The Spanish Helmet Read online

  The

  Spanish

  Helmet

  GREG SCOWEN

  THE SPANISH HELMET

  A WHARE RAMA BOOK: 9781463558482

  First published on Amazon Kindle in 2011

  Whare Rama paperback edition 2011

  Kindle 2nd Edition 2011

  ASIN: B00537SKMA

  Copyright © 2011 Greg Scowen

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without either the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  The story of Francisco de Hoces, as told within the Spanish journal entries, is to the best of the author’s knowledge, accurate and correct up until the point where they lose sight of the fleet in the Pacific Ocean.

  The story beyond this event is based on academic theory and the author’s own imagination.

  Maps provided with journal entries are not intended to be accurate maps of the time, rather these are modern maps provided to assist the reader with a visualisation of the journey suggested.

  www.wharerama.com

  This is for my wife, Esther

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This story would not have possible without the work of the late Professor Robert Langdon of the Australian National University. His research into the disappearance of the San Lesmes inspired the historical thread of The Spanish Helmet.

  I would like to thank the many people who provided valuable feedback throughout the creation of this book: Nadine Grubenmann, Diane Scowen, Graham Scowen and Edith Bolz. Thanks also to Kay Leitch for her insightful appraisal, the many pseudo-historians who have websites and books dedicated to alternative histories of New Zealand, and the scholars and service providers who have indirectly provided insight into New Zealand history. These include Anne Salmond, Dr. Robin Watt, Te Papa museum and the National Library of New Zealand.

  To a few great teachers from long ago: Pam Beaman (use your initiative), Mike Sugrue, Ginny Bellamy, Jon van Wyk, Holger Regenbrecht and Colin Aldridge. Thanks for believing in, and encouraging, me.

  Finally, to my wife, Esther, for putting up with me burying myself in notes for the last three years. And to my daughter, Kyla, who made things more challenging half way through.

  Prologue

  Monday, December 30, 1529

  This was the wrong harbour, the wrong land. It was even the wrong hemisphere. But that didn’t matter any more. Francisco de Hoces would die on this beach. Destiny had decided that for him.

  The San Lesmes struck a rocky reef as they entered the harbour. The fragile wooden vessel could not be saved, but they had been blessed enough to limp closer to the coast as it went down. A few of the men had made it to shore, Francisco among them. The rest had gone down with the ship and all of their supplies, somewhere in the harbour. Their fleeting joy of reaching dry land was short-lived, however, since they were immediately taken upon by the local Indians. Some of the men ran to hide, but that was fruitless, these cannibalistic murderers would find them in minutes. Their noses were well trained, they were hunters. Francisco stood alone on the beach and stared into the eyes of three fearsome looking Indians. He knew death was before him.

  This land had been his home for four years, he knew the people. He had been welcomed by the tribes of the south, those he now called family. But this tribe, the tribe at the southernmost point of Isla del Norte, they were different, they weren’t his family. Francisco stood strong. His duty as one of the king’s men was to be steadfast and fight for his nation, even though he hadn’t seen Spain for so long. Today, home was on a quiet beach on the southern part of Isla de Sur. He and his crew had built simple homes in the ways shown to them by their tribal family. They built their lives in this land and hoarded treasures, expecting more of their countrymen to come and join them.

  One of the Indians leapt toward him, he grunted and panted, a long club dancing between his hands. With the same pace, the Indian jumped back into place. They were taunting him, death would have to wait.

  Their treasures, worthless, he realised. The gold and stones were as valuable as dust now. Only his journal might hold some worth. It revealed an incredible journey. A wondrous truth. Someone had to find this treasure. They could keep the gold too, but his legacy was his most valuable possession.

  In a flash, another of them jumped at him. He stared into the huge white eyes which bulged out of dark skin. That was the look of death and Francisco was ready to die. He saw the blur of movement. Then nothing.

  CHAPTER

  1

  Warren Rennie had dirt embedded under his nails again. It wasn’t a new sensation for him, far from it, nevertheless it was a sensation he didn’t enjoy. It came with the job though, not that you could call it a job - archaeology was only a hobby for Warren because he wasn’t the university type. Unfortunately, this meant he was not a qualified archaeologist, which in turn meant he was a hack, a wannabee, at least in the eyes of the people who could make a difference. No, Warren would likely never be taken seriously. He was a committed amateur, nothing more.

  He had excavated this farm-site near to one of his best friend’s holiday retreats ever since he gained permission from the landowner. Warren had taken great care in calculating the location of this dig based upon alignments he had identified in standing stones in the area. In his mind, exactly on this spot - well, within a two or three metre radius - he would find something that would make people stand up and take notice. Some artefact that proved Celts had inhabited New Zealand before the Maori.

  It was not an uncommon theory in some circles, but it was despised in most. Academia of New Zealand would never accept what he and his colleagues suggested, and certainly the government had no interest in such ramblings of madmen. But the existence of megalithic stone alignments in this region left no doubt in the minds of Warren and a handful of other amateur researchers that the Celts had been here. All he and his co-theorists needed was some concrete evidence and the backing of a real archaeologist. All they needed was...

  Wait a second, that looks interesting.

  Warren stole a look around himself before continuing. He knew all too well that the authorities, the Department of Cultural Identity, were aware of his movements and his work. He was certain he was being watched by them and knew he needed to be very careful if he actually found something as interesting as... what was in front of him.

  Feeling wary, Warren carefully used his hand brush to dust away the last of the sands around the object that emerged piece by piece in the hollow. In the dirt he found two small coins. They were embossed on one side with a horse. The reverse featured the moon-god. But these were insignificant in comparison to the prize object that sat with them. This was exactly the sort of proof Warren had searched for. It was a thing of beauty. A bronze mirror, the size of a dinner plate, adorned with a pattern of swirls and loops on its reverse.

  With gentle hands, Warren lifted the mirror from the soil and stared at it. A mirror like this, buried with two coins, was a powerful suggestion that the site where Warren crouched was a burial site, a Celtic burial site. He realised more objects were probably buried within the area. But that would have to wait, he would have to be shrewd and act fast for this find to prove his theory of a Celtic discovery of New Zealand.

  With precise movements, Warren placed the two coins into a little cloth pouch and replaced the dirt where the mirror had been. He brushed the dirt around so it was no longer obvious something bigger than the coins had laid there. Then, without hesitation, War
ren wrapped the mirror into some cloth, stashed it in his bag, and took off over the farm as quick as his feet would carry him.

  Behind a line of Macrocarpa trees, on the other side of the same field, Warren crouched down and built up dirt under his nails once more. When he was satisfied with the depth of his hole, he removed the mirror from his bag, unravelled the cloth, and buried it. He returned the dirt to its original place to cover his traces, and brushed away the tell-tale signs of digging. Warren smiled at his completed work. He noted his location, and strolled back to his dig site. Now Warren had to make two phone calls. The first one would be to the Department of Cultural Identity, to report he had found two coins at his dig site, as was required by law. The second phone call would be much more pleasurable. Warren had anticipated making it for ten long years.

  CHAPTER

  2

  University of South-West England

  Dr. Matthew Cameron removed his yellow mug from the coffee machine, took a sip, and grimaced.

  ‘They really should invest in a better coffee machine.’

  ‘The coffee was much better in Spain,’ Julia said.

  ‘Switzerland too.’

  They returned to Matthew’s office on the third floor and took seats opposite each other at the round table in the corner.

  ‘Let me just find my notes,’ Matthew said. Still seated, he stretched his long torso around and shuffled through papers on his work desk. ‘What have you been looking at?’

  Julia talked, and Matt listened while he found his notes. He looked up and continued to listen to her describe the artefacts that she had been studying. Both of them were working on treasure that had been recovered from a Spanish Galleon that was recently located on the sea-floor in the Bay of Biscay. It was a frequent occurrence that Matt and Julia worked together. He liked it that way. Julia was like a sister to him. The fact that she was an academic at all was a wonder. Julia had to go against the wishes of a very powerful man to get here; her father. It was his intention she worked for him. Sir Alan McKenzie was one of Britain’s most successful businessmen, the northern lad who made good. He had developed tourism ventures in Spain and Portugal and had become the largest UK tourism provider in both countries. Matt admired that such a petite woman packed enough punch to stand up to him.

  ‘So, I thought perhaps I could head home and have a look at the archives there to see if I can’t find something concrete,’ Julia said, drawing Matt’s attention back to the conversation.

  ‘Sure, that makes sense. When will you go?’

  ‘Not till the summer break.’

  Julia continued to explain her ideas.

  The home Julia referred to was not the one up north. She had lived more than half her life in Spain. A consequence of this was that Julia was schooled in an exclusive private school that shared campuses between Spain and England. This made her fluent in Spanish. It also made her fluent in Matt-speak, as it had become known around the department. He too had been schooled in an elite private school, though he didn’t come from money like Julia. His schooling had been paid for through a trust fund that a generous family friend had set up.

  Reality interrupted his thoughts and Julia’s rhetoric in the form of the sharp ringing of the telephone.

  ‘I’m positive I asked for my calls to be fielded. How are we supposed to get any work done? Hold on a sec.’

  ‘Hello?’ Matt broke a department rule and answered the phone without announcing his name.

  The voice at the other end of the line was not immediately recognisable. ‘Matthew... is that you?’

  Matt hesitated. ‘Yes, this is Dr. Cameron, Matthew Cameron.’

  ‘Matthew, it’s me. Warren.’

  ‘Warren?’ Matthew straightened. Warren’s voice sounded different. A little shrill, almost childlike.

  It wasn’t like him to lose his composure. He usually called on Friday evenings, not on a Tuesday morning. Matthew frowned.

  ‘Warren, how are you? What’s going on? It’s late evening there, what are you doing calling at this time of day? Are you alright?’

  ‘Don’t panic, everything’s fine, more than fine, it’s good as gold. Matt, it’s finally happened!’

  ‘What’s happened?’ Matt asked. He stole a glance at Julia who twirled a finger in her light brown hair and tried to look like she wasn’t listening.

  ‘I’ve found evidence, Matt. I finally have proof the damned government can’t deny. No specifics on the phone but it’s Celtic. You know what I mean. It’s brilliant, but I need your help. I need you to come and confirm my findings. I need an archaeologist or historian, someone qualified. You’re all of these. Will you come?’

  Matt was perplexed. ‘To New Zealand? Why me, why not a local archaeologist?’

  ‘You know why, Matt. We’ve been through this.’

  Matt did know why. Warren had explained it many times before. Warren had a theory that Celts discovered New Zealand long before the Maori. Apparently, such wild thoughts were taboo in New Zealand and no academic interested in their reputation would have anything to do with it. Unless it was to negate the theory, that is.

  ‘Is there really no one there who could do it?’

  ‘If I approach anyone here with this, the government and the Maori will step in and destroy my evidence. I can’t take that risk. Without the documented evidence of a qualified archaeologist or historian, New Zealanders will always live in the shadow of the lies they’re being taught in history classrooms. I need you to come and qualify that evidence before it can be destroyed, and to help me show that further sites confirm what I’ve found. I know I’m asking a lot, but you can come, can’t you? You could take some sabbatical perhaps.’

  Matt was stunned. Warren was asking a lot, God, he talked so fast and had so much to say that Matt struggled to keep up. At the same time though, Warren presented Matt with an awesome opportunity, the chance to become famous for changing a piece of taught history. On the other hand, it was a chance to make a complete fool out of himself if it all turned out to be nothing of real substance. Matt was torn. He could take a sabbatical and the semester break was approaching so he could spare a few weeks on all fronts.

  ‘Are you there?’

  ‘I’m here, Warren, you’ve just taken me a little by surprise.’ As Matt looked across at Julia he noticed she no longer feigned disinterest and was clearly wondering what was going on.

  ‘It could give you a chance to find your father.’

  Matt felt a fist plunge through his chest and take a hold of his heart. He hadn’t seen his father since he was four years old. Matt knew that Warren was familiar with the situation, so when Warren now suggested Matt could use this opportunity to try and track down his father, he knew Warren was playing his trump card. This obviously meant a lot to him, and come to think of it, Matt relished the idea of finding his father just to give him a piece of his mind, finally.

  ‘OK,’ Matt answered, after his thoughtful pause, ‘I’ll come to New Zealand.’

  Julia raised her eyebrows.

  ‘But I can’t come until after Friday, I’ve got to give an important lecture. It’s the end of the semester and the final lecture of my third-year paper is open to the public, it’s kind of a big deal.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Warren his voice unable to hide the excitement, ‘I’ll arrange a flight for you for Saturday and have the tickets sent to your e-mail.’ There was a pause. ‘This is the chance of a lifetime. Have a good flight, and try to sleep on the plane, it’s a long way and the time zones get real messy during your twenty-four hours in the air.’

  ‘Will do Warren, thanks.’

  ‘And Matt - be careful who you talk to. Don’t tell anyone you can’t explicitly trust about this. I know the government is watching me and will cause problems if they find out about what I’ve found. I haven’t told them everything. Just… trust no one. OK?’

  ‘Mum’s the word.’

  ‘See you later.’

  Matt hung up the receiver and sat back
in his chair, realising he had been edging forwards for the last few minutes.

  ‘What was that all about?’ Julia asked, her face full of expectation.

  Matt wanted to talk. He knew he had to explain the situation to Julia, to someone. He could explicitly trust her, she was his closest friend. They had met on their first day of university and had worked through their Bachelors and Masters together. They only parted ways when he did his Doctorate in Switzerland, and she hers in Spain. It was only natural that they had looked for work together too. They had found it at the University of South-West England.

  ‘That was Warren, an old family friend. He and my mum were close after my father left, when I was a boy. He’s a hobby archaeologist if you like... not trained, but certainly thorough and committed to his work all the same.’

  ‘Oh, is he the one who got you interested in your study? You’ve told me about him.’

  ‘Exactly. Got me interested and paid for my bachelor degree.’

  Matt looked at his bookshelf and considered the impact Warren had made on his life. Warren had looked out for Matt and his mother. He was always involved in some get-rich-quick scheme or another and occasionally had a little success. Eventually, he took off to New Zealand on some adventure. Unlike Matt’s father, though, Warren had kept in touch and told him all about his adventures. Matt looked up to him like a father and had been very proud when he told Warren he would study archaeology.

  ‘Anyway, Warren believes that New Zealand was settled by someone other than the Maori,’ Matt said, ‘his particular studies follow the theory that the Celts discovered New Zealand some thousands of years ago. He’s struggled to find evidence to support his theory and believes the government is out to stop him, but now he thinks he has something and wants me to go and look.’