The remainder of the morning went by under slightly more civil circumstances. Scuttlebutt operated at lightning speed as ever, so it seemed half the population of Jelling - including the milkman, the chimney sweep, one of the greengrocer's delivery boys and no less than three ladies from the knitting association - dropped in to buy a postcard or the smallest possible glass of milk or port so they could get the full low-down about the professor's illness. Though Svend-Aage Lindholm didn't mind the extra trade in the restaurant, he wasn't about to betray the trust of such an important guest; he only relayed the basics so the townsfolk didn't have to rely on gossip.
After persuading Mrs. Lindholm to wrap a couple of loaves of bread and some cold cuts into knapsacks so the digging team wouldn't have to break for lunch, Mel, Janice and the four students ventured out into the frigid, stormy and above all wet world beyond the historical inn's main entrance.
Decked out in borrowed oilskin rain gear in the same shade of bright yellow as the inn - much to Janice's annoyance and Mel's amusement - the six-strong digging team exited the inn and strode over to the dig site behind the white church to get down to business.
The rain continued to fall heavily from the laden skies, but even the hefty drops were no match for the oilskin clothing. That the constant wind continued to howl across the road and make the trees' branches let out pained creaks and groans was another matter entirely. Janice could hardly believe the four students took it all in their stride - it seemed such weather was nothing out of the ordinary for mid-June in Denmark.
As they walked past Ulrikke Jensen who kept watch in her leaky, breezy sentry box, Janice tipped her borrowed sou'wester at the tough security guard. Ulrikke replied in time-honored fashion by putting a hand to her beret - then she broke out in a loud laugh at the masses of yellow oilskin that filled her field of view.
The gravelly footpath leading to the burial mounds started out as being merely soggy but ended as being submerged in an inch of water. It didn't bode well for the state of the excavation site, so Janice ran ahead to make sure the blue tarpaulin was still in place. Though it had remained where it had been pinned to the ground, one of the tent pegs had nearly worked itself loose. After fixing the errant peg by slamming her boot down onto it, she checked the three others to make sure they weren't about to make a run for freedom like the fourth one had.
It wasn't the best introduction to the day, especially not after the rude awakening and the high-strung antics of the morning hours, so she let out a few mumbled curses at the peg's audacity to defy her.
Mel and the students caught up with her before long; they spread out like a fan so they all had a good view of the short woman in the awfully yellow outfit. "Okay, listen up, people," Janice said and put her hands in the air to make sure she had everyone's attention. "Henning and Torben, I want you to continue cataloging the artifacts. You've done a good job so far, so keep it up, yeah? Hanne and Ellen, I want you to carry out a second round of analyses of the artifacts that Mel and I went through yesterday. A fresh pair of eyes is one of the most vital tools in archaeology. Make sure to write down your thoughts as you go along. If you uncover new evidence, or if you disagree with the initial analysis… or if you happen to find any errors in the paperwork for that matter… don't hesitate to update it regardless of whose name is listed on the dotted line. Any questions?"
The four students cast several slightly disbelieving glances at each other - they had been studying under Professor Granfeldt for close to two years but they had never been allowed to work autonomously before. And the mere notion of criticizing something the professor had written would have seen them expelled from the course in no time flat.
"I guess the silence means you're on top of things. All right. If you run into something you're unsure of, ask! Ask, ask, ask. Always question what you have. Always ask. Never assume or play it safe. Yeah? Let's get to work. This could be a big day," Janice continued and clapped her hands like a quarterback who had just finished discussing the next play with her offensive line.
While the students shuffled off to work inside the open-sided tent for the next few hours, Mel shuffled the other way and came up to stand next to her partner. "I suppose that means we'll get rained upon all day over here?"
"Oh, I hope it'll be dry where we're going," Janice said and moved aside the metal stepladder needed to scale the three-feet-deep sidewall of the excavation. Despite wearing gloves, her fingers were so cold they couldn't get a proper grip on the dripping-wet metal; worse, the four legs made plopping sounds as they let go of the soil which indicated the ground was slowly getting saturated. "And that's inside the burial chamber," she continued casually as she released one of the tent pegs and swept a corner of the blue tarpaulin aside to make the stepladder fit.
Mel adjusted her wet glasses while an expression of equal measures excitement and tension fell over her. Though the professor had already been inside it so it wasn't virginal ground, and though it most certainly wasn't her first exploration of such a chamber, she could still feel her heart rate picking up.
It always fascinated and inspired her deeply whenever she was about to set foot on the same ground that a fellow human being had walked on centuries, if not millennia, earlier. That despite the vast number of years that had gone by, an emotional and physical connection still existed between her and the countless generations of people who had lived, loved and ultimately died near that ground.
Drawing a deep breath, she let it out slowly before she followed Janice down the three steps. The two experienced archaeologists soon crouched on the floor of the pit while Janice fumbled a little reattaching the corner of the tarp to keep the water out of the important site.
"Damn this green winter! Even wearing gloves, my fingers are frozen solid!" Janice growled as she finally managed to get the protective cover in place. Just to add insult to injury, she managed to thump her knee against the stepladder as she turned around - that particular event was also accompanied by a juicy curse or two.
The oak door didn't resist being opened though the conditions were so damp it bordered on the apocalyptic, but the gap was severely restricted because of the tarp. It was all in a day's work for Mel and Janice who had both squeezed through spaces even narrower than the twenty inches they were given here. The first thing Janice did once they were inside the burial chamber was to take off the hideous sou'wester and the borrowed rain gear. Then she reached into her leather jacket, retrieved her indispensable fedora and plonked it down on her fair locks.
"O-yeah, that's more like it. Watch out, world… Janice Covington comin' through," she said after running a finger across the brim to make sure the brown hat had been put on in accordance with the Rules Of Cool.
Mel took a deep breath through her nose before she made a slow, complete turn to take in as much of the burial chamber as she could. The very nature of the earthen surroundings meant the interior was quite dark despite the daylight outside, but she didn't want to turn on their flashlight yet.
A strong scent of wet soil tickled her nostrils as she had expected, and the two millennia old oakwood used for the door added another equally strong scent to the mix. The relentless sound of raindrops slamming down onto the blue tarpaulin outside drowned out - literally - any sound that could have come from within the chamber. No vengeful, howling ghosts appeared; the only howling came from the gusts of wind that swept around the corner of the nearby church.
The moment had come to begin the exploration proper, so Mel took off the yellow rain cape so she could reach her leather bag. After finding the flashlight among the plethora of things she had brought along, she pressed the small button to send a cone of light onto the thick layer of old soil on the floor.
The dimensions of the chamber's interior were revealed to be roughly twenty-four feet in diameter. The highest part of the domed roof, at the exact center, was just over six feet above the floor; the roofline sloped down to end three feet above the floor all around the outer edges save for the section at the entrance. Like most burial mounds from that era, the earthen walls and roof had been solidified through clay that would bind the loose soil and prevent it from crumbling.
A burial plot had been set up at the exact center of the mound on an east/west diagonal. The outline of the grave itself was marked by square stones dug into the soil - their surfaces were completely featureless which meant they were useless as tools to determine the age of the burial chamber, or even to attach it to one of the countless kingdoms that had existed in the region. The stones had seemingly been chipped from large boulders and had subsequently been refined by a master mason into being uniform. As already described in the translation of the runestone, the plot contained no human remains nor traces of fabric that could have been used as an underlay or a shroud.
Mel reached into her leather bag to find a measuring tape, but she had to stop when the flashlight got in the way. She almost dropped it twice before she gave up the unequal struggle. "Jan, I need a hand… take the light, please. Shine down at the stones."
"You betcha," Janice said and took the tool.
Mel soon crouched down at the side of the square stones and spread out her arms to let the metal tape measure the overall length of the grave. "Mmmm… five feet and five inches long. Twenty-two inches wide. A fairly standard size for the people of that era. I'm theorizing the master in charge of erecting the mound simply used the basic template when it came to the actual grave. He… or she, I suppose… might not even have known the person it was meant for was cremated."
"That's a good theory. Don't go anywhere, I'm just gonna move the light around a little," Janice said and did just that. The cone of light soon swept across the chamber's earthen floor without revealing anything of particular interest. The disturbed soil from the professor's initial excavation - that had yielded the bronze clasp and the wooden case containing the scroll fragment - was still visible, but beyond that, nothing stood out to the experienced archaeologist. A short grunt escaped her as she performed a second tour of the floor in case she had missed an important item on the first pass. "Hmmm. Weird. Hey, Mel… are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Why, I believe I am, dear. The chamber's far too empty," Mel said and adjusted her glasses now she had literally been left in the dark. The high level of moisture everywhere around them meant her glasses misted over, so she reached into a side pocket to find a piece of cloth that she could use to wipe the lenses. As she did so, she continued: "Could it have been looted?"
"I suppose. It's always a risk… but grave robbers gentle enough to leave the oak door undamaged?"
"True," Mel said and pushed her glasses back up her nose.
Janice let out a few grunts as she moved the cone of light across the floor. "Okay… here's another theory. Were the valuables perhaps moved somewhere safe during a time of crisis? And if so, I wonder when that might have been… before or after the runestone was created?" she continued before she finished her fruitless tour of the floor.
"That's impossible to say. Have you seen anything that could be the urn?"
Janice shook her head though she knew Mel wouldn't be able to see it. "No. There's nothing like that at all in here. No clay jugs or jars… or wooden cases… hell, there aren't even any potsherds that could have been amphoras or whatever. The box you looked at yesterday-"
"Wasn't large enough, Jan. Not even close," Mel said and rose to her full height. She was only able to stand fully upright at the exact center of the chamber, and that spot was within the row of stones that outlined the grave - the sloping ceiling meant she had to duck her head everywhere else.
Standing stock-still so she wouldn't accidentally knock down one of the stones, she thought she heard woodwork creaking somewhere in the near distance. Nothing inside the chamber was wood save for the oak door which was far too sturdy to creak like that. Ultimately, she put it down to her overimaginative mind. "Might the urn have dug itself into the soil? Don't forget the wooden case was located… oh, what was it… I believe it was twelve or fourteen centimeters below the surface over by the door."
"Yeah, but the urn would have been in or near the grave's outline… and the stones all line up perfectly. Look. They're all of equal height. Nothing has eroded there," Janice said and shone the light at the unused plot around Mel's boots to illustrate her words.
"I suppose that's true…" Mel said and began to rub her chin while she racked her mind to come up with a new theory or two.
Janice continued to let the cone of light play along the earthen floor for a little while longer before she let out an annoyed sigh. "No, the urn's gone… if it was ever here in the first place. Dammit!" she said and shook her head angrily. "It stings like a burr in my shorts, but I gotta agree with Professor Granfeldt. We have no way of knowing what really went on here. And the damn runestone was written five or six centuries after the fact! Mel, imagine how ass-wrong we'd be if we had to make a detailed report of something that took place in the mid-fourteenth century! Crap!"
Mel opened her mouth to let out a 'language, dear,' but she closed it again when she realized it wouldn't do any good. Instead, she settled for adjusting her glasses.
---
The next ten minutes went by in silence as the two archaeologists studied every inch of the chamber's interior including the stones used to outline the burial plot. Nothing yielded any clues or answers - and certainly no confirmation of the theory that it was an Amazon burial site - so the mood wasn't as rosy as it had been earlier. The flashlight exchanged hands once more and was now back in Mel's possession.
"Crapola… what a waste of time," Janice said and wiped her brow on her sleeve. As the fedora had been plonked back onto her wild mane, she turned to face the earthen walls. "Let's try something different… shine the light up the walls, Mel. Start at the door and work your way around clockwise. Baby steps so we won't miss anything, yeah?" she continued from her spot across the dark chamber. When Mel turned to face the door, they both looked intently at the sections that came into view.
The chamber seemed to have been made by expert craftspeople as only an insignificant amount of rainwater seeped through the earth that made up the walls and the domed roof. A single puddle had in fact been formed not too far from the oak door, but it could have been far worse.
Working in a slow, deliberate fashion so no unusual protrusions or suspicious discolorations of the building material would be missed, Mel moved the flashlight from the floor and up to the sloped ceiling. Once a full section had been illuminated, she lowered the flashlight once more and made a minute step to her right to start over next to where she had been.
---
"Good heavens, Jan… I do know one thing," Mel said in a disappointed voice after she had made it more than halfway around the chamber, "this is the most undecorated burial site I have ever set foot in. Why, there are no trinkets… no armor… no weapons… no offerings to the Gods… no trays or amphoras with wine and food to aid the passing… no niches carved into the walls where the families left little mementos… well, of course, that wouldn't have applied here. All those things can be found in any tomb or burial chamber in Greece, but there's simply nothing in here."
"Yeah… this is a mystery," Janice said and reached up to give her hair a thorough scratching. The gesture upset her fedora, but it was soon back in its proper position with the swooped brim a little lower on the right-hand side than on the left. "But why? Why would Xena and Gabrielle… provided they were even here in the first place, quite frankly-"
"Oh, they were here, Jan. Or Gabrielle was, at least. I know that for a fact from the scroll fragment," Mel said before she took another small step to her right to continue the achingly slow - and dishearteningly fruitless - exploration of the walls. "And the Bard of Potaideia had a tendency to go where-"
"Xena went. Yeah, all right. I concede the point. But why the hell would Xena and Gabrielle set up such a ruse? What's the damn point? Xena never did anything just for the hell of it… except maybe skinny-dip now and then… or go on a fishing trip."
Mel let out a dry chuckle as she completed another section of the wall and moved onto the next one.
"No, there's something behind it. Something we haven't taken into account," Janice continued and took off her fedora to give herself another thorough scalp-scratching. Once the soft hat was back on her locks, she moved over to look at the section of the wall that was presently being illuminated by the cone of the flashlight - like the rest, it revealed nothing. "Mel, stop. We might as well save the batteries. This is a waste of time."
As a response, Mel clicked the little button which made the flashlight go out. Darkness fell over them like a wet blanket, but it wasn't too long before their eyes had adapted to the new level of light. The constant pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the blue tarpaulin outside proved it was still raining, and the natural light that streamed in through the oakwood door was gray and gloomy.
Once they could move without stumbling over any of the stones that outlined the unused burial plot, they moved over to the oak door that was soon cracked ajar to exploit the meager amount of daylight. "Did you bring the updated translation of what it said on the runestone?" Janice said while she cast a glance outside. Rain still fell from the dark-gray sky, but the intensity seemed to have gone down just a little compared to earlier in the day - they were due a strong dose of luck, so she chose to interpret that positively.
"I did. Do you want me to read it aloud?"
"If ya don't mind?"
"Not at all. Hold the flashlight, Jan… I'll need more light than what the sun can provide right now," Mel said and dug into her shoulder bag that seemed to have been cut from the same strips of leather as Gabrielle's legendary hold-all when it came to its unlimited capacity.
"What sun? It packed its bags and moved to Florida! It's still pissin' down and plain ol' crappy out there!"
"Language, dear."
"Who gives a baloney sandwich! We're the only ones in here! That's the whole problem!" Janice said and broke out in a chuckle.
A crooked eyebrow was Mel's only reply before she concentrated on the piece of paper she had retrieved from her bag. Unfolding it, she began to read the most recent translation of the inscription found on the old runestone: "In the fall, three travelers came from afar to assist the great King Wermund of the Jutes at a gathering of chieftains on the eve of a war. The great warrior Xena of Amphipolis, leader of the three, had hair as dark as Odin's ravens and skin the color of new leather. She proved a calming presence upon the rival chieftains. The fair Gabrielle of Potaideia was a mediator though she carried weapons as well. The quiet, ah…" - Mel stopped reading aloud to look at Janice. "This second translation was written before I had deciphered Yannberah's name from the scroll fragment. It still says Gamberus here, but it's the same woman. Just so you won't get confused."
"Confused? Me? Confused?" Janice said and broke out in a loud laugh. "That's okay, Toots. Now that I know, you can go on."
"Why, thank you, dear," Mel said and adjusted her glasses. "Where was I… oh yes… the quiet Gamberus of Aquae Granni was a master with the bow and arrow. The negotiations lasted nine days and nights until a deal was struck and war was averted. The brave Amazon paid with her life as she was slain on the final night. The ashes of the woman of the forest now rest in this chamber where they shall remain until Ragnarok shall make all Kingdoms tremble."
Mel lowered the piece of paper with the translation to look at the empty burial plot behind them. "Except that they don't…" she continued before she adjusted her glasses.
"We're still missing something vital… dammit! Mel, I think we should get the students over here. They might think of something we haven't," Janice said and rubbed her face.
"That's a good plan. While you get them, I'll have time to make a quick sandwich with the bread Mrs. Lindholm gave us," Mel said and reached into the leather bag once more. She had already taken a loaf of white bread when her face lit up in a very broad smile. "Oh, and don't forget your sou'wester, dear!"
The mumbled response proved that Janice would rather face the entombed Ares for a second time than wear the yellow horror for but a minute longer - alas, the constant rain cared little for her emotional well-being so she swapped her fedora for the oilskin rain hat.
---
A short handful of minutes later, no less than six people crowded the ancient burial chamber. Like before, Mel needed to stand in the exact center of the unused plot or else she would need to duck her head - and with her neck muscles still giving her grief after the lengthy session wading through her books the night before, she could live without the extra hassle. Janice, Hanne and Torben stood off to the left just inside the door with Henning and Ellen having found a good spot off to the right.
"Now, as you can see…" Mel said as she moved the flashlight around to shine at the earthen floor and walls, "this chamber is seemingly empty. Empty and strangely devoid of any kind of personal touches. Doctor Covington and I have visited countless burial chambers from many different civilizations and eras, and every one of them have had at least a small amount of personal effects or other mementos related to the deceased. Not here. Theorize, please."
Torben Kjærsgaard put his hand in the air like he was used to from the classroom - then he realized nobody would be able to see it as long as he wasn't within the cone of light. "Ah… ah… Miss Pappas, maybe there was never any body here."
Henning leaned into his friend at once: "Det ville der heller ikke have været… han blev jo kremeret, ikke?"
"Nå ja…" Torben said before he turned back to Mel. "Oh… forget it."
"No, it's all right, Torben," Mel said with a smile. "I didn't understand the comments in Danish, but I recognized 'kremerred'. You mentioned cremated?"
"Yes, Miss Pappas," Henning said.
Hanne Nielsen's hand shot skyward like Torben had done only moments earlier - and similar to her junior colleague, she withdrew it since nobody could see it. "Miss Pappas, what if they just spread the ashes in here? Wouldn't they have gon- uh… disappeared almost at once?"
"It would, Hanne. That's a very good point. However, if the person interred here, Yannberah, really was an Amazon, or at least adhered to Amazonian traditions, our experience tells us that much like today, the ashes would have been poured into an urn once the pyre had cooled off sufficiently. Henning, the runestone that described the events… where was it found?"
Henning's eyes grew wide behind the round lenses from being spoken to. He needed a moment to gather his thoughts before he said: "The runestone was in the soil outside the entrance, Miss Pappas. Almost down at the new floor."
"I see. And the wooden case that contained the scroll fragment?"
"Ah, just over there," Henning continued and pointed at a spot not too far from the inside of the oak door.
When Mel moved the cone of light over there, it soon illuminated the spot she had already studied - the small section of the floor where the soil had been disturbed by the excavation process. "I see. And the small box was the only object found at that particular point?"
"Yes, Miss Pappas."
"Thank you, Henning. So… let's look at the facts," Mel said and briefly shone the cone of light at Janice who nodded in return. After moving the cone closer to herself, Mel continued: "The scroll fragment was written at the time of the events in question, I have confirmed that myself. We presume the Gathering of Chieftains, or Kings if you will, took place in the middle of the first century, AD. The fragment has a partial print of Yannberah's name on it so that confirms that person's involvement. The runestone was carved during the Old Norse era, but in fact before the Viking era as such. That's more than six hundred years on from the Gathering. The wooden case the fragment was in had a Thor's Hammer on the lid which dates it to the Old Norse era as well. Everyone with me so far?"
When a chorus of 'yes' came back at Mel from the students - and even Janice who flashed her a lopsided grin as well - she cleared her throat to begin the next part: "All right. Allow me to theorize. In the mid-six-hundreds, AD, the scroll fragment was found by someone who understood that it was very old. After putting it in a random box to protect it, perhaps he or she consulted an oracle… I don't know the proper Old Norse term, but I'm sure they had such a-"
"A Norn perhaps?" Ellen said excitedly. "No, one of the reigning King's runecasters! They were often asked for outcomes of battles and things like that."
"Ah, thank you, Ellen. Yes, the finder consulted someone wise who may have known the story of the Gathering and the three travelers from afar, to use the terms carved on the runestone. The ancient tradition of oral storytelling was still strong here, I believe, so such a vivid tale of heroics and tragic death would have been passed down through the generations and indeed the centuries. Inspired by the events, and to keep it for posterity, the person finding the scroll fragment commissioned a master mason to carve the stone that put the oral story into print… as it were. And here we are today, close to thirteen centuries after the runestone was created."
"Bravo!" Janice cried and clapped several times. "Hey, I wanna throw my hat in the air, but the roof is so low I'd only end up puttin' a dent in it… the hat, not the roof. That's a damned great theory, Mel. I can definitely see it playing out like that."
"Why, thank you, Doctor Covington," Mel said as a rare blush spread over her cheeks. "However, it doesn't explain where the urn went or why the chamber is so neutral and nondescript."
"Aw, don't kill the moment, Toots!" Janice said and let out a chuckle.
The students glanced at each other like they didn't know what to say; Ellen Chrone eventually spoke up: "Do we actually know for a fact the urn was ever here? Oral stories are really unreliable. It's like something from the war… ah…" - Ellen turned to her fellow students - "Kan I huske advarslen og Storm P tegningen med fjeren der blev til fem høns? Kunne det ikke være det samme her?"
As the three other assistants all nodded and let out affirmative grunts, Ellen turned back to Mel and Janice. "Oh, I don't know if it translates well, but during the war, one of the most popular sayings was 'the feather that became five hens,' uh… to warn people of not spreading rumors because the story would always be-"
"Twisted or grow more and more exaggerated as it travels from person to person," Mel said and adjusted her glasses. "That's an excellent point, Ellen. Thank you very much. Jan, we must consider that as well. This story may have a kernel of truth and six hundred years of exaggerations on top."
Janice let out a "Hmmm," as she scrunched up her face. "Yeah. But what's the truth and what's the stinky cheese? The fella carving the runes couldn't have pulled the things about 'hair like Odin's ravens and skin the color of new leather' out of his a- uh, sleeve. Hmmm… hmmm, hmmm, hmmm. No, I don't think we can get any further here today. We need more information first. Maybe the professor has improved enough for a bedside chat. We still need to ask him about Aqua Granny or whatever it was called."
The lack of progress and the sudden halt of the proceedings dampened the collective mood of the six people inside the burial chamber. A lot of disappointed shuffling took place before Mel ducked her head and stepped out of the center of the dome; again, she thought she could hear wood creaking somewhere close.
When a quick glance down at the stones and the soil at her booted feet didn't yield anything untoward, she turned the light at the oak door. At that exact moment, a gust of wind made the sturdy door move an inch or so which produced a sound similar to, but not fully identical to, the one she had heard. Furrowing her brow, she moved the light back to the unused plot between the stones but could only see her own bootprints in the soil. She eventually turned off the flashlight but stored the information at the back of her mind.
Meanwhile, Janice had moved over to the door to look out. "Aw, bullcrap… it's still raining. How can it rain this much? Perhaps we should build a Goddamned ark instead!" she growled. Sighing, she swapped her beloved fedora for the hideous sou'wester and once more headed out into the monsoon-like conditions.
-*-*-*-
An hour later, Mel and Janice walked down the hallway of the historical inn's upper floor to visit the poorly professor. They had spent the entire time since returning from the burial chamber hanging soaked clothes on coat hangers above the cast-iron radiator that had been turned up to its highest setting - the one-two combination of the heavy rain and the strong gusts of wind on the return trip had simply been too forceful for even the borrowed oil skin gear to deal with.
They had both had to change into their spare outfits, so although Janice's shirt was still tan, it was old and worn from years of hard use on various digs around the world. That she had even brought it along was down to the fact that she claimed it was a lucky charm - Mel wasn't particularly impressed by that claim. To cover the threadbare spots, Janice wore her leather jacket. Her pants still carried damp patches from the ankles to above the knees, but her only spare set was a pair of denim dungarees that she used for various filthy labor like working on her Harley-Davidson WLA back home, and they would be completely out of place when speaking to a distinguished professor.
Mel wore her medium-brown, tailor-made travel dress that made her stand out in any crowd, and especially one where the other people in her vicinity wore everyday clothing like farmer's shirts, vests and coarse pants held up by broad suspenders. She had left her leather bag and its vast pile of contents back in their own room, but her slender fingers carried her notepad and a pencil to be able to jot down the answers she hoped they would get from the professor.
It wasn't long before they arrived at the door to the professor's room. After knocking softly, Mel straightened Janice's jacket and collar so they were at least in the same time zone. Sounds of someone moving around in the room filtered through the wooden door, and it wasn't long before it was opened to reveal Mrs. Lindholm - her eyes grew wide and puzzled for a second at the sight of the well-dressed woman outside until she recognized Mel's smiling face. The innkeeper's wife was seldom seen outside her kitchen, and the tray that was visible in the background offered a hint that she had just delivered a hot meal to the elderly man.
Like her husband, Anne-Marie Lindholm was in her mix-sixties and had gray hair and rosy cheeks. Her hair was always kept in a tight bun at the neck so it wouldn't fall into any of the pots or pans she worked at. Whereas Svend-Aage was distinctly portly, Anne-Marie was merely of sturdy stock which meant she was far swifter on her feet than her lumbering husband. At present, she wore a white apron over a traditional, dark-gray dress with a medium-length skirt and three-quarter-length sleeves that eliminated the risk of having them dip into the soup. She wore soft shoes to help her get through the fourteen-hour working days that were required during the peak season.
"Åh… goddag igen, kæreste Frøken Pappas. De er her vel for at tale med Hr. Professoren? My… my English not good. You are here to speak with professor?" - the latter part of the question was delivered in the characteristic flat accent that nearly all Danes used when they spoke English.
"Yes we are, Mrs. Lindholm," Mel said with a smile as she and Janice stepped into the room - the latter offered a grin and a nod at Anne-Marie. A quick glance proved the room was identical to their own, except that it was mirrored. "How is he now?"
"Oh, he is still sick. Tea and rum helped him sleep. He is awake now," Anne-Marie said as she glanced at the foot of the bed that was just visible from the door. "I made him warm chicken soup so he can eat."
"That's certainly good to hear. We have a few questions we need to ask the professor. I promise we won't stay long," Mel said and moved past their hostess on her way into the guest room's central area.
Anne-Marie furrowed her brow like the comments had been a little too much for her to parse, but since she knew the two Americans wouldn't be rude or cause any problems, she smiled and nodded and smiled a little more before she left for her pots and pans downstairs.
Janice unzipped her leather jacket but kept it on to cover for the threadbare shirt she wore underneath. As she stepped into the room, a suffocating wall of heat from the hot radiator greeted her and made her stick a finger down her shirt's collar almost at once.
Thorkild Granfeldt sat upright in his sickbed with a highly advanced, four-legged tray placed in front of him. The four spindly legs of the odd-looking contraption had been attached to the bed's frame to act as a rock-solid platform - it was intended to be used for breakfast in bed so the bowl of chicken soup fit the theme nicely. Several pillows propped up the elderly man's back, and he wore a bib to stop any soup-spillages from staining the white sleeping shirt and the rest of the bedlinen.
Mel thought he looked even paler than he had done the day before, but although his eyes were glazed over slightly from the illness and the medicine he had taken, there was nothing sluggish about his gestures as he repeatedly brought a spoon up to his mouth to get the most out of the soup while it was hot. His chin and cheeks were home to fine, white stubble so he hadn't had the strength required to shave yet. His swooping mustache had lost quite a bit of its regular luster; it just seemed to sit there between his nose and his lips that glistened from eating the soup.
"Good afternoon, Professor Granfeldt. How are you feeling, Sir?" Mel said politely.
Janice didn't feel a particularly strong urge to be polite to the stubborn, short-sighted fellow, so she moved over to one of the chairs and sat down instead.
After using a cloth napkin to dab his lips and mustache free of excess soup, the professor offered his guests a faint smile. "Good afternoon, Miss Pappas. Doctor Covington. Oh, I've been better. My throat is raw from the coughing, but the delightful soup and the rum in my tea have helped."
"We're glad to hear it," Mel continued and moved up to the side of the bed. She shot a sideways glance at Janice whose firm - though slouched - position in the chair proved she had no intentions of getting any closer.
The professor soon finished the chicken soup and pushed the empty bowl away. After dabbing his lips again and putting the napkin onto the tray, he reached down to the bed's frame to release the locking mechanism holding the odd-looking contraption in place. "Miss Pappas, would you mind removing this thing? Just put it down on the floor, please. Thank you," he said as he leaned back and got himself comfortable on the bed.
Smiling, Mel quickly removed the tray and put it on the floor like she had been asked. When the access to the bed had improved, she sat down on the edge of the mattress mindful of not accidentally sitting on the elderly professor's legs. "If you feel up to it, we have a few questions we'd like to run by you, Sir," she said as she flipped open the notepad and readied her pencil.
A small cough made the professor press a handkerchief against his mouth, but it didn't evolve into a larger fit. "By all means, Miss Pappas," he said as she put the handkerchief under the duvet. "Did you find anything in the chamber that could verify your theory?"
"We did not, Professor. In fact, that's one of the questions we have," Mel said and held the tip of the pencil ready at the top of the blank page. "The burial chamber is empty, and it shouldn't be."
"Very true."
"A theory for the cause of the missing artifacts could be that it was looted. Doctor Covington and I wonder how often this region has been invaded over the centuries?"
"Oh…" Professor Granfeldt said and gained a distant look in his eyes. He held his handkerchief over his nose like he needed to sneeze, but nothing came out of it and the handkerchief was soon under the duvet once more. "Well… it's a question of semantics, Miss Pappas. You see, the borders between the kingdoms were far more fluant back then-"
"Fluid," Mel offered.
" 'Beg pardon?" - The professor gained a brief, puzzled look before he understood what Mel had meant. "Oh… yes, fluid compared to today. If the farmland was fertile, it would be the focus of constant squabbling between rival chieftains. Everyone wanted fertile land so it could support their soldiers and foreign mercenaries during the endless confli-"
A cough caught the professor by surprise, and he needed to press the handkerchief against his mouth to conceal it. A second cough followed on the heels of the first one, and it took several deep breaths for him to get back on an even keel.
"Janice," Mel said and turned around, "would you mind fetching a glass of water for Professor Granfeldt, please?"
"No problem," Janice said and got up from the chair. She was soon back holding a tumbler that she had purposely only filled up to just above halfway so it would be easier for the elderly patient to control. She handed the glass of water to the professor who eagerly gulped down the refreshing liquid. Once Janice's task had been accomplished, she moved back to the chair and resumed her slouching.
"Thank you, Doctor Covington," Thorkild Granfeldt said before he put the near-empty glass on the bedside table. "Now, where was I…?"
"The fertile land," Mel said.
"Ah, indeed. Well, like I said, the land was required to feed the men under the chieftain's command. Simply as a result of the fortunes of war, the name of the region's ruler would change almost as frequently as the tide… and even beyond that, his sons or underlings might trade ownership of a stretch of land over a card game. Not to mention the people, or slaves if you will, who lived there. We shouldn't overlook that fact."
"I see," Mel said while her pencil flew back and forth across the page to jot down everything that was said.
"I know it was a long-winded answer to a simple question, but you must remember that during the Iron Age, a handful of tribes each had their own small states here in Denmark. The Jutes were here in Jutland… hence the name… the Danes ruled Zealand and parts of southern Sweden. Then we had the Saxons, the Heruli, the Teutons, et cetera. And everyone fought everyone else at all times."
Mel let out a dark chuckle while she adjusted her glasses. "Indeed. Considering the dark years we all went through just recently, I'd say mankind has learned little over the millennia."
"Oh, and the bloody Nazis were obviously here for five years." As the professor spoke on, his voice became tinged with bitterness. "They had an unhealthy obsession for everything that seemed to confirm their wretched Master Race theories, didn't they? They couldn't get enough of the Viking and Old Norse periods. I worked at the National Museum in Copenhagen during the war, and I often had to act as a guide to high-ranking Nazi officers who wanted the full tour of the Norse halls. One of the best known runestones at the museum has a large swastika on it because it was the Viking symbol of the sun. The officers all stopped and did the Hitler salute at an inanimate object, those damned fools!"
Mel let out a brief grunt as she finished updating the latest set of notes. Tapping her pencil against her cheek, she looked over at Janice who nodded back with a grim look upon her face - that was an angle they hadn't considered.
The agitation meant a couple of minor coughs racked the weakened professor, and he had to gulp down the rest of the water. His hand trembled as he put the empty glass back onto the bedside table.
"Professor," Mel continued, "on a somewhat related note… the runestone you discovered in front of the burial mound mentioned that Yannb- Gamberus came from the settlement of Aquae Granni. Would you happen to know where that might have been? The name suggests it was somewhere within the Roman sphere of interest."
Thorkild Granfeldt needed to cough lightly a couple of times before he could go on. When the tickling in his chest persisted, he reached for a small jar that had been placed on the bedside table.
When Mel noticed it had been put too far out of reach for the patient, she took it and offered it to him.
"Ah… thank you, Miss Pappas. This is something we call a hostepastil… coughing drops. They have a wonderful taste of liquorice and anise," the professor said as he snatched one of the pieces of amber-colored hard candy and proceeded to put it in his mouth. Soon, his impressive mustache danced around as he sucked on the coughing drop.
The large piece of candy seemed to do the trick as he was able to settle down again. "Aquae Granni," he said around the tasty remedy, "was the Latin name of a Bronze Age settlement that had developed around a natural hot spring. It was near the border of modern-day Belgium and Germany. If I recall correctly, the Romans rediscovered it when they built a garrison close by in the first century, AD. I'll bet they would have used it extensively. You won't find the name on modern maps, but the city of Aachen is roughly where Aquae Granni used to be."
"Aachen. I see. Thank you, Professor," Mel said as she updated her notepad. She began to chew on the pencil as several possible scenarios ran past her mind's eye. The mention of hot springs made her shoot Janice another glance - this one was followed by a wink. They had both read plenty of descriptions of hot springs in Gabrielle's scrolls to know that Xena didn't mind taking a two-day detour if it meant visiting a hot spring.
The elderly professor suddenly broke out in a wide yawn that he barely had time to conceal with a hand. After rolling the hard candy around with his tongue, he smacked his lips a couple of times and snuggled down in the white bedlinen. "I'm terribly sorry, Miss Pappas… Doctor Covington… but I need a nap. I hardly slept last night from all the annoying coughing."
"Of course, Professor Granfeldt," Mel said and rose from the bed. After smoothing down her skirt - and waving at Janice to get up from the chair - she moved down to stand at the foot-end of the sickbed so the professor could see her more easily. "You've been most helpful, Sir. Thank you very much. We certainly wish you a speedy recovery."
"You're welcome, Miss Pappas… and thank you. Would you mind turning off the lights on your way out?"
"Not in the least," Mel said and eyed the light switch that had been placed on the opposite wall of the one in their own room.
---
Mel strode along in silence once they had returned to the hallway, but Janice was typically less silent. "So… the Krauts, eh? That doesn't surprise me a damn bit. But do you really think any of those fellas would bother to steal a completely random urn from a completely random burial chamber? I mean… your average soldier or even officer couldn't have known about the runestone so he couldn't have known about the connection to the Fatherland. That stone was still under three feet of dirt during the war. And, hell, they were so busy looting works of art from all over Europe that I can't imagine that something as trivial as an old urn would give anyone of 'em a tickle in his shorts."
Chuckling at the colorful description, Mel unlocked the door to their own room and stepped inside. Once Janice had been ushered in as well, she closed the door and began to remove the bobby pin that had held her hair into a bun. "You're right, the average foot soldier wouldn't have cared," she said as she liberated her long tresses from their temporary imprisonment, "but for a German officer, especially one of the party faithful, you might say the Viking burial mounds represented Elysia. Don't forget, they considered the Vikings the pure-blooded prototypes of the Aryan race. It seems to fit."
"Seems to fit… I don't know if it does, though," Janice said and shook her head slowly. " 'Cos the soil around the entrance to the mound was only disturbed when the professor's team arrived a few weeks ago. I'm pretty sure of that. And it definitely wasn't dug into and then patched up less than a decade ago. No way."
"Well, you said yourself the urn might have been moved from the mound to a safer location centuries ago," Mel said with a smile. "Why, it could have been stored right here at the inn."
"Yeah… but… naw. Dammit, this mess makes my head hurt. All right," Janice said and unzipped her leather jacket. After throwing it onto their unmade bed, she grabbed a chair, turned it around and sat down the wrong way. "So… how about this sequence of events, then," she continued as she placed her elbows on the chair's backrest. "Xena and Gabrielle get word that something is brewin' up here in the Norselands so they travel from Greece and all the way across Europe. They know the region is still controlled by various blood-thirsty warlords and chieftains. I'm thinking they'd perhaps want some quality ooh-la-la-time before they met the smelly fellas-"
An exasperated glare originated from directly behind Mel's black, horn-rimmed glasses; then it flew across the room until it slapped against the grinning face of her partner. "Janice Covington, really…"
"No, no… hear me out. So, on their way up here, they get wind of a hot spring and Xena's all giddy about it. They go to the settlement and hook up with Yannberah who's apparently an Amazon. Maybe a local, maybe an ex-pat Greek, we don't know yet. And for some reason, this Amazon gal joins them on the next part of their journey up to Yelling. Where Xena and Gabrielle prevent a war and Yannberah gets herself killed by persons unknown for reasons even more unknown."
"Well," Mel said and adjusted her glasses, "that sounds about right…"
"Jeez… it's still a mystery, no matter how much we twist and turn it. We're still missin' a couple-a pieces of the jigsaw puzzle," Janice said and gave her face a thorough rubbing.
Mel shrugged and went about her business for a short while. After putting the notepad and the pencil next to the countless tomes on the messy dinner table, she turned back to Janice. "I could do with some hot coffee and a few slices of that wonderful lemon-flavored sponge cake… are you interested?"
"With your hair down and all sexy-like? Is that a trick question?" Janice said with a wink - it earned her a crooked eyebrow and a highly dramatic sigh in return. "Oh, the sponge cake… right. Nah. But tell you what… I'll get it this time. That way, you can kick back and relax your gorgeous mind a little. Whaddaya say?"
"Well, I certainly wouldn't object to that. Thank you."
"You betcha," Janice said and moved off the chair. She was in the process of donning her leather jacket when Mel continued:
"I think I'll make the bed while you're away."
"Oooh!"
Another dramatic sigh followed the one from before. "For sleeping, Jan. In case we want to make it an early evening," Mel said and adjusted her glasses all over again.
"Y'know, I'm quite fond of makin' it an early evening," Janice said with a grin. Chuckling, she hurried out of the door before she would be slapped by yet another of Mel's trademark glares or crooked eyebrows.
*
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