The King's Grave: The Discovery of Richard III's Lost Burial Place and the Clues It Holds (10 page)

The Dig: Day One

Saturday, 25 August 2012

The long-awaited moment has arrived: 25 August and the day King Richard III was interred here in the Greyfriars Church, 527 years ago. Annette and I arrive at the car park just as the 360-degree excavator is ripping into Trench One, and the first piece of tarmac is removed. John Ashdown-Hill is already here, as are Carl Vivian and Colin Brooks, recording the moment for the partners. The DSP team, following everything for Channel 4, are keen to tell the story of the real, historical Richard III and Annette Carson suggests we have a meeting to discuss primary sources soon. She and Ashdown-Hill can’t stay indefinitely as their costs are mounting daily, so we agree to meet in the gazebo at 1 p.m. when everyone will be taking a break.

Excavation is now under way at the northern end of Trench One and the noise is terrific. Ashdown-Hill, Carson and I think this was the site of the church. The machine will very shortly be going right over the painted letter ‘R’, close to where my instinct told me Richard’s remains lay when I first came here. I still believe it. Nothing has changed my mind. If Greyfriars Church isn’t where we expect, all our research, Ashdown-Hill’s template of the Greyfriars layout, my intuition – everything will have been for nothing. As the machine delicately prises off the top layer of tarmac the letter ‘R’ crumbles away. I can’t take my eyes off the excavator and have to pinch myself as I watch. Over three and a half years of non-stop cajoling, bringing partners on board, getting everyone on-side, and raising considerable funds, has brought us to this moment.

I’m introduced to Mathew Morris, Richard Buckley’s lead archaeologist at the dig and site director. We chat briefly before he goes back to the machining. The weather is good, part sun, part cloud and the DSP team check their phones for an update: some time later in the day a large and prolonged shower is forecast. Then the machining suddenly stops. Richard Buckley and Mathew Morris are looking into the trench, which isn’t that deep, or long, pointing to what might be a small medieval wall at the most northerly end. It’s a couple of feet down, clearly running north–south. None of us can quite believe it as we’ve been machining for less than ten minutes. Richard points out the old stone, yellowy-white in the rich, clay soil. It’s a straight wall. This early on a potentially medieval structure is a good sign and it’s quite high up, signifying that the medieval layer may not be too far down. He explains how this could relate to the 2007 dig they performed at Grey Friars Street when he and his team uncovered the medieval layer two feet down, which could indicate the level here. If so it’s also very good news for costs and timing. That dig was the closest excavation to this car park, and made me think that the Social Services site could be the potential location of the church.

Half an hour later the small medieval wall to the northern end of Trench One is gone, replaced by earth and red-brick rubble and what looks to be solid, red-brick walls poking through at a lower level. ‘False alarm, I’m afraid,’ Buckley says wearily. It looks as if the Victorians used the medieval stone for one of their own walls, possibly foundations for an outhouse building we know was here from the maps Buckley had investigated. The archaeologist can see my disappointment but tells me to take heart: ‘We’ve found medieval stone and that’s a good sign.’ As the machining continues Turi King arrives and we tell her about the ‘medieval wall’. I take the opportunity to have a chat with her about the potential finding of human remains and protecting DNA. She assures me that they have the protective suits, masks and gloves ready to go. I quiz her about possible contamination and she gives me a lot of information. But one thing sticks in my mind: it’s never good to get water on remains.

The machining of Trench One is going well, the archaeologists eagle-eyed as each layer of earth emerges. The excavator goes down and down but it looks like there’s only Victorian rubble and red-brick walls poking through, all to the northern end. I’m really disappointed – gutted actually. There appears to be no medieval archaeology where I believed the church and Richard’s final resting place would be. Nothing. My instinct has never let me down before. I tell myself it’s only day one and that we have a great team of professionals on this project with two weeks of digging to go. Whatever we find will enhance Richard III’s story and our knowledge of the period.

After a short break for breakfast, I walk back to the car park to find Richard Buckley gone and the excavator standing idle. Mathew Morris explains that the machine has thrown a track. I’m thinking time and money: I only have a small contingency for overtime. Buckley arrives back on site with Stevie Stell the excavator driver who, utilizing the pulling power of the excavator, is going to use a massive chain to re-engage the track. We’ve got to get it back on today. Buckley asks how much I have left in the kitty from the international appeal. About £800, I say. ‘We can do a lot with that,’ he replies. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll make up the time.’ The excavator roars back into life. I watch the driver gently pulling the chain that is tied to the track and wrapped around its powerful scoop. The DSP team fly past me to film the repair. It’s slow, careful work and inch by inch the massive track slides smoothly back into place. Richard Buckley gives the thumbs up as the driver trundles the excavator back over the northern end of Trench One. The scoop arm drops down and begins to lift out giant clods of earth, debris and rubble, swinging them on to the spoil heaps. I check my watch. It’s 2.15 p.m. We’re going to be okay.

Buckley has left to see his family, when suddenly Mathew Morris’s hand shoots into the air. The excavator stops and Morris jumps into the trench. He looks up at me.

There’s a bone.

He’s pointing to a long, but clearly smashed, bone lying in an east–west direction, about five feet down in the trench. I ask if it’s human. We’ve found so many animal bones already that I don’t trust what I’m seeing. Morris nods. He says it looks like a leg bone and bends to perform gentle trowel work around it. It may just be an odd bone, so he’s looking to see if there are any others with it.

I realize that Morris’s head, poking out at me from the trench, is only a few feet from where the letter ‘R’ once existed and right where I had my intuition. My heart is pounding. I feel odd, as if I’m somehow here but not here. My legs are moving, taking me to the edge of the trench. I’m jumping in, getting to Morris as fast as I can. I see the leg bone. It’s brown and dirty, covered in earth and mashed up a little, scraped by the scoop of the excavator which has taken some of its side away. ‘It happens,’ Morris says quickly. ‘We try our best but it can happen, especially when we’re not expecting things to be where they are.’ The bone is clearly human. Morris scrapes carefully at the soil around it and a second bone begins to show through. He clears the earth around it a little. This other leg bone is lying beside the first, directly adjacent to it. It looks as if we might have a burial, maybe a whole skeleton. The odd sensation I’m experiencing won’t go away. All I can think is that it’s Richard. I hear myself telling Morris that we’re right beside the ‘R’ that marked the spot. I want him to believe me – to believe it – to believe what he’s seeing. He’s smiling, telling me not to get my hopes up, because the two bones may be the only remains here. ‘We don’t even know if there is a skeleton,’ he says. ‘We have to remember that we’ve found no medieval archaeology in this part of the trench. It could be anyone and from any age, not even medieval. The level they’re at may be far enough down to indicate they are fifteenth century but it’s only an indication at the moment.’

I just want to be alone here but the cameras are all pointing, and everyone is staring down at the first real find. Morris tells the driver to move the excavator further down the trench to scoop out the earth and rubble there and the crowd follows the machine. I’m left at the northern end and for a moment the absurdity of what I am doing hits me. I’m in a trench in a municipal car park in Leicester looking at a couple of lower leg bones and thinking they are those of a king. I tell myself I have to go with what feels right, what my instinct is telling me. That has been the story of this project from the start and I’m not going to stop now.

I climb out of the trench and glance over at the spire of the cathedral rising over the car park to the north. Looming above it is the darkest storm cloud. I suddenly remember the weather forecast and know we only have moments before it arrives. I’m thinking about the exposed bones and how to protect them from rain when a tempest hits. Everyone is rushing for cover. I yell at Morris to get something to cover the bones with, the fear of losing the DNA coursing through me. Annette Carson shouts that she’s got bubble-wrap, her voice as panicked as mine. The rain’s coming down in sheets. I sprint while pulling on a luminous protective coat, jumping into the trench just as Morris hurls down some large plastic finds bags. The DSP team are in the gazebo, hurriedly donning their coats and fixing a plastic cover on the camera, then they rush out again to film in a downpour fast becoming a deluge. Everyone’s under cover but I can’t leave the trench. The remains must be protected.

Knowing that we shed DNA continually, from a distance I hurriedly place the plastic bags over the bones as best I can so as not to contaminate them, grabbing clods of the heavy earth to cover the plastic sheeting – anything to stop the rain getting in. I pick up some rocks and place them around the covering, away from the bones, but close enough to hold the plastic bags in place as a wind whips up from nowhere and thunder rumbles overhead. I’m covered in mud, soaked to the skin but the bones are now protected. I’m strangely exhilarated as I race for the nearest cover. Morris is sheltering in the covered walkway and I witter on about how Shakespeare would have loved this scene; he looks at me as if I’m barking mad.

The storm passes and sunlight shafts down on to the car park. It is abruptly quiet and a profound feeling of complete peace washes over me. And I know then in the deepest part of me that if this is Richard he wanted to be found – was ready to be found. All at once I remember what day it is: 25 August, the anniversary of Richard’s burial in the Greyfriars, the day he was laid to rest. In the days, months and years to come it might also become known as the day he was found again.

Day Two

Sunday, 26 August 2012

I awake feeling strangely disconnected. Did yesterday’s find really happen or was it all just a dream? Am I merely making something out of nothing because I need it to be something? Jumping to conclusions – ridiculous conclusions – by sheer force of will?

Annette Carson was astonished at the discovery but far more sanguine than me, happy to accept everything with an open mind. She understands my conviction that this is Richard. Neither of us can rationally explain the discovery of remains where my instinct told me they would be; that they really may be what we have been searching for. John Ashdown-Hill returned to the car park late yesterday afternoon. He was excited about finding human remains in the area where his research concluded the choir of the Greyfriars Church should lie. He’d been dismayed by the lack of medieval archaeology in the vicinity but agreed we would soon know if the bones were important – or just old bones.

Carson and I arrive in the car park just as the machining of Trench One is finishing. The trench is deep, exposing what could be the medieval layer at 1.5 metres beneath the modern car park. Richard Buckley tells us that there could be a robbed-out wall (an area showing the course of an ancient wall but no longer with any stone) at the southern end of Trench One – possibly medieval – with a smaller one next to it, which also looks to be very old, but doesn’t appear to have deep foundations. He explained that it’s odd to have a medieval wall without foundations, and that the gap between these two (possibly) ancient artefacts does not relate to any medieval structure he’s come across before. I peer into the trench. It looks like plain earth and rubble until Buckley tells me what to look for; a robbed-out wall will merely leave its shadow in the earth. He also points out where the smaller wall and its stone now seem to be poking through. I ask him what he thinks it is. He says it’s difficult to tell at the moment and that we need to get the team in this week to clean it up properly, thus giving us a better idea. I can’t contain myself any longer and ask if he’s heard about yesterday’s find. Buckley smiles. ‘You mean the human remains, the bones?’ I nod, adding, despite myself, ‘You do know where they were found?’ He reminds me that we have to go with the evidence, and that they probably aren’t anything significant. I ask him what we should do about the remains and he says, ‘We don’t know enough about the site – even if we’re actually in the Greyfriars precinct – so we can’t go digging up human remains every time we find them. And we may find more.’ I know that he’s right and impatience is getting the better of me.

I’m concerned about security. We have human remains confirmed on site and are overlooked by windows on every side. If this news leaks out there are people around who might be interested in stealing a bone or two of a king. Richard Buckley says his team will be discreet, and anyway, he reckons that because the bones have been found without context, nobody will be interested. Stevie moves the excavator over to the yellow marker lines of Trench Two and, under Mathew Morris’s direction, starts ripping up more of the car park. I ask Morris about the high Heras fencing and the tarpaulin that will cover it. My mind keeps going back to the fact that the northern end of Trench One is so close to the entrance of the Social Services building and a busy thoroughfare, but I’m reassured that it will be well shielded from the public gaze. This is to protect the sensibilities of the public too, since many people find the sight of bones and human remains upsetting. And of course the remains could be those of a named individual with living relatives.

I find myself less interested in Trench Two, probably because I’ve convinced myself that the northern end of the site is all that matters. In Trench Two Morris is guiding the excavator over what could be an existing medieval wall and asks Stevie to skim an inch of soil off the top at one point which he does with great skill. No sooner have they done this than Turi King arrives and we take her to the site of the human remains. Morris gives her the full rundown of what has been found, then, wearing protective gloves, he gently lifts off the rocks, earth and plastic covering. As King looks down at the lower leg bones and sees how smashed up one of them is, I nervously enquire about the storm water. She explains that it’s actually tap water that’s the big problem because of the chlorine and potential DNA it contains. So I got soaked to the skin and rushed about like an idiot when I didn’t have to? She laughs, but points out that it was good to protect them anyway. Once she’s finished, Morris covers the bones with the plastic sheeting, rocks and earth again and this time he covers the good leg bone, the one that the excavator missed, with lots of earth to protect it further. King agrees that it’s best to leave the remains where they are until we know more about them, most importantly whether they are in the Greyfriars precinct because if they are not then they could belong to anyone, from anywhere. I’m surprisingly comfortable with this. I know that the bones are protected and that Turi King is happy with everything.