"Oh, why thank you, do you have any practice in studying ancient artifacts?" Her explanation for the zip-lock bag causes him to smile fully in thanks, with a great many nods, yes, yes, of course, of course, now let me see it, please, following as he takes the bag.
He examines the ring inside for a few moments before finally opening it. The end of a pen enters and finds the ring, pulling it out in the manner a homicide detective might handle a shell casing at a crime scene.
"I can tell you that the artifact isn't Mycenaean. Not even truly Greek," turning it curiously on a fresh sheet of paper he pulls from a nearby printer and places on his desk, prodding it from one angle to the other with the blunt end of the pen.
"The stone looks like obsidian or maybe black quartz. The setting is silver. Hand hammered. I mean, it's obvious it's silver, for some reason the maker decided to mark it with the crescent moon, though. Looks like someone dug it out of the ground with a set of pliers," shaking his head in annoyance, though in no way is it directed at the charming and, let's face it, slightly intimidating redhead before him.
"Wait..." As if a memory is worming its way free of the dusty library in his mind. But it's not. Only the tassel of a bookmark, and he turns to the computer screen to his left, typing furiously to find the right page.
"Yes. Constantinople. During the Plague of Justinian the First. In 1541-1542 it killed more than 40% of the city. A quarter of the Eastern Mediterranean. Maybe twenty-five million casualties," he says, now admiring the ring, like some context has been added.
"How do I know, you ask?" Even if she hasn't, he seems very pleased with himself, and turns it over again, now picking it up in his hands.
"I'll tell you. Justinian was one of the plague's near-victims, but survived it. The officials that stayed in the city received rings such as this, though very few with this particular stone. No, stones like this? Black quartz? They were reserved for his personal physicians, gifts along with lands and great estates for helping him weather his sickness at their own personal risk."
"Silver, you see, was thought to be a metal of purity. Today we know it has antibacterial properties. The symbolism is that the wearer had held back the plague," indicating with the pen, again, how it clutches the black polished stone.
He is only now getting to the inscription.
"That someone would inscribe it with Linear B is even more startling. A true mystery," an almost campy effect added to his voice for the next part, "Let's see if translating it can shed some light on that mystery."
He sets to work, having already set books aside in case the woman actually had shown up, and begins copying the inscription and breaking them down into numbers, then syllables, then translating again from the ancient Greek tongue. It takes a while for him to finish. Perhaps 15 or 20 minutes.
"Lest the grand sire return and find the children wanting," shaking his head. "Hmm... That can't be right. They're using a word for ancestor, yes, of great age, but in relation to the siring, almost as if by an animal. Lineage, but not man. The language was originally used between palaces, it's believed, to keep track of exchanges by scribes. And the dialect. It's a hodge-podge. What would it even be doing on a 6th Century artifact?"
He examines the ring inside for a few moments before finally opening it. The end of a pen enters and finds the ring, pulling it out in the manner a homicide detective might handle a shell casing at a crime scene.
"I can tell you that the artifact isn't Mycenaean. Not even truly Greek," turning it curiously on a fresh sheet of paper he pulls from a nearby printer and places on his desk, prodding it from one angle to the other with the blunt end of the pen.
"The stone looks like obsidian or maybe black quartz. The setting is silver. Hand hammered. I mean, it's obvious it's silver, for some reason the maker decided to mark it with the crescent moon, though. Looks like someone dug it out of the ground with a set of pliers," shaking his head in annoyance, though in no way is it directed at the charming and, let's face it, slightly intimidating redhead before him.
"Wait..." As if a memory is worming its way free of the dusty library in his mind. But it's not. Only the tassel of a bookmark, and he turns to the computer screen to his left, typing furiously to find the right page.
"Yes. Constantinople. During the Plague of Justinian the First. In 1541-1542 it killed more than 40% of the city. A quarter of the Eastern Mediterranean. Maybe twenty-five million casualties," he says, now admiring the ring, like some context has been added.
"How do I know, you ask?" Even if she hasn't, he seems very pleased with himself, and turns it over again, now picking it up in his hands.
"I'll tell you. Justinian was one of the plague's near-victims, but survived it. The officials that stayed in the city received rings such as this, though very few with this particular stone. No, stones like this? Black quartz? They were reserved for his personal physicians, gifts along with lands and great estates for helping him weather his sickness at their own personal risk."
"Silver, you see, was thought to be a metal of purity. Today we know it has antibacterial properties. The symbolism is that the wearer had held back the plague," indicating with the pen, again, how it clutches the black polished stone.
He is only now getting to the inscription.
"That someone would inscribe it with Linear B is even more startling. A true mystery," an almost campy effect added to his voice for the next part, "Let's see if translating it can shed some light on that mystery."
He sets to work, having already set books aside in case the woman actually had shown up, and begins copying the inscription and breaking them down into numbers, then syllables, then translating again from the ancient Greek tongue. It takes a while for him to finish. Perhaps 15 or 20 minutes.
"Lest the grand sire return and find the children wanting," shaking his head. "Hmm... That can't be right. They're using a word for ancestor, yes, of great age, but in relation to the siring, almost as if by an animal. Lineage, but not man. The language was originally used between palaces, it's believed, to keep track of exchanges by scribes. And the dialect. It's a hodge-podge. What would it even be doing on a 6th Century artifact?"