From where he was lying, it appeared that Rennie was being a little less than truthful with the DCI about his dig site. Through his scope, Hemi watched as Rennie crouched on the ground and pulled another object from underneath a shallow layer of soil. That hadn’t been chance, Hemi had realised immediately. He must have planted it there. He took his little Lumix camera with the powerful zoom and snapped up an image of the object. Now he wanted to look at it on the big screen. You couldn’t see anything on those bloody tiny preview screens the cameras have. Hemi removed his laptop from his backpack and transferred the camera contents to it. The last photo he took soon sprang to life in his favourite photo viewer. Hemi studied the bronze object, a dinner plate perhaps, and could make out some sort of pattern on it.
That looks like much more than a coin or something, Mr. Rennie. I see I’m going to have to keep a close eye on you.
The little piece of paper sat in front of Matt on the dining table. It was great that Aimee had given him a phone number instead of an e-mail address. Ever since he had discovered the Internet, Matt had slowly lost contact with most of his good friends. It seemed that everyone wanted to e-mail to keep in touch. But over time the e-mails became less frequent and the emotional context was lost, through the lack of vocal expression. More recently, the invention of social applications had made it all the worse. Now your friends were people you had never met, that you sent a one line text to, in public, saying you had seen a good movie. All the tangible benefits of relationships were disappearing and Matt hated it. But now, looking at the phone number, he wished it was an e-mail address instead. Then he could simply forget to e-mail, or at least not have to talk… you know, out loud.
Why did a string of seven simple digits make him so nervous? It wasn’t like Matt hadn’t talked to girls before. He had even been on dates and had what some might refer to as a girlfriend. But this was different. She was interesting and she was good-looking. At least Matt thought so. Likely a thousand other guys did too, and he would never stand a chance. Good, he decided. He doesn’t stand a chance, so it can stay strictly professional. That made it easier. He dialled the number.
‘Hello?’ The ringing tone was replaced by a sweet but unsure sounding voice. An equally unsure voice squeaked out of Matt’s mouth. He didn’t even recognise it.
‘Ah, hi, is this Aimee?’
‘Yes.’ There was a pause. ‘Oh, hey, British accent. Is that Matthew?’
She remembered him!
‘Yes, yes it is.’ Matthew was relieved not to have to explain who he was. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m good, thanks. Even better now. I didn’t think you’d call.’
‘Well, I had to. I want to make sure you spent the last few days immersed in pseudo-history websites.’
‘A promise is a promise. You wouldn’t believe how diverting this stuff is!’
Matt couldn’t believe it. Not only had he managed to pull off a witty line with a beautiful woman but she had actually been interested enough in their previous conversation to follow through. This was incredible.
‘Seriously? What have you found? A long lost tribe of Celts?’
Aimee laughed. ‘No. I’ve been much more interested in the Spanish stuff. It goes deeper than the helmet, you know?
‘Go on.’
‘Well, right now I’m looking at a Pohutukawa tree, that’s a New Zealand native. Lovely big green trees with red blossoms, they grow on the coast.’
‘Ok.’
‘I’ve got a picture on my screen of a real beauty, it’s about 500 years old.’
‘Uhuh.’ Matt wasn’t sure where this was going.
‘That would all be good… if it was in New Zealand.’
‘Ah, OK. Where is it?’
There was a pause. Was she pausing for effect? It was working. Matt hung on every word she said. All right, maybe that wasn’t because of what she was saying, but rather because she said it to him.
‘In the gardens of the police station in La Coruna, the capital city of Galicia.’
‘I’ve not been there,’ Matt said, although he had no idea why he said it. ‘Been to the Costa del Sol a few times though.’ What a klutz Matt. Leave it out.
‘You’ve got one up on me, we don’t get to Europe all that much from here.’
Matt felt like a moron. It was one thing for hordes of Brits and Germans to flock to Spain every year, but New Zealanders? Where do they go?
‘The million dollar question,’ Aimee continued, ‘is how it got there. I found out that La Coruna was a popular port in the 16th century because it was cheap and the pirates didn’t cause much grief. The Spanish Helmet is a 16th century close helmet. So I figure, maybe someone took a Pohutukawa seedling and dropped their helmet in the harbour all at the same time.’
‘Sounds like an eventful trip. Wouldn’t there be records of something like that?’
‘Maybe the tree is the only surviving record?’
‘I guess it’s possible.’
‘Well, I also read a bit about Kumara and Hangis.’
‘You’ll have to translate that for me,’ Matt laughed.
‘Kumara, c’mon, we talked about it on the plane. The South American sweet potato. And a Hangi is a Maori earth oven. Well, in South America they use ovens that are almost identical. And you know what else…?’ Aimee’s voice rose with excitement, ‘the Kumara store-houses, traditional Maori ones, are built above the ground and look just like South American store houses.’
‘That’s pretty damned interesting.’
‘Then there was the so-called Crosshouse.’
‘Crosshouse?’ Matt was flabbergasted by the amount of research that Aimee must have done over the past days. This really was some girl.
‘A Maori meeting house or school that was burned down in the Eighties. Its design was strongly influenced by sun, star and moon movements. Like the Celts did. Where did the Maori get these ideas from, did they develop them alone, or were they taught?’
‘I don’t know,’ Matt said.
They continued to discuss the questions that Aimee’s research had raised for a few more minutes and made small talk about catching up again while Matt was in town. He promised that if he had questions, he would get in touch. Surprising himself, he made the light-hearted suggestion they maybe meet for a meal before he left the country. He just about squealed when she agreed. Hanging up the phone, Matt promised himself to find an excuse to get in touch with her again before the week was over.
CHAPTER 13
Tuesday, March 24, 1526
We are ready to attempt the Estrecho de Magallanes again. The ships have all been repaired and are again seaworthy. Unfortunately, I cannot report the same of our poultry. We have but one rooster and one hen to share for the whole fleet. I offered the commander of the caravel Santa Maria del Parral a very good trade for these, but he refused me. I guess my men will go without eggs. We have been lucky, though, to find a good supply of the sweet potato that grows in these parts. Some of the men come from farming families and believe they could cultivate this species on board and back home in Spain. I have given them permission to establish a small nursery on the foredeck, for I admit that I would be happy to devour the mellow creamy-white flesh of this vegetable every day. While in the river’s safe harbour, we have watched the natives cooking their food in earth ovens and have practiced the same method. The result is a flavourful feast fit for kings. We will all be sorry to return to boiled food.
Our respite here, although we were busied with repairs to the San Lesmes, has served as a good opportunity for the men to lift their spirits and regain their strength. I am pleased to depart on our new attempt of the straits with a strong and happy crew.