“Well, this is the cannon they named it after,” he said. “Something about the hangover, I imagine. This is also why we have to be careful when we dig in France. The Marne is just to the south and east beyond that field. In the summer of 1918, General Ludendorff planned a big offensive to take the Champagne region. The allies got a copy of his plan, moved a lot of artillery around, and, an hour before the German attack, opened fire with over three thousand cannons. I’m guessing from the position and condition of this cannon that it probably got damaged in the return fire—or just got too hot.”
“Whoever got here before us probably picked up a big spike on their magnetometer, dug down, and found it,” said Remi.
“Let’s go look at the next hole.”
They moved toward the next one in the field, stopped, and looked in. At the bottom of the hole was what seemed to be the remains of a couple of wooden crates, both age-darkened and rotted-away. There was also the metal rim of a wagon wheel and the hub. Sam cautiously poked at the crates, which were as soft as wet cardboard. He saw the row of five cannon rounds, shaped like giant bullets, the brass casings green with patina from being buried for so long and the projectiles a uniform gray. “There’s a find,” he said. “Unexploded ordnance. It looks like a buried caisson. Let’s move on.”
“We should call somebody,” Remi said.
“We will. There are so many bombs and mines and artillery shells from both world wars that France still keeps teams on the payroll to dispose of them when they turn up.”
“This must have been quite a surprise to Bako’s French friends when they dug their test holes,” Remi said.
“Well, there’s just one more hole dug in the field and it looks bigger than the first two,” Sam said. “Whatever they found must be something that doesn’t blow up.” They walked toward the third hole.
They stepped up to the mound of earth that had been thrown aside in the digging.
“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 inner wall of the chamber. His feet touched a surface and he knelt. “It’s cement,” he said.
“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 scutathat 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 inner side, engraved around the rim, was an inscription in Latin.
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 youbad, 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 running figure is a bit harder.”
“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.”