Arthur of the Red Robe

by Gerry Spoors

  All of her family were convinced that Elaine was in fact—an alien! The word ‘alien’ is of course an anagram of Elaine with an extra ‘e’ which stood for extra-terrestrial. She had also been born on April 1 in 1947, the year of the first UFO sightings in Roswell, USA, now known as the Roswell incident. Elaine had been born in Grasswell (Co. Durham) where, according to the mischievous Spoors family, there had also been sightings of un-natural heavenly lights and weird noises in the early hours of the day of her birthday. So if this was true, reasoned Elaine—humouring her husband and kids—coming to the Earth from another planet was more than enough excitement for one lifetime.

  The jar had to stay in the garage overnight in case it contained any nasties or evil spirits. Gerry couldn’t sleep at all. He was dying to open the jar, but he’d heard of so many occasions when amateurs had ruined the historic significance of treasure by tearing at artefacts and destroying meaningful evidence. He was convinced that he’d really stumbled on something—something stupendous. And tomorrow, Alan Coulson was sure to confirm it!

  Unfortunately, Alan was on an extended holiday-cum-secondment! However, the chap Gerry spoke to on the telephone was pretty switched on and advised him to contact Dr Wilkinson Wilson at Newcastle University, who was an authority on early British and Anglo-Saxon history—perfect! Dr Wilson wasn’t in until the afternoon, for as is common with many university lecturers, he had very few lectures to give each week and tended to come and go as he pleased. His secretary would leave a message for him to phone Gerry at work. But Gerry couldn’t settle, so at 12 noon, prompt, he was off to Newcastle—after arranging to take the afternoon off of course—calling at home on his way, to collect the ‘treasure’.

  Chapter 2

  Gerry arrived at the History Department about 1:15 p.m., after struggling to find a parking space. The security man at the University had refused point-blank to let him in and even if he’d had an appointment, there were no parking spaces left. So he parked in Clarendon Road car park, which was 60p an hour. He carefully lifted the pot out of his boot and placed it on the ground. He’d taken the precaution of wrapping it in a blanket, which was a huge travel rug given to Elaine and himself as a wedding present, by his Nana Robinson. It was a bit tattered now, but it had given good service for family picnics and outings for about 30 years.

  Lifting the jar in both arms, Gerry had to be careful not to tread on the loose ends of the old blanket hanging down in front. Fortunately, the History Department wasn’t too far, but he had to negotiate two main roads; a zebra crossing, several swing doors (which he entered walking backwards) and two flights of stairs. He reached the History reception, from where he was directed to the office of Dr Wilson’s secretary, who had just got back from lunch.

  “I’m not sure that Dr Wilson is back yet, as he sometimes spends a little time in the Senior Common Room. His office is just in the next corridor, third on the left,” said the secretary.

  By now, Gerry’s arms were starting to ache, so he went to put his package on the table at the side of the room.

  “No! You can’t put it there, I’ve got heaps of photocopying to do. You’ll mess up the table and I haven’t got time to clean it up. Why don’t you go to Dr Wilson’s office—it should be open—and put it in there?”

  So Gerry did just that, and as Dr Wilson wasn’t back yet, he thought he’d pop out to use the toilet and wash his hands. When he got back, he found a middle-aged man stealthily peeling the blanket from around the jar. With his full crop of dishevelled brown hair, greying at the temples, and glasses at the end of his nose, he looked like the archetypal professor—although he hadn’t actually achieved that status yet.

  “Dr Wilson, is it?” enquired Gerry.

  “Yes. Can I help you?”

  “Well, my name is Gerry Spoors and I was walking on Yeavering Bell and…”

  But by now Dr Wilson had uncovered the top of the jar and he stood bolt upright, his eyes bulging.

  “My God!” was all he could say.

  “… so to cut a long story short, I found some jars, and I wondered if you might know what they are.”

  “What they are? What they are? Well actually, I haven’t a clue, but this one wouldn’t look out of place in Rome about 2,000 years ago. But I’ve never seen a Roman jar quite like this, complete with an unusual, well… er… stopper, I suppose you would call it. It’s almost as if it was constructed to keep it airtight. I wonder why they did that!”

  Dr Wilson continued to unveil the rest of the jar and examine it closely from top to bottom. While he was doing this, Gerry finished his story, and when he had done so, he had a strong feeling that he had now become a ‘bit player’ in this particular drama. Dr Wilson, or Wilkinson (Wilko), as we shall now call him, was now convinced that there must be something inside of the jar. He seemed to take over and was soon on the phone to one of his colleagues called Sam, and after a brief conversation, it seemed that Sam would be over in a few minutes. Meanwhile, Gerry was trying to fill Wilko in with more details of the find, but the latter didn’t seem to be listening, preferring to browse through a couple of books on ancient pottery. So he gave up and went into the adjoining room where various artefacts seemed to be on display.

  Eventually, Sam arrived. A bespectacled, chubby man with a cheerful face, Sam was a Forensic Archaeologist specialising in the dating of historical finds by studying bones, fossilised droppings, insect remains and so on. He’d initially worked in Forensic Science for the Home Office, but had always had an interest in archaeology so he gradually drifted that way and had obtained a research fellowship at the university.

  Gerry came back into the office, took one look at Sam and said: “Bloody Hell! Sam!”

  The latter retorted, “My God! Gerry, what on earth?” suddenly realising that the ‘Gerry’ Wilko had been referring to was his old Scientific Assistant from the mid-1960s at the Forensic Lab. The pair of them shook hands and hugged. Even though Sam had been Gerry’s boss, Gerry had always thought the world of him.

  They started reminiscing and generally chatting about the past, but Wilko intervened and said: “Look gentlemen, obviously you two have a lot of catching up to do but maybe you could leave it until we’ve decided on our next move.”

  Sam and Gerry concurred and decided to get together one night soon to reminisce and catch up.

  “Oh, by the way Sam, I’ve just finished writing a Memoir about ‘that case’ and the incredible time we had working on it. In fact, I’ve also written about one possible scenario as to what actually might have happened and who else was involved—do you want to read it?”

  “Of course I want to read it—and as soon as possible!”

  Gerry agreed to bring his draft story with him next time, for Sam to take home and read.

  Meanwhile, after much deliberation, the consensus was that it was indeed an airtight jar and it must contain something that was meant to be preserved. And of course, the corollary to this was: that if it was opened, whatever was inside would probably disintegrate—rapidly. So they decided—without asking Gerry—to go over to the Microbiology Department, to make use of a constant humidity vacuum cabinet.

  Wilkinson and his friends were well-acquainted with Dr Jeannie Richards, a senior lecturer in Microbiology—a flame haired, attractive Scottish woman. She wasn’t married, and in her mid-30s was very popular with the male academic staff in nearly every department. She was very friendly and a flirt, but no one, as far as Wilko and his mates knew, had ever succeeded in taking her out.

  Jeannie was in her office, and after they explained the situation, she offered them a choice of cabinets in the Constant Humidity Lab. Jeannie asked Paul Wright, the department’s very experienced technician to place the jar in the largest of the cabinets as this would give them more room to manoeuvre. It also had an airlock which could be useful. One potential problem was that the ‘stopper’ seemed so well sealed, it might be difficult to remove, especially when using rubber gloves behind a glass window. They soon
found that ‘difficult’ was the wrong word to use. It seemed impossible at first! Even Paul was unable to cajole the stopper off the jar, as a sealant had obviously been used all those years ago and had withstood the test of time. Paul suggested either easing a very fine scalpel between the rim of the jar and the stopper, or lightly trickling some acetone into the same place. They considered the possibilities and decided that although the scalpel might damage the jar, it wouldn’t affect the contents, whereas the solvent might just do that.

  Before commencing the operation, photographs were taken from several angles, and a video camera was set up to record the opening of the vessel. It was past 5 o’clock when they were finally ready. In the end, Gerry decided to exert some influence as he felt that he was as dextrous and strong as any of the others—and it was his jar! It was quite possibly 1,500 or even 2,000 years since the jar was sealed, and he was damned sure he was going to be the one to open it.

  Slowly he worked his hand round the rim with the scalpel, and the resinous sealant gradually started to give way to his persistence. As the resin flaked on to the ultraclean floor of the cabinet, Gerry carefully (with a small brush) collected it into ‘snappy’ poly bags so that it could be analysed at some future date. When most of the bulk of the sealant had been removed, it was time to try to prise the lid out of the rim of the pot. A long, fine electrician’s screwdriver was proposed, and Paul soon brought one from his workshop. Technicians are the backbone of every university, college or school department, and without them, all academic establishments would be in a sorry state. Gerry had started his working life as a laboratory technician at what was then Sunderland Technical College—now a university in its own right.

  Gerry was now faced with some unwanted advice from someone who had quietly entered the room. His name was apparently, Truelove, and there was an audible grunt from Wilko when he appeared. The interloper said:

  “There may be nothing in the jar, which itself could be a major historical artefact. Therefore, we should take extreme care not to damage it. Even trying to prise the lid could chip the lip, or heavens forbid cause a crack to form, which might travel down the whole side of the jar and break it.”

  “Look! I’m well aware of this,” replied Gerry, rather irritated. However, he soon regretted his short-tempered remark and tried to smooth over it by saying, “But you’re right. You see, I’m a great fan of ‘Time Team’ and sometimes I’m under the mistaken impression that I’m something of an expert.”

  However, at this point, Wilkinson asked Gerry if he could have a private word with him. They stepped outside for a moment and Wilko said: “Gerry, that Truelove is not someone I would want to be in on this. He’s only out for himself and if there’s any advantage or reward to be obtained, he would claim that it was he who found whatever it is, or it was his idea. He would lie through his back teeth to get glory for himself. I think we should call a halt to our investigation until he has gone. Then we should make sure that he’s excluded from our future examination of the jars.”

  “OK, Wilko, I agree. I just hope that the others haven’t been blabbing to him!”

  “Well, it’s possible, but unlikely as none of them like Truelove!” came the reply.

  They both went back into the lab and Wilko announced that they were calling a temporary halt to the examination and that the jar was being locked away. A secure room was found and the jar was placed securely out of site. That night, Gerry (and Kenneth), Wilko and Jeannie were in touch by phone and the situation concerning Truelove was explained. It was agreed that Wilko would see Truelove and explain to him that only those working on the project would have access to the jar. His speciality was evolutionary biology and it was felt that he had no special expertise to contribute to the project. It was comforting for Wilko and Gerry that while they were out of the lab, neither Jeannie nor Paul had mentioned any details of the site where the jar was found nor anything else of substance pertaining to it.

  The next day, Wilko saw Truelove, who was not happy at being excluded from the project. As Wilko expected, he went off in a huff. Wilko now had to ensure that only the team had access to the lab and to the storage room, so he asked Jeannie if either she or Paul could change the security code on the access locks. Once this was carried out, they were able to start work again.

  Gerry started to insert the screwdriver and, much like opening a tin of paint that had been used many times before, gradually worked his way around the rim. There was expectation that there might be a hiss of gas or stale air from the jar as it was sucked into the vacuum surrounding it. Would there be gas from the decomposing or decomposed contents?

  Suddenly the lid moved but there was no gush. If there was a faint hiss, it was well contained within the walls of the cabinet. Very, very gingerly, Gerry removed the stopper and placed it upside down on the base of the cabinet. And then he tilted the jar, its open top now gaping towards him.

  Gerry now used the endoscope provided to shine a bright light into the jar. There were gasps all round as they saw, on the endoscope camera screen, what at first looked like a honeycomb, but which they soon realised were a number of rolled-up ‘scrolls’ squashed together, their open ends facing the audience.

  “This may be unprecedented in the history of archaeology,” said Wilko. “If it’s not a hoax, what we could have here are documents written in the time of the Romans, perhaps by a Roman scribe.”

  “Well, maybe,” said Paul. “Or they might just be blank sheets kept for a rainy day. Or maybe they’re not Roman. Perhaps they are the work of a mediaeval monk keeping records of donations to his monastery!” Then he added: “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be negative, and to be honest, it’s not what I’m thinking—just trying not to get too excited!”

  “Well, even that would be the most incredible find, certainly in the British Isles—nothing else has ever come near that,” retorted Wilkinson.

  It was Jeannie Richards who seemed to come to her senses first, and she wasn’t an archaeologist:

  “Look! We need to ensure that the scrolls are not damaged, and that if there is any information on them, we can at least look at it, date it and if possible—read it.”

  “You’re so right,” said Gerry. “Presumably, we need to see if we can remove them from this jar and lay them out to read. I remember watching Derek Jacobi in the TV version of ‘I, Claudius’ by Robert Graves. Claudius had written his History of Rome on hundreds of these scrolls, and they were stored in a library just like we keep books nowadays. And when he needed to refer to one, he just took it off the shelf and unrolled it.”

  “Yes, but you have to remember that these scrolls might have been rolled up and tightly squeezed in for maybe 1800 to 1900 years. Presumably any ‘elasticity’ would have been lost hundreds of years ago, and they might simply crack as we open them,” said Jeannie.

  “Well, we’ll just have to get one out and see what happens,” said Gerry. “I’m going to open one up.”

  Gerry took up some tweezers in his gloved right hand and—supporting the jar, which he’d already balanced on a plastic block—with the other, he carefully started to remove one of the scrolls. It came out surprisingly easily and he laid it down on the floor of the cabinet. Collective eyes were agog and mouths wide open. The scroll was yellowy-brown in colour, and in very good condition it seemed. It was fastened by a piece of fibre, which fell away as soon as the tweezers touched it. The document itself proved to be a little more awkward to open, but not much more. And suddenly, in full view of everyone, through the glass case, was writing—in Latin!

  “My God! It’s a full Latin text, not just a list of goods or chattels. From here I would guess that it’s a narrative.” These were the words of Professor Pam Singleton, who had been standing quietly at the back of the group, but had gradually pushed her way forward to get a better look. She was very tall and distinctive looking, with a fierce but intelligent, inquiring stare. Wilko had invited her to join the group as he felt her knowledge of the period would be invalu
able to them. Pamela was Professor of Latin Studies and mention of an intact Roman storage jar had immediately attracted her attention and curiosity. She was a world authority on the ancient language, and she recognised the style of writing immediately as a story or historical account.

  “Gerry, before you do anything else, it might be prudent to discuss how we should proceed further,” said Wilkinson. “You may have stumbled upon a major collection of historical documents, the like of which have never been found before in Britain. Furthermore, from this first scroll, they don’t seem to be damaged or decomposed. Do you think we should take one of them out of the cabinet to see if we can safely study it on a table or something?”

  “OK, I agree with that,” replied Gerry. “I’ll put this first one in the air-lock, and take it out.”

  The excitement was electric and palpable, as Gerry opened the air-lock, placed the scroll inside, and closed it again. He then opened the air-valve to let air into the lock, and then finally, the outside door of the air-lock. By now, he had normal latex gloves on, and he gently placed the scroll on a tray that was held under it by Wilkinson, who carried it to a nearby table. Jeannie had already placed a large protective sheet of white glossy paper on the table, just in case any pieces fell off.

  So far, so good. Nothing had fallen off and there was no sudden disintegration as is often shown in a movie’s special effects. Carefully, giving further encouragement to the now partially unrolled parchment, Gerry eventually unravelled the scroll to its full length of about two feet. It was cracked in places, slightly discoloured in others, but all of the beautiful Latin characters were plainly displayed—and it was Professor Singleton who now took charge of the proceedings. She spent about two minutes just appreciating the style and quality of writing and the grammar, and then said: