; the pickaxe tugged free, leaving splinters in her blistered hands. Her beautiful face, confused and glistening with sweat, met his angry expression.
“Just what in the hell are you doing?” he demanded. “How long have you been here?”
Dazed and ill-feeling though she might be, Rory stood her ground. “This is still my dig until we pull up stakes. And I’m going to work on it until I’m forced to leave.”
He tossed the pickaxe aside in a fit of fury, grabbing her hand. “I’m forcing you to leave now. If you stay out here any longer you’re going to end up in the hospital.”
Resistant to his demand, Rory jerked her hand away and nearly fell on her bottom. “It’s my dig, Bud. I told you, we’re not looking in the right place. I… I just have to keep searching!”
His eyes glittered with rage. “Not four hours ago you told me that any more digging would be a waste of time.”
She was emotionally and physically unbalanced; for the first time since he had known her, Bud saw Rory’s eyes fill with tears.
“It’s my dig,” she repeated quietly, her lower lip trembling. “The manuscripts weren’t wrong, Bud. There’s something here. I know it.”
His anger fled. How could he tell her that Dr. Becker had ordered an immediate cessation of all work and the complete disbandment of the camp within the next forty-eight hours? Of course, he couldn’t. Not when she was so emotionally brittle. What mattered most was cooling her down, calming her down, and then talking some sense into her. Reaching out, he grasped her hand again. More gently, this time.
“I believe you, honey,” he said softly, watching the tears spill down her dusty cheeks. “But now is not the time to go looking. It’s far too hot and you need to rest. Let’s go back to camp.”
She shook her head feebly but he tugged on her arm, encouraging her to the edge of the ditch. Making sure he had a good grip on her, he climbed from the trench and practically lifted her out behind him. When she began to weave dangerously as he moved her down the hill, he swept her into his arms and made haste for her tent.
Rory’s arms were wound around his neck, her scorching body sweating all over him. “I’m going back in a little while, Bud,” she murmured. “After a little rest.”
Her damp forehead was against his stubbled jaw. In the distance, Bud could see Peck running toward him with an armful of dripping towels. “Whatever you say, honey,” he murmured, loving the feel of her in his arms but wishing the circumstances were different. “I won’t argue with you.”
Her tent was sweltering but it provided some shelter from the sun. As Bud lay her down on the narrow bed, David hovered over her like a mother and lay cooling towels over her face and arms. Bud bathed her legs as Rory lay still, panting softly with near-heat stroke.
“If… if we section away more of the loose earth, maybe we’ll get a better view,” her voice was barely audible. When David lifted her head and ran a cold, wet towel across the back of her neck, she gasped softly. “The sod is really sandy in some places, which will make it easier to remove.”
Bud didn’t reply as he removed her shoes, noting the fuschia-painted nails and delicate toes. Christ, even her feet were lovely. “Get her some water, Dave. She’s really dehydrated.”
Peck lay the wet towel across her forehead, gazing at his young associate with genuine concern. Regardless of their differences and the fact that he wasn’t usually a compassionate person, he was nonetheless concerned for her health. Being insensitive didn’t mean he had a heart of stone, and in spite of everything he truly enjoyed the love-hate relationship they seemed to share. She was one of the only people he knew who could stand up against his arrogant nature.
“How ’bout some Gatorade, Rory?” he asked softly, as if a louder tone would cause her to break. For some reason, he felt responsible for her condition. As if his bitter cynicism had forced her to prove her point. “My parents shipped me a whole case of it. There’s lemonade flavor and cherry and…”
Rory shook her head listlessly. “No thanks, Dave. That stuff tastes like flavored sweat. Water’s fine.”
He smiled faintly, glad she wasn’t ill to the point of non-response. “It’s better for you than water. You should know that; you studied Pre-Med for a couple of years, didn’t you?”
She nodded weakly. “Yes, but I still don’t want any.”
“Salt, sugar, potassium. Yum.”
When she stuck her tongue at him in response, he pursed his lips wryly. But he was still smiling.
“All right, all right, don’t get nasty,” he said, moving for the tent opening. There were several workers huddled outside, trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on; they had all seen Bud carrying Rory down from the excavations and rumors of her ill health had spread like wildfire.
David caught sight of the gaggle of employees, scattering the majority of them with a brusque order. But he retained a couple of the women, instructing them to bring Rory a pitcher of purified water and more wet towels. As the women scurried away, David found his attention drawn to the site on the distant rise.
He didn’t know why his attention was riveted to the dusty hill. After what he had seen yesterday, he shouldn’t have given the site a second thought. But Rory believed there was something up there, something worth risking her health and reputation for, and with a heavy sigh David found himself trudging up the gritty slope. If only to see the same old dirt she had been so intent to risk heatstroke over.
The earth was hot enough to cook meat. David paused at the edge of the trench, observing the grids that he had constructed himself. Rory’s precise digging was apparent, the pickaxe carelessly thrown to the side by Bud’s fury. Stepping into the hole, David studied the newly exposed earth.
Rocks. Dried mud. Nothing of significance met his trained eye. David sighed, flicking aside bits of debris as he scanned the area Rory had been working in. He didn’t even know why he was here; obviously, there was nothing to be seen. But in lieu of a verbal apology to Rory for their earlier confrontation, he was almost determined to find something. Something that would bring her joy and ease the fact that his logic had driven her to the point of illness. But the more he probed, the more he realized the futility of his search.
There really wasn’t anything here.
David stood up, his gaze lingering on the piece of earth Rory had been working on when Bud had interrupted her madness. Heart sinking, he was about to turn away from the depressing sight when something caught his eye.
He wasn’t even sure what it was. Truthfully, he wasn’t even sure why it had snared his attention. But something made him pause and peer closely at a section of earth nearly hidden beneath the disturbed parcel of soil. Crouching on his haunches, David dusted away several square inches of dirt. With a sudden jolt of curiosity, his fingers probed the dust only to come into contact with a hard, ungiving surface.
Baffled, David sat down and began to earnestly inspect the dislodged earth. And what became evident beneath his seeking fingers sent him running for Bud.
And for Rory.