Chapter 13

Next, there was a phone call for Reg. Frances handed the phone over to him. “Your farmer friend,” she said.

Reg took it and said, “Hi, this is Reg Robertson.”

“Nice to speak to you, Mr Robertson. I had a call from the Finds guy. It appears we are tens of thousands richer.”

“So I hear, sir. No exact number as yet, but a satisfactory sum, if I may say so.”

“Indeed so. He claims there is more due on your second discovery – the two pots.”

“Bronze pots with silver coins inside, and these slightly corroded, so not as valuable as the other collection. “But, the pots have some value as well, I am told.”

“So he said. We’ll wait and see, but you have done rather well, for a beginner at metal detecting, Mr Robertson.”

“Reg, please. I told you before to call me Reg.”

“Very well, Reg. I thought that for this call, I should be a bit more formal.”

“You are forgiven. You weren’t just calling to confirm what I have been told?”

“No. I wanted to offer you the run of the farm, exclusive to you, for metal detecting. You deserve that, but we must be clear that there must be no animals in the field, or crops growing. This means mostly available to you in the winter, but there should be plenty of dry days.”

“With my university course, I am tied up most weekdays, so it would be more likely weekends, provided my wives allow me to come detecting.”

“I understand your restrictions, or rather, distractions. My wife would like you to bring a wife, or perhaps two, along with you, and they can sit and chat with her while you do your searching outside. My lady is fascinated by your family life.”

“That sounds admirable, sir. Your wife is a delightful lady.”

“I will tell her you said that!”

They concluded the call and Reg reported the gist of it to his girls.

Frances was interested in going. “I’d like to meet this woman and her husband. After all, they are getting half of what you found, so I want to be sure the cash is going to worthy recipients.”

Reg told her, “He has invited me to prospect all over his farm, outside of the time his fields are being cropped or have animals grazing. He is a nice guy, in my opinion; well educated too. I haven’t spoken much with his wife, but she seemed nice, as well.”

Frances told him, “Even so, I want to make my own judgement of them. You are still not 100 per cent savvy about people. You may be great with us girls, but outsiders ... maybe not.”

Fiona intruded angrily, “Hey, I was an outsider, Frances!”

“Sorry, Fiona. I didn’t mean you, for you were an exception. You came to us, and made your own pitch. We got to assess you on our own territory, and you passed muster, didn’t you?”

“I suppose you are right, Frances. Yes, it was that way. I apologise for my outburst. I am the new one here, and you very kindly let me have my share of Reg. It is appreciated, Frances dear, I assure you. I hope to hear from my father about my finances in the next few days, and then we can become more settled.”

By the end of classes the next day, there was still no word from Freda’s father, so she rang her mother at home,

“Mum, has Dad got anywhere with Reg’s compensation claim for his father’s death by road accident? Do you know about it?”

“He did mention it before he went off to work today, dear. He said he was going to court ‘to get the legal aspects out of the way’. What that meant, I have no idea. I’ll get him to ring you once he is home.”

“Thanks, Mum. It would be nice to have my Reg with some financial resources of his own.” She didn’t mention the coin hoards, as that still had to be processed before there was anything definite.

Three-quarters of an hour later, her father rang back.

“Hi, Freda. Good news, but I had best speak to Reg directly, as his lawyer.”

“Right, I’ll get him, Dad.”

Shortly thereafter, Reg was on the line.

“You have news for me, sir?”

“Yes, Reg. The court formally confirmed your entitlement to compensation, so the insurers have to pay you, at a minimum, in accordance with the rate of entitlement laid down by law, minus costs as laid down by the court. We should have an exact figure within a day or two, once I have jogged the company’s elbow about the many years of non-payment, and what that says about their customer service.

These firms prefer to delay making their payouts as much as possible, to save them lost interest, but I asked the court to insist that the insurers pay your costs in the matter, and I shall also remind them of interest due on the payment for every day they fail to pay out to you. Check your bank account every day, please, and report to me when the cash appears there.”

“But I don’t have a bank account, sir.”

“Yes, you do. I told Freda to open one for you, if you did not already have one. That is the account number I used for the compensation claim to be paid into.”

“Oh. I see. I must thank Freda, then.”

“She is a good girl, is Freda. You are lucky to have her as a wife, Reg.”

“I know, sir. She is wonderful girl, and very loving; a great helpmate as well. Thanks for all your invaluable assistance.”

“Think nothing of it, my boy. The insurers will be paying my fees; I won’t be out of pocket.”

Reginald was tired at university next day. For some reason, Frances had allowed Freda to join her and Prudence for lovemaking last night, and their enthusiasm had worn him out.

His attention was not as it should be, so he was disturbed by a tap on his shoulder in the lecture hall as he dozed, only half taking in the words as the lecturer droned on.

“Robertson?” It was another student from the back of the class.

“Yes?”

“There is a guy at the door asking for you. You’d better go and see what he wants.”

“Right. Thanks, John.”

The other student was impressed that Reg recognised him. That wouldn’t have happened a few months ago when they first started. Reg at that time ignored practically everyone, and knew no-one’s name.

Reg made his way quietly up to the back, where he recognised the man as Frank Dawson, whom he had met with the Special Branch policeman. Dawson gestured to Reg to come with him. Reg followed him down the corridor and Dawson showed him into an office, then locked the door behind him. Sitting at the desk inside was the same policeman as before, who pointed Reg to a chair in front of the desk.

Reg sat mutely and waited.

The policeman frowned, and spoke.

“Mr Robertson, it appears you ignored my instructions.”

“I did? In what way, sir?”

“You spoke about what we discussed last time.”

“No, sir. That is most definitely not correct. I told no-one what was said in our meeting.”

“Then tell me why a policeman of your acquaintance has been making enquiries of my department about James Fitzgerald?”

“Well of course Sergeant Phillips is making these enquiries. He told me he was going to widen the scope of his search for the missing Ferguson and Aitchison family members. I had no idea what sources he was going to consult.”

“You claim you didn’t tell him anything? I find that hard to believe.”

“You mean you don’t think our British policemen know how to do their jobs? I find THAT hard to believe, sir.”

“He came to your home, to speak to you.”

“He did, to ask if I, or any of my household, had heard anything about Jim Fitzgerald’s whereabouts. I had no idea of the missing student’s movements, and I told him so. He had heard, somehow, that I was at a meeting with Frank Dawson and an unnamed other person, but I told him I couldn’t comment on that; in fact I had been asked specifically to not comment, and I would adhere to that instruction.

The sergeant insisted that any real policeman would not take that attitude towards a member of the public, and perhaps he drew his own conclusion from that fact. As I said, I told him nothing about the content of our talk. Sergeant Phillips is a fine policeman, with a good brain and the talent to use it.”

The man frowned again.

“You know anything about a private enquiry agency that is looking for James Fitzgerald?”

“What ARE you talking about, sir? I am in no position to hire a private enquiry agency, nor would I want to. What is this agency up to, anyway?”

“That is none of your business, Mr Robertson. Leave it be.”

“You have left me puzzled, sir. You quiz me about things I know nothing about, and you accuse me of doing things that I did not do. Is there some point to all this?”

“There is, but it has nothing to do with you, Mr Robertson.”

“In that case, I might as well go back to my class. I am missing part of a lecture.”

“Before you go, Mr Robertson, should you HAPPEN to come across any information relating to James Fitzgerald, you will report it to Mr Dawson here, and he will pass it to me. Is that clear?”

“It is clear all right, but is it an instruction or a request? If it is an instruction, I would like to know by whose authority such an instruction is being made.”

The other man was quiet for a few seconds, then said, “It is a request, but the request is related to national security, so we would appreciate THE REQUEST being treated seriously. Understood?”

“Ah, yes. Jim Fitzgerald. Explosives knowledge. National security. It all hangs together now. You are from an unnamed department of the state. Okay, I agree.”

“Thank you, Mr Robertson. In return, I can tell you that Mrs Dora Prentiss is not to be trusted.”

It was Reg’s turn to go wide-eyed.

“Really?”

“Really. I can say no more.”

“Thank you. Can I assume that Fiona Prentiss and her father do not fit into that category?”

“You can. Keep Fiona Prentiss well away from her stepmother.”

“I intended doing that anyway. Fiona hates her.”

“Our discussion is ended. Good day, Mr Robertson.”

The Special Branch man got up, walked to the door, and got Dawson to unlock it for him to leave.

Reg was left to sit, thinking.

How did the man know about the Prentiss family? In fact, how come he knew that Fiona was now resident with him and his ladies? How did he know that Sergeant Phillips had visited him? Even an outside observation of the building would not give all that information. The only logical solution is that he had read Sergeant Phillips’ file on the disappearances. There was no sign that the sergeant knew his reports were being scrutinised by people outside his local police hierarchy.

What to do?

Reg got up, thanked Frank Dawson for calling and getting him to the meeting, and went back to his class. He crept in to a vacant seat near the end of the top row, hoping to be unnoticed. No such luck.

“Ah, you have returned, Mr Robertson? Kind of you to think of hearing at least some of my words of wisdom. If we can return to the subject, to which I hope the remainder of the class has been listening, I trust you now understand that world history in ancient times was much more inter-connected than we used to imagine. Trade was the key.

How else would certain paint samples from the Forbidden Palace in Beijing prove to have ingredients only available in western Europe at the time? Trade routes ran all over the world, no matter whether there was any diplomatic contact between the civilisations or not. The civilisations tended to ignore trade when it came to recording life. Officials see life in their own terms, and people engaging in trade were only of interest for taxation purposes. Objects are often the only indication of such links.

Can anyone point to an example, where an object seems out of place for its period, apart from the more obvious such as Cleopatra’s Needle on the London Embankment?”

There was a period of silence, as everyone feared to stick their neck out, so finally Reg put his hand up.

“Well, now! Mr Robertson is going to contribute to our class. Let’s see what he produces. Well, Mr Robertson?”

“Sir, I recently uncovered a metal concretion in a local farmer’s field, and the Finds Liaison Officer tells me that the round things I found are two ancient Greek Hydriae – water jugs, you might say. What would an ancient Greek bronze vessel be doing in an English field in Roman times? I say Roman, as they had Roman coins inside them.”

“Now that IS unusual, Mr Robertson. Have you any ideas, yourself, of their travels?”

“The only way I could imagine these being there is if the guy who hid them with coins inside was a collector of sorts, and the Greek Hydriae were his prized possessions. I am assuming he was a Roman, or at least Romano-British.”

“A dangerous word – assumption. When there is more than one possible explanation, it is wise not to assume anything. You don’t know when the items were placed in the ground, do you?”

“No, sir, but when the coins are in a state to be identified, the most recent one in date will suggest that the find was placed there after that date.”

“Yes, Mr Robertson, but not how long after that date. It may have been buried, later dug up and centuries later stolen and reburied. Is that not so?”

“That is so, sir, but the latter option is highly unlikely, whereas the former has a high probability of being correct. The Finds official is of the opinion that the find has been there since it was buried, probably not long before, or just after, the end of the Roman occupation of Britain. He bases that conclusion on the condition of the finds. It may be an assumption, but an expert assumption with a degree of veracity about it.”

“A useful riposte, Mr Robertson. It is wise to assess the probabilities when looking at dating. We tend to make all kinds of unwarranted assumptions about historical matters. For example, when did we start calling the Renaissance by that name? Anyone?”

One of the girls ventured, “The century afterwards?”

The lecturer nodded, “That would be what one would expect, but it was first of all known as the ‘Revival of Letters’ period, and only in 1840 was the term Renaissance coined by a French historian, Michelet. That also explains why it is a French word that we utilise.

The phrase, ‘Revival of Letters’ is also of passing interest. It comes about through renewed interest in Greek literature and other Greek subjects, stimulated when a number of well-educated Greeks arrived in Italy as fugitives, after the fall of Constantinople to the Turks in 1453. Combine that interest with the slightly earlier invention of printing with moveable type in Germany in 1439, which also soon spread to Italy, and you have the seeds of an academic revolution. Once again, the stimulus was not local, but the arrival of fugitives from the later Imperial capital over 2,000 kilometres away which helped to kick-start what we know as the Renaissance.

It appears to have soon been a Europe-wide phenomenon, probably because Latin was the academic language of all Europe. There was no stumbling block of national languages to get in the way of any intellectual advance. You might also observe that it was immigrants fleeing disaster who were the stimulus to cultural and scientific advancement.

History, you have to appreciate, is not as simple as reading textbooks, ladies and gentlemen. Textbooks, even history textbooks, go out of date remarkably fast. Our view of history keeps changing as we learn more background to what happened in the past, and more importantly, why.

Another important facet of history is, which side is telling the story? If it us about the British in India, is it a Brit or an Indian who is relating the story? You will get differing viewpoints about the same basic facts. Think of it as the Red Indian wars in the United States. Seldom is the tale told by the Red Indians. That is why you must read widely about any subject, as all subjects are affected by this same problem of viewpoint.”

Reg and his fellow students took in this wise advice, and decided to view the works of former great historians with a degree of scepticism. Reg was conscious of how the view of Stonehenge had changed radically in the last two decades, through new archaeological investigations in the vicinity of Stonehenge. He went home thoughtfully.

Once the rest of the family were home, welcomed by the twins with a glass of sherry each, they all sat down to relax. Prudence said, “One of my friends said you left her class in the middle of a lecture, Reg, then came back later. What was up?”

“Oh, nothing much. I was asked about something which was none of my doing, and I made that clear. It was over quickly.”

Frances demanded, “The university can’t do that to you, or any other student, Reg. Pulling you out of a lecture for no good reason is not on. You missed part of a lecture through that. You should complain to the proctors!”

Reg admitted, “Frances, while it was the student services manager who brought me out of the lecture, it was at the behest of the guy from Intelligence who had asked me questions before. You don’t turn down these people when ‘invited’ to an interview.”

“Why does he impose on you like that, Reg? The Intelligence guy, I mean. What is he up to? What is he trying to achieve?”

“I reckon they aren’t getting very far with their normal enquiries, so they are scraping the barrel by asking me. I know nothing that can help them directly, and they ought to understand that, but they keep hoping the facts have changed.”

“Did he have the grace to apologise, Reg?”

“No, he didn’t; but he said a peculiar thing: ‘Don’t trust Dora Prentiss: Fiona’s step-mother.’”

“What did he mean by that?” asked Frances.

“I have no idea. He told me he could say no more; just ‘don’t trust her’.”

Frances turned to Fiona.

“Fiona, dear, do you have any inkling to shed light on that provocative statement?”

Fiona frowned, replying, “I have never liked her, but I have heard nothing that would imply she was untrustworthy. Of course, I would never trust her with anything at all; I can tell you that!”

Reg was pensive, then said speculatively, “Fiona, try to discover as much as you can about her, without making any direct contact. Maybe there is some stuff online about her: a profile or similar. Just be careful how you go about it. Perhaps ask some friend to do the online searching. On your own, you could ask your father for some more information about her. Suggest that if you knew more about her and her interests, you might not see her in such a bad light.”