Relics (2 page)

A moment later it was withdrawn and now both the girl and the youth knelt, fallen leaves crunching beneath them. They were close, within arm’s length.

Suddenly they caught the powerful smell which drifted on the wind.

A goat was being led towards them by a rope tied around its neck.

Another thick length of hemp had been wrapped tightly around its jaws so the only sound it could make was a low mewling deep in its throat.

The young couple lay face down on the carpet of leaves as the goat was coaxed between them. It was held firmly by the man who gripped the knife. He now moved behind the creature and straddled it, holding the blade before his chest in one strong hand. With the other he gripped the horns of the goat and yanked its head back so savagely he almost broke its neck.

The knife flashed forward, shearing through the animal’s throat, slicing effortlessly through muscle and sinew.

Huge gouts of blood erupted from the massive wound, spraying into the air with the force of a high pressure hose. The crimson fluid splattered the young couple as the goat bucked madly between the man’s kegs, its body jerking uncontrollably. The knife-wielder watched the white clouds of vapour rising into the air as the hot blood continued to fountain from the ruptured arteries.

From either side, figures approached, all of them men. All of them naked.

They lifted the goat into the air, its struggles now becoming more feeble as its life fluid gushed away. It suddenly re-doubled its efforts as the knife-wielder thrust his blade into its exposed belly, slicing open the fleshy sac with one powerful movement.

Intestines burst from the wound like the bloodied arms of an octopus, huge thick lengths falling to the ground with a loud, liquid splat. Steam rose from the spilling entrails, the pungent odour now mingling with the reek of excrement as the goat’s sphincter muscle loosened and a stream of liquid and solid waste pumped from its writhing body.

Still no one spoke, but as if a signal had been given, the young couple rolled over to face each other.

The girl closed her eyes and rolled again, allowing herself to slide into the thick mass of viscera. She felt its warmth surround her, felt the slippery wetness of the pulsing organs beneath her buttocks. She spread her legs and waited for the boy to join her. His penis was already swollen and he found no difficulty penetrating her, for she was as eager as he. They writhed amidst the blood and internal organs, now oblivious to the choking smells which surrounded them and the crimson fluid which coated their bodies. They were aware only of the pleasure which they both felt.

The man with the knife watched impassively as the frenetic coupling continued.

Blood ran down his hand from the blade of the weapon and he gaud at the crimson droplets in fascination as one fell onto his own rigid penis, staining the head bright red.

He chuckled.

So much blood.

And there would be more.

He looked around at the other naked bodies in the clearing.

Much more blood.

It was getting difficult to breathe inside the tent. The air was full of dust and the small structure was definitely too small to adequately accommodate three people. Nevertheless, Kim Nichols looked on with rapt attention as the piece of hard stone was broken open.

A fragment came free as the tracer was worked slowly around it, exposing the encased relic.

Charles Cooper picked up the small hammer which lay on the table before him and tapped the wooden end of the tracer. The chisel-like implement shaved off some more stone and the article within became more easily visible.

‘It looks like a currency bar,’ Phillip Swanson said quietly as Cooper prised away the last of the clinging rock. He swept the metal ingot with a small brush, then laid the rusted artifact on the white cloth before him. A number of other articles already lay on view there, including coins, a couple of arrow-heads, a brooch and a roughly hewn figurine shaped like a phallus.

‘It’s strange,’ Kim observed, picking up the metal ingot and turning it carefully between her thumb and forefinger. ‘Coins
and
currency bars used by the same tribe. The Celts usually kept to one form of currency, didn’t they?’

‘Don’t forget there was trade with other tribes,’ Cooper reminded her. ‘
Atrebates
like the Iceni and the Trinovantes would still have traded with
Demetae
such as the Brigantes and the Cronovii.’ He prodded the other slim metal bars with his index finger.

‘A tribe that used both forms of currency,’ Swanson mused. ‘It must have been a large settlement from the amount of stuff we’ve found.’

‘Then why haven’t we found any bones?’ asked Kim, but she received no answer from either of her colleagues. Cooper merely sat back in his chair and ran a hand over his hairless head. It was a feature which made him look older than his thirty-five years. Apart from the tufts over his ears and at the back of his head he was completely bald. Even his eyebrows appeared to be thinning. His sad, baleful eyes looked as though they had seen all the worries of the world and still carried their imprint. It was Cooper who had initiated this particular dig.

Builders working on a nearby site had unearthed a number of artifacts and Cooper had been notified. He’d ordered an electro-magnetic search of the area which had revealed a large ancient settlement of unknown origin. Subsequent aerial sweeps had confirmed the presence of a Celtic settlement which covered an area almost a quarter of a mile square.

Kim, who worked at the museum three miles away in Longfield, the nearest town, had joined his team of twenty archaeologists and their work had so far revealed a positive treasure trove of relics. A profusion of gold torcs and other neck rings had convinced Cooper and his team that this particular site had been home to one of the most powerful Celtic tribes of the time. Slave chains and shackles had also been discovered, suggesting that the tribe, unlike their contemporaries, had used forced labour.

Bones were the only thing missing.

Shields, weapons, currency, pottery and sculpture had all been unearthed during the past two weeks. Some of the finds were not only valuable in a financial sense but priceless in their archaeological worth. All these artifacts confirmed that the settlement had been very large indeed, yet still no physical remains of the tribe who’d created the horde had been found.

Kim looked down at the relics laid out before her.

What the hell had happened to the tribe?

The air was turning blue.

A thick haze of diesel fumes hung over the men and machines like a man-made fog bank. Thick and noxious.

The roar of powerful engines mingled with the screech of caterpillar tracks as a number of large earth-movers rumbled across the landscape, flattening or digging according to their individual function.

Frank King watched approvingly as a JCB was manoeuvred into position, its great metal arm swinging down to scoop up a mound of earth which it then dumped into the back of a waiting lorry. The driver was sitting contentedly in the cab smoking and he waved to King as the foreman passed, unable to hear King’s comment about ‘not straining himself because of the roar of machinery.

Away to his right, King could see a group of men laying tarmac. Despite the chill in the air they worked in shirt-sleeves. Sweat was soaking through their clothes from the heat given off by the red-hot tar.

The Leisure Centre itself was all but finished. An ‘E’ shaped two storey building, it looked like something a child might fashion from plastic blocks. Painters still swarmed over it like so many overall-clad termites, only these termites were busy applying coats of weather-proof paint.

King stood a moment longer surveying the activity, then turned and headed towards the yellow Portakabin close by. On entering he moved across to the welcoming warmth of a calor-gas heater and held his hands over it, meanwhile trying to catch the tail end of the phone conversation one of his colleagues was engaged in.

John Kirkland was nodding as he held the phone, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish as he struggled to get a word in. Finally he held the receiver slightly away from his ear and cupped a hand over the mouthpiece. He looked up at King and shook his head as if signalling defeat. The other foreman smiled. Another three or four minutes and Kirkland replaced the phone.

‘Jesus,’ he muttered.

‘Cutler?’ King asked, grinning.

‘Who else do you know who can talk non-stop for twenty minutes flat?’ Kirkland said, picking up his mug of tea. He sipped it, wincing when he found that it was cold.

‘What did he want?’

‘The usual. “Is everything going according to schedule? Are we going to be finished on time?” I don’t know why he doesn’t move his fucking desk out here so he can sit and watch, at least it’d save him ringing up so often.’

Frank King chuckled and poured his colleague a hot mug of tea, repeating the action for himself.

‘I don’t know what he’s worried about,’ Kirkland said. ‘We’re ahead of schedule if anything.’ He sipped some tea. ‘Anyway, Cutler reckons he’s coming out here this afternoon to have a look for himself. He said something about flattening that wood.’ Kirkland tapped the map which lay on the table before him. ‘He wants to build on the land, extend the project.’

King peered through the window of the portakabin, rubbing some grime away with his index finger. He could see the wood that Kirkland meant. It was a mile or so to the east of the main site, on a slight rise.

‘It’s more work, John,’ he said. ‘None of us can turn our noses up at that.’

‘I’m not arguing with you, but things are going to get a bit crowded around here soon,’ he said, taking a sip of his tea. ‘I mean, there’s that archaeological dig going on over there.’ He motioned to his left, to the west. ‘They’ve been at it for a while too. Knowing Cutler, I’m surprised he hasn’t offered to build them a bloody museum.’

King laughed, his eyes drawn once’ more to the dark outcrop of trees which grew so thickly to the east.

The wood looked like a stain against the green of the hills.

It was Kim who felt the tremor first.

She felt a slight vibration beneath her feet and for a moment she paused, looking up at Phillip Swanson, who seemed not to have noticed the movement. He was more concerned with unearthing a gold receptacle from the floor of the trench in which they both crouched. Kim waited a second longer, then began to help Swanson.

‘It’s gold,’ he said excitedly. ‘Some kind of ornamental bowl.’

They had uncovered the top half of the container when the second tremor came.

‘Did you feel that?’ Kim asked, pressing the palm of one hand to the earth.

Swanson nodded distractedly, apparently uninterested.

No more than ten yards away from them, a small rift opened in the earth.

Loose dirt and gravel immediately began to tumble into the crack, which was widening with alarming speed and extending lengthwise along the trench they were working in.

It was now less than six yards from them.

Swanson dug carefully beneath the bowl, freeing it from the last clods of earth which held it captive.

The crack in the ground was widening, yawning a full six feet across now and still lengthening.

There was another vibration, so violent it rocked Kim on her heels, causing her to overbalance. As she fell to one side she saw the rent in the earth, now only two or three feet from them.

She shouted a warning to Swanson but it was too late.

It was as if the bottom of the trench had simply fallen away. The crack opened like a hungry mouth and Kim realized with horror that she was falling.

Swanson too began slipping into the crack, which was now a gaping wound across the land.

Kim clutched frantically at the side of the trench, digging her fingers into the earth in a desperate effort not to fall. There was nothing beneath her feet and she gritted her teeth, trying to force from her mind thoughts of how deep the hole might be. Swanson also grabbed onto the ledge of hard ground and felt his feet dangling in empty air. An icy cold blast of wind erupted from below them and Kim sucked in an almost painful breath, fearing that the sudden uprush might cause her to lose her grip.

But now others were running to their aid. She saw Cooper sprinting toward the side of the trench. He dropped to his knees and thrust a hand down to her. Beside him another man, whom she didn’t recognize, was shining a torch past her down into the hole, trying to see just how deep it was.

The light was swallowed up by the impenetrable blackness.

The rift which had opened was obviously much deeper than anyone could have guessed.

‘Take my hand,’ Cooper urged, but Kim dared not release her grip on the earth ledge for fear of falling. Her boots dug into the sides of the hole but only succeeded in dislodging some pieces of rock. From the amount of time they took to hit the bottom it was painfully obvious that the hole was deep enough to cause serious injury, if not death, should either she or Swanson fall.

‘Somebody get a rope,’ yelled Cooper, straining to reach Kim’s hand.

She felt his powerful hand close over her wrist, and with lightning speed she gripped his forearm and clung tightly. He tried to pull her up, two of his colleagues holding onto him to prevent him from toppling head first into the black chasm.

The veins on his forehead bulged as he used all his strength to haul her up, inch by inch.

The wall of the trench started to collapse.

Just small pieces of earth at first, then great lumps of it began to fall past Kim, some of the fragments striking her as they disappeared into the gaping maw which had now opened out into an almost circular pit.

Cooper almost overbalanced, his grip on Kim’s wrist loosening for an instant.

She screamed as she slipped an inch or two, but Cooper regained his grip and began once more to haul her up the crumbling wall of the trench.