She ventured a peek at the head of the table. Domenico sipped a glass of wine, looking sedate but slightly stiffer than usual.
The priest glared at him. “Dom, you should not allow such a thing on your property.”
“But, Father,” Dunk broke in, “experimental archaeology brings life to the sites we explore. It’s an integral part of our program.”
Enza flashed one of her melting smiles at the clergyman. “It helps us acquire knowledge about the ancients, Padre.”
“There is no knowledge to be gained in false gods, Enza.”
Domenico set down his glass. “With all due respect, Padre, I am honored to have ‘The Dig’ here, and I don’t wish to impede the team. They must carry on as usual – though, of course, Enza and I won’t engage in the rites.”
His daughter’s face crumpled. “But, Papa, I want to take part.”
He gave her a stern look, and she shrunk in her chair, pouting.
The priest threw down his napkin and stood up, frowning at Domenico. “You and I will talk more when you come to confession. Mi scusi.” He stalked out of the room.
Domenico watched him go, his expression bland. He took a sip of wine, then he skimmed the room with a polite smile.
Winnie made an effort to smile back, holding his gaze.
His expression warmed a little. Standing, he said to the group, “Not to worry. I will reason with him. Of course, ‘The Dig’ will operate as always. Anche mi scusi.”
She watched him leave the room, taking his wine with him, his shoulders straight with dignity. His composure impressed her – and intimidated her a little.
Dunk turned to Enza. “So, you won’t participate in the experimental archaeology?
Her lower lip quivered. “Unfortunately, I must do as my father sees fit. As always.”
“Would he permit you to give me a tour of the grounds tomorrow at lunchtime?” he asked in the manner of one attempting to distract a child from a tantrum. “I’m sure I couldn’t ask for a better guide to point out traces of other ruins to me.”
Her gaze shot to meet his. “Of course. I know every corner of the estate.”
The blatant way he manipulated the teenager bothered Winnie, though she supposed he was just trying to console the girl.
She looked at Chaz, who was watching the scene with his lip curled in disapproval. Apparently, he wasn’t as immune to Enza’s charms as he claimed. Another pang of jealousy jabbed her.
Looking into her wine glass, she nursed her wound. What was her problem? Was Domenico too much of a man for her, scaring her into falling back on her attraction to a student? Not that Chaz couldn’t hold his own in his element, but he didn’t have the hard-as-nails but sleek-as-silk demeanor of his older rival.
She wouldn’t have wanted him to.
Stealing another peek at him, she took in his mussed hair, his milky complexion, his classic nose and lips. He had a cleft chin, she noticed – a masculine detail accentuated with a dense growth of stubble that showed he wasn’t so much of a kid after all.
She remembered how his biceps felt through the fabric of his shirt, how his arm felt around her. He was man enough, when she let herself acknowledge it. And, judging by the fluttering she felt in her stomach, that struck her with far more fear than whatever trepidation she felt around Domenico.
Chaz’s gaze slid to meet hers, and she looked away, embarrassed to be caught ogling him. She hoped that staring at his chin hadn’t looked like she’d been fixated on his mouth, longing to taste him.
That thought made her long to taste him.
Egads. She picked up her napkin and dabbed at her chin, hoping he would take it for a hint that a dribble of something on him had caught her eye. Since she couldn’t even bring herself to meet his gaze again, she doubted her act convinced him.
Think about how suave Domenico is, she told herself. She glanced at the host’s empty chair, wishing he hadn’t left the room.
Absence did not make the heart grow fonder when the heart kept focusing elsewhere.
DIECI
ON DAY TWO of “The Dig,” stiff muscles and waning energy slowed Winnie down physically, but her enthusiasm increased as the architectural details on their wall began to emerge. Four columns in relief decorated the stucco exterior, and the archway now appeared to be an entrance. They found no evidence for a door itself, so the building would likely be filled with lapilli.
Late in the afternoon, when she stood up in the trench, the progress they had made surprised her. “We’re in up to my thighs now. I never expected to get so far so soon.”
Chaz looked around at their work. “We’ve done well. Do you think Jack will give us permission to dig inside the building, too?”
She laughed. “So far, no one around here has expressed any reserve about digging. Domenico is a possible exception with his concerns about explosives, but I haven’t seen him visit the site yet.”
Farber appeared at the edge of the trench. “Hello, Winifred, Charles. Any significant finds today?”
Chaz pointed toward a tray with his trowel. “Similar to yesterday. A lot of pot shards, a couple of coins, a brooch and a broken glass vessel.”
The department chair squatted down for a closer inspection. “It all looks run-of-the-mill.”
Winnie pressed her lips together. As if anyone might find an array of artifacts like this in their backyard.
“How’s it going at the lodging?” Chaz asked.
“We’ve noted traces of charring, perhaps due to burning during the volcanic eruption. I haven’t unearthed anything significant, but Father Giampiero came across a silver drinking flagon.”
Chaz gave a low whistle. “It sounds like you’re in the money trench.”
Farber shrugged off the comment. “It’s just one flagon, Charles – so far, anyway. Giampiero is still digging. He refuses to take a break.”
The thought of the priest digging without supervision reminded Winnie that they were supposed to keep an eye on him. Unfortunately, Farber didn’t know that, and she couldn’t share it with him. She tried to act casual as she asked, “Any sign of scrolls over there?”
His forehead creased. “What sort of scrolls?”
She gave him a blank look. “I don’t know. Any sort.”
“Hardly. You should know how rare it is to find scrolls, Winifred.”
Frowning, she went back to digging. Sometimes talking with Farber wasn’t worth the effort. Let Dunk worry about Giampiero and his conspiracy theory.
A squeal and a thump from above prompted her to look back over the side of the trench. Amara lay sprawled on the ground behind Farber. Her clipboard and one stiletto shoe lay on the ground beside her.
Winnie winced. “Are you OK?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I shouldn’t rush quite so much.” She slid the shoe back on her foot. “It’s just that Dunk wants everyone in the temple now. We’ve had a breakthrough.”
Without offering a hand, Farber watched her struggle to stand up. “What sort of breakthrough?”
“I can’t tell you. We want to get everyone’s reaction on camera.” Making it to her feet, she hobbled toward the lodging, presumably to tell Father Giampiero. Glancing back, she said, “See you over there.”
“How annoying,” Farber said. “If their find is less impressive than a silver flagon, I won’t be happy about being kept away from my own work.”
Nevertheless, he proceeded toward the temple without waiting for Winnie and Chaz to climb out of their trench and walk with him.
They made their way across the site, passing half-a-dozen students sifting through heaps of spoil like Forty-niners panning for gold. Beyond them, three other kids were collecting, washing and labeling small finds that had turned up in the sieves. Meanwhile, a hired laborer shoveled sifted soil into a wheelbarrow and carried it away.
When they got inside the cult room, Winnie’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light, but as they did, she stared. Three of the walls, now totally cleared, boasted two
frescoes each, all displaying a degree of detail she’d rarely seen in Roman painting.
The priestess who had first captured her imagination appeared in all six paintings. In the one where she held the tablet, she read to a young couple. Another panel showed her using a tree clipping to shake drops of water on the same man. A third depicted her and the other female lighting candles. In a fourth, all three of them drank wine with a satyr. A fifth painting showed the younger woman recoiling from someone wearing a mask. In the last image, the priestess subdued the man as he flailed on a couch.
When she pulled her gaze away from the artwork, she found Amara, Jack and Enza grinning while they watched the newcomers’ reactions. Glancing around at the awestruck expressions on the faces of Chaz, Farber and Father Giampiero, Winnie knew she must have looked as amazed as they did.
Dunk moved close to Farber and pointed to an empty pedestal at the far end of the room. “Can you explain that platform, Doctor? Is it an altar?”
Hank swung the camera around to the interviewee.
Farber cleared his throat. “No, it’s not an altar. With Roman temples, the altars stand outside. That pedestal would have held a statue of a deity.”
Remembering similar set-ups in Pompeii, Winnie nodded to herself.
“Why would the statue be missing?” Dunk asked.
Farber scanned the room, apparently making sure they hadn’t overlooked a statue. “The temple may have fallen out of use before the eruption, but judging by the room’s excellent condition, I doubt it. My guess is that looters tunneled in at some point and took the figure.”
Father Giampiero stepped into the circle on camera. “Perhaps after the eruption died down, the temple priests came back for the statue. For sure it meant something to them, in their own misguided minds.”
“That’s feasible, Father,” Farber said.
Judging by the scenes in the frescoes, Winnie wondered if priestesses would more likely have been in charge here, but she kept her speculation to herself.
Dunk continued to question her boss. “How do you interpret the frescoes?”
He surveyed the paintings. “I’d say they depict a series of rites in an initiation into a mystery religion – perhaps Bacchic.”
Next, Dunk turned to her. “Do you agree, Dr. Price?”
The camera lens honed in on her. She moistened her lips. “In part, but Bacchus is the god of wine and, if you recall, Signore Rentino found a recipe for beer – not wine – on site. That could indicate they were worshiping a deity associated with grain.”
Her boss glowered at her. “We don’t have any evidence that recipe relates to the rites depicted here. You’re jumping to a conclusion.”
She lifted her chin, resolving not to be undermined in front of millions of TV viewers. “I’m extrapolating, not concluding.”
“The fact that a priestess is shown leading the rites in the frescoes also suggests the deity is female,” Chaz added. “And, don’t forget, the defixio we found was addressed to a goddess.”
“Yes, we mustn’t forget the curse tablet.” Dunk turned back to Winnie. “The text on it mentions the Great Mother. Would that be Juno?”
Unsure, she considered the question from an etymological standpoint. “I can see why you’d think so, since Juno was Jupiter’s wife, and his name derives from the Latin for Divine Father, but I’ve never seen a corresponding title used for her. My guess is that Juno could be a cognate of the word young, similar to junior. But I’m getting off track. Maybe Chaz can tell us which goddess was called Great Mother.”
Hank swung the camera around to Chaz.
“ ‘Great Mother’ often refers to Cybele,” he said, “but the title was used for other goddesses, too: Ceres, for example. And as goddess of agriculture, Ceres was associated with grain.”
Winnie smiled. “She’s a good candidate then.”
He nodded to her, then turned to face a rectangular pit she hadn’t noticed in one corner of the room. Pointing downward, he asked Dunk, “Is this a stairway leading to a lower floor?”
Jack joined him, looking smug. “Yes, that’s our big surprise. You can see part of a wooden door in situ below. We’re working carefully to open it. If we’re lucky, the downstairs won’t be filled with volcanic material.”
Winnie’s mouth fell open. “Holy cow.”
Farber crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s probably just a storage area. And don’t expect to find scrolls in it, Winifred.”
She fought the urge to roll her eyes.
Chaz looked amused. “Anything that clues us in on the deity’s identity would satisfy me.”
“Like the missing statue,” she said.
Dunk nodded. “That would be ideal. We will know what’s down there soon, because Jack plans to work late tonight. That means we’re postponing the reenactment until tomorrow.” He raised his voice to speak to the group. “OK, everyone back to your trenches!”
That evening when they returned to the house, Winnie and Chaz climbed the stairs in silence. Damp tendrils of hair curled on her neck, her clothes were dusty, and her muscles ached – but she felt content about putting in a hard day’s work on a world-class excavation.
As they reached the upstairs hall, Dunk caught up with them. “Some of the team is still out at the temple, so we’re going to skip a formal dinner tonight. Signora Vaccula is making panini that we can grab in the dining room whenever convenient.”
“Sounds good.” She wondered if Father Giampiero was still working – and, if so, who was keeping an eye on him. “Who’s still out at the site?”
“Just Jack and Father Giampiero.” He seemed to read her mind, adding, “Amara and I are going back out after tea to relieve them, if they’re still digging by then. Otherwise, Jack will probably forget to eat.”
Chaz laughed. “I’ll stop by the site after dinner, too, assuming I don’t fall asleep first. I can’t wait to see what’s below the temple.”
Winnie didn’t want to miss an important development, either. “Me, too.”
“Only if you’re up for it.” Dunk stopped at the door to his room and unlocked it. “If not, I’ll see you in the morning. Cheers.”
As he shut his door, she continued down the hall with Chaz. “I’ve seen enough of Farber for one day and don’t want to run into him now. Let’s sneak our panini back up here and eat on my balcony.” Catching herself, she added, “unless you want to try to meet up with Enza, that is.”
“Enza? After the way she snatched the defixio out of my hands?” he asked with mock indignation. “A curse upon her – though I won’t go so far as to condemn her liver, her lungs or her life. In any case, eating on your balcony sounds fantastic. I don’t have one, you know.”
“You’re welcome to share mine.” She tried not to look quite as happy about it as she felt. Coming to her door, she reached to unlock it. “How about we take fifteen minutes to get tidied up, then I’ll meet you?”
“It’s a date.”
His choice of words made her look up, startled.
He laughed at her, then moved on toward his room.
She turned back to her door, embarrassed.
Half-an-hour later, her sister had her trapped on the phone when a knock sounded at her door. She opened it and found Chaz carrying a tray holding wrapped panini, bowls of salad, utensils and napkins.
“Wow.” Covering the mouthpiece with her hand, she whispered, “My sister’s on the phone. Go ahead out to the balcony, and I’ll be right out.”
He nodded. As he passed her, an undercurrent of fresh soapy smell teased her nose, along with the tantalizing aroma of prosciutto.
Closing the door, she watched him stroll through the room, taking in his surroundings. His gaze lingered on the bed, and she looked to see what had caught his eye. A book lay open on her mattress – Plutarch’s Moralia. Nothing unusual.
He continued outside, and she sat down on the bed.
While Christina railed on about the usual nonsense, Winnie stared at him through
the open French doors. Setting down the tray on the table, he picked up the bottle of Valpolicella wine she’d left out there beside two glasses, a corkscrew and a lit votive. As he skimmed the label, her gaze drew his attention in her direction.
He smiled, and a tingle skipped down her spine.
She looked away and made herself listen to Christina.
“So, obviously, Sam’s in a bad way,” her sister was saying. “I hope you’ve been praying for him.”
She took a deep breath. Not this again. She didn’t need it now, after a long day of hard work.
Glancing out at the balcony, she saw that Chaz had uncorked the wine and was pouring it. That was what she needed ... though the setting looked a little too romantic.
“Winnie?” Christina asked.
“I lit a candle again,” she said faintly.
“You can’t scrape up enough faith to even attempt praying?” Christina interrupted her thoughts. “You don’t take any comfort in it?”
She sighed. “No, I don’t. If somehow you do, that’s great. I don’t begrudge you that, but I don’t.”
“Just because you don’t always get the answer you want doesn’t mean you should give up on praying.”
Her exasperation festered into anger. She knew the next lines of this lecture, and she didn’t want to hear them. She just wanted to move on, to remember their father at his best, not to think about what he’d done to them in the end.
“Just because we had a father who killed himself –” Christina began.
“That’s right.” Winnie jumped up and started pacing. “We did have a father who killed himself, and now we have a brother who could be cut from the same cloth.”
Her voice had grown louder, and she sensed that she’d drawn Chaz’s attention. She lowered her voice, but her throat stayed tense and her tone shrill. “And I had a mentor who tried to ruin my career and a husband who told me he never really loved me. Given all that, why is it a wonder that I’m a bit cynical?”
A tick of silence passed. “Cynical?” her sister asked. “What does that even mean? That you don’t believe in anything that really matters?”
The Five-Day Dig Page 10
