Four years later
I t was the fifth year of the excavation of Carthage. Despite the fact that Professor Biggitstiff claimed to find evidence of Dido’s city at least three times a month, to this point no solid proof had been found.
Biggitstiff had not given up. He was determined to find that evidence, and failure only solidified his resolve. “It’s as if he expects to find a big sign some day,” Gabriel groaned, lying back and putting his arms behind his head. “A plaque: Dido Slept Here .”
His wife gave a consoling little murmur. She was drifting into an afternoon nap.
Much more important than Biggitstiff’s failures, from Gabriel’s point of view, was that the dig had painstakingly brought to light fascinating facts about the inhabitants of ancient Carthage, about everything from their toiletries to their burial practices, from their betrothal gifts to their birthday celebrations.
Even though he and Kate attended the dig in person for only four or five months each year, during the winter, his methods had prevailed. Though Biggitstiff had fought him at first, the overwhelming success of his book, with both a scholarly and popular audience, had made Gabriel’s techniques for approaching an archaeological site the rule. Thus the Carthage dig was proceeding with painstaking carefulness and full attention to every scholarly question.
Though nothing was happening at the moment. It was the hot and lazy part of the afternoon, when every sane man was lounging under a canvas, sipping a cool drink, and fanning himself.
Not everyone in Carthage was sane, as evidenced by the rapid pattering of feet around the pile of shards waiting in the sun to be catalogued.
“Oh Christ,” Gabriel moaned. “He’s at it again. Nanny must have let him loose.”
“Do something,” Kate murmured. “I can’t move.”
“Don’t move,” he said, pressing a kiss onto the nape of her neck. “You lie there and let that baby girl grow fat and happy.”
“Little Merry is baking,” she said, rubbing her rounded tummy. It wasn’t a complaining groan, since Kate had discovered that she much preferred the sunny warmth of Tunis to the chill of an English winter.
“We’ll be back in England in a couple of months and you’ll be telling me how cold the castle is.” He gave her another kiss. “I’m sure you could use a massage . . .” He gave her a little nip, right at the smooth part at the back of her neck, then soothed it with a kiss.
Whatever Kate might have replied was lost when a small form burst into the tent, waving a shard. “I found something wonderful, Papa! Look what I found!”
A very small princeling named Jonas ran over, followed by a small yapping dog, and put the broken pottery piece in Gabriel’s hand. He was named for his favorite uncle, Mr. Jonas Berwick. “See, Papa,” he cried. “It’s a bird. I found a bird!” His stubby finger traced an arch that might well have been a wing, a dent that might have been an eye, a crack that looked something like a beak.
“That’s amazing,” Gabriel said slowly.
Something in his voice made Kate raise her head.
Without speaking, but with a very solemn face, he handed her the bird. But, like Gabriel, her eyes didn’t fasten on the beak, but on the ancient Greek letters.
She puzzled over it for a moment. She had spent the last few years devouring the languages and books that she never had access to when younger, but her knowledge of the Greek alphabet was still shaky. “Oh my God,” Kate whispered. “It says DIDO!”
Gabriel burst out laughing.
“What is it, Papa?” Jonas called, jumping about on one leg. “Why are you laughing? Have you seen how good I am on one leg?”
“You’re just like Biggitstiff!” Gabriel chortled.
“It says Dido ,” Kate protested, lying back down and holding the shard up in the light so she could see it better. “It does have a wing, darling.”
“That’s not the wing,” Jonas said disapprovingly. “That’s the bird’s bottom. See, it’s been dropping poop right there.” He pointed to a tiny mark at the bottom of the o for Dido.
“And that ,” Gabriel said, “is an alpha, rather than an omega, as you assumed, m’dear. Jonas’s poop is the wiggle that turns an alpha to an omega.”
“So what does the word mean, then?” Kate asked sleepily.
“My guess is the shard spells half of didascalos ,” Gabriel said, “meaning pupil or disciple. Which is interesting in itself, given that we were speculating over whether there might have been an organized school on the grounds.”
“It’s a bird ,” Jonas said disapprovingly, taking it back.
“Fly the bird outside and find Nanny,” Gabriel said, giving him a little push. “Mama needs a nap. Take Freddie with you.”
Barring the fact that he couldn’t seem to stay out of a shard pile when he saw it, Jonas was a fairly well-behaved boy, so he trotted away, leaving a dusky tent, an amorous prince, and a drowsy princess.
Who found herself tempted . . . and woke up.