“We be hired to dig, not to tote blocks o’ stone about,” he said.
“Oh, dear! These union rules!” said Veryan lightly.
“Would you be wanting us further?” asked the older man.
“No, no. There is nothing to do until the marking-out is all done. That is why I thought you might care to help Mr. Saltergate a little.”
They made no reply except to touch their foreheads and slouch off.
“Not exactly chaps I would choose to go with on a walking-tour,” said Tom, “if you don’t mind my saying so, sir.”
“Oh, I do so heartily agree, but, having made their point, they will now help Saltergate if and when he needs assistance,” said Veryan.
“How soon will you be going to commence digging, sir?” asked Tom.
“Oh, probably tomorrow. That’s why we don’t want you to wear yourselves out dealing with blocks of stone. I wonder what made you think of Saxon cemeteries?”
“Something Mr. Saltergate said, I think.”
“Oh, well, his interest is in buildings and his conception of history begins with Edward the Confessor,” said Veryan, laughing. “No, no. Tynant and I will be looking for signs of a disc barrow.”
“But the area you are to cover is pretty flat for that, isn’t it, sir?” said Bonamy.
“Tynant’s theory—and here he is in agreement with Saltergate—is that the earliest castle on this hill was a motte and bailey and constructed of wood. The stone buildings came later. The wooden keep was where the remains of the later one still stand, and Saltergate thinks that the outer bailey was flattened when the second castle was built. That meant the domestic quarters could be erected on level ground at the foot of the sharp rise which leads up to the keep. The earliest castle would probably have had only a palisade around the living-quarters. In time of trouble all the inhabitants would have crowded into the keep, the drawbridge over the defensive ditch would have been raised, and on the slope up to the keep there might have been a broad ladder from which a section could be removed to make an assault on the keep more difficult. But this is childish stuff compared with our excavations.”
“Are we likely to find skeletons or anything else interesting, sir? What exactly do we expect?”
“At some sites archaeologists have found two types of funeral procedure, inhumations and cremations. First, whether it was one or the other, came, as I told you, the main burial, usually the deepest down, then followed what have been termed satellite burials, sometimes on a level with the primary interment, sometimes rather higher up in the mound, and, later still, secondary burials have turned up, but, as those were higher up still, we may not find any traces of them on this site. Any bones might have been dug up and thrown away when the Normans flattened the site to make their outer bailey, but we hope not.”
“Would there be any good finds in the primary grave, sir, apart from skeletons or cremated dust, I mean?” asked Tom.
“It depends upon what you mean by ‘good finds,’ Mr. Hassocks. Anything we shall find is certain to have been duplicated elsewhere—a bronze dagger, a beaker, perhaps an archer’s wrist-guard, possibly (although this is fairly rare) some magic symbol such as the head of a hawk which was found in the barrow at Kellythorpe.”
“Couldn’t the hawk’s head have been, like the dagger, the beaker, and the wrist-guard, something simply to help the chap with his hunting when he reached the next world, sir? Why was it thought it had to do with magic?”
“Grahame Clark argues that, if the intention was simply to provide an aid to future hunting, the entire body of the bird would have been there and not merely its head.”
“Strange how this theory of a life after death dates back far, far earlier than so-called Christian times,” said Bonamy.
“You would think that the lives lived by Bronze Age people were so nasty and brutish that they certainly wouldn’t want to have another bucketful of existence, no matter what form it took,” said Tom. “From these grave-trappings it seems they didn’t think it would be any different from life here on earth. Could they really have wanted a second innings?”
“Their lives were not only nasty and brutish, Mr. Hassocks. They were also (to complete your quotation) short. It is doubtful whether many of them extended to more than between forty and fifty years.”
“Oh, well, after the age of fifty I suppose most of us will be living on borrowed time,” said Bonamy. To cover up what he saw immediately as a somewhat tactless remark to a man who must have been very near, if not beyond, his fiftieth year, he added hastily, “I except my godmother, of course, but, then, I really believe that she is indestructible.”
“I sincerely hope that you are right,” said Veryan. He nodded amiably and left them to their labours. They worked on their clearance of the gatehouse for a bit and then, easing off, Bonamy said, “I see that Saltergate has joined Fiona in the keep and turfed Susannah out to join Mrs. Saltergate and Priscilla on the perimeter to do the lighter work. You know, Tom, from what we know now, it looks to me as though the vested interests may clash—Veryan and Saltergate, I mean.”
“Why should they? Everybody has been warned by Saltergate that none of the activities is to interfere with Veryan’s dig.”
“Only because he thinks, as we did, that the dig will be confined to the middle of the outer bailey. What if this earthwork, of which the ditch forms part, went out to where the flanking-towers and all the rest of that wall used to be?”
“That isn’t our problem. Come on, let’s buckle to and show willing. If only my parents could see me now, they would be proud to have bred such thews and sinews!”
They heaved and sweated. Although, considering the bombardment it must have suffered, a surprising amount of the gatehouse was still standing, there was giant’s work to be done in removing the chunks of stone which blocked the entrance and in clearing up the rubble and small packing-stones which had helped to bind the larger blocks together.
“Well, if this is your idea of a good way to spend the long vac,” said Bonamy, when they knocked off for lunch, “what’s the matter with Dartmoor?”
“Don’t weaken. Any day and at any time, somebody will find traces of a well and then we’re home and dry.”
“You won’t be, when I’ve lowered you into the slimy depths in a bucket. Don’t go putting your hand into any holes, nooks, or crevices on the way down. Remember The Treasure of Abbot Thomas.”
“Who was he?”
“Ignorance is bliss when it comes to the stories told by M. R. James. I suppose they’re fiction, but they carry such a stamp of authenticity that I’m never quite sure. Thomas was Abbot of Steinfeld and he is supposed to have buried some gold treasure in a well and, I suppose, put a curse on it.”
“So what happened? I suppose somebody found out about the treasure and went to look for it and ran into trouble.”
“You shall read all about it. The thing is that treasure buried in wells may be better left alone. I am not as anxious as I was to locate this well of yours.”
“What has changed your mind? I thought you were as keen on the scheme as I am. Don’t tell me that a story by an ex-Provost of Eton College has affected you to this extent? What brought Abbot Thomas to your mind?”
“I was pulling your leg about the story, brilliant and frightening (like most of his) though it is. What I don’t much like is this double-talk from Veryan. I know he told us we were to excavate a small Saxon burial ground. Now it turns out that we are to dig up what may be the remains of a Bronze Age chief.”
“So what? You don’t think Veryan is a treasure-hunter like us?”
“I don’t know. What I like least of all is the treble deal the owner of the estate has made with us, with Saltergate, and with Veryan. At some point the various interests are bound to clash and then there is going to be trouble.”
“Not necessarily. We’re all civilised people. I don’t think there is any chance that the fur will fly. All I care about is our well and, so far as that is concern
ed, it doesn’t matter who finds it so long as it’s located and nobody finds out why we’re so keen on it.”
“Isn’t it going to attract attention when it’s seen that we are deepening it beyond what Saltergate thinks is necessary for his reconstruction?”
“Remember the immortal advice, ‘Sit still and let Time pass.’ In other words, some situations never arise, so be patient.”
Lights were on in the caravan when the two young men turned in on the following evening. The weather looked settled, the day had been hot, and, although no work had been done in the afternoon, the two were aware of muscles which were responding adversely to unaccustomed manual labour. At dawn Tom woke Bonamy and they went outside for a breath or two of the fresh morning air before they returned to the keep to search for signs of a well.
They themselves had cleared enough space to be able to put up the camp-beds, but Saltergate and Fiona had made a complete clearance and that morning it became obvious that the water-supply to the garrison was not inside the keep itself, although it was probably not far away.
In one angle of the walls, which were sixteen feet thick (as a splayed tiny window indicated), there was the archway to the newel stair. They had climbed the stair in turn and more than once since their arrival, deeming the top of the keep an advantageous place from which to get a complete picture of the site.
Tom again climbed the winding, narrow, stone newel to the parapet. Below him, on the side nearest the hall, was the heap of stone and rubble which had been cleared out of the keep. To his jaundiced eye it looked mountainous.
“So what did Sister Anne see?” asked Bonamy, when Tom came down again.
“Sister Anne saw the result of a lot of misplaced effort on the part of other members of the party. Do you know what?” said Tom disgustedly. “I bet there were outbuildings to the keep and they joined it to the hall. They’ve gone now and, in the space, Saltergate and Fiona have dumped a mountain of stone and rubble. Suppose they’ve covered up one of the wells? It will take us days to clear it again.”
“We had better not touch it at present, or somebody will wonder why, and that’s the last thing we want. We can’t afford to have people smelling rats and asking all sorts of awkward questions. Let it ride for the present and don’t worry.”
4
Little Rifts Within the Lute
“I don’t really think we need worry,” said Bonamy again the next morning. “If it had been the two girls it would be a different matter, but Saltergate is an expert and dead keen on this clearance and restoration thing. He wouldn’t have missed out on anything as important as a well. There can’t have been any traces of one inside or outside the keep. We’ll have a good look at the interior of the hall before anybody begins work on it. Remember that Saltergate told us he was interested in tracing waterpipes from the source of supply up to the living-quarters? There really can’t be a well under all that rubble they threw out. He would be sure to have spotted it.”
“I blame the landowner,” said Saltergate to his wife, as they prepared to go down to breakfast at the Horse and Cart. “That’s the worst of these upstart landlords. Old Lord Ambrose would never have given permission for three sets of people, all with different objectives, to work on this one small site. I wrote to this new man as soon as I realised that we were not to have the castle to ourselves, but, so far, have received no reply, and that is uncivil, to say the least.”
“It would be far worse if we all had the same objective,” said Lilian pacifically. “As it is, our interests do not clash with those of the others. Surely that is something to be thankful for?”
“It might be, if Veryan and Tynant were not cutting so wide a circle. By the look of things, they have marked out their ground so that they are bound to encroach, sooner or later, on my territory.”
“Well, they certainly seem to be allowing themselves plenty of scope. We had no idea that their outer ring would be so wide. Anyway, we have lots of clearing up to do before we need make an issue of it. Indeed, I hope to goodness it will not reach that stage. Could you not have a word in Nicholas Tynant’s ear? He is far less intransigent than Veryan.”
“I think he is very much the junior partner in their enterprise.”
“All the same, he may be able to persuade Veryan to leave their outer trench a little bit incomplete so as to allow the foundations of our flanking-towers to remain undisturbed.”
“He is a fanatic. Such people—well, one cannot argue with them. If the foundations of even one of my flanking-towers are dug up and destroyed, my whole project is spoilt. I think I will approach Tynant, as you suggest, and if nothing comes of that—and I’m sure nothing will—I may go up in person to the house and put my case in as forceful a way as I can to the owner.”
“You will probably be able to speak to nobody but the bailiff. The family are sure to be away at this time of year. In their absence I doubt whether anybody will be prepared to alter arrangements already made. I think you will have to trust to the goodwill of Malpas and Nicholas and so try to avoid unpleasantness.”
“If any goodwill existed, it vanished as soon as they found that I had an option on the site. I wonder what chance there is of my finding out which of us was first in the field? A prior claim ought to carry considerable weight.”
“It might be better not to attempt to establish one. You might find that Veryan’s agreement was signed prior to yours.”
“Yes, that is an embarrassing possibility, I suppose. Anyway, I will adopt your suggestion and begin by having a quiet word with Nicholas.”
“Oh, Lord!” said Tynant. “Well, I appreciate the position, of course, but Malpas and I have a point of view, too, you know. I am sure we would be only too happy to do as you wish, but, if we fail to complete our ditch so as to spare your foundations, the chances are that we should miss finding one of our secondary burials or (even worse) lose one of the satellite interments and that would spoil the whole dig.”
“I am not so ill-informed about pre-history as Veryan may think. I have seen Paul Ashbee’s book and it seems to me that all which remains for you to find is the primary grave. All traces of burials higher up in the mound which would have covered the barrow must have been dug up and destroyed long ago, when the cairn, I feel sure, was levelled to make the outer bailey.”
“On the other hand, you have no actual proof that the ground ever was artificially levelled. If ours was a bermed barrow, whether a disc barrow or a saucer barrow, particularly the latter, there would be very little of the actual burial mound to be seen, so that very little levelling of the ground would have been necessary.”
Malpas Veryan came up to them. He smiled.
“To employ the opening gambit favoured by the police force, ‘What’s all this, then?’” he said genially.
Nicholas and Edward both began to speak. Nicholas gave way to the older man, so Edward said, “I have taken great care to tell my people to respect your dig, Malpas, and on no account to trespass on your territory, but if your trench is carried to what appears to be its logical conclusion, it seems to me that you and Nicholas will encroach quite disastrously on mine. Do you really intend to undermine the foundations of at least one of my flanking-towers? Do you really need quite so much room?”
“Well,” said Malpas, maintaining his easy tone, “at present it is hardly possible to tell, because these Bronze Age barrows varied so much in size. Owing to your Norman castle-builders and their determination to make a large jousting-yard or whatever they intended, the outer surface indications of my barrow have been lost. The thing could have been as wide in diameter as a hundred and twenty feet or as narrow as thirty feet across. In the ordinary way we should have something to guide us, but here we are at a singular disadvantage except for the very useful guideline of your defensive ditch. I am convinced that the ditch once formed part of my henge.”
“I am left wondering what makes you think there was ever a barrow here at all. It seems to be merely guesswork on your part.”
/> “Not at all. There has been a reconnaissance from the air. Your defensive ditch forms the arc of a circle, the old name for the village here was Yarlbury, and the presence of barrows on neighbouring hillsides suggests the distinct possibility that there could have been one here. The sighting from the air was pretty positive. Where one finds water, such as the little river which winds round this hillside, one expects to find an early settlement and where there were settlers there were graves. It’s as simple as that.”
“Maybe, but that does not entitle you to encroach on my flanking-towers.”
“Oh, my dear fellow,” said Malpas, still smiling but with an edge to his voice, “you mustn’t be greedy! According to that plan which you drew so expertly on the damp sand, you expect to uncover the foundations of at least ten of the things. Surely to lose one of them is no great matter.”
“It matters to me. You might as well say that the loss of one plate out of a priceless dinner-service is no great matter, but I don’t think the owner would agree with you, any more than a person who had an unique set of chessmen would think that a missing or replaced and inferior pawn did not matter.”
“It’s like this, you see, Edward,” said Nicholas, “I agree with you that the primary grave is the one we are almost bound to find. It will be in the middle of our circle and too deep down to have been disturbed, we hope, but we don’t want to miss a secondary interment or a satellite grave, either of which will be nearer the surface than the primary burial. I can’t believe that one flanking tower (which, in any case, will only be a duplicate of all the others) can be regarded as of greater importance than secondary and satellite graves which will certainly not be duplicates of the primary burial.”
“You are entitled to your opinion,” said Edward, in a tone which belied these words, “but the loss of the foundations of even one flanking-tower would make every difference to my work on the site. If you insist upon completing the trench you have marked out with your pegs, my reconstruction of the fortifications will be ruined. After all, you have no proof that there were any secondary graves, whereas I know the layout of my flanking-towers exactly. We must go to arbitration, I suppose.”
Death of a Burrowing Mole (Mrs. Bradley) Page 4
