Dust to Dust (6 page)

Motram nodded, emphasising with his right hand where he thought the hidden chamber might be. ‘Assuming the entry to it was from here,’ he indicated a point on the abbey wall directly below the chapter house windows, ‘and there were, say, ten steps down to it to give some ceiling height, I reckon about ten to fifteen feet below where we’re standing now.’

Smith and Fielding started up their machine and began a slow sweep of the ground. Motram watched their every move with bated breath while Blackstone turned away to examine the condition of the stone along the base of the chapter house wall.

Fielding removed his earphones and pointed to something on a graphic readout to his colleague before turning to Motram and saying. ‘You’re right. There’s no doubt about it … there’s a hollow space down there.’

‘Brilliant! Can you tell how far out it stretches?’ Motram asked, knowing that a great deal was riding on the answer to his question.

The machine resumed its sweep, stopping when Fielding and Smith were about ten metres east of the abbey wall. ‘This seems to be the end of it here,’ said Fielding.

‘Great,’ said Motram, relieved that the possibility of the chamber’s turning out to be a sort of cupboard in the wall that went down rather than out had been removed. He walked over to join the two men and noted that the nearest tree was only about two metres away. He turned to Blackstone. ‘Too close for an end approach, do you think?’

‘I think so,’ said Blackstone. ‘Apart from anything else, the roots of these trees must be quite extensive. In fact I’d be surprised if they hadn’t invaded your chamber over the years – maybe taken it over completely.’

‘Not a happy thought,’ murmured Motram, inwardly agreeing that Blackstone had a point. ‘What do you think about a side approach?’

Blackstone nodded thoughtfully before saying, ‘Let’s not rush things. Let’s wait until the chaps have finished mapping the whole thing out.’ He led the way to a bench on the grassy area beside the abbey cloisters where they sat in the sun and exchanged bits and pieces of information about their respective careers until the survey was finished and Fielding came to join them with a printout in his hand.

‘Here we are,’ he said with a smile. ‘More or less what you thought, an underground chamber about ten metres long by three metres wide and about four metres down. There’s a blip on the north side – some kind of alcove cut in the wall – but the south wall is smooth all the way along.’

‘Then we should approach from the south side, if you’re agreeable?’ said Motram, turning to Blackstone. ‘About halfway along, do you think?’

Blackstone nodded, but added, ‘Maybe an extra metre out from the wall, if you don’t mind. If it’s a choice between damaging tree roots and undermining the chapter house wall … let’s err on the side of keeping me in a job.’

‘Point taken,’ smiled Motram. ‘Wonderful. Look, I have to go to London early next week but I’ll make arrangements before I go for all the gear we’ll need. We can start work as soon as I get back if that’s okay with you?’

With everyone in agreement Motram said, ‘I can’t tell you how much this means to me.’

‘I think we sort of guessed,’ said Fielding to the amusement of the others.

‘Lunch is on me!’ said Motram.

* * *

Smith and Fielding who, as it turned out, had worked all over the world, held the interest of the other two with tales of their past employment on archeological digs and, in Smith’s case, oil exploration.

‘You know, we could all be on the verge of making history here,’ said Motram over coffee. ‘We could be about to solve a seven-hundred-year-old mystery. There’s something really exciting about uncovering the secrets of the past, don’t you think?’

The others smiled indulgently at Motram’s enthusiasm but Fielding said, ‘I’m not so sure about what you’ll be uncovering. The idea of anything to do with the Black Death …’ He shivered at the thought. ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing? I mean, are you absolutely certain you won’t be resurrecting some nightmare from the past?’

‘You have my word for it. It’s seven hundred years since anything down there has seen the light of day. Apart from that, no one is going to ask you guys to go inside the chamber. That’s my job.’

‘Actually, I’d quite like to see inside,’ said Smith. ‘The thought of being the first human beings in there in all these years is absolutely mind-blowing … I mean, like wow.’

‘I think I’ll just be happy if the abbey walls don’t fall down,’ said Blackstone, getting sympathetic laughter.

The sight of some visitors arriving at the abbey made Motram ask about the policy on restricting public access while they were working.

‘There aren’t that many visitors at this time of year,’ replied Blackstone. ‘I thought we’d leave it officially open while the preliminary groundwork’s going on but close before the chamber walls are breached.’

‘Makes sense,’ Motram agreed.

‘We’ll ribbon the site off when we start work,’ said Fielding. ‘People will probably think we’re working on the drains.’

‘You know,’ said Smith thoughtfully, ‘I’m surprised the press haven’t caught on to this. You’d think it would be a natural for them.
Black Death tomb to be reopened
and all that … They usually don’t miss the chance to hit the panic button.’

A sudden damper fell over the proceedings and there was a long silence before Motram said, ‘You know, you’re quite right. I didn’t think of that.’

‘Me neither,’ said Blackstone. ‘I guess it can only be because they don’t know anything about it.’

‘Please God we can keep it that way,’ said Motram. ‘I suggest we all be very guarded about what we say from now on.’ 

NINE

‘Who can that be at this time of night?’ exclaimed May Kelly as the doorbell rang in the council flat she shared with her husband, Brian, in the east end of Glasgow. It was nine o’clock.

‘Only one way to find out,’ replied her husband, not bothering to take his eyes from his newspaper.

May gave him a dark look but he didn’t lift his eyes, even as he reached out for the can of lager that sat beside him. ‘I take it it’ll not be you doing the finding,’ she murmured, putting down her knitting and getting up from her chair. She returned a few moments later but not alone. ‘It’s an officer from Michael’s unit,’ she announced.

This time the comment did get a reaction from her husband. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he exclaimed, getting to his feet, dropping the newspaper and peering at the newcomer over his glasses. ‘What’s happened?’

‘I am very sorry, Mr and Mrs Kelly, but I have to tell you your son Michael, Royal Marine Michael Kelly, has been killed in action in Afghanistan.’

‘Oh, Jesus Christ, no … no, no, no.’ May threw herself at her husband, who stood there as if turned to stone, seemingly unaware of the presence of the woman seeking comfort from him.

‘What happened?’ he said numbly.

‘I’m afraid he died of a wound infection in the treatment facility at Camp Bastion in Helmand Province. The medical staff did their best but the infection didn’t respond to treatment. I’m so sorry. By all accounts, he was a fine marine.’

‘Wound infection?’ exclaimed Brian. ‘No one even told us he’d been wounded. when did it happen?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t have the actual details of the action that led to his being injured. I believe he suffered slight shrapnal wounds which were not thought to be severe at the time. I understand your son dismissed them as being of no consequence. It was when infection set in that the problem arose and he had to be transferred to hospital.’

‘Bastards,’ murmured Brian. ‘Bloody bastards.’

May, finding no comfort in her husband’s anger, detached herself and took a handful of tissues from the box sitting on the sideboard. She held them to her face as the three of them stood there in an uncomfortable tableau. Seconds ticked by before Brian asked, ‘What happens now?’

‘Michael’s body will be flown home to the UK for burial with full military honours. You will, of course, be consulted about specifics in due course, when you’ve had time to come to terms with your great loss.’

‘Come to terms? And just how long’s that going to take?’ muttered Brian, bristling with indignation. ‘He’s our only son … sent to some godforsaken hellhole … and for what? Tell me that.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ said the officer.

May finally removed the tissues from her face and thought the time right to intervene. She gave a final sniff and asked, ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘That’s very kind, Mrs Kelly, but I think it best if I just leave you two alone right now. Someone from family liaison will be contacting you over the next few days about the arrangements and perhaps I should warn you that there’s a possibility that the press might want to have a word. I’ll leave you this number to ring if you find you need any help with this. I’m so sorry to have to bring you this sad news.’

Brian seemed lost in a world of inner conflict. Grief, anger and frustration were demanding an emotional response from a man not used to giving them. He stood, staring into space, apparently oblivious of what was going on around him. May asked the officer, ‘Was Michael alone when he died?’

‘I would think not, Mrs Kelly. The field hospital is very well equipped and staffed.’

‘I was just wondering if he said anything before …’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know,’ replied the officer, sorry for not being able to offer the woman in front of him any crumb of comfort when she looked so vulnerable.

‘I just wondered …’

‘Of course, Mrs Kelly. I’ll make enquiries.’

‘Thanks, son.’

The officer left and May made tea. She put a cup down beside Brian, who didn’t acknowledge it. He simply said, ‘You’d better start phoning around. People will have to be told.’

‘Maybe you could get off your arse and give me a hand,’ snapped May in an uncharacteristic outburst as her grief spilled over into anger.

Brian looked at her in amazement, suddenly unsure of his ground. ‘Right, well, maybe I’ll go round and tell Maureen …’ he said, getting to his feet.

‘You do that,’ said May. ‘Tell her her wee brother’s … been killed … Oh, Christ! Sweet Jesus Christ, what am I going to do?’ She dissolved into floods of tears, her shoulders shaking silently as Brian tried awkwardly to put an arm round her.

‘Easy, hen,’ he murmured. ‘I’m hurtin’ too.’

‘Maureen’ll want to come round,’ said May, as she fought to compose herself. ‘Tell her no. I need some time to myself. I’ll talk to her in the morning. Give my love to the bairns.’

‘Right you are,’ said Brian, putting on his jacket. ‘Will you be all right? Is there anything …?’

‘I’ll be fine,’ said May, giving a final blow of her nose and throwing the tissues in the bin. ‘I’ll drink my tea, then I’ll start phoning folk.’

‘Good girl … I’ll see you later.’

Brian returned two hours later, after telling his daughter Maureen and her husband what had happened and watching Keith trying to explain to their two young children, who’d been woken by the noise, why Granddad was there and their mummy was crying. ‘I’m back,’ he announced.

There was no response. The living room was empty; it seemed cold and alien with the television off. Thinking that May might have gone to bed, he had started in the direction of the bedroom when he glanced along the hall and saw a light under the door of Michael’s room. He went along and opened it slowly to find May sitting on Michael’s bed with photographs in her hands and spread all over the bedspread. She didn’t look up when Brian came in but knew he was there. ‘Do you remember the holiday in Kinghorn?’ she said, holding up a print. ‘That awful, bloody caravan and the sound of the rain on the roof …’

‘Aye,’ said Brian. ‘Rained every bloody day.’

‘But Michael loved it … happy as Larry in his wellies, he was.’ She finally looked up, pain etched all over her face. ‘What am I going to do?’

Brian sat down beside her, hands clenched between his knees. ‘We’ll get through it, hen. You and me, eh? We always do.’

May had a faraway look in her eyes.

TEN

‘Did you get your report off to St Raphael’s?’ Cassie Motram asked her husband when she arrived home from evening surgery to find him preparing what he’d need for the excavation at the end of the week.

‘I did.’

Thinking that she detected some unspoken qualification in the reply, Cassie asked, ‘A problem?’

‘Far from it. The donor seemed a perfect match for his highness in every way …’

‘But?’

‘What I really can’t get my head round is why they asked for my opinion in the first place. Many of the tests they asked for seemed utterly pointless in the circumstances.’

‘As you said, they wanted the best and they could afford it,’ said Cassie. ‘You’re the top man in your field.’

‘All they needed to do was make sure that blood group and tissue type were compatible for the transplant. All the other stuff they asked for was quite superfluous, an attempt to inflate the bill, if you ask me.’

‘Always better to have too much information than too little,’ said Cassie. ‘And it’s their money.’

‘I suppose.’

‘Why look a gift horse in the mouth? If they want you to dot all the i’s and cross all the t’s, it’s their business, and if it helps to pay for your excavation at Dryburgh, who are you to complain?’

‘You’re right.’ Motram smiled. ‘I should just take the money and run.’

‘At last, some sense. Expecting wet weather?’ Cassie was looking at her husband’s Wellington boots, standing beside the rest of the gear he was getting together.

‘The weather forecast from Thursday onward isn’t good,’ said Motram. ‘Heavy rain across the north of England and the Scottish Borders.’

‘In which case you should pack sunscreen,’ said Cassie. ‘You know what long-range forecasts are like.’

In the event, the forecast proved accurate. Motram had to drive up to Dryburgh on Friday through torrential rain propelled along by a gusting westerly wind. His hope that the latter might help the rain clouds pass over quickly was not encouraged by a persistently dark sky to his left. There was no sign of Blackstone or the two Maxton Geo-Survey men when he arrived although their vehicles were in the car park, as was a surprising sign saying that the abbey was closed to visitors for remedial work. Motram guessed rightly that the others had sought shelter in the hotel. He joined them for coffee and asked about the sign.