Andre Marek sifted through the dirt and rubble that was presumed to be the banquet hall of the manor of Castelgard in 1357. It was slow and tedious work that left plenty of time for rumination. Not that he minded. He was enjoying every minute of it. It had been a lifelong dream of his to be here, unearthing this particular page of history.

It had all begun when he had still been in grade school, when he was about 10 years old. One summer his father had read the adventures of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table to him and that had been all it took. He had fallen in love with the medieval era. He had wanted to be a knight, to go to battle for a lady's honor and be valiant. He had wanted to go on a quest and prove himself worthy of the cause. He'd even had a wooden sword and a cardboard shield he had carried around with him at home as he fought off the villainous bushes in the yard.

It hadn't been long before his parents had persuaded him to give them up. In the end it hadn't been a fair trade. He had wanted real sword lessons in exchange for his fake one. His parents had agreed, but their idea of "sword lessons" ended up being "fencing lessons." Fencing was for pussies. Fencing was like trying to fight off a hoard of giant Vikings with a twig. There was nothing like the feel of a broadsword in your hand.

Marek hefted a rock into his hands and felt its weight drag against them. He closed his eyes. Imagining it was a broadsword, he began swinging it around in circular motions. Snickering brought him out of his zone and he opened his eyes to find a couple of graduate students watching him from outside the wall of the site. He knew he had a reputation with the students as being a bit overly zealous about his subject matter, but he didn't care. He loved this stuff! He dropped the rock and got back to work.

Being an only child whose parents moved a lot had only helped to foster Marek's obsession. He found it difficult to make friends and instead retreated into history books. He even found the most arcane texts about the period fascinating. He was particularly drawn to warfare. Not that he was bloodthirsty, but the weapons and techniques used in medieval battle captivated him. That was how he had come to love the Hundred Years War between England and France. There had been so many fascinating skirmishes and maneuvers during that war. It was much better than some flimsy 10-year siege of Troy! This was a struggle for power of far greater epic proportions that would affect all of Europe for well over a hundred years, crippling many countries as their resources were poured into a war that seemed as if it would never end.

Marek tired of using his brushes. There didn't seem to be anything remotely near the surface of his grid. He pulled out his spade and began to paw through the dirt carefully. He didn't want to damage any potential finds.

It had been no big surprise to his parents, then, that he became a history major in college specializing in medieval warfare. But they were quite stunned when he told them that he was going to pursue his doctorate at Utrecht University in Holland. It was one of the only universities in the world that specialized in "experimental" history, where they recreated parts of the past. The best part was that he got to learn archery, fighting with broadswords and even jousting. He had also learned medieval dress, language and customs as if they had happened yesterday, as if he had grown up in the era. He would have loved living back then. He'd never felt quite at home in his own time, even though he always told his students to value the present. He lived and breathed the past as if his very life depended on it. Thus, it was his passion for a life he could never really live that had garnered him the position of Assistant Professor of History at Yale at the age of 29.

And when Edward Johnston, Regius Professor of History at Yale, had approached him about the proposed dig of Castelgard and La Roque, he had jumped at the chance. So what if it was suspicious that ITC Research was willing to fund any request for incredibly expensive equipment that they wanted. Edward had been conflicted, but there really was no moral dilemma here as far as Marek was concerned. Robert Doniger, brilliant physicist and bored billionaire, could throw as much money as he wanted to at them. As long as Marek got to research to his heart's desire, he didn't care how many palms in the French government had to be greased. It would be worth it! And he persuaded the Professor of just that. Marek was convinced that if he didn't make it to this dig in France, he would regret it for the rest of his life. He was meant to do this. He could feel it in his bones. He simply knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had to be there.

Marek's spade made a clunking noise. He switched back to his brushes and continued to methodically uncover a metallic object. Something had actually survived the fires that had razed the village to the ground. It was a chalice! He felt as if he was holding the Holy Grail. It was his first real find on this dig. He studied the simplicity of it, marveling at the fact that someone had used this very cup to drink out of over 600 years ago. He was holding the actual past in his hands. He had a sudden impulse to bring it to his mouth and kiss it. He grinned and picked up his radio.

"Kate over," he said into the static of channel eight.

"Go ahead Marek," Kate replied.

"Have you found anything yet?"

"Not yet, but I'm getting close. I just know it."

"Well, I hate to break it to you, but you owe me a pint," he laughed.

"What? You found something? What did you find?" she was almost shouting in his ear. All heads within hearing distance of a radio had turned his way.

"A chalice. It's a bloody chalice Kate!" His grin spread from ear to ear.

"Oh my God! You lucky bastard! I'm coming over!" She could be heard fumbling with the radio as she scrambled out of her tunnel in the monastery.

The rest of the camp was coming over now, curious to see what he had found. He beamed like a proud father over a newborn. He had been the first to find any artifacts on the dig and it gave him that feeling again, that this was right where he belonged.

Disclaimer: these characters are not my own. I borrowed them from Michael Crichton.