I stared at him, and he went on remorselessly, ‘If you have betrayed me and your country, if you have gone over to our enemies, then you can expect no mercy from me.’
‘Not you also, Lo. I don’t think I can stand that.’
‘Is it true?’ he demanded.
‘No!’ I shook my head. ‘No! No!’ And suddenly there were tears streaming down my face and I was shaking and blubbering like a baby. Louren leaned forward and gripped my shoulder hard.
‘Okay, Ben.’ He spoke with infinite gentleness and pity. ‘It’s okay, partner. I’ll fix it. It’s all over now, Ben.’
Louren would not let me go back to my bachelor quarters at the Institute, and I was installed in a guest suite at Kleine Schuur, the Sturvesant residence.
The first night Louren woke me from a screaming nightmare of blood and mocking black faces. He was in a dressing-gown, with his golden curls disordered from sleep. He sat on the side of my bed, and we talked of the good, sane things we had done together and the things we would do together in the future, until at last I slipped off into untroubled sleep.
For ten lazy, idyllic days I stayed at Kleine Schuur, spoiled by Hilary and fussed by the children, protected from the news-hungry Press, and sheltered from the realities and alarums of the outside world. The bruises faded, the scabs dried and fell away, and I found it more and more difficult to respond to the children’s cry of ‘Story’ with something new. They shouted the punch-lines in chorus, and corrected me on the details. It was time to go back into the stream.
In one unpleasant day-long session I told the story of the hijacking at the public inquiry, and afterwards faced the Press of the world. Then Louren flew me north in the Lear jet, back to the City of the Moon.
On the way I told him how I intended to find the stone quarries - and then the tombs of the ancients.
When he grinned and told me, ‘That’s the tiger - get in there, boy, and tear the bottom out of it!’ I realized that I had been enthusing and emoting a little. I remembered old Xhai’s imitation of the Sunbird, and put my fluttering hands firmly back in my lap.
A hero’s welcome was waiting for me at the City of the Moon, they had followed my adventures on the radio. But now they opened a case of Windhoek beer and sat round me in a circle while I told the whole story again.
‘That Timothy, he always gave me a funny feeling.’ Solemnly Sally demonstrated her amazing gift of hindsight. ‘I could have told you there was something fishy about him.’ Then she stood up and came to kiss me on the forehead in front of them all, while I blushed crimson. ‘Anyway, we are glad you’re safe, Ben. We were so worried about you.’
The next morning, after I had driven Louren to the airstrip and watched him take off, I went looking for Ral Davidson. I found him in the bottom of a trench measuring a slab of sandstone. He was covered by a skimpy pair of shorts and a mass of hair that almost completely obscured his features, but he was burned a deep mahogany brown by the sun and was lean and fit. I had become very fond of him. We sat on the edge of the trench dangling our feet over the side, and I explained to him about the quarry.
‘Gee, Doc! Why didn’t we think of that before?’ he enthused. That evening we drew up an elaborate search pattern, with a schedule to enlarge the area of search in expanding spirals each day. Ral’s gang was temporarily withdrawn from the excavations within the temple, and armed with machetes for the assault on the thick, spiny vegetation on top of the cliffs.
The whole search was planned like a military operation. I had been dying to find an opportunity to use the walkie-talkie radio sets with which Louren had, unbidden, supplied us. This was it. Ral and I checked the radios, shouting things like ‘Over to you’ and ‘Roger!’ and ‘Read you five five!’ at each other.
Peter Willcox muttered something about ‘boy scouts’, but I think he was a little jealous that he hadn’t been invited to join the search. Leslie and Sally, however, were infected by our enthusiasm and they victualled the expedition with sufficient food and drink to keep an army bloated and drunk for a week. They turned out in a pink dawn, still in their pyjamas and dressing-gowns, Leslie with her hair in curlers, to wave us off and wish us luck. At the head of my gang of stalwarts, laden with food and equipment, feeling a little like Scott or bold Cortez, I led them towards the gap in the cliffs which had become our regular route to the top - and ten hours later, sweaty, bedraggled, scratched by thorns, stung by hippo fly and other insects, broiled by the sun and in a filthy temper, I led them down again.
We repeated this routine daily for the next ten days, and on the tenth evening when we paused halfway down the gap in the cliff to rest, Ral suddenly looked at the steep sides of the gap and said in a voice of wonder:
‘Gee, Doc! This is it!’
For ten days we had been using the steps cut by the ancients into their quarry. Thick growth had covered the neat terraces from which they had sawn the red stone. We found some of the half-formed blocks of masonry still
We cleared the undergrowth from around them and were then able to follow each fascinating step of the process of manufacture. The whole team came up to assist. They were jubilant with this new success, for we had all been a little put down with the recent total lack of progress. We sketched and mapped, measured and photographed, argued and theorized, and there was an evident renaissance of enthusiasm in all of us. The feeling that we had reached a dead end in the investigation was dispelled. I have a photograph, taken by one of the Bantu foremen who thought us all mad. We are clowning it up, posing on one of the bigger blocks of masonry. Peter strikes a Napoleonic attitude, hand in the breast of his jacket. Ral’s hairy visage is adorned with a ferocious squint, and he poises a pick-axe murderously above Peter’s head. Leslie is coyly showing a little cheesecake, and that is almost as bad as Ral’s squint, with those legs she could kick elephants to death. I am sitting on Heather’s lap, sucking my thumb. Sally has Peter’s glasses on her nose and my hat pulled down over her ears, she is trying to look hideous, but failing resoundingly. This photograph illustrates the mood of those days.
After their assistance was no longer needed, the others went back to their separate tasks with renewed energy. Ral and I stayed on in the quarry. I brought up my theodolite and we set about calculating its extent and the amount of masonry removed from it. It was impossible to measure accurately the irregular excavation, but we decided that approximately a million and a half cubic yards of rock had been removed.
Then by a study of the method of quarrying and using the volume of abandoned blocks as a very rough guide, we guessed that the ratio of dressed finished blocks to waste material would be about 40 :60. Finally we arrived at
