The Spanish Helmet (26 page)

 Only three men were killed. I do not know how we have been so lucky not to have lost more men, but maybe their good health and strength has played a part. We are all, for the most part, bruised and battered from the ordeal. Our spirits are sinking with fear of what awaits us in the forests. The beach is backed by a small gully. There is a village in the gully and we have already seen natives looking out at us. We have six men on guard, but unfortunately have very little functioning weaponry left. We have to pray that God will stay by our sides and that the natives are friendly.

Matt and Aimee walked to the University from their hotel, which was located opposite the botanic gardens. The walk only took a few minutes and despite the clear, sunny skies, the mild climate made walking a pleasure. Arriving at the campus, they approached a striking modern theatre building and found an information board.

‘History, history, history...’ Aimee muttered as her finger ran down the alphabetical list.
‘History.
There you are. F5.18.
The
Burns Building.’

‘Robbie Burns is my guess.’ Matt
smiled,
pleased with himself for knowing Dunedin had a strong Scottish heritage.

They memorised the path they would take. It ran alongside a stream which was directly outside the building they were in. Matt liked the look of the cafe that was located between the two, but what caught his eye was the beautiful stone building and clock-tower on the other side of the stream. A sweeping lawn in front of the clock-tower was occupied by summer-school students lazily chatting under weeping willows.

‘That’s pretty,’ Matt said.
‘Old England, Oxford or Cambridge.’

‘We don’t have this in Auckland.’

‘If you like this, you should come to England to study,’ Matt said, sweeping his hand out above the lawn but feeling a little naughty since his university didn’t look quite like this either.

‘Maybe.’
Aimee giggled and looked at Matt with warm eyes. There was a spark in them.

They followed the path past a few ugly seventies’ or eighties’ era blocks before arriving at the impressive glass and concrete library. It was also attractive, but in a different style altogether from the clock tower.
Old meets new.
A perfect harmony.
Shame about the other monsters between the two.
Turning to their left, Matt realised with a groan that the ugliest building on campus was their destination. As they walked in and found a lift, Matt mused that it looked more like a hospital or a council estate than a university building.

The directory by the lift listed Aimee’s friend on the second floor. Matt and Aimee took the stairs. Aimee had never met Mary before, but they had communicated at length via e-mail on various projects. Mary specialised in social history of the Pacific and had been a valuable resource for Aimee on more than one occasion. Reaching the door to her office, they peered in and saw the back of a woman wearing a red pullover. Aimee knocked lightly and waited.

‘One moment.’
Mary’s voice carried to the door.

A few seconds later, she turned and faced them.

‘Sorry about that, how can I help?’

‘Are you Mary Easson?’

‘Yes.’

‘Sorry to come unannounced, I’m Aimee, Aimee Kingsbridge.
From the Auckland University, History department.’

‘Oh my God,’ Mary said, standing up and reaching out her hand. ‘What a pleasant surprise, what brings you here? Would you like a cuppa?’

‘Sure,’ Aimee answered, watching Mary reach for the kettle regardless of her answer. ‘I’m here on business actually, we need your help. Oh, sorry, this is my friend Dr. Matthew Cameron. He’s British.’

Matt smiled and shook Mary’s hand. He wondered if
he’s British
was like a warning or something. The thought made him chuckle inwardly.

‘Must be serious for you to come all this way.
Normally you just e-mail.’

‘Not serious. Well, not problem serious if you know what I mean. More, fun, interesting serious.’

‘Colour me intrigued,’ Mary said, sitting down pointing to a second chair for Aimee. ‘Tell me more.’

Matthew leaned against a filing cabinet and nodded at Aimee and the chair. She took the offered seat and explained the situation to Mary. She started right from the start, telling Mary about meeting Matt, his friend Warren, Matt finding his father, his father’s research, everything they had agreed upon as they walked here. Mary sat and listened to her intently. She asked all the right questions. Matt could see that Aimee had been right to have placed confidence in help from Mary. She seemed like just the right kind of person.

‘It certainly is interesting,’ Mary said, after Aimee had finished. ‘But you need to be
careful,
you’re treading on some dangerous ground, especially with the Celtic line of questioning. It’s one thing to suggest that the Spanish made it here before your lot...’ she nodded at Matt.
‘...but completely another to say that someone beat the Maori.
Ouch.’

‘I know,’ Aimee said. ‘But we’re definitely putting the Celtic theory right to the side. Matthew is dead keen on finishing his father’s research.’

‘No point in committing career suicide, that’s for sure.’ Matt added.

Mary looked thoughtful.

‘I can’t help you directly
myself
since I don’t know a lot about any oral histories that the local Maori may have. Most likely ninety-nine percent of them don’t either anymore. But if you can get to talk to some of the elders, the Kaumatua, there would surely be someone who can remember the stories of their fathers. Would you like me to arrange a meeting with some of them?’

‘Can you do that?’ Aimee asked. ‘That would be amazing.’

‘Not by myself, but let me have a chat with one of my colleagues.’

Mary picked up her phone and dialled an internal number. She chatted with whoever answered and explained that she had a colleague here from Auckland who would very much like to meet with some Kaumatua to discuss the Maori history of the region. She implied that the two researchers wanted a really authentic feel for what the Maori believed, not just the standard text-book stuff. Could she set something up? Mary went quiet as she listened to her friend.

‘Ok,’ Mary finally said into the receiver. ‘I’ll hear from you in five then.’

Matt joined Aimee in looking at Mary imploringly as she hung up the phone.

‘She’ll call someone and call me back.’

‘That’s brilliant. Thanks, Mary.

‘We’re a close-knit bunch down here. Honestly, everyone knows everyone around this place.
The advantage of a smaller city.’

‘Yeah, I like the look of Dunedin and I’ve only been here 40 minutes.’

‘Give it a few days and you’ll love it. I used to live in Auckland too, fifteen years in all. I’d never go back now. I live out in a lovely wee village on the harbour with views of the water and artists for neighbours. There are a few little restaurants and cafes and occasional cruise ships. It’s perfect.’

‘Sounds like my kind of place,’ Matt said.

The small talk continued until the phone interrupted them.

‘Mary Easson,’ she answered. There was a pause as she listened to her colleague. ‘Sure. Thanks Jo, you’re a legend. Yeah, I’ll let them know. I owe you one.’

Mary hung up the phone and smiled at Aimee.

‘You’ve got an appointment here at the cafe in the library building at 10am, the day after tomorrow. How does that sound?’

‘Perfect,’ Aimee answered.

Perfect, Matt silently agreed. It sounded absolutely perfect.

Matt woke with a start. The fire alarm was going off. He leapt out of bed and raced towards the door. He had to get Aimee out of there. Then he came to his senses. That fire alarm sounded an awful lot like his mobile phone ringtone. He looked back at the bedside table. Next to the clock, which stated 5:03 in bold red illumination, his mobile was ringing, glowing and vibrating it’s way perilously close to the edge. Matt walked back, still shaking with adrenaline, and picked it up.
Bloody Dwight Pick!

‘Good morning, Dwight,’ Matt said, through gritted teeth.

‘Good evening, Matt.’

‘Not here it isn’t.
You gave me a damn heart attack. Don’t you ever think checking what time it is here?’

‘Huh? That’s not important. We need to talk.’

Here we go.
Matt sat down on the edge of the bed and prepared himself for another lecture. Dwight didn’t sound like he was going to leap in with praise for Matt’s work.

‘Talk away. I’m listening.’

‘I’ve been looking into this theory that the Spanish discovered New Zealand. It’s diverting stuff.’

‘What?’ Matt wasn’t sure he heard that right. Was Dwight telling him he was interested in his work?

‘Well, I found some books in the library and read through some issues of the Journal of Pacific History, and like I say it’s diverting stuff.’

‘Diverting?’

‘Yeah.
The theory has been well investigated, and by some serious academics, no less. Compared to your Celtic stuff, this is much more viable.’

Matt let out a big breath.

‘That’s great, Dwight. I’m glad you’re OK with what I’m doing now. It’s a relief to know that my job isn’t in jeopardy anymore.’

‘I said it’s more viable than the other lot. I didn’t say you’re off the hook.’

‘What?’

‘All but a handful of the scholars who studied the Spanish theories have refuted them as nothing more than a fancy. The couple that support them, or created them no less, don’t have a leg to stand on.’

Matt stared at the wall. This couldn’t be happening again.

‘I’ve also looked into those theories and I’m happy that what I’ve seen is evidence enough to take a deeper look.’

‘Don’t be silly, Matt. Nearly every New Zealand academic worth his salt has confirmed that the Maori were first, the Dutch came but left, and then the English settled. Why whip a dead horse?’

Dwight was asking for it.

‘I’m going to whip a dead horse, because there’s a chance I can bring it back to life. You should try it sometime, Dwight.
Real research.
It doesn’t mean sitting on your laurels relying on everyone else’s work to find the truth. Sometimes, you have to get off your ass and actually dig a hole.’

Matt knew he was digging a hole, right now.

‘I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. But keep it up and you’ll be coming home to that second warning and your final pay slip.’

‘You can’t do that and you know it. You’ve no grounds for dismissal. I’m doing my job, conducting research out on the field. It’s what the university pays me for.’

Matt pressed the end button on his mobile as hard as he could. That was the problem with mobiles; you couldn’t slam the phone down in someone’s ear anymore. He remained on the edge of the bed and took deep breaths. He hoped he hadn’t made the situation worse, but he knew he was right. He looked at the clock again. No point in going back to sleep, he couldn’t anyway. Instead, he pulled on some sneakers and a tracksuit and went for a jog around the university campus.

  * * *