The Spanish Helmet

by Greg Scowen

  Matt felt a bit guilty for slamming Warren’s theories, but he wasn’t directly referring to Warren of course. Rather, he meant the people behind the Clan of Truth, those responsible for creating websites about the supposed Celtic history of New Zealand. He had looked up a few now, and sure enough, as Aimee had said, the same small group of activists were behind most of the pseudo-history websites. Matt wondered how much reach they had. One thing was certain, the way they touted their theories was counter-productive. The racism, the extreme religious views; they took things too far. Matt didn’t want to believe that Warren was deceived by this foolishness or that he was consumed by the hype, but he also had to be realistic. He couldn’t afford to ruin his chance of a good reputation by getting involved in such things. Dwight Pick would love that. Matt refused to give him the satisfaction.

  ‘So we’ll just head straight to Dunedin then?’ Aimee asked.

  ‘Not quite. I’d like to stop and have a quick look at the Moeraki Boulders.’

  ‘Oh yeah, of course, I’d completely forgotten about them. They’re near Dunedin, right?’

  ‘Practically on the road there,’ Matt answered. He had studied a road atlas while he waited for 2 a.m. to roll around. ‘I think we can be there in about three hours.’

  ‘Should be about getting light then. Well, not long after. Could be romantic.’ Aimee said. Matt loved the way she teased.

  They took the road that led south. The sky was clear, with hundreds of stars to be seen in all directions.

  * * *

  Hemi paid the hotel cashier and trekked off down the long halls to the rear car park exit. He looked down at his watch. 07:30. Good, he still had time before their usual 8 a.m. departure. He knew Dr. Cameron and Aimee were still in the hotel because the GPS was still in range.

  ‘Oh, fuck me.’ He said. He was the only person to hear it.

  Hemi raced over to his car, threw his bag in the back seat, and opened his laptop. The signal was still there. Still strong. Where the hell have you got to? Hemi studied the image on the screen. According to this, you’re right... he lifted his eyes up... there. A skip bin.

  He jumped out of the car and charged over to the bin, opened it, and confirmed his fear. The stupid bastards had given him the slip. It almost amused him but he was a little too pissed off for that. Ashamed for allowing two amateurs to get one over on him, Hemi grabbed the GPS and returned to his car. It was bloody obvious that they were going to Dunedin, so Hemi would too. He also knew Aimee intended to get help from her mate at the University of Otago. What better place could Hemi find to make camp and await them? He knew he could get to Dunedin in four hours. Hopefully he wouldn’t be too late.

  * * *

  Matt manoeuvred the car around the little gravel road and into the broad car park at the Moeraki Boulders tea rooms and souvenir shop. The buildings’ roofs were made to look like rounded boulders.

  ‘Kitsch.’ he said.

  ‘I love a bit of kitsch. Especially on Wednesday.’

  They walked between the two buildings and onto the large wooden terracing that surrounded them. A path lead down to the boulders and a steel post in the middle of it invited them to donate two dollars. They obliged willingly, and started off down the short walk to the beach. A couple of minutes later they stood alone among the boulders. Matt imagined that later in the day they would be surrounded by tourists.

  ‘What do you think then?’ he asked.

  Aimee laughed. ‘Geologists will tell you they’re spectacular examples of septarian concretions. Gavin Menzies and his followers will tell you it’s Chinese ballast.’

  Matt remembered his first conversation with Aimee on the flight to New Zealand. She had mentioned Gavin Menzies then and, unbeknownst to her, he had picked up a copy of his controversial book “1421” while in Auckland. He pulled it out now.

  ‘Menzies refers to some geologists who took samples from the outer rims of the boulders and analyzed them. They say the material is extremely hard in constitution and consequently very difficult to break.’

  ‘Yeah, and what else?’

  ‘The sample was much coarser than on natural concretions. They tested to see whether it was close-grained limestone and found that it isn’t carbonate, which is what’s expected in natural concretions. They believe the Moeraki boulders are man-made.’

  ‘Rightio.’ Aimee smiled, as she pulled some papers out of her bag. ‘I also came prepared.’

  ‘Two scientists, Boles and Thyne, say that the Moeraki Boulders are composed of calcite-cemented mud with septarian veins of calcite and rare late-stage quartz and ferrous dolomite. That, according to my little bit of research, means that they fit in perfectly with the composition of concretions found in various locations.’ She smiled ferociously now, clearly proud of her little coup.

  ‘Yet Menzies suggests that these Boulders are far larger than any other such boulders found, with some being two metres in height, and more perfectly spherical than others found anywhere else in the world. Why are similar boulders not found along the complete length of coastline if the conditions and minerals are conducive to producing such forms?’

  ‘That’s a good question,’ Aimee said.

  Matt smiled proudly. He was winning.

  ‘But I’ve got a better answer.’ Aimee laughed as she flipped to another page of her research. ‘There are even bigger, beautifully spherical boulders to be found in the North Island, on the Hokianga Harbour. The Koutu Boulders. Look at these pictures.’

  Matt took the pictures and looked them over. Aimee was right. The pictured concretions were clearly larger than the Moeraki Boulders and were impressive in every way.

  ‘Have you been to these?’

  ‘Nup, I’d never heard of them before.’

  ‘Why aren’t they better known? I’ve seen plenty of references to the Moeraki Boulders in the tourism brochures, but nothing about these,’ he looked at the page, ‘Koutu Boulders.’

  ‘They’re out in the wop-wops, on a road from nowhere to nowhere. A few hours from Auckland. You can only get to them at low tide, and even then it’s an hour’s walk. You couldn’t drag most tourists there if you paid them.’

  ‘That explains a lot. So, what’s it to be then? Chinese ballast, or natural wonders?’

  ‘My vote goes to natural wonders. A game of Geologist’s Petanque,’ Aimee said, smiling.

  ‘I’m with you.’

  They turned and walked up the beach and up the signalled return path to the tea rooms. It was different from the one that brought them down, running through woodland on top of the sand-dunes. Small fan-tailed birds flitted around them and the air smelled of the sea mixed with the freshness of the forest. Satisfied with their brief stop, they jumped in the car and departed for the final hour or so to Dunedin. The view as they came around a corner on the crest of the hill high above the small city was very promising. Matt hoped that the events of the afternoon would be just as promising. But first, they needed to find the nearest hotel and catch up on some sleep.

  CHAPTER

  37

  Saturday, November 13, 1526

  The coast continued in a south-west direction. The seascape here was more dramatic than in the north. We stayed further out from the shore in order to avoid any reefs that may be hiding under the choppy seas. The rocky beaches are backed immediately by a range of mountains. Much of the shoreline is steep cliffs. Among the rocks there were many seals to be seen. This made the men restless, as they would desperately like to have stopped to take a few, but the weather and the coastline did not permit it.

  I took the decision to steer more directly south again. As we continued over the last few days, we gradually lost sight of the mountains in the distance to the west. I have ordered a change in course back to the south-west and hope that we will see our land again in the next days.

  Monday, November 15, 1526

  Disaster! We have been wrecked. Last night a terrible gale blew up. It was one to contend with the forces of those we enc
ountered around the Estrecho de Magallanes. The winds drove us harder to the west and in the darkness we could see the land looming upon us. There were a few rocky outcrops around us, and some cliffs could be made out in front of us. We saw a beach out to the west a bit further, but couldn’t gain enough control to push towards that. I thought we were going to be smashed against the rocks and all be killed. But God has granted us some favour. We have been beached, and beached hard, on a small stretch of sand near to the larger one we saw. Unlike our previous beaching on the atoll, this time we are not going to be able to merely refloat after disposing of some weight. We are stuck fast on the beach. The carpenters and shipwrights have told me that the damage can be repaired, but that we will be here for at least a month or two before we can refloat the ship. In the meantime, they want to try and bring the ship further up the beach, so they can get better access to work on her. We are not sure how we will do this yet.

  Only three men were killed. I do not know how we have been so lucky not to have lost more men, but maybe their good health and strength has played a part. We are all, for the most part, bruised and battered from the ordeal. Our spirits are sinking with fear of what awaits us in the forests. The beach is backed by a small gully. There is a village in the gully and we have already seen natives looking out at us. We have six men on guard, but unfortunately have very little functioning weaponry left. We have to pray that God will stay by our sides and that the natives are friendly.

  CHAPTER

  38

  Matt and Aimee walked to the University from their hotel, which was located opposite the botanic gardens. The walk only took a few minutes and despite the clear, sunny skies, the mild climate made walking a pleasure. Arriving at the campus, they approached a striking modern theatre building and found an information board.

  ‘History, history, history...’ Aimee muttered as her finger ran down the alphabetical list. ‘History. There you are. F5.18. The Burns Building.’

  ‘Robbie Burns is my guess.’ Matt smiled, pleased with himself for knowing Dunedin had a strong Scottish heritage.

  They memorised the path they would take. It ran alongside a stream which was directly outside the building they were in. Matt liked the look of the cafe that was located between the two, but what caught his eye was the beautiful stone building and clock-tower on the other side of the stream. A sweeping lawn in front of the clock-tower was occupied by summer-school students lazily chatting under weeping willows.

  ‘That’s pretty,’ Matt said. ‘Old England, Oxford or Cambridge.’

  ‘We don’t have this in Auckland.’

  ‘If you like this, you should come to England to study,’ Matt said, sweeping his hand out above the lawn but feeling a little naughty since his university didn’t look quite like this either.

  ‘Maybe.’ Aimee giggled and looked at Matt with warm eyes. There was a spark in them.

  They followed the path past a few ugly seventies’ or eighties’ era blocks before arriving at the impressive glass and concrete library. It was also attractive, but in a different style altogether from the clock tower. Old meets new. A perfect harmony. Shame about the other monsters between the two. Turning to their left, Matt realised with a groan that the ugliest building on campus was their destination. As they walked in and found a lift, Matt mused that it looked more like a hospital or a council estate than a university building.

  The directory by the lift listed Aimee’s friend on the second floor. Matt and Aimee took the stairs. Aimee had never met Mary before, but they had communicated at length via e-mail on various projects. Mary specialised in social history of the Pacific and had been a valuable resource for Aimee on more than one occasion. Reaching the door to her office, they peered in and saw the back of a woman wearing a red pullover. Aimee knocked lightly and waited.

  ‘One moment.’ Mary’s voice carried to the door.

  A few seconds later, she turned and faced them.

  ‘Sorry about that, how can I help?’

  ‘Are you Mary Easson?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sorry to come unannounced, I’m Aimee, Aimee Kingsbridge. From the Auckland University, History department.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Mary said, standing up and reaching out her hand. ‘What a pleasant surprise, what brings you here? Would you like a cuppa?’

  ‘Sure,’ Aimee answered, watching Mary reach for the kettle regardless of her answer. ‘I’m here on business actually, we need your help. Oh, sorry, this is my friend Dr. Matthew Cameron. He’s British.’

  Matt smiled and shook Mary’s hand. He wondered if he’s British was like a warning or something. The thought made him chuckle inwardly.

  ‘Must be serious for you to come all this way.Normally you just e-mail.’

  ‘Not serious. Well, not problem serious if you know what I mean. More, fun, interesting serious.’

  ‘Colour me intrigued,’ Mary said, sitting down pointing to a second chair for Aimee. ‘Tell me more.’

  Matthew leaned against a filing cabinet and nodded at Aimee and the chair. She took the offered seat and explained the situation to Mary. She started right from the start, telling Mary about meeting Matt, his friend Warren, Matt finding his father, his father’s research, everything they had agreed upon as they walked here. Mary sat and listened to her intently. She asked all the right questions. Matt could see that Aimee had been right to have placed confidence in help from Mary. She seemed like just the right kind of person.

  ‘It certainly is interesting,’ Mary said, after Aimee had finished. ‘But you need to be careful, you’re treading on some dangerous ground, especially with the Celtic line of questioning. It’s one thing to suggest that the Spanish made it here before your lot...’ she nodded at Matt. ‘...but completely another to say that someone beat the Maori. Ouch.’

  ‘I know,’ Aimee said. ‘But we’re definitely putting the Celtic theory right to the side. Matthew is dead keen on finishing his father’s research.’

  ‘No point in committing career suicide, that’s for sure.’ Matt added.

  Mary looked thoughtful.

  ‘I can’t help you directly myself since I don’t know a lot about any oral histories that the local Maori may have. Most likely ninety-nine percent of them don’t either anymore. But if you can get to talk to some of the elders, the Kaumatua, there would surely be someone who can remember the stories of their fathers. Would you like me to arrange a meeting with some of them?’

  ‘Can you do that?’ Aimee asked. ‘That would be amazing.’

  ‘Not by myself, but let me have a chat with one of my colleagues.’

  Mary picked up her phone and dialled an internal number. She chatted with whoever answered and explained that she had a colleague here from Auckland who would very much like to meet with some Kaumatua to discuss the Maori history of the region. She implied that the two researchers wanted a really authentic feel for what the Maori believed, not just the standard text-book stuff. Could she set something up? Mary went quiet as she listened to her friend.

  ‘Ok,’ Mary finally said into the receiver. ‘I’ll hear from you in five then.’

  Matt joined Aimee in looking at Mary imploringly as she hung up the phone.

  ‘She’ll call someone and call me back.’

  ‘That’s brilliant. Thanks, Mary.

  ‘We’re a close-knit bunch down here. Honestly, everyone knows everyone around this place. The advantage of a smaller city.’

  ‘Yeah, I like the look of Dunedin and I’ve only been here 40 minutes.’

  ‘Give it a few days and you’ll love it. I used to live in Auckland too, fifteen years in all. I’d never go back now. I live out in a lovely wee village on the harbour with views of the water and artists for neighbours. There are a few little restaurants and cafes and occasional cruise ships. It’s perfect.’

  ‘Sounds like my kind of place,’ Matt said.

  The small talk continued until the phone interrupted them.

  ‘Mary Easson,’ she an
swered. There was a pause as she listened to her colleague. ‘Sure. Thanks Jo, you’re a legend. Yeah, I’ll let them know. I owe you one.’

  Mary hung up the phone and smiled at Aimee.

  ‘You’ve got an appointment here at the cafe in the library building at 10am, the day after tomorrow. How does that sound?’

  ‘Perfect,’ Aimee answered.

  Perfect, Matt silently agreed. It sounded absolutely perfect.

  CHAPTER

  39

  Matt woke with a start. The fire alarm was going off. He leapt out of bed and raced towards the door. He had to get Aimee out of there. Then he came to his senses. That fire alarm sounded an awful lot like his mobile phone ringtone. He looked back at the bedside table. Next to the clock, which stated 5:03 in bold red illumination, his mobile was ringing, glowing and vibrating it’s way perilously close to the edge. Matt walked back, still shaking with adrenaline, and picked it up. Bloody Dwight Pick!

  ‘Good morning, Dwight,’ Matt said, through gritted teeth.

  ‘Good evening, Matt.’

  ‘Not here it isn’t. You gave me a damn heart attack. Don’t you ever think checking what time it is here?’

  ‘Huh? That’s not important. We need to talk.’

  Here we go. Matt sat down on the edge of the bed and prepared himself for another lecture. Dwight didn’t sound like he was going to leap in with praise for Matt’s work.

  ‘Talk away. I’m listening.’

  ‘I’ve been looking into this theory that the Spanish discovered New Zealand. It’s diverting stuff.’

  ‘What?’ Matt wasn’t sure he heard that right. Was Dwight telling him he was interested in his work?

  ‘Well, I found some books in the library and read through some issues of the Journal of Pacific History, and like I say it’s diverting stuff.’

  ‘Diverting?’