Chapter FourMark Burridge was certainly in awe of the object as he sat at his desk, closely studying the pendant. Protected in a thin, plastic wallet, he could pick it up without fear of contaminating it with the grease from his fingers. He had no idea if it was gold or not; it may have been bronze, copper, some sort of pyrites. He would have to wait for the results of the analysis to come back. Until then, he could only guess. Either way, it was an object of beauty, wonderfully crafted with great care and skill. The letters seemed to form some sort of inscription, and it wasn't Latin, he knew that much.
“Middle English,” said Donna, coming in with a pile of papers in her hand. “I took a photograph, sent it off to the British Museum. “
“You're up with the birds this morning.”
“This is b
