Lessons in Solving the Wrong Problem - Charlie Cochrane Page 0,1
opening up before them and becoming more recognizable as an excavation with every step they came closer. Turf had been lifted and laid to one side, great areas of earth had been exposed and what looked like a course of masonry rose up from one of them.
“Dr Stewart!” The chap who’d been gesturing at the students waved a hand in salute. “Delighted you could get here. Is this your colleague?”
“It is indeed.” Jonty shook the man’s hand. “Dr Applecross, Dr Coppersmith.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Orlando produced a happy smile as he shook the man’s hand. Applecross, while still blessed with a schoolboy’s frame, was fifty if he was a day and not the sort of man Orlando would rate as attractive. Ignoring the frisson of disquiet at exactly why he should be feeling any hint of jealousy, he peered into the cleared area. “Is that a mosaic?”
“It is. Not a very high class one, given the size of the tesserae, but good, plain workmanship and a pleasing pattern is beginning to reveal itself. Mason, could you take a little more earth back, to show our guests?”
“Of course, sir.” The student in question—whom Orlando recognized from the environs of St Bride’s—gently scraped back some soil with his trowel, revealing a continuation of the geometric pattern. The colours were amazingly well preserved: white, red and what Orlando felt was grey but which Mason, who’d been providing a commentary as he went along, asserted was blue. “We think this would have been the corridor connecting the rooms.”
Orlando was about to ask how they could possibly know that, but a swift glance up and down the trench indicated a long, relatively narrow tessellated area, so the supposition made sense. “It’s a very pleasing mathematical design,” he observed. “These chaps clearly knew what they were doing.”
“Oh, yes. There are set patterns and depictions that turn up all over the place,” Mason said, rocking on his heels enthusiastically. “Would you like to see a much finer example?”
“Of course.” Orlando, impressed by the wonderful workmanship and application of mathematics, let himself be led off, with Jonty following in his wake.
“Instant convert,” Jonty said to Applecross. “I should have guessed those shapes would appeal to him.”
Applecross nodded. “He’ll no doubt like the hypocaust, as well. Perhaps Dr Coppersmith, I might ask a favour of you?”
Orlando slowed his pace. “Ask away. If I can help, I will.”
“Would you be prepared to do some calculations on how efficient the heating system would have been? We understand the construction of these things but we’d like to know more about their operation. We’re thinking of reconstructing one at some point in the winter and some input on the thermodynamics of the thing would be helpful.”
That was a promise which it would be a pleasure to keep. “I’d be delighted to, if you could provide me with all the dimensions and the like.”
“Naturally. I have another student—young Kane—who is focussing on that part of this excavation. It incorporates the bath house, which appears to be a later addition to the original site, although the whole area is rather complex.” Applecross’s eyes sparkled. “A thousand years or so of occupation and different living styles. I’d love to know whether it was the same family all the way through that time although how that could ever be proved is beyond me.”
Jonty nodded. “I was telling Dr Coppersmith about your theory. I believe it rather goes against the grain of what some others think?”
“I’m afraid that’s so. I get into heated debates with those who are certain that the Iron Age inhabitants of the area would invariably have been either enslaved or ousted by the invading Roman hordes. That doesn’t necessarily happen now when countries are invaded, so why should it have happened then?”
Orlando kept his counsel on that, recalling stories Dr Panesar had told them from his family history, tales of the impact of colonial policy. Admittedly some native folk had done well, where they’d embraced the new rule and made themselves invaluable in terms of utilising their existing local influence. That hadn’t applied to everyone.
“I take your point,” Jonty said. “Although if you were among those who objected to your Iron Age life being turned upside down by these Latin chappies with their straight roads and right-angled houses, would you have regarded those who co-operated with the invaders as pragmatic or treasonous?”
Applecross spread his hands, as though weighing the merits of the two opinions. “I favour the former. If you had a family to