But the greatest of them all—at least in my opinion, for I knew him well—was Augustus Pitt Rivers, the first Inspector of Ancient Monuments, and it was at his instigation that, in 1884, I led a field club, a mix of amateurs and students of archaeology, to investigate the site of the Familist settlement on the Hexhamshire Moors of Northumberland. What follows is a faithful account of that dig, and the disappearance of Walter Hodges, a student.
May God have mercy on him, wherever he may rest.
* * *
It should be noted that archaeological digs are not without their complexities, and these are not limited to technical or physical challenges. Quite often, local superstitions attach themselves to ancient sites, leading to a reluctance among the populace to facilitate any examination or excavation. In truth, this kind of objection tends to be more common in the investigation of druidic constructs—and barrows, of course, due to a fear of disturbing the dead.
But in Hexhamshire we were surprised to find this antagonism extended to the foundational site of the Familia Caritatis, the Familists, given that they had only come into being in the 1580s, and had largely ceased to exist by the early part of the nineteenth century. We could only attribute such ill feeling to a misplaced conception of the sect that had become ingrained in the locals over the years, including a belief that the Familists had murdered to protect themselves from scrutiny or persecution. Northumberland lore held that among their victims were men and women from the surrounding villages of Corbridge, Bardon Mill, Haltwhistle, and Wylam. Suggestions that these unfortunate individuals might merely have gone astray on the moors, or been taken by some general class of blackguard, were met with skepticism, at best.
The result of this ill feeling was that our little group of five found it impossible to secure accommodations in any of the nearby communities, and resigned ourselves to spending our nights under canvas. Still, I regarded this as no great imposition, because I have always preferred to situate myself in the vicinity of a dig; or at least this was my penchant, before Hexhamshire.
Pitt Rivers’s curiosity about the Familist site was linked to his belief that the sect’s presence there had been but the latest in a series of settlements, and excavation might reveal evidence of earlier Roman and pre-Roman communities. I admit it was curious that the Familists should have chosen such a remote, harsh location, one that would have left them vulnerable to the predations of border reivers and other outlaws, but it might well have been a consequence of their desire to worship their god of wood and leaf in secret, and without fear of being tortured or killed for their idolatry. Of course, the chapel they built is now in Maine, in the United States, and the town they founded there, called Prosperous, has apparently been as successful as its name suggests. Its inhabitants, though, are unwelcoming to outsiders, or so I have been informed, and prefer to leave their Familist roots unexplored.
Of the members of our group, Walter Hodges was the youngest, at twenty, yet also potentially the most gifted. Pitt Rivers had virtually guaranteed him a post as one of his assistants should he achieve a First in his finals, which seemed a foregone conclusion to most. I was a little less enamored of Hodges. I felt his work was sometimes hurried, and he lacked the patience necessary to be a great archaeologist. Perhaps it would have come in time, but we shall never know. Goetz, the other student on what was intended to be this first dig of three, was one year behind Hodges, but one year older, and seemed to bear him some undefined ill will. Goetz was of Prussian descent, and distantly related to Bismarck himself, or so he claimed. Clement and Morgan, meanwhile, were banker and accountant respectively, and enthusiastic members of the fledgling Northumberland Geological, Archaeological, Botanical and Zoological Society, a range of interests which promised more breadth than depth to their scholarship.
We reached the Familist site shortly before noon on the first day, and set up our camp amid the ruins of the settlement. Although it was early April, and growing milder by the day, much of the Hexhamshire Moors are dreadfully exposed, and we believed we might be glad of the shelter provided by the walls. We were not mistaken, for barely had we raised canvas before a wind rose from the east, blowing in off the North Sea, and had we not enjoyed the protection of the ruins, our tents might well have been on their way to Ireland before too long. We lit a fire, and made a pot of tea to warm ourselves before commencing our preliminary examination.
* * *
It was Hodges who discovered the well, much to Goetz’s displeasure.
It lay beneath the floor of the largest structure on the site, which had probably once been home to the sect’s leader, one Deakin Carr, a descendant of Christopher Vittell, the head of the principal Familist group in England, based in Balsam, Cambridgeshire. Carr had enjoyed a reputation for violence in his youth, and was briefly ostracized by his own people, who generally favored a lifestyle of tolerance and reflection, and objected to the bearing of arms. He returned to the embrace of the Familists after two or three years, and was adjudged to be a reformed character, yet it may be that something of the sect’s unfavorable reputation in Northumberland can be attributed to Carr’s earlier failings.
(But I digress, which is a flaw in my character, one that I have struggled, and failed, to address. It may be forgivable under these circumstances, representing a form of procrastination. I leave it for you to decide.)
The mouth of the well was approximately three feet in diameter, and had been disguised with scree and larger stones, including a single slab of slate wide enough to cover the hole entirely. Over this a thick layer of earth had been placed, one that had, by this time, grown a canopy of grass and weeds. How Hodges was alerted to the well’s presence, I cannot say. Whatever my concerns about his temperament, he had an almost uncanny eye for a dig, and some small topographical or taxonomical distinction had clearly drawn his attention while Goetz and I were otherwise engaged in visiting the former location of the Familist chapel. Once he had revealed a section of the original floor, Hodges became convinced that other material had been added for the purposes of concealment, and managed to bring Clement and Morgan around to his way of thinking, for amateurs of their particular stripe are always seeking fame by uncovering something that serious archaeologists may have missed. By the time Goetz and I returned, half of the scree had been removed, and part of the well already lay revealed.
I was angry with Hodges; I am not afraid to admit it. His actions only served to confirm for me that Pitt Rivers’s indulgence had exacerbated rather than curbed Hodges’s worst instincts. Yet once I had recovered my temper, I found myself intrigued by the well. There was no mention of it in the existing records of the site; in fact, another well had been dug to the west of the settlement, one that was still in existence. It was unclear what reason the Familists might have had for digging a second, particularly inside a house.
The answer to this conundrum was provided by a closer perusal of the stones of the well itself, for they were older than those of the dwelling that surrounded them. Goetz speculated that the well might be of Roman origin, at which Hodges resorted to scoffing—not without some justification, it must be said, but it was still unbecoming to see him belittle Goetz in such a fashion. Nevertheless, Goetz should have known better: the stonework was too crude, and bore none of the precision of a Roman hand. No, this well had been dug long before the Romans came. Clement dropped a pebble into its depths, but we heard no sound, no splash. It was as though a hole had been bored to the center of the earth.
But by then it was growing dark, and any further consideration of the well would require daylight. We lit a fire for cooking, and ate ham tossed in the pan with hot jacket potatoes, followed by coffee and brandy. The food and drink eased some of the tensions between Hodges and Goetz, with the former apologizing for his earlier remarks, and Goetz appearing to accept. I had a quiet word with Hodges before we turned in for the night, admonishing him for his haste in acting without my consent, and reminding him of Pitt Rivers’s likely displeasure should any damag
e be done to the site before its examination had even begun in earnest. The mention of Pitt Rivers in such a context seemed to have the desired effect, and brought the second apology of the night from Hodges. I retired to my tent believing a valuable lesson might have been learned.
* * *
The disposition of our encampment meant that we were situated in what was formerly the heart of the Familist settlement, and probably a communal meeting place. The walls of the old buildings provided perfect sanctuary from the wind, and, as stated earlier, I have a fondness for sleeping outdoors, even when my shelter is being tested by the elements, and tend to rest soundly as a consequence. I was surprised, therefore, to find myself coming awake during the night, and irritated to realize I had been roused from my slumbers by footsteps. I assumed it was one of our party attending to a call of nature, until I heard someone enter the building immediately to my right, the one housing the well. Whoever it was had no business stumbling around out there in the dark, even if we had taken the precaution of replacing the slab over the mouth, just in case.
The moon shone brightly through the flap of my tent, but still I didn’t care to investigate without the benefit of my lamp. Once I had lighted it, I crawled outside to establish the source of the disturbance, and was more disappointed than shocked to find it was Hodges who had woken me. He was standing by the well, his own lamp raised high before him.
“What are you doing?” I said, and was pleased to see him fairly leap into the air with shock.
“I heard noises,” he said, once he had recovered himself.
“Noises? What kind of noises?”
“From inside the well.”
I listened, but the only sound was the wind on the moors.
“You’re imagining things.”
“No, I tell you I heard something.”
“It might have been an animal. A rat, perhaps.”
He looked at me, and I saw on his face the same expression that had accompanied his disparagement of Goetz.
“How could a rat climb up the inside of that well?” he said. “And from where might it have climbed?”
He had a point: the interior of the well was not smooth, exactly, but even a rat would have struggled to find purchase. Anyway, that wasn’t what I had meant; or at least, I don’t believe it was.
“Not in the well, man—beyond it, among the ruins.”
For the first time, Hodges appeared doubtful.
“But I could have sworn it was coming from under the slab,” he said.
“It’s the wind. It plays tricks with sound.” I decided it was time to be conciliatory, not least because it was one thing to be wrapped up warm in my tent, and quite another to be standing in a roofless ruin on a northeastern night that had not yet fully shaken off the hand of winter. “Come on, now, back to your tent. We’ll take another look in the morning.”
I placed a hand on Hodges’s elbow and guided him out. I reminded myself that he was still barely more than a boy, one that might, with the correct tutelage, and some adjustment to his temperament, make a fine archaeologist. Once I was satisfied that he was safely back in his tent, and had advised him against any further nocturnal perambulations, I returned to my own Euklisia rug, and my rest.
Did I hear a sound before I slept, as of dry limbs scratching against stone?
No, I did not.
I swear it.
* * *
The next day we commenced a full and proper mapping of the two sites: the settlement itself, and the former setting of the Familist chapel. It was a fractious business, not helped by a soft, steady rain that began shortly before 10 a.m. and continued throughout the day. Goetz’s previous rapprochement with Hodges fell by the wayside, and the two young men bickered and fought until lunch, after which I deemed it prudent to separate them. Hodges I sent with Clement to secure milk and bread from one of the nearby farms. Curiously, our own supply had spoiled during the night, the milk turning to sour-smelling curds, and the bread becoming entirely moldy, even though both had been purchased fresh the previous day. Meanwhile Goetz and Morgan remained with me, and we made good progress in Hodges’s absence, although Goetz’s mood showed no signs of improvement, not even when he discovered an inscription carved on one of the stones cast aside during Hodges’s attempted excavation of the well. It read “Cave Veteris.”
“What does it mean?” said Morgan.
“ ‘Beware Veteris,’ ” said Goetz, which was probably about right. “Who is Veteris?”
“A Celtic god,” I told him, “but one mentioned only by the Romans garrisoned near this section of Hadrian’s Wall. Sometimes it’s written as ‘Veteris,’ at other times ‘Veteres,’ suggesting a god of multiple aspects—not unlike our own tripartite deity, one might say.”
Morgan blanched a little at the potential blasphemy, but did not voice an objection.
“They raised altars to it,” I continued. “It was a cult.”
“I thought they had their own gods,” said Morgan.
“They did,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean they couldn’t accept the existence of others.”
“And they worshipped this Veteris?”
“They made offerings to it, yes.”
“Why?”
I shrugged.
“Because,” I said, “one can’t be too careful.”
* * *
Clement and Hodges eventually returned with some milk, bread, and fresh eggs, although they’d been made to pay handsomely for their acquisitions, and even then were reduced almost to pleading before their money was accepted by the farmer, one Edwyn Hood, and his wife. We stored away the supplies, and I set Clement and Hodges to measuring the little cemetery to the north of the main site, and taking what rubbings they could from the stones, most of which were now concealed by grass. I estimated that we still had a couple of hours of daylight left, and the earlier absence of Hodges, and to a lesser degree Clement, had cost us valuable time. We would make up some of it while we could.
I was in the process of examining the brickwork of one of the houses, which bore more Roman lettering and was therefore either part of an older structure, or had been scavenged from elsewhere, when I heard a shout from the cemetery, and my name being called. Fearing some accident, I ran in that direction, Goetz and Morgan at my heels, only to find Hodges and Clement upright and apparently unharmed.
“A close call,” said Hodges.
I joined them, and saw what had occasioned the cry. Before me lay a partially open grave, with two halves of a flat stone, not dissimilar to that which now blocked the well, protruding from the hole, earth and grass still clinging to its surface.
“I felt it give beneath my step,” said Clement. “I almost ended up in that hole.”
“Probably a fault in the stone,” said Morgan, who knew something of geology, as he peered at the exposed edges. “Over the years water gets in. It freezes, thaws, and the flaw deepens.”
“Look inside the grave,” said Hodges.
I did. I could see bones, of course, because what else would one expect to see in a grave, but they were obscured by some dark cladding, almost like a web.
“What is that?” I asked.
Hodges had a lamp with him as part of his kit. He put a match to it, lay by the graveside, and lowered the lamp. By its glow we could see that the remains were entirely covered by a system of roots, yet they had not grown through the body but had instead wrapped themselves around it, as though swaddling the bones. Beneath the skeleton could be glimpsed fragments of old wood, and another carcass, although this one was not similarly encumbered by nature’s embrace.
“It’s a woman,” said Hodges, pointing at the first corpse. “See the rounded pelvis?”
I could, although it was barely visible through the vegetation.
“But where did the roots come from?” said Morgan. “I can see no tree, no shrubs.”
He was correct. This part of the moors was bare of all but grass.
“Perhaps she was wrapped in
them after she died,” said Clement.
“No,” said Hodges, who remained lying on the ground. “They’ve definitely grown around her. No human hand did this.”
“And why put a stone over it?” said Goetz. “Why not fill in the grave after the body was interred?”
“My God,” said Hodges.
He had dipped the light as low as it could reach, until the base of the lamp was almost touching the woman’s bones, and we all saw them: the remnants of the bonds used to secure her hands and feet, and the thin leather strap between her teeth.
“She was restrained,” said Hodges. “They buried her alive.”
* * *
Our meal that evening was a somber one, with little conversation and less bonhomie. We were all thinking of the dead woman, and the terrible manner of her passing. Not only had she been interred alive, but also those responsible had wanted her to die slowly. Had earth been piled on top of her, she would have suffocated; still an appalling death, but one that would have taken minutes at most, not days or weeks. And there was the issue of the roots or branches that enveloped her: they had grown around her, but appeared to have no source, unless the parent tree had died so long ago that these roots were the only evidence of its former existence. Even so, one might have expected to see a vestige of their connection to the soil, but there was none. Also, we could find no evidence of decay upon them. The fibers were strong, and a rich brown. Hodges had struggled to cut one with his knife.
A Book of Bones Page 10
