As the two researchers got out of the professor's car and approached the tholos site with their boxes of tools, Dr. Simons seemed animated once again. In contrast to Nicasio, he appeared perfectly rested and recharged, ready to go on cataloging what was turning out to be one of the most unique anthropological finds in all of the Americas. The two men left the car with their hands full of implements and crossed over what was once a rich crop of marijuana to the sun-faded camouflage cover protecting the tomb from the elements, and more importantly, the public. Once beyond the identification check of the Sheriff department's guard, the professor, by the dint of his many years as a historian, began speaking to Nicasio again as if giving a lecture.

As they reopened the tear in the weather-beaten tarpaulin and descended into the entryway, both put on their heads battery powered flashlights. They carefully made their way back into the center of the domed structure and put their tools onto the cool, damp floor. The professor spoke, a little out of breath, looking up at the curve of marble above them.

"For now, what we can say with any certainty, my boy, is that this architecture could not possibly be original Greek . . . Mycenaean or Classical . . . though it's curiously modeled on both styles. You see the tenets are there . . . and it's a close facsimile to the Mycenaean 'beehive' tomb."

He unclipped the portable light off his head and shined it around the inside perimeter of the stones. He then walked closer to the center marble box. "You see there? The tholos and those decorative designs of the sarcophagus . . . they're just too incongruous in time. They're a hybrid of both ages."

Emulating his teacher, Nicasio, moved a heavy box of hand tools aside and made a conscious attempt to speak authoritatively.

"Yes. You can see their differences clearly. But both define heroic funerary architecture. A similarity of purpose here. Regardless of origins."

"Indeed."

The professor ran his light around the interior and brought it to a stop at the decorative lid of the white sarcophagus.

"But never to my knowledge quite together like this, Nicasio. Not in Greece. Not in Italy . . . and certainly not anywhere in the Americas."

"Yup."

"It's a total bastardization of beautiful forms, my boy . . . a bizarre synthesis of sacred burial construction . . . which. . . I must admit," the professor was now smiling broadly at the magnitude of it all, "makes it all just that much more intriguing!"

"So . . . obviously it was intended for worship . . . or the remembrance of some person of importance."

Nicasio too, was now staring motionlessly at the empty crypt, spellbound.

"Yes. And it might just tell us even more about the people who constructed it if we look at this . . . anachronistic quality it has. How it affects the overall design."

"But why, professor . . . at the end of the sixteenth century would anyone on a Spanish exploratory mission go to such incredible efforts? I mean . . . why bring this crazy structure here?"

Nicasio's mind had returned to the Spanish brass-cast buttons and armor buckle, their only clues so far to the tholos' possible origin or of the people who might have assembled it were from that era.

"Well for now, that's our underlying inquiry, isn't it? But it leads naturally to so many other questions, Nicaso."

"Yes . . . Like. . ." Nicasio moved closer to the sarcophagus and reached out to touch one of the small, base relief carved women. She was galloping forward on horseback with grace. "Just what exactly is the link here with the Amazon motif?"

"Precisely, young man. Amazons were around in legend at least, beginning as far back as the Mycenaean Period and heavily represented in Greek art during the Classical Age."

"But that's a span of . . . something like . . . a thousand years or more."

"Right again. And that's what will be at the core of your inquires over there on the other side, my depressed, and now amazed associate."

Nicasio looked up quickly and smiled at the professor's unexpected sensitivity.

"I told you, professor, I'll be fine. But what do you mean, the other side?"

"That's my boy! We'll talk about that later."

The men set up the powerful generator lights and began to assemble the battery-powered drill they would use to remove a small sample of the marble wall. Nicasio started the gasoline generator and aimed the halogen spot lights onto the sarcophagus. He had to shout to overcome the din and echo of the small engine.

"But Amazons, professor? Just their popularity, you think?

"Most probably . . . it does figure into the mix." The professor was also shouting over the machine in the hollow environment.

"But we need to know how . . . and why they came to California . . . prior to any colonization here. What parallel purpose they might have had in the Old World and then . . . over here?"

Dr. Simons came closer to Nicasio now in the stark light and spoke clearly over the din of the machine.

"My guess, Nicasio, is that history as merely an academic endeavor . . . has failed to make some enormous connection here."

Nicasio was silent. He tried to put it all into some perspective. He also began for the first time in the past thirty six hours to contemplate more fully his own connection to all this. His new exhaustive schedule and the shear responsibilities of it all.

The professor moved over to the perimeter of the tholos and busily tried to select at the ground level a representative stone near the broken entryway. Nicasio followed, and once away from the generator he spoke up. "You do know, professor, that I have a lecture to give in Davis Hall tomorrow morning at nine o'clock?"

The professor glanced back at him, silently.

Nicasio continued boldly. "Remember, sir? California Studies 103. . .the Spanish Missions . . . thirty-seven undergrads?"

"Oh yes . . . that." The professor kept tapping at the wall stone carefully with a rubber mallet. He seemed to be trying to detect a looser block by its sound.

"Well for now, young man . . . that's all been taken care of."

"Taken care of? What? How?"

"I told you, Nicasio, the UC Board of Regents has considered this project to be of the highest priority."

"What does that mean?"

"It means your students have all been notified by email that you've . . . taken a temporary leave. Due to some . . . health concern or other. No need to stress about it. . They'll have a competent substitute lecturer on Wednesday for you. It's all been arranged, my boy."

Nicasio froze as he could now only hear the professor striking harder one of the stationary stones. He stared at him, in disbelief.

"But Professor!"

"Don't be alarmed, my boy. These type of leaves happen to faculty all the time. You're still fully on board with Cal by contract . . . so relax. It's fine.

"Relax? Fine?"

"Your payroll should even see an increase . . . actually this month. It's an official stipend for this . . . ad hoc assignment."

"But Dr. Simons!"

"You are my assistant in this study now, Nicasio. You agreed to that, remember?"

He was again silent. Still in shock. The professor stopped hammering and was now looking at him.

"Listen, my boy. The university will be covering all your travel expenses and lodging abroad, as well. You'll leave for Spain after some library digging at Cal next week. I'm working out the details of your official inquiry and research over there."

"Sir?"

"But what ever that is . . . I want you to remember . . . it's only going to be a generic cover. You're actually going to be reviewing some Spanish ship logs and journals. All associated within our historical time frame here. I'll remain at Cal to direct and further analyze your findings."

"But . . . you never told, professor, that I'd be . . . laid off?"

"Hardly so, Nicasio." The professor smiled reassuringly. "I told you. It's only a temporary leave. Try to see it more as a promotion. You're going to be paid twice what a lecturer gets for your efforts with me during this project, son. On the contrary, my boy. You're now invaluable to the institution. Cal truly sees you on the radar screen now."

The professor remained motionless as he stared back down at the marble block. To Nicasio he still seemed unconcerned.

"OK. Don't get me wrong, professor. And of course I'm honored by all this. But I need to talk to my family. My girlfriend . . . even my students about this. It's just so . . . sudden! And unexpected!"

"OK. Possibly so . . . but talking to everyone about this is not entirely a good idea either, my boy."

"What? Why not?"

"You did agree to the confidentiality of our research, Nicasio. Didn't you? Your students don't need to know anything about what you'll be doing while away in Europe. I specifically chose you. Among other reasons, because you are not one of those 'twitter bird' graduate students we get lately."

A more pronounced anger was beginning to build in him over the professor's unilateral decisions.

"Nor are you a megalomaniac on the staff, as I have to endure everyday."

He heard the professor whisper under his breath "arrogant bastards."

"No, Nicasio. Any more details than what you've already told your family and friends are entirely . . . unnecessary. I insist."

The professor went back to hammering in earnest on his stone.

"Just stay with the facts, my boy . . . You're on a temporary, health-related leave. That's all anyone needs to know."

The professor suddenly ceased in his hammering. He stood and faced Nicasio.

"My boy, when you share with me the authorship of this find. Which just might be one of the most profound archaeological write-ups in the Americas . . . you won't have to explain your whereabouts during this academic year. Or even the topics of your previous studies, to anyone."

Nicasio did not respond.

"Listen, young man. It's final. Your class will be fine. A competent substitute has already been chosen. You'll be leaving for Seville in about a week. Trust me, young professor. Your entire career is being shaped by this incomparable project. Accept that your life has taken a turn . . . and for the better. Your future has a lot to do with this improbable edifice we are standing in. It's just fate."

Nicasio could say nothing more.

"Now help me outside with the digging. We have to locate the opposite side of this block and push it through for our analysis."

The professor but a dirty hand affectionately on Nicasio's shoulder.

"Like it or not, young scholar, your future may be shaped by these very stones."

* * *