by Mike Crowson
The Rings of Poseidon
Mike Crowson
Copyright 1985 Mike Crowson
The Rings of Poseidon
Prelude
The drum beat kept a time which was easy for an oarsman to follow, even one as new to the task as me, and we slipped round the maze of canals at a steady pace. The city is a good walk from the sea but the main channel is wide, straight and deep and the ship made it with no alarms. Once out in open water we shipped our oars,the crew hoisted our sail and the helmsman set a course round the island and across the true ocean, for that was where 'Gate of the Sun' was bound.
I am - was - probably the best smithy and metalworker in the whole of the city, of the country perhaps. There may be the odd one as good as me, I suppose, but none better. I'm not a young man any more and I've worked in metals all my life, and it's thirty summers or more since I began my apprenticeship. Now I flee for my life.
I started the usual way, casting the rough blocks of metal into the blades of swords, for the hands of the more expert craftsmen, who heated and hammered them into shape, so that the metal took an edge. As I became a more expert craftsman myself I began to specialise in finer work. I set up alone, making lamps for homes and temples, thuribles and containers for incense, carefully hammered into shape and all of them delicately decorated.
In later years I have had time to experiment with other ores, heating them and noting the effects. The ones that melted easily I tried mixing and working. I found some which were too soft for swords but good for jewellery; some I decorated with painted clay and heated again, and others were very tough and took a fine edge. I never had a mate. I lived alone and metals were my life and my hobby - I think that's why I became so skilled.
So how does an established, skilled, respected craftsman like me become a wanted man, hunted in the city and forced to flee for safety across the true ocean? No matter: I slowly, carefully, thoroughly, angrily called down the wrath of the gods upon that corrupt little man and his overweaning, usurping, insidious power I had fled to escape. I cursed him to his doom.
All the cursing made me feel a little better, but probably did him no harm at all. Eventually the top of the highest mountain fell from sight, the wind dropped and we got out the oars again.
After the noon break on the sixth day there was a sudden sound. The sea and air shook. The sky began to fill with the smoke of a great volcano far astern and the sea became an uneasy calm. There was a kind of greasy swell, like dirty water when you cool heated metal in it. Then a great wind came and we drove before it: a hot and fiery wind and the ship sped over the water, hastened by that fierce furnace of a blast. But fast as we travelled we could see a great wave coming towards us even faster. A wave like a great and towering cliff. A wall of water many mastheads high.
I do not know whether the high priest was yet struck down, nor whether my curses had been heeded, but the gods were none too pleased about something!
Chapter 1
The woman leaned into the wind, tugging up the zip of her light blue waterproof jacket, and strode angrily across the wet, tussocky grass. A fine rain was swirling in from the sea just beyond the rising hillock ahead of her, wreathing like smoke in the chill breeze, soaking her hair and running down her face and jacket to complete the misery of her anger.
"Racist pig," she thought to herself yet again, "and sexist. Damn it, he only did this to me because I'm a woman and black".
In fact, though Alicia Graham was a tall and intelligent woman of Afro-Caribbean extraction, at that moment she was faced by problems that were essentially Anglo-Saxon. Well, Celtic or pre-Celtic, anyway
Just at the crest of the rise was a hollow bearing the signs of recent digging, and what looked at first sight like a pile of stones. In spite of her state of mind, Alicia couldn't help at least a cursory glance. She saw at once the arrangement of the stones was not random, but the work of human hands and very old. Her obsession with her subject overcame her resentment towards this particular assignment and she looked, felt, absorbed the ever so slight remains.
The wall was made up of almost unshaped stones, matched together in the remnants of a very primitive, almost primeval structure. The digging - 'Can't call that an excavation,' Alicia thought, with a mental sniff of disdain - showed the wall going down into the sand for several feet. She considered this. 'Perhaps,' she reflected, 'the ruin simply silted up with sand blown from the beach. At any rate there's enough wind!' she added as an unspoken thought, tugging unnecessarily at the zip of her Cagoule. Interest had evaporated her anger, at least temporarily, as she applied her mind to the excavation of the site.
Alicia turned from the comparative shelter of the hollow to the crest of the low hill and looked towards the sea. It was an uninviting, cold grey with flecks of white. Across Scapa Flow you could see Mainland through the misty rain. "Not the mainland," she thought. "Just Mainland, the main island of the Orkneys."
It hadn't really been a rough crossing, only miserable, with this chilly, gusty wind and the steadily soaking drizzle. She stood, looking at the sea but with her mind elsewhere, back at the University with Professor Harrington, thinking of her blazing row with him....
"Miss Graham," said the tetchy little man, "you are lucky in the extreme that the department has funds to send you anywhere at all. Our benefactor, if I can call a major company that, has stipulated that one of the investigations supported by them must be in Scotland." With an air of finality he added, "And that's the one I've given you."
Alicia Graham, however, had set her heart on an excavation close to the Jordan/Israel border. Not only would the weather have been better and the site itself established and interesting, but she had been there before during her post-graduate years and felt sure she would be returning.
The Professor had made his choice of who was to lead the Orkneys team from three doctorate students, on the basis of which one was least likely to create a fuss about an unpopular assignment. His choice was inevitably based on the whole of his prejudices and experiences which, in turn, reflected his background and career as an elderly academic. Possibly Alicia's assessment of him reflected much truth. At any rate, she had worked herself up into a fine rage for this interview and she was not ready to be easily put off.
"There's a matter of my team," she said, "You've given me a fine collection haven't you? A romantic nervous wreck on the rebound from a broken relationship, a cultural refugee who'll try anything to stay away from home a little longer, a pimply pratt who's a double failure and a soccer hooligan to look after the technical side."
"You aren't going near any soccer matches." said Professor Harrington somewhat lamely as she paused to draw breath. He wilted a little before her wrath. Alicia was exaggerating, but there was again an element of truth in what she said now, as there had been in her assessment of her Professor. The latter was beginning to wonder whether he had been mistaken in his choice and underrated Alicia's capacity for fighting back.
The sea hissed on the sandy beach of this part of Hoy and the wind would, no doubt, have blown sand around the dunes, had everything not been soaked by the driving drizzle. She pushed her hair back from her face and realised how wet she had become. This side of the high island shelved towards the sea and should have been protected from the prevailing westerly wind by the higher western slope. The present sodden wind was from the North East. Alicia faced it reflectively. She had exaggerated the personal deficiencies of her team.
"Let me introduce the members of your team", said the Professor. "This is Gillian Meadows. Miss Meadows has taken a year off from study, but she proposes to rejoin the post-graduate course this year."
"How tactful", thought the tall, fair haired girl, wryly. "What he means is dropped out
, messed up my life and tried to end it." It was only her determination to start again where she had left off that kept her from feeling hysterical just coping with meeting these people. "I don't know if I can handle the work," she thought, as she shook hands with the West Indian woman who was going to be in charge of the dig, then added to herself, primly and severely, "Of course you can manage it."
"Miss Meadows wants to specialise in the Bronze Age and later Stone Age. This expedition will be valuable experience for her," said the professor, expanding on his introduction.
"I'm looking forward to this project very much," said Gillian, but she was expressing an enthusiasm she didn't entirely feel. "I hope I can keep my mind on my work now," was the thought pounding through her brain. "I don't know for certain I can cope yet. Still, I've got a month or so to sort myself out yet before we start, and I'm damned well going to try."
Gillian listened to the splatter of rain against the caravan window with each gust of wind. It wasn't a storm outside: the wind was no more than an unpleasantly stiff breeze and the rain was no more than a heavy drizzle blown on the wind. "But I didn't fancy going out with Alicia," she thought. "Not that she asked."
Two caravans to live in. Well, sleep in. Two of those small portable cabins joined together to make one larger one for meals and a study, plus a store shed. This caravan was comfortable and pleasantly warm. Outside it was falling dark. "I'll get up and make her a drink," she thought , rousing herself from the bunk where she had been lying on top of the covers, relaxing.
Alicia became aware of her dripping hair and soaking trousers. She turned from the beach, still considering the lie of the land, and walked back towards the remains. At the crest of the hill she paused to bend down and scratch at the ground beneath the clumps of long, narrow-bladed grass. "Sandy." she murmured, a picture forming in her mind.
She straightened up, skirted around the digging and strode back towards the little group of caravans, now showing lights. Her anger was gone - not, perhaps, her disappointment with her assignment, but at least the anger which had clouded her judgement earlier. She had formed an opinion and it would be nice to see whether it proved correct.
The caravan door opened and Alicia squelched in.
"Grief Ali, you're soaked. I was just making you some cocoa. I thought you'd be damp but you need spin drying. Here's a towel for your hair."
"Thanks, Gill. I didn't notice how wet I'd got. I was thinking about the lie of the land and...."
"Dry yourself first or we'll have our team leader laid up with pneumonia."
The location is just like Skara Brae", said Alicia as she stripped off her Cagoule, steaming now in the warmth of the caravan. "Right up against the beach of a fairly sheltered bay. This site is a better spot for a settlement really, it's only exposed to the east."
"Do you really think it's another entire underground village?" Gill sounded excited.
"Ah, well... Let's be cautious. Skara Brae is the Pompeii of Northern Europe. The sand blew in sometime about 2000 BC and preserved it complete with stone age furniture. We'd known about sunken houses before it was discovered, but this was a whole group of them linked by underground passageways. All I'm saying so far is that the whole hillock by the beach there could be artificial and the site does include some walling that seems to be Stone Age or early Bronze Age. That and the location being similar."
"What do you mean 'seems to be early Bronze Age'?"
"The same walling techniques were still in use on the surface in Ireland into the seventh or eighth centuries AD so, without anything to go on, all you can say is that this bit of wall must have been built between 2500 BC and 850 AD - that's over 3000 years. Let's say that it's unlikely to be another Skara Brae type village. Unlikely, but not entirely impossible."
"And this", said Professor Harrington, "is Manjit Charanduwa. A classical period graduate who wants to move into post graduate archaeology."
"I answer to Manjy." said the slender Indian girl, making it sound like 'Mandy'. She was, in point of fact, no more Indian than Alicia was West Indian, for both were born and educated in England. Manjy was a real Asian beauty, though when you looked closely it seemed to be physically more a matter of grace than beauty. She was slim almost to slightness with waist length, dark brown hair framing an oval face with graceful eyes and a nose just a shade too long.
While Alicia was towelling herself dry, Manjy pored over a difficult letter, chewing the end of her pen as she had habitually done in every exam she could remember sitting.
'Dear Father,' she had written, 'I know that you are much displeased with me because I am working away instead of coming home to meet the young man you wish me to marry. This work is connected with the further degree I wish to take and is valuable experience.'
She stopped. She was thinking in English but writing in Punjabi and it was a difficult letter to start with. It wasn't so much that she objected to her parents arranging a marriage for her, although she did not really like the idea. It was much more that she felt that she would never fit in to a traditional Indian marriage. She hadn't actually said that outright because she didn't want to alienate her parents completely if she could avoid it. She probably couldn't.
"Cocoa," said Gill, interrupting her thoughts by depositing the mug on the table beside her with rather more of 'thump' than she intended.
"Thanks, Gill." She closed the notepad, looked up and grinned more cheerfully than she felt.
"This gentleman is Steve Benderman. He is a qualified mechanic. He'll look after the vehicles and equipment for you as well as doing the cooking and general odd jobs. Mr. Benderman will go with the vehicles and caravans when you go up to the Orkneys. He'll drive the Landrover towing one of the caravans. The other caravan and all the equipment will be taken up by a contractor. The rest of the team can go more comfortably by train."
"He's the one," thought Alicia, shaking hands with him, "I've seen his file. Twelve months for drunkenness, disorderly behaviour, possession of a dangerous weapon and assault at a football match. I expected someone younger."
Steve Benderman was in his mid to late twenties and, though he was well built and fit, he didn't look like a football hooligan. At least, he didn't look to Alicia what she expected one to look like. Perhaps the file was wrong.
"I don't think Benderman would mind me telling you", Professor Harrington had explained to Alicia later, "the term of imprisonment sobered him up considerably and his probation officer wanted him to get away from his former environment as completely as possible."
"Well, the Orkney Islands are well away from Birmingham, I suppose," Alicia had observed, adding rather sourly, "In fact they're well away from practically everything."
"Benderman will take the vehicle ferry to Lowness with the equipment while the rest of you follow to Hoy using the passenger only ferry from Stromness to Linksness." explained the Professor, carefully ignoring Alicia's remark.
There was a knock and the caravan door opened. Steve Benderman entered, accompanied by a chilly gust of wind-driven drizzle.
"'Scuse me ladies," he said, "I'd like to turn the hired car around. Bonnet's facing the wind and this drizzle gets everywhere. If the electrics get damp we could have trouble starting in the morning."
Last thing I want is trouble with the vehicles," said Alicia. "I'll get you the keys." She slipped into one of the roomy caravan's three bedrooms.
"Cocoa, Steve?" asked Gill. "I've just been making some for us."
"Not something I usually drink, but this damp is getting everywhere, so I think I will please."
"We don't want damp getting into your electrics so you have trouble starting, do we?" giggled Manjy.
Alicia emerged from her bedroom with the keys. "What about the generator?" she asked. "Isn't that getting soaked?"
"I stuck it under the cabin for now, all snug and dry, but I'll rig up a cover tomorrow. You don't want that chugging away under your feet all day."
"I'll say not," said Gill. "I thought we w
ere to have mains electricity."
"You'll have it eventually for the computer and one or two other things. I'm rigging up an extension from the farm yonder." He indicated vaguely with a thumb.
"Presumably Professor Harrington arranged that?" said Alicia, making it sound like a question.
"Yes. He just told me to contact the farm. He said they would be expecting me to call and run an extension cord from there," said Steve. "You'll still need a generator for some things, though."
"Not that we'll be in much if the weather clears," remarked Alicia, "And we'll have to make a start of some sort even if it doesn't."
"That cocoa hit the spot. Just what I needed tonight."
"I think," said Alicia, "that the generator can go off in about half an hour. We can manage on the gas lights overnight."
Steve nodded. "Well, it would be running for nothing all night." he agreed. "I'll start it up again first thing in the morning."
"And I'll go in search of the local labour that Professor Harrington said he'd arranged," said Alicia. "He told me everything was organised provided I let them know when to start.."
"The other two members of your team," said the Professor, "are Mr Alan Wainwright - you know him from the undergraduate class you've been teaching - and Mr Frank Baxter who will coming on an exchange from the University of Texas at Houston. These two will join you in the Orkneys. They should be there within a day or two of your own arrival."
The Professor closed his file with a snap. "I'll leave you to fill them in on the details. I hope you have a successful dig. If local reports are correct, it looks promising."
After Alicia had gone the professor glanced again at the photographs in his copy of the file before he put it away in the cabinet. "Promising. But it's been promising before," he thought.
The electric light flickered out. Alicia reached up, turned off the gas light and settled into her sleeping bag. "It looks more promising than I expected," she admitted to herself, as she drifted off to sleep.
Steve left the generator safely tucked up and returned to the second caravan, shutting the night out behind him; Manjy sat up in bed, still struggling with her letter; Gill took two sleeping tablets and the ten pm from King's Cross to Inverness rumbled northwards through the darkness of a wet May night, carrying Messrs. Wainwright and Baxter, who had not yet met.