The Sunbird

In reply she read aloud in a voice that was still choked up and muffled with tears, ‘Into Opet this day a caravan from the.’ she hesitated, ‘that piece is obscure but it goes on, In fingers of fine gold one hundred and twenty-seven pieces, of which a tenth part unto—’

‘What the hell is going on?’ Louren demanded. ‘What does all this mean?’

I turned to him. ‘It means we have found the archives of our city - completely intact and decipherable. We have the whole written history of our city, of our dead civilization, written by the people themselves in their own language. Their own words.’

Louren was staring at me. It was clear that the significance of our discovery had not yet occurred to him.

‘This, Lo, is what every archaeologist prays for. This is proof in its most absolute form, in its most detailed and elaborate form.’

He still didn’t seem to understand.

‘In one line of writing we have proved conclusively the existence of a people who spoke and wrote the ancient Punic of Carthage, who traded gold, who called their city Opet, who—’

‘And that’s only in one line of writing,’ Sally interrupted. ‘There are thousands of jars, each with its scroll of writings. We will know the names and deeds of their kings, their religion, their ceremonial—’

‘Their battles and strivings, where they came from and when.’ I took the verbal ball from Sally, but just as adroitly she snatched it back.

‘And where they went to and why!’

‘My God!’ Louren understood at last. ‘This is everything we’ve been looking for, Ben. It’s the whole bloody shebang and shooting-match rolled into one!’

‘The works!’ I agreed. ‘The whole ruddy lot!’

Within an hour of my triumph, right at the zenith of my career when nothing but the prospect of fame and brilliant success lay ahead of me, Dr Sally Benator managed to bring it all crashing down around me.

We were sitting in the same tight circle around the scroll, still talking eagerly, one of those talk sessions which could only end in the early morning, for already the Glen Grant bottle was out and all our throats were oiled, the words pouring out smoothly.

Sally had translated all the writing visible on the scroll. It was an accounting of trade into the city, a cataloguing of goods and values that in itself held intriguing references to places and peoples.

‘Twenty large amphora of the red wines of Zeng, taken by Habbakuk Lal of which a tenth part to the Gry-Lion.’

‘What’s a gry-lion?’ Louren’s hunter’s instincts were roused.

‘Gry is a superlative,’ Sally explained. ‘So a gry-lion is a great lion. Probably a title of the king or governor of the city.’

‘From the grass seas of the south one hundred and ninety-two large tusks of ivory in all two- hundred and twenty-one talents in weight of which a tenth part to the Gry-Lion and the balance outwards on the bireme of Al-Muab Adbm.’

‘How much is a talent?’ Louren asked.

‘About 56 pounds avoirdupois.’

‘My God, that’s over 10,000 lb of ivory, in one load,’ Louren whistled. ‘They must have been great little hunters.’

We had discussed in detail every line of exposed writing, and again Louren’s impatience came to the surface.

‘Let’s unroll a little more,’ he suggested.

‘That’s a job for an expert, Lo.’ I shook my head regretfully. ‘That leather has been rolled up for nearly 2,000 years. It’s so dry and brittle it will fall to pieces if it isn’t done correctly.’

‘Yes,’ Sally agreed with me. ‘It will take me weeks to do each one.’

Her presumption left me flabbergasted. Her practical knowledge of palaeography and ancient writings was limited to three years as a third assistant to Hamilton. I doubted if she had actually done much work on preservation and preparation of leather or papyrus scrolls. She could read Punic with about the same aplomb as the average ten-year-old can read Shakespeare, and she was taking it for granted that she would be placed in sole control of one of the greatest hoards of ancient writings ever discovered.

She must have read my expression, for her own alarm showed clearly.

‘I am to do the work, aren’t I, Ben?’

I tried to make it easier for her, I do not like hurting anyone, let alone the girl I love.

‘It’s an enormous and difficult job, Sal. I really think we should try and get someone like Hamilton himself, or Levy from Tel Aviv, even Rogers from Chicago.’ I saw her face starting to fall to pieces, the lips drooping and trembling, the eyes clouding, and I went on hurriedly. ‘But I’m sure we can arrange for you to become first assistant to whoever does the work.’

There was a deadly silence for five seconds, and during that time Sally’s despair changed swiftly to a blind all- consuming rage. I saw it coming like a build-up of storm clouds but I was powerless to divert it.

‘Benjamin Kazin,’ she began with deceptive softness of voice, ‘I think you are the most unmitigated bastard it has ever been my misfortune to meet. For three long difficult years I have given you my complete and unswerving loyalty—’

Then she lost control and it was a splendid spectacle. Even while her words lashed my soul raw and bleeding I could still admire the flashing eyes, the flushing cheeks and the masterly choice of invective.