The Spanish Helmet (13 page)

‘It just seems a little empty. I mean, the mirror and coins is one thing, three things actually, but there really should be more evidence that supports the theory the Celts were here. Aside from some possible alignments in Auckland and rumours of more in some valleys up north, I haven’t seen or heard of anything else.’

‘There was that one interesting place I read about,’ Aimee said, ‘the Crosshouse.’

‘You mentioned that the other day.’

‘Yeah.
It was a Maori meeting house near to Rotorua. It appeared to have been built in a design that afforded it perfectly aligned equinox sun and moon rises. Maybe we could visit the site while you’re here.’

‘It would be interesting. I suppose the observation of alignments makes it a possible link to Warren’s Celt theory. But then, a lot of other ancient civilisations studied the heavens too. The Mayans, Egyptians, etcetera. I think it would be great to see the site.’

‘What will you do about Warren? You should be
careful,
you don’t want to get on the wrong side of the DCI’

‘I have to wait and see. All I know is that I don’t want to do anything that’ll affect our friendship. It means too much to me. But if I need some help, or more information, or if I have time to visit the Crosshouse site, can I call you?’

‘I’d love that.’

The subject changed again. They discussed friends and family and some of their past embarrassments and successes. They discussed work colleagues and their bosses too. It brought back some of the nervousness to Matt, wondering how all this would go down with Professor Pick. But generally, Matt felt better. Aimee was exactly what he needed. Someone interested, but distanced from the theory. The Crosshouse sounded fascinating. It had potential to be good supporting evidence to Warren’s theories. Matt wondered if Warren knew of it, and decided to ask him that evening. At least now, he felt like he could go on with the investigation with some renewed hope. Maybe there was some credit to the theory after all. He promised himself to visit the Crosshouse as soon as he had visited his father.

Tuesday, July 6, 1526

We have been sailing for almost five weeks since we last saw the fleet. Our course should have taken us to the Moluccas by now. The weather has been very pleasant. The ocean here is calm and peaceful. I understand why Magallanes named it the Mar Pacifico. My body feels at ease and refreshed. The crew are in good spirits. The wine tastes better here too. The skies are mostly fine, filled with good breezes for sailing and a clear sightline to the distant horizon by day and the stars by night.

But despite the conditions, we have yet to sight the Moluccas. I am concerned that we may be too far north in our bearings.

Friday, July 9, 1526 – 07:00

Early this morning, shortly after midnight, we struck a reef. The impact has caused considerable damage and the lives
of seven crew
were taken. In the morning light we have seen that we are wedged on the eastern shores of an atoll. We gave our departed men a sea burial and threw two of the Falcon cannons overboard. I had hoped the lesser weight would help to refloat the vessel but as yet it hasn’t worked. We will need to jettison more of our stock to avoid damage to the ship from the rising tide. Our effort in refloating the San Lesmes is a blessed distraction from the thoughts of losing so many men.

Friday, July 9, 1526 – 16:30

We have successfully refloated the ship after throwing a further two falcons and some low-quality shot over the side. We are now left with just the culverins and some light weapons and armour. The ship is in need of repair but there is nowhere on this part of the flat island to do this. Over to the western side, however, I can see a sheltered area with some trees. We will make our way there for repairs.

Now that we are again afloat, the loss of those men is weighing heavily on my soul.

The care home looked like a care home, but it was in a beautiful location, on a gentle hillside overlooking a pretty bay. Matt decided it would be an OK sort of place to live, if you didn’t have another choice, at least.

‘Dad’s got a little unit over here in the north wing,’ Nadine said, as they walked up a broad concrete path that curved parallel to the curved building.

‘I like what they’ve done to maximize the views.’ Matt turned to his right to admire the beach and park that the large picture windows afforded. ‘It must be nice waking up to that.’

‘For sure.
Dad insisted that he got to come here if he wasn’t able to stay at home. I couldn’t look after
him,
it’s too much work for me.’

‘I can’t even imagine.’

Nadine stopped in front of a door. ‘Here we are. So, like I said, I haven’t told him you’re coming. He may get a shock or mightn’t understand who you are. Be patient, he doesn’t always make a lot of sense, but this is your Dad.’

Matt stood still and stiff as a board as Nadine tapped on the door. A grunt came from inside. Nadine opened the door and stepped in. Matt caught his first sight of his father, who faced the other direction and looked taut from this side. Nadine greeted him and said that she had brought a visitor with her.

‘What did you do that for?’ Matt’s father growled as he turned to see what intruder Nadine had dragged in.

 Matt prepared to turn on his heels and run, but it was too late. His father’s face changed from a gruff frown into a glowing mass of smile, and then it changed again, into a screwed up mess of tears and shaking.

‘Matthew!’ His father cried. ‘You’ve finally come.’ He turned to Nadine. ‘I told you he’d come, didn’t I? I told you, and you all never believed me.’

Matthew was glued to the spot, uncomfortable as hell but overcome by the emotions his father showed and those that flooded over
himself
. His father was actually happy to see him. His father loved him. Matt took a deep breath, walked over, shook his father’s hand and took a seat next to him at the small round table. It was a good place to start.

They talked about family for the next hour, about what went wrong and why they had been apart so long. Andy Robertson never blamed Matthew’s mother for any of what happened, only
himself
. As Matt listened to his father, he felt himself getting lighter.
A tingly
warmth trickled through his body, leaving him feeling giddy. He
knew,
that with some effort from both sides, they could build a relationship. There was a lot of ground to make up.

‘So what do you do Matt? Why are you in New Zealand? You didn’t just come to find me?’

Matt wanted to lie, but would never deceive someone like that. ‘I’m here on business. A bit of research I guess you would say.’

‘You’re a researcher too? I used to dabble in academics.’

‘Dad,’ Nadine said, teasing him, ‘you didn’t just dabble.
You spent hours in that shed of yours chasing down one theory or another.’

‘Right you are dear. Right you are.’ He turned back to Matt. ‘So, what’s your study?’

‘I’m a Professor of History at the University of South-West England. I double majored in History and Archaeology, and then continued with a doctorate in history, mostly in Switzerland.’ Matt looked at Nadine and his father. They stared at each other, smiles dancing between them.

‘When did you say your relationship with your mother got strained?’ his father asked

‘About when I went to Switzerland.
The distance, it put a strain on things.’

‘Explains a lot.’
Nadine directed her comment at Matt’s father.

‘Indeed.’

‘What?’ Matt was perplexed.

‘Your mother never told you what I did for a living?’

‘No. She barely ever mentioned you.’

‘I’m going to hazard a guess here, Matt. Your mother didn’t become distant with you because of the physical distance. She became distant with you because you followed in your father’s footsteps.’

Matt was perplexed. His father was a historian?

‘It must have damned near killed your mum when you left her to study the same subject that I pissed her off so much with.’

‘Ah.’ Was this guilt he was feeling? He felt guilty for upsetting his Mum by following his passion? This was silly.

‘What are you studying in New Zealand?’ Matt’s father asked, pulling himself up with his good arm, as if to hear
better
.

‘Something a little controversial.’

‘I’m all ears.’

‘Dad’s no stranger to controversy,’ Nadine said.

‘What do you mean?’ Matt asked.

‘I tended to buck against the norm a little with some of my research.’

‘Revisionism?’

‘You could say that.
Though I never actually got to prove any of my theories.
But
nuff
about them, what’ve you got?’

Matt could see his father was clearly interested, and heck, he was in a wheelchair in a care home. He couldn’t cause any trouble. Besides, Warren’s theory had worn a little thin and Matt could do with any help he could get.

‘A colleague of mine has found a Celtic burial site, up north.’

Matt’s father appeared to be instantly healed. He virtually launched himself out of the wheelchair with excitement. ‘He found what?’

‘He found two coins and a mirror.’

‘Ritualistically accurate,’ Matt’s father said. ‘Has the site been properly sanctioned?’

‘Kind of.’
Matt was a little embarrassed. ‘The DCI has taken over the site, but they only know about the coins.’

‘How so?’

‘My friend moved the mirror.’

Disappointment registered all over Andy Robertson’s face. Matt saw the change in mood and had a sinking feeling that what he said had serious relevance to the success of the research. ‘Your friend has ruined any chance you had of proving anything with the burial site. What a bumbling idiot.’

Matt was about to defend Warren, but thought better of it just in time. ‘He was worried the DCI would sanction the site and destroy the evidence.’

‘The DCI is many things, Matt, and yes they’ve been guilty of some pretty shoddy work. But I don’t reckon the DCI would ever actually destroy a valid theory.’