“Can you get some more men here?” Sam asked. “With tools to dig? Hopefully, you have some on board . . .”
“A few picks and shovels, and a crowbar or two,” Hall said, gazing at the outline.
After two hours of the team’s chipping away at the ice, one of the crewmen gave a cry. Sam and Remi hurried to his position.
Sam knelt down and examined the brown material, then stood and considered the outline again. “It’s wood.”
“I can see that. Question is why it registered on your scope.”
“Because there’s more than wood down there. Has to be iron, and a variety of other metals.”
Remi held his gaze. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asked.
“I don’t want to get too excited or jump to any conclusions just yet.” Sam turned to the men, who had stopped gouging at the ice. “Be careful. Dig on the outside of the wood. You can see the line where it disappears into the ice. Stay on the far side of it.”
More seamen arrived at Willbanks’s urging, and soon they were hacking at the frost with whatever they could find—shovels, picks, pry bars, hammers. By the end of the afternoon, much of the buried structure was exposed, and there was no question about what it was.
“A Viking ship,” Remi said, her voice laced with awe.
Sam nodded. “Indeed. The first ever discovered on Baffin. There’ve been some finds in Greenland, but never here. This is exciting. It’s in perfect condition. The ice preserved everything.”
“What’s this? Can you make it out?” she called to him from the middle of the long craft.
“What are you talking about?” Sam asked as he joined her. Remi was squinting into the ice at the interior of the vessel.
“I see something.”
Sam cupped a hand over his eyes and peered into the gloom, then shook his head. “The light’s fading. I can’t tell.” He called over his shoulder, “Anyone got a flashlight?”
Two minutes later, Willbanks arrived with a long black-aluminum light and snapped it on before handing it to Sam.
“Thanks,” Sam said, and directed the beam into the ice, which was opaque in places. The light seemed to disappear as it penetrated the milky parts, and then it shined across the object of Remi’s attention. Remi jumped back. Sam continued gazing into the ice.
A man’s sightless blue eyes stared into eternity from within his frozen prison, a puzzled, peaceful expression on his face, as he clutched the remnants of a torn sail, his scraggly blond beard plainly visible even with a heavy animal-skin cloak draped over him in a futile, centuries-old bid to stave off the inevitable.
Sam and Remi sat in the pilothouse with Hall and Willbanks after dinner, watching the night shift continue its work on the Viking craft, struggling to reclaim the thousand-year-old ship from nature’s cold embrace. Powerful portable work lights illuminated the area, and the Alhambra’s main spotlight was directed at the stern of the ancient vessel as it emerged in fits and starts.
“This is an amazing find. I mean, really. An authentic Viking longship in flawless condition, with its crew perfectly preserved. I’ve never heard of anything remotely like it,” Remi said, voicing what was on everyone’s minds.
“It is indeed. The research value alone is immeasurable,” Sam added.
Hall asked, “What do you count? Ten in the boat so far? A ship like that would carry, what, eighty, ninety men?”
“No way of knowing for sure, but if I had to guess, I’d say the boat took shelter here, maybe from the weather. Perhaps the rest of the men went to find an alternative passage back to the sea or went foraging. We might get some answers as we uncover more of the ship.”
Remi shuddered involuntarily. “Imagine what it must have been like for these last survivors. Starving to death, freezing, knowing they’d never see their homeland or family again, dying in a wasteland . . .”
“The only good thing is that hypothermia is painless,” Hall said. “You just drift off and at some point your heart stops pumping blood to your brain. So at least it’s unlikely they suffered in the end.”
“Still, it’s creepy, you have to admit. That one . . . the way he’s just staring into nothingness.”
The table went silent as they considered Remi’s comment, and then Sam stood.
“With any luck, we should be able to have the entire boat excavated enough to do a more thorough inspection by the end of the day tomorrow. I don’t know about you guys but I’m beat. It’s been a while since I spent the day on a chain gang.”
Remi rose with a smile. “I’ll second that. Gentlemen, thanks so much for committing the crew to doing this. I know it’s not part of the expedition objective.”
“Are you kidding?” Hall said. “This is part of history. Although you bring up an important point—one I’ve been thinking about. We’ll need to move on, sooner than later, and complete the mapping of the fjords and the glacier analysis. Unfortunately, we’re on a schedule. While there’s some flexibility in it, the Alhambra’s earmarked for other duty after this tour and I’ve got to at least try to stay on track.”
Sam nodded. “No question the analysis is important. Let me put my thinking cap on and see if I can come up with a solution. I hate to just leave this to the elements while we wait for someone to get up here and take over the find. You radioed it in, right?”
“Yes. I’m waiting for a more detailed response,” Willbanks replied, “but the preliminary from the Canadians is that they’ll send a team as soon as possible. But that’s not as easy as it sounds. They’ll need to assemble staff and equipment, find a suitable ship, outfit it—”
“I know the challenges all too well. But it is what it is. We’ll make the best of what we have and figure something out,” Sam assured him.
Remi took Sam’s hand and pulled him toward the companionway that led to their stateroom. “Good night. Please make sure that they’re careful as they get more of the boat uncovered. Better to work slower and with greater care . . .”
“Message received,” Hall said. “Good night to you both as well.”
By three p.m. the next day, the longship was almost completely excavated. Sam and Remi were undertaking the more detailed work on the interior of the vessel, and they’d agreed to leave the ten corpses encapsulated in a thin layer of ice for preservation.
Remi tapped at the first of the wooden chests lined along both sides of the hull, where the oarsmen sat and which contained the only real storage on the ship other than a small compartment in the hull. They’d discovered the shattered mast lying in the center aisle, where it had been stowed, and only a few of the oars were still there—the absent ones probably used for firewood before the remaining crew had starved and frozen to death.
“Sam? Come here. I think I’ve got this one clear of ice,” Remi called.
Sam nodded from his position fifteen feet away, where he was chipping carefully with a hammer and chisel.
“You’re faster than I am,” he said as he moved cautiously toward her over the slippery deck.
Together, they pried open the top of the chest, and Sam set it carefully aside. Remi reached in and withdrew a small statue of a figure of carved obsidian.
“That doesn’t look Nordic,” Sam said from behind her.
She handed it to him wordlessly and retrieved a beautifully painted clay bowl. “This is . . . incredible. Look at the condition. It’s like it’s only a few weeks old. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
He took it from her and studied it. “Unbelievable.”
Wes Hall approached from where he was supervising the work clearing the bow. He eyed the bowl that Sam held but didn’t comment.
Remi lifted a pounded copper mask and regarded it with practiced scrutiny.
“Care to venture an opinion?” Sam whispered, unable to believe his eyes.
“Not an opinion,” she answered in a voice that betrayed shock. “None of it’s European. All of these artifacts are pre-Columbian.”
“Are you s
uggesting Aztec?” Hall said skeptically.
Remi shook her head. “I’m no expert on pre-Columbian art, but I’ll bet a bottle of fine cognac that’s where they came from a thousand years ago. I’d have to guess the Olmecs, Toltecs, or Mayans. Perhaps another culture from Middle America. This predates the Aztecs, I think.”
“What are they doing on a Viking ship in the Arctic?” Hall asked.
Sam shrugged. “I can’t begin to guess.”
Remi continued inventorying the contents of the chest, noting the number of statues within, most covered with glyphs. This was a treasure trove beyond their comprehension—not of gold or silver coins, but proof that the Vikings had traveled the coast of America and been in close contact with the native groups there. When she was done, she carefully photographed all of the items for future study and replaced them in their original resting places in the chest. Sam returned to the box he’d been working on, and when he’d cleared enough ice from the plain wooden container, he pried the top up.
“More of the same,” he said, holding aloft a delicately crafted orange ceramic urn before giving it to Remi.
The afternoon passed quickly as they opened two more chests, which contained more ancient pre-Columbian artifacts as well as some of the oarsmen’s personal effects. Deep in the ship’s hold, Sam discovered a heavy stone slab with carvings ringing the edges—a Viking rune stone. Fairly common across Scandinavia, this one was smaller than those used as primitive grave headstones, but neither Sam nor Remi could read the ancient Norse writing, so they photographed it and earmarked it for more detailed examination later. By dinnertime, they had discovered a wealth of artifacts that made it obvious that the ship was a find that would change history.
Sam and Hall agreed to temporarily halt the excavation on the longship now that the scope of the discovery was evident. They spent a half hour on the radio with excited staff from the Canadian Archaeological Association and Waterloo University, as well as the Canadian Historical Association in Montreal. Everyone agreed that an expedition would need to be mounted immediately and that the site couldn’t be left unattended, given the importance of the artifacts. By the end of the discussion, Sam had made an agreement that he dreaded discussing with Remi, but there was no way around it.
“You did what?” she demanded, arms folded across her chest as she sat on the bed in their quarters, an expression of incredulity on her face.
“I volunteered us to spend some time camped out on the ice.” Before Remi could object, he added, “You saw what’s in those chests. There’s no way we could just continue on with the Alhambra knowing that’s there. Come on. I know you. And you know me. This is the kind of thing dreams are made of.”
Remi held her stern frown for a few more seconds and then relaxed, unable to stay annoyed at her husband for very long. “You really owe me now. It’s bad enough to be stuck on this sardine can, but now I have to camp on a glacier? There isn’t enough spa time in the world to make up for that.”
“Wes says he has special tents that are insulated. And propane heaters. It won’t be as bad as you think,” Sam said, and then reconsidered that tack. The words sounded stupid to him even as he uttered them. Of course it would be that bad. It was five below and they’d be on the ice for at least a week, maybe more. “But no question that I owe you. Anything you can imagine, I’ll do.”
“Anything?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m going to remember that.”
The next morning Sam and Remi watched as the Alhambra backed away and broke free from its position in the ice with a series of staccato cracks. Behind them, a large silver insulated tent with reflective coating stood like a forlorn orphan—their new home, stocked with as much comfort as was available from the ship’s stores.
“At least refrigeration won’t be a problem,” Sam said.
“Silver lining to every cloud, huh?”
“When you get lemons . . .”
The ship reversed for another dozen yards and then executed a three-point turn so it could break through the new ice using its bow. They watched as it neared the narrow channel and then sailed out of sight, the fading rumble of its throaty diesel engines the sole trace of its passage other than a jostling trail of fragmented surface ice.
A silence settled over the fjord.
“Finally. I thought they’d never leave.”
“I know. The crowds drive me nutty,” Remi agreed.
“Stupid kids, with their music and parties and everything.”
“Maybe now I can finally get some work done.”
Remi absently fingered the gold scarab on her neck as an icy gust blew remnants of snow around their feet. Sam nodded and turned from the fjord’s mouth.
“You really like your good-luck talisman there, I see.”
“It’s served us well so far. We just discovered a perfectly preserved longship and we weren’t even looking for it.”
“Can’t argue with success.”
Remi dug around in her oversize explorer jacket and found the satellite phone. She pressed a speed dial number and waited for the call to connect. Kendra answered on the third ring, and Remi was happy to note that she sounded sharp and efficient.
“Kendra? It’s Remi Fargo.”
“Mrs. Fargo, how are you? We got the messages you sent about the longship. That’s got to be exciting.”
“Yes, it is. It’s amazing. One of the most exciting finds we’ve ever made. But that’s not why I’m calling. How’s Selma?”
“The surgery went as planned and she’s starting her physical therapy in the hospital. They expect to keep her another two or three days and then she’ll be home. All the equipment’s arrived so that Selma can continue her PT at the house.”
“Be sure to tell her that we called and are wishing her well.”
“Of course.”
“Did Pete and Wendy have any luck on the research we asked them to do?”
“I’m helping them and we’re still running checks, but while it looks like there are a number of reports of Vikings in the Americas before Columbus, there’s no evidence on any one of them as being genuine. There are those who claim they were here and others who have alternative explanations.”
“Welcome to the world of archaeology. The good news is that this find will close any further debate. There’s no other explanation for the artifacts we’re finding. But all of you keep looking.”
“We will. We’re all getting along great, and Pete has been especially helpful.”
“That’s good to hear. Listen, Kendra, moving and restoring this ship is going to be a huge project. Years back, we had a similar challenge, on the confederate submarine CSS Hunley. When Selma makes it back in, would you have her touch base with Warren Lasch, who headed up that project, and see about putting him together with Dr. Jennings? They’re going to need all the expertise they can get.”
“Of course. Consider it done.”
Remi signed off, wanting to conserve their battery time, and moved back to the Viking ship, where Sam had resumed his seemingly endless chore of picking away at the vessel. They spent the remainder of their daylight hours like that, painstakingly removing ice from chest after chest and making copious notes of their findings.
At night, the specially designed heater kept the temperature in the tent bearable. They fell asleep quickly after a full day working on the ship, which slowly but surely was yielding more treasures.
One night drifted into the next, and it was with some surprise that they realized over a week had gone by. When the satellite phone chirped on the morning of their ninth day camping, it so startled Sam that he almost dropped it in his haste to answer.
“Yes?”
“Sam Fargo? Dr. Jennings from Montreal. I’m on my way there with a team. We should make it to the fjord by early tomorrow. How are you holding up?” Jennings was one of Canada’s top archaeologists and the head of the group that would eventually be transporting the ship and its contents to a controlled lab in Mo
ntreal.
“As well as can be expected. Although I’ll admit that sleeping on the ice is getting old.”
Remi rolled her eyes as she continued working nearby.
“I’ll bet. We’re bringing an entire camp with us. You’ve been fortunate that no storms have moved through. But it doesn’t look like we’ll be so lucky. There’s a front headed toward Baffin and it’ll hit tomorrow in the late afternoon or evening. The first order of business will be to get the camp set up and the longship under cover, and to get you out of there before the worst of it starts.”
“Will you be all right on the ice in a storm?” Sam asked. “Maybe the ship could wait for a day or two until it passes . . .”
“That’s up to you. Depends on your schedule and your level of urgency to get back to civilization.”
“I’ll talk to my wife, but it seems like the most prudent course would be to wait it out with you on board after securing the site, doesn’t it?”
“I won’t argue that, but I can’t ask you to do it. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Sam terminated the call and explained their options to Remi, who concurred that they weren’t in such a rush to leave that they would risk their colleagues to the brutal force of a storm. Now working with a renewed sense of urgency, they reviewed the contents of all of the chests, each numbered and with the items cataloged, as the ten dead Viking warriors watched over them. They’d had the luxury of taking their time, documenting everything in meticulous detail for later research—something all too rare, given the high-profile nature of many of their more visible discoveries.
When the archaeology team arrived the next morning just after sunrise, Sam and Remi heard the ship enter the fjord before they saw a massive red hull squeeze through the gap with no more than twenty feet of clearance per side. Almost twice the size of the Alhambra, the CCGS Cameron was a Canadian Coast Guard A1 Lloyd’s ice-class two-hundred-twenty-six-foot offshore oceanographic science vessel with a forty-eight-foot beam. Entry into the fjord would pose no great problem, according to the bottom-mapping data supplied by the Alhambra—the depth varied from sixty to a hundred forty feet, easily accommodating the enormous craft’s fifteen-foot draft.