“Oak-aged.” Dunk poured the last mug and set aside the pitcher. “For several days.”
Sampling hers, Winnie almost choked on the strong, earthy liquid. She had promised to play along, though, so she braced herself and forced a second taste. That one went down a little easier. “When in Rome …” she said.
“Ancient Rome,” Chaz added.
Enza tried hers and made a face. “If anyone wants extra, please take mine.”
Hank entered the room and watched the young woman as she pushed the mug as far away from her as she could reach. “Nice sandals,” he said.
She smiled and held out a leg, displaying gladiator-style footwear with straps that crisscrossed all the way up to her knee. “Grazie. I bought them to go with my tunic.”
The two of them continued to discuss the sandals while he set up his camera.
Meanwhile, Jack arrived and took a seat next to Dunk. Pulling a few handwritten pages out of a briefcase that looked out of place, he began reviewing them.
While they waited for the remaining guests to show up, Winnie sipped her beer and studied the details of the room. “What’s with the Christmas tree?”
“That was my suggestion,” Chaz said. “The Romans offered juniper boughs to Juno during purification rites.”
She nodded. “I like it. We can’t burn greenery in here, but maybe later we can build a fire outside and send it off to the heavens properly.”
Dunk raised an eyebrow at her from over the rim of his mug, looking amused. “I thought you would want this night over with as soon as possible.”
“I’m just getting into my role as priestess.” She took another swig of beer, beginning to enjoy the unusual flavor. Turning to Chaz, she said, “You know – I think my name may be a cognate of juniper. Winifred is a variant of Guinevere, and the French word for juniper is genièvre. Very similar, don’t you think?”
Jack looked up from his notes. “It’s also close to wennefer, a title of the Egyptian god Osiris, usually translated as ‘eternally good.’ ”
“Really?” She stared off into the distance, thinking. “Osiris is all about resurrection. Maybe a closer translation of wennefer would be ‘eternally young.”
“And, of course, the juniper is an evergreen,” Chaz added, “ ‘ever-young,’ so to speak.”
Enza perked up. “Perhaps this is why the Christmas tree is associated with Jesus and everlasting life.”
Chaz grinned at her. “It’s all a rich tapestry of interconnected meaning.”
The exchange between the two of them sparked a flicker of jealousy in Winnie – until he turned back to her and said, “And the name suits you.”
For the first time all day his gaze felt full of warmth, more like what she’d come to expect – and long for – from him. She couldn’t help but smile back, then looked down into her lap, aware her infatuation was showing in front of everyone.
The sound of her boss’s booming voice outside drew her attention back to the door. When she saw the stuffy chairman and the normally impeccable Domenico enter in togas, she burst out laughing. What made Farber change his mind about wearing a suit? she wondered.
Father Giampiero arrived at the same time, but, as he’d promised, wore his normal attire.
After apologizing for holding up filming, the three of them took their places around the table. Hank got the camera rolling, and everyone began eating and chatting.
Dunk led a casual discussion about the finds they’d unearthed to date, then asked team members what they still hoped to uncover. Once everyone had contributed something to the conversation and had a chance to sample the delicacies, he asked, “What does everyone think of our Roman recipes?”
By this time, the purple beer had Winnie feeling tipsy. “Delish,” she said.
Farber crinkled his nose. “Most of the food is too sweet for my tastes.”
Annoyance flashed across Dunk’s face, masked an instant later with a smile. “Roman cooks used a great deal of honey. They also had a preference for fish sauce. You’ll be happy to know that we’ve omitted some of the more bizarre dishes, such as stuffed mice and boiled tree fungi.”
Jack sipped his beer and grimaced, then put it down. “You might have omitted the purple beer, too. It tastes like dirt.”
The show host laughed. “That’s fine talk coming from a satyr.”
“I don’t see you swigging much of it,” Jack shot back.
Father Giampiero struggled in his long robe to get to his feet. “Perhaps it is time to take my leave.”
Reaching out to steady the priest’s elbow, Farber followed his lead.
Domenico rose, too, doing a much smoother job of it. “Thank you, Duncan. The meal was very good.”
“My pleasure.” A gleam in Dunk’s eyes seemed to imply that their exit would be the real pleasure.
When Enza remained sitting, Domenico settled a firm gaze on her. “Andiamo, Enza. We must allow the cast time to perform their rites.”
She gave him a sheepish look. “With your permission, Papa, I’d like to remain and observe.”
“I can’t approve that, carina.”
Her lower lip started to curl. Then she tamed her features and managed a smile for him. “I comprehend your concerns, but you know how serious I am about studying archaeology. This is a rare opportunity for education, and I don’t want to miss it. Suppose I only watch from the doorway? ... Per favore.”
Father Giampiero glowered, but Domenico’s expression softened. “Very well, but return to the house within an hour.” He tapped the face of his sleek Bulgari watch. “I’ll send the car back for you after we drive over.”
She blew him a kiss. “Mille grazie, Papa!”
He grinned at her, nodded to everyone else, then left with the other abstainers.
When they were gone, Dunk smiled at the remaining guests. “Let’s take five to set up for our rites.”
Amara pulled a clapboard out from under the table and snapped it shut. “Cut!”
QUINDICI
HANK CLEANED THE camera lens and closed the cover, then set down his equipment and slipped outside.
Amara and Enza began packing up the leftovers into two wheeled cooler boxes.
Once the bowls and plates had been removed, Dunk positioned himself at one end of the table. “Jack, help me carry this tabletop outside. Then we’ll put on your satyr horns.”
Winnie and Chaz snatched their drinks from the surface, and the two men took the board out. The two Parsons tables that had supported it remained behind.
Amara pulled a basket out from under one of them and moved it to the top. “Enza, would you help me take the coolers out to Dunk’s car?”
“For sure.”
They each grabbed one and wheeled it out, leaving only Winnie and Chaz in the temple.
Giddy from the alcohol, she took another swig and peered into the basket on the table. It held an ornate hand mirror, a clipping of laurel, a plate with three small cakes, and a bowl with three red-dyed eggs.
Chaz picked up the bowl of eggs and put it on the floor in front of him. “These must be mine.”
“That reminds me: I should be reviewing my lines.” She pulled the index card from her neckline, along with the tyet amulet.
He raised an eyebrow. “You keep a cheat sheet and an amulet in your bra?”
“These tunics don’t have pockets. Can you think of a better place?”
A grin spread across his face. “Hardly.”
Heat suffused her cheeks, along with other body parts. Suppressing a smile, she set the amulet on the floor in front of her. She skimmed the index card, then set it down, too, feeling surprisingly confident about her lines. “As Dunk put it earlier, ‘Piece of cake.’ ”
Chaz stretched his legs out between the tables, crossing his ankles, and leaned back on one hand. “I’m astonished how relaxed you are.”
“Dunk’s weird beer loosened me up.” Alone with him, she grew more conscious of how physically close they were. With everyone else
gone, she had plenty of space to move away, but she couldn’t work up the will. She pulled her gaze away from him and looked back into the basket. “Here are Amara’s cakes.”
She moved the bowl of cakes to the production assistant’s spot. Next, she took the hand mirror, held it in front of her face, and pouted at her reflection. With her unusual hair and make-up, she barely recognized herself. Pink permeated her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled with excitement. As she stared at them, her pupils grew larger, then shrank and enlarged again.
The effect disoriented her. How much had she drunk? “Is it my imagination, or are my pupils wavering in size?”
Turning to him, she looked into his eyes. His were warm brown with gold flecks, and his pupils were fluctuating, too. Curious. She felt herself drifting closer to him, to the point of invading his personal space.
He laughed. “Yes, they are.”
“So are yours.” With a dazed smile, she allowed herself the luxury of staring at him, admiring his luminescent skin, the smattering of tiny black bristles on his cleft chin, his fine nose, his classically shaped lips. When she looked up at his eyes again, she saw his focus drop to her mouth.
He wanted to kiss her, she knew.
She wanted it, too – wanted it too much to resist. In fact, resistance had flown out the window. She was going to do it. She bent toward him.
“Don’t mess up your make-up, you two,” a playful feminine voice intoned from the entrance.
Inches from his mouth, she looked over and saw Amara walking toward the center of the room carrying a pitcher and basin. Behind her, Enza lugged in a jam-packed milk crate. Both of the intruders shot her and Chaz knowing grins.
In her besotted state of mind, she wasn’t even embarrassed, only vaguely aware that she should have been. Reluctantly, she wafted away from him, but the urge to kiss him didn’t go away. She was afraid she still might do it, audience or not.
The whole situation felt surreal. He knew she wanted him. Even Amara and Enza knew it now. But instead of regretting being exposed, she felt euphoric. She had been a split second away from tasting her teaching assistant – something she now realized was inevitable. An interruption may have slowed the momentum, but the Fates had sealed it. And she couldn’t wait.
An uncharacteristic giggle slipped out of her. She let herself look back at him.
He watched her with amused eyes. Then he looked into his beer, and his expression turned pensive. “You know, alcohol doesn’t dilate pupils. I wonder if that purple wheat might have been bad. Wheat fungus can produce effects similar to LSD.”
Taking her mug from her, he set both drinks on the far side of him on the floor.
“Hey, I’m just starting to feel good!” She stretched over his lap, reaching for her mug.
He laughed but took hold of her elbow and gently steered her to meet his gaze. “Hallucinogens take a long time to wear off. You’ll feel good for quite a while.”
They were practically in each other’s arms. She smirked at him. “Is that a promise?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Is that a proposition?”
Their relationship had jumped to a new level of intimacy. Heady with lust, she reached up and touched his cheek – bristly, fascinatingly male.
“Uh, uh, uh – the make-up!” Dunk called from across the room.
His voice pulled her focus back to their surroundings. Looking over, she saw he’d entered with Jack and Hank. As he approached the table, Dunk grinned at her. “We’re about to roll. No fraternizing on camera.”
Even as intoxicated as she was, she didn’t want to make out in front of the TV viewership. With a sigh, she pulled away from Chaz and tried to concentrate on the business at hand.
Jack now wore horns and a shorter purple toga, she noticed. As he sat down across from her, the headpiece slipped askew, and she laughed. “Nice horns.”
He straightened them out. “I’m the horniest person in the room.”
She giggled. Not likely, she thought, but she kept her mouth zipped and didn’t dare glance at Chaz.
Tuning into the scene around her, she saw Amara had put the basin on the table next to the basket. Now she poured water into it from the pitcher.
On the other table, Enza had laid out candles and matches from her crate. She set the crate aside, stood up and smiled at the group. “Now I must move to the doorway to watch.” As she walked away, she added over her shoulder, “In bocca al lupo!”
Into the mouth of the wolf was the Italian equivalent of Break a leg. Somehow, it sounded more ominous than the English idiom, but Winnie grinned and gave the prescribed response: “Crepi!”
May it die.
“OK, we’re ready to shoot.” Amara took her place and pulled out the clapboard, positioning it in front of Dunk. “Initiation ritual, Take 1.” She snapped it, then stashed it away again.
The host addressed the camera. “We’ve finished our Roman meal, and we’re about to initiate two young worshipers into a mystery cult.” He looked at Jack. “Jack, can you provide some background for our viewers?”
Hank pivoted the lens toward the lead archaeologist.
“Mystery cults were distinguished by secret rituals that only initiated members were privy to,” he said.
“Like a college fraternity? Dunk asked him. “Or the Freemasons?”
“Sort of, only they revolved around worship of a deity. Initiates swore not to reveal the mysteries, so we don’t know much about what they entailed, but we’ve reconstructed some rites for tonight using clues we’ve gleaned from classical writers and scenes from ancient art.”
“Thanks, Jack.” Dunk turned to Winnie and smiled. “Our priestess will start by purifying the initiates with sacred water.”
Holding her shoulders back in her interpretation of a formal posture, she picked up the clipping of laurel and dipped it in the water. “She of the Myriad Titles demands her followers be cleansed for the sacred rites,” she recited.
Using the wet clipping, she sprinkled water on Amara, who flinched and giggled.
Winnie then repeated the gesture with Chaz, holding his gaze. His eyes reflected the same pleasure she felt looking at him. Primal sparks shot between them, but she concentrated on her role and broke the stare.
Playfully, she dipped the sprig once more and shook it at the others. “I’d better purify everyone. We don’t want to risk the curse coming down on us.”
They laughed, brushing droplets off their clothes and limbs.
For good measure, she gave herself a sprinkle, then set down the clipping. She picked up the basket and held it out toward Chaz and Amara. “What do you bring for the goddess, petitioners?”
Amara put her bowl of cakes in the basket. “I offer these sacramental cakes, sacred to the goddess.”
Winnie nodded and looked at Chaz. “And you?”
He placed the bowl of eggs in the basket. “I offer these eggs, sacred to the goddess.”
That was all the team had scripted for the sacrifices, but Winnie picked up the tyet and added it to the basket. “I’ll add this trinket. May the goddess find it worthy.”
She stood and took the basket to the tree, kneeling to place the offerings in front of it. When she got back up, Hank’s spotlight followed her, and the needle-sprigged branches of the juniper cast long moving shadows on the fresco behind it. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the priestess’s bracelet move. Her focus shot to the snake’s head at one end of it. As she watched, the twisted band slithered up the woman’s arm.
She froze, awestruck. The priestess gazed back at her with a Mona Lisa smile, as if the two of them shared a secret. At once, Winnie knew what it was: The goddess was present.
A deep contentment settled over her. She felt like she’d been cold all her life, and someone had just wrapped her in a blanket.
Dunk cleared his throat. “Winnie, we’re ready for the next rite.”
She spun around and saw everyone watching her. Egads. That purple beer had really gotten
to her. Chaz must have been right about the wheat.
Forcing her thoughts back to the script, she returned to her cushion. “You may now petition the Great Mother as you light candles dedicated to her.”
Amara struck a match and held it to a candle. “Queen of Heaven, grant us a fruitful archaeological dig.”
Everyone laughed.
Chaz took his turn. “Great Mother, reveal your mysteries to us so that we may understand you.”
Without warning, the gray cat from the previous night leapt onto the table, knocking over a candle. Everyone jumped and yelped. Somehow the candle landed upright on the floor, the flame still burning.
“Holy cow!” Heart pounding, Winnie slapped her hand over her chest.
A wisp of fog floated through the entrance and across the room. As Hank followed it with the camera, Amara watched it and shuddered. Aside to Dunk, she whispered, “Did you set this up?”
He shrugged, a slow smile unfurling across his face.
Assuming he had staged the fog, if not the cat’s appearance, Winnie grinned. In keeping with the mood, she picked up the mirror for the next step in the rites. As she turned the glass toward Amara, Dunk pulled an eerie hag mask from the folds of his toga and held it up behind Amara to reflect in the mirror.
Winnie put on a serious expression. “Face your future, petitioner.”
Amara peered at the reflection of the mask. Her eyes grew round, and her jaw sagged.
Her reaction gave Winnie second thoughts. The mask was pretty creepy, and Brits didn’t celebrate Halloween, so maybe poor Amara wasn’t used to being spooked. She lowered the mirror.
At that moment, a muffled boom sounded nearby, and the room shook. A gust of wind blew out the candles and lanterns, and everyone gasped. The cat hissed and ran outside. Fortunately, Hank’s spotlight still lit the room but in a spooky way.
Winnie looked at Dunk, trying to gauge whether this was staged, as well.
“What was that?” he asked, glancing around.
The others were all scanning the room, too. Amara looked terrified.
A slow cracking noise ripped around them. Plaster crumbled from the ceiling, and dust rained down. A chunk of masonry landed next to Winnie.
The Five-Day Dig Page 15
