Aquila

by Andrew Norriss

  ‘You learnt to swim in two minutes,’ said Tom. ‘You’re that sort of person. I’m the one who had lessons for two years and still wears armbands, remember?’

  Geoff stared at his friend. He hadn’t seen Tom this determined since the time he had refused to go on the Death Slide at the American Theme Park.

  ‘Look, all you have to do –’

  ‘No.’ Tom turned and started walking up the path to the back door. ‘No, I’m sorry. I can’t do it. You’ll have to work out something else.’

  And before Geoff could reply, Tom had gone into the house and closed the door.

  In his bedroom that evening, Tom sat at his desk relabelling his collection of rocks. He had always collected rocks. His mother said it had started when he was three and found a tiny fire opal on the beach in the days when they still went on holiday – and he had been collecting ever since. She had no idea why, though privately she suspected that rocks went at about the right speed for Tom. There was something about the pace of life of a lump of granite that suited him.

  And it was true that Tom always turned to his collection whenever he had a problem or the smooth surface of life became disturbed. He had found there was something soothing in the feel of a piece of agate as you ran it through your fingers, something steadying and calming in the idea that it had been that shape for four million years, something quietly reassuring in its patient, glinting stillness.

  But at the moment, Tom was finding it difficult to concentrate on colour-coding his mineral deposits. Thoughts of Geoff and Aquila filled his mind.

  A part of him wanted very much to do as Geoff had suggested, and not just because Geoff was his friend. Aquila, he knew, was not the sort of discovery one made every day, and the longer it was left in the barn, the more likely it was that someone else would find it.

  Geoff’s idea would work. It was what Tom wanted to do, it was right, it was what he’d like… But when Geoff had asked Tom if he was frightened, he had not understood his friend at all. Frightened did not begin to describe the stomach-churning, mind-numbing sensation that took over Tom’s body at the thought of flying Aquila on his own. He had been trying desperately to think of some other way they might be able to bring it home, but with no success.

  His mother appeared at the door with a plate of biscuits and a mug of hot chocolate. Mrs Baxter was a small, nervous woman with a worried look on her face. A lot of things worried Mrs Baxter, but at the moment she was worrying particularly about Tom. She was worried that she had upset him when she said she could not take him out to see the body of the Roman centurion in his cave. She had been worrying about it all day.

  ‘I’m sorry about Saturday,’ she said. ‘But you do understand, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Tom picked up his mug. ‘And it doesn’t matter. Mr Urquart said he’d take us.’

  ‘The Geography teacher?’

  Tom nodded. ‘But I think I’ve changed my mind anyway. I’m not sure I want to go.’

  Mrs Baxter looked, if possible, even more worried.

  ‘It’s my fault, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘You’d want to go if it was me taking you, and it’s what I ought to be doing. I’m your mother.’

  ‘I told you, it doesn’t matter,’ said Tom. ‘Really. It’s all right.’

  ‘It is not all right. And it does matter.’ Mrs Baxter sniffed and took out a handkerchief. ‘It’s silly not to do something you want to do – that’s right to do, that you’d like to do – just because you’re too frightened. It’s stupid. And it’s wrong.’

  She blew her nose sharply. ‘Don’t forget to bring your mug down when you’ve finished.’ She picked up the empty tray and took it back downstairs.

  Tom stared at the door for some moments after she had gone. Then, slowly, he picked up the mobile phone his mother had given him for calling the police in an emergency, and dialled a number.

  Mrs Reynolds answered. She said Geoff had gone out for a walk, but asked if she could take a message.

  ‘If you could tell him’, said Tom, ‘that I’ve changed my mind, and it’s OK about Saturday. He’ll understand.’

  He put down the phone, then got out an exercise book and his pen, and started to write. Carefully, he began to describe exactly what had happened when they had found Aquila, and how they were planning to bring it home.

  If he was killed on Saturday, and he was fairly sure that he would be, it seemed only fair that his mother should have a chance of knowing the truth.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Miss Poulson, the History teacher, was discussing the difficulties of trench warfare, and had begun to explain the importance of air reconnaissance, when her voice trailed off into silence.

  She had just seen that Geoff Reynolds had his hand up.

  ‘I was wondering’, he asked, ‘if you knew how the pilots found their way around then. If they didn’t have radar and things.’

  For a moment, Miss Poulson was too astonished to speak. She could hardly have been more surprised if the radiator had stepped away from the wall and casually announced it wanted to stand somewhere else. Geoff never spoke in class, unless you asked him a direct question, and sometimes not then.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ she asked.

  ‘How they knew how to get to anywhere,’ Geoff repeated, patiently. ‘The pilots. Without instruments.’

  Miss Poulson quickly recovered and gave the class a brief lecture on the early techniques of air navigation.

  ‘They followed the natural features of the land, you see,’ she explained. ‘With a map and a compass they could follow the roads, the rivers, and the railway lines. They could use the landmarks, like churches and castles, and of course, if they got lost they could always land in a field and look at a signpost or something. Though, as a matter of fact, the air ace Von Richtofen once said that with a map and a compass, it was actually more difficult to get lost in the air than it was on land.’

  She was quite touched, as she later told her colleagues, at how grateful Geoff had been for the information, and how his friend Tom had actually asked her to speak more slowly, so that he had time to make proper notes.

  Mr Urquart was one of the little circle that had gathered in the staffroom to hear her extraordinary story, and he decided he might mention it to Miss Taylor.

  He had a feeling she would be interested.

  On their way home after school, the boys bought a compass from Millet’s, and a large Road Atlas of Great Britain from Smith’s. Sitting in Tom’s bedroom, they carefully began working out their route.

  ‘The last bit’s going to be the trickiest,’ said Geoff. ‘Coming down and landing in your garden. That’s when we’re most likely to be seen. The only way is to do it fast. Faster the better. I think it’d better be me.’ He took another biscuit from the plate Mrs Baxter had provided. ‘Which means you’d better go out with Mr Urquart and do the first leg.’

  ‘You think I should go first?’ Tom had not had a great deal of sleep the night before. His face was pale, and he had developed a nervous tic in the cheek under his right eye. ‘On my own?’

  ‘It’s probably best.’ Geoff was still studying the map. ‘I mean, if there’s any problem with navigating and things, at least you can come down and check a signpost.’

  Geoff himself would not be able to check any signposts. As Miss Taylor had rightly assessed, Geoff could not read. He was one of those unfortunate people who, when presented with a word like ‘lemon’ sometimes see it as ‘melon’, sometimes as ‘nomel’ and only occasionally as ‘lemon’. It can make learning to read a confusing process, and Geoff had long since abandoned any serious attempt at doing it.

  ‘Tomorrow, we’ll find a quiet place outside town where you can pick me up. One of those fields behind the station might be good.’

  Geoff took another biscuit, and then realized it was the last and that Tom had not yet had any.

  ‘I’m not very hungry,’ said Tom. ‘You go ahead.’

  Geoff looked closely at his friend.
‘You’re quite sure this is all right?’

  ‘Oh, definitely.’ Tom nodded vigorously. ‘Absolutely fine.’ His cheek twitched violently a couple of times.

  ‘I mean, if you don’t want to do it, you can always change your mind.’

  ‘Not a chance.’ The half of Tom’s face that wasn’t twitching gave a good impression of a smile. ‘No, no. Looking forward to it. It’ll be… an adventure.’

  Before Geoff could reply, Mrs Baxter came in to say it was time he went home. She wanted Tom to get to bed early that night. She thought he needed to catch up on his sleep.

  On Friday, they gathered together all the things Tom would need for the journey. In a backpack they put the road atlas, the compass, the mobile phone, one of the first-aid kits from Tom’s bathroom, some chocolate, a piece of rope so Tom could tie himself to the seat so he did not fall out, and a second map he had bought in case the first one blew away in the wind.

  Both boys learned the route they would take until they knew it backwards. They needed to know it backwards, of course, as they were travelling both ways. And then after school, they cycled out to check the exact spot in the field behind the station where Geoff would be waiting for Tom to pick him up.

  By the time he got home that evening, the twitch in Tom’s cheek had become so violent that it was difficult to drink his hot chocolate without spilling it. Mrs Baxter was quite concerned and asked if he was feeling ill. Tom assured her that he had never felt better, but by Saturday morning when Mr Urquart arrived, on top of the twitching, he had developed a slight stammer.

  ‘Frankly, I’m worried about him,’ Mrs Baxter admitted. ‘I’ve told him he ought to stay in bed, but he won’t hear of it. He’s been so looking forward to going out with you.’

  ‘I’m O-K-K-K,’ said Tom. ‘Really. I’m f-fine.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s getting the same thing as Geoff Reynolds,’ said Mr Urquart. ‘He rang me this morning saying he can’t come today. Apparently he’s got a stomach virus.’

  Mrs Baxter looked doubtfully at Tom. ‘Maybe you should stay at home,’ she said. ‘You haven’t had any breakfast, and you look awful.’

  ‘I’m fine!’ Tom insisted. ‘You can’t k-keep me at home today. You just c-c-can’t.’

  Mr Urquart rather admired his determination.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Baxter.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘I’ll bring him straight home if there’s any problem.’ He turned to Tom. ‘Come on then. Let’s go.’

  Tom picked up his bag and followed the teacher down the drive, his head twitching rhythmically as they went.

  Mrs Baxter, of course, did not come out to the car. She stayed indoors and waved goodbye from the window.

  The site at the quarry looked very different from the day that Tom and Geoff had fallen into it.

  Most of the undergrowth had been cleared. Poles and tapes criss-crossed the ground in neat squares. To one side a row of tents had been erected along with two caravans and some Portaloos, and the entrance to the cave where they had found the skeleton was now covered in polythene sheeting, wrapped round scaffolding to protect it from the weather.

  Doctor Warner came over to meet them as they climbed out of the car. She was wearing a denim waistcoat which showed a tattoo on each shoulder, and her hair was a different colour, but she greeted them warmly and insisted on showing them round herself.

  In one of the tents, the skeleton of the Roman soldier lay stretched out on a table with his armour beside him.

  ‘We’ve established he was a centurion of the twentieth legion,’ she explained. ‘And the coins we’ve found, as well as the details of the armour, mean he probably died somewhere towards the end of the third century.’

  Mr Urquart asked if they had any idea how he had died.

  ‘We think it was an accident.’ Doctor Warner gave the skull an affectionate rap with her knuckles. ‘I don’t know if you noticed the type of rock in the cave…’

  ‘Carboniferous 1-limestone,’ said Tom.

  Mr Urquart gave him an odd look, but Doctor Warner only nodded approvingly.

  ‘Precisely. The tunnel was the shaft of a lead mine, and as far as we can see, he just happened to be in there when the roof collapsed.’

  ‘You mean he s-suffocated?’

  Doctor Warner nodded. ‘The odd thing is, the mine was worked out at least a hundred years before. So we’re a little puzzled as to why our man was down there.’

  ‘Perhaps he was hiding something,’ Mr Urquart suggested. ‘Something he didn’t want anyone else to find.’

  ‘If he was, we haven’t found it yet.’ Doctor Warner led them over to another table. ‘All we’ve dug up so far are these.’ She pointed to a large collection of amphorae that had, she explained, once contained wine from all corners of the Empire.

  ‘And there’s this, of course,’ she added, moving to the end of the table and picking up a collection of leather straps joined by a series of buckles and clips. ‘We’re not sure what it is, but my theory is that it’s a safety harness. You know, to stop a Roman pilot falling out of his jet when he’s looping the loop.’

  Mr Urquart was the first to realize she was joking, and laughed politely.

  ‘It has a neat inscription.’ Doctor Warner ran her fingers over the letters cut into one of the leather cross straps. ‘Licet volare si in tergo aquilae volat.’

  ‘Aquila?’ Tom looked up. ‘W-what does that mean?’

  ‘An eagle,’ said Doctor Warner. ‘It’s an old Latin proverb. “A man can fly where he will, if he rides on the back of an eagle.” Now…’ She put down the harness. ‘How about some lunch and then I’ll show you the cave.’

  Mr Urquart looked at his watch and explained that he didn’t really have time for lunch. As he had told the boys, his main reason for coming out to the site was so that he could find some alternative locations for his next geography field trip.

  ‘I’ll be back about two,’ he told Tom. ‘You’re sure you’ll be all right here till then?’

  ‘F-fine,’ said Tom, his face twitching violently. ‘No p-problem at all.’

  When Mr Urquart had left, Tom asked Doctor Warner if she would mind if he went for a walk. What he would have done if she said yes, he had no idea, but she made no objection.

  ‘Sure, go ahead.’ She gave him a smile. ‘But be careful. People fall down holes in the ground around here.’

  Aquila was still there.

  Carefully, Tom pulled aside the bales of straw that had covered it, climbed inside, and then sat for a moment watching as the lights blinked into life.

  He opened his backpack, took out the rope and looped it under his seat before lying the ends firmly round his waist. Then he took out the compass, the road map, the telephone, a small piece of paper and some Sellotape.

  The paper was a drawing of the four blue lights, shaped liked a flower. On each of the quarters, Tom had written a reminder of what pressing that particular button would do – ‘Forward’, ‘Back’, ‘Up’ and ‘Down’ - and now he carefully taped the picture to the dashboard, alongside the real thing. He kept the compass in his lap, and put the map and the telephone on the seat beside him.

  Carefully reaching out, he put the tip of his finger on the button that his diagram said meant ‘Forward’. Gently he pushed, and Aquila floated forward, light as a thistledown, out of the barn, into the sunshine.

  The hills and grassland of the Peak District were spread out before him, but Tom was not in the mood to admire scenery. The next thing was to go up. He moved his finger to the button at the top, pushed, and Aquila rose silently through the air. There was no real sensation of movement. If Tom had had his eyes closed, he would barely have been aware that he was moving at all, but when he looked over the side he saw a tractor that seemed no bigger than a spot of paint, travelling across a field below him.

  ‘Go high,’ Geoff had said. ‘If the cars look like little dots, then that’s what you’ll look like to them.’

  It seemed high enough. Tom took up th
e compass, found east, and pulled on the handle with his right hand to swing Aquila round. It was as he reached out to push the forward button again that he realized the strangest thing had happened.

  He was not frightened any more.

  It was an almost perfect flight. Tom had been travelling for only a few minutes before he realized he could see his first landmark, the six-lane ribbon of the motorway, directly ahead. When he was above it, he stopped, swung Aquila round to the left, and followed the road north until he saw the unmistakable pattern of a junction. He stopped again, turned east, and tracked what, according to his map, was the A617 to Southwell.

  A large town passed below him at a point where the map said he ought to be flying over Mansfield. Shortly after that, Sherwood Forest went by just where it was supposed to be, and then he saw the railway, cutting across the countryside ahead as clearly as a line on a piece of paper. A goods train was heading north, and Tom turned to follow it the last dozen miles to home.

  His only mistake was deciding to double-check his position by going down to look at a road sign. Knowing that all road turnings have signposts, he took Aquila down to a junction to look at one – and found that everything was just as it should be. According to the sign, Stavely was seven miles ahead, and he was about to take Aquila back up when he heard the sound of an approaching car.

  Anxious not to be seen, Tom hurriedly pushed the ‘Up’ button, but unfortunately hit the ‘Back’ button at the same time, with the result that Aquila shot backwards and upwards at an angle of forty-five degrees, taking a set of telephone cables and three telegraph poles as it went.

  At about 150 metres, the wires and the trailing poles slid off the back of Aquila and plummeted casually back to earth like a set of darts. Tom, peering over the side, was relieved to see them land among some trees instead of in the road.

  Two minutes later, he was bringing Aquila down in the field behind Stavely station and coasting over the grass to where an ecstatic Geoff was waiting.