The Spanish Helmet (32 page)

Matt jumped over the small stream near where it met the beach. He was followed closely by Aimee, who seemed to be right at home in this environment. They continued west along the beach, towards the cliffs at the other end.

‘Can you make out the ledge up there?’ Matt turned to Aimee.

‘I can. It looks like we could climb up gradually from behind the hut over there in the trees.’

‘What is that, about a fifty, say sixty metre drop?’

‘Looks closer to sixty to me.’

‘I guess we’ll see,’ Matt said, as he veered to the left and stepped over a large driftwood log and up onto the grassy ledge where the beach met the over-grown farmland.

He glanced across at Aimee, hoping that she didn’t sense how nervous he was. He should appear under control, of course, when being accompanied by such a lovely woman in these pretty, albeit foreboding, surroundings. They approached the little abandoned house and skirted around it to where an animal track led steeply up the slope and along the ledge where a cave could very well be. Nervousness was gradually over-ridden by anticipation as Matt, followed by Aimee, edged around the cliff to the left and saw a small dark crevice in front of them. It was almost too hard to believe.

Matt stopped directly in front of the cave and turned to Aimee. ‘Should I throw some stones in there to see if anyone’s home?’

‘No need, at the worst there might be some bats. We don’t have any dangerous wild animals or snakes in New Zealand. Let’s get in there.’

‘Alright then, I’ll go...’ Matt paused as movement caught his eye on the hillside above the other end of the beach.

Aimee followed his gaze, and then turned to him looking confused.

 ‘First.’ Matt completed his sentence, having realised that it was probably just one of the grazing sheep.

‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.

‘No, no... I think I’ve just let myself get a little caught up in things. All set to go in?’

‘No arguments from me.’

They eased their way into the cave, ducking to avoid cracking their heads open on the sharp ceiling. Turning on a torch he had picked up in the supermarket, Matt paused momentarily to take in his surroundings. About eight metres in front of him the cave turned slightly to the left. He edged his way to the corner, Aimee following closely behind, and marvelled at the wide chamber that came into view before him. It was a rounder space, about ten metres in diameter. The ceiling was between two and three metres from the floor, which was dry and sandy, with rock presumably somewhere a little below.

‘You could fit a small family Christmas in here,’ Matt said.

 ‘Listen. You can only just hear the hiss of the sea now. It’s like we’ve entered another world. It’s so quiet.’

‘It’s amazing,’ Matt agreed. Adrenaline pumped through Matt’s veins and had transported him to another world. One he was happy to savour, a world where his greatest moment was about to take place. He felt like he was about to make an incredible find, something any historian would die for.
A find that would put him up there with the great explorers who had gone before him.
Shivers ran through his body. Matt loved every second of it.

There were some small areas of black charring on the ceiling, where fires had perhaps been used in years past. But all around them, despite looking at all the parts of the floor that they could see, there was no treasure chest, no artefacts, nothing to suggest there had been any Spanish here. Matt crossed the chamber to the far side and still found nothing. He couldn’t believe he had wasted his time and effort to come here. Aimee joined him as he slumped down in a frustrated heap and leaned on the wall, dropping the torch on the floor beside him. The torchlight fell on the wall opposite and shivered as the torch found its resting place. Matt squinted across the chamber. He couldn’t believe it. There, on the wall, was the faint marking of a cross. Aimee had seen it too. They both leapt up and rushed over to it.

‘That isn’t natural,’ Matt said.

‘No
way,
and Maori wouldn’t have marked graves with crosses. Not before European influence anyway.’

Matt searched the wall around the cross carefully for a crevice.
Nothing.

‘Should we dig?’ Aimee asked, as she brushed the sand at their feet with the tip of her shoe.

Matt answered by dropping to his knees and scratching at the sand with his hands. Aimee fell next to him and started scraping with a stone she had found. Matt’s hands made poor progress, but there were no more stones handy. Instead, he replaced them with the back end of his torch, throwing light wildly around the top of the cave. He just started to lose hope when it made contact with something. The clink of the torch striking something solid rang out through the cave like a muted g-note on a vibraphone.

‘Glass?’
Aimee asked.

‘Ceramic,’ Matt said, turning the torch and illuminating the side of a jar.

Matt worked the rest of the sand away from the large ceramic jar that he was revealing. It was a simple piece, probably used for storing preserved fruit or liquids. The only embellishment was a small emblem on one side. He worked the gigantic lump of pitch-sealed corking out of the opening and peered inside with the aid of the torchlight.  There he saw a pouch made of woven fabric, which he carefully removed and turned over in his hand.

‘That looks like woven flax,’ Aimee said.
‘Most definitely of Maori working.’

‘And the emblem is a Spanish Coat of Arms.’ Matt looked at Aimee and smiled. ‘An interesting clash of cultures, wouldn’t you say?’

The flax cloth was soft in Matt’s hands. He gently opened it, taking care not to rip or damage it in any way, and found inside one single piece of paper.
Nothing remarkable.
It didn’t even appear all that old. He unfolded it and felt his hopes disappear in a breath.

 

Monday, July 4, 1527

I feel so guilty. I have not written in my journal for a long time. I will blame it on needing to spare the parchment. The Waitaha do not have parchment, for they need it not. The language is not written. There are some caverns with rock drawings though. But these are not near the village.

Three months ago, in April, Tane gave me consent to marry Hine. The ceremony took place the very next day. A good thing it was too, because we now see that Hine is pregnant.
Probably from before the marriage.
Such things would not look good.

A house has been built for us. We have moved into our own first home.
My first ever real home of my own.
We have settled here now. Maybe in a few years we will try for a voyage to Spain, but many of the men would not be likely to come. They will, however, readily come with me to explore this land. We will depart the day after tomorrow. The San Lesmes has been relaunched and is anchored just offshore from the village. We are using the canoes to replenish her holds and are readying ourselves for a voyage of several months. Our excess stores and valuables have a safe-hold in a cave on the cliff-side above the western end of the beach. In this
cave
, I have also prepared safe-keeping for my journal. This original volume shall be stored there during our explorations and I will fill in details of our journey on my return.  Hine understands that I probably won’t be back until after the baby has come, but is happy for me to discover her land. She, of course, has seen little more of it than this valley. I hope to be able to bring back the village much information about the other tribes and animals that we find.

Friday, July 29, 1527

We departed the village, Whareakeake, with the sunrise and high-tide, heading east. The next bay was familiar to us already, from numerous excursions there, but the long beach beyond it was new. At the end of the beach we found an entrance to a long harbour. This would make a good and safe anchorage for the San Lesmes if we need one. Beyond the harbour, the coastline sinks south and then south-west hugging a fairly narrow peninsula that sits between the harbour and the sea. Some of the cliffs along here were quite dramatic. Penguins and seals in abundance are to be found. Also, we have sighted many whales and dolphins the last few days.

About 40 leagues beyond the harbour, we came around to the west, bringing us to a north-westerly bearing. Again, about 40 leagues of sailing took us to our next major course change. We are now on a north-easterly bearing and have been so for several days. Are we rounding a large peninsula on the edge of the great continent? It seems unlikely. Hine said the stories of her people say the land they live on is three large islands.

The coast here is backed by massive mountains. Rivers of ice, glaciers like those in Terra del Fuego reach down to the sea here too. The entire coastline is covered in beautiful forests that are drawing in a driving rain that we have fought with since yesterday. The seas here are also much choppier and hide sharp rocks closer in to the shore. We are staying as wide as possible and will look for an anchorage when we come to more friendly places.

Matt stood on the small flat area of ground in front of the cave, the fall down to the sea just over a metre away from him, the cave about three metres behind. The jar was tucked under his left arm, the paper and the cloth pouch in his right hand. Aimee had retrieved the torch. Matt panted as he caught his breath. He had run out of the cave in a furious mood when he saw what the jar contained, and probably would have gone off the edge if it wasn’t for Aimee grabbing him before he reached it. He had momentarily forgotten how high up they were. As it came back to him, his frustration subsided as it mixed with fear. Fear of losing his reputation, blended with a handful of fear of falling to his certain death, or even worse, a serious injury. At least you don’t have to live with shame when you’re dead.

‘What’s in the
jar ,Matt
?’ Aimee pleaded in his left ear. He turned to see her standing a breath away, looking between the jar and his face with imploring eyes.

Matt turned to face the cave, rather than the cliff edge, and sat down.  Aimee sat beside him, facing the path that had brought them up here. He unfolded the piece of paper and read.

‘This jar was found on the 16th day of August in the year 1901 by
myself
and a travelling companion. The
contents of the jar, a journal of a sea-farer, has
been removed and will be returned to my place of study for proper archival and conservation. It is fortuitous this artefact has survived thus far. The papers are remarkably well intact considering the exposure to elements they could have received over the years. It is paramount that they are no longer exposed to such conditions and a full study of their content should be undertaken.’

‘You’re kidding me?
After all that running around.
Has he at least left his name?’ Aimee asked.

‘Yes,’ Matt said, with a slight smile as he read the home location of the author. ‘He signed it; Holger Kirstein, Switzerland.’