‘Permission in principle from Historic Scotland to investigate the site… subject to on-site evaluation and the presence of their inspector while work is in progress. Any further permissions will depend on his or her assessment of the situation on the ground.’
‘Gosh, that was quick,’ said Cassie, looking over her glasses. ‘I thought these things were supposed to take ages.’
‘This means we can start as soon as we determine the exact location of the tomb — maybe next week,’ said John, with obvious pleasure and enthusiasm.
Cassie looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Are you absolutely sure about this?’ she asked.
‘Of course I’m sure,’ replied John, astonished. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘I mean… have you thought about the dangers that might be involved in opening up a tomb like that?’
‘Cassie, I’ve been through all this with the chap at Oxford. It’s been over seven hundred years. No bacterium or virus lasts that long. You’re a doctor, you know that.’
‘Mmm,’ agreed Cassie, still sounding doubtful. ‘But we’re talking about Black Death here… and the Le Clerks were experts on preservation. Maybe they found ways of preserving bugs as well as bodies…’
John could see that his wife was genuinely worried. ‘That’s another of the lines Harvey took. Look,’ he said softly, ‘I don’t believe for one moment that there’s any danger, but if it makes you feel better we’ll be wearing coveralls and masks for the disinterment — actually to prevent us contaminating them, but it works both ways.’
‘It does make me feel better,’ said Cassie.
John continued opening his mail and Cassie returned to her paper until he interrupted again. ‘Damnation.’
‘Problems?’
‘It’s from the solicitors for the Hotspur Foundation — you know, the people who’re funding the work in the Borders. They’re calling in their part of the bargain. They want me in London for what they call “consultancy work”.’
‘What kind of consultancy work?’
‘They don’t say.’
‘Where abouts?’
‘A private hospital in west London, St Raphael’s.’
‘Will you go?’
‘I don’t have much choice. I agreed to their terms and conditions and they’ve been very generous with funding.’
‘So the search for the tomb will have to be put on hold?’
Motram smiled. ‘For a commercial break.’
Cassie left for work and John opened his briefcase to remove a bunch of papers which he spread out on the dining room table. His university had been so pleased about the collaboration with Balliol College, Oxford and the grant money coming in from the Hotspur Foundation that they had been more than helpful in agreeing to his taking time off to prepare for excavation. He had been excused all teaching duties for the remainder of the current term.
The papers that had come into Balliol’s possession had revealed that the corpses taken from the Selkirk forests had been interred in an underground chamber in Dryburgh Abbey, near Melrose. This had meant seeking permission from Historic Scotland to carry out preliminary work on the site but a potentially bigger problem was that Dryburgh Abbey had been destroyed on several occasions down through the years and getting information about its layout in the fourteenth century had been proving problematical. The abbey had been burned by English troops in 1322, rebuilt but burned again in 1385. It
had enjoyed a renaissance in the fifteenth century, only to be destroyed again in 1544.
Motram’s task from the layouts in front of him was to identify, in the ruins of today, surviving parts of the original structure that could be used as reference points when interpreting the information given in the Balliol letter. To help him, Oxford academics had provided a translation of the Chaucerian English used in the text, and he was able to establish that the chapter house of the existing abbey — although surrounded by ruins — was in its original siting and, according to the collection of tourist pamphlets he had on the table, still retained elements of plaster and paintwork that dated back to the inception of the abbey.
There were a number of references in the Balliol letter to the chapter house, which encouraged Motram at first, but when it became apparent that the secret chamber might actually lie underneath it his spirits began to flag. It would be extremely unlikely — his academic translation of ‘there wouldn’t be a snowball’s chance in hell’ — that Historic Scotland would permit excavation work to go on inside perhaps the most precious part of the abbey.
But as he read further and made some relevant calculations it seemed that, although the entrance to the chamber might well be underneath the chapter house, the actual chamber itself stretched out to the east, outside the walls of the abbey. This meant that access to it might be achieved by digging east of the boundary wall — a much more acceptable proposal, he thought, for the authorities to sanction.
Motram examined some aerial photographs and identified what he thought might be the next problem. There were a number of very large mature trees in the grounds, which as he read further he learned were yews and cedars of Lebanon, very old and possibly planted by knights returning from the crusades.
Using the tip of his pen, he traced the likely location of the secret chamber to the east of the chapter house but found it impossible to judge how close to the roots of the trees it might come. His original thought had been to make an approach from the east end of the chamber — the end furthest from the abbey wall — but, if that was going to be a problem, he thought a compromise might be to gain access from the north or south sides where the ground would be clear but the digging would be closer to the abbey walls.
Some kind of on-site geosurvey would be necessary before shovels could break earth. If he could arrange this before his trip to London, he would be well satisfied with his progress. He repacked his briefcase and set off for the university, intending to seek advice from academic colleagues to see if they thought the survey work could be done in house.
By late afternoon he had concluded that specialist equipment would be required and that an outside contractor should be called in. He called Maxton Geo-Survey, a company recommended by his colleagues in the geology department, and arranged for them to be on site two days after he was due back from London. He then called Historic Scotland and told them what he’d arranged. After assuring them that no ground disturbance would be involved, they said that they would send someone to monitor proceedings.
‘Good day?’ asked Cassie when he got home.
‘Very. It’s been going like a dream. I’m pretty sure I know where the burial chamber is and I’ve arranged for a site survey to be done as soon as I get back from London.’
‘I hope you’ve informed all the relevant authorities,’ said Cassie.
‘I’ve been in touch with Historic Scotland and one of their people will be standing by to come on site,’ Motram assured her. ‘If the geosurvey comes up trumps, we can open negotiations with the officer on site for a start date for the excavation. How was your day?’
‘Pretty dull by comparison,’ said Cassie. ‘Not a single case of Black Death.’
SEVEN
John Motram smiled as he got out of the taxi and started to walk up the short, semicircular drive through well-tended gardens to the entrance of St Raphael’s. The hospital was in the heart of London but seemed so peaceful that anyone might have been forgiven for thinking it was a country house. Reception too was a far cry from the noise and bustle of NHS facilities where imminent meltdown seemed to be a common theme. But then, there were no accident and emergency facilities in private hospitals, he reminded himself, no drunks, no knife wounds, no road traffic cases, no drug addicts, no bawling relatives, in fact nothing to interfere with the calm, ordered application of top-class medicine.
‘Dr Motram, we’ve been expecting you,’ said the receptionist, with a smile that would have put British Airways cabin crew to shame. It even seemed genuine. ‘Kate will show you to the seminar room.’