Humpty's Bones

  ‘Eden, I strongly suspect the reason she stopped work on this was because she became pregnant with your mother. Even before she was born Daisy was trouble. My mother was so sick most mornings she couldn’t get out of bed, never mind translate volumes of Latin into English.’

  ‘Were you bitter about my mother being born?’

  In lieu of answer Heather delved into the box again. ‘According to the date this is the latest. See, she’d written the month and year on the file.’ Heather read the title. ‘“The First English Translation of The Secular and the Sacred Balk of Elmet; subtitled: The Hermit of Kirkhampton’s History of our Village”. Ah... this must be the last file my mother worked on. See, it’s just a mass of rough jottings. If anything, it’s mainly chapter headings from the Hermit’s book, which, according to this was written by a local man in 1488.’ Heather leafed through the notes reading at random. ‘“Chapter 21: The importance of avoiding women. The scourge of carnal affection. Chapter 25: An explanation on the reasons why desire of the world and of womankind is to be detested. Tears which are turned into music.” Ah ha. “Women for kitchen hearth and birthing”... ’ Heather smiled. ‘It’s fairly obvious what the dear old Hermit thought about our sex.’

  Eden spoke with utter conviction. ‘But your mother - my grandmother - learned something from the Hermit’s book, which had a profound effect on her. She stopped all work on the translation.’

  ‘You might be right, Eden. But if it’s here I don’t see it.’ Heather turned the pages. ‘Although take a look at that. My mother was doodling in church.’

  Here was a sketch on one page devoted to translating a hymn that ran Make my flesh free of earthly love. The drawing of people, sitting in pews before a priest pointing skyward, had been titled Our Happy Congregation, Harvest Festival, 2nd October 1968.

  ‘We always used to go to church on Sundays,’ Heather sighed. ‘I never saw Mum sketch this, though. “Happy Congregation” is meant to be a joke of course, just look at these lines above the people. She drew steam coming out of their heads to show how angry they are.’ She studied the doodle more closely. ‘Good heavens, she’s drawn the villagers like gargoyles.’

  ‘No, these aren’t caricatures. Look at the size of their noses. She’s drawn Mr Hezzle’s family.’

  ‘Goodness, I think you’re right. I’d bet good money that the chap at the end shaking his fist is Albert Hezzle, the man you met a couple of days ago. A lot younger here, of course. This sketch was done over forty years ago. And he’s still as grumpy. My Mother wasn’t a bad artist. She’s caught the mood all right. They’re not happy about what the Vicar’s telling them.’

  ‘Go right to the end of the file. See what the last notes are before she stopped.’ Eden surged on with an additional, ‘Or before she was stopped.’

  Heather gave Eden a curious sideways glance but said nothing. ‘It’s still chapter headings and fragments of the Hermit’s verse.’

  ‘Which prove he was a life-hating, world-hating misogynist.’

  ‘Absolutely... ’ Heather worked her way to the last page. ‘Ah, here’s something.’ Her voice rose in surprise. ‘Dog Star House! It’s about this place. My God.’

  ‘But the house wouldn’t have been built in the middle ages.’

  ‘No. It’s about what stood here before.’

  ‘Then this must be important. Your mother was preparing to do a lot of detailed work on the translation. Only for some reason she didn’t get any further.’

  ‘Like I said. Morning sickness. In spades.’

  ‘No, I don’t believe that. Your mother was onto something. Mr Hezzle warned me about digging holes in the garden.’

  ‘Mr Hezzle’s a - ’

  ‘No, this is important.’ With Heather’s no doubt derogatory assessment of the old farmer brushed aside, she added, ‘Look at all these words here. Your mother was searching for the right translation of a particular phrase. This must have been key to what was happening here. She took pains to get it right. See: Homo Prima. Then there’s different attempts at turning the phrase into English.’ She quickly read the list as a tingle of excitement ran through her. ‘“Homo Prima. First Man. Original Man. Premier Man.” Look: “First Man” is underlined twice.’

  ‘“First Man”? That’s probably a title for the male head of a family or a tribe.’

  Eden tilted her head to see something scrawled in a margin. ‘The First Man is connected with the site of this house. Here’s some notes: “H demands Bishop conduct exorcism on Dog Star Hook. Bishop accedes.”‘ Eden mouthed the cryptic sentence again to herself, ‘H? H for Hermit I suppose. Dog Star Hook?’

  ‘That’s what locals call the bend in the road. The one that makes it curl half-way round the garden before it runs straight again.’

  ‘So the Hermit believed this land was haunted. He wanted the Bishop to banish the ghost.’

  Heather bit her lip. Clearly she wanted to know more, but Eden suspected that she’d resist any more talk of werewolves and the supernatural. Instead of speculating about a rite of exorcism being conducted on this plot of land, she continued reading the note that must have been jotted in a hurry. ‘“Rolands arrive”... Rolands?’

  ‘“Romans arrive”,’ Heather corrected. ‘Her handwriting’s a bit wild.’

  Eden read on, ‘“Romans arrive Yorkshire first century, commanded by”... I can’t read that. Grandma must have been shaking with excitement as she wrote this.’

  ‘Ahm... General Gallus.’

  ‘“... General Gallus, plus legion’s soothsayer, identifies Homo Prima” - the First Man - “as living embodiment of entire pantheon. Orders re-routing of Via Britannicus to spare theo... theo... ” what’s that word?’

  ‘Perhaps “Theopolis”? Not a real word, but suggests “city of god”. Or at least a place where the god or gods live.’

  ‘“General Gallus makes extraordinary visit to Emperor Claudius. Secures Imperial directive that First Man be venerated by Roman Army. Feast day set June 3rd. Coin struck in First Man’s honour. Emperor announces day of games in Rome in celebration. Free bread for poor. Gallus promoted.”‘

  ‘Phew... ’ Eden’s aunt could often appear too cynical for her own good; this time she was genuinely impressed. ‘You know what this means, Eden? The general invaded this part of Yorkshire nearly two thousand years ago. For some reason he had an epiphany when he reached this very spot. Right where this house is built! He believed he’d found the city of the gods. The legion’s holy man agreed. So, not only does General Gallus order that the road be diverted to preserve whatever he found, he makes a special trip back to Rome because he was so excited. He had to tell Emperor Claudius in person.’

  ‘Claudius believed him?’

  ‘Absolutely. Because he promoted Gallus, had a commemorative coin struck, and then held a colossal party in the city to celebrate the discovery. The poor even got free grub. This was the king of shindigs - a national festival of thanks.’

  ‘But what made this place so important?’

  ‘Important? It is amazingly important.’ Heather’s eyes shone with excitement. ‘The most powerful man in the Roman Empire, Claudius, knew he’d been given the location of Theopolis. The city of the gods here on Earth.’

  ‘No... that isn’t what it says. Not exactly.’ As Eden started to speak the phone rang downstairs. ‘It says here that - ’

  ‘Eden, I best get that. It might be the garden centre about their accounts.’ Heather rose to her feet from where she’d been sitting on the steamer trunk.

  Eden knew this was important; she needed to press this one fact, at least, well and truly home. ‘But the full sentence reads: “General orders re-routing of Via Britannicus to spare Theopolis that exists inside the body of the First Man.”‘ She sighed with frustration as Heather hurried toward the attic ladder.

  ‘Heather. Thi
s is important.’

  ‘Later. I’ve got to take the call.’

  Heather descended the ladder as Eden called out. ‘Don’t you see? It’s not saying there was an actual town here. It’s stating categorically that the city of the gods exists inside the body of the First Man. How can a holy city be inside a person?’

  ‘I’ll be back in five minutes. We’ll talk then.’ The phone’s ring was insistent. ‘I’m coming, I’m coming... ’ Heather ran down the stairs.

  Eden returned to the file. What she learned there on the last page prompted her to carry the file downstairs. Not to find her aunt. Instead, she hurried to the lab to look once more at Humpty’s bones.

  13. Friday: Noon

  Eden Page worked on arranging the bones. Heather had already laid out the rest of the skeleton on the table - collarbone, ribs, pelvis, thigh bones, shin, the tiny pebble shaped bones of the ankle. Most were charred, which left a black scale. The stink of burning still pricked her nostrils. What occupied Eden now were the shards of skull. She retrieved the canine remains from the bowl marked ‘Miscellaneous’, then carefully, painstakingly, with a furrowed brow, she assembled the skull fragments - the dog-like jaw complete with incisors, the thick brow ridge, the smoother, broader plates of the crown of the head.

  As she worked, she murmured a nursery rhyme to herself : ‘Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king’s horses, And all the king’s men, Couldn’t put Humpty’s bones together again.’

  Heather entered with the bright announcement, ‘Coffee.’ Then she saw Eden’s handiwork. ‘Damn you, Eden! I told you not to do that. Are you really intent on pulling some kind of stunt to scare Curtis away? This is our home. I won’t let you drive us out, you bloody monster!’ She slammed the cups down on the desk hard enough to splash half the contents out. Then she advanced on her niece as if ready to punch her. ‘Get away from that!’

  ‘No, hear me out.’

  ‘I’m warning you. Bloody werewolves? You think I’m stupid?’

  ‘You’ve had trouble before, haven’t you?’

  ‘I’m not discussing that with you. Put those skull fragments back in the bowl.’ Heather bunched her fist.

  Eden stood her ground. ‘I won’t. And you are going to listen to me. I’ve been working it out. I’m starting to understand.’

  ‘Eden! Get the damn train back to wherever you came from.’

  ‘Heather.’ Eden spoke with utter conviction. ‘You didn’t read your mother’s notes properly. General Gallus described the First Man as the Theopolis. That the city of gods was inside of him. The General also stated that he was the living embodiment of the pantheon. Do you see what he was driving at?’

  ‘Take the skull bones away, then we’ll talk.’ Despite her anger Heather was intrigued. ‘You might have thought doing that was a joke. Let me tell you, it’s - ’

  ‘Heather, listen. You’ve had trouble here before, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes... ’ It pained Heather to admit it. Even then she quickly dismissed its importance. ‘Just Hezzle’s farm dogs. They were running amok. Making a hell of a mess in the garden. Scratching. Gnawing the car, for heaven sakes.’

  ‘You saw Mr Hezzle’s dogs?’

  ‘We didn’t have to. It was obvious they were his. Savage things they are.’

  ‘So you never actually saw them attacking the garden?’

  ‘Does it matter? Please, Eden. Before Curtis gets home put the skull fragments back in the bowl, and whatever happens don’t mention the word “werewolf”.’

  ‘I won’t even breathe the word “werewolf”.’ Eden spoke with confidence. ‘Besides, this skull has nothing to do with dogs or werewolves.’

  ‘Amen to that.’ Heather’s relief was heartfelt. ‘Another mention of werewolves and I’d scream, God help me, I would.’

  ‘Look, just bear with me for moment.’ Eden picked up her grandmother’s file. ‘First, the sketch of the congregation. Back in 1968 they are genuinely angry. They have just been told that my grandma - your mother - is translating that odious religious zealot’s book. Mr Hezzle and the rest knew about the Hermit’s life-hating, woman-hating mission. They also know full well that this bigot petitioned the local Bishop to conduct rites of exorcism on the land in 1488. Some bones were dug up by the Bishop’s priests, burnt, then reburied. He also had the Bishop come to the parish church here in Dog Lands to tell the congregation that the First Man was evil, ungodly, the worst kind of pagan. In fact, he went through the First Man’s teachings point by point in order to rubbish them. But then the Bishop finished his speech to the locals with what he believed would be the clincher. The killer blow that would make everyone despise the First Man.’

  ‘And that was?’

  ‘See for yourself. It’s here before you.’ Eden nodded at the table.

  Heather’s eyes widened. ‘You’re saying the skeleton really is complete?’

  By way of reply Eden read from the file. ‘“The Bishop struck the lectern as he cried out in a fierce voice: How can any right thinking person of this Kingdom believe the words of a man that wears the head of an ape?”‘

  ‘This is the skeleton of the First Man?’

  ‘And it’s his skull. Only it’s not a dog’s skull. It’s superficially dog-like maybe. But then apparently baboons have heads that resemble a dog’s.’

  ‘Poor devil. Then he was deformed?’

  Eden leaned forward to gaze into the eye sockets of the broken skull. ‘A deformed man, who a Roman general identified as having the city of the gods inside of him? Something that excited the Emperor so much that nineteen hundred years ago he declared this “poor devil”, as you put it, be worshipped?’

  ‘That must be it.’

  ‘No, it’s not the whole story.’

  ‘You found this out from my mother’s notes? They were just random jottings. Nothing coherent.’

  ‘I found this at the back of the file.’ Eden unfolded a sheet of paper covered with fierce handwriting. There was so much ink it seemed to obliterate every square inch of white. ‘It’s a letter from Albert Hezzle, dated 4th October, 1968: two days after the same harvest festival where your mother sketched the congregation’s anger, when the vicar told them about the translation of the zealot’s book. The villagers hated the Hermit. They loved the First Man.’

  Heather stared at the letter as if it smouldered in Eden’s fingers, just about to burst into flame and consume them all. ‘My mother received that letter, then stopped work on the translation?’

  Eden nodded.

  Heather turned back to the skeleton. ‘It seems as if Humpty, or more correctly the First Man, still wields influence.’

  ‘Do you know why?’

  ‘They’re a superstitious lot round here. A perceived bad omen can put the wind up them.’

  ‘No, as I told you, it’s not fear that the First Man inspires... it is Love.’

  Her aunt shrugged. ‘So? He’s dead. Long, long dead.’

  ‘But something lives on.’

  ‘What? His wandering spirit?’

  Eden shook her head. ‘His teachings.’

  ‘They’ll be of academic interest to historians. That’s all.’

  ‘According to Mr Hezzle’s letter the First Man’s knowledge is very much alive - albeit locally - and is something of a village secret. What’s more, the Hezzle family hoped that one day all of humanity will receive what they term “the Gift”.’

  ‘“And as soon as we receive this marvellous Gift, humanity will be saved”,’ concluded Heather with sigh. ‘If we had a golden nugget for every religion that’s promised salvation of our eternal souls... ’

  ‘It’s not about souls and the after-life. The First Man’s Gift would apparently improve the quality of life here on Earth.’

  ‘That’s very lau
dable. But undoubtedly delusional.’

  ‘According to grandma’s notes and Mr Hezzle’s letter, which is incredibly detailed, I’ve worked out the jist of... ’ Eden nodded at the bones on the table, ‘... the nature of his Gift.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The First Man would father the children of local women. By the hundred, or even the thousand.’

  They both looked up as thunder rumbled in the distance. A sound suggestive of prowling menace.

  ‘Ah, sex.’ Heather gave a knowing smile. ‘I should have known that the Gift of any self-proclaimed male hero would involve a stonking, great harem, so he could enjoy unfettered shagging rights.’

  Thunder growled again. It grew darker inside the room as storm clouds loomed above the dreary expanse of fields. A car took the bend in the highway just a little too quickly. Its tyres squealed in protest. A moment later it accelerated safely away from the evil crook in the road.

  Eden shook her head. ‘You might be a cynic, Heather, but local people, just like the Romans, believed in the First Man’s Gift.’

  She turned back to the skeletal puzzle on the table and completed the brow ridge above one eye with a fingernail-sized fragment of bone that fitted perfectly. The face didn’t seem to resemble a dog so much now. Instead, something else emerged.

  Eden spoke fluently, confidently: ‘The followers of the First Man realised this important fact: that the children he fathered with local women grew up to be superior to other children. They were stronger, more intelligent, more resistant to illness, and enjoyed a much longer life-span.’

  ‘So why did the Roman general describe the First Man as the Theopolis?’

  ‘Because General Gallus talked to him. Gallus possessed an enquiring mind. He knew that each Roman god and goddess had their own special talents: Mars, the god of war; Juno presided over marriage and children; Saturn, the god of agriculture. As you know, the Romans believed there was a whole bunch of deities in heaven. Gallus figured out that these godlike talents, or more accurately “fields of expertise”, had become fused into individuals known as the First Men. Hence, the title. The First Man would become the first in a long line of super-intelligent individuals with increased longevity. In turn, these would then sire more children.’