were all concentrated in the front six rows. He must, he realized, make a start at learning their names. His eyes strayed toward the right front seat, where a sleepy-looking Susan Cohen sat alone. He knew
her
name well enough; ten to go.
The bus left the airport terminal, and for the first time the members of the tour got a glimpse of English scenery. It was not an auspicious beginning. Acres of scrub woodland and pasture stretched out on either side of the congested motorway, looking less than glamorous under a buttermilk sky that threatened rain at any moment.
After a moment’s experimentation with the coach microphone, Rowan Rover resumed his briefing. “Our first destination is Winchester, appropriately enough. After all, Winchester was the first capital of England, both before and after the Norman Conquest. It was the capital of Saxon Wessex, and later William the Conqueror’s capital of Norman England. He built a palace there after the invasion.”
“It’s a bakery now,” said Emma Smith.
The guide stopped in mid-vowel. “I beg your pardon?”
“The site of William the Conqueror’s palace is now occupied by a bakery. It’s beside the market cross. The bakery has a little sign in the window.”
“Specializing in French rolls, no doubt,” said Rowan acidly. He consulted his lecture notes. “And many of the early kings are buried in Winchester Cathedral. We will be staying at the Wessex, a Trusthouse Forte Hotel right on the cathedral green.”
“I don’t remember any hotel there,” muttered Emma Smith to her mother.
Elizabeth, who was sitting in the seat in front of them, overheard this remark and turned around. “Have you been to Winchester before?”
“Yes, when I was in college, I went on an archaeological dig to Winchester. We were digging for the old Saxon cathedral that had been destroyed by William the Conqueror in 1066. Its ruins are beneath the present churchyard. But there wasn’t a hotel next to the cathedral. I’m sure of it.”
“You went on the dig when you were in college?” said Maud Marsh, momentarily distracted from the indifferentscenery of the motorway. “How did American students happen to be allowed on the dig?”
“I think the British may have needed the money to do it in a hurry,” said Emma. “As I recall, a private company was planning to build something on land that had once been part of the cathedral holdings. When they started excavating, they found ruins, so they gave the archaeologists a certain amount of time to excavate the site before it was destroyed. Two American universities—Duke and North Carolina—put up the money in exchange for being allowed to send their own archaeology students over for field study. At least I think that’s how it went.”
Miriam Angel laughed at the memory of her daughter’s adventure. “Emma wrote us twice a week, telling us about what they were finding and what work she had been assigned. Once, I remember we got a letter from her that said, ‘Dear Mom and Dad, This week we are finding mass graves in the old churchyard. We have dug up lepers from the Crusades, and plague victims from the Black Death. How long do germs live?’ Her father wrote her back: ‘We don’t know, but we burned your letters.’ ”
“One of our daughters wanted to major in archaeology,” said Nancy Warren, with a glance at her husband. “Did you become an archaeologist, Emma?”
“No. That was the Sixties, when you did things that had no bearing on real life. I majored in math after that, and I taught for a while before I got married. This will be my first trip back to Winchester since the dig.”
“I expect a lot has changed since you were there, Emma,” said her mother. “Twenty years.”
Emma Smith frowned. “I hope it isn’t too commercialized,” she sighed.
Across the aisle Frances Coles giggled. “If William the Conqueror is running a bakery, I’d expect the worst, if I were you.”
By this time Rowan Rover had
her
name well enough; ten to go.
The bus left the airport terminal, and for the first time the members of the tour got a glimpse of English scenery. It was not an auspicious beginning. Acres of scrub woodland and pasture stretched out on either side of the congested motorway, looking less than glamorous under a buttermilk sky that threatened rain at any moment.
After a moment’s experimentation with the coach microphone, Rowan Rover resumed his briefing. “Our first destination is Winchester, appropriately enough. After all, Winchester was the first capital of England, both before and after the Norman Conquest. It was the capital of Saxon Wessex, and later William the Conqueror’s capital of Norman England. He built a palace there after the invasion.”
“It’s a bakery now,” said Emma Smith.
The guide stopped in mid-vowel. “I beg your pardon?”
“The site of William the Conqueror’s palace is now occupied by a bakery. It’s beside the market cross. The bakery has a little sign in the window.”
“Specializing in French rolls, no doubt,” said Rowan acidly. He consulted his lecture notes. “And many of the early kings are buried in Winchester Cathedral. We will be staying at the Wessex, a Trusthouse Forte Hotel right on the cathedral green.”
“I don’t remember any hotel there,” muttered Emma Smith to her mother.
Elizabeth, who was sitting in the seat in front of them, overheard this remark and turned around. “Have you been to Winchester before?”
“Yes, when I was in college, I went on an archaeological dig to Winchester. We were digging for the old Saxon cathedral that had been destroyed by William the Conqueror in 1066. Its ruins are beneath the present churchyard. But there wasn’t a hotel next to the cathedral. I’m sure of it.”
“You went on the dig when you were in college?” said Maud Marsh, momentarily distracted from the indifferentscenery of the motorway. “How did American students happen to be allowed on the dig?”
“I think the British may have needed the money to do it in a hurry,” said Emma. “As I recall, a private company was planning to build something on land that had once been part of the cathedral holdings. When they started excavating, they found ruins, so they gave the archaeologists a certain amount of time to excavate the site before it was destroyed. Two American universities—Duke and North Carolina—put up the money in exchange for being allowed to send their own archaeology students over for field study. At least I think that’s how it went.”
Miriam Angel laughed at the memory of her daughter’s adventure. “Emma wrote us twice a week, telling us about what they were finding and what work she had been assigned. Once, I remember we got a letter from her that said, ‘Dear Mom and Dad, This week we are finding mass graves in the old churchyard. We have dug up lepers from the Crusades, and plague victims from the Black Death. How long do germs live?’ Her father wrote her back: ‘We don’t know, but we burned your letters.’ ”
“One of our daughters wanted to major in archaeology,” said Nancy Warren, with a glance at her husband. “Did you become an archaeologist, Emma?”
“No. That was the Sixties, when you did things that had no bearing on real life. I majored in math after that, and I taught for a while before I got married. This will be my first trip back to Winchester since the dig.”
“I expect a lot has changed since you were there, Emma,” said her mother. “Twenty years.”
Emma Smith frowned. “I hope it isn’t too commercialized,” she sighed.
Across the aisle Frances Coles giggled. “If William the Conqueror is running a bakery, I’d expect the worst, if I were you.”
By this time Rowan Rover had
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