Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Day twenty-three. Still no discovery. I’m afraid my calculations were wrong, and I set this whole expedition up for failure.
Every day we get closer to the end of our time here, I feel more confident that we should pack everything up and sail back to England.
Why waste four more months of traveling and groveling through dirt when we know we won’t find anything?
“Ihad a feeling you would be hiding here,” Henry says, interrupting my train of thought as I’m writing in my journal.
I pick my head up and watch as he makes his way inside my hiding spot, in the dead end of one of the many small passages in the pit, isolated from the rest of the team. The scent of mint, cedarwood, and sweat hits my nose as Henry takes a seat next to me on the dirt ground.
“I’m assuming there are still no findings?” I ask.
In my peripheral, I see Henry nodding. “That would be correct.”
A deep sigh escapes me as I close my journal and rest my head into my hand, tilting to look up at the twinkling stars in the dark blue dusk sky.
Light rays of red and yellow shine on the horizon as the sun sets in the west and the moon glows in the east. No other sight has ever taken my breath away.
I let out a tired, shaky breath. “Does this ever happen? Is it common for an excavation site to not make a single discovery during its entire duration?”
“It is,” Henry says, his calm tone easing some of the weight in my chest. “Contrary to all the academic journals and newspaper reports of all the discoveries found, those are not the only expeditions conducted. Many are never even heard of simply because a finding wasn’t made, and just because we don’t hear about them doesn’t mean it never happened. ”
He sighs as he looks at the pit surrounding us.
“I’m sorry that it has to happen on your first excavation site, Clara.
It's not a very thrilling or rewarding way to start your career in archaeology, but please, don’t let this outcome affect how you think of yourself as an academic, a historian, and more importantly, as an archaeologist. Do not blame yourself for something that isn’t your fault. ”
I turn my face toward him, offering him a small, appreciative smile. I may not fully believe in his words, but I can at least believe that he does, and for now, that’s enough.
“That part is a bit tricky to do when I’m the one who created the debrief for the excavation site.”
Henry nudges my shoulder, letting out a laugh. “There’s always a bottle of whiskey or one of Dr. Alarie’s bottles of French Cabernet that can help ease the disappointment.”
A guffaw escapes me—a sound I never knew I could make. Only Henry’s earnestness and ridiculousness could provoke. I stare at him in shocked embarrassment at my unladylike outburst, but then we both break into grins and laugh uncontrollably like fools.
“I may take you up on your suggestion,” I say through tired breath, dabbing at the corners of my eyes to wipe away tears of laughter.
“This is only a minor setback, Clara.”
I nod, about to thank him, when a sudden yell echoes across the dig site.
My head jerks toward where the sound came from. “What was that?”
We spring to our feet, and I glance at Henry—worry etched on both our faces—as our minds race to the worst possible explanation.
“Who else is in the dig site?” Henry asks.
“Dr. Alarie went to sharpen his tools about an hour ago, and Amina went to get something to eat in the lounge tent. Which leaves only…” Our eyes widen with fear once we know our answer. We sprint down the passageway to find Grandad.
“Grandad!” I call. “Where are you?”
When we reach the central pit and Grandad doesn’t respond, my heart races, and knots form in my stomach. Dread floods me, and I feel the blood drain from my face.
“Lord Claremont!” Henry yells.
We hear the yell once more, this time coming from the east side of the site. Henry and I sprint down the east pathway, leading us to the end where Grandad is kneeling on the ground, holding his hands to his chest.
Fearing he’s suffering a heart problem, I rush toward him and grab his shoulders.
“Grandad, are you alright?” I ask, shaking him gently. Cupping his face, I search his eyes for any sign that he’s unwell. His eyes are rimmed with tears, and his mouth hangs open in shock.
“Is he okay?” Amina pants, bending over to catch her breath, with Dr. Alarie close behind her.
Now the whole team is gathered around.
“Grandad, what is it?” I plead.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he slowly lowers his hands, revealing what he’s been holding all along: a single silver coin—a tetradrachm no bigger than my palm, with the face of Zeus stamped on one side and the profile of the Statue of Zeus on the other.
Shocked gasps ripple through the team.
“Is that…?” Dr. Alarie asks.
“An artifact,” Grandad finishes, lifting his head with a wide grin. “I found it right here in this very spot, just waiting for one of us to discover it.”
I let out a heavy sigh, clutching a hand to the bridge of my nose. “Grandad, you just gave us all a fright. We thought something terrible happened to you.”
Grandad’s face softens, a hint of somberness in his expression. “Oh, my apologies. I didn’t mean to cause you all such distress. I was completely stunned to find this tiny thing peeking through the ground here.”
“It’s alright, Lord Claremont. We know you didn’t intend to do it,” Henry assures him.
We exchange glances, excited yet exhausted.
“How about we all gather at the lounge tent?” Amina suggests. “We can have dinner, celebrate Lord Claremont’s discovery, and inspect the tetradrachm more closely under some proper lighting.”
A serving of seasoned chicken, toasted pita bread, and steamed vegetables awaits us inside the tent.
My stomach growls at the sight and aroma of the Mediterranean meal.
Working long hours under the hot sun does something to one’s appetite.
But fully satiating my hunger will have to wait, as the team grabs a measly plate of food and gathers around the table to watch as Amina further inspects the tetradrachm, now wearing the white, clean linen gloves archaeologists use to handle artifacts.
“Dr. Baccar, are you able to translate the words on it?” Grandad asks before taking a bite of his pita bread.
Amina raises the coin to eye level and gently turns it in her hands. “It appears to date from the reign of Alexander the Great, 333 BCE. Not quite from the time of the Temple of Zeus, but it does seem to confirm that the statue existed and what it truly looked like.”
“And it could further prove it originally resided here,” Henry adds, giving me a wink from my left as he sips on wine.
Amina moves to a nearby table, delicately places the tetradrachm in a small wooden crate filled to the brim with hay, securing it safely as we proceed on our travels. Then takes off the linen gloves, placing them carefully aside, and takes a plating of dinner to eat.
Dr. Alarie whistles in the distance as he reaches into the liquor chest and grabs a bottle of whiskey.
“Now that is a find, my friend,” he says to Grandad, patting him on his shoulder as he takes his seat back at the table.
He pours a decent amount of whiskey into our empty wine glasses and hands them to the team.
We all raise our glasses in the air. “Congratulations on your momentous discovery, Lord Claremont,” Dr. Alarie cheers.
Echoes of ‘congratulations’ follow as we all clink our glasses together, taking a hefty sip of whiskey afterward.
“Next time, let’s celebrate with champagne,” I say in between coughs as the burning sensation of whiskey subsides in my throat, fanning my face to subdue tears from falling and cool down my reddening cheeks.
The team laughs along with me at my reaction to the strong alcohol.
“I’ll remember that for our next discovery, Miss Fairfax,” Dr. Alarie assures.
While I leave my full glass on the table, the rest continue to drink their whiskey with ease.
“I told you it would work out,” Henry gloats lowly for me to hear. Our heads tilt closer so that the others don’t hear our side conversation.
“Indeed, you did,” I smirk. “And your prize for being right is this glass of fine whiskey.” I slide my glass toward him, not breaking my smile.
Henry shakes his head while laughing. He reaches for the glass, gives me a salute, and takes a sip. “This is the best prize I’ve ever received. Thank you.”
Dropping my smirk, I look earnestly into his eyes.
“Sarcasm aside, I do owe you a proper ‘thank you’ for teaching and reassuring me. But I also wanted to mention that you were right about what you said back in the pit, how I was blaming myself for what we thought was the failure of our time in Olympia. I was putting the blame all on myself.”
His face mimics mine, losing all the creases around his eyes and lips, giving me his full, undivided attention.
“The only thing you failed at was not believing in yourself, Clara. I saw how quickly you were to second-guess yourself the moment things went wrong. We all have an equal involvement in this project. Every one of us felt the same blame after we reached our third week with no prospects. It’s in our nature as archaeologists and academics—we want to be right, and we do our very best to be right the first time.
And when we aren’t, our first instinct is to place the blame on ourselves. ”
“Does that explain why I’m still belittling myself for not finding the discovery yet?”
A sympathetic smile rises on his lips. “Very much so. We still have five other sites to visit. And just like with Lord Claremont’s discovery, your tetradrachm is waiting for you to uncover it. It’s only a matter of when, not if.”
“Clara! Henry,” Grandad calls suddenly.
Turning our heads, we find that the others left us at the dining table—with their empty cups and plates—and have relocated to the table where the tetradrachm resides.
Grandad, wearing the linen gloves, is holding the relic in his hands.
“Would either one of you like to inspect the tetradrachm before we seal it shut in its case?”
Without hesitation, I rise out of my chair. “I certainly want to.”
“Same for myself,” Henry adds, jumping out of his chair as I did.
“Who wants to go first?” Grandad asks once we reach him, looking between both of us.
Henry looks at me with a smile. “Ladies first.”
Grandad takes off the linen gloves and hands them over to me.
With my hands now covered, I reach for the tetradrachm in the small crate and place it carefully onto my left palm.
For such a small item, it’s surprisingly heavy.
As I start examining the relic, Grandad and the others head back to the dining table, refilling their glasses with whiskey or another bottle from the liquor chest.
Tuning everyone out, I keep my focus solely on the tetradrachm, wanting to memorize every small detail of it, from the outline of Zeus’ profile to counting every crack and dent.
As I take in its features, I wonder how long it was buried underground, and who the last person was to hold it before it took its long resting spot here in Olympia.
Feeling the presence of another person in my peripheral, I glance up to see that Henry is examining the coin along with me, his eyes transfixed on the silver coin.
“Can you believe this one piece of silver has survived over two millennia?” I ask, carefully turning the coin around in the grasp of my thumb and pointer finger.
Henry shakes his head slightly, still at a loss. “So much of history has happened during its lifetime. Think of all the events it survived through.”
“All to end up in the hands of our team,” I add.
As I continue to examine the coin, my enchantment toward it lessens as I realize something. A slight frown forms on my lips as I carefully place it back on top of the cushioned hay in the crate and take off the linen gloves to give Henry a chance to hold it.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, peering down at my face as he puts the gloves on.
“Nothing, except…” I pause, sighing. “I have this feeling that Oxford isn’t going to realize the true value of this discovery simply because it’s an ‘old coin’.”
Henry nods as he raises the tetradrachm in the air, inspecting it.
“Not as exciting to announce to the world like a sculpture or a portrait would. If it doesn’t thrill the eyes of those funding Oxford’s studies, it’s not going to thrill those in-house either.
” Henry peers down at me and smiles. “But it’s still a beautifully astounding piece of history. ”
“You know what?” Grandad suddenly announces from behind us.
We turn around to see he is pouring himself another glass of whiskey—must be his third by now—and a smoking pipe dangling from his mouth.
“Let’s celebrate!”
“What do you mean?” Amina chuckles. “We’re already celebrating.” Her laughter spreads across the tent, and soon everyone is laughing with her.
“No, no,” Grandad says, smoking pipe still in place, waving his nearly empty glass in the air and shaking his head with the fervor of someone who’s had too much to drink. “Let’s really celebrate.”
“Celebrate how?” Dr. Alarie asks, a hint of skepticism in his voice.
Grandad pauses, then plops his glass onto the dining table with a loud clunk. “A holiday! There’s no better way to celebrate than that.”
We exchange glances, wondering if Grandad could possibly be serious. Grandad is not one for spontaneity. He sticks to schedules, and our expedition is on a tight timeline. Delaying even a single day could throw the whole itinerary off.
“Are you being serious, Grandad?” I ask, seeking clarity on behalf of the team.
Grandad nods, grinning. “Oh yes, I am. But the more important question is…where do we go?” He tries to sip from his now-empty glass. His heavy eyes fall on me. “Clara, dear, why don’t you pick where we’ll go for our day trip?”
Various locations pop into my mind, and I wish we could visit each one.
But what I really want is to swim in the vivid blue waters of the Mediterranean, feel soft sand under my hands and feet, drink loads of wine, and savor delicious Greek food.
A proper sunny beach holiday—one that outshines every trip I’ve ever had in the Lake District or on the Isle of Skye.
A place for all of us to unwind before the chaos of the next four months.
And there’s only one place that comes first to mind.
Confidently, I announce my choice. “Let’s go to Crete.”