Mayan Gold

Chapter 1

The drum beat and the chant grew louder as the royal procession approached the plaza. The great pyramid, Nohoch Mul, was bathed in pale blue light under the full moon. The flames from the torches lighting the stairway danced in the breeze and the yellow light glistened on the smooth stone steps.

The great crowd of people grew silent, falling to their knees and bowing their heads to the ground when the king entered the plaza. The king wore the sacred robe of his exalted office, the skin of a full grown male jaguar. The head of the big cat, jaws wide open to reveal the polished fangs, was molded to his own head as a headdress. The king was flanked by his bodyguards from the palace royal guard, each one resplendent in a plumed headdress of feathers from the sacred Quetzal bird and a sash of jaguar skin draped across the warriors bronzed muscular torsos.

At the base of the pyramid steps the king turned to face his subjects. The guards fanned out to either side and stood at attention. The drum beat stopped abruptly. Then the king spoke in a shout that carried over the heads of the prostrate worshipers.

We come to worship Chac. To honor his greatness. To ask his forgiveness if we have offended him. To ask his favor to bring us the rains of abundance.

From his place of honor with the other dignitaries, Kin’tal watched the king ascend the stairway alone. The king climbed with slow, purposeful steps to a single drum beat that marked his rhythm. Kin’tal's gaze rose from the king to the stone altar in front of the temple. The high priest stood behind the altar wearing the painted mask of the serpent. His long black hair, that by tradition was never washed, cut, or combed, hung in a matted heap down the back of the red robe. To the side of the altar dressed in a tunic of white ‘manta’ cotton stood the Celestino. Kin’tal noticed that the attending priests standing on either side of the Celestino were chanting prayers to Chac. The cross-eyed boy child stood calmly between the priests, unmoving. He was the Celestino, the celestial child, schooled from his birth for this moment in time, for this special celebration.

The king reached the top of the pyramid and with the same methodical stride, walked across the altar plaza and up the steps to the entrance of the temple. Here he turned and as he stretched his arms upward toward the heavens a deafening cry came from the masses below.

Great Chac. Mighty rainmaker. Show us your favor.

The people rose up from the ground as one. In unison they held their open hands up to the heavens.

Mighty Chac, come to be with us.

The incantations continued until the king dropped his arms by his sides and there was silence. He turned and entered the temple. Kin’tal knew that inside the temple the king would commune with the creator gods and ask for their help to summon Chac the Rainmaker. In the silence Kin’tal could hear the hiss of the resin burning on the torches that lit the stairway. He could smell the copal incense wafting down from the temple urns.

The high priest moved to the top of the stairway, raised his arms and cried out,

Great Chac. We worship you.

Praise Chac, the people responded.

We praise you, Powerful Maker of Rain and Fire from the Sky.

Praise Chac, the people responded in a deafening shout.

The king reappeared at the entrance of the temple wearing the gold mask of Chac. Transformed into a living God, the ruler descended the temple steps. Here was the descended Rain God, Chac, entered into the jaguar soul, the ch’ul of the king, come down from the night sky to judge the worthiness of his people. The image of Chac moved with the exaggerated gait of a wild animal, the head rotating from side to side and the arms and hands tearing away invisible foliage. Watching this strange spectacle the crowd fell silent. When the image of Chac let out a great howl, the howl of the wild jaguar, the people prostrated themselves in awe. The image of Chac moved across the temple plaza and around the altar making loud guttural noises ranging in sound from deep bass groans to high-pitched shrieks. In time the image of Chac was satisfied with the homage from his people and he returned to ascend the temple steps. At the top of the steps the image of Chac turned to face the people one last time and through the ch’ul of the jaguar soul he roared long and loud.

A great cry of reverence and adoration came from his people. The chanting continued getting louder and louder as the high priest purified the air above the altar with copal incense. At a command from the high priest the child was lifted up and laid down gently upon the altar.

Kin’tal could clearly see the accentuated slope to the boy’s forehead as the child was laid upon the altar. A result of the headboards clamped on the child from an early age to flatten the forehead. A sudden shiver went down his spine. It surprised him because he had been groomed for this moment. The acolyte priests stood on either side of the boy holding his hands by his sides. The boy lay motionless. The high priest lowered his hands and moved to the side of the altar. He put one hand on the Celestino's forehead and looked up at the image of Chac.

Almighty Chac, hear us. We honor you with the gift of one of our own, cried out the high priest, and then he cut the boy’s throat with an obsidian knife.

The twitching boy was restrained by the acolyte priests as the blood ran from the sacrificial altar and into the canals. The high priest leaned forward and with the skill of a surgeon, swiftly cut out the boy’s heart.

The high priest lifted up the boy’s still beating heart in the palm of his hand and held it out as an offering to the image of Chac. The great jaguar roared again and the image of Chac turned and ascended the stairway to the stars.

Kin’tal looked away, nauseous at having witnessed the mutilation and death of his own son. The child had been born cross-eyed. Kin’tal had known at the moment he first set eyes on the new born that the baby was special, marked by the Gods to be a celestial gift. A Celestino. A special child to make the highest sacrifice. A great honor and a terrible fate. By chance he had seen the boy only once since birth. He had seen the toddler with the hideous boards clamped on the head. Kin’tal had wanted to cry out, not from rage, but in compassion for the helpless child. There was to be no emotion, he knew that. It was the tradition. He was honored and yet he felt quite sick.

Good morning ladies and gentlemen. My name is Arne and I will be your guide for the day. The old man from Germany had lived in Cobá all his life. He had integrated with the local Maya and they had accepted him as one of their own.

You are lucky to have me as your guide today because I am better than the other guides. The quip got a chuckle from the group of tourists gathered around the picnic tables outside the visitor center.

Before we start let me tell you that there is quite a lot of walking to see the excavated sites so be sure you are wearing sensible shoes. Take plenty of water with you and insect repellent. He adjusted the drawstring on his floppy canvas hat as he surveyed the motley group, many of whom he knew would not make it past Nohoch Mul and the second group of ruins.

Before we set off to see the ruins and while you are comfortably in the shade let me tell you a little of the history of Cobá as we know it so far. A man in his seventies with a suntanned leathery face marbled by laughter lines, he chose not to sit. Arne stood before his audience so that he could address them clearly and use his arms and hands to embellish his lecture as would a conductor leading an orchestra. Arne smiled at them.

"Cobá grew to be a huge complex between 600 AD and 900 AD in the classic period, though its origins are believed to date back to the second century AD. It is estimated that at the height of its development the settlement of Cobá outside the ceremonial centers spread over eighty square kilometers and was home to 50,000 people or more. To give you an idea of the size of this place, there are estimated to be over 6000 mounds to be excavated out there overgrown by the jungle.

A network of raised pedestrian highways called ‘zacbe’, Arne emphasized the word, that traversed the marsh and swamp terrain connected Cobá to Zama on the coast, that’s the old name for Tulum, and to other regional centers in the interior of the Yucatán peninsula. These roadways were built of stone and surfaced with white plaster. Zacbe means ‘white road’ in the Maya tongue. One zacbe connecting the imperial center of Cobá to Yaxuna, a city a few miles to the south of Chichen Itza, is over one hundred kilometers in length.

Goodnight! a large lady from Texas remarked loudly, exercising the latest Southern colloquial expression for surprise.

Yes... Arne smiled, inclining his head to look at the lady with compassion and then he looked up to indicate that the sun was still shining. Unfamiliar with the expression he assumed that the lady must have a screw loose and continued.

Cobá was the hub of all these white roads. At one time Cobá must have been a very big commercial, political and religious center. There are strong similarities in the architecture of Cobá and Tikal in Guatemala and evidence that suggest a strong connection between the two cities, perhaps a royal connection.

"Who was the King of Cobá, Arne?" asked a spirited teenage boy.

That’s a good question, young man, because we know of a missing king. King Chac Balam, which means Red Jaguar, ruled here until the age of 30 when all records of his rule ceased. No one knows what happened to him. Maybe he was captured and killed.

Goodnight! said the Texas lady.

For a period of seven hundred years, Arne continued, smiling pityingly at the lady, Cobá lay buried under thick jungle growth until visited by Teoberto Maler in 1891. Cobá remained isolated until 1972 when the Mexican government built a road to access Cobá and organized the first excavations of the site in 1973. Since that time three main areas or groups have been unearthed from the jungle.

The ceremonial center of Cobá was built between two lakes and in fact the name Cobá means ‘ruffled waters’ or ‘waters stirred by wind’. Some people think Cobá means the ‘city of ghosts’, so if you see one, ask it to tell you what happened to the missing king. The teenage boy laughed heartily.

This guy's a hoot. This is going to be a lot of fun, cried out the ‘goodnight’ lady whose need for attention was as great as her bosom.

We go first to the Grupo Cobá ruins which are close by. Those of you who climb the pyramid of the Temple of the Church will get a great view of Lake Macanxoc. From there we will go to the tallest pyramid in the Yucatán, Nohoch Mul, and after that to the ball court. So, if you will be so good as to follow me back in time to the world of antiquity...

Arne set off at a steady pace.

~~~~

Chapter 2

The boiling surf engulfed the bow section of the starboard hull of the catamaran. The solo sailor made a quick adjustment of the main sheet and pushed his weight further outboard in the hiking harness. At that moment the only parts of his body actually touching the boat were his toes and his left hand wrapped around the grip at the end of the tiller extension.

Knowing that he was a split second away from disaster and certain injury caused the adrenalin to surge through Steve Reed's body. Sailing his sport catamaran fast in strong winds along the reef breaks was an elixir for him. The challenge and danger washed away the frustrations of his work at the dig in Cobá and helped him appreciate the fragility of life.

A strong gust of wind caused him to instinctively snap the jamb cleat on the main sheet and let out the mainsail. Pulling hard on the tiller, he slid his weight inboard, and the catamaran accelerated off the wind, planing and surfing in the spume of the breaker that could have capsized the boat. Spray lashed his face and ‘rooster tails’ flew up behind the rudders when the boat ran out of the surf. He steered the boat away from the fury of the reef toward the shore and the ruins standing high on a bluff overlooking the Caribbean Sea. Atop the bluff stood the castle, a sentinel for the ancient Maya inhabitants of Zama.

Reed aligned himself midway between the two long, narrow windows to the upper rooms on either side at the top of the castle. He knew that if a sailor steered a course in a line between the two windows it would carry his boat safely through the natural break in the barrier reef. There is evidence that the ancient Maya lit fires in these rooms at night so the light from the windows would guide mariners safely through the reef to the shore. An aid to navigation called ‘leading lights’ that is used to this day at every port and harbor in the world. Steve Reed marveled at the ingenuity of the ancient Maya.

By the end of the classic era the Maya had established a virtual mercantile marine of large trading canoes that carried all kinds of cargo. The trading route essentially hugged the shoreline from the Gulf of Mexico port of Xicalango to the Caribbean port of Naco in Honduras. The Maya used these waters as a highway to connect one end of the empire with the other. They navigated the large rivers to reach settlements well into the hinterland and highlands of Guatemala. A network of coastal ports or trading docks was established around the entire Yucatán peninsula, and along the coastlines of Belize and Guatemala to the Rio Ulua in Honduras. Stone beacons were erected as lighthouses upon which fires were maintained throughout the night. Smudge fires in the day were a smoke signal for mariners out of sight of land running north in the fast lane, the Yucatán current.

Reed imagined himself as a paddler on a large ocean-going canoe approaching the ancient port city of Zama, as Tulum was called in the classic era. Ahead was the stone seawall behind which lay the sheltered dock. Merchants and traders stood on the seawall anxiously awaiting the arrival of the canoe and its cargo. On board might be riches such as items fashioned from copper and jade, amber and obsidian, exotic feathers, skins and pelts, bolts of cloth woven from plant fibers, vegetable dyes, fine ceramics and wood carvings. The cargo might include finely made weaponry and merchandise such as medicinal plants and herbs, honey, cocoa, copal incense, salt, earthenware pots and jugs and perhaps novelty items. Ahead lay the market and the raucous bartering of merchants, traders and agents acting on behalf of royalty and nobility from the city of Cobá. From the dockside would begin the dispatch of goods to the city of Cobá by a succession of runners along the plastered white roads. Fresh fish and seafood would be carried in the same way to the king’s table and to the homes of nobility. The merchant classes were wealthy and powerful. They had their own god and protector, Ek Chua, and shrines were built at the ports and waystations along the roads for daily homage and prayer.

Reed remembered that Columbus had recorded in 1502 sighting a canoe in the area of the Gulf of Honduras that was as long as a galleon and broad in the beam and fitted with a cabin amidships. Along with the cargo these larger canoes would have carried passengers together with the pilot, his paddlers, the merchant and his family. In this way there was a limited mobility within the Maya empire. Reed was also certain that the canoe he paddled in his imagination carried important messages and news from other cities and settlements.

A wind shift put the catamaran on a beam reach and Reed hauled in the mainsheet and hiked out on the rail. The starboard hull lifted right out of the water and the boat speed started to increase. At eighteen knots the boat was slicing through the water. The singing of the wind in the rigging wires orchestrated a high pitched whine and he felt that at any moment the catamaran might actually take off and fly. He felt the exhilaration of being in control of a machine pushed to its limits. One false move at this point, or if a stay broke, then Steve Reed knew he would be having himself one spectacular ‘yard sale’.

But Steve Reed was a very good sailor and he knew the tipping point of the cat. He sailed screaming through the reef break and only dropped the hull when he was closing the beach rollers. As he eased the sheets, the wind spilled from the sails and the boat's speed began to decelerate. The craft lifted high in the water as a roller picked it up in the surf and ran the boat toward the beach. Reaching aft he pulled up the rudders just before the cat ran up on to the soft white sand of the small beach directly below the ruins.

Diving through the surf Reed floated in his life jacket, the muscles in his arms and legs completely spent. The heat and aggravation of the past week at the dig in Cobá seemed to float away. In the cool water he felt totally removed from the pressure and intensity of working with Loxley and Ashcroft in the humid, mosquito infested jungle. And again his thoughts turned to Maria Kintal.

Doctor Lyndon Loxley pointed to the mounds of rubble excavated from the base of a stone building earlier that morning.

Get this rubble out of here, he spoke tersely in Spanish to the man standing next to him.

It’s not possible now. It’s time for food and siesta, the man replied and as if on cue the workers began to shuffle away from the work site toward a hammock-filled conclave under big shade trees on the far side of a clearing.

Loxley stood with his hands on his hips and scowled. He swore through his teeth to vent his frustration. The excavation of a building was well behind schedule and the university was up in arms because the dig was already over budget. A professor of archaeology at the University of Texas, Loxley had devoted the best part of his adult life to uncovering the secrets of the ancient Maya. He loved everything about the world of the ancient Maya with a passion. But recently the modern day Mayan people irritated him just a little. Their metabolic time clocks were on island time minus two, or so it seemed to Loxley, a naturally energetic man with a sharp inquisitive mind. In the evenings with wine he could relax down to island time but you would need to force-feed the man with sedatives to get him down to the same operating speed as the Maya laborers. Loxley blamed the delays on their dalliance. The harder he tried to push them the more confused they became and consequently the less work got done. The workers had picked up on his recent irritability and Loxley could sense their resentment.

The day one of the workers had found the stela under the rubble of a stone wall that had collapsed, Lyndon Loxley’s demeanor had changed. The large stone tablet was broken into three pieces but was essentially intact. It had been knocked flat by the falling wall but the hieroglyphs had been pushed down into the dirt. Most of the damage was to the backside of the stela. It had taken two days to excavate the pieces from the dirt and Loxley had worked a full three days to clean the dirt away from the inscription. What he found as he revealed the inscription at first intrigued him and then filled him with excitement.

The tablet told of a golden image of the God Chac given to the King of Cobá by the king of Tikal. The tablet told of a sacrificial feast in honor of the God Chac, where the gold mask was worn by the god when he descended from the heavens to judge the worthiness of the prostrate people. Loxley was able to decipher the recorded date chiseled into the stone. The Maya invented the numeral zero for their accounting of quantity and time. That they developed a rudimentary ephemeris of the heavens is certain. The Maya invented calendars from recorded celestial observation. Loxley calculated the date chiseled on the stela in Maya numerals to be the year eight hundred and ninety, Anno Domini, of the Christian calendar.

Finding the stela was a meritorious discovery but the possibility that the gold mask might be hidden or buried on site began to consume Loxley. He began directing operations with a new intensity and something he had stumbled across the previous day had kept him awake most of the night and on edge with anticipation ever since.

A sharp smack from behind startled him from his reverie. He turned to find Ashcroft inspecting a blood spot on his hand.

That little bastard was having lunch on my neck. There are times when I’d like to napalm the jungle just to kill every last one of these little bloodsuckers. Ashcroft flicked the body parts of the mosquito from the palm of his hand and wiped the sweat from his brow with the same hand.

It looks like the goons are quitting for ‘Silly Ester'. Siesta, silly ester. Get it? Ashcroft sniggered. Inventing ‘Spanglish’ was one of the ways Ashcroft forced humor from an otherwise serious mind; a feeble attempt to be lighthearted by an otherwise unhappy man.

Loxley ignored the inane remark as he watched the workmen disappearing into the shadows. He considered for a moment what to do. Ashcroft irritated him at times too, though they had worked together on and off for twenty years. Ashcroft could be a real pain in the ass with his whining and complaining unless he was kept busy. Loxley turned to face him.

Come with me. There’s something I want to show you and now is probably the best time to do it. Come on. Loxley commanded and marched off in the direction of the pyramid.

Don’t tell me they delivered a new ‘latrino’ and you want me to be the one to christen it. Ashcroft sniggered again at his Spanglish for a portable toilet.

Believe me, David, if that were the case I’d have a pipe band on hand to celebrate the occasion. No, it’s something that may be of real interest to you, a challenge to your ingenuity. Loxley reached the base of the pyramid and started to climb.

You’re not thinking of climbing up now are you, Lyndon? It’s the hottest part of the day, for Christ’s sake. The last word came out of David Ashcroft’s mouth with a whining intensity.

That is exactly why I want to do this now, while there’s nobody else about. Loxley kept climbing.

Well if it’s that important. Ashcroft sighed and looked hard at the first intimidating stone. Then he began to climb.

Nohoch Mul is a tough climb for a fit man on a cool day. At 138 feet, with 120 steps, it is the second highest pyramid built by the Maya. The temple of the Jaguar at Tikal in Guatemala is just seven feet higher. At two in the afternoon the temperature was ninety-two degrees with the relative humidity right at eighty percent. Halfway up Loxley stopped to rest. He turned and sat down on the stone step. Breathing hard, he watched Ashcroft laboring up the steps. A lean, wiry man in his mid-fifties, Loxley’s prematurely white hair belied his strength and fitness. Ashcroft was ten years his junior but struggled to haul the extra twenty five pounds of body fat he carried up the steep and rugged stairway.

Only the white man is stupid enough to do this in the middle of the day, Ashcroft gasped, sweat streaming down his face and dripping from his chin. I hope this is worth it, he said to Loxley, turning to sit down beside him.

I believe it will be, said Loxley, and as Ashcroft was about to sit down he stood up and started climbing again.

It had better be, said Ashcroft under his breath.

~~~~

Chapter 3

It was the last week of April. A clear blue sky and a windless day enhanced the heat of the sun. The bright light irradiated the clearings with skin-pricking intensity and transformed the underside of the jungle canopy into a theatrical patchwork of spotlights and shadows. A large flock of green parrots swooped down with raucous indignation over the shade tree encampment. None of the men lying in hammocks or sprawled on the ground seemed to notice.

A solitary tattered armchair that revealed the white kapok stuffing in a few places, like cysts of fatty mass, occupied a place of prominence. As if some royal throne, the old armchair sat at the head of the camp circle, every other placement seemingly deferent to its authority.

Luis Kintal came out of the thatched stick cabana eating a rolled tortilla filled with cochinillo, a stew made from all the parts of a suckling pig. He ambled over to the armchair and sat down. A muffled groan escaped his mouth as he eased his body down. After forty-eight years, a lifetime of toil sometimes spoke with an involuntary voice. He put his feet up on a log and consumed the rest of the tortilla with slow relish. Reviewing the sleeping workers in front of him, he wondered what they would all be doing when the dig shut down for the hurricane season. Some he knew would go up to Cancún to find work in the tourist zone. Some would stay and work the land around the pueblo. Some would just stay drunk on cane liquor and sponge off relatives and friends until the next season came around. He considered it fortunate that he and a few of the key workers were paid a retainer to stay on and run security around the excavations and do preparatory ground clearing for proposed excavations.

From his position in the armchair Luis Kintal had a perfect view of Nohoch Mul. The majesty of the crumbling pyramid temple never ceased to amaze him and filled him with pride that he was a direct descendent of a great civilization that built this pyramid. His eyes were just beginning to close when he caught sight of the two figures emerging above the tree line climbing the main stairway. He recognized immediately the profiles of Loxley and Ashcroft. What were they up to now? They rarely stopped for siesta and usually checked on the work that had been done so far that day. Or they gave lectures and instruction to the students. They rarely climbed the pyramid in the heat of the day. Kintal wondered what was motivating them to do so now.

Nohoch Mul wasn’t the easiest of climbs at the best of times. The pyramid was steep and some parts of the stairway were eroded away. In places the steps were irregular and here and there cracked stones were working loose. He watched the apelike movements of the two men as they used their hands to balance and steady their climb. Loxley was leading the way as he almost always did with everything. Ashcroft was following at his master’s heels like an obedient dog.

Luis Kintal respected Loxley for his knowledge of the ancient Maya and his ability to command. But he did not particularly like the man. Kintal did not like Ashcroft at all. As the two men reached the top and entered the black hole of the temple he wondered what they were doing. Loxley had been antsy ever since they had found the stela. Just before he dozed off, Luis Kintal thought he should climb Nohoch Mul that night to take a look.

The first instinct of the two men who reached the top of Nohoch Mul was not to gaze in wonder at the panorama around them but to seek refuge in the cool shadows of the temple out of the blistering sun. Both men stood drenched with sweat, breathing heavily, their eyes adjusting to the dim light. Finally Loxley spoke to Ashcroft.

I found something of interest yesterday and I want you to take a look.

A low-wattage bulb cast a dim light on an open trap door in the floor on the north side of the main temple room. A much brighter lamp from below illuminated the narrow steps that angled sharply down. Loxley was about to step through the opening when he stopped and looked Ashcroft squarely in the eye.

Yesterday afternoon they cleared the remaining dirt from the floor of the antechamber. I supervised the entire procedure. Quite by chance I happened to be alone down there when I dropped my chipping hammer. There was a hollow sound to the flagstone it fell on. It could well be a cache of some kind. I need you to help me figure out a way to lift that flagstone without disturbing anything around it and without breaking it.

Ashcroft’s beady blue eyes twinkled with interest as he listened to Loxley. The thought of another discovery and greater recognition was a little pick-me-up.

Well what are we waiting for? I didn’t climb this heap of rocks in the hottest part of the day for nothing! Ashcroft always enjoyed those rare moments when he could be commanding with Loxley. Usually it was the other way around.

Loxley stepped through the opening and began a backwards descent down the steep narrow steps. Halfway down, a stone platform redirected the steps ninety degrees. At this point an air shaft that ran to the outside wall of the pyramid drew in wafts of cool air. Both men stopped for a moment during the descent to indulge in a draft of the cool fresh air.

Taking a work lamp hanging on a wood peg set in a finger hole drilled into the limestone, Loxley switched it on and ducked under a lintel over the portal of the chamber. Ashcroft watched as he pulled up on the electric cord and then his head and shoulders disappeared as he stood upright within the chamber. When he moved aside from the opening Ashcroft himself ducked inside.

The size of the chamber was approximately fifteen feet by twelve feet with a low ceiling, a large part of which had caved in at some point allowing the rubble core of the pyramid to fall into the chamber. It had taken three weeks full-time work just to shore up the overhead gaping hole so that workers could safely continue to excavate the rubble. Ashcroft’s expertise in engineering had made that possible. It had been dangerous work. The odds of another cave-in had been very high. It had been necessary to first shore up and support that part of the ceiling that remained before work could begin on the gaping hole.

Sifting and removing the debris went quickly to begin with until it was discovered to everyone's astonishment that the remains of a sculptured fresco lay behind the dirt on the back wall. It had taken more than three months to reveal the carved and painted stone glyph. Unfortunately the cave-in had badly scratched the surface paint but large patches of the original pigment in the hollows of the relief were unharmed. The stone carving depicted the upside-down figure of the God Chac descending from the heavens.

Loxley had given the job of directing this work to Steve Reed. It had proved to be an excellent project for training the students that made up the teams during the season. Reed had done an exemplary job and what remained of the original art work was impressive and quite beautiful. Some restoration work was planned for the next season. In the meantime the chamber was to be sealed up before they shut down the dig.

As Ashcroft stared at the discovery that his engineering had made possible, Loxley sat on his haunches and set the lamp on the floor. He took out a chipping hammer from his satchel. The floor was made up of large flagstones about two feet square. They were cut from limestone and fit tightly together.

Listen carefully, he said to Ashcroft, passing him the lamp.

Hold it up higher. That’s better. Now listen to this, and he began tapping. One by one he tapped the four flagstones that flanked the one of interest, shuffling around sideways like a crab in a crouched position as he did so. The four stones produced a solid thud and