Despite frequent sightings of them around Oxford, they were an unlikely pair – the tall, taciturn Scot and the short, engaging Englishman.

They met through a rather heated discussion of a correct translation of Tacitus. Jones called Brody an imbecilic barbarian without the wit to know Aristotle from Aurelius. Brody retorted, somewhat out of character, that Jones was a stubborn old goat who would rather be wrong than acknowledge that another was right.

They took to each other immediately.

Though time had softened many of their rough edges, Brody still admired Jones's boundless energy, bulldog tenacity, and the effortless way he could bring low his opponents with a sardonic drawl. Meanwhile, Jones secretly envied Brody's insight in research, his management skills, and his all-around amiability. Together they made huge strides in the field of medieval literature. Jones would appear with some new-found data, Brody would comment, Jones disagree, Brody contradict, and the end result was inevitably a bit of brilliant work neither could have achieved on his own. They were a formidable team, unable to be split apart.

And yet . . . and yet . . .

If there had been a pool taken in their Oxford house over who would win the hand and heart of Anna Gowes, daughter of the up-and-coming Egyptologist Sternhardt Gowes, the favorite would have been Marcus Brody by a landslide. Far more conventional, pleasant, and yes, even handsome, Brody was certain to marry Anna.

Anna didn't love him.

For some unfathomable reason, pretty Anna Gowes preferred the glowering, silent, bearded Scot over the gracious and chivalrous Englishman.

Henry never knew why but was too delighted to question why. Nor did Marcus ever truly know, though he supposed some women found his friend "fascinating." Whatever the reason – which Anna never did make clear – Marucs made the gentlemanly decision to step aside. He would not be a blight on their happiness. He cared too much for them, individually, to disrupt their engagement.

And yet . . . and yet . . .

To see the woman he would have loved for all eternity on the arm of another man was more than his heart could bear. Quietly, gently, he disentangled himself from their lives, choosing museum over manuscript. He encouraged Henry to travel, to see the places where history was made. He saw Henry – and Anna – less and less as the years went on.

Until one day Henry returned with Anna . . . and a young version of himself in tow. Despite the American accent and manners kept polished under the watchful eye of his governess, the boy proved his bloodline by engaging Marcus in a frank appraisal of the current theories of Hittite culture.

Another Henry, both in name and character! Marcus knew the Henry Jones of his youth would never return. Dr. Jones Sr. had taken a university position out West for Anna's health. Still a scholar at heart, 

he would never again engage in the mild adventures and peccadilloes like the undergraduates he now taught. This version of Henry was for less boisterous and active than the old.

But the new Henry, the one with "Junior" after his name, who preferred the moniker "Indiana" . . . here was Brody's companion from a generation past. Not identical, no, but close enough to fit the role of friend and companion that had been missing in Brody's life since Anna entered the picture.

And yet . . . and yet . . .

If Marcus were honest enough with himself, he'd admit there was another role the Jones boy filled. He would never tell Indiana, but he did enjoy imagining that Anna Gowes had loved him in return, and this adventurous young man in the ubiquitous fedora was his own son.