Death of a Burrowing Mole

the chap with his hunting when he reached the next world, sir? Why was it thought it had to do with magic?’

‘Grahame Clark argues that, if the intention was simply to provide an aid to future hunting, the entire body of the bird would have been there and not merely its head.’

‘Strange how this theory of a life after death dates back far, far earlier than so-called Christian times,’ said Bonamy.

‘You would think that the lives lived by Bronze Age people were so nasty and brutish that they certainly wouldn’t want to have another bucketful of existence, no matter what form it took,’ said Tom. ‘From these grave- trappings it seems they didn’t think it would be any different from life here on earth. Could they really have wanted a second innings?’

‘Their lives were not only nasty and brutish, Mr Hassocks. They were also (to complete your quotation) short. It is doubtful whether many of them extended to more than between forty and fifty years.’

‘Oh, well, after the age of fifty I suppose most of us will be living on borrowed time,’ said Bonamy. To cover up what he saw immediately as a somewhat tactless remark to a man who must have been very near, if not beyond, his fiftieth year, he added hastily, ‘I except my godmother, of course, but, then, I really believe that she is indestructible.’

‘I sincerely hope that you are right,’ said Veryan. He nodded amiably and left them to their labours. They worked on their clearance of the gatehouse for a bit and then, easing off, Bonamy said, ‘I see that Saltergate has joined Fiona in the keep and turfed Susannah out to join Mrs Saltergate and Priscilla on the perimeter to do the lighter work. You know, Tom, from what we know now, it looks to me as though the vested interests may clash – Veryan and Saltergate, I mean.’

‘Why should they? Everybody has been warned by Saltergate that none of the activities is to interfere with Veryan’s dig.’

‘Only because he thinks, as we did, that the dig will be confined to the middle of the outer bailey. What if this earthwork, of which the ditch forms part, went out to where the flanking-towers and all the rest of that wall used to be?’

‘That isn’t our problem. Come on, let’s buckle to and show willing. If only my parents could see me now, they would be proud to have bred such thews and sinews!’

They heaved and sweated. Although, considering the bombardment it must have suffered, a surprising amount of the gatehouse was still standing, there was giant’s work to be done in removing the chunks of stone which blocked the entrance and in clearing up the rubble and small packing-stones which had helped to bind the larger blocks together.

‘Well, if this is your idea of a good way to spend the long vac,’ said Bonamy, when they knocked off for lunch, ‘what’s the matter with Dartmoor?’

‘Don’t weaken. Any day and at any time, somebody will find traces of a well and then we’re home and dry.’

‘You won’t be, when I’ve lowered you into the slimy depths in a bucket. Don’t go putting your hand into any holes, nooks or crevices on the way down. Remember The Treasure of Abbot Thomas.’

‘Who was he?’

‘Ignorance is bliss when it comes to the stories told by M. R. James. I suppose they’re fiction, but they carry such a stamp of authenticity that I’m never quite sure. Thomas was Abbot of Steinfeld and he is supposed to have buried some gold treasure in a well and, I suppose, put a curse on it.’

‘So what happened? I suppose somebody found out about the treasure and went to look for it and ran into trouble.’

‘You shall read all about it. The thing is that treasure buried in wells may be better left alone. I am not as anxious as I was to locate this well of yours.’

‘What has changed your mind? I thought you were as keen on the scheme as I am. Don’t tell me that a story by an ex-Provost of Eton College has affected you to this extent? What brought Abbot Thomas to your mind?’

‘I was pulling your leg about the story, brilliant and frightening (like most of his) though it is. What I don’t much like is this double-talk from Veryan. I know he told us we were to excavate a small Saxon burial ground. Now it turns out that we are to dig up what may be the remains of a Bronze Age chief.’

‘So what? You don’t think Veryan is a treasure-hunter like us?’

‘I don’t know. What I like least of all is the treble deal the owner of the estate has made with us, with Saltergate and with Veryan. At some point the various interests are bound to clash and then there is going to be trouble.’

‘Not necessarily. We’re all civilised people. I don’t think there is any chance that the fur will fly. All I care about is our well and, so far as that is concerned, it doesn’t matter who finds it so long as it’s located and nobody finds out why we’re so keen on it.’

‘Isn’t it going to attract attention when it’s seen that we are deepening it beyond what Saltergate thinks is necessary for his reconstruction?’

‘Remember the immortal advice, “Sit still and let Time pass”. In other words, some situations never arise, so be patient.’

Lights were on in the caravan when the two young men turned in on the following evening. The weather looked settled, the day had been hot and, although no work had been done in the afternoon, the two were aware of muscles which were responding adversely to unaccustomed manual labour. At dawn Tom woke Bonamy and they went outside for a breath or two of the fresh morning air before they returned to the keep to search for signs of a well.

They themselves had cleared enough space to be able to put up the camp-beds, but Saltergate and Fiona had made a complete clearance and that morning it became obvious that the water-supply to the garrison was not inside the keep itself, although it was probably not far away.

In one angle of the walls, which were sixteen feet thick (as a splayed tiny window indicated), there was the archway to the newel stair. They had climbed the stair in turn and more than once since their arrival, deeming the