The Spanish Helmet (31 page)

‘Bugger, I’m really sorry mate. Is there anything I can do? Are you coming back for the funeral?’

‘No, I’ll stay down here and keep looking into his work.’

‘That’s also honourable, Matthew. I’d have been blessed to have had a son like you. But God apparently didn’t have the same plans as me.’

Matthew was touched by Warren’s words. A tear formed in the corner of his eye, but he was able to wipe it away before Aimee noticed.

‘Do you want me to go the funeral in your place? Pay your respects on your behalf?’

‘Would you do that, Warren?’

‘Sure, I’d do anything.’

‘That would be great. Thanks, it means a lot to me.’

‘Look, it’s no problem. You don’t even think on it, alright?’

‘OK,’ Matt answered.

‘So where will you go from here?’ Warren asked. ‘Have you got some more direction since you got to Dunedin?’

‘We sure have,’ Matt answered, happy to change the direction of the conversation back to the rumoured Spanish. He continued to tell Warren about the meetings with the Maori elders and on the marae, and how excited they were to have found what they think will be the location where there apparently were Spanish people settled long before Tasman or Cook came by. Warren sounded excited too. He even said he wished he could be there with them, exploring Murdering Beach, seeing if they could find the cave.

‘Will you call me as soon as you find the cave? Will you let me know if you find anything?’ Warren asked.

‘Of course I will,’ Matt answered. ‘You’ll be the first person to know.’

‘I’m very happy for you Matt. Sorry about your father, but happy that you’re having a successful time over here.’

‘Thanks Warren, and thanks for going to my father’s funeral. It’s real decent of you.’

‘I’ll hear from you tomorrow then?’

‘You will.’

Matt said his goodbyes and ended the call. He looked over at Aimee who had quite obviously listened in.

‘That man amazes me,’ Matt said. ‘Even after I leave him in the lurch and go traipsing off with some other theory, he remains the most supportive person I have known in my life.’

‘More supportive than me?’
Aimee’s voice was teasing.

Matt laughed. ‘OK... one of the most supportive people I have ever known.’

‘Let’s hope we have something exciting to call and tell him about tomorrow then.’ Aimee smiled.

Matt nodded in agreement. There was hope. The way things had panned out for them so far had left Matt feeling optimistic. If they could find the cave tomorrow, and find some evidence there of a Spanish settlement, that would be the best phone call that Matt would ever make. He knew that his pride would be shared by Warren and Aimee. If he could make that call, Matt’s life would change forever.

Sunday, February 6, 1527

The San Lesmes is fully repaired and again sea-worthy. She sits on our makeshift dry dock/launch ramp, awaiting her first visit back to the salty waters since almost three months. We, however, are not ready to leave. The people of our village have made us feel so at home that departing from them to attempt a fool-hardy return to Spain is far from our minds. Rather, we will stay here and establish a church and explore these lands. When we are fully settled here, some of us will return to Spain with news of the new colony and bring back more settlers. That is, assuming that we aren’t first joined by further Spanish explorers.

I have been learning the Waitaha language from Hine, the daughter of the chief. Her name also means girl. I have since learned that her father’s name, Tane, is the word for man. But not all the villagers are so simply named. Many of the names are very hard to pronounce.

Hine is very patient with me, and she too has been a good student, picking up our own Español with flair. Hardly a minute of waking time goes by without her at my side. I wouldn’t choose it any other way. Some of the hunters from the village look at me a little oddly, but Tane just laughs it off, saying that Hine only has eyes for me now. It amazes me how welcomed we have been. They treat us almost like Gods and we have been given many gifts of the fine jade which the majority of the villagers are involved in working.

Some of the other men have taken women. Two have married into the tribe. They have no intention of ever leaving. I wonder if the same could happen to me, such is the peacefulness of this place. I can imagine a life here, with Hine at my side. But I would also love to take her to my Spain, to show her a world like she cannot imagine.

Matthew felt like he was getting close. He manoeuvred the car up a narrow winding road, leaving the village of Port Chalmers behind them. They passed a memorial anchor by a lookout that watched over the wharfs below them, and continued to climb up through gorse-covered farmland. As they passed a forest on their left, Matthew stole a glance over his right shoulder at the view over the Otago Peninsula that ran parallel to this side of the harbour.

‘Sure is a stunning place.’

‘Yeah,’ Aimee said. ‘I actually feel a little stupid for never making it to this part of the country before. We Aucklanders tend to make fun of places like Dunedin, but now that I’ve seen it, I may never go back to that rat-race.’

Matt slowed the car as they approached a curve where the main road veered off to the right and a smaller gravel road continued straight on. Confirming that the sign pointed to Purakanui, Matt indicated left and continued straight on up the dusty road.
Just over 1km later he slowed again as they approached another fork in the road.

‘He said to go straight,’ Aimee said, referring to the man at the little Port Chalmers museum where they stopped for directions. ‘Not to continue to Purakanui, but rather to follow...’

Matt saw papers shuffling out the corner of his eye.

‘...Heyward Point Rd.’

Sure enough, the road to the right had a sign pointing to Heyward Point. Matt accelerated again and continued on the slightly narrower road. There was plenty of farming going on along here, and even a new ranch-like cluster of some lifestyle-type homes was under development. Matt got it though, the views were lovely. It just didn’t seem fitting that their destination had such a foreboding name. He saw the very narrow road leading off to the left and slowed to confirm the name of the road.

‘Murdering Beach Road.’
Matthew read aloud. ‘What do you know about this place?’

‘Only what May told us at the marae and a bit more info about it that I was able to scratch up in the museum back there.’

Matthew glanced across as Aimee pulled a booklet out of her satchel. She started to read it.

‘Murdering Beach is named for events that happened here in 1817,’ she said. ‘A sealing Brig from Tasmania anchored in the small bay here and the captain and some others went ashore to barter for potatoes, having seen smoke rising from the bay. When they got ashore, they were surprised to be greeted by a white man.’

‘A Spanish descendant?’ asked Matt, with mock hope.

‘No.’ Aimee laughed.
‘Another Australian that had been left there a few months earlier.’

‘Go on.’

Aimee continued to paraphrase the history she was reading. ‘It seems that partway through the trading a scream went up from the natives and they turned on the Australians and started attacking them. A few were killed on the beach, the captain... Captain Kelly... made it back to the ship with three other men. They were greeted by about 150 Maori who were trying to overthrow the ship. The chief was among them. Eventually the Maori were defeated, their chief killed, and the canoes destroyed. A lot of people died that day and no one is sure why the Maori suddenly attacked.’

‘Sounds terrible.’

‘Like this pretend-road.’

Matt had to agree. The road, if you could call it that, was now nothing more than a farmers track and as he drove the car down the grade towards the beach ahead of them, Matt couldn’t help but be a little nervous about the drop off to their left. The road was corrugated from channels of water that must form virtual torrents through here when it rained, and it was all Matt could do to keep the wheels from running into ruts and pulling the car from one side to the other. He didn’t want to become another statistic of Murdering Beach and so he concentrated now only on getting to the bottom and parking in a small area that would contain at most three or four vehicles. They climbed out of the car, grabbed their little day packs out of the boot, and looked across the bay towards the cliffs on the other side. There was a pretty little wooden hut, painted in fading dark red, tucked under the cliffs. On their right, the small waves rolled in on the warm golden sands. Birds made noises among the trees that clumped around the cliffs near the hut. Aside from the sea, the birds, and his own nervous heavy breathing, Matt could hear nothing else. He turned to Aimee.

‘OK, let’s do this.’

  * * *

Hemi slowed the car as he passed the fifty speed limit sign on the approach to Port Chalmers, looking around as he was greeted by a peaceful little town. A handful of shops, a post office-hardware store combination, a couple of little restaurants, and at the end of the road in front of them
a container port
that played host to two large European ships. With the surrounding stone buildings and the peaceful coastal drive from Dunedin to the port, Hemi had been momentarily taken back in time to memories of a New Zealand he had long missed.
Ice-creams in a cone and walks on the coast.

Warren broke his peace.

‘Aramoana is just a bit further along the coast here.’

‘Oh yeah,’ Hemi said, his dream disrupted by the memory of New Zealand’s worst massacre. As he turned up the road that led out of the town, Hemi briefly recalled what little he knew of the events of the 13th and 14th November 1990. He was only in primary school at the time, but the Aramoana massacre was big news and he at least knew that fourteen people, one of them the gunman, were killed.

‘Didn’t they make a movie about that recently?’ Hemi asked.

‘It’s called
Out of the Blue
,’ Warren answered. ‘Caused a bit of a stir in the village, but in the end it got off the ground. I haven’t seen it though.’

‘Me neither. One day perhaps.’

It was disconcerting for Hemi to hear Warren talk about gun-toting madmen when he knew that he was carrying a gun too. Hemi didn’t have one, of course. That was too dangerous, and illegal. He had a knife, but it was no competition for the fire-power under that jacket.

He
manoeuvered
the car up the hills that bordered the harbour.
It seemed like such a peaceful area and he didn’t want to think of it in terms of violence. Despite his job, Hemi was someone who didn’t like weapons or extreme violence. He would defend himself and his country to the death though. He would try to defend the honour of his father too. Today, he would do everything in his power to ensure a good outcome. He desperately hoped that the NISO armed squad had arrived in time.