Dust to dust

ELEVEN

Drier weather moved in late on Sunday and there was even a glimpse of sun on Monday morning when Motram set off for Dryburgh in much better spirits. It was agreed upon his arrival that work should begin right away. Fielding and Smith checked their data from their ground-radar survey and placed stakes in the ground at appropriate intervals before firing up a miniature JCB and beginning the excavation. Motram and Blackstone exchanged smiles as its shovel scooped out the first bucket of earth. Motram was as filled with excitement as Blackstone was with apprehension: the Historic Scotland man kept eyeing the distance between the work and the abbey walls.

After thirty minutes, Fielding signalled to Smith, who was operating the digger, that he should cut the engine. The noise died, leaving only contracting metal noises and the sound of birdsong in the air. Fielding negotiated his way down the sloping trench carrying a number of long steel rods in his hand, and started inserting them horizontally into the wall of earth at its face. He turned with a smile on his face as the rods met resistance. ‘Stone,’ he announced. ‘We’re right on the money.’

Taking great care, Smith removed another half-metre of soil with the digger before he and Fielding changed to manual clearing of the final section with their hands and small trowels to leave an area of stone wall of about two square metres exposed. They climbed up out of the trench to allow Motram to descend and take a look for himself. He did so and ran his hand over the stone with barely suppressed pleasure. ‘Well done,’ he said, with a broad smile on his face. ‘We’re almost there.’

The smile faded when he emerged from the trench to see a man with a briefcase walking towards them. The others followed his gaze.

‘Please God, it’s not the press,’ murmured Blackstone.

The four men stood in silence, awaiting the arrival of the newcomer, who did not smile when he reached them. ‘Dr Motram?’ he enquired, looking from one to the other.

‘That’s me,’ said Motram.

The man removed a card from his pocket. ‘Norman Bunce, Health and Safety. I understand you are about to open a tomb containing victims of the Black Death…’

Motram closed his eyes, hoping that divine inspiration might provide him with a better opening line than What the fuck do you want? He opted instead for, ‘Seven-hundred-year-old victims of Black Death, Mr Bunce.’

‘Be that as it may, doctor…’ said Bunce, starting out on a soliloquy that ended with the edict Motram had been fearing throughout. Nothing more was to happen on site until Health and Safety had sanctioned it.

Details of contact numbers were exchanged as the four men accepted the inevitable. ‘I must say I’m surprised at you, Mr Blackstone,’ said Bunce. ‘Historic Scotland are usually very much on the ball when it comes to safety.’

‘We still are,’ said Blackstone sourly.

‘No need for that attitude,’ said Bunce.

‘There’s no danger to anyone. The corpses, if they’re there, will be seven hundred years old,’ said Blackstone flatly.

‘Let’s leave that to the professionals to decide, shall we?’

‘What professionals are we talking about here, Mr Bunce?’ asked Motram.

‘I’ll make my report and my superiors will take the necessary decisions about whom to seek advice from,’ Bunce announced, aware of the growing aggression in the air.

‘They can’t be too few on the ground,’ murmured Fielding.

‘Good day, gentlemen.’

‘Oh, I don’t believe it,’ Cassie exclaimed sympathetically when she heard what had happened. ‘What will you do now?’

‘We just have to wait for a decision.’

‘But surely they couldn’t stop it altogether?’

Motram shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

‘At least you won’t have this sort of thing to deal with when you become a celebrity nail technician.’

‘Absolutely not,’ said Motram. ‘Mind you, nail scissors can be extremely dangerous in the wrong hands…’

Two days later Motram got the call he had been waiting for. The excavation and opening of the burial chamber could go ahead subject to the meeting of certain conditions. Health and Safety wanted to inspect the equipment and protective clothing the men would be using when recovering samples from the chamber. They also wanted a Public Health doctor to interview the four of them on site before the chamber was opened and administer any protective injections he thought necessary.

‘Probably anti-tetanus,’ said Cassie when she heard. ‘I could give you that.’

‘You’d probably also have to give me a certificate signed by two independent witnesses and a justice of the peace,’ growled Motram. ‘Best let them do it.’

‘They’re only doing their job,’ Cassie said soothingly. The look she got in return suggested she might be on her own in holding that view. ‘Be positive. You are going to get in to your chamber.’ She hugged Motram and persisted in looking at him until he gave in and smiled.

‘You’re right.’

With all the formalities finally out of the way, health checks over and injections administered, Motram and the others were left on their own to open up the chamber. Motram watched the official vehicles depart and then joined the others in a slow walk over to the site. ‘Quite a day,’ said Blackstone.

Motram nodded. ‘Days like these don’t come along too often in science,’ he said. ‘Research can be a bit of a plod when things aren’t going well but when a moment like this pops up… by God, it’s worth waiting for.’

‘I only hope it lives up to expectations,’ said Blackstone.

Motram paused to look at the abbey in its beautiful setting, parts of its ruined walls as old as the secret he was about to unlock, and felt the excitement of anticipation rise inside him. He put on his white cover-all suit while Smith and Fielding prepared their tools for the breach of the chamber wall. They had already erected a sealable plastic entrance ‘vestibule’ over the area they would open up. They would chisel out the mortar and make sure the stones were loose enough to be moved easily before retreating to allow Motram to enter on his own.

Blackstone chose to pace slowly up and down, leaving Motram alone with his thoughts. John sat on the grass, listening to the sound of chisels on stone and watching the crouched shapes of Smith and Fielding through the plastic screen. The noise stopped and the world seemed deathly quiet for a moment before the pair emerged. Fielding lowered his mask and said simply, ‘All yours, doc.’

‘Good luck,’ said Blackstone.

Motram accepted the stone chisel handed to him by Smith as he passed by — just in case he needed it — and entered the plastic ‘vestibule’, closing the entrance flap behind him. He knelt down and tested the stones by rocking a couple before pulling out the first without any trouble. The gap grew as the stones piled up in neat rows on either side of him, but he resisted the temptation to stop and shine his torch in through the hole until the gap was big enough for him to enter. He took a slight pause to get his breath back, reminding himself in the process that he needed to take more exercise, then crawled head first into the chamber and got slowly to his feet.