Lessons in Solving the Wrong Problem - Charlie Cochrane
Chapter One
February 1912, a field near Cambridge
“Well, here we are.”
Orlando Coppersmith glanced sideways at his companion. They’d had to park up the automobile—known to anyone who had a scrap of sense as the metal monster—two hundred yards away, in the only place it could safely fit on the small road without obstructing livestock or irate farmers. Then they’d had to climb a style and negotiate a muddy field to arrive at another style, on which Orlando was currently perched. “We’re certainly somewhere. Would you care to enlighten me further?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Jonty Stewart, grinning, raised a sandy coloured eyebrow—how his hair colour was subtly changing with the years, although any hint of grey was yet to appear—then swept his hand to encompass the scene.
“It’s obviously a field.” Orlando observed. That was about as much information as he’d received in advance of the visit, other than it was something he’d find of interest and he’d be getting his lunch as part of the process. “A field with people in it. Digging. I assume they’re not mining a newly discovered seam of gold or opening a coal mine.”
“And I assume—or at least I hope—that you aren’t deliberately being obtuse just for the fun of it. This isn’t an ordinary field, as the slight humps and bumps will attest.” Another sweep of the hand. “Those people are a mixture of students and fellows from the university and the digging isn’t in search of nuggets or ore—that’s not easy to say at this time of the morning, so don’t make me repeat myself.”
Orlando couldn’t help but grin. How could anyone not be amused in the presence of Jonty, even if they also felt the urge to murder him on frequent occasions? Or roger him stupid on others. “Then this must be an archaeological dig. Iron Age? Saxon? Roman?”
“Possibly all three, according to Dr Applecross. He believes they had a habit of reusing sites, our forebears. Mind you, who can blame them when there’s a view like this?”
Orlando had to agree with that. If the vista to the west had been just as splendid a couple of thousand years ago and the countryside equally lush and productive, it would have made an ideal place to live, as long as they were sheltered against the fierce East Anglian winter wind, which often appeared to be blowing straight from the Russian steppes. The first hints of spring were starting to appear, so in a few weeks the scene would be a joy to the eyes.
“These forebears inhabited different styles of housing, one assumes?” Not a subject Orlando knew much about, although he remembered a picture book he’d had as a boy, which had depicted various parts of British history.
“I believe so. I’m out of my academic depth here, as you no doubt are, too.” Jonty shrugged, then took in the view once more. “Applecross also reckons there may well have been family continuity. He’s adamant that the Romans didn’t push out or enslave all the native British, simply amalgamated some of them. Gave them jobs and a bit of power.”
“You seem to have been chatting to this Applecross man rather a lot. I’ve not come across him before.”
“You won’t have done. He came up to St Thomas’s earlier this year and is still finding his feet. Quite a shy chap, I believe.” Jonty pursed his lips. “Now, before you get any funny thoughts, no, I don’t think he’s in any way attractive. Just interesting to listen to. Even the dunderheads like his lectures, which is praise indeed.”
“I’ve not had any ‘funny thoughts’ for ages,” Orlando said, although that wasn’t quite the truth and both of them knew it. Still, nobody could say he was as possessive and as lacking in confidence as he’d been when he and Jonty had first met. A few experiences of the character-building type had seen to that, alongside the healing effect of Jonty’s love. “Which one is he?”
“I can’t tell from here, given the way they’re all dressed similarly and the fact he’s built like a student. He’d be the chap waving his arms around in an organising kind of way, I’d guess but I’m not committing myself until we’re closer.”
Orlando resisted a little jibe about Jonty’s long sight becoming as bad as his close sight and could that be a factor of old age. From this distance you’d have been hard pressed to pick out the king himself. They threaded their way down a slope, between some small gorse bushes, the site