looks like a giant tea-strainer,” said Faith.
“Or one half of an Ancient British brassiere,” contributed Shirley. “Who was that Queen Somebody in the chariot, shaking her spear at Big Ben in London—the statue?”
“Boadicea,” said Faith.
“That’s the one. It’s just what she’d wear—a bronze brassiere, C-fitting.” She turned to Audley. “But you know what it is, huh?”
“I’ve seen one before, in a museum up north. It’s a piece of horse-armour, one of a pair that protected the eyes like goggles.”
Faith Audley bent over the box as though its contents had suddenly become alive for her. “Yes… well, those buckles—they look like horse harness too. They’re too big to be belt buckles.”
“Dead right. Harness buckles is what they are,” said Mosby. “Spot anything else?”
“Nothing horsey. But there’s a spearhead, it looks like.”
“Spearhead, Saxon, late fifth century.”
“Can they date spearheads like that? I thought they weft all the same.”
“No, ma’am. To the experts one spearhead’s as different from another as—as a Navy Colt is from a Peacemaker. And that one’s a rare late fifth century specimen, seems… But there are some more horse pieces—those little rectangles could be armour of a sort—“ he reached inside his coat-pocket for the type-written list “—it says here ‘compare fragments of horse-armour found in Dura-Europos excavations’. I don’t know where Dura-Europos is, but it sure doesn’t sound British.”
“I’m sure it isn’t,” Audley agreed. “It sounds rather East European—Rumania, maybe. That would be Dacia or Sarmatia, where the heavy cavalry came from—“ He stopped abruptly, his gaze shifting suddenly from Mosby back to the contents of the box. For a long minute he stared at them, his eyes moving from object to object.
“There are also some bronze pendants, more horse stuff,” Mosby consulted his list ostentatiously. “Sort of decorative trappings… plus a couple of cuirass-hinges—what they call lorica segmentata —“
What would they look at with the same fascination in fifteen hundred years’ time? he wondered. What would there be to look at after other great catastrophes and upheavals had convulsed and changed the world, swept it clean and buried its wreckage to be dug up again and argued over?
Fragments of Vulcan rotary cannon, American, late 20th century… blade from axial-flow turbojet, Russian, same period… part of starboard flap, unidentified jet fighter, probably West European, mid-20th century…
“But that’s infantryman’s stuff, Roman. ‘Very worn’, it says here,” He offered the paper to Audley. “See for yourself.”
Audley lowered his spectacles on to his nose again and studied the list. “ ‘Very worn’,” he repeated to himself, frowning. “Yes, well I suppose it would be…”
Mosby waited until Audley had checked each of the things against their more detailed specification. There was no advantage in pressing him towards a hasty conclusion: his whole training both as a historian and a counter-intelligence man was weighted against that, and outside his own particular field he would be doubly cautious.
In the end it was Faith who broke the silence. “What do you make of it, darling?” she said.
Audley’s first reply was a non-committal grunt. “I don’t know that I’m competent to make anything of it, I’d need a lot more information.” He looked at Mosby shrewdly. “Besides, it seems that an expert’s already examined it.”
Mosby shook his head. “Strictly speaking—no, not one expert. Different people have seen different pieces, but you’re the first to see this lot all together.”
Audley considered the implications of that statement for no more than five seconds. “Am I to take it that it was all found together?”
Gently now. “Supposing it was?”
“Then I’d want to know where it came from.” Audley’s voice hardened. “Did you find these
“Or one half of an Ancient British brassiere,” contributed Shirley. “Who was that Queen Somebody in the chariot, shaking her spear at Big Ben in London—the statue?”
“Boadicea,” said Faith.
“That’s the one. It’s just what she’d wear—a bronze brassiere, C-fitting.” She turned to Audley. “But you know what it is, huh?”
“I’ve seen one before, in a museum up north. It’s a piece of horse-armour, one of a pair that protected the eyes like goggles.”
Faith Audley bent over the box as though its contents had suddenly become alive for her. “Yes… well, those buckles—they look like horse harness too. They’re too big to be belt buckles.”
“Dead right. Harness buckles is what they are,” said Mosby. “Spot anything else?”
“Nothing horsey. But there’s a spearhead, it looks like.”
“Spearhead, Saxon, late fifth century.”
“Can they date spearheads like that? I thought they weft all the same.”
“No, ma’am. To the experts one spearhead’s as different from another as—as a Navy Colt is from a Peacemaker. And that one’s a rare late fifth century specimen, seems… But there are some more horse pieces—those little rectangles could be armour of a sort—“ he reached inside his coat-pocket for the type-written list “—it says here ‘compare fragments of horse-armour found in Dura-Europos excavations’. I don’t know where Dura-Europos is, but it sure doesn’t sound British.”
“I’m sure it isn’t,” Audley agreed. “It sounds rather East European—Rumania, maybe. That would be Dacia or Sarmatia, where the heavy cavalry came from—“ He stopped abruptly, his gaze shifting suddenly from Mosby back to the contents of the box. For a long minute he stared at them, his eyes moving from object to object.
“There are also some bronze pendants, more horse stuff,” Mosby consulted his list ostentatiously. “Sort of decorative trappings… plus a couple of cuirass-hinges—what they call lorica segmentata —“
What would they look at with the same fascination in fifteen hundred years’ time? he wondered. What would there be to look at after other great catastrophes and upheavals had convulsed and changed the world, swept it clean and buried its wreckage to be dug up again and argued over?
Fragments of Vulcan rotary cannon, American, late 20th century… blade from axial-flow turbojet, Russian, same period… part of starboard flap, unidentified jet fighter, probably West European, mid-20th century…
“But that’s infantryman’s stuff, Roman. ‘Very worn’, it says here,” He offered the paper to Audley. “See for yourself.”
Audley lowered his spectacles on to his nose again and studied the list. “ ‘Very worn’,” he repeated to himself, frowning. “Yes, well I suppose it would be…”
Mosby waited until Audley had checked each of the things against their more detailed specification. There was no advantage in pressing him towards a hasty conclusion: his whole training both as a historian and a counter-intelligence man was weighted against that, and outside his own particular field he would be doubly cautious.
In the end it was Faith who broke the silence. “What do you make of it, darling?” she said.
Audley’s first reply was a non-committal grunt. “I don’t know that I’m competent to make anything of it, I’d need a lot more information.” He looked at Mosby shrewdly. “Besides, it seems that an expert’s already examined it.”
Mosby shook his head. “Strictly speaking—no, not one expert. Different people have seen different pieces, but you’re the first to see this lot all together.”
Audley considered the implications of that statement for no more than five seconds. “Am I to take it that it was all found together?”
Gently now. “Supposing it was?”
“Then I’d want to know where it came from.” Audley’s voice hardened. “Did you find these
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