Terra Australis Templar (A Peter Wilks Archaeological Mystery)

by Gregory House

  Then just as Sid was hurrying off, she had one more interesting thought. Wasn’t this site supposed to be secret? She knew that they’d done the heritage paper work for checking this site. She was the one who’d filled it all in, especially since this patch of turf was included under the area administered by the KLC, the Kimberleys Lands Council. That in itself was more than fair enough. About time kooris got the chance to legally and officially administer the lands they’d inhabited for thousands of years. It took long enough for the Australian government to admit that the first peoples had real and natural rights and that was only after the long struggle of Eddie Mabo. So much for the instruction from His Britannic Majesty’s Government to Captain Philip and the First Fleet to treat the natives fairly and with impartial justice.

  Now for today’s task. She’d help out Sid, but she’d be damned if Sid thought she was going to say whatever he wanted! Lampie finished the coffee, got up and strolled over to Peter. He was downing his third coffee. Damn but that Pommie was a caffeine addict! “Hey Pete. How about we go over to the site and get a start on the day’s work?”

  It was very gratifying to gain his instant acceptance and so they set off together towards the low hill of the site, leaving Sid and his problems well behind. After a brief discussion about the success of yesterday, where he asked a few general questions about how the finds where being organised and stored, Peter then honed in on the lacquer box and the journal. For some reason, he was very concerned over how it was going to be protected. She could understand his worry. So far it was the jewel of the dig and that alone would guarantee them funding for future work. She had assured him that both the box and the journal had been catalogued with extensive photos. Then the box was wrapped and sealed pending his review. The Pommie archaeologist had given a wry grin and a reluctant nod. It was pretty obvious he was keen to have a read. She was dying to know what the book said as well but as they say, the requirements of the dig came first.

  That minor problem solved, she moved on to the trenches issue. Great news – Peter didn’t want any more impulsive trenches either. From now on he reckoned they needed to be more scientific in their excavations based on the results of the GPR and magnetometer scans. So far she’d been too busy recording the excavations and the magnificent collection of finds to worry too much about forward planning. It was great to see someone other than Sid concerned about what came next and certainly here. Sid’s lack of visibility on the site wasn’t always an issue. Sometimes, like with fragile and valuable items, his non appearance was a blessing. Right now his fleeting inspections and obscure directions were becoming annoying. Previously when Lampie had worked with him, she’d been in on the consultation and planning. Yeah well occasionally boring and dull, no change ‘occasionally’ to ‘mostly’. Despite that it was still essential. So his freakin’ commands like the one this morning were getting a little wearing, as was the fact that Sid hadn’t done any of the consulting stuff since the day they called Peter. She was beginning to think that it was more than time for her to have a serious talk with Sid about his ‘business arrangements’.

  Lampie boxed those considerations as they began to lay out the site quadrants. She had the theodolite set up and was using Peter to check the measurements. While this had been done on their first day on the site, it had been more in the manner of a general survey. Despite Sid’s insistence ‘this was the place’, she hadn’t been expecting to find anything. Since the fortunate discovery that had changed. Every lump and bump had to be included, along with the precise GPS coordinates and all the opened trenches and their finds. Then catalogued, updated and annotated. Oh for the free life of the archaeologist where the paperwork mounts up by the minute, at least the electronic data could be downloaded to the laptop.

  Eventually closer to midday than she would have thought, they finished the updated survey and Peter marked off the area around the excavated vestments chest as the next target. The plan was to ease the empty box out of the ground on the last day of the excavation and wrap it in an insulated layer of foam, then an airtight seal, before rushing it to Derby. The less time exposed to the elements the less it would degrade. As for the rest, Peter had divided it into four quadrants, setting out roughly two trenches a section. That was pretty ambitious for the week odd they had left. However when she’d quizzed him, the Pommie academic reckoned it shouldn’t be too taxing and still left a lot of follow up work next season. Lampie had shrugged at that suggestion. Fair enough, she wasn’t wielding the shovel. If Pete believed he could get the work out of Bluey and Rob, well she’d cheer him on.

  Come midday lunch call, the Land Council inspectors hadn’t showed and Lampie took a seat in the shade under one of the scraggly gums. Uncle Bill had once more achieved his usual culinary miracle and magicked up a pepperberry salad and wok fried spicy fish. Damn, but she ate well out here, almost as well as some of the cafes in Broome. Pete grabbed a seat next to her and they ate in companionable silence for a few minutes revelling in the exquisite taste of the meal.

  After the last fork full Peter swung to face her. He had that puzzled expression of his on his face. She was getting used to his idiosyncrasies and read this as his way of introducing a question. “Lampie, you remember when you picked me up from the airport?”

  “Yeah Pete.” She politely refrained for the mentioning the first instant, where he sprayed the tarmac with chunder, not the best presentation.

  “You gave me the tour guide run all over Derby.”

  In between mouthfuls she gave an encouraging nod and a positive hum. Obviously that Pommie brain of his was gearing up. “Hmmm”

  “Those boab trees along the street, they where planted by the civil authorities?”

  She swallowed another bite before answering. “Yeah Pete.”

  At that he waved his hand around in a circle “All your boabs are native to the Kimberleys, aren’t they?”

  “Well yeah. Been here forever according to the dreamtime stories.”

  “All right. It was just that I thought of some useful research for Wally. Since there are boabs here they must originally have come from Africa.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard Wally suggest that. He said there’s a botanical researcher he’s been chatting with who has traced the boab DNA back to its cousins in Africa, but not Madagascar.”

  “Does this researcher think they floated here or were deliberately transported?”

  “Oh he goes for the human transport theory.”

  Peter’s eyes widened, then he gave a reluctant shake of the head. “Oh well, it looks like I’d better stick to medieval history. I just thought of that possibility, but it looks like Wally is already ahead of the game.”

  Lampie closely inspected Peter’s expression. This Peter Wilks was proving to be a very curious Pom indeed. Bearing in mind the Sid induced confusion, he’d managed to reorganise their dig, which ranked as a full time job in and of itself, and then, on top of that, made some pretty astounding discoveries. Apart from that, he was also trying to think of ways to help out a bloke he only met a few days ago. That was either really good hearted or a really cunning way to get her sympathetic attention. Her dress circle audience suggested that it was working.

  Lampie was about to ask Peter where he found the time and obliquely slip in a few personal questions, when the crunch of boots on sand broke that train of thought. Instead she pivoted around the trunk of the tree, looking back towards the camp. Sid was about fifty metres away, coming up the slope wearing his ‘happy camper’ face, and leading two koori men. She recognised both – one brought a smile, the other she wasn’t so pleased to see.

  “Hiya Lampie. Still hangin’ around with this fuckin’ vulture?”

  Lampie pushed herself up and did her best to keep a blank face. She knew this wasn’t the usual mocking greeting like ‘G’day yeah old bludger’. The sneering overtone was too hard and edgy. This pushed past the friendly familiarity to gross insult. She noted that Peter registered the suddenly rising tension and stoo
d up behind her. Lampie felt quietly reassured by his presence as she faced their visitors.

  The lead koori was a younger heavily built man and walked with the jerky abrupt movements of the seriously angry. A neutral observer may have said anyone one who spent hours closeted with Sid would tend to look like that. Lampie knew differently. Guniyandi Rydell was always angry; at life, at the white fellas, at the government, even at the people in his clan. He came to university with a chip on his shoulder the size of a four by two, and years of ‘higher education’ refined and transformed it into bridge beam like dimensions. She didn’t like him then, and now he had a serving of power and authority, she liked him even less.

  Sandy wasn’t anything like Rydell. The spread of grey in his hair and the heavy creases on his face gave him an air of the friendly elder, which was true enough. Sandy Wanidijjuri didn’t need an abrasive manner and a badge to give him authority. Anywhere along the coast he had respect. At the sight of Lampie, his faced creased into the ripples of a smile and she gave him a warm hug of welcome. Guniyandi’s scowl deepened, not that she cared.

  Sid sidled up, his ‘pleasing the director’ smile fixed in place. He had a strange form of obsequiousness that included a grinning grovel. Lampie didn’t care who it was required for. Whenever she saw him use it she had the overwhelming urge to kick him. No person should demean themselves like that, even for money it wasn’t worth it. The whole procedure reeked of the abuse of hierarchy, and for her family history, abuses of power and rebellion where touchy areas.

  “Lampie, could you and Pete show our visitors the graves we excavated?”

  She blinked in surprise. Wasn’t the whole idea of today’s plan to keep the Pommie academic away from the Land Council reps? Lampie got a distinct impression that Sid was juggling a few different versions of the game, trying to see which one would work. Okay, she had her own version to play. Giving a smile and a nod she made the introductions.

  As she could have predicted, Rydell gave an insulting reply to Peter’s handshake. “Not another bloody white fella out here. Haven’t we got enough of yous fellas stealing our history? When are you going to return those stolen remains of our ancestors?”

  Peter looked perplexed, and Lampie just sighed. Bloody Guniyandi! This was the wrong time and the wrong person.

  “Ahh sorry. Ahh Mr Rydell, you must have mistaken me for someone else. I am only here to verify colonial finds.”

  Lampie really felt like hitting Rydell. He’d only just met their Pommie academic and already Guniyandi had insulted him. She put a hand out and pushed him back. The koori turned a deeper shade of scowl, edging into outright anger until Sandy put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

  Lampie wasn’t finished. She snapped out her own protective snarl. “Rydell, you idiot give it a rest. He’s not from the British bloody Museum!”

  Rydell was caught up in his current passion of outrage and spat out his own insult. “Fuckin’ whitey lackey!”

  For Lampie, the perspective of the conversation had changed. Almost without thought, her hand clenched and began to move forward, accelerating. Then, as they say, time stopped abruptly. For a fraction of an instant her eyes narrowed down to a centre of focus on Rydell’s broad nose. She already imagined it flattened and bloody. All that was required was to fulfil the destiny of the arc. It didn’t happen – Lampie found that instant of motion had locked, her head tilted, and the set face of Peter Wilks filled her vision. Somehow he had stepped in before she could wallop Rydell and held her arm clamped in his. For another second she tried to struggle, anger and passion fuelling a hefty rage. Wilks didn’t move nor did his steady stare flinch from hers.

  His head bent closer and he whispered in her ear. “Lampie don’t. This fellow wants you to hit him, so that he can close down the dig!”

  She fought against the bitter reality. Just one punch, it’d be worth it just to wipe that sneer off his arrogant face. Lampie let out the breath long held and relaxed. Peter held her until she gave him a nod. Satisfied, he turned to their visitors and gave a half bow

  “Mr Rydell and Mr Wanidijjuri, this way if you please,” then without waiting for their reply, he strode off toward the trenches.

  Lampie stepped off straight after. She wasn’t interested in seeing if Rydell was following. For a change it wasn’t her who gave the excavation presentation. She was still too hett up. Peter however, stepped in and gave a most impressive performance. He took the LC reps through the entire proof of reasoning as to why these were not koori graves or bodies. She had to admit it was very well done. This Pommie really knew his stuff, and what gave her that extra piece of satisfaction was seeing how he politely foiled every attempt of Rydell to turn each question into a koori versus whites issue, while still agreeing that the finds here in no way invalidated koori ownership. That was incredible. Bet he hadn’t even heard of Eddie Mabo!

  The briefing and inspection took three long, tensely boring hours before their visitors were satisfied. In that time she hadn’t had much chance to do more than swap a few short chats with Sandy. Every time she spent longer than a few minutes, Rydell would call his companion over for ‘further consultation’. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that was deliberate. What, was he that insecure? Finally the grilling ended as Rydell ran out of bones to pick. As per his arrival, he stomped off toward his launch, leaving everyone else to follow. Sid peeled off, angling southwards for the ketch and Peter, checking that she was going to be fine, headed for the site tent. With Rob and Bluey dealing with equipment maintenance, that left her to do the farewell bit – such luck.

  After all the rest were out of sight, Rydell swung back towards her. She froze and her muscles tensed. To her satisfaction he flinched and stepped back out of punching range, then spat out his parting words of wisdom. “Lampie, if I wuz you, I’d watch out for yer fuckin’ mate. He’s a slimly piece of shit. The council had word he was stripping sites at Augustus Island. I don’t fuckin’ care if he has clearance all the way from the fuckin’ minister! If we catch him, he’s fuckin’ for it!”

  Lampie thought of defending Sid to Rydell but there didn’t seem any point. The Land Council rep was too steamed up. Finished, he gave a scowl and stomped off towards their boat down in the estuary. It took a minute for her to calm down enough to speak to Sandy. The older man didn’t possess his partner’s anger. He was more composed with an air of sadness and regret. Lampie had briefly considered a defence of Sid but looking into her friend’s face, that died unspoken. She knew that Sid skirted the rules. It was a bad habit and one she’d tried to mitigate. She fell into step beside him as he walked towards the water.

  “Sandy, I’ll do what I can, but with all this paperwork it’s clear that this is a colonial site.” Lampie left the rest unsaid and gave a flick of her hand in mute frustration.

  Sandy seemed to understand. Just before they reached their launch, he tentatively put his hand on her arm. It was warm and rough on her skin and his weary brown eyes looked into hers. “Rose Ataylling said she was still sad that you worked with a white fella who steals the Wandijani Dreaming.”

  Lampie felt a sudden pang of sorrow. Rose was a friend of grand-mère’s. She didn’t care what Rydell thought, he’d follow anyone who gave him what he wanted. Sandy though, that was something else – he was the nephew of Rose. Many around the Kimberley listened to Rose. She still sang the songs of the Dreaming and was regarded as a custodian. Lampie had been to the ceremonies with her grand-mère. As tradition dictated, she didn’t speak of them or where they where held.

  “You tell Rose, I’ve kept Sid away from the hidden places and while I have been with him, he hasn’t touched any Dreaming place.”

  Sandy grimaced and shook his grey head. “Lampie you should know that Sid’s not welcome amongst the Wandijani.” He waved a hand at the younger man clambering into the boat, “Rydell’s a fella for the Council, keen an’ hot for our rights, an’ he knows Sid’s trouble.” Sandy shook his head and gave her a hug then ste
pped into the water to push the launch off.

  Lampie found her tongue refused to move, frozen in place. Instead of speaking she waved them off. As expected, Rydell didn’t bother to turn around. She watched them until they cleared the bay heading south, then walked back up towards the camp. This damned excavation was becoming freakin’ difficult. Her family friends warned her that she risked offending the memory of her grand-mère. Now, where as she’d happily upset her mother, several times a day if possible, the shade of granddame Heloise had a more imposing presence. Of all the family rules, she broke none were those imposed by that formidable matriarch. For Sandy to call upon the authority of Rose, was deeply upsetting.

  As for Rydell, she’d seen some of the problems he’d encountered and knew what it was like to straddle a number of different cultures – the stresses and conflicts. Yeah Guniyandi had a lot to be pissed about, though throwing that around indiscriminately wasn’t going to get him or the people he represented any breaks. You needed dignity to change things, not just rage.

  Lampie considered her place in the Kimberley scheme of things. It was not something she tended to mull over. On the whole she got on well with most of the people of the region. Like many, she boasted a diverse background and via grand-mère could claim an older heritage, though it was not one she regularly thought about. It was only when idiots like Rydell threw it in her face that she was forced to confront the issue. Yes, they excavated colonial sites, and yes, they inspected and catalogued koori sites but only, as she’d assured Sandy, those that were open to all. Koori heritage was precious, and after the trials of the past few hundred years, it was for many the only link back to the Dreamtime past of the ancestors. She didn’t need a uni degree to understand that heritage gave people a place to stand and resist the assaults of abrasive and uncaring foreign cultures. Archaeology in a number of koori lands had a very poor reputation, for appropriating stories and artefacts to advance the professionals careers with nothing in return. The whole archaeologist/anthropologist situation left many a koori feeling abused and scorned with the belief that their culture was now being strip mined, for art and scientific papers. Some elders claimed that the modern professionals were no different than their Victorian antecedents, who’d trophy skulls from the recently dead or not so dead to go into museums or for use as proof of European superiority. Lampie promised that if she got a chance, she’d have a talk about these concepts with Peter. Of all the blokes she’d met, he’d be the most likely to understand.