The Way, the Truth and the Dead

by Francis Pryor

  ‘So Stan came from an urban background?’

  ‘Yes, his father was an engineer on the railways.’

  For a moment Alan could remember Stan telling him tales of how his father coped with various problems of the steam age: collapsed coaling towers, decrepit turntables etc. Some of his dad’s gift for practicality had brushed off on him, too. A visit to one of Stan’s dig tool-sheds was always a treat: spades, mattocks and shovels neatly hanging up, cleaned and sometimes even oiled.

  Candice was looking at him. ‘You were very close to him, weren’t you, Alan?’

  ‘Yes, I was.’

  ‘And is that the real reason you’re here?’

  Alan was quiet for a moment. That was a leading question – which required a very careful answer. Truth was now irrelevant; her perception of him was all that mattered. Time to play up the archaeological importance of Fursey. Its forensic significance could come later – and hopefully from DCI ­Richard Lane.

  ‘Probably.’ He paused to make it look like he was examining his innermost thoughts. ‘Yes,’ he continued slowly, ‘I suppose it might be.’ She was listening intently. He knew he mustn’t give his true motives away. ‘But, on the other hand, it’s a stunning project, as you know only too well. Frankly, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.’

  Thank God for clichés, he thought. He looked at her closely; he knew he wasn’t a very good actor, but she seemed convinced.

  ‘And the television – has that influenced your decision to come here?’

  Alan shook his head. ‘I won’t deny that their money helps, but …’

  ‘Oh yes.’ She laughed. ‘It certainly does.’

  ‘But if you must know, filming can be very distracting, too. There are times, like now, when I’d like to get finished, then go back to my room and do some work on the finds – or ­whatever.’

  ‘Well, what’s to stop you?’

  Alan looked down at his watch in the fading light.

  ‘Frank and the crew will be back in less than half an hour.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t realise that. Sorry, Alan, I’d better stop jabbering.’

  And that’s exactly what she did. For 25 minutes they worked in silence and had got everything lifted and levelledin by the time the two vans and Frank’s hire car drove onto site.

  * * *

  Frank and the crew had obviously been on the phone to each other while they headed north out of London, as they went into action immediately they arrived. Frank strode across the site towards Alan who was carefully clipping the Trimble GPS back into its case. Candice had taken the surveying staff back to the dig Portakabin en route to her own office. Instead of greeting him with small talk, Frank paused and looked around.

  ‘Well, the light’s not ideal, but it’ll do. Add a bit of atmos. But you’ll need to be brief, and I mean that Alan. Don’t go into discussions. Just show Tricia the extent of the site and range of things you’ve found. That’s all we need.’

  Alan nodded. ‘OK, that’s clear.’

  Frank was still looking towards the west. ‘I’m worried about that cloud over there,’ he said, half under his breath.

  Alan looked up. ‘Don’t worry about that. It’s miles away; it’ll never reach us.’

  ‘No, Alan, it’s not rain I’m worried about. If that cloud covers what little sunlight there is, we’re sunk.’ He looked towards the parked vehicles. ‘Hurry up, folks, we’ve only got a very short time!’

  Tricia broke into a run, and the camera crew quickened their pace. Slightly ahead of them was a woman Alan did not recognise, but she carried a clipboard and pink manila file, so was probably an Assistant Producer. Right behind them all, Trudy was closing up the hire car.

  Frank turned towards Speed and showed him how and where he wanted the sequence shot. Speed shook his head and pointed towards the now quite red, but still very direct, sunlight. He suggested a more sideways-on set-up. Alan loved this sort of discussion, even though he couldn’t hear precisely what they were saying. It was a glimpse into other specialised worlds. His thoughts were interrupted by a light tap on his shoulder.

  ‘Alan, I’m Terri, Terri Griffiths. I’ll be the AP on this shoot.’

  They shook hands. Terri was about 35 with auburn hair, made flaming crimson by the setting sun. She was slightly shorter than average, fairly thick-set and had a very pleasant, smiley face. Alan knew they’d get on well. Sometimes Assistant Producers could be hard work, but not, he thought, this one.

  By now Tricia had joined them and she greeted Alan warmly with kisses on both cheeks. She was dressed more or less for a dig in a dark-blue Barbour waxed coat, the regu­lation skin-tight jeans and bright-pink children’s wellies, decorated with intertwined smiley baboons. The outfit said ‘I am serious; I understand what fieldwork is all about, but I also have a lighter side’. Alan couldn’t help wondering whether it was Tricia who was sending the message, or some image consultant behind the scenes. Or was he being unfair?

  ‘Can we get going please? Light’s failing fast.’ Frank was getting anxious and wasn’t concealing it very well.

  Tricia and Terri ran across to where he was standing with the cameraman and sound recordist. Alan walked briskly. He was frowning, as if thinking about important archaeological concerns. In fact, he was blowed if he’d run, and the frown made it look like he had more important problems to address.

  ‘Tricia, there.’ Frank pointed to one of two small lens bags lying on the ground, ‘And Alan, there.’ They stood facing each other while Frank and Speed checked how it looked.

  ‘Do you come here often?’ Alan thought he might lighten the mood. It worked, Tricia giggled.

  Frank was holding a monitor screen showing what Speed’s camera would be filming.

  ‘A gnat’s to the right, Tricia!’ he called out, still staring closely at the monitor.

  She took a small sidestep.

  ‘No! Too much, half that!’

  She did as she was bid.

  ‘Thanks, love, hold it there. Now, Alan, move closer to Tricia, but angle towards us.’ He moved in a way that let the low light illuminate Tricia’s face. She blinked as his shadow moved off. ‘That’s better, much better.’

  Speed then said something to Frank who looked up sharply.

  ‘Terri, there’s something white and shiny back there. Could you move it, please?’

  Alan swivelled round. It was the old fertiliser bag they used for pegs, nails and string.

  Terri shouted, ‘Can I move this, Alan?’

  Out of the corner of his eye Alan could see that Frank thought this question unnecessary, but Alan was impressed. It could have been important. He could tell she had worked on excavations before.

  Frank called, ‘Hurry up please!’

  That irritated Alan. ‘Hold it, Terri,’ Alan called out. ‘That’s important, it’s marking the spot where the detectorists finished this afternoon.’ It was a fib, but what the hell. ‘Put a nail and a label there. Then we can replace it afterwards.’

  Alan watched while she did that, carefully avoiding Frank’s stare, which he could feel on the back of his neck. By now the light was failing fast. Terri ran back.

  As soon as she was out of shot, Frank called out, ‘OK, turn over.’

  Speed said quietly, ‘Speed.’

  ‘And action …’

  Nothing happened. Alan looked at Tricia. Tricia looked at Alan. Before either of them could say a word, Frank called out, ‘And cut!’

  Alan thought he’d better speak first. ‘I’m sorry, Frank, but who’s interviewing who? And what are we talking about? The site or the finds?’

  ‘I don’t mind. I want you to talk about what’s going through your head at this moment in time – at the end of the first week of the excavation.’

  ‘Oh, OK,’ Alan said doubtfully.

  He’d never worked with a director who didn’t direct before. He looked at Tricia. She was looking mystified, even slightly anxious.

  ‘We’ll do it again,’ Frank
announced, then quieter, to Speed, ‘Start on the horizon, pull back to a two-shot, then swinging singles, OK?’

  Speed nodded, then after a few seconds said, ‘Speed.’

  ‘And action.’

  Although he hadn’t been told to, Alan counted to three to give Speed time to pull back from the horizon and compose his two-shot. Then he spoke.

  ‘It’s been a fantastic first week, Tricia. We’ve removed a thick layer of flood-clay and have found an intact ancient surface beneath it. Before we started digging I thought it would be Iron Age, but the finds we’ve been discovering in the past two days make me think we might have been wrong.’

  ‘Oh, really? What sort of things have you been finding?’

  ‘Coins, strange shaped pieces of bronze and lots of pottery.’

  ‘And you’re quite sure that everything you’ve found is earlier than the flooding?’

  ‘Oh yes, we’re absolutely certain about that.’

  ‘And when did the flooding begin?’

  ‘Sometime late in the second century AD.’

  ‘So we’re talking Roman?’

  ‘Yes, we are, and Iron Age, too.’

  ‘Wow! That is exciting!’

  That was a good up-beat note to end the scene on, Alan thought. There was a longer than usual pause while Speed pulled back to reveal the setting sun dip below the horizon.

  ‘And cut,’ Frank called out, quietly. Then much louder. ‘Excellent! Well done everyone and a great shot of the setting sun, Speed. I loved it.’

  Grump was standing directly behind Alan who heard him mutter under his breath, ‘And the bloody sound was shit-hot, too …’

  * * *

  The scene in the Portakabin with the finds went well. Tricia confirmed what Alan thought about the two unusual coins and revealed that the countermarked inscription read ‘NCAPR’, which she checked against the BM website and was short for Nero Caesar Augustus PRobavit, or Nero Caesar Augustus approves – of the revalidation of the coins. She also pointed out that the original coin had been issued by the Emperor Claudius, who reigned from AD41–64. Nero followed directly on from Claudius and reigned until AD64. So the extended-life coins would have played an essential part in paying for the army during the crucially important decades of military conquest and consolidation that followed the invasion of AD43.

  Tricia also agreed that the as coin, with the rather inept representation of Britannia, would have been issued to Roman troops, and was able to date it to the Emperor ­Antoninus Pius, around 154BC. Alan was relieved: his near-guess on-camera had been correct. The other coins were fairly routine, but she got very much more excited about some of the smaller pieces of metalwork, which she identified as the bronze or iron fittings of Roman military armour, known as lorica segmentata. They looked a bit like brooches or old cupboard hinge fittings, but often with hooks or tabs with holes. At least one of the small hooks had been worn down and had broken – which suggested that the armour in question was being worn locally. Towards the end of the interview, she spotted what she thought might be a bronze harness fitting, which hinted at the presence of cavalry, too.

  The final moments of the scene were memorable. Tricia was summing up the finds she had just described. ‘Well, Alan, that’s an extraordinary collection. And quite un­­expected. If I didn’t know otherwise, I’d say you have a military fortress here.’

  ‘But we don’t know otherwise.’

  ‘What?’ Tricia was genuinely wide-eyed with astonishment. Her questions were uncontrived. ‘But why would it be here? What’s it defending? And besides, there’s no hint of it on air photos, is there?’

  ‘As for defence, it ultimately provides control over access from the major southern fen rivers towards the hinterland of Cambridge, and as to the air photos, they’re largely irrelevant as the entire site has been buried and concealed beneath flood-clay. No’ – he slowed down to give his words added emphasis and Speed zoomed in to an ultra-close-up – ‘I think we may have stumbled upon something new, something truly remarkable. But only time will tell.’

  ‘And, cut!’

  Frank gave Alan a pat on the back. He had delivered. To give her credit, Tricia was delighted, too. Alan had been worried that she’d turn out to be egotistical and jealous.

  She gave him a small hug. ‘You were great, Alan. That’s got the film off to a cracking start.’

  * * *

  It had been a hard afternoon’s filming and Alan was dog-tired as he walked up to his Portakabin and let himself in. He’d forgotten that he’d told Speed and Grump they could use it as somewhere clean and dry to store their equipment until their own cabin was delivered, so the floor was littered with boxes, stands and cables. He picked his way over to his back-up flask and poured himself a mug of coffee. There was a knock on the door and Speed entered. Alan offered him his mug, but Speed shook his head. Alan stood back and watched. He loved the technical side of television and was a keen digital photographer himself.

  As Speed checked over the big camera’s settings, Alan asked, ‘I know you’re keen on HD, Speed, but is it really that good?’

  Speed smiled as he turned round. ‘Well only if your television at home is HD, too. Otherwise there’s no point in having it. You can get a bit more depth of field and the colours can be more true to life. You can sometimes see that on an ordinary set, but you won’t get the full benefit.’

  Alan laughed. ‘I don’t think I’ll be getting a new set any time soon. Not on an archaeologist’s salary.’

  ‘Well, you might if I showed you some footage on the High Def. monitor.’

  He put the camera down on the bench and opened a stainless steel case on the floor from which he pulled a shiny new monitor, which he plugged into the wall. Then he connected the camera and turned the set on. The screen flickered into life.

  Instantly Alan could see that this was indeed an improvement. Everything was so crisp and sharp from foreground to background. Of course it helped that the cameraman was a Speed Talbot, but Alan could see he had made full use of the camera’s potential. Then Alan found his attention being grabbed by the action rather than the picture. It was filmed at the very start of the dig yesterday morning. But it felt like a week ago. Davey was filling the digger with diesel. Alan could tell that the shot was handheld. The scene cut to a longer shot of the digger, this time taken on a tripod. There was a puff of smoke as the engine came to life and the camera panned left towards the horizon. Alan spotted something. He put a hand on Speed’s shoulder.

  ‘Hold it there, Speed.’

  The picture froze.

  Alan pointed at the screen and Speed zoomed in. There, standing in the shrubs beyond the abbey wall was a figure observing the dig. It was Sebastian Cripps. Why was he there? Was he trying to keep an eye on them unseen? Or was he interested in the archaeology? Maybe he was just looking at the view, or wildlife, or Isle Farm behind them all?

  ‘Someone you know, Alan?’

  Rapidly Alan pulled himself together. ‘No, just somebody gawping. But that HD is amazing, isn’t it? You wouldn’t have seen him at all on regular digi film, would you?’

  Speed grinned. He liked to make converts to HD.

  Meanwhile Alan was looking down at the edge of the abbey lands. He was still thinking about that figure standing among the shrubs.

  * * *

  That evening Frank and the crew went back to their hotel in Ely. They asked Alan to join them, but he didn’t feel up to it. It had been a hard week and he just wanted to get back to his rented house on the outskirts of the village, open a cold beer and chill-out. Alan had been commuting to Fursey from his brother’s farmhouse near Crowland while the Fursey Estate did a bit of decorating and carried out essential repairs to his current home, a medium-sized bungalow, built for an assistant keeper by the 2nd Baronet Cripps in 1958. Alan couldn’t understand why the estate would have built a bungalow for a member of their staff, as at the time bungalows were seen as very lower-class by the landed gentry. Soon, however, he re
alised that the land it had been built on was soft and peaty – and the single-storey suddenly made practical sense. Still, it was convenient for the site and, better, the pub, and to his surprise, the rent was very cheap, too.

  Two hours later, he woke up at eight, feeling refreshed, the half-drunk bottle of beer warm beside him. He realised that he was very, very hungry. He looked in his small fridge and the cupboard that passed for a larder – nothing whatsoever, except for several packets of plain chocolate digestives, his usual breakfast blast of sugar and energy. No, he thought, I’ve got to eat something substantial, preferably with added chips. And more chips on the side.

  It took him ten minutes to walk to the Cripps Arms. The night air was cold, frosting already, Alan reckoned, looking at the long grass of the verges when it was caught by the headlights of passing cars. Soon he’d come to the first of three streetlights that ran along Fore Street to the east of the pub; to the west were five more lights, linking the pub to the village hall, but the former centre of village life, the Church of St John, stood on the south side, remote and unlit.

  Alan reckoned the village had shifted east after the Black Death in the later Middle Ages, a process that was speeded-up in the 18th century by the construction of Fursey Hall and the then squire’s desire to have a view of the nave and tower uncluttered by untidy, ramshackle cottages. Alan smiled; in those days a country gentleman had the power to alter the shape of villages. After the last war, though, a small housing estate had been built by the Rural District Council, bang in the middle of that view. Alan was secretly rather fond of what that little estate of council houses represented, although, of course, he would never have said as much to any member of the Cripps family. But it was a sign that the old order had started to change. Absolute power was no longer in the hands of local gentry. He always reckoned that the war had defeated more than just the Nazis.

  Some things had changed for the better. For a moment he paused. Or had they? His study of the Cripps family history in the library at Cambridge had set him thinking – and what he had observed since, hadn’t made him change his mind at all.