bowels’, as his message relayed through her put it, I examined the nearest display cases.
One in particular stood out: a massive torc – a golden neckband – which had been discovered in Meath in the 1920s was the centrepiece of the biggest display, surrounded by smaller gold pieces discovered in the same dig. The information sheet beside the cabinet related details of the find and the fact that the jewellery had been fashioned from Irish gold during the Bronze Age, when mining had been a common feature of life in Ireland.
A few minutes later Fearghal appeared by my side. I was a little surprised to see him wearing a white medical coat.
‘Benny, boy, good to see you,’ he said, continuing his hail-fellow-well-met routine.
‘Fearghal,’ I said, shaking his hand. ‘I was down for a conference; thought I’d drop in and see how Kate is doing.’
‘Great to see you,’ he said, pumping my hand in his but noticeably toning down his voice. ‘Come and see her.’
As I followed him to the door, I asked about his family. His parents had both been architects, and I remembered them as kind, good-living people. They were both well, he assured me, as was his younger brother, Leon, who had been friendly with my younger brother, Tom, when Fearghal and I had known each other. Leon had been a computing expert, then had thrown it up and had gone off to some commune, apparently. Tom, meanwhile, had become a mechanical engineer.
‘That’s how people change,’ Fearghal concluded as he led me down several flights of steps to a basement laboratory not unlike a surgical theatre.
Kate’s body lay curled on top of a stainless-steel table, her features much clearer now that all the dirt had been cleaned from her. Her hair was red, her teeth almost golden in colour.
‘She’s a beauty, isn’t she?’ Fearghal said.
‘Considering her age,’ I said.
‘Two and a half thousand years,’ he said. ‘Carbon dating will give us a more accurate date, but we suspect early Iron Age.’
‘Have you been able to verify cause of death?’ I asked.
He smiled. ‘Typical cop,’ he said. ‘The how’s not really important, Benny. It’s the why that’s interesting.’
‘Why then?’ I asked, and then, perhaps through pure contrariness, he answered the ‘how’ anyway.
‘She was strangled,’ he said. ‘Garrotted.’
‘Miss Campbell thought that,’ I nodded. ‘And why?’
‘We think she was a sacrifice. She was probably a criminal who was to be executed anyway so they offered her as a sacrifice instead.’
‘A sacrifice to whom?’
‘Probably Aine,’ he said. ‘Goddess of love and fertility.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Detective work, Benny,’ Bradley said. ‘And a lot of guessing.’
‘That’s mostly the same thing,’ I said.
‘There’s a whole load of things we’ve picked up on,’ he said. ‘Firstly, the fact that she was buried at all. Early Iron Age man cremated his dead. If they buried someone, it was probably as a gift to the bog or to the gods.’
‘Why do you think she was a gift to the gods then and not the bog?’
‘Two reasons,’ he said, clearly enjoying discussing his work. ‘Linda examined Kate’s stomach contents, her last meal. She ate, or was forced to eat, a gruel or soup of flowers: barley, linseed, knotgrass, gold-of-pleasure. The fact that she ate a mixture of flowers and cereals suggests either the harvest or the spring.’
‘Forced?’
He beamed broadly. ‘C’mere.’ He beckoned me over to a shelf where a tupperware container sat, half filled with a thick yellow substance. Bradley lifted a spoon from the desk, wiped it on the tail of his white coat and spooned out some of the yellow mix.
‘Taste that,’ he said, offering me the spoon as I backed away.
‘No thanks,’ I said, raising my hand.
‘Go on,’ he persisted, raising the spoon to my mouth. ‘It won’t kill you.’
‘Is this her actual stomach contents?’ I asked, trying hard not to
One in particular stood out: a massive torc – a golden neckband – which had been discovered in Meath in the 1920s was the centrepiece of the biggest display, surrounded by smaller gold pieces discovered in the same dig. The information sheet beside the cabinet related details of the find and the fact that the jewellery had been fashioned from Irish gold during the Bronze Age, when mining had been a common feature of life in Ireland.
A few minutes later Fearghal appeared by my side. I was a little surprised to see him wearing a white medical coat.
‘Benny, boy, good to see you,’ he said, continuing his hail-fellow-well-met routine.
‘Fearghal,’ I said, shaking his hand. ‘I was down for a conference; thought I’d drop in and see how Kate is doing.’
‘Great to see you,’ he said, pumping my hand in his but noticeably toning down his voice. ‘Come and see her.’
As I followed him to the door, I asked about his family. His parents had both been architects, and I remembered them as kind, good-living people. They were both well, he assured me, as was his younger brother, Leon, who had been friendly with my younger brother, Tom, when Fearghal and I had known each other. Leon had been a computing expert, then had thrown it up and had gone off to some commune, apparently. Tom, meanwhile, had become a mechanical engineer.
‘That’s how people change,’ Fearghal concluded as he led me down several flights of steps to a basement laboratory not unlike a surgical theatre.
Kate’s body lay curled on top of a stainless-steel table, her features much clearer now that all the dirt had been cleaned from her. Her hair was red, her teeth almost golden in colour.
‘She’s a beauty, isn’t she?’ Fearghal said.
‘Considering her age,’ I said.
‘Two and a half thousand years,’ he said. ‘Carbon dating will give us a more accurate date, but we suspect early Iron Age.’
‘Have you been able to verify cause of death?’ I asked.
He smiled. ‘Typical cop,’ he said. ‘The how’s not really important, Benny. It’s the why that’s interesting.’
‘Why then?’ I asked, and then, perhaps through pure contrariness, he answered the ‘how’ anyway.
‘She was strangled,’ he said. ‘Garrotted.’
‘Miss Campbell thought that,’ I nodded. ‘And why?’
‘We think she was a sacrifice. She was probably a criminal who was to be executed anyway so they offered her as a sacrifice instead.’
‘A sacrifice to whom?’
‘Probably Aine,’ he said. ‘Goddess of love and fertility.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Detective work, Benny,’ Bradley said. ‘And a lot of guessing.’
‘That’s mostly the same thing,’ I said.
‘There’s a whole load of things we’ve picked up on,’ he said. ‘Firstly, the fact that she was buried at all. Early Iron Age man cremated his dead. If they buried someone, it was probably as a gift to the bog or to the gods.’
‘Why do you think she was a gift to the gods then and not the bog?’
‘Two reasons,’ he said, clearly enjoying discussing his work. ‘Linda examined Kate’s stomach contents, her last meal. She ate, or was forced to eat, a gruel or soup of flowers: barley, linseed, knotgrass, gold-of-pleasure. The fact that she ate a mixture of flowers and cereals suggests either the harvest or the spring.’
‘Forced?’
He beamed broadly. ‘C’mere.’ He beckoned me over to a shelf where a tupperware container sat, half filled with a thick yellow substance. Bradley lifted a spoon from the desk, wiped it on the tail of his white coat and spooned out some of the yellow mix.
‘Taste that,’ he said, offering me the spoon as I backed away.
‘No thanks,’ I said, raising my hand.
‘Go on,’ he persisted, raising the spoon to my mouth. ‘It won’t kill you.’
‘Is this her actual stomach contents?’ I asked, trying hard not to
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