The Spinetinglers Anthology 2010

by Неизвестный

  Graham was stunned into silence. If what Harry was telling him was true, if it indeed was a Saxon burial chamber, then it would be one of the most significant archaeological finds in recent history. Perhaps even more significant than the unearthing of the Sutton Hoo burial in East Anglia in 1939, when archaeologists discovered a burial chamber, complete with all its treasures. The chamber had been erected in the middle of a ninety-foot long wooden ship.

  “Are you still there?” Harry asked.

  “Yeah, I’m still here,” Graham replied, now pacing up and down the kitchen, “just can’t believe what I’m hearing.” Something occurred to Graham. “When you say ‘entrance’, just exactly what do you mean?”

  “We’ve found a stone doorway.”

  The excitement drained out of Graham. “It can’t be Saxon, Harry. A Saxon burial chamber wouldn’t have a stone doorway. If it were Saxon, it would have been sealed from above. You know, like a normal grave.”

  “Well, the words engraved into the entrance sure look Saxon to me.”

  Graham still couldn’t help but think that Harry had got it wrong. “How did you discover it?”

  “I didn’t. It was a firm of builders. Apparently they were digging out some footings – building a new estate, I think – and stumbled across a stone doorway. Well, of course, that was it. All work ceased, and that’s when I got the call.” Harry chuckled. “The site manager’s going mental, Graham; he wants to know how long we’re going to be holding things up. I told him it’d probably be months, old boy. Months!”

  Graham had a mental vision of the site manager sitting behind his desk, steam coming out of his ears, cursing through gritted teeth as he tried to reassess the completion date on his building project.

  “And where is this tomb, Harry?”

  “It’s in Wensley Hill, near Canterbury, only about an hour away from you. D’you know the area?”

  “Not really,” Graham replied. “You said that you haven’t opened the tomb up yet. Why?”

  “Cause it won’t budge. I had six of my boys giving it the big heave-ho. They couldn’t move it an inch. The damned thing’s stuck fast. Besides, I’d like you to take a look at that engraving before we try anything a bit more drastic.”

  “Yeah, of course,” Graham said, more fascinated than ever. “Listen, I’ll be there at …” he looked at the clock on the wall, “… eleven o’clock, all right?”

  “I’ll be ready and waiting, old boy. Ready and waiting.”

  Harry gave Graham the directions and within fifteen minutes he was on the road in his 4x4, headed for Wensley Hill.

  Graham arrived at dead on eleven. Harry was waiting by the roadside, leaning against his Bentley, merrily chuffing away on a huge cigar. When he saw Graham pull up across the street, he sauntered over and stuck out a podgy hand.

  “Greetings and salutations,” he said, tossing the cigar away, then grabbing and shaking Graham’s hand vigorously before he had even had a chance to get fully out of the 4x4. “I trust you had a nice journey?”

  “I certainly did,” Graham replied, wincing a bit because of Harry’s firm grip. “Steady on, pal. You’re gonna break my fingers.”

  “Sorry, sorry,” Harry apologised. “It’s just … you know … good to see you.”

  “It’s good to see you too, Harry,” Graham said as he rounded the 4x4, opened the boot, and grabbed a large black sports bag, which he slung over his shoulder. “What’s been happening? Any news?”

  Harry shook his head. “No news yet. We’ve all been waiting for you to arrive. There’s quite an atmosphere over there, you know. People are very anxious to get that thing opened, I can tell you.”

  “Then let’s not keep ‘em waiting any longer.”

  “No, let’s not.”

  Graham closed the boot and pressed his car key fob. The indicators pulsed twice.

  Making his way across the street, he was amazed at how many people were waiting in the field ahead. As well as a large team of archaeologists (some volunteer field workers; others from the local university) all the locals had turned out to see what all the fuss was about.

  Graham smiled. It was moments like these that he relished. As a young boy he had always yearned to find the treasures of this world that he knew lay buried underneath the ground, and not necessarily gold and other riches. To be able to find even the smallest pieces of pottery, or spear-tips, or coins … anything that would give him a snapshot into the past, the way people used to live.

  They made their way over a stile, both squinting in the bright early-morning sunshine. Harry went first, laughing because he couldn’t get his leg over.

  “You’re getting too old for this, Harry,” Graham said.

  “I will never be too old for this,” Harry replied indignantly.

  But he allowed Graham to help him nonetheless.

  As they both walked across the field, Graham turned his face towards the sun, relishing the cool breeze on his cheeks. Apart from the odd low-level wispy cirrus cloud, the sky was a clear shade of deepest blue, fading almost to white on the horizon.

  A large JCB stood silhouetted against that horizon. It’s long mechanical arm looking like a giant scorpion’s stinger.

  “Nice day for it,” Harry commented.

  “Sure is.”

  Despite Harry’s protests about ‘not being too old for it’, Graham could see that the old man was struggling. Following behind him, he could see that he was getting out of breath, already sweating like he had run a mini-marathon. He knew, however, that Harry Ross would never retire willingly. Like Graham, he loved the job more than anything and could never contemplate a life without archaeology.

  As they neared the tomb, the huge ever-increasing crowd parted to let them through. The buzz of anticipation was palpable, the murmur of chatter resonating inside Graham’s head.

  And even though Graham knew what to expect, he still couldn’t help but let out an audible gasp of amazement as he laid eyes on the tomb’s entrance. He had waited his whole life for this moment, and finally – finally – it was here.

  The area around the tomb’s entrance had been cordoned off with red tape. They both ducked under – Harry letting out a low moan and clutching his back when he straightened up – and were greeted by members of the excavation team, who had been standing around, chatting, eager to get to work. Some of them, who Graham had met on various other digs up and down the country, stepped forward to greet him, shake his hand.

  Graham was eager to dispense with the formalities, though. He soon made his way over to the edge of the ditch. His bag made a dull thud as it dropped to the floor.

  Harry joined him at his side. “Well, this is it, chap.”

  Graham stared at the entrance for a few more seconds and then jumped down into the ditch. He walked over to the huge rock that was blocking the entrance, his feet scrunching on the dirt.

  Whilst Harry was being helped down into the ditch, Graham examined the words engraved into the rock. Slowly running his fingers over the expertly carved letters, he marvelled at the clarity of the words.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” Harry said. “It looks like the words were carved yesterday. I mean, how can they still be so … clear. How come they haven’t faded?”

  When Graham didn’t reply, just kept running his fingers over the words, Harry asked, “What does it say? Is it Saxon?”

  “Yeah, it’s Saxon, all right.” Graham said.

  “What does it say?”

  “It’s a warning,” Graham replied in low voice, almost a whisper. “A warning not to enter.”

  “A warning?” Harry was confused. “What sort of warning? What does it say, exactly?”

  Graham didn’t reply.

  “What does it say?” Harry asked again.

  No reply.

  “Graham?”

  No reply.

  “Graham? Talk to me!”

  Taking a step back, Graham said, “Let’s get this thing moved.”

  He turned and climbed
out of the ditch with no problems at all. Then he offered Harry a hand.

  “C’mon, you old duffer, get your arse up here.”

  Taking the offered hand, he winced because Graham’s gold ring was digging into his flesh.

  As he was climbing slowly out, Harry said, “I want to know what that inscription says before we mo - ”

  Harry slipped and, for a split second, Graham thought that he wasn’t going to able to stop him falling backwards, but he tightened his grip on the old man’s hand and pulled back hard.

  “You really are getting too old for this, Harry,” Graham said.

  Harry scoffed defiantly. “I’ve told you; I will never be too old for this. Now, if you’d like to tell me what that inscription says then we can set about moving …”

  Graham turned and gave the JCB driver a wave. Finally glad of having something to do, the driver climbed into his cab and gunned the engine. He pumped the accelerator a few times, blue-grey smoke belching out from the rear end, then put the mechanical behemoth in gear and slowly trundled towards the ditch.

  A big gap appeared in the crowd of onlookers to make way for the JCB. Everyone started clapping, glad that finally something was happening.

  Within minutes the huge bolder that was blocking the entrance had been pushed aside, like it was a large piece of Lego, and a narrow tunnel revealed.

  As the JCB withdrew, Graham jumped back down into the ditch. He grabbed his bag, put it on the floor and unzipped it, then pulled out a small torch. He flipped the switch to check that it was working. It was.

  He walked over to the entrance, bent down, and shone his torch into the darkness. He was expecting that the chamber would have collapsed a long time ago, that all he would see would be a wall of soil and rock. But it hadn’t.

  “What can you see?” Harry called down to him.

  Graham edged closer into the tunnel’s entrance. He had expected to be greeted by a dank, fusty smell, the smell of centuries old decay. With his head cocked curiously to one side he was, however, surprised at the strong aroma of flowers.

  “I’m going in,” Graham said.

  And with that, he set off down the stone-lined tunnel, his feet squishing on the damp earth.

  “I say, hold up, old boy!” Harry said, trying to climb back down into the ditch. “Hold up!”

  Seeing that Harry was struggling, one of the excavation team – a pretty, young blonde girl – jumped into the ditch and helped him down.

  “Thank you,” Harry said.

  He made for the tomb’s entrance, then stopped dead.

  “Damn,” he said, “I’ve left my torch in the car. Has anybody got a …”

  “Max,” the blonde called over to another member of the team, “can you bring my lantern, please?”

  Moments later Harry was crouched in the tomb’s entrance, the battery-powered lantern held out in front of him, its glow pushing back the darkness. At the end of the tunnel, he could see the faint flicker of Graham’s torch as he moved about in the chamber.

  “Graham, what can you see?” Harry said, his voice echoing off the damp tunnel walls. “Tell me what you can see?”

  Graham’s voice echoed back. “I think this is something you need to come and see for yourself, Harry. It’s… It’s…” He was speechless. “Just get your arse in here now, old man.”

  Harry licked his lips and set off down the tunnel. His legs and back soon began to ache, though. When he was about halfway down, the blonde girl, noticing that he had stopped, called out to him, “Are you okay? Do you need any help?”

  “No,” he called back. ‘I’m fine. Just resting.”

  Pressing on again, Harry couldn’t help but think about the words engraved into the tomb’s entrance – a warning. As far as he was aware, he had never known of any Saxon burial chamber having a ‘warning’ engraved into its entrance: an Egyptian one, maybe, but not a Saxon one. What could it have possibly said, he wondered? And why hadn’t Graham told him when he had asked?

  Finally, Harry reached the end of the tunnel. Straightening up and holding the lantern high, his jaw dropped as he laid eyes on the glittering spectacle before him.

  “Look,” Graham said, turning to face him, and holding out a handful of Merovingian gold coins, “just like the ones they found at Sutton Hoo.”

  Harry was still looking around, awestruck. The tomb looked as though it had been sealed the day before. Nothing seemed to have deteriorated. Gold and silver glistened everywhere. Ornate pottery, intricately decorated with beautiful patterns, lay dotted all around the chamber floor, some with flowers in. To Harry’s right, resting up against the wall, were silver bowls of varying sizes.

  Following Harry’s gaze, Graham said, “they’re Byzantine, I’m sure. Beautiful, aren’t they?”

  But Harry wasn’t looking at the bowls; he was looking at the body that was laid out on the table in the centre of the room – the body of a king. Wearing a long, mauve gown, his hands crossed over his chest, gold rings adorned every finger of his shovel-like hands. Around his neck he wore a gold necklace, a round gold pendant rested on his barrel chest. Two small gold coins were laid across the eyes of the bearded man, his long, wavy brown hair fanned out around his head. A sword and helmet lay at his side. The sword’s handle had jewels embedded into it: small opaque opals of varying colours.

  The unknown warrior looked as though he was asleep.

  To Harry, it looked like the king’s eyes could just pop open at any second and…

  He had to look away.

  He took in the rest of the chamber. To his left, displayed on the floor, were three gold-rimmed Scandinavian drinking horns; six glass vessels of various colours and sizes; two small silver spoons; and a silver broche. A scuffed, brown leather round shield was hung on the wall. Either side of it were spears that looked as sharp as the day they had been forged. Resting against the far wall was a lyre. Expertly carved from wood, it looked like a small harp. Graham picked it up and strummed the horsehair strings with his fingers.

  “That thing should have rotted away hundreds of years ago,” Harry said. “What’s going on here, Graham? Why is everything so perfectly preserved?”

  Graham shrugged. “I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

  “Well, don’t you think this is a bit weird,” Harry said in a small voice, as if speaking too loud might wake up the king. “I mean, come on, chap, isn’t this freaking you out at all?”

  Graham looked pallid in the glow of the lantern. “Yeah, I must admit, it is… odd, to say the least. But I’m sure there must be some perfectly logical explanation for this.”

  “Like what?”

  Avoiding the question, Graham reached out to touch one of the dead king’s hands. Just as he was about to do so though, he withdrew his hand and shuddered.

  “Who do you think it could be?” Harry asked.

  “Without doing some research, it’s hard to say. The coins I found date back to the seventh century. Unfortunately, as I’m sure you’re aware, records for that period in English history are scarce. It wasn’t until the time of Bede, in the eighth century, that more detailed historical records were kept.

  The layout of the tomb would suggest that he was a Pagan, which, at that time, would have been the norm. Most Saxons didn’t convert to Christianity until much later.’ He shone his torch around the chamber. ‘If I had to take a stab in the dark at who this guy could be …” he considered this for a few seconds. “I’d probably go for Sigeberht, the son of Saeward... or maybe Sabert… Mind you, I think he converted to Christianity at some point…’ He shrugged. ‘There’s a few other candidates, but, as I said, without doing some proper research, I’m really not sure.”

  “Well,” Harry said, “one thing’s for sure, whoever this man is – or was – he was obviously someone of great power and importance.”

  “Yeah,” Graham replied, casting the glow of his torch around the chamber, taking in all of its riches, then focusing it on the gold-adorned warrior. “A true King
of Bling.”

  “Is everything all right in there?” Someone hollered down the tunnel.

  Both Harry and Graham jumped, startled.

  It was Graham that responded, “Yeah, everything’s fine, thanks.”

  Harry glanced nervously towards the ceiling, which was lined with thick wooden beams; they looked as fresh and sturdy as the day they had been cut from a tree many hundreds of years before.

  “It’s perfectly safe. Look,” Graham said, grasping one of the beams, “that ain’t going nowhere.”

  Harry took a deep breath, composed himself, then he said. “Look, I want to know what that warning said?”

  Seeing that Harry wasn’t going to let this go, Graham replied, “It said …” he couldn’t hold the old man’s gaze. “It said that…” He decided to blurt the explanation out so fast that it seemed to Harry like a machine gun assault of words. ‘Basically, it said that anyone who desecrates this tomb will be destined to face their worst fear, be consumed by it, and forever rot in Hell.’

  Harry considered this for a second.

  “So,” he replied through gritted teeth, his eyes narrowing to thin slits, “we’ve got nothing to worry about then, have we?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Look around you, Graham,” Harry held his lantern up high, the bright light pushing back the shadows, “this isn’t natural.” He gestured towards the king. “That body should have been dust hundreds of years ago. How come it isn’t?”

  “Like I said, there’s probably a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this…”

  “Oh come off it, old boy,” Harry roared, his face flushed red. “You read that warning, that curse, and yet you still let me come in here. Did you really think that I wouldn’t want to know something like that? WELL … DID YOU?”

  It was Graham’s turn to get angry. He levelled a shaky finger at Harry. “Are you really trying to tell me that you wouldn’t have come in here if I’d told you what the curse said? I’m sorry, Harry, but I just don’t believ that for a second!”

  Harry didn’t reply. He turned around, crouched down, and made his way back down the tunnel.

  Graham’s ears were still ringing from the old man’s heated words. What a ridiculous overreaction, he thought. But then he looked around. Somehow, now Harry had left with the bright lantern, the tomb seemed a lot darker. The previously well-lit corners of the room seemed heavily shadowed and ominous.