MONDAY, JUNE 28
Below Fröjel Church the fields of rapeseed and other crops spread out like yellow and green carpets all the way down to the sea. In one corner of the fields a motley bunch of people was digging. Occasionally a head would stick up above the tall grass whenever someone straightened up to stretch out an aching back or change position: a white cap, a straw hat, a pirate's bandanna, long hair that a woman twisted into a coil and held on top of her head for a moment in an attempt to find some relief before she let the tresses fall back over her shoulders. Beyond the bowed backs the shimmering waters of the Baltic were visible as an auspicious blue backdrop. Bumblebees and wasps buzzed among the bright red poppies; the oats rippled gently back and forth as a light breeze drifted past. Otherwise the air was practically motionless. A high-pressure system from Russia had moved in over Gotland and had remained parked there for a week.
Twenty or so archaeology students were methodically excavating what had once been a Viking Age harbor a thousand years in the past. It was hard work that required patience.
Martina Flochten from the Netherlands was squatting down in a pit, scraping at stones and earth with a trowel. She was using the small tool eagerly but cautiously so as not to damage any potential finds. Now and then she would pluck out a stone and toss it into the black plastic bucket beside her.
Now the fun part had started. After a couple of weeks of fruitless digging, she had finally been rewarded for all her efforts a few days ago. She had found several silver coins and some glass beads. The feeling she got from holding objects that no human being had touched since the ninth or tenth century was just as strong for her every time. It started her imagination going, thinking about how the people inthis place had once lived. What woman had worn these beads? Who was she, and what thoughts had passed through her mind?
Martina was one of the foreign participants in the course. Almost half the students came from other countries. There were two Americans, a British woman, a Frenchman, a Canadian whose family had originally come from India, a couple of Germans, and an Australian named Steven. This was part of his around-the-world journey; Steven was traveling to sites of archaeological interest all over the globe. His father was apparently quite wealthy, so Steven could do whatever he pleased. Martina was studying archaeology at the university in Rotterdam, and that's where she had heard about the courses in archaeological fieldwork that were offered by the college in Visby. The course was worth ten college credits, which would be accepted toward her Dutch degree. Martina was also half Swedish: Her mother was from Gotland. Although the family had lived in the Netherlands for Martina's whole life, they often came to the island on vacation, even after her mother died in a car accident three years ago. Having the chance to stay on Gotland for a longer period of time and devote herself to the most interesting work she could imagine was an opportunity she hadn't wanted to miss.
So far the training had been beyond her expectations. The participants got along well together. Most of them were her own age, about twenty, although some were older. Bruce, one of the Americans, was in his fifties and kept mostly to himself. He had told them that he worked as a computer technician, but archaeology was what interested him most. And Martina guessed that the British woman was about forty; she seemed rather odd.
Martina enjoyed this mixture of the Swedish and the international. The mood of the group was raucous but cordial. Laughter often echoed over the area as the team members joked about each other's digging techniques and varying degrees of success in making finds. So far poor Katja from Göteborg hadn't dug up anything but animal bones, which were plentiful. Her pit seemed to hold nothing else; even so, the job had to be done. So there she sat, day after day, sweating hard without finding anything of interest. Martina hoped that Katja would soon be allowed to try another pit.
The excavation course had started off with a couple of weeks devoted to theory in classrooms at the college in Visby. After that cameeight weeks on a dig in Fröjel on Gotland's west coast. Since Martina was so interested in the Viking Age, nothing could have suited her better. This entire area had probably been inhabited during that period. Various digs had produced finds from the early Viking Age of the ninth century all the way up to the end of the era around 1100. The section of the excavation site where the students were now working included a harbor, a settlement, and several burial grounds. It had also most likely been an important trading center, considering all the weights and silver coins that had been dug up.
Suddenly Steven gave a shout from where he was crouching down in the next pit. Everyone went rushing over to him. He was in the process of uncovering the skeleton of a man, and he had found part of what he suspected was a circular brooch made of bronze lying near the man's throat. Staffan Mellgren, the excavation leader, cautiously climbed down into the pit and reached for a small brush that was in a bucket along with other tools. Carefully he began brushing away the dirt, and after several minutes he had uncovered the entire brooch. All the students stood gathered around the pit, watching with fascination as bit by bit the well-preserved brooch came into view. The leader's enthusiasm was infectious.
"Amazing!" he shouted. "It's all in one piece. The pin is intact, and take a look at the ornamentation."
Mellgren switched to using an even smaller brush, and with light strokes he swept away the rest of the dirt. He used the handle of the brush to point at the upper portion of the circular brooch.
"What you see here was used to hold the inner shift in place--the thinner garment that he wore next to his skin. If we're in luck, he'll also have a larger circular brooch at his shoulder. It's just a matter of continuing to work."
He gave a nod of encouragement to Steven, who looked both happy and proud.
"Proceed with caution, and don't stand too close to the skeleton. There might be more."
The others returned to their work with renewed zeal. The thought that they, too, might find something noteworthy had energized them. Martina kept on digging. After a while it was time to empty the bucket. She went over to one of the big wooden sieves that were lined up alongthe edge of the excavation site. Carefully she poured the contents of her bucket into the sieve, which consisted of a rectangular wooden box with a fine-meshed steel screen in the bottom. It was sitting on top of an iron bar, which made it possible to roll the box back and forth. She grabbed hold of the wooden handles on either side and began shaking the box vigorously to sift out the dirt and sand. It was hard work, and after a few minutes, she was soaked with sweat. After she had strained out the worst of the dirt, she meticulously studied what was left in the sieve so as not to miss anything of value. First she found an animal bone and then another. There was also a tiny metal object, probably a nail.
Nothing could be thrown out; everything had to be carefully preserved and documented since no one would be allowed to dig there after them. Once a site had been excavated, it was considered "disturbed" forever after; that was why archaeologists had such a big responsibility to preserve everything that might reveal how human beings had lived in that particular area.
Martina had to take a break for a few minutes. She was thirsty and went to get her knapsack with her water bottle. She sat down on an upended wooden box, massaging her shoulders as best she could and watching the others as she caught her breath. Her teammates were focused on their work, kneeling, squatting, or lying on their stomachs alongside pits, tenaciously searching through the dark soil.
She felt Mark's eyes on her but pretended not to notice. Her feelings were engaged elsewhere, and she didn't want to encourage him. They were good friends, which was enough as far as she was concerned.
Jonas, a likable guy from Skåne who wore an earring and a pirate's bandanna on his head, saw that she was giving herself a massage.
"Are your shoulders sore? Do you want me to rub them?"
"Sure, thanks," said Martina in clumsy Swedish. She knew a little of her late mother's peculiar language, and she wanted to get some practice, even though she and everyone around her spoke fluent English.
Jonas was one of her best friends in the group; they got on well together. She appreciated his offer, even though she sensed that it wasn't purely out of concern for her well-being. The attention that certain men in the group paid to her was nice, but not something she especially encouraged.
THE INNER CIRCLE. Copyright © 2005 by Mari Jungstedt.