Mythology Abroad by Jody Lynn Nye Page B

down in a canvas director’s chair with a sigh. “In my opinion, only his tools have advanced in sophistication. Well, that was a good day’s work. I thank you all, especially our newcomers. Now we like to sit down and have a chat over what we’ve done today. What you Americans would call the ‘recap.’” Keith grinned at Holl, and the others chuckled.
    “Before you came,” Miss Sanders began, “my lot were turning over the rubbish tip. Once we had an idea of the perimeter of the settlement, we started nosing about downwind. There it was, just about twenty paces behind one of the structures. Fairly extensive.”
    “You can’t still smell any of it, can you?” Mrs. Turner asked in alarm, wrinkling her nose.
    “Not at all,” the archaeologist answered impishly. “Kitchen refuse becomes quite sanitized after four thousand years. We’ve come up with the bones of many herd animals, and an enormous quantity of remains of fish and shellfish. We take that to mean that the settlement was prosperous, since they weren’t dependent upon a strict diet of fish. Herd animals would be more rare in a poor environment.”
    “Doesn’t the amber necklace prove that they were wealthy?” Matthew asked. He took a proprietary pride in his find, and no one seemed to object.
    “Amber,” Dr. Crutchley began in a lecturing air, “was both an irreducible tally and in itself valuable. Our ancestors weren’t utter barbarians. They were attracted by the beauty of the substance. Now, without any other evidence to support it, what do you think the pot was doing out there at the bottom of the settlement?”
    Encouraged by the professor, the students offered their own conclusions. The professional archaeologists took their theories seriously, discussing the pros and cons of each suggestion. Keith found the give and take stimulating, and volunteered his own theory.
    “Maybe that amber string was somebody’s ace in the hole. You know, cookie jar money, and he wanted to keep his advantage hidden.”
    The others laughed. Dr. Crutchley let the corners of his mouth curl up. “Very interesting, Keith,” he said. He seemed to harbor no ill will for Keith having showered him with dirt, and even confessed that not only had it happened to him before, but he’d done it to others himself.
    “Am I right?” asked Keith eagerly.
    “Probably not, son,” said the archaeologist, grinding ash out of the pipe bowl and tamping fresh tobacco into it with his thumb. Keith’s face fell. Dr. Crutchley went on. “But you make me think that you’re heading in the right direction. I am reminded of a book in my library—I must send for it from London—that mentions a similar artifact. You may not have the right answers, but you function nicely as a catalyst for others by making them think. Do remember, there’s no theory so silly that it hasn’t been proposed in quite serious scientific papers by my learned colleagues.” He lit the pipe and drew on it, watching the others humorously through the thicket of his eyebrows. “We are coming to the conclusion that this was a trading village. By its placement, and by the types of artifacts we are finding here, our theory continues to be borne out. What I would like to find, though it is nearly impossible with the dearth of evidence, was what early man thought about.” He looked around at his circle of listeners. “What inspired him? What brought him here? Whom or what did he blame when it rained? Luckily, the Celts and Saxons were inclined to tell stories to us, their extreme descendants, through the decoration and ornamentation of household goods, what they ate, what things they held dear and,” with a wave toward Keith, “what they kept hidden. Yes, I will have to send for that book.”
    “I’ve made a note of it, Professor,” Miss Sanders said, flourishing her pen.
    From the crest of the hill where they sat, the students could see the shining ribbon of the river leading down to the sea. The hills