As the sun began to set, the Mists of The Hand rose from the ground. When morning came the cedar tree was no longer there. The eagle was no longer there. Nor too the doe or the salmon. As the Mists of The Hand slipped back into the ground, Danu beheld the perfect form of a woman, and thus her daughter Riah, The First [translation contested; The Transcended], came into being.
“I was of my Mother and Namlu. Yet here I am,” said Riah. “Woe that I now feel [translation contested; remember] these stones beneath me.”
“Stand fast Faithful One,” replied Danu, “For in the struggle against the depths of the [text incomplete], you will be by my side, when you behold a simple reminder.” And Danu revealed that Riah beheld and knew and was willing.
So Riah was a shepherd to the land, nursing, and tending. And in the Seasons Of The Mother, she performed the Rite Of [text incomplete] by the gathering of the leaves and laying them out according to the ways of the two-hundred-and sixteen as directed by [text incomplete] nourished on high and on low.
*
“Dr Cotrahens? Please come in.” Cotrahens followed Sindent in and sat down.
“Thanks for coming Sam,” said Walsh. “We know you’re busy. How is the Middle East treating you?”
“Ugarit is fantastic. Amazing finds.” The short man was taking his blazer off and putting it on the back of the chair.
“Glad to hear it. Do you mind if we crack on?”
“By all means.” Cotrahens sat and adjusted his tie.
“How long have you known George Tate?”
“George and I were at university together. He was a mature student and a couple of years above me. It was probably forty-nine or fifty. We renewed our friendship when I joined the Museum in fifty-five.”
Walsh made a note. “And when did he make you aware of the Maiden Castle steles?”
“Probably seventy-four or seventy-five.”
“What’s your view?”
“They were extraordinary. The inscriptions weren’t a single script. Some of it looked Roman, others looked Arabic. Sections looked as if they were some blend of Pictish pictograms and Sumerian cuneiform. Other parts looked Cornish. But it was all very basic. Almost as if the authors had travelled the world and surveyed the earliest civilisations.”
Walsh frowned. “Authors?”
Cotrahens became animated. “Oh yes. There is little doubt that the texts were inscribed by numerous hands. There is even the possibility they were copies of earlier writings. But the texts themselves had been inscribed over several hundred years at least.”
“What was your view of translating the steles?”
Cotrahens paused. “Difficult. Very difficult. There is no lexicon for it.”
“Can it be translated?”
“Possibly... some of it. A few symbols and tracts of texts are similar to pieces that we do understand. As such we can make a best guess. But there are also portions that are so much older and are so far removed from anything that we could compare them to that to offer any translation as definitive would be nonsense. One of the many curiosities is that the older and newer sections are not sequential. They are jumbled. It is almost as if the older portions were written first and spaces deliberately left to be filled in later.”
Walsh made a note. “Did you offer to translate the steles for George?”
“Yes. He shared copies of the inscriptions with me. To be honest he had already completed most of the newer parts. My service was more of a tweaking. Grammatical corrections mainly. We did it by correspondence mostly.”
“What about the older sections?” Lawton asked.
“When George sent them to me, they had completely stumped him. I looked at them and thought there was something of the ancient Irish or Norse about them, but that was pure speculation. Neither of us really had any idea.”
Walsh quickly looked through the file on the desk. “Did he tell you later that he had finished translating them?”
Cotrahens shook his head. “No.”
“What about James Latter? Did George ever mention him?” Walsh asked.
“No.”
“Not even sharing war stories?”
Cotrahens folded his arms, feeling defensive. “I was too young to serve. Just. Don’t think I have any right to intrude if I can’t relate to it.”
Walsh sensed the point was a sore one with Cotrahens and moved on. “What about this ‘The Nine Trials of Greine’?”
Cotrahens shook his head again. “Never heard of it. George certainly didn’t mention it.”
“What about Mr Tuther?”
“Yes. I met him a couple of times. When I was home. In between digs.”
The panel collectively raised their eyebrows.
“Sorry Sam. You’ve met this Tuther fellow?” Walsh asked.
“Yes. Twice I think. Maybe three times. But I often heard about him from various members of George’s team. Why?”
Walsh looked to Sindent.
“Dr Cotrahens,” said Sindent, “the Museum has no record of Mr Tuther. He’s not mentioned in any of the field reports. He’s not an employee of the Museum, and,” she looked at Walsh pointedly, “he’s not on the contractors list.”
“That’s impossible,” snorted Cotrahens. “I’ve seen Celus here at the Museum. In the offices. He’s been George’s right-hand man since... well since I joined. A brooding Welshman. His name probably begins with a silent Y or L or something.”
The panel looked at one another. They each had an uncomfortable feeling rising up inside of them.
Walsh continued. “Sam, what did this Tuther do for George?”
“Well, I understood that he led the basement dig, and he helped with the translation of the steles.”
“What was he like?”
“Like I said, Welsh. Strong silent type. Not immensely popular with the boys. Kept to himself.”
Walsh sensed there was more to Cotrahens’ answer. “Not popular? Was there a problem?”
“You mean like a fight? No. Not that I ever heard of. Just a difficult Taff. Sullen. Withdrawn.”
“When did you last see Tuther?”
“Oooo... it would have been last year. Maybe around December time. He and George had just come back from a holiday somewhere. Guinea? Guyana? Something like that.”
Walsh frowned “He went without Irene?”
Cotrahens nodded “Oh yes. Boys’ trip away. Irene stayed at home with the girl. The two of them often took jollies together.”
“Do you know where Tuther is now?”
“He and George used to share a flat in Northolt. When George married Irene they moved over towards Slough. Might be that Tuther is still in the flat.”
Walsh looked at Sindent. “Look into that please.” Sindent nodded and made a note. Turning to his colleagues Walsh asked, “Gentlemen, anything further?”
Lawton shook his head but Thorne leaned forward. “Sam, you helped with some of the translation?”
“Yes.”
“What was it that George found down there?”
“The inscriptions? It is difficult to be specific, but from what I could tell it was a sort of creation story. A bit Abrahamic, you know. The favouring of man. The loss of a paradise. Moral lessons stuff.”
“Thanks, Sam. Do you mind hanging about in case we need you again?” Walsh said.
“No problem. I’ll be in my office if that’s alright?”
*
[Maiden Castle Stele 16]
Riah was lonely for she had no companion to share the land with and Danu saw her daughter pining for a mate. One morning Danu took a lock of her daughter’s hair as she slept, and fastened one end to the sun, and the other to earth. As the sun rose, its rays were directed to the soil and out sprung a hot-blooded man, ripe and engorged.
“What new magic is this?” Riah asked her mother.
“This is Adammeh, for he is from the earth [translation contested; of the clay]. He is your companion and will give you many children,” replied Danu.
“But Mother, all this companion does is give me children that I cannot tend the land or perform the Rite. How shall you be honoured? How shall we eat?”
With this, Danu took three more locks of Riah’s hair and again fastened them to the sun and the soil. Out sprung three more men.
“These men shall provide. The first is Kuara, the fisherman. He will reap the waters for you. The second is Tibira, the farmer. He will tend the land for you. The third is Kiva, the mason. He will build you a home and fashion tools for you.”
“And how shall I tend them, Mother?”
“You shall lay with them as you see fit daughter.”
“But Mother, if these men provide children and food, and Adammeh only provides children, then he is of no use [translation contested; broken].”
Danu saw the wisdom of Her daughter’s reason and so gathered around Adammeh, returning him to the earth saying, “What is shall be as once was, and so all must return from whence they came.”
So it came to be that with the Men of the Earth, and Her daughter of the tree, that the clan of Tuatha was founded and spread across the Land of Sumer as mist [translation contested; smoke].
*
It was after lunch when the panel returned.
Walsh sat down and turned to the Head of HR. “Ms Sindent. What do you have for us?”
Sindent stood. “Mr Chairman, I have been back through our records and found Professor Tate’s previous address. The telephone number is not listed, but we gave a salary reference to the landlord. I’ve spoken to him, and he was not aware that there had been a change in tenant. He said that Professor Tate was still paying the rent.”
Walsh frowned. “When did he buy his place with Irene?”
“Our records have a change of address in sixty-nine.”
Thorne leaned into his colleagues and spoke in a low voice. “Rent and a mortgage for ten years?”
“And a kid,” said Lawton. “He had a daughter a few years back. She’ll be a heartbreaker. You met her too – at that barbeque. What is her name...? Fiona, I think. I heard that Irene is expecting their second in a few months.”
“Ms Sindent,” said Walsh, “what salary banding is George on?”
Sindent rifled through her papers. “C-two.”
The panel did not even bother to look at each other. There was no way a C-two could run a family, a mortgage and rent a flat.
“Uh, Ms Sindent, did George have any other declared interests? Consultancy perhaps?” It was a desperate attempt and Walsh knew it.
“No. Nothing declared in the register.”
“Ok. Let’s continue. Ms Sindent?”
“Yes, Mr Chairman. I would like to present the panel with a copy of Professor Tate’s latest book. An initial run had been produced by the Museum Press.”
“How many copies?”
“A little over twenty thousand.”
The panel looked at her. Three thousand was generally considered to be a good first run.
Walsh was staggered. “Twenty thousand, Ms Sindent?”
“Yes.”
“Two-zero?”
“Yes, Mr Chairman. Professor Tate’s last book sold nearly forty-six-thousand. It may go to a third edition.”
Lawton turned to his colleagues. “That’s how he afforded the rent and mortgage. I’ll wager that this Tuther fellow was retained directly by George too.”
“What was his last book?” Thorne asked.
Lawton replied. “Can’t remember. The man is a machine. He produces at least half a dozen papers a year. The National Geographic always picks at least one up.”
Thorne thought for a moment. “Was it the Falkland Caves?”
“No, that was in the sixties,” said Walsh. “Was it the one about the ancient Pictish cemetery at the new Edinburgh Airport? Ms Sindent?”
“‘Neolithic Habitation In Ancient Carlisle’, Mr Chairman.”
“That’s right. He found those worm fossils. Monstrous things. When was that published?”
Sindent was tiring of the panel and she was trying hard to keep a note of exasperation from creeping into her voice. “Seventy-three. Mr Chairman.”
Walsh returned to his pad. “Any suggestion of plagiarism there?”
“No Mr Chairman.”
“Any of his other works?”
“No. Mr Chairman,” Sindent repeated.
Walsh looked about himself. His colleagues were both making similar notes. “Right. So we’ve got his new book. All pressed. And what? We have to pulp the lot?”
“Very likely Mr Chairman.”
“How much will that cost the Museum Ms Sindent?”
“Nearly sixty-nine-thousand pounds. Mr Chairman.”
The panel physically winced in unison.
“Ah. Ms Sindent? Is David aware of this?” Walsh said.
“Yes, Mr Chairman. I have informed The Director.”
“Right. Of course.” Walsh wished that Tate was here. There was bound to be some plausible explanation for all of this. He started to flick through the book in front of him, trying not to imagine how the conversation with The Head of The Museum would go.
“Ms Sindent, what are these passages highlighted in red?”
“They are the passages that are alleged to be copied from ‘The Nine Trials of Greine’ Mr Chairman.”
“And do you have a copy for us Ms Sindent?”
Sindent approached the panel and put a book on their bench. Lawton picked it up and turned it over, inspecting the cover, before opening it and reading the copyright page.
In a rare moment of hope, Lawton thought he had found a flaw in the argument against Tate. “Uh. Ms Sindent? I understood from Mike that James Latter died in the war. This book is first printed in forty-six.”
“Yes. There is a credit a few pages in. It is understood that Mr Latter wrote the book in the thirties, but was conscripted before it could be printed. His wife had it published after the war. We have been unable to contact her.”
Lawton felt crushed. “Right. And this publishing house? Golden Cockerel Press. Have we had any statement from them?”
“No. They went out of business in sixty-one.”
Walsh could see where Lawton was going. “Has anyone taken up their catalogue?”
“I don’t believe so, no,” Sindent replied.
Walsh frowned, looked to his two colleagues and then back to Sindent. “So no contact with the family and the publishing house is bust. Ms Sindent, who was it that made the allegation against George?”
“It was an anonymous letter, Mr Chairman.” Seeing the expressions on the panel’s faces, she quickly added, “But the Museum is obliged to take every accusation seriously, and we must investigate.”
Walsh felt his stomach knot. He had the sensation of things moving out of sight, as though some hidden conductor was directing an orchestra, and he was just moving in time to the music. No, he did not like this at all.
“Err... Jerry?” Lawton interjected. “Have you seen this?” He had opened Latter’s book and placed it side by side with Tate’s.
Walsh looked at the two texts, and then back at Lawton, who remained stony-faced.
Thorne leaned over to read the two books. “Good Lord!” he exclaimed.
Walsh looked back to Thorne but said nothing.
“Jerry,” Lawton continued, “it’s not just one paragraph.” He was flicking through both books at speed, marrying the passages that Sindent had highlighted. “It’s near as dammit the whole bloody book! Word for word.”
Walsh sat back, pressed his fingers together and arched his palms. The evidence was clear. He sighed and glanced at the clock. Half-three. “Well, then I believe that we are obliged to deliberate. Perhaps some tea?”
Sindent moved to say something, but Walsh shot her a look. They were going to consider their judgement and that was that.
*
[Maiden Castle Stele 17]
Riah founded Danu’s temple of [text incomplete], and there often sought her mother’s counsel. On
e day Riah asked her mother “Do you watch over your people by day?”
“I do,” replied Danu “For the sun is my eye [translation contested; I see through all the stars], that I may keep you on the path I have prepared for you.”
“Do you watch over us by night mother?”
Danu saw that Her daughter had indeed grown in reason, and so plucked out Her silver eye and created the moon, that She might watch Her children by night as well as by day.
And with Her third eye, Danu beheld all that She had made and saw that it was as She intended.
With Her [text incomplete] took Riah to [text incomplete] and Danu told her daughter of [text incomplete] and knew [text incomplete] never return without [text incomplete]. So Riah was taught the pleasures [text incomplete] forever turned [text incomplete] power over [text incomplete] that the Goddess Danu might [text incomplete] in time be born from [text incomplete] and return for [text incomplete].
*
Walsh sipped his tea and eyed his two colleagues.
“Jerry,” Lawton said dunking a digestive biscuit, “we’ve known each other a long time, but you can look at me like that all you want and I still won’t know what you’re thinking.”
Thorne looked up from his cup. “He’s wondering if we can get George off on a technicality.”
Lawton looked back at Walsh and shrugged. “You’re the Chair.”
Walsh had a feeling of inevitability. All the evidence pointed in one direction. When he spoke, his voice had an edge to it. “It is a panel decision, Piers. Don’t put this all on me.”
“Very well then. Panel decision Jerry. This is what we’ve got. Does anyone doubt that George copied that infernal book?”
Neither man replied.
“No? Ok. Does anyone doubt that George at the very least wrote the majority of that supposed translation if not all of it?”
Thorne looked up again. “What about this Tuther chap?”
“What about him?” asked Lawton. “He’s not a Museum employee, and it looks like he was retained by George. That makes him George’s responsibility. And with George not showing up we have to draw our own conclusions.”
A Gathering of Twine Page 4
