machine gun prop

Our driver, Tamasz, is helping me and goofing around. He is juggling some kind of fourth century pig cup and pretending he is being hit in the head with these catapult rocks.  He’s convulsing as if he is dead on the floor. Even the student archaeologists are looking sideways at him. He and the security guard help me secure a light to a chair using scraps of rags and various fourth century munitions, but the light really isn’t stable until the guard pulls a part off his machine gun to use as a brace.