Miriam's Talisman (30 page)

‘And what about Hannah, how did she survive?'

‘Oh, she played, as children do. I guess she grew a little wild in that landscape. And that was no bad thing. It was good to get her away from the constraints of post-war, middle-class Boston. She was always a quiet child, gave little of herself away. Liked to play on her own. We tried
to encourage her to mix with the local children, but she seemed to hang back. Preferred to be alone.'

‘But you settled there OK?'

‘Yes, we settled, worked out a pattern to live by. The seasons passed. The work was progressing. We uncovered a whole series of ring fortifications. And the burials, of course. Many had been disturbed before. In fact, it was unusual to find something intact. The Danes did a lot of damage. A rich tomb would have been ransacked. But also burials were a way for a tribe to lay claim to an area, generation after generation, and often layer upon layer. Then, for some reason, ancestors would be dug up and moved around. And the area we were looking at was old, really old.

‘I suppose we were primitive ourselves. With today's technology we would have been able to do so much more. There was no carbon-dating, little in the way of chemical analysis. We didn't even have access to an X-ray machine on-site. But we were careful and methodical. Inch by inch, we uncovered the past.'

‘Hannah said you were happy there at first, all three of you.'

‘Yes. Yes, we were happy.'

‘Something must have happened. Something that changed everything.'

Harold lowered his eyes to study the candlelight caught on the rim of his glass. ‘Yes, something happened. We found that tomb.'

The flickering flame etched deep shadows in the lines on his face. Suddenly, he looked very old.

‘You found a tomb? What sort of tomb?'

‘There was a mound of earth set into the hillside and
overgrown with bushes and small trees. At first we thought it would be another mass grave. There'd been several of those, some cremation burials, too. There'd been a lot of fighting in this area. Few people died of natural causes. When the portal stones were uncovered, we knew straight away this was something different. The set-up was all wrong. But it was more than that. You could feel it. We all did. Of course there was a lot of leg-pulling. Jokes about Tutankhamun and the curse of the mummy. We were whistling in the dark and we all knew it. Everything was…what's that phrase?'

‘Out of kilter?'

‘Yes, that's it. Things didn't quite fit.'

‘How do you mean?'

‘Well, it was obviously old. At the time we didn't realise just how old. And, miraculously, it was intact—no trace of previous entry. The earth lay undisturbed, the huge stone slabs at the entrance still bedded deep into the soil. This was a special place, saved for an important occupant. A deep cave in the slope of the hillside, carefully concealed and smoothed over by time and the cruel weather. A place fit for the burial of kings.

‘Yet this was a burial without ceremony. The portal stones and the stone slabs lining the entrance passage were featureless. No carvings, no ornamentation, though it would have taken the work of many men to move everything into place. Strangely, the end of the passage was blocked with rubble. Not a rock fall. This had been carried there deliberately. The cavern, when we broke through, contained nothing. No artefacts, no weapons or jewels. No gifts for the afterlife. Just a lonely figure wrapped in a plain cloth. No finely worked burial robes,
no richly embroidered cloak. Yet the winding sheet was of the finest linen. This was the tomb of a high-born noble, yet it was a place of secrecy. It was as if they did it in a hurry, as if they were trying to hide something.

‘We were all caught in the mystery, Miriam as much as anyone. It was late afternoon when we cleared a hole in the rubble piled at the end of the outer passage. A torch beam pierced the small opening and touched the sad bundle resting on a raised platform. It was too late to move further that day, and we went away with plans for the next morning. When I got home, I was full of it. My excitement was infectious, and of course she wanted to be there too. But there was still a lot of work to do to clear the entrance before we could go in. I suggested she come down after lunch the next day and bring her camera. Of course we'd taken photos at every stage. Standard practice. But Miriam liked to keep her own records of the work.

‘It was a fine day, full summer. I watched her striding across the grass towards us, camera swinging in her hand. She was wearing shorts—her legs were long and brown from the sun and the open air. She'd tied her hair back away from her eyes. Every time I saw her was like the first time. It never ceased to amaze me that she was my wife. When she arrived there was a break in the proceedings. We were all standing around drinking tea. I offered her some. She shook her head. She was anxious to see what had been going on, couldn't take her eyes off that opening in the earth. She felt it, too, whatever it was. But she waited patiently while I took a photograph.'

‘Was that the one you showed me, the one from your wallet?'

‘That's right. Last photo I ever took of her. I can still see
her laughing and shading her eyes with her hands. Then I asked the others if she could look at the tomb. No one objected. She was almost part of the team. Besides she was so astounding that no one could refuse her anything.'

He became quiet, his eyes distant, watching the past. Don't stop now, please, I begged inside my head. I forced a calmness into my voice and said gently, ‘So you both went inside?'

Harold took a deep swallow of his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

‘We had to duck down to pass through the entrance. For a moment she hesitated, as if on the edge of something and uncertain. Then she took a breath and stepped forward. I held her hand and we moved down the dark passage between stone walls and earth floor. The circle of yellow light darted ahead of us, guiding our way. I shone it back to watch her face as she gazed in wonder at the rough-hewn slabs. If anyone were to ask when I last saw Miriam, I think I would have to say it was then, at that moment, as she grasped my hand tight and steadied herself against the wall. The long loop of her hair fell over one shoulder and her eyes shone like cat's eyes in the dark. Yes, that was the last time I saw my Miriam. After that, she was a stranger.'

He fell silent again. The moon had risen and the surface of the water was skimmed with iridescent pearl. I counted the waves lapping on the shore, slower than a heartbeat. Harold took a deep breath and held it for an endless moment before he spoke again.

‘We entered the tight little cavern. The air was still heavy and stale with that dry tang that makes an archaeologist's heart leap. Preservation! A chance the contents were still
whole. No damp, no mould, no rotting. Even better, the body, if still there, could be mummified. And that's exactly what we'd found earlier in the morning.

‘I flashed the light around the walls to show her the extent of that little world, then moved it on to that sad little bundle resting on its bed of stone. “There she is,” I said, “let me introduce you to Peggy-Sue.” Miriam wasn't amused. “Oh no, don't! Don't laugh at her,” she said. “She deserves better than that.” Then she knelt down beside the stiff folds of linen. The cloth was hard with age and a dull patchy brown, as if doused in stale coffee. At one time the shroud would have been creamy white. She reached out her hand, but I stopped her.

‘ “No, don't touch,” I said. “It's all very fragile. Could crumble away at any moment. We have to go carefully.”

‘Then Miriam said, “I think you should call her Eriu. You know, after the daughter of one of the Danaan kings.”

‘ “Now, don't start letting your imagination run away with you,” I told her. “Yes, she's old and probably highborn. But that's all. We're not looking for proof of any ancient legends.”

‘ “She seems very small,” she said.

‘ “Yes,” I replied, “but don't forget that people were shorter then. Even so, she would have been below average height. Look, we managed to uncover most of the skull and part of the left shoulder.”

‘I pulled back the sterile white cloth that Johansson had laid over the exposed areas. She stared up at us with hollowed eyes, her sunken, parchment skin pulled tight to her skull, teeth grinning in mockery of death.

‘ “And you do know it's female?”

‘ “Well, we won't be certain, of course, until the pelvis is examined. But from the curve in the cheekbone, I think we can make a fairly good guess.”

‘ “Do you know how old she was?”

‘ “The plates in the skull aren't completely fused, so she would still have been a young woman.”

‘ “I wonder how she died.”

‘ “That's easy. Look here, side of the skull. See this deep gash and the bone all caved in. Looks like a blow from a sharp weapon. And the dress here, over the shoulder. These marks. They're not natural discoloration due to ageing and they don't seem to have anything to do with a design. Of course we'll have to carry out tests, but I'm willing to bet she was covered with blood when she was put in here.”

‘ “ What a sad and lonely way to die,” she said.

‘ “It's also a very strange way. They went to all this trouble to inter her. Yet they didn't bother to clean her up, go through all the normal death rites. It's like they were in a hurry, trying to cover something up.” '

My mind was in two places now. I could see the darkness of the cave, and the shadow of Miriam leaning over the body, like a mother at a child's bed. But I was also in that candlelit room with my friends, gathered around the table. We were listening to a voice that was Malcolm's, and yet it was the voice of someone else, the voice of a young woman with blood on her dress. I forced my hands down into my lap, fingers gripping so hard that my nails tore at my own flesh. I could see the horseman and the flight of the axe. I forced myself to concentrate on Harold's words.

‘ “Is that hair, there?” Miriam asked. She was pointing to the scraps still clinging to the scalp, like dried seaweed
on rock. “Yes, that's right,” I said, “though naturally it's discoloured and brittle. But we can probably find out what colour it was.”

‘ “It was red, like mine, but curled and wild. Her eyes were bright green.”

‘Something had crept into Miriam's voice. I'd been too involved to notice, but now I looked up, aware of how intense she'd become. She was staring at the body, hands hovering above it, as if she were trying to sense things from the air around it. She looked as though she were being drawn into something. Enthralled. That's the word. I know that sounds corny, but that's what was happening to her. I should never have let it go on,' he slammed his fist down on the table, ‘should have got her out then, straight away! Instead, when she begged to be allowed to touch the face, I let her. She traced one finger gently, so very gently, along the withered cheekbone.

‘ “Such sadness,” she whispered. “So lonely.” And then, “What's this?”

‘ “What? I can't see.”

‘ “Look here, at her neck.”

‘I tilted the lamp and illuminated the edge of a dark line tucked under the cloth.

‘ “Wait, I'll try and uncover a bit more,” I said and I reached for the tweezers and took the edge of the shroud. “Probably a torque, a plain band of metal. It'll be the only ornament we've found so far.”

‘I eased the cloth back a hair's breadth, then another. Then the light caught the edge of something else, something bright. Miriam gasped. “There, you see! There!”

‘Her hand darted out and snatched at the body. For a moment I froze. I was helpless and horrified.

‘ “What the hell do you think you're doing?” I said. But she drew back, clutching something to her. I had a glimpse of silver as her hand closed over it. The torque, from which it must have hung, had shattered, crumbling away into brown, dusty flakes. But the object in Miriam's hand was bright and smooth. It could have been brand-new.

‘ “Hand it over,” I said. “Carefully now. Here, just place it in my hand.”

‘ “No,” she whispered, “it's mine.” And the look in her eyes! I'd never seen…I think she would have killed me rather than let go of it. And then she was gone.'

As I listened my hand had moved to my throat. Now it was clasped around the talisman. Harold looked and nodded. Neither of us spoke. He drained his glass and signalled for another beer. The waiter came and refilled both our glasses, and it was a while before I was able to ask more.

‘So what happened? Didn't you run after her?'

‘Of course I did. By the time I reached the entrance she was halfway down the hill. Johansson and Dolby and the others, they were just standing there. “What's up with Miriam?” they asked. “Took off like a frightened rabbit. Didn't say a word.” Then Dolby said, “She probably got spooked. Not her fault. Better go after her, Hal.”

‘What could I say? This was my career on the line. I just went along with it. Said she got scared by the body. Then I made some excuse about equipment so I could go back inside. I rearranged the shroud, eased it back into place, hoping it would look as if the torque had just disintegrated beneath it. Covered it all over. Then I went down to find her.

‘By the time I reached home, she'd shut herself in the bedroom. I tried to reason with her. I pleaded, threatened. When she eventually came out, she had that thing on a chain round her neck.

‘After that she'd have none of me. It was like she couldn't hear me, like she was tuned into something else. I'd lost her. Time after time I tried to talk her into handing the ornament over. At first I was concerned about the morality of it. The threat to my career. What if anyone saw her wearing it and put two and two together? Then, gradually, I grew to be afraid of it. I know it sounds crazy, but it was that thing that caused the change in her. It was like it had some hold over her. Of course that's nonsense. But, maybe, if
she
believed it, that would be enough.