The Nordic Legend

The sweat dripped from her brow as the glaring afternoon sun burned her skin. Yet that was the least of her worries. For years she’d succumbed to the rough and scorching terrain, of the Sicilian coastline, and had obtained enough freckles to prove it. For years she’d persevered through the dreadful aches in her joints, enough to put an elderly to shame; nevertheless, that was all a part of the job and all a part of the thrill and adrenaline that coursed through her veins on a day-to-day basis. Any archaeologist would agree that digging was as addictive as gambling. Each day was a new day and in it lay the possibility of it being the day that one would unearth what that had lay untouched for centuries. Her father had always said, “if you give up now another fool will come along and brush away an inch of dirt to reveal what you’d been searching in for the past four metres.”

So yes, it was worth the aches and pains that came with laying on the uneven ground for a lifetime.

Many people in her team had come and gone over the past months of this dig, yet she’d been the one who’d remained committed. Those who had given up had declared that there was no treasure to be found in these parts of Sicily as surely, by now, they would have found something. They’d gone on their way, to different excavations around Europe, yet she could feel they were close. From the moment she’d arrived, there had been a magnetic pull, in the pit of her stomach, that convinced her there was a story beneath the ground on which they stood. Someone’s story waiting to be uncovered.

“Anything?” Her ally, Magnus, would say on the close of each day. Of course, he knew the answer as no one had cried victory.

“Not yet.”

Magnus had been the only other archaeologist who’d remained on site since the very beginning. She was starting to suspect that perhaps his reason was growing less to do with the potential discovery and more to do with her. They’d spent the long days together, performing the ritual of brushing away the soil, a rather lonely job on one’s own, and he was one of the only ones who continued to have faith in her magnetic pull.

The Sicilian coastline was vast and merely impossible to search in a lifetime, especially with the scarce numbers they had in their team. They were down to six after George, the most recent addition, who had declared the place useless and left before his knees had even touched the ground. They’d pinpointed their excavation site to a small cliff top which stood ten kilometres from the nearest town, Castellammare del Golfo. The view was spectacular. The water below dazzled in many shades of blue and contrasted the yellow, barren precipice above. At the end of each day, the soft sea breeze was a welcome delight and, with it, the enticing scent of the salt water below. It wasn’t the worst place to spend months on end. The location had been narrowed down from a number of different coastlines in the area. Many books and legends spoke of a Viking ship that had run aground, on the Sicilian coast, in the 9th Century. Instead of venturing inland, many of its manifest enjoyed the view so much they set up a village in the area. Hopefully the area in which they were searching.

It had been almost two hours since she’d last stood up and her neck was beginning to send shooting pains down her back. She pushed her palms into the ground and stretched her body towards the sky.

“I need a glass of water, Magnus. I’m parched.”

Magnus was on his feet in a flash. “Let me get it for you.”

She shook her head, although grateful for the offer. “I need to stretch my legs and write our findings in the book.”

Her companion raised an eyebrow. “Findings?”

“The soil has changed. We’re onto a new layer. If we don’t find anything here, we won’t find anything at all.” If her pessimism surprised him, he didn’t show it. It was true, they’d reach bedrock soon and there was no way they could dig through that with their bare hands and their funding was soon due to end. She’d remained optimistic for so long and now that hope dimmed.

She climbed out of the excavation site and towards the respite tent. Her dry, chapped skin longed for a fresh lathering of sunscreen and lip balm, but it would have to wait. Upon reaching the shaded area, she reached for her bag and pulled out her black, leather notebook. Her fingers skimmed through the previous entries that had been filled with reports of hope and optimism. Upon finding a shoe, three weeks ago, they’d cried ‘Eureka’ and spent hours into that night trying to find uncover any other clues of life, until someone had broken through the caked mud and realised it had been a style of shoe produced in the 19th century.

18th June 2016

Our findings have been insubstantial. We’ve reached our last possible layer of ground and our last possible hope in finding the truth behind the Norse and Roman legends. I’ve led the team on a pursuit of something I can now see was unattainable. We have two days left of funding and, although we’re ready to pack up and leave, I can’t help but hear my father’s voice in my head.

She closed the notebook with a strong amount of frustration and groaned. Her fingers reached for the nearest water bottle and fumbled with the cap. The cool liquid soothed her throat and, very slowly, replenished her energy. There was approximately an hour and a half left before the sun disappeared below the horizon, painting the sky orange and the water pink.

“I have had a good feeling about today since the start of the week!” Magnus exclaimed, in his usual positive demeanour, as she climbed back into the excavation pit.

She offered a slight smile and picked up her trowel and sieve, her hands welcoming the familiar tools despite the rough calluses etched upon her palms. She began to work through the final layer of soil, her heart longing for a glimpse of history. Anything to correlate with the legends her father had read to her as a small girl; to make everyone’s sweat, blood and tears worth it. It was this that fuelled her perseverance, and it was her perseverance that fuelled her determination that, after an hour, broke through the some of the final coverings of dirt to reveal the Nordic history that archaeologists had only dreamed of.

A leather satchel peaked through the hard ground, much of it already broken down by the environment it had been subject for centuries. Except it hadn’t been the reason for her gasp. Inside the satchel, catching the first glimpse of the sun and shimmering in the light, was a pile of silver coins.

“Magnus.” Her voice barely made it past her lips and was no more than a whisper. Her eyes were glued to the findings in front of her.

To her relief, he’d heard it. She didn’t know if she had the strength to call out again. Her body had gone into shock and the infamous adrenaline poisoned her veins and petrified her limbs.

“You’ve reached bedrock?” Magnus assumed, glancing up. The slight shake of her head and her white face suggested otherwise. The loyal man darted to her side and his mouth dropped open. “Eureka.” He whispered, tears sliding down his pink cheeks and lodging in his moustache.

“Eureka.” She repeated.

In no time, the excavation crew had recovered the coins and were examining them in the respite tent. They’d gathered around the table, trembling with excitement.

“They’re of Viking origin alright.” One of the experienced historians murmured, his glasses pressed to the microscope’s eyepiece. “This satchel would’ve contained a life’s earning, enough for its owner to get by comfortably back then.”

“How much are we talking?” One of the newer archaeologists piped up, inching closer to the coins.

The historian removed his glasses and studied the rest of the coins on the table. “Well, it doesn’t look like much in front of us however, in today’s currency, this would’ve been an equivalent to twenty thousand dollars.”

Her heart fluttered. “We can’t stop now. We’re on the edge of the village, I know it. I’ve been saying it all along.”

Everyone nodded enthusiastically, finally understanding and feeling the strong tug in the pits of their stomachs, the magnetic calling to the legendary village. By finding the coins, they’d already reaped their reward. The museum and their sponsors would pay everyone well for their find and the more they found, the better off they’d be. It had been the dig on the top of every archaeologist’s list and many museums offered substantial rewards for the discovery.

She felt like she could finally breathe a sigh of relief. She’d brought truth to her father’s stories and was sure, that if he were still alive, he would be proud and the archaeologist inside of him would be jumping with joy. Her name would be remembered for this find, written in history books and on plaques in museums. Elizabeth Vaughn.

While the others marched out of the tent, their tools armed in their hands like pitchforks, she sat down in a chair and pulled out her treasured, black notebook. She returned to the page where she’d begun today and clicked her pen to life.

18th June 2016, continued…

We found it.