The Sunbird Read online

  We knew that the Phoenicians made human sacrifices to their gods and goddesses. The Old Testament describes the infants delivered to the flaming belly of Baal, and we wondered what dreadful ritual our peaceful emerald pool had seen, depicting the victim dressed in gold and finery and poised on the edge of the pool with the high priest lifting the sacrificial knife.

  ‘If only it weren’t so deep!’ Sally exclaimed. ‘Ben wanted to get divers to go down, but he says they wouldn’t work so deep.’

  In the area between the inner and outer walls of the temple, where the layer of ash lay thick and where the majority of golden beads and richer ornaments had been discovered, we drew in the quarters of the priests and priestesses. This would be a maze of mud walls with thatched roofs. We reconstructed the streets and courts of the priests and nobles.

  ‘What about the king and his court?’ Peter demanded. ‘Wouldn’t they live within the main walls also?’

  So we divided the area between the quarters of the priests and the court of the king, drawing on what little we knew of Knossos, Carthage and Tyre and Sidon to give our paintings life. Ral had found the gate through the outer wall, it was the only opening and it looked towards the west.

  ‘From it a road would have led directly down to the harbour.’ Sally drew it in.

  ‘Yes, but there would have been a market, a place of trade beside the harbour,’ Ral suggested, and pointed to the map. ‘This would be it. The area Peter has been puzzling over.’

  ‘Can you imagine the piles of ivory and copper and gold.’ Leslie sighed.

  ‘And the slaves standing on the blocks to be sold,’ Heather agreed.

  ‘Hold it! Hold it! This is supposed to be a scientific investigation.’ I tried to restrain them.

  ‘And the ships lying on the beach.’ Sally started to paint them in. ‘Huge biremes with their prows shaped like rams’ heads, covered with gilt and enamel.’

  The walls and towers rose again, the lake refilled with bright waters, and the harbours and taverns were peopled with hosts dead for two thousand years. Warriors strutted, and slaves whined, noble ladies rode in their litters, caravans poured in from the land to the east laden with gold and treasure, and a white king strode out through the great stone gates with a resetted shield on his shoulder and his armour asparkle in the sun.

  The project was fun, and it served also to prod our imagination. By the time Sally had put the last touches to our painting, four weeks had passed, and as a direct result of it Peter had discovered the shipyards suggested by Sally’s biremes beached below the city.

  There was the keel of a ship laid on the slip, with the main frames in place. The unfinished vessel had been burned, and its charred parts scattered. Only imagination and faith could recognise it as a ship. I knew my scientific opponents would challenge it, but carbon 14 on the charred wood gave us an approximate date of AD 300, the date which we had defined as that of the ‘great fire’.

  The project gave me an excuse to spend more of my time with Sally. I began taking my lunch and bathing costume up to the cavern. At first there was an awkwardness between us, but I worked hard at setting Sally at ease and soon we were back in that friendly bantering relationship that made us such a good working team. Only once I referred back to our more intimate association.

  ‘Have you still got the blues, Sal?’ I asked, and she gave me a long frank gaze before replying.

  ‘Please give me time, Ben. There is something I have to work out with myself.’

  ‘Okay.’ I smiled as cheerfully as I could, and resigned myself to a long, long wait.

  Sometimes the others joined our lunchtime sessions at the pool, for even when the heat was a hissing 115° outside, it was cool in the cavern. We splashed and shouted, and the echoes boomed back at us. One of my indelible memories is that of Leslie clad in a frilly little pink bikini romping skittishly around the pool like a lady hippopotamus in the mating season, pursued by the indefatigable Ral.

  Five weeks after my return I went up to the cavern with good news.

  ‘I just received a radio message from Larkin, Sal, Louren is arriving tomorrow.’

  I was disappointed in her negative reaction, because I was sure she had overcome her initial dislike of Louren for my sake - and that she had begun to like him.

  I went to meet Louren at the airstrip, and I was shocked. He had lost 20 lb in weight, and his skin which usually glowed with golden health was now chalky grey. Beneath his eyes were smears of dark plum that looked like bruises.

  ‘Ben! ’ He put an affectionate arm around my shoulder and squeezed. ‘It’s good to see you, you old bastard.’ But his voice was weary and I noticed the threads of silver at bis temples which were newly acquired.

  ‘My God, Lo, you look terrible.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He grinned wryly, and slung his bags into the back of the Land-Rover.

  ‘Seriously, Lo. Are you sick or something?’ I was distressed to see him looking so ill and haggard.

  ‘I’ve been on a rough one, Ben,’ he confided as he climbed into the Land-Rover beside me. ‘Four weeks at the bargaining table, I had to do it all myself - could not trust anyone else to handle it. The other side sent in teams, changing them when they were worn out.’

  ‘You’re going to kill yourself,’ I scolded him, sounding a little like a nagging wife. And he leaned across, punched my arm lightly, and laughed.

  ‘You’re a shot in the arm, partner.’

  ‘Was it worth it? What was it about?’

  ‘It’s big, Ben! E – bloody – normous! Copper and iron. South West Africa, near the Cunene River, massive ore bodies lying in association, low-grade copper and high-grade iron – together they are a treasure chest.’ The weary tone was gone from his voice. ‘I put those little Jap bastards over the table and I roasted their arses. They will put in the finance for a deep-water harbour and a railway line to get the stuff out. That will cost them 150 million.’ He was exultant, colour coming back into the pale cheeks. ‘One of my companies will do the construction work, of course.’ He touched a finger to his lips in a conspiratory gesture and I giggled delightedly. I enjoyed him in this mood. ‘I’ll put up for the pelletization plant and… ’ He went on to outline the scheme, laughing and punching my arm when he recounted each bargaining point on which he had scored.

  ‘What will it make for you?’ I asked at last, and he looked at me, slightly put down.

  ‘You mean in terms of money?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure! What else?’

  ‘Hell, Ben. I’ve explained it before. That’s not the important thing. It’s not money, it’s exports and employment, and opening up new resources, and building for the future, realizing the potential of our country and - and—’

  ‘And getting one hell of a kick out of it,’ I suggested.

  He laughed again. ‘You are too shrewd, Ben. I suppose that’s a lot of it. The game, not the score.’

  ‘Have you seen last week’s Time magazine?’ I asked. I knew it would needle him.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Ben,’ he protested.

  ‘Your name is on the list of the world’s thirty richest men.’

  ‘Those bastards,’ he muttered darkly. ‘Now everybody doubles their prices. Why don’t they mind their own business and let me get on with mine.’

  ‘And in the process you are killing yourself.’

  ‘You’re right, Ben. I do feel a little spent, so I’m taking a week. A whole week’s holiday.’

  ‘Big deal,’ I sneered, ‘a holiday with your BYM arriving every half-hour for conferences, and the rest of the time with you hanging over the radio set.’

  ‘Forget it,’ he smiled. I’m getting away, and you’re coming with me.‘

  ‘What do you mean, Lo? I asked.

  ‘Tell you later.’ He avoided the question for we were approaching the branch in the dirt track, and I automatically slowed to turn down to the huts.

  ‘Straight on, Ben,’ Louren instructed. ‘I want to go up to the cavern.
I’ve been thinking of that place for weeks.’ His voice went soft and reflective. ‘When things got really tough there at the table, I’d think about the peace and tranquillity of that place. It seemed to…’ He stopped, and coughed with embarrassment. Louren doesn’t often talk that way.

  Sally was working at the rear wall of the cavern. She wore a green silk blouse and tailored khaki slacks, with her hair loose and shiny. As she looked up to greet Louren, I saw with mild surprise that she wore lipstick for the first time in weeks.

  She noticed his haggard features immediately, and I saw the concern in her eyes although she said nothing about it. Her greeting was subdued, almost offhand, and she turned back to her easel. Louren went immediately to the portrait of the white king. I drifted across to join him and we sat in a friendly relaxed silence examining the strange, figure, Louren spoke first.

  ‘Do you get the feeling he’s trying to tell you something, Ben?’

  It was a fanciful question for Louren, but I treated it with respect for he was clearly in deadly earnest.

  ‘No, Lo, I can’t say that I do.’

  ‘There is something here, Ben,’ he said with certainty ‘Something you - we have overlooked. The key to this place, the whole secret of it is in this cavern.’

  ‘Well, Lo. we could…’ I began but he wasn’t listening. Sally left her easel and came to join us, she sat beside Louren and watched his face with complete attention.

  ‘This feeling has never let me down, Ben. Do you remember the Desolation Valley mine? My geologists gave it a thumbs down, but I had this feeling. Do you remember?’

  I nodded. Desolation Valley was now yielding twenty thousand carats of gem diamonds a month.

  ‘There is something here. I am sure of it, but where?’ He turned to stare at me, as though I had hidden whatever he was searching for, ‘Where is it, Ben? The floor, the walls, the roof?’

  ‘And the pool,’ I said,

  ‘All right, let’s start with the pool,’ he agreed.

  ‘It’s too deep, Lo. No diver—’

  ‘What do you know about diving?’ he demanded.

  ‘Well, I’ve dived a couple of times.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Ben!’ he interrupted brusquely. ‘When I need a heart operation I go to Chris Barnard, not the local vet. Who is the best diver in the world?’

  ‘Cousteau, I suppose.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll get my people on to him. That takes care of the pool. Now the floor—’

  Dealing with Louren is like being caught in a hurricane. At the end of an hour, he had outlined a scheme for a thorough investigation of the cavern, and at last he suggested casually, ‘Okay, Ben. Why don’t you go on back to camp. I’d like an hour or so alone here.’ I was reluctant to miss a minute of his company but I stood up immediately.

  ‘Are you coming, Sal?’ I asked. Louren wanted to be alone.

  ‘Oh, Ben. I’m in the middle of—’

  ‘That’s okay, Ben,’ Louren told me, ‘she won’t disturb me.’ And I left them in the cavern.

  The guest hut was long ago prepared, but I went with one of the servants to supervise the unpacking of Louren’s bags. I noticed that someone had cut a spray of the wild cave-lilies that grew under the cliffs, and placed them in a beer tankard beside the bed. I meant to compliment the Matabele who acted as our cook, butler and housekeeper for this thoughtful little touch. It relieved the bleakness of the hut.

  After checking Louren’s accommodation I went down to the big bungalow and made sure there was ice in the refrigerator and plenty of cold water. Then I cracked the seal on a fresh bottle of Glen Grant - Louren and I have a common fondness for this nectar. While I was busy with the whisky bottle, Ral and Leslie came in off the dig and I heard them clump into the office next door. I did not intend eavesdropping, but the partition walls were paper-thin.

  Ral growled like an enraged beast, and Leslie squealed.

  ‘Oh, you are naughtyl’ she cried breathlessly, and it was clear that she had been physically molested. ‘Someone will catch you doing that.’

  ‘As long as they don’t catch me doing what I’m going to do tonight,’ Ral declared.

  ‘Shh!’ Leslie enjoined silence, but to no avail.

  ‘Five weeks. I thought he’d never come. I was going mad.’

  ‘Oh, Rally Dally darling,’ wheezed Leslie in high passion.

  ‘Toodles, my little Toodles,’ Ral replied, and I blushed for them. Silently I set down the bottle and stole from the room. I was slightly puzzled as to how Louren’s arrival, for that was obviously what Ral was referring to, could make such a dramatic improvement in their physical relationship, and I envied them for I had no such expectation.

  We were all of us sick to the stomach with a diet of canned and preserved food. Louren had brought with him a full load of fresh fruit, vegetables and meat. That night we had a sucking pig, golden brown in its suit of crackling, with roast potatoes, green peas and a gigantic bowl of fresh salad. There was very little conversation at the dinner-table.

  Once the dishes were cleared, Louren lit a cigar, I refilled the glasses and we all settled down in a circle about Louren. First I reported to Louren the discovery of the quarry, and the deductions we had made from it. This led on to an exhibition of Sally’s reconstruction of the city.

  I had not expected Louren to react the way he did. I had thought he might be mildly amused, as we were, not that he would accept our fantasy as proven fact. He worked himself into a fever of excitement, jumping up from his chair to examine each illustration, firing his abrupt searching questions at us, or simply sitting hunched forward in his seat staring at the painting with glitter-eyed concentration. His face was still pale and ravaged, which gave an almost demented intensity to his expression.

  Sally, with a touch of canny showmanship, had kept the painting of the white king for the last. As she lifted it onto the board I saw Louren stiffen in his seat. The white king was in full battle armour, helmet and breastplate in glistening bronze, shield slung, and a short sword girt around his waist. His red-gold beard was curled and clubbed, and his bearing regal. His attendants followed him through the gates of the high outer wall, one carried his battle-axe, another his bow and a quiver of arrows, a third bore the golden chalice of eternal life.

  Sally had lavished patient skill upon this particular illustration, and it was the most impressive of the whole series. We all stared at it in silence until suddenly I uncrossed my legs and leaned forward quickly, spilling a little of my whisky in my surprise. I had not noticed it before, the golden beard had masked it, but now I realized suddenly whom Sally had used as her model for the white king. I turned to stare at Louren, and there was the same deep forehead, the noble brow above wide-set piercing pale blue eyes, the same straight nose with delicately chiselled nostrils, and the proud curve of mouth with the slightly sensual pout of the lower lip.

  ‘Ben!’ His voice was husky, he did not take his eyes off the portrait. ‘This is remarkable -I hadn’t realized until this evening what this meant. Up to now it was just intriguing blocks of stone, and a few beads and scraps of gold. I never really thought about the people. That’s the important thing, Ben! These men that voyaged to the ends of their world; that built something magnificent in the wilderness—’ He broke off, and shook his head slowly, considering the magnitude, the grandeur of it. Then he turned to me.

  ‘Ben. We have got to find out what happened to them, and their city. I don’t care how long it takes, how much it costs. I have got to know.’

  Now he stubbed out his cigar and jumped up from his chair, began pacing with a barely controlled violence.

  ‘It’s about time we announced this, Ben. I will set up a Press conference. I’ll want you all there to explain it. The world must know about these men.’

  My stomach dropped steeply with alarm, and I stuttered a protest.

  ‘But, Lo, we can’t do that. Not now, not yet - please!’

  ‘Why not?’ He wheeled on me belligerently.


  ‘We haven’t got enough proof yet.’ I went chill with horror, as I thought how my critics would hang, draw and quarter me if I went out on the stage with such a sorry script. ‘They’ll scalp us, Lo. They’ll tear us to pieces.’

  ‘We’ll show them these.’ He pointed at the paintings.

  ‘God!’ I shuddered at the thought. ‘Those are just conjecture, fantasy, in that picture the only single detail we could substantiate would be the chalice.’

  Louren stared at me, but I saw the madness fading in his eyes. Suddenly he laughed guiltily, and struck his forehead with the heel of his hand.

  ‘Wow!’ he laughed. ‘I must be tired! For a moment there those paintings were real, from life!’ He went to stand before the painting again and examined it wistfully. ‘I’ve got to know, Ben,’ he said again, ‘I’ve just got to know.’

  The following day, while we ate lunch beside the emerald pool, Louren told me how he and I were to get away together. He used Sally’s charcoal stick to draw on the flat surface of a rock.

  ‘Here we are, and here sixty-five miles to the north-east are the ruins at Doinboshaba. If your theories are correct then there was an ancient caravan route between the two cities You and I are going to take the Land-Rover. and go crosscountry, trying to pick up the old trail.’

  ‘It’s pretty rough country,’ I pointed out, without enthusiasm. ‘Completely unexplored, no roads, no water.’

  ‘And no BYM,’ Louren smiled.

  ‘That makes it irresistible.’ I returned his smile, remembering that this was therapeutic not scientific. ‘When do we leave?’

  ‘Tomorrow morning at first light.’

  It was still dark when I awoke, and my bedside clock showed four-thirty. It was too late to go back to sleep and too early to get up. I was pondering the problem when the door of the hut opened stealthily and, as I prepared to repel burglars, Ral’s hairy head silhouetted by the moonlight appeared around the jamb.

  He had given me a fright so I shouted at him, ‘What are you doing?’