The Calatrava Relic

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          The archaeological fieldwork at Zorita castle had proceeded normally for several weeks, but then everything changed. The college students had hacked into the unyielding dirt with shovels, hand picks, and trowels, and found the normal things; lots of rocks, pieces of pottery (mostly brown but some with green- or mustard-colored glazes), charcoal, slivers of animal bone, and an occasional chunk of rusted iron. But then, two young women, one from Oxford University and the other M.I.T., uncovered something strange, deep within their trench.

          The Oxford coed, Nicole Parker knelt, lanky frame folded awkwardly, her black hair floating in wild spirals in the dusty air. She hummed gently as she scraped her handpick against the trench’s sidewall. Beside her, Brittani Thomas dug with quiet precision, her long blond ponytail swinging like a metronome with each stroke of her trowel. She silently muttered numbers under her breath, depth measurements, pot shard counts, and bone totals, her voice serene, like a mantra.

          This morning, they had been working for hours, the Spanish sun beating down upon them, causing sweat to bead on their foreheads and stain their shirts. Nicole paused, wiped her brow with the back of her glove, and scraped the trench wall again. But her trowel struck something producing a hollow, faint resonant sound not belonging to solid earth. Nicole froze. “What?” she murmured.

          Brittani, hearing the surprise in Nicole’s voice, looked up, eyebrows raised. “What?” she repeated.

          Nicole, not able to speak, pointed. Brittani did not see anything unusual; she shrugged. Nicole, face puzzled, leaned forward and scraped the wall again. The dirt crumbled away, revealing a dark void at the base of the trench, no more than the size of her fist. Suddenly a gust of stale air burst upward, carrying the scent of age; dry, musty, and sweet with the scent of decay. Nicole jerked backwards. “What just happened?” she yelped.

          Brittani leaned past Nicole and with efficient strokes, brushed away more loose dirt. The cavity widened and stones tumbled inward, clattering into unseen depths, echoing as if they seemed to fall forever.

          Nicole’s mouthed, “You hear that? That’s weird.”

          Brittani nodded, “It’s deep,” she said, her words clipped, almost breathless.

          They exchanged a look, a collective thrill, a shared secret. The archaeological site’s director Dr. Marina Romero had hinted about the castle’s hidden chambers, but they had thought nothing of her wistful ruminations. However now, looking at this suspicious hole, anything was possible.

          “Is this it?’ asked Nicole, her eyes wide.

          “I don’t know,” answered Brittani, “let’s dig some more.” She picked up a handpick.

          “Don’t mess up.”

          “I won’t.” Brittani worked the sides of a hole, tenderly removing rocks and dirt, her heart pounding. The air between the two crackled with expectation. Nicole laid her hand on Brittani’s shoulder, willing her to be careful. More material vanished into the growing cavity. Brittani stopped, leaned back and estimated its size, “I’d say it’s twenty-five centimeters by sixteen, oblong, widest at the center, tapering towards the ends,” she said, her tone brisk, factual.

          “Like an American football,” said Nicole.

          “Yeah.”

          “But what’s down there?” they said simultaneously.

          “It might be a hidden chamber,” whispered Nicole, her voice rich with excitement.

          “We need to enlarge it,” said Brittani. She pecked at the hole’s edges, but nothing happened. “I can’t do anything.”

          “I’ll get help,” said Nicole. She stood up, scanned the other excavation squares and saw Payton Surkant, a tall fellow lounging in the shade of one of the castle’s walls. She knew he was a first-year student at Boston College. He was tall, muscular, and handsome. He stood relaxed, shirtsleeves rolled up, muscles bronze, eyes hidden by Ray-Ban Aviators, and ears plugged into an MP3 player. His large straw hat was dipped low, and with his lazy posture, he looked more like he belonged on a secluded beach somewhere, not a hot and dusty archaeological site.

          Nicole waved at him, getting his attention. “Hey, Payton, come here. You got to see this.” She flashed the young man a wide smile and motioned for him to join them.”

          He ambled toward their trench, long strides unhurried, a grin tugging at his lips. “What’s up? You guys seem a little flustered.” His voice was smooth, easy, as relaxed as his posture.

          “Come on down here,” Nicole commanded. Payton did as she ordered.

          Brittani pointed at the hollow space. “Listen.” She picked up a loose stone the size of her hand and shoved it into the hole. Payton’s blank look vanished as he listened to the rock’s descent.

          “Huh?” was he reaction.

          “It’s a deep hole,” announced Nicole.

          Payton leaned towards the hole and peered into it, but quickly backed away, shaking his head. “I can’t see anything.”

          Brittani gently pushed him aside, “You’re too huge.” She tried but her head was also too large.

          “I got this,” said Payton. He sat back on his haunches and pushed at the cavity’s edges with his boots. The earth groaned, rocks shifted and then collapsed inward with a crashing roar. Dust billowed up, choking the trench interior. “Woe,” said the youth, his face covered with dust.

          Nicole wiped at the dust covering her face. “Nice work, demolition man!” she said.

          Once the dust cleared the three could see the cavity yawning before them, beachball size, its edges jagged, its depths swallowing light. Payton grinned, “What can I say, I’m just good.”

          Brittani ignored his quip. She crawled forward and lowered her head into the hole, her ponytail brushing the dirt. She backed out, shaking her head. “Nothing, just darkness.”

          Nicole peeked. “It’s deep. I can’t see the bottom. It’s not a hole, it’s a shaft; a shaft to somewhere.”

          “I suppose Dr. Romero wasn't simply making up wild tales,” Payton said.

          “I think there’s a chamber down there,” Nicole whispered. She grinned widely, “We’re going to be famous!”

          “Let’s not get excited. We need to know more.” Brittani paused and then said, “We need a light.”

          “Darla’s a smoker, she’ll have a lighter,” said Nicole.

          “Guys,” said Payton, “we need to get Dr. Romero.”

          “Not yet,” said Nicole. “We’ve got something cool. I want us to get credit. You know how she is; she’ll push us aside and claim all the credit,” Nicole brushed at her pants, a movement that did nothing to remove the dust coating her clothing. “I’ll be back. Don’t tell anybody. And don’t do anything stupid.”

           Brittani snorted and stuck out her tongue.

          “What’s going on?”

          They looked up to see Marina Romero towering over them, standing at the edge of the trench. She smiled expectantly, arms at her hips, battered field hat dirtier than her dust-covered trousers. “You guys find something?”

          Nicole glanced at Brittani, frowning, and stood up. “Yes, I believe we found something, something great! But we don’t know what it is.”

          “Well,” said the site director, “let me see.”