Denis Smith - The Mammoth Book of the New Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

‘“That is true,” responded Crompton, nodding his head, “but no one knows for certain. It would therefore be of great interest if it could be established that Tacitus did indeed visit Britannia, either before he wrote his book on Agricola or afterwards.”

‘Uncle Moreton nodded his head in agreement. “I don’t suppose we’re ever likely to know that now, though.”

‘“You mustn’t be so pessimistic!” said Crompton with a chuckle. “One can never tell when new historical evidence may come to light, even after two thousand years.”

‘There was a note in Crompton’s voice that suggested he had something specific in mind. Uncle Moreton evidently noticed it, too, for he turned to Crompton with a look of surprise on his face. “Don’t say you have found something relating to Tacitus in your own excavations!” said he.

‘“Nothing absolutely conclusive,” returned Crompton, “but something which is highly suggestive. I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but there is some evidence that a cousin of Tacitus’s wife held a minor administrative post in the province of Britannia, possibly in this very part of the country. It is therefore perfectly conceivable that Tacitus himself stayed in these parts before or after he had composed his Agricola . I was aware of this before I began my own digging, but had never really given it much thought, as it seemed somewhat unlikely. However, my excavations at High Grove have cast the whole business in a new light and have made the possibility seem a much more likely one. Part of the floor of the villa that has been revealed by the digging is covered with tiles and one of these, which I only uncovered two months ago, has an inscription on it which mentions Tacitus by name.”

‘“How thrilling!” cried Uncle Moreton. “What does it say?”

‘“Unfortunately, the tile is broken. Part of it has crumbled to dust and part of it is missing altogether, so all I have been able to make out is Tacitus in pomario .”

‘“What does pomario mean?” asked Mrs Hemming.

‘“‘An orchard’ I think,” suggested Uncle Moreton. “Is that right, Mr Crompton?”

‘“Yes,” agreed Crompton, “or possibly simply a garden with fruit trees in it. There is probably a verb missing and perhaps also an adjective qualifying pomario . So we cannot say what Tacitus was doing in the orchard, nor where the orchard referred to was situated. It may be he is described as walking or sitting in the orchard – who knows? Similarly, whether the orchard in question was one attached to the villa the remains of which lie under High Grove, or was somewhere else entirely, we cannot say. However,” he continued, “I am always optimistic that further excavations will turn up more evidence.”

‘“What you have found so far is amazing enough!” said Mr Hemming with enthusiasm. “Have you publicised it yet?”

‘“Well, I have notified the British Museum, if that is what you mean; but the wheels of the British Museum grind very slowly, I’m afraid. They informed me that they receive news of several such discoveries every year and are not able to investigate them all immediately. So when they will put in an appearance in our humble parish I don’t know. I have also written to the people I dealt with before at Cambridge University and they are sending someone down in a week or two.”

‘“Does the coin you found date from the same period as Tacitus?” asked Uncle Moreton.

‘Crompton shook his head. “Not exactly,” said he, “but it’s not much later. It’s a denarius of the reign of Hadrian, from about twenty years or so after Tacitus might have been here. As you’re no doubt aware, the Roman occupation of Britain lasted almost four hundred years and one might, of course, expect to find artefacts, coins and so on from any time during that very long period, so to find a coin from so close to Tacitus’s time was rather exciting. To be honest, I am not much of a coin expert, and when I found it, I was not really sure what it was. It is quite scratched and battered, and some of the lettering on the edge is missing. I thought at first it was from the reign of Titus, then wondered if the face on it might be Hadrian. In the end, to decide the matter, I sent off for an authenticated denarius of Hadrian from an antiquarian coin-dealer in London, and from that I could see at once that mine was one of Hadrian’s, too.”

‘“And you definitely haven’t been digging in Mr Pigge’s field?” asked Mr Hemming in a mischievous tone.

‘“Certainly not,” said Crompton in a tone of humorous indignation. “If anyone has really been digging there as Pigge claims, I think it must have been one or two of the local boys. No doubt when they heard I had found something interesting they thought they would like to find something, too. I might mention, incidentally, that my discoveries have caused a certain amount of envy locally, largely among the ignorant, who have no idea how much time and effort I have put into the excavations. The last time I dined with Mr Stainforth, two or three weeks ago, we discussed this very point.

‘“‘Depend upon it, Crompton,’ said he: ‘any good fortune you have is sure to be resented by someone, who will not appreciate the effort you must always put in to persuade fortune to occasionally smile upon you. I shouldn’t trouble yourself about Pigge, who is as ignorant a man as I have ever met. You can always rely on me to support you in any dispute with that oaf!’ But here we are, ladies and gentlemen! Come in and inspect my discoveries!”

‘We had turned down a narrow lane off the main road as Crompton had been speaking and come to a wicket gate in a tall hedge, which he pushed open. The front garden of his property was modest in size, with a small lawn and rose-bed. He did not pause there, however, but conducted us directly round the side of the house to the rear garden. This was much larger – perhaps a quarter of an acre – and, save for a strip of grass by the house, was in a state of great upheaval, with numerous shallow trenches and mounds of freshly dug earth. In the bottom of some of the trenches I could make out half-buried rows of brickwork. “As you see,” said Crompton, waving his hand at these diggings, “this area has been the focus of most of the activity. The enthusiastic young students from Cambridge were an enormous help to me last summer. You will appreciate by the extent of it that I couldn’t possibly have achieved so much by myself. Since they left, I have carried on alone, but at a much slower rate.” He led us on a path of wooden boards across the soft earth, towards the far corner of the garden, where an area of about fifteen feet square was covered with tarpaulins, their corners weighted down with small stones. Some of these Crompton picked up and tossed to one side, then he rolled back one of the tarpaulins to reveal the ground beneath. There were more rows of ancient-looking brickwork there and, between them, about two feet down, what appeared to be a tiled floor. The tiles were about six or seven inches square and of a dull reddish colour. Most were perfectly plain, but one to which Crompton drew our attention had some very neat writing inscribed upon it, although the lower half of the tile was broken off and missing. I leaned closer to get a better look and read Tacitus in pomario , as Crompton had described to us.

‘“Oh, this is wonderful!” cried Aunt Phyllis, craning forward to get a closer look. “It is so interesting to see how the craftsman has incised the letters so neatly. Do you mind if I sketch it?”

‘“Why, not at all,” returned Crompton, looking pleased at Aunt Phyllis’s enthusiasm.

‘She took a small sketch-pad and a pencil from a little bag she was carrying, and began to sketch the tiles before us. “The tiles are a good rich red colour,” she remarked without looking up from her drawing. “It really needs a bit of paint on this picture to do them justice. Were Roman tiles always this colour?”