CHAPTER 4: A FEW BONES
The activity at the that lonely beach hill had now moved from one of major frenzy to one of quiet pecking. Only one policeman remained, mostly sitting in a chair or occasionally walking along the beach. His job was to give an official
presence to the work of the three others from one of the Sydney universities who were meticulously turning over small areas with short spades and sieving through a rectangular mesh screen.
A camp had been set up back at the end of the track from the highway including Bill's camper which was the official residence of whatever policeman was on duty. Public interest had slightly waned as the days wore on and even a reference in the newspapers was limited to a couple of lines. Until something major like, more bodies or a sensational capture of the perpetrator in a Kings Cross hotel, it would remain this way.
There was so little evidence, other than the bones, that the police soon exhausted avenues of exploration and it became a case 'under investigation'. There were more recent cases of bones, with flesh still attached, in other places that required a more urgent presence. Sadly the act of killing still happened in human society.
David My field had organized his only remaining examination of the remains, that of determining if the bones had their present corrosion accelerated due to the presence of wind and sand blasting and the dozens of minerals found in sea water. Maybe they were not that old and only gave an appearance of such. A private laboratory did this and returned his specimen, along with a hefty bill, a few days later. No. If the external forces of nature had sped up the process, the core was already old. He was back to 50 year old, plus, bones. The wait for the ANU team to finish their stuff was forgotten as other work crowded the daily schedule. Then he had to fly to Adelaide for a three day seminar on cell regeneration under changed lymphatic conditions, and the bones were put out of sight as the on board whisky came in view. On the way to the dinner party, Jean mentioned about the bones, to Ray, who politely replied that without some decent meat attached and well marinated, he had no interest. Still, from an historical point of view, if they were ship wrecked sailors of a coastal vessel, it became historical, and therefore meat of a different kind to him. Still his current work was on the Sumerians and hence just a little before Australian history.
On Monday, Jean Silvers found the results of the CD testing on her desk, prominently displayed.
"Thought you might miss them," said Ange.
"I think something is not aufait in what they say." Her sense of humour sometimes just had to be ignored.
"Why?" There was no reply and Jean scanned to the relevant parts, then slowly went over them again.
"These can't be right. Settings must be wrong or something. Did you check the input parameters?"
"Yep. And the co-ordination logs. Either we have a serious equipment condition or the theory of 50% in carbon dating has just gone out the window." Jean sighed.
"Unlikely. The government is paying, so lets do it all again and we both check each other all the way. Do we have access?" Two days later, the revised results were laying on the table. The faculty head stood with his hands behind his back looking at the spectrograph equipment. He turned around.
"Beats me, Jean. If all is as it should be, and you as sure me it is, them you have some meat on your plate that needs some thought. Or more accurately, a lack of meat on your plate. " She gave a limp smile.
"Your baby. Best of luck when you talk to that forensic fellow." Then he gave a wave to both of them and strode out of the room.
There was silence for a while, then Jean picked up the phone as her assistant discreetly made herself absent. My field was out but was expected back in a few minutes so she hung up and waited, turning the papers around in front of her. The String analysis had to go to Britain but she expected some thing in the next day or two by fax. The coffee had barely been sipped when the phone buzzed. She picked it up.
"Yes, Doctor, thanks for calling back. I guess you are waiting on some results. Not that they may help. The String is due in two or three days but the CD has been finalized. We actually had to do it twice, but I'm sure the New South Wales government has some spare money." There was a pause.
"No, it was necessary." Another pause then,
"How old? Well according to modern science, your bones are not very old, that is in archaeological terms. CD analysis puts them at between two and three......thousand years." She waited. The conversation went on and a confused My field said he would wait until she had the String. Jean made another coffee. Ange poked her head around the partition.
"Not happy, was he?"
"What do you think. Ring Birmingham and hurry them along." Ange looked at the clock.
"It's dark over there." The look on her boss's face was enough.
"OK. OK. I ring," and she disappeared. Ray's interest was captured as she talked over a glass or red that night.
"Very odd. Definitely not aboriginal you say?"
"No. It seems all wrong. DNA will be in tomorrow. How you placed for this weekend?" He drained his glass and looked at her.
"I'm doing reserves for our match against Medicine on Saturday. Some papers to finish whenever. More?" He offered the bottle.
"No thanks. Get someone else on the reserve list. How about a dirty weekend away?" He blinked.
"We don't have to go away, remember. We live here."
"No, I mean dirty as in digging up the South Coast. I want to have a nose about. I thought it would be right up your ally." Ray sucked his breath.
"Actually it has interested me. Two thousand year old bones in our own backyard and not indigenous. Or so they say. Could be some a historical link here that just might....."
"What? Might be what?"
"Just a wild theory. We go. I'll ring Bennsy and ask him to stand in for me on Saturday. Now, any immediate plans?"
"Yes, the dishes." The String Analysis arrived by fax on Friday and confirmed that the bones were over one thousand years old. Not as exact as Dating but the two to get her would seal the age. However DNA could do other things. It could give the medical condition of the owner and to some degree, his ancestry. Amino acid set. indicated a long diet of fish based meals without much greenery. Vitamin C deficiency was in the infant stages. Iodine content of the bone was high and some traces of palaeolithic residue, also linoleic. Jean was no medical person, but the report contained a suggestion. An early diet of wheat or barley, but more recently a prolonged diet of fish products and no vegetables of note.
The person could have been a sailor on an extended sea voyage.
It also told her that the owner had black hair from his, yes it was a male, genetic make up, and with that type of hair structure and the bone structure, definitely was European. More precisely, southern European or Mediterranean. She rang My field but he was out, so she left a brief summary with his off sider, and more confused then ever, got back to more regular and known field so fendeavour. On Friday night, she and Ray headed south and stopped after along trip at a motel who still had some lights on. Ray had gone quiet when she told him about the String analysis earlier.
"Just thinking," he replied.
"What about Maoris?"
"I doubt it. Must be different in bone structure. I'm not sure to be honest. Anyway the DNA said Mediterranean." Only the odd passing truck, and a persistent cricket, disturbed the night.
"Still," Ray continued, "it's all an inexact science. After all, a big war canoe could make the twelve hundred miles across the Tasman. They found New Zealand all that way from
Hawaii so Australia would be easy. Can't be any other answer. Blast."
"What?"
"Nothing. What I was thinking the other day, is further away. Give me a cuddle and think about digging. Might find some buried pirate treasure."
"You seem," she murmured, "to have forgotten about pirate treasure pretty quickly." They found the beach site next morning and after introducing them selves and convincing the team that they had some 'official status' by a liberal use of David My field's name, took stock of the situation. The coast looked pretty from the top of the sand hill. The relentless waves and an unending procession of yellow sand that seemed to go on until it ran out. The headland to the south dropped sharply into the sea and was covered with some low bushes and one solitary tree. A pair of sea eagles soared overhead, emitting their distinctive shrill cry. Jean held on to Ray's arm.
"Nice isn't it? So remote. Yet behind us, so sad. What happened Ray? We have to find out." Her passion was expected. It was in her make up. He nodded. 'We must try' he thought. They looked at what was turned over. Bits of natural items, sticks and pebbles and old plant life. Un recognizable bits of old flotsam. Aplastic bottle top and some metal pieces, two or three about 15cmlong. These had been discarded, but Ray held them for some time, turning them over and over, then put them aside. More digging produced more metal and two spear heads. Some sort of stone. Then another spear head with a very short shaft still attached, about three inches at that. The digger who located it, brought it over to Jean and looked puzzled.
"Another spear top but the others were stone orpetrified wood. This is bendable almost. Looks like metal." He gave it to her. Jean looked for Ray and attracted his attention. He came over with some thing in his hand. She showed him the last spear head and he felt it's texture.
"Brass."
"Is that possible?" said the young worker,
"I thought the blacks we rest one people."
"You're right. No metal." He took Jean's arm and led her away.
"My cuckoo idea has just come to roost. See these bits of metal. Some sort of brass also but I know what they're off. I'm not a member of the History department for nothing." She noticed his hands had a slight tremble.
"Spill it."
"Both these pieces, which I'm sure of, are parts of armor, a breast plate to be exact. And all these other bits and ends...." Before he could finish, a yell and someone had a small bowl or dish in their hand. It was brought over and Ray looked at it.
"Funny shaped dish," said the boy and Ray gave a sort of shrug and took it. The lad returned to where he unearthed it. Jean looked at Ray's face for the dish and Ray's hand was shaking slightly.
"What's wrong?"
"Not a dish. It's the top part of a helmet. Jean, all this stuff is Phoenician." She looked at him and blinked her eyes.
"You're joking?"
"No." They didn't let on to the others but went to sit on the beach, the artifacts left wrapped up in his gear.
"It fits. A pet theory of mine and it's true."
"But no one before the Portuguese ever travelled further than Africa. That's along time after the Phoenicians. A thousand years at least."
"Not quite true, my dear. People from Crete were sailing the Atlantic long before the Romans could make mud brick houses. Probably the greatest mariners of all time were the Phoenicians. They helped King David and King Solomon build that famous Temple of Jerusalem. One of their great satellite colonies was Carthage. You've heard of it?" She nodded.
"It was in Africa, near Libya, wasn't it?"
"That's right. Prime time was about 850 BC, which is getting closeto3,000years ago. They had already sailed to Britain by then. Ever heard of King Necho?"
"No. But you're about to tell me." She little doubted his knowledge and now she was seeing it in action. He was as passionate about history as she was about her profession. Jean didn't know what to say. He was so certain but she, with a life in material facts, needed a little more than just metal bits that could be construed as something else. Still Ray was a part of her and whilst she would not be backward to tell him what was on her mind or the truth as she perceived it, he could just be right. Just could be. Still a note of other paths, other conclusions needed to be aired.
"You're on to shattering stuff here but you need to be sure, really sure. There may be another explanation. You need more artifacts, clothing, whatever we can find." He looked away from her, out beyond the waves that were breaking.
"You think I'm nuts. I don't want that big break to re write history, taken away from me." She could feel his hurt and suddenly felt it might get between them.
"There is no doubt in what you say, Ray. I just don't want to see you get hurt. I've seen archaeologists build up their hopes and have them crumbled. Always some one out there to cut your legs off. You confirmed today what these bones are. I have the bones and you have the artifacts."
"You are absolutely correct. One step at a time." She put her arm around his waist, felt him soften. Then his arm was around hers.
"Don't leave me. Ever. I need pulling into line once in a while."
"No you don't. Trust your heart and your head. It's me that needs a kick up the backside sometimes." They turned and smiled at each other, then with a kiss, headed back down the dune. Nothing was said to the others about what they had found. They helped check the debris and spread the area outwards. Some more pieces were found, all innocuous to the casual observer, but Jean knew from Ray's slight smile, that it was more proof for his theory. The daylight started to fade and with commitments in Sydney to keep them away from this new field of dreams, they gathered their gear and left.
The team would finish the next day and all that would be left of a distant battle, would be a fluttering white tape and a sign that said 'keep out'. Soon the forces of nature would take this and the sand would return to lie for another two thousand years or so until the next chance encounter.