The Spanish Helmet (19 page)

Te Papa Museum of New Zealand
loomed over them. Matt stood with Aimee in a large open plaza. The museum was modern and attractive. To the left, it was a large curvy stone structure, to the right the building was composed of triangular structures of stone and glass. The entrance fell between them and was a large wall of glass. Inside, the building was just as airy as it appeared from outside.

Matt asked a guide where they would find the Spanish Helmet.

‘Oh, you mean the Iron helmet,’ the guide said, after checking in a computer terminal. ‘Item number ME000841. It’s part of the Taonga Maori collection. You’ll find it here.’ He made a little circle on a map and handed it to Matt.

They made their way through groups of school children and tourists until they located the correct room and stood in front of a glass cabinet containing the helmet.

‘I’m going to have to believe them that it’s Spanish,’ Aimee said. ‘I’m no expert.’

‘It’s in fairly good condition, considering it spent so much time in the water.’

‘Actually,’ Aimee said, pointing at the information plaque under the helmets display cabinet. ‘It says here it can’t have spent long in the water. Here, let me read this out loud.’

She crouched down in front of the cabinet and started reading.

‘An iron helmet dated to 1580 and previously thought to be Spanish was found in Wellington Harbour some time before 1904. It has since been repeatedly cited as evidence of European contact with New Zealand prior to Abel Tasman in 1642. It is a ‘close helmet.’ Though the style is European, it is not necessarily Spanish. It could have been made in England or northern Italy. Its state of preservation suggests it was immersed in seawater for only a short time. It shows no signs of marine encrustation, although it could have been cleaned. Archival material in the Museum shows that so little is known about the helmet that it cannot be used as evidence of European contact with New Zealand before Tasman. The helmet may have been used as ship’s ballast - obsolete armour was often used this way. It may have been a souvenir brought out by an immigrant. The helmet may have also been given as a presentation piece or as trade to local Maori in much the same way as armour was presented to Hongi Hika, Titore, and a sword to Te Rauparaha. The helmet was first recorded in the museum’s collections in 1904 - 1905. It has been dated to approximately 1580 and is of a type known as a close helmet. Close helmets were used in the sixteenth century. There’s no evidence to suggest Te Papa’s helmet is actually of Spanish origin. It is not known when or how the museum acquired the helmet. It was recorded as ‘found in Wellington Harbour.’

‘Do all New Zealand museums document their artefacts so poorly?’ Matt said, taking his camera out of its pouch and taking a few photos.

‘It’s not well written, is it? I don’t think I understand. They are saying it’s not Spanish and it didn’t spend long in the water.’

‘Apparently.’

‘Then where has it been since 1580?’ Aimee asked.

‘Can I help you perhaps?’

The voice from behind them made Matt spin around on his heels.

‘Is there some further information I can offer about the helmet?’ the prim looking museum attendant asked.

‘Do you know much about it?’ Matt asked, lifting his camera again to get a shot from another angle.

‘Of course, but first, I must ask you if you’re aware of our photography policy.’

Matt lowered his camera. ‘Sorry, is it against the rules?’

‘No, no. For personal use it’s fine, but you can’t use the images commercially or publish them anywhere. I’m sorry, as a curator it’s my job to make sure you know.’

‘You’re the curator?’ Matt asked.

‘Of this collection, yes,
which is why I can tell you some more about this helmet.
What would you like to know?’

Matt was impressed. She was young, attractive, and clearly well accomplished to be a curator at such an important museum. She also seemed to be genuine about helping.

‘There appears to be a lot of confusion about when the helmet was found, and what sort of helmet it is,’ he said.

‘The problem,’ the Curator said, ‘is that two reports were made about the helmet find. Originally, the director of the
Colonial Museum
recorded the helmet in 1904. He said it wasn’t known when it was found, but it was found in Wellington Harbour. Then an ethnologist wrote a report sometime in the forties or fifties which said the helmet was found in 1926 or 1927.’

‘Why’d he do that?’

‘No one knows. But it’s possible that he didn’t have access to the original record and, in discovering that the Wellington Harbour was dredged in the twenties, decided it must have been found then. His dates are wrong though. We know that.’

‘So is that where the whole theory of it being dredged out of the harbour comes from?’

‘Yes. For all we know, it was found on the shore by a fisherman.’

‘What about all the chat online? Some people say it’s a Morion, some say it’s a close helmet, some say it was dredged in 1880, others argue that it’s definitely proof of a pre-Tasman visit. What are we to believe?’

‘It’s all speculation. Unless somebody finds something concrete to give the helmet archaeological provenance there can only be speculation. It’s a little like the Ruamahanga skull.’

Matt had no idea what the curator was talking about now. He looked at Aimee.

‘Oh my God,’ Aimee said. ‘I forgot all about the skull.’ She turned to the Curator. ‘Is it related to the helmet?’

‘Not so far as we know. But I certainly wouldn’t suggest it was.’

Aimee turned to Matt to fill him in.

‘A couple years back a skull was found in the Wairarapa, over those big hills behind the harbour.’

Matt nodded to show he was listening.

‘It made the news because testing showed it belonged to a forty-something European woman.’

‘And?’

‘She could have been living in New Zealand before Tasman arrived. Half a century before Cook made the first recorded landing.’

‘Mitochondrial DNA analysis has shown she lived sometime between 1619 and 1689,’ the Curator said. ‘There’s no denying that the skull raises many questions.
But again, no provenance.
We really need to know more of her story. Perhaps an isotope analysis could give us more information, but I doubt one will ever be done.’

Matt was just about to ask why not when he was distracted by a movement on the other side of the hall. When he looked closer, he saw a tall man standing off to the side, appearing to study some Maori weapons in a nearby display unit. Studying his features, Matt was convinced it was the occupant of the black Corolla. He motioned Aimee to look at the man and pulled her towards himself and quietly said it was time to go. They thanked the curator and excused themselves before slipping out the nearby entrance back into the main corridors of the museum. It was time to lose their tail.

  * * *

Back in the main halls of the museum, Matt realised they wouldn’t be able to hide in a broom closet to evade their unwanted escort. Te Papa was too modern and open plan for that sort of movie magic. Instead, he indicated to Aimee the direction to go and they hurried along, weaving in and out of people who were shuffling from one display to the next. Looking back over his shoulder, Matt saw the Maori had followed them out of the room and was pounding down the floor behind them. At the moment they had about a thirty second lead, but the gap would close fast.

They rounded a large display and Matt homed in on the potential saviours: tourists.
About 60 of them.
From the noise and accents, he knew they were American. He grabbed Aimee’s hand and yanked her into the middle of the sweaty, shuffling group. They huddled in the centre. Matt could barely see out to the side. Perfect. He felt like a midget in the middle of a Roman army formation, like something out of an Asterix comic.

Aimee smiled.

‘Nice work,’ she said, in an accent that matched the crowd around them.

Matt smiled. It was one of his proudest moments. He could pull off some movie magic after all. A minute later the front of the crowd stopped moving but the back half kept going. Everyone crushed up against each other in front of ancient fish hooks. Matt wasn’t sure if the bulge pushing against his groin was the huge woman in front of him, or her fanny-pack. He didn’t stick around to find out either. Jostling though towards the edge of the crowd, he was able to confirm that their unwanted escort was hurrying off in the other direction, assuming no doubt that they must have gone to the next floor. Matt and Aimee broke free from their confines and made a walking-dash to the descending stairs and got out of the museum as smartly as their legs could carry them, without breaking into a forbidden run.

Out on the plaza, Matt and Aimee took up camp behind a statue and watched the museum entrance.

‘I realised we were being followed in Whakatane. I just want to confirm it though,’ Matt said.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, the tall Maori emerged from the glass doors, scanning the plaza. He couldn’t see Matt and Aimee and walked toward the car-park.

‘Wait here, I’m gonna go find out what his problem is.’

‘Wait.’ Aimee tried to stop him, but it was too late.

Matt marched over to the Maori, catching him off guard. He grabbed his arm and spun him around.

‘Who the hell are you and why are you following us?’

The Maori looked down at Matt’s hand on his arm and then stared coldly into Matt’s eyes.

‘If you know what’s good for you, you’ll let go of my arm.’

Matt held on. ‘Not until you tell me what’s going on.’

‘If I did that, I’d have to kill you.’

Matt let go.

‘Who I am isn’t important. I’m just doing my job.’

‘And your job is?’

‘Making sure that you don’t stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong.’

‘Why me, why us?’

‘You keep the wrong friends. If I was you, I’d give up this madness and go home before someone gets hurt.’ With this the Maori turned on his heels and hurried off.

‘Who’s doing the hurting?’ Matt called after him.

He didn’t get an answer.

‘I don’t think we’ve seen the last of him.’ He said to Aimee when he rejoined her.

‘No,’ Aimee answered. ‘Did he admit he’s spying on us?’

‘More or less.
He first followed me with Warren in Auckland the day I arrived here. Warren said he must be NISO.’

Aimee made an alarming choking sound.

‘NISO, are you serious? Why would they spy on us? They’re anti-terrorism for the most
part,
I don’t imagine they’re interested in us.’

‘Warren says they work together with the DCI, protecting New Zealand’s cultural interests.’

‘No, I don’t think so. They do satellite spying and stuff. I’ll show you their spy base if we get a chance, it’s near to Nelson.
Always wanted to see it.’

Matt wasn’t convinced. He was sure Warren knew what he was talking about. There was no other logical explanation for anyone to be following them. Whatever was going on, he was worried. His professional integrity was at stake. If the NISO and DCI were interested enough to follow his work and if they can arrange for facts to be ‘lost’ where it comes to historical archives in museums, then what could they do to the reputation of a historian who goes against the status quo?
Matt
, he thought to himself,
if you’re not careful you may just find out
.