The Spanish Helmet Read online

7

  Thursday, August 13, 1525

  We made good time to La Gomera. The winds and saints are in our favour. We have taken on food stores for the expedition and depart for South America tomorrow. During the two weeks here I have enjoyed the company of the master and pilot. They are good men in both their navigational skills and their attitudes. Between us, I am confident we have a crew capable of making a safe passage through the Estrecho de Magallanes. Tonight we will go ashore together and toast our pending journey. A last drink on land before the long weeks that lie ahead.

  Tuesday, January 12, 1526

  We have reached a safe haven at the Santa Cruz River, about forty-three leagues from the Estrecho de Magallanes. It is a great relief to have made it here alive. We are now but five ships. The flagship, Santa Maria, has rejoined the fleet, since we were all separated in a storm that struck us south of the Rio de la Plata. The rest of us found each other within a few days. However, the San Gabriel went astray went astray. I fear deeply for the men that sail her. They remain in our prayers. We have sent the pinnace, the Santiago, to a small island near the mouth of the river to erect a cross and to leave a message for our kinsmen. It tells them we are going to continue to the Estrecho de Magallanes to refit and collect wood and water, and that we will wait for Loaisa at the port of Sardinas.

  These southern climes are warm at this time of year. The air is fresh and standing on dry land again has brought immense joy to myself and the crew. The coastline is beautiful and would surely make a wonderful home for any fellow Spaniards who choose to come. Fresh water and food are available in abundance. We will all make the most of the time we stay here, for the journey ahead promises to be harder yet.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Matt wasn’t a good flyer. Once he was up it was basically all right, but take-off and landing made him bloody nervous. It was something about not being in control. He had the same problem with heights. Walking along a cliff without a railing or travelling in an aerial cableway in the Swiss Alps always made his palms sweat like this. Regardless of how much he looked forward to skiing back down. To calm himself, he would slip a couple of pieces of chewing gum into his mouth just before the aircraft would taxi off down the runway. He felt calmed by it. It gave him something else to concentrate on.

  Matt stole glances at the attractive young woman sitting next to him, by the window. Her clothing was quite a contrast to his own. While he was dressed in his staple of trousers, collared shirt, and brown leather shoes, she wore the ever-casual and popular sneakers, jeans and T-shirt. Just before executing his chewing gum manoeuvre he worked up the courage to use her as a distraction from his lack thereof.

  ‘Where are you off to then?’ he asked. He cursed himself for not being witty enough to come up with something exciting and original.

  ‘Home,’ she replied, looking happy for an excuse to close her in-flight magazine, ‘Auckland, New Zealand.’

  ‘Oh really?Me too.’

  Matt was genuinely surprised the person in the very next seat was also transferring to the same connecting flight as him when they reached Singapore. He wondered if they would be seated near each other on the second leg of the journey. Hold back, he thought, she might yet turn out to be a real fruit loop, better get to know her before you decide you want to sit with her the whole way.

  They sat in silence again as the aircraft tore off down the runway and pushed them back into their seats. Matt concentrated on chewing and covertly wiping his palms dry down the front of his beige trousers. He hoped she didn’t notice the faint marks his sweaty hands left on the light fabric. He seemed to be safe, since she appeared to be engrossed in an article about a resort near Singapore. But it was her who looked up and broke the silence.

  ‘I’m Aimee,’ she offered.

  ‘Matthew Cam... Matt.’ He reached out his hand.

  ‘Wait a second,’ she said, with such gusto his hand leapt backwards in shock, ‘you’re Matthew Cameron, aren’t you?’

  Matt was confused. He was one hundred percent convinced he had never met Aimee before, yet she seemed to know him. He wasn’t sure whether he should be honoured or terrified. She must have sensed his apprehension because she softened a little and relaxed.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I’m just amazed that of all the people I could sit next to in plane, I get seated next to someone whose lecture I attended yesterday.’

  ‘I beg your pardon? You were at my lecture?’

  Matt racked his brain. He had used all fifty minutes of his lecture to look around at who was in attendance. He had noted to himself which of his students didn’t turn up and also which of the academic staff did. There had only been about thirty members of the public in the theatre, and Matt was convinced he would have noticed a pretty woman his age. Then it hit him.

  ‘You weren’t by chance wearing a purple pullover were you?’ Matt asked, hoping he wasn’t giving away his feelings about that monstrosity.

  ‘You don’t like my jumper?’ she asked with a cheeky grin, ‘my mum knitted that for me I’ll have you know.’ Her smile told him he didn’t have to defend himself.

  ‘So what brought you to my lecture?’

  ‘I’m a Post Graduate student at Auckland University. I’m working on a doctorate in history. I’d been attending a workshop at the department during the week and had the afternoon off. I thought it might be interesting.’

  Matt decided not to press his luck by asking if it was.

  ‘So what takes you to New Zealand?’ she asked.

  ‘Actually, I’ve been asked by a friend of mine to come over and look at some revisionist New Zealand history. He has a theory New Zealand was discovered prior to the Maori or British and wants the opinion of some outside sources.’

  Aimee smiled at him. A smile that almost seemed to apologise.

  ‘You’re going to have a tough time doing that,’ she said, ‘I’ve studied history for six years now and have only occasionally heard mention of the alternative history theories in official study material.’ She wiggled her legs. Perhaps trying to avoid DVT, Matt thought. ‘It’s something that’s only ever denied in official circles.’

  ‘And in unofficial circles?’

  ‘It interests me. I’ve never looked deeply into any of the theories, but I’m aware of half a dozen or so. One day I may even take the time to research one or two of them. But I haven’t had any real call to until now.’

  ‘Half a dozen? I didn’t realise there was so many ideas out there.’

  ‘For sure, every madman and his dog has a theory of alternative history and a couple of pretty sane people have one too.’

  ‘And what are the ‘madman’ theories then?’

  ‘Maybe it’s a bit strong to say a ‘madman’ theory. It’s rather a case of some people that support them being too… keen.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Take for example the theory that the Celts discovered New Zealand,’ Aimee said. ‘You should like that one.’

  She had no idea. It was a perfect place for her to start. Matt wanted as much info as he could get.

  ‘The idea that Celts discovered New Zealand centuries prior to the Maori has been around for a while. Some farmers to the north of Auckland, on the Kaipara Harbour, found some large stones that they decided - in their professional opinion - were megalithic monuments. Henges and circles.’

  ‘So why haven’t I heard of these?’ Matt lied, remembering all of the conversations he had with Warren about New Zealand’s standing stones.

  ‘Probably because they’ve never been taken seriously by anyone with a qualification,’ Aimee said, ‘the whole situation is confounded by some of the people that stand behind the theory. Some of the supporters go way beyond what’s appropriate.’

  ‘Ah, the madmen.’ Matt laughed. ‘What is it exactly that they do wrong?’

  ‘The main problem is their approach to it all offends too many sensitivities. One or two groups even run big websites spouting their theories all over the plac
e. That would be OK in itself, but the content of the websites is often overtly racist against the Maori. They suggest that Maori are impure and inferior, that God will smite them for their evil ways. They accuse the Maori of blocking access to the sites they want to study and think the government helps to cover it up. Political correctness.’

  ‘But what do they have to gain from proving their theory, why are they so stubborn?’ Matt asked.

  ‘Money.’

  Matt was about to ask how a change in the history of New Zealand could possibly provide some sort of payout to these theorists, but just as he opened his mouth, dinner arrived.

  ‘Chicken or Beef?’

  ‘Chicken’ Aimee said.

  The steward passed a foil covered tray over Matt to Aimee.

  ‘Mine’s the beef,’ Matt said.

  The moment had passed and so Matt and Aimee made small talk as they ate. Matt intended to continue where they left off after dinner but when he returned from a post-dinner bathroom trip, he saw Aimee’s head sandwiching a pillow to the window. He would never disturb someone who could actually manage to get sleep in one of these tin cans, so he popped his headphones on and resolved to finding out more in the morning.

  Relaxing in his seat and staring at, but not seeing, the images moving past on the little screen in front of him, Matt wondered what he had got himself into. Clearly, Aimee and other historians in New Zealand didn’t give much credit to the theory of Celts being the first inhabitants of New Zealand, yet here he was going there to study it. Matt wasn’t sure if he might be setting himself up for an embarrassing fall. He knew of other academics who had made the mistake of supporting unpopular theories and didn’t want to suffer the same fate as they had. Conversely, he may also be able to prove something here. What Aimee didn’t know is that Warren had found tangible evidence of the Celts having been in New Zealand. At least that’s what Warren had said on the phone and Matt knew with certainty Warren was genuine. It would be an interesting, if not exciting, few weeks.

  * * *

  Two hours before arrival in Singapore, Matt was roused from his film by the cabin lights coming on. It was officially morning in the aircraft, and everyone should slowly wake up to the smell of coffee brewing and breakfast coming up the aisle. Matt watched Aimee as she stretched her hips forwards, forming a light arch with her body. Her eyes still closed, she brushed a few strands of her beautiful golden brown hair away from her face and yawned. He was impressed that she could sleep for a solid seven hours while on a flight. It would be a dream for him to be able to sleep on a plane, but no matter how often he had tried, it never worked. He was wired now. Two and a half films on a tiny screen will do that to you. Even worse, he knew that he would get to see a few more before he finally slept in New Zealand.

  ‘Morning,’ Matt said, in as bubbly a voice as he could raise, having not spoken for an eternity.

  ‘Morning.’ Aimee echoed his words and followed them with a sleepy yawn.

  Matt made another obligatory trip to the back of the plane and Aimee followed suit. It would be nice to be able to go without toilet stops for twelve hours, Matt thought, as he smiled uncomfortably at all the folk who watched him squeezing through the aisle. At least the walk back to his seat didn’t present him with so many watchful eyes, but he felt them on his back. A few minutes later, Aimee returned looking refreshed and wide awake. Breakfast followed shortly behind. Matt grabbed at the coffee and gulped it down.

  ‘Thirsty?’ Aimee asked, laughing.

  ‘I can’t sleep on these things. If it weren’t for the coffee, I’d look even worse right now.’

  ‘You don’t look so bad.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Matt felt himself blushing. She looked damned good too. A response failing him, Matt decided now was as good a time as any to continue last night’s conversation.

  ‘I was thinking about what you said last night, before dinner came. You mentioned a half a dozen theories. Aside from the Celts, what other theories are there?’

  ‘Some are more questions than theories,’ Aimee said, as she chewed on some scrambled egg. If Matt’s breakfast was anything to go by, hers was also rubbery and flavourless.

  ‘Like?’

  ‘Like the Tamil Bell,’ Aimee said. ‘A missionary, Colenso, found a bell that was being used as a cooking pot by some Maori. It was eighteen hundred thirty-odd when he found it. The Maori said they’d been using it for many generations. Scientists studied it and say it’s a ship’s bell. It has Tamil script embossed in it. Nobody knows how or when it got to New Zealand.’

  ‘Is on display somewhere?’

  ‘I think it’s at Te Papa Museum in Wellington. The national museum.’

  ‘That’s a shame. I doubt I’m going far from Auckland. What else has there been?’

  ‘Another Brit published a whole tome on how the Chinese discovered the western world, New Zealand included.’

  ‘You mean Gavin Menzies?’

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘I’ve heard about his book, but I didn’t realise New Zealand was in there.’

  ‘For sure. He goes into quite a bit of detail about New Zealand. Evidence of his Chinese discovery in New Zealand includes some buried Junks, the Chinese boats, and the Moeraki Boulders.’

  ‘The mow racky boulders?’ Matt asked, looking confused. He thrust in another mouthful so he could eat while she answered.

  ‘The Moeraki Boulders,’ Aimee said, ‘large, round boulders that lie embedded in a sandy beach north of Dunedin, in the South Island. Scientists say they were formed, over millions of years, under the ocean. Then they were slowly exposed by erosion. They’re popular with tourists.’

  ‘How does that relate to the Chinese then?’

  ‘Menzies reckons the Chinese were beached at Moeraki and needed to lighten their load. So they threw their ballast, large round stones, overboard on the beach. Chinese ballast equals Moeraki Boulders.’

  ‘Sound s a bit of a stretch. It would be fun to see them and make an opinion for myself. Not that I’m one to argue with science.’

  Matt was amazed at how many theories there were about the discovery of New Zealand, and even more impressed with having met Aimee and getting the chance to learn of them.

  ‘Then there’s questions about the origin of some of our plants and animals,’ Aimee said. ‘Like Kumara, you know, sweet potato. It seems to have come from South America sometime. And the rat bones, there are rat bones from European rats that have been carbon-dated to long before Tasman and Cook visited.’

  ‘I can’t believe there are so many questions. Why isn’t more work being done to investigate these theories?’

  Aimee didn’t answer him, but Matt didn’t care. She was so animated and carried away with the conversation and her enthusiasm was infectious.

  ‘There’s also a tradition among some of the Maori tribes of the fair-haired, tall people. And then, of course, there’s the Spanish Helmet.’ She finished.

  ‘The Spanish Helmet?’

  ‘A Spanish Helmet was dredged out of Wellington Harbour, sometime around 1880. It’s quite controversial, coz it’s been dated to the early fifteen hundreds. Some folk argue it’s a sign of Spanish visits. The officials say it was probably a gift to Maori from a later European explorer, or a part of someone’s private collection.’

  Matt smiled at Aimee. ‘New Zealand seems to be suffering from an identity crisis, it’s going to be interesting looking around. But I don’t understand. If there are so many questions about your history, why don’t more people bring forward information that might help sort things out?’

  ‘Probably ninety-nine percent of them don’t even know there’s a question in the first place. It just doesn’t interest them,’ Aimee said. ‘Even I hadn’t thought about this stuff for a while. But now you’ve got me interested again. I’ll probably spend the next few days immersed in pseudo-history websites.’

  ‘Really?’ Matt thought she was joking, but he couldn’t be sure.

  ‘Yeah, and
it’s all your fault,’ she said, laughing and thumping him gently on the thigh.

  ‘Sorry.’

  Matt grinned and watched Aimee place her knife and fork together, take a last sip of the juice, and sit back in her chair looking thoughtful. He sat thinking, perplexed by what he had learned. It amazed him there could be so many questions about the history of a country, yet so little information about these theories was publicised. He thought about his own England and was convinced if there were serious questions regarding her history, these would be addressed as thoroughly and as quickly as possible. What was standing in the way of the New Zealand government? Or the people for that matter?

  After breakfast, Matt and Aimee talked about various tourist sites he might like to visit while in New Zealand and also about a few beaches where he might relax. They also compared their boarding passes for the second flight and saw they would be in different parts of the aircraft. During the descent and transit time in Singapore they made polite small-talk and got to know each other a little better. She even surprised Matt by giving him her contact number, in case he wanted to get in touch for more info. As they boarded the second flight they said goodbye and wished each other a good flight.

  The second take-off and landing both went off without a hitch, or a wink of sleep.

  It was only as he walked the through the gangway between the aircraft and the Auckland terminal building that Matt remembered he had wanted to ask Aimee how a change in the history of New Zealand could possibly provide some sort of payout to the alternative history theorists. That would be a perfect excuse to call her. He felt in his pocket and confirmed the little piece of paper with Aimee’s phone number was there. Matt smiled to himself. If he continued to meet incredible girls like her on flights, he might have to fly more often.

  CHAPTER

  9

  As he walked through the sliding glass doors that led him out to the bright and airy arrivals lounge, Matt saw Warren immediately. They shook hands, exchanging warm hellos, and Warren took control of Matt’s baggage trolley, insisting that Matt must be tired.