The Tombs

“Look at the entrance,” Remi said. “It’s like the other—made of mortared stones.”

“Let’s see what’s left in there,” Sam said. Sam took a nylon climbing rope out of his backpack, tied a loop, put it over the shaft of his spade, then propped the spade in the corner of the hole’s entrance to hold it. They adjusted their night vision goggles, and he lowered Remi into the chamber. After a few seconds, the rope went slack. There were a few seconds of silence.

“What do you see?”

“It’s not empty, but I think it’s been looted. There aren’t any piles of gold down here. Come look.”

Sam rappelled down the i

“The Romans had cement. Why not Attila?” Remi said.

“I know. If he wanted a mason, I’m sure he could have captured a thousand of them. It looks as though they made this chamber of timbers and then plastered the whole thing with cement, probably on both sides.”

“Look,” said Remi. She was standing a dozen feet away, beside a pile of metal that still had a dull gleam in the amplified green light of the night vision goggles.

Sam joined her. “I don’t see any gold, but this is amazing—Roman shields, helmets and breastplates, swords, javelins. This must have been part of the spoils of the campaign.”

“They’re historically valuable,” Remi said. “But still, it doesn’t make me happy to know that Bako’s French friends beat us here.”

“Let’s find the inscription, unless they took that too.”

They searched the walls, looking for any faint scratches. Then, at the bottom of the pile of Roman equipment, they found a shield that was not like the four-foot-high rectangular Roman scuta that curves back at the sides. This was a round one with a steel boss at the center that stuck out like a spike. On the i

Remi took a picture of it with her cell phone’s camera, then had Sam hold the shield and took several pictures from different angles to bring out the carved letters in sharp relief. “There,” she said. “That should do it. Wait a second. It shouldn’t be here. Bako’s friends should know that this shield was important—maybe more important than anything else in the chamber. Why would they leave it?”

Sam shrugged. “They must have dropped in, seen lots of gold and silver and stones, taken them, and left. It’s incredible luck for us.”

“Let’s get moving, then,” Remi said. “You climb up and pull these things out with the rope and I’ll tie the next load.”

Sam ran the rope through the hand straps of the first two Roman scuta, then made a bundle of javelins and a bundle of Roman gladius swords, the standard-issue Roman short sword. He climbed to the surface, set the artifacts in piles, then threw the rope down to Remi.

After a couple of minutes, she called, “Haul away!”

When he pulled up the rope this time, there were five undecorated helmets belonging to common soldiers, two scuta, and four breastplates. He leaned down into the entrance, wearing a helmet as he stuck his head in the chamber. “Is that everything?”

“My heart goes pit-a-pat for a man in uniform,” said Remi. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“There was a light, like a beam, that went past in the air behind you.”

He pulled back and looked across the field in each direction. “I don’t see anything now. Probably just an airplane’s landing lights as it came in toward Reims. It’s not the year 451 anymore.”

“Then you should update your wardrobe.”

“Grab the rope and I’ll pull you up.”

OUTSIDE CUPERLY, FRANCE

WHEN THEY HAD REACHED THE SURFACE AND WERE IN the night air again, they sat on top of the chamber surrounded by the high pile of dirt from the excavation. Remi said, “We should probably take a couple rails off the fence and drive the truck here to load up, as we did in Italy.”

“Not a bad plan,” said Sam. “I’m not eager to walk back and forth to get it all.”

“I love it when you have the sense to agree with me,” she said.

“Really? I’ll try to remember that.”

“As long as you’re not trying to flatter and manipulate me into doing nice things for you at some later time,” she added.

“Oh?” he said. “Would that be bad?”

“Sort of bad. Not I’m furious at you bad, but certainly not your best behavior.”

“Certainly not,” he said. “But my best behavior? That’s a very high standard.”

“Of course,” she answered. “Shall we do this?”

“Okay,” he said. “Since it was such a good idea.”

“Thank you.”

She picked up a bundle of javelins he had tied together, strapped a gladius in its sheath around his waist, and picked up the shield with the message on it. They both climbed out of the excavation. There was a loud snap as a bullet passed overhead and they jumped back into the hole. A second later, there was the sound of another shot.

Remi raised her head over the edge of the trench and put her night vision goggles on.

“Get down,” said Sam.

“Did you hear the shot? He’s about three hundred yards out. He couldn’t even hit a big target like you.”

“Not on his first shot, but I’ll bet he’s zeroed in now.”

A third shot plowed into the pile of dirt behind them, and Remi ducked down. “Do you have any ideas?”

“He may be able to find the range quickly, but hitting a ru

“I didn’t ask for random musings. I wanted a plan.”

There were three more shots in rapid succession, one of them very high, one to the side, and one in the dirt behind them. Sam peered over the rim of the hole toward the distant rocks. “There’s a car—looks like a Range Rover—up by the rock shelf. There are three or four of them with rifles, aiming at us.”

Remi said, “Has it occurred to you that they’re using the same strategy as the Romans and Visigoths: arriving first at the high ground and then holding us down with fire from a distance?”

“If only they were shooting arrows,” said Sam. “Here. Take this.” He put another Roman helmet on her head, picked up a Roman scuta, rapped it with his knuckles, then set it aside and chose another. “This one’s better. It’s got a layer of metal on the outside.” He picked up a third scuta.

“This won’t stop a bullet,” she said.

“No, but they’ll make us harder to kill.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. Hold it over your back like this.”

“You look like a turtle.”

“Success. That’s the idea. It’s hard enough to hit someone who’s ru

Sam climbed out of the trench, ran away from the road as though he had a miraculous new plan, then made a quick jog to the side just as the shooters fired again. Remi saw he was drawing fire, climbed up and held her scuta behind her as she sprinted straight for the parked truck.

Sam reversed his direction and ran after her. Not noticing Remi at first, the snipers fired at him again.

Remi was still dashing for the truck, her body low and the four-foot scuta on her right shoulder to keep it toward the snipers. She ran past the nearest of the test holes, the one filled with artillery shells. As she had feared, the snipers fired round after round at the hole, trying to set off an explosion. But, as she had hoped, from where they were, they couldn’t do anything but hit the dirt piled up around it. Even after she was past the danger zone, she could hear them wasting rounds on the explosives, thinking Sam’s approach was a second chance to hit the old shells.