by D C Macey
Scrambling down from the promontory onto the beach, he paced quickly south across the silted harbour. The sun warmed him now, and he paused to take off his jacket and shove it into his rucksack before pushing on.
Leaving the beach behind, he moved into progressively more dense undergrowth that flourished in the fertile silt. He felt the gentle touch of the grasses and shrubs. As he brushed past, their subtle liquorice scent began to rise in the morning’s warmth, offsetting the clear, salty aroma of an unpolluted sea.
Amid the burgeoning green, he chanced on a footpath that led in the general direction he wanted. Tracks in the sandy path told of regular visitors or patrols, marks possibly left by the men he had seen on the beach that morning. There were certainly no print marks to suggest the presence of foraging goats or sheep who would have found the wadi-watered growth irresistible. The guards must be keeping local shepherds out.
The going was easy across the almost level silt-filled harbour. After about two hundred paces, there was a slight ridge that marked the southern edge of the harbour.
Beyond, the ground rose steadily. As Sam left the quayside, he was confronted by a defiant thicket that reached the height of a full-grown man. Looking around, he found a track that wound round and through it. Leaving behind the fertile earth of the silted harbour, the dense growth quickly thinned and shrank away to a bed of calf-high grasses, all suddenly grown vibrant green in the coast’s winter rain showers. After only a minute’s steady walk, Sam paused. Directly ahead were the steps to the Temple of Jupiter.
He made a beeline for them and quickly covered the remaining distance. There, he stopped and looked about again. Still, nobody was in sight, though for the first time, he had a tingling sensation that kept him alert. He had no evidence to support it, but he just did not feel alone.
Standing at the foot of the steps, he almost laughed at the apparent absurdity of the construction. An imperial stair, twenty and more paces wide, row upon row of carefully cut and fitted stones leading from the port, up, up to what was now little more than a flat foundation where once a mighty temple had stood. He wondered what had become of the temple itself.
Had its thick stone walls and serried colonnades been taken to build local houses and walls? He knew the English had taken some stone pieces from Leptis Magna in previous centuries, because they’d ended up in a folly at Great Windsor Park, knew too that the French had gone wildly overboard in their looting, taking vast numbers of worked stones and many, many hundreds of columns for Versailles. Perhaps the temples and other buildings here on the east side had suffered most at the hands of European foragers due to their proximity to the sea and, without a thought, had simply been broken up and transported away as the raw materials for other projects. He shook his head at the selfish acquisitive nature that had fed Europe’s imperial vanity for centuries.
Then he slowly climbed the steps. With each step, he imagined the thoughts and dreams of those who had taken the same steps two thousand years and more before. At the top, he paused. Ahead of him was a flat foundation space, wider than the stair he had just climbed and deeper. He was unsure how far the foundation stretched away as, perhaps benefiting from a patch of natural earth where once there had been an open inner courtyard, a vigorous outcrop of shrubs twenty paces ahead of him cut off his view.
He knew from his map that not far beyond the temple was the coast road that ran through hundreds of miles of desert, linking each of the coastal towns on its unbroken route to the border with Egypt.
Sam turned and looked out to sea, then closed his eyes and breathed deeply, smelling the clear, herb-tinged air of another age. Below him had once been the bustle of the quayside. He saw the Roman galleys tied up alongside in the harbour, loading up with grain and olive oil, and heard the roaring protests of lions, caged for transport. Heard, too, the wails rising from a line of frightened prisoners as they were whipped aboard the waiting galleys and into slavery. All cargoes destined to serve the demands of distant Rome - the mega city at the heart of the empire.
A little reluctantly, Sam opened his eyes. Time to start work. He began to inspect the top step. It was plain stone, well cut but now weathered and tired. Following Professor Bertram’s instructions, he walked to the extreme right of the top step. There, he knelt and, with the back of his hand, swept away the light covering of sand that had accumulated. Nothing, just plain stone. How could this be?
He descended to the next step and swept another skim of sand away and, at once, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. There was the promised tile: ornate, decorative, its abstract pattern mysterious but familiar. Seeing the artefact for real, he knew exactly what it was - a representation of one side panel of one of Helen’s mystery boxes. He cleared away the sand from the next step down, this was plain stone. Descending a further step, he uncovered another patterned tile, this varied in appearance slightly from the first tile but was of the same design. Sam swept sand from the step below, nothing, but the step below that one had a tile. The tiles were fixed on alternate steps.
Straightening up, Sam hurried across the stairway to the left-hand side. He swept away sand from the top step, nothing. Clearing the step below immediately exposed a tile. Switching his attention to the next step down, he was not surprised to find it unadorned. The step below had a tile, and so the pattern repeated.
Sam paused. Taking a water bottle from his rucksack, he drank, dropped the bottle back into the bag and pulled out his camera. Now, at last, he could create his own visual record of the tile sequence - what he believed, somehow, represented the boxes’ opening code. Looming over the top tile of the left-hand side, he carefully photographed it then zoomed in for a close-up. Next, he moved down two steps and photographed the second tile twice. Working his way down the left side, he cleared sand from each alternate step to reveal a tile and photographed it.
It took only a short time to photograph six tiles, representing the six patterned sides of one box. Each tile triggered the same sense of familiarity. They were on the right track, wherever it led.
Crossing to the right-hand side, Sam repeated the process. Again, there were only six tiled images; below the thirteenth step, every stone was plain. Sam had what he wanted. Whatever the images would prove to mean, they were here, just as Professor Bertram had said. His journey had not been a fool’s errand.
Sam sat on the steps of the Temple of Jupiter and reviewed the pictures. They were all good, and he took the time to give each picture a sequence and position name. He wished he could email them away at once, but from bitter experience, he knew that Cassiter and his team had extensive monitoring capabilities. Much as he would have loved to send a copy to Edinburgh right now, he had no intention of risking their being intercepted nor of providing anyone with an opportunity to fix his current position. He’d just have to get the camera home safe.
The job had been laughably easy. A glance at his watch showed it was still only mid-morning. Now he had a long wait until the RIB returned for him. With time on his hands, Sam decided he’d have a quick scout around the area and find a quiet spot out of the sun to eat and wait out the afternoon.
A dirt track ran off from behind the Temple’s raised foundations before dropping down to where it crossed the wadi. At present, there was just a trickle of water moving along the bed of the watercourse, so he could step through it without any trouble. Much of the plant growth to the wadi sides was bent over towards the sea. There must have been a strong flow in recent days. He was aware that any rain here or inland would cause the wadi to swell into an impassable torrent almost at once. The flooding could subside and vanish as quickly as it first emerged.
Looking up at the blue sky, he guessed today was going to be a dry one. Across the wadi, the path rose to enter Leptis Magna proper. He set off.
• • •
Helen reached across the table and squeezed Julie’s forearm. They had both heard Grace’s voice echoing down the hall from the manse’s front door as she welcomed DI Brogan and
his cheerless sergeant.
‘They’re both in the kitchen, come along in,’ said Grace.
A moment later, Brogan and Price followed Grace into the room. Helen, Julie and Davy were all sat around the table.
‘Would you like tea or coffee?’ said Grace.
‘Not for us, thank you,’ said Brogan. ‘We’re on a tight schedule. I want to get along to the hospital to question those two we picked up last night.’
‘I hope you throw the book at them, inspector,’ said Helen.
‘Well, let’s see. First, I want to clear up a couple of points.’
Price had her notebook out and stood ready to take notes.
‘What can we tell you?’ said Helen.
‘It’s not you I want to speak with. It’s these two who I need to question.’ He gestured towards Davy and Julie. ‘Perhaps in private?’
‘I’ve nothing to say that Helen can’t hear,’ said Davy.
‘I won’t say anything without her being here,’ said Julie.
‘You can come with us down to the station, and we’ll continue the interviews there, if you won’t cooperate.’ Price’s hand pointed away over her shoulder in an abstract direction to the police station.
‘Thank you, sergeant. I’m sure we can work this through without recourse to that.’ Brogan approached the table. ‘Do you mind?’ he said, pointing at one of the chairs.
‘Please sit, inspector. I’m sure Davy and Julie will want to help you. We have enough problems without wanting to fall foul of the police too.’
‘Oh. What problems are they?’ said Price.
‘Life. Just life,’ said Helen, waving the sergeant towards the chair next to Brogan. ‘What’s to become of the two intruders?’
‘They’ve been kept in hospital for observation overnight. We’re going to speak with them now. But it’s all a bit tricky, I’m afraid.’
‘How so? They were caught in the act,’ said Helen.
‘That’s the problem, isn’t it? The attending officers took Davy and Julie’s statements once the two men had been hauled off to hospital with head injuries.’
‘And? What’s the problem?’
‘Helen, in the UK you have a right to use reasonable force in self-defence. But there is no general property owner’s right to shoot intruders or attack transgressors.’ Brogan turned his gaze towards Julie. ‘Nor is there a right to beat people about the head with a wooden stave.’
‘But they were trespassing, and they were going to hit Davy on the head. I only hit one of them to stop that.’
‘Perhaps. But it’s not clear how the second man got his head injury.’
‘What are you getting at inspector?’ said Helen.
‘The inspector means your friends are in the frame for a violent assault that put two men in hosp—’
‘Thank you, sergeant, I can manage to explain this. The problem you two face is that it’s not clear what crime the intruders committed that could stand up in court.’
‘Inspector, your officers saw the two men being removed from our trench. They were looting. One was going to cosh Davy. Aren’t they crimes enough?’
‘I’ll need to speak with the men shortly, but I’m not hopeful.’
‘Oh, come on!’
‘Listen, they have a very expensive lawyer. It appears they claim to be extreme-weather hikers, whatever that means. They were in Edinburgh for the New Year celebrations and stayed on for a few days to enjoy the snow. They were out enjoying themselves on a night-time hike, and one of them apparently fell into your trench. While trying to help his friend, the other was attacked and knocked into the trench by Julie.’
‘That’s rubbish!’ said Davy, rising to his feet. ‘Total lies—’
‘Just sit down, sir,’ said Price, also rising from her seat. She fixed Davy with a steely stare.
‘What about my collar bone? They broke that.’
‘Everyone just calm down,’ said Brogan. ‘Sit. Let’s talk this through.’
‘I did push one of them into the trench,’ Julie admitted hesitantly, ‘but the other was already down there digging about. The man I pushed pulled me down with him when he fell, and we landed on top of the other one; he got hit on the head with my stick during the fall.’
‘And how did the other one hurt his head?’ said Price.
‘I hit him,’ said Davy. ‘It was an accident,’ he squeezed Julie’s hand tight, silencing her.
Price made a point of referring to her notes. ‘You weren’t in the trench, sir, how could you have hit him?’
‘I don’t know. It all happened so fast and in the dark.’
‘You don’t know how you hit him?’
‘Inspector, please let’s not lose sight of the fact that these two men were the intruders, looting our archaeological site. Julie and Davy have just been caught up in something not of their making.’
‘I know. But let’s be clear, there is no evidence of these men having looted anything; they had no artefacts in their possession. Crossing another person’s land is not against the law in Scotland. Their excuse is not very believable, I grant you, but it is an excuse, and without other evidence to corroborate Davy and Julie’s version, no sheriff court is going to convict these men. In fact, I can tell you now, no procurator fiscal would bring the charges in the first place.
‘I’m more concerned that any counter-complaint will almost certainly stick against Julie. It’s even possible that there are Health and Safety charges to be brought against you as the landowner for knowingly leaving that trench without proper guardrails around it.’
Davy was about to speak again when Price raised a single cautionary finger and glared over it into his eyes. He remained silent, turning his attention to Julie who was being hugged by Helen.
‘We’re going over to the hospital now. I’m sorry, but it doesn’t look good. Julie, you’ve told us you hit one man on the head with your stick. You hit the other man’s head by accident or design when you fell into the trench. The evidence points to them as the victims.’ He stood and Price shadowed his moves. ‘Does your family have a solicitor? If so, I’d give them a call.’
‘I don’t have any family; I don’t know any solicitors.’ Julie had gone white and was trembling.
Helen’s hand squeezed her arm just a little tighter. ‘Don’t worry; we’re your family now. I know a very good lawyer. I’ll call him right away.’
Brogan nodded an acknowledgement and gave a sheepish smile. ‘I’m sorry, but we must follow process.’
‘Must you? Really?’ said Helen.
‘The law is the law,’ said Price.
‘I am sorry, truly. I don’t doubt Julie, really I don’t. Let’s see what these men have to say, then take it from there, okay?’ Brogan turned and led Price out.
• • •
Within the enclosed spaces of Leptis Magna, Sam felt less exposed. Moving quietly and with caution to avoid any unexpected encounters, he spent a couple of hours weaving to and fro through excavated parts of the city to take in some truly spectacular sights. All the while, his observations told him he was alone, yet a sixth sense kept flagging something, some nebulous concern he could not quite pin down.
He had made a point of seeking out the ancient theatre. Its soaring semicircle of tiered stone seating looked down onto the stage, which was itself backed by a stone wall topped with columns whose high lintels would once have supported an awning to shade the stage beneath. Behind the stage, the columns and internal divisions continued, reaching back to outline what would once have been a honeycomb of spaces and apartments, providing everything necessary to support a great theatrical event.
His appreciation of Leptis Magna grew at every turn. After falling to the invading Muslims, the city of perhaps fifty thousand people had been abandoned. Perfectly positioned to export Africa’s produce to Roman Europe in the north, it was of no value, had no purpose, to its east-facing Muslim conquerors. As such, it had been abandoned, left to the encroaching desert sands. Sands that had
both obscured and protected the buildings and statues, burying them for centuries.
Leaving the theatre, Sam continued through the ancient streets. He really wanted to visit the Septimius Arch, the triumphal arch built to honour Septimius Severus. The Roman emperor had been born an African Roman in Leptis Magna and had risen to the very top of the empire.
As he approached the arch, he hesitated. Even from a distance, he could tell it was a huge and imposing structure yet, in contrast, adorned with the most intricate stonework. It was frustrating, but the arch’s position spanning the straight road into the ancient city was just too exposed for him to get close.
Beyond the arch, at the far end of the road leading into the ancient city, was a visitor centre. Peering carefully from cover, he could see it was guarded by armed men. Probably some of the men he had seen that morning. Keen as he was to visit the arch, it would not do to tempt fate. The guards may be choosing to ignore him for now, but they would have to react if he walked into their line of sight. And that would be unavoidable thanks to the excavations having cleared the main roads and larger public buildings by removing as much as twenty feet of sand while leaving the surroundings buried and untouched. Unintentionally, the excavators had created the perfect shooting range along the road from visitor centre to arch.
Sam moved on. He took time to explore the Hadrianic baths. Surrounded by the walled remains of their labyrinthine buildings, the baths were shaped just like a modern swimming pool but with tiered steps leading into the water that could double as seating for socialising bathers. They were currently half-full of rainwater, perhaps waist height he thought.
Choosing a spot beside the walls of the bathhouse where nobody could approach unexpectedly from behind, Sam sat and ate the lunch he had prepared for himself in the fishing boat’s galley. Afterwards, he moved back through the city, northwards, directly up to the coast. There, he dropped to the waterline, and concealed from the view of any prying eyes, he continued along the coast, returning to his starting point of the morning at the harbour’s protective promontory and its tumbled lighthouse. Slipping in among the fallen blocks of stone, he found a quiet spot deep amid the jumble. It offered shelter from the sun and concealment from any unexpected visitors.