Terra Australis Templar (A Peter Wilks Archaeological Mystery)

by Gregory House

  So why Visby here? One of the slain there on the Danish island, still had three arrowheads stuck in the back of his skull, each perfectly punched through the skull plate without radiating fractures, indicating the poor fellow had been alive when it happened. At Deception Bay Peter could see the same pattern. The spikes or whatever had been driven through a ‘fresh’ skull that hadn’t had any time to dry out. Nasty! If this was a set of fakes, then medical skulls would have been used and they were already dried out and so would display a lot of fragile fracturing, unless of course this was a colonial murder.

  He slipped on a pair of cotton gloves and eased the centre skull out of its resting place and tilted it. Well that answered one question – not a spike, a spearhead. Peter could hear the constant buzz of the camera until he placed it in the padded box to his right. Sid wrote out a serial number from his site pad and attached it to the now sealed box. The other two skulls soon followed as they got in to the rhythm of the excavation. A separate part of him subconsciously noted the heavy wear and tear on the skulls. Whoever these guys were, serious violence was a fact of life. Then the cross – it was a simple naive style and appeared akin to the ones often seen in Mexican village churches. As for the chalice, at a guess it was silver or silver alloy and had been turned almost black where it had rested by the nearest skull. It was lacking in gems or any ostentation with only a dimly visible script circling the vessel.

  That was the first layer of objects.

  Field Illustration 1

  Chapter 11 Fifteen Men on a Dead Man’s Chest?

  Peter was about to start on the next layer when a hand patted him on the shoulder. He tilted his hat brim and looked up into the smiling face of Lampie blocking out the sun.

  “Hey Peter I reckon we should give it a break, Uncle Bill’s got us some lunch.”

  What was that, was it midday already? Peter measured the span of the heavens – good God he’d been so absorbed he’d lost track. Stretching cramped muscles, he joined the meander back to the camp and was presented with a steaming hunk of crusty bread and if you could believe it a couple of prawns the size of bananas. As for the taste, how could he describe the succulent sweetness? They were the most delicious prawns he’d ever had. In between mouthfuls he spluttered his thanks to Uncle Bill.

  Then Lampie settled down next to him “Good tucker?”

  His vigorous nod gained a flash of a smile.

  “Be thankful it’s not Rob. He could burn water and y’ can use his fried eggs as Frisbees.” Lampie shook her head and shuddered. It was plain that she had experienced the dubious pleasure of her team mate’s cooking. Peter took another bite of the delectable prawn buttie. Uncle Bill’s cooking was way above what Wally had hinted at. He doubted if even Fiona would turn her nose up at this delicacy, despite the primitive setting.

  “Pete the way you’re dealing with the excavation, it’s amazing. I can see why Sid reckoned we needed you.”

  “Thanks Lampie, I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

  “Have you directed many excavations?”

  Peter raised an eyebrow at the question. Was this flattery, he gave Lampie a very quick inspection, maybe a little but she did seem genuinely pleased to have him here and she must have agreed with Sid’s push to bring him out so…he’d have to think on it later. In the meantime her question lead him elsewhere, Peter easily recalled the bitter infighting back home to gain the funding for a dig. Let alone the masses of paperwork in applications to local councils, English Heritage, the National Trust, regional planning authorities, national parks and so on. It was a lucky archaeologist who managed to wade through all that with only a minor mental breakdown as souvenir.

  “Well not really, mainly assisted or dug the holes. I was told I had good shovelling technique, a useful skill that for digs, considering the chronic shortage of funding. Most of the archaeologists I worked with were pretty skint and desperate for the help.” To be honest this venture was as close to leading an excavation as he’d ever come. Strange that he’d had to travel to a distant corner of Australia to gain the chance.

  “These days you get what you can. It’s not exactly like it was in Howard Carter’s time. He had fifty diggers to help him discover Tutankhamen.”

  Lampie gave him a very sceptical stare and then gave her crew a rapid glance. “How could this Carter bloke afford fifty guys to help him? We had enough trouble finding two.” It was pretty obvious Lampie was a little dismayed at the discrepancy between the examples.

  Peter could understand that feeling. When any modern archaeologist read those early accounts, they tended to do one of two things, curse that they weren’t there or secondly vainly wish for similar resources.

  “Well a number of factors came to his aid. Firstly, it was in the nineteen twenties, in Egypt, where diggers were plentiful and cheap to hire, and secondly Lord Carnarvon, an extremely wealthy British aristocrat was stumping up the readies and did so for years.” Peter thought it was prudent not to mention that Carter made his amazing find pretty well in the last hour of Lord Carnarvon’s financial patience.

  “Wow a rich backer. Do y’ reckon we’ve got a chance to get one after today?” Lampie was looking so eager. A certain amount of excitement was only to be expected.

  Now that he’d had the chance to check out their operation, Peter wondered how close to the bone this exercise was running. Maybe Lampie was hanging out for a success to pay the bills. Boats or ketches could only be considered a cheap investment when compared to racehorses.

  “Well I am afraid I know very little about Australian philanthropic organisations. Maybe you could get funding from a government body?” Peter was trying very hard to be optimistic and helpful. The chances out here of finding a wealthy backer for anything were pretty astronomically small.

  Lampie slumped back against a tree clearly disappointed with the answer. “Nah, Sid tried that. If it was an aboriginal site, maybe.” Lampie waved her hand in a balancing motion. “Now if this is early colonial and linked to Matthew Flinders or Philip Gidley King, better. If it was Dutch we’d have an excellent chance. What do you think it is Pete?”

  He was actually dreading that question. The eagerness was palpable and seemed to flow off Lampie in waves. You know the kind that triggers off an instinctive dumb reaction, like the sort that makes you say really stupid things to stunningly attractive girls who ask you the time or if you want to go to a night club.

  Peter untangled his tongue and tried hard not to blurt out an idiotic answer. “Ahh well, Lampie, it is really too early to tell. From only the top layer, I’d give a tentative date of pre eighteen eighties.” He gave her a half grin and shrugged in sympathy. The rest of the site crew were happily munching on the prawn repast, though Peter noted that both Bluey and Rob were keeping a wary eye on his conversation with Lampie, not so much snooping more monitoring for important words like ‘treasure’ and ‘pirates’. That accounted for all but one of the excavation team. “Lampie I would have thought Sid would be here with us?”

  “Nah. He said he wanted to finish cataloguing in his tent before he secured the finds. Anyway he’s got to prepare the worksheets for the two graves we found near the chest.”

  Peter gave a single nod. What didn’t come up in the Tomb Raider films and Indiana Jones was the never ending paperwork of excavation. Every skerrick and fragment dug up had to be recorded and logged – who by, when, what grid section of the site. Then there was usually a page worth of description for every item. He was sure that each skull was going to merit several, as well as at least a dozen sketches. According to his conversation with Lampie yesterday, that was her field of expertise. His subconscious tagged the opportunity to spend a bit of quality time with her, purely as an aid to artistic clarity of course. Two graves though – that sounded interesting. He should be able to find some dating evidence from those. Pity Sid didn’t mention them first rather than the ‘treasure chest’. It would have aided his presentation…and credibility.

  * * * * *<
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  Field Illustration 2

  While Peter was trying to work up a way of spending more time with her, Lampie was figuring out a different scheme, – the best way to keep those two ‘old friends’ apart. She’d been standing next to the Englishman when Sid had pulled his magician’s act and revealed the chest, and it didn’t take a clairvoyant to see that those two had a touch of troubled history in their mutual past. A fact that Sid had frequently failed to mention in their ‘planning discussions’, so yet one more unexplained mystery from their leader to add to the growing list. For the moment Lampie had been tempted to step between the ‘boys’. She could have sworn Peter was going to deck his ‘old mate’, but no instead the Pom had stalked off. They didn’t need that crap. She’d already tried to convince Sid to leave off the dramatic stunt, but he’d just kept grinning like a loon and refused, promising that it’d be worth it. Well it bloody well wasn’t. It had given her a certain satisfaction to readily agree to Peter Wilks’ conditions. She could see that despite his continual smile, Sid hadn’t expected that. Excellent, notch one up for her!

  As for the discovery, she wasn’t surprised that Wilks had chucked a wobbly when he’d seen it. She’d almost lost her breakfast on that first sight. Shoving a severed head on a spike and putting them in a box that was a trifle close to grand-mère’s stories of spirit magic with a hefty dose of Carib Vodoun. Uncle Bill had vanished at the first glimpse. Potential treasure be damned. Now he refused to step foot on the hill and complained to her they needed a Wandijani karadji man to clear the evil spirits. Secretly she’d been tempted to agree. This excavation was edging into the weird zone.

  “Lampie?”

  At the sound of her name she snapped back into the present. Peter Wilks was looking expectantly at her over the last fragment of his meal. Hmm he had friendly eyes and a bit of prawn juice on his chin. Messy but cute. “Yeah Peter.”

  “”I’m going to be busy with the next stage of the excavation. Would you be able to use my camera as well as yours for each set of shots?”

  It was a perfectly reasonable request. She’d have to juggle two camera’s and the sketch pad as well as the video camera, though that was set up on the tripod and fixed on the excavation. It only required the odd check. If they took it steadily, she saw no problems and gave him a ready smile. “Sure Pete, no worries.”

  Arrangements settled, she walked back to the hill trailed by a slower Bluey and Rob. As usual, they’d forgotten the next set of find bags and trays and a pointed reminder sent them grumbling back to the camp. In the mean time she had the opportunity to walk around the site alone. Lampie knew she didn’t have the depth of experience of Sid. Despite her griping, he did seem to have a knack for discovering sites, which had kept them in gainful employment for the past few years. This site, however, still raised more than its usual share of questions. She still couldn’t see anything that flagged it for excavation, so how did Sid know?

  The clatter of the returning team dismissed that errant thought and Lampie checked the setup of the bank of cameras. The digital age may have speeded up processing and increased the potential of photos, but the demand for more shots had served to cancel the advantage. She took Peter’s camera, a Fuji digital with a manual telephoto lens, older compared to some though a quick test showed that it had an excellent capacity for detail. This was going to be easy!

  After that preparation, she took a position by the media array and waited. Peter squatted in front of the box and appeared to pause hesitantly, before he carefully raised the lid and then stopped. Lampie got the hint and snapped away. The Englishman had slipped on another pair of cotton gloves and cautiously probed the mass of crumbling cloth that filled the bulk of the box. A row of several ceramic bowls could be seen peeking out from underneath the front edge of the material. She was really eager to get down to them but understood Peter’s patient efforts to ease each broken layer of cloth into a padded tray. Even the smallest piece was important for evidence. Prof. Richards back at uni had frequently droned on about it. ‘Even the tiniest thread is significant in ascertaining the history of an object, for it helps us place the rest of the find in its true socio-cultural context and thematic milieu’. That was the much abbreviated version. He was right of course, but that didn’t mean the lecture had to wind its way through two tediously boring hours and require a thesaurus and dictionary for translating the jargon packed ‘discussion’.

  Well she had to admit it, amazing as it may be, Sid was finally on the money. His Pommie friend, Peter, handled those fragile remains with the delicacy of a brain surgeon. Lampie suppressed a shiver at the thought of Sid’s cack-handed methods. He was much better at wreck sites. There was little you could to damage a five tonne anchor or a heap of ballast stones.

  She watched as Peter, having removed one layer, started on a second. This one aroused her particular interest. Was that a hint of metallic thread? Could she discern a series of patterned figures? It was difficult to tell. Peter didn’t falter in his concentration or halt his report, though she could have sworn he muttered something about gold shot silk braid, though that may have been creative hearing. What Lampie did notice was that he handled this set of cloth fragments much more slowly than the previous ones. Every time Peter paused, she snapped more shots. Yeeehah, she was right! Focusing in on the largest piece, the fragment had an embroidered pattern of a stylised beast, perhaps a lion? Really cool!

  Lampie checked over her shoulder. Wow, the time had really flown. From the angle of the sun, it was mid afternoon already and they’d only cleared half of the box. Peter dropped his hands by his side and stood up, while she peered over the cameras at the revealed contents. Well, for a treasure chest it was a disappointment. All that build up and what did they have? Not a lot.

  Lampie tried hard not to display her flagging spirits. I mean it was still a good find with a very interesting selection of pieces, but what could she say after Sid’s performance – everyone was expecting treasure! Even a small bag of silver doubloons would have been enough. Then Peter suddenly dropped back to his knees and tentatively moved another piece of material. It could have been leather from the colour and texture and so they finally got to the bottom layer.

  Lampie gasped. It was the most beautiful object she’d ever seen. It glowed with a deep black sheen, except for the glitter where sunlight sparkled off the inset flower patterns. Next to it were three silvery objects; two looked like lions or tigers with a pillar set on their backs and the third was a dull silver platter. She could see that Peter was affected by the sight. He froze and his eyes widened. Then he hesitantly reached out a gloved hand and lightly traced the patterns on the top of the small box.

  “Woohoo! What do you think they are Peter?” Lampie pushed in next to him before Bluey and Rob could claim the best viewing spot. She put a hand on his shoulder and peered over the brim of his feathered hat.

  The object that riveted all their attention was a small box. It was black in colour with a subdued lustre that appeared dusted with gold. If that was all it would be reasonably attractive, but it also had set into the lid a spray of flowers. The stems looked like fine silver wire while the flower blossoms were vivid mother of pearl, white and gold. Lampie stopped breathing as the Kimberley light refracted into a sparkling shatter of iridescence. The phrase beautiful was such a tawdry adjective for this. She understood how Peter felt, lost for words.

  “Holy crap! What the fuckin’ hell is that?” Bluey’s lack of subtly broke the spell.

  Lampie suddenly realised she had been squeezing Peter’s shoulder in what must have been a very painful grip. Muttering an embarrassed apology, she stood up and glared meaningfully at Bluey. For once the dig assistant ignored her. Instead he was transfixed by glittering splendours in the box – drooling would be a pretty good tag for it.

  “It’s fuckin’ treasure? It’s fuckin’ treasure!” Bluey began to jump up and down like a beagle in heat giving out excited shrieks and yips.

  The commotion spread d
own the hill towards the camp and the figures of Rob and Sid could be see striding away from the tents, clutching their hats to their heads as they failed to maintained a dignified pace. Ten yards later both gave up the pretence and sprinted towards the dig site, arriving red faced and puffing.

  Sid pushed past Rob and Bluey who’d spontaneously decided it was time for a quick improvisation of the Highland fling, and in between catching his breath gasped out a question. “What have you found Pete?”

  Lampie, like everyone else there, turned towards the English archaeologist. All wore the face of eager anticipation.

  Peter Wilks raised an eyebrow and gave a cheeky half smile and waved over his shoulder. “It’s all right, Sid. Just the usual tat you’d find in any attic box.”

  All the team clustered around the open chest, their eyes wide and glowing. Recalling her duty, Lampie stepped back a pace to rearrange the cameras and stopped. She was watching Sid. Like all of them, he looked excited but there was something else in that rapturous stare. For the second time today, she was reminded of the stories of the Wandijani karadji, how if a warrior was unprotected his soul could be snared by a mamu, a predator spirit. It was only a brief glimpse, no more than a spark in the eye, but it gave her a shiver and if Lampie had been pressed to name the animal that it brought to mind, she would have said it was the cold calculation of a waiting saltie. The next moment and the image evaporated, she gave a shake of her head and refocused the cameras.