by Des Sheridan
Chapter 59
Sligo, Ireland, 23 September 2014, 11:47 hours
Pouring both of them a whisky, Tara asked her father to sit down. He had been startled by her abrupt entrance but obeyed her request, it not being in his nature to decline the offer of a Jameson, even if it was before eleven in the morning. Tara, pacing up and down like a caged animal, poured out the story of her dream. He tried to interrupt once but she shot back.
‘Do not interrupt me, Dad! Do you hear?’ she barked, raising her voice.
He decided not to fight the order and listened as she explained the dream and what had followed. At one point the door opened and a worried-looking Andrew popped his head around, but a brief glance at her face was all that was needed for him to withdraw with a sotto voce ‘sorry’. When she had concluded her story she sat down and downed the remains of the whisky.
‘I take it you are you quite finished?’ her father asked calmly.
‘Yes, but if you say anything about my being an overwrought woman, you will live to regret it. I am in no mood to be patronised! Those fucking archaeologists do it all the time.’
He laughed at that, having no problem in agreeing with the sentiment. Like any priestly class the archaeologists had their rituals, sacred cows and shibboleths and expected everyone else to follow them without question. Watching her, he reflected with pride how magnificent she was when she was angry. But she also sounded hysterical and her story was outlandish. She was plainly overwrought and looking increasingly drained with each passing day. He couldn’t rule out that the balance of her mind had been affected by recent events. The brain is a delicately balanced instrument, he mused, and perhaps her recovery in recent weeks was not as robust as he had supposed.
‘How would you like to see the situation resolved?’ he asked neutrally. She didn’t hesitate.
‘I want that stone moved now and I want to be there to see it. If there is nothing there that will be the end of it. We will all know I am losing it, which is what Shay and the rest think anyway.’
Her father was silent for a minute. The proposal seemed designed to prove publicly that his daughter was indeed very ill and instinctively he recoiled from it. But something told him that to refuse her would create a chasm between them and that he would not risk. He arched his shoulders in a strained gesture.
‘Well, Tara, if you insist I will ask Andrew although I don’t relish the prospect; he is an old friend. I will do what I can but no promises. And I can see this ending in tears.’
Tara raised her eyes to his, locking on them.
‘Thank you, Dad, it matters a great deal and I appreciate what you are doing.’
The quiet intensity in her voice alarmed him almost as much as her obsessive determination.
Chapter 60
Robert was in the Ops Room making plans when Tara and Malachy joined him. Not long after raised voices could be heard through the study wall. Robert, realising it was Brian and Andrew arguing, felt decidedly unhappy and asked, ‘What the hell is going on in there?’
When no one said anything, irritation flashed across his eyes. He knew a conspiratorial silence when he heard one and lashed at them verbally.
‘Well, if none of you will tell me, I intend to find out! This is not what we need right now.’
He headed off angrily into the hall en route to the study. Entering after only a peremptory knock he got straight to the point.
‘What the hell is going on here? You two can be heard all over the house.’
Robert listened in astonishment as Brian explained Tara’s request and Andrew interjected with strong objections. He didn’t wait for them to start repeating themselves. He just cut in brutally.
‘Look, we have a major international dig going on here, an astonishing treasure trove, and an international teleconference in a few hours. This needs to stop now. I have only two points to make. Firstly, Andrew, we need the good will of the family to proceed with the dig and secondly we should observe correct proper excavatory protocols. But I have to say that for me, right now, they are in that order of priority. You have a decision to make, gentlemen, now!’
Brian looked sheepish. Andrew, his normal sang froid completely absent, blurted out.
‘Very well then! I agree to Tara’s ridiculous bloody request but just make sure this doesn’t get out to the press or I will be completely fucked and out of my job!
Robert was satisfied.
‘Thank you both very much. A good outcome. Wait here please.’
Returning to the Ops Room, he invited Tara and Malachy to accompany him to the study. As they trooped in he observed Andrew sitting down, looking like thunder and staring straight ahead at nothing and no one in particular. Brian was standing at the window, intently surveying the garden as though his life depended on it. Robert took the floor and did the talking.
‘It seems that a difference of opinion has arisen about excavation priorities. Normally of course, the order of excavation is the sole preserve of the technical experts, and is dictated by archaeological considerations. However, the family have asked that a particular aspect be actioned at once. I have persuaded Andrew that in these very particular circumstances, the family view should be respected and take precedence. Andrew has, with great grace, agreed to my request.’
At this point Robert looked directly at Tara, his face grim. ‘Needless to say this exception will apply only once, on this particular occasion. Is that understood?’
Tara, who was sitting tensely on the edge of a chair, stayed mute.
‘I am sorry, Tara, but I need an answer,’ he said firmly.
Looking up she inclined her head ever so slightly in confirmation, but just enough for all to see. Robert could see that she wasn’t the sort to give advantage away readily and was amazed at her obstinacy, especially in view of the fact that she was getting her own way. The woman spelled trouble.
‘I want to make it clear that this is now the agreed position of all of us. We will make the excavation requested and then get back to business as normal and with us all remaining on friendly terms.’
Raising his voice for emphasis he added,
‘I take it that we are all agreed on this, are we not?’
He waited until all four present voiced their assent.
‘Fine then, but first things first. Andrew needs time to explain the situation to his crew, which will not be easy. Then we have an international press conference to run and, believe me, things won’t be the same after it. So we move the stone later, when that has been concluded.’
Looking at his watch he carried on, ‘It’s eleven o’clock now, and the conference is at three o’clock, so let’s go through the schedule now, and have a final dry run through at one-thirty. OK meeting over, let’s get to work!’
As people got up and started to file away, he heard a voice close by, say quietly,
‘Thank you Robert, I know I must seem a nuisance.’
It was the first time he had heard her speak his name, and he liked the sound of it on her tongue. He realised he was being rewarded for taking her side, and felt like a good dog getting a pat. In fact he hadn’t done it to please her. He just knew that at this juncture he needed the family on side as it would be very difficult to proceed on any other basis. He would need to watch his step with this formidable and unpredictable, woman. She would wreak havoc with the dig if she continued in this vein. As for her dreams, he assumed her medication must be playing games with her mind. And yet in the same instant he knew he would dig up half of Sligo, just to hear her say his name again.
The rest of the day passed swiftly. Robert watched in admiration as Brian handled the conference flawlessly. Arriving early he had mingled with the media people first, checking out that they had what the needed to do their job. Working his audience, Robert observed. Brian then breezed through the presentation, enjoying telling the world that it had, at Rosnaree, a treasure that compared with some of the greatest finds from history. Although it was only twenty-four hours
since finding the trove, the PowerPoint which Siobhan had prepared featured excellent shots of some of the most interesting discoveries, and gasps of amazement rippled through the room. After Brian finished, Andrew handled a question and answer session. Then Brian wound up proceedings by listing the support arrangements for the media over the coming days.
No sooner had Brian finished, than he was surrounded by a small group of reporters. Robert feeling more relaxed now that the conference had gone smoothly, took in the assembled throng. They were a diverse lot with reporters from several countries, interspersed with archaeologists and assorted dignitaries. One stood out in particular, a tall man, probably in his mid-forties, with a striking mane of hair and a very glamorously dressed woman in tow. All smiles, the man grasped Brian firmly by the hand and then moved on and exchange words with Tara. When Tara flashed him one of her dazzling smiles Robert, absurdly, felt a pang of jealousy. He told with himself to stop reacting like a love-struck teenager, but the response had been there unprompted. The army professional in him filed the observation away for further evaluation.
Chapter 61
Sligo, Ireland, 23 September 2014, 05:10 hours
The night was still pitch black when the Audi pulled up alongside Shay’s car, just as he was inserting fresh batteries into the powerful, LED Maglite torches. Shay was irritated when three men stepped out of the vehicle.
‘Why not advertise it on Facebook?’ he almost spat at Erik.
‘Please, monsieur, it is my fault, not his.’
The voice was suave, the English polished, and the man proffered an open palm. Shay, grasping the hand, felt his own disappear into a very firm grip and raised his eyes to take in the owner. He was well-dressed and tall, with unfashionably long hair and unusual-looking blond highlights. The long locks were swept straight back across his forehead and over his head. His face was tanned and handsome and Shay guessed the foreigner must be in his early forties and was the money bags behind this operation. Erik and the other chap certainly deferred to him.
‘My name is Pascal,’ he said. ‘When Erik told me that you were personally involved in the discovery, I thought this too good a trip to miss. Come on then, on y va.’
They left the cars out of view under some trees just off the road, next to a sign that said Donkey Sanctuary. Pascal expected Shay to take them up the gated track that faced up into a large gap that ran up slope between two great crags, both still enveloped in darkness, like bulwarks of solid night.
Shay followed the man’s stare. ‘That leads away from Rosnaree. We are going this way.’
They left the path and, using the torches to keep their footing, cut across the hill slope to the left. As they gained ground, the first rocky tomb came into view as a pile of faint grey debris in the early light of dawn. Pascal turned to Shay, as if for an explanation. Shay obliged.
‘They are a line of megalithic tombs. There are fourteen in all, some on this ridge and the others on the far one.’
Pascal nodded, but Shay got the odd feeling that he knew exactly what they were and was not surprised at all by the appearance of the tombs.
By the time they reached the first tomb it was half-past six and the morning light was diluting the grip that darkness held on the scene. Shay pointed to a distant building down in the valley.
‘There, that is Rosnaree.’
Getting no response, he turned around and realised that his audience had deserted him. His companions were more interested in the tomb and even Pascal had somehow squeezed his huge frame down into the chamber. Shay picked up muttered ‘incroyables’ and ‘mysterieux’ and waited for them to resurface.
‘Au diable,’ Pascal said, on reappearing. ‘What a country, you have, extraordinary monuments just littering your landscape without any attempt at comment or interpretation. Dites moi, do you know whether there is any wall art in any of them?’
‘Not that I have heard of, but there is lots of art down there,’ replied Shay, redrawing their attention to Rosnaree, down in the valley below them.
He passed around high-power Dowling & Rowe binoculars that paired 8x magnification with 32mm objective lenses for each man to use. They were perfect for the task, bringing Rosnaree into close-up. As they lay flat on their stomachs, he talked them through the lie of the land around the house and tomb. In the early morning light he pointed out the various people involved including Andrew and his archaeologists, Mac and then Robert, who appeared in shorts and set off jogging.
Shay then took his companions methodically though the sequence of events that arose from the discovery of the tomb. He described the interior and the detail of the artwork as best he could. Pascal repeatedly pressed him for local detail about place names and folklore, but Shay was not much use on either score, not having paid much attention at school.
Erik took photographs using an impressive 35mm digital camera with a long lens tube. Not for the first time Shay wondered what their real game was, but his questions on that line of inquiry were rebuffed with vague answers about documentaries and research. After about an hour Shay escorted his charges back down the hill. As they descended Pascal subjected him to a charm offensive, clearly keen to exploit further Shay’s inside track on the exploration. Shay was firm; he had provided what he could. There were neighbourly sensitivities that he had to respect and so forth. Pascal looked unconvinced but did not press the matter. However, as he handed over payment to Shay, Pascal laid a hand on his shoulder
‘Don’t forget, Shay, that the enemy of my enemy is my friend.’
Shay felt a ripple of alarm, but said nothing. He noticed that the man’s eyes were slightly uncanny – dark green was the nearest shade Shay could pin them down to – and had a staring, startled quality to them, a bit like a cat. He didn’t know what Pascal meant, but he could readily see the relevance of the remark to his own predicament. Had Pascal had some kind of intuition or inside knowledge he wondered? But Shay wasn’t comfortable with ambiguity, as Tara had found out, so he did what came natural to him. He dismissed the remark. It was a mistake that would cost him dear, but he wasn’t to know that.
Chapter 62
Sligo, Ireland, 23 September 2014, 18:32 hours
It was gone six o’clock in the evening by the time Andrew led the way back to the tomb. They entered it and moved down along the passage. Beyond the point where the roof had been repaired there was as yet no strip lighting, so they turned on torches. Arriving at the site of Tara’s impromptu excavation Andrew gave Sean the nod to see if the stone could be moved. Tara felt her throat turn dry. Although rigid at first the stone eventually started to shift and Sean almost fell backwards when, with a final tug, it suddenly gave way. Andrew shone a torch into the cavity as Sean stretched an arm into it.
For a moment Tara expected Sean to get sucked in, and to hear him scream as he was ripped asunder, as in her dream, but nothing of the kind happened. Instead, after rooting about a bit, he squashed his body sideways against the wall to give him greater reach. Whatever Sean’s misgivings, he was being very thorough. Tara’s heart sank, there must be nothing in there! Then the expression on his face changed and he began to pull something out. It was quite large with an angular shape and was wrapped in cloth and tied with coarse rope. Laying it out on the floor, the dust of centuries rising up in a cloud, Sean unravelled the package. It yielded a dirty triangular piece of metal, enclosing a ring of about three feet in diameter, with a large Triskell pattern occupying the central space in the frame.
‘What is it?’ Andrew asked, looking at Sean.
‘I don’t know. Maybe it is a base for a cauldron or part of a chariot? It’s definitely made of alloy and the styling looks La Tène, just like the other finds.’
‘But why store it separately? It must be significant in some way.’
As they stood looking at the artefact, Malachy suddenly moved silently forward and bending down picked up something protruding from the drapes of the cloths. All eyes followed him as he carefully unfolded a smaller piec
e of silk cloth. It opened in his hands to reveal a piece of folded parchment, with an insignia and writing on it.
‘There is something wrong here!’ Sean exclaimed. ‘The Celts didn’t use writing.’
Andrew looked over Malachy’s arm at the text. ‘You’re right, Sean, most of the time they didn’t, but this is in Latin anyway.’
‘Latin? I don’t follow,’ Sean, who seemed to be thinking out loud, said. ‘The treasure in this tomb must date from at least five hundred BC. This is crazy! The Romans hadn’t reached Britain let alone Ireland.’
Tara, who had been under strict orders to stay back during the excavation, had edged her way forward and was peering over Andrew’s right shoulder.
‘What does CR stand for?’ she asked.
‘Oh, that’s easy, if bewildering!’ Andrew replied. ‘It stands for Carolus Rex or King Charles to you and me. Look, it reads Pro Deo, Rege et Patria, Hibernia unanimis - for God, King and Country, Ireland is united. This is the seal of the Federation of Kilkenny and dates from the sixteen-forties.’
That threw everybody and they just stood there, staring at the strange Celtic frame and the seal: experts and amateurs united alike in pure amazement. As best Tara could see, the insignia showed a cross, rising from what looked like a flaming heart, flanked by a clearly recognisable Irish harp and a crown. A daub of red wax sealed the folded parchment.
Malachy broke the ensuing stunned silence, observing prosaically, ‘Well, let’s get it out of here. We had better open it up, Andrew, it looks like a message.’
Chapter 63
Sligo, Ireland, 23 September 2014, 15:45 hours
They had cornered Shay as he parked the pick-up by a warehouse on the industrial estate where his dad kept merchandise for the shop. He should have spotted the Audi. It was distinctive enough, goodness knows. Erik and the other man, Theo, flanked Pascal, who smirked at him.