The next day, nursing unforgiving hangovers, we finally achieved ingress to the presumed resting place of the tribal king. The way in was through a walled tunnel that sloped downwards until it reached the burial chamber. The walls were hewn stone supported by wooden pillars, which for the most part, were rotten and eaten away. Tattered tapestries lined the wall, though these were soon to corrode as fresh air entered the chamber. Our eyes lit up when we saw the treasures that had been interred in the hallow grave: an ornate cauldron, a wonderfully decorated sword and shield, bracelets, brooches, combs and a fabulous torc. The only thing that was missing were bones.
"A burial chamber with no bones" observed Professor Digger. "What do we make of that. Like a pudding without the plum, eh?"
Miss Rutmore was examining the jewellery. "The same green metal as before Professor. We really need to get it to a laboratory."
Spadely had gone ahead slightly and was examining the floor and the walls. He suddenly crouched. "Here," he said. "Inscriptions."
We all went over. Runes had been carved into one of the paving slabs. They were obviously of great antiquity. Spooner started to run his finger over them and mumble. His expertise was Arcane languages. In fact, as he liked to boast, there wasn't much in the lingual area he couldn't get his tongue around.
"Careful in this light" said Digger. "You don't want to rune your eyesight."
Spooner muttered as he slowly deciphered the worn glyphs, "Hmmm .. Enter not. Evil. Please leave parcels round back." He stood up. "There's more symbols but their not celtic, gallic even, never seen them before. The best I can do is make a copy."
I took a look myself. To my suprise I recognised them from somewhere .. of course, the Woblinoblicon .. in that forgotten language it called Bugalug .. spoken apparently in the time before man .. if such a thing were possible. I thought briefly of sharing my revelation with my companions, but something made me bade my tongue, perhaps the fear of appearing foolish.
Spadely began to tap on the stone with a sounding rod. It rang hollow, as hollow I supposed, as would my theory of a primeval language. "If there is a tunnel going down to the ravine, this is it" he said.
"Well okay dokey then" said Digger. "No point in standing around playing guessing games. Lets get the lifting bars and props." A few hours later, we had the slab raised on its side to reveal the foul smelling chamber underneath. It dropped down to another stone floor, and shining our torches inside, we could make out steps leading downwards.
The professor withdrew his head. "Phew," he said "I've stuck my face into some foul smelling cavities in my time, but that really takes the biscuit." I heard Miss Rutmore mutter something about the difficulties of maintaining personal hygiene on a campsite, but failed to see the relevence.
"What do you say," he continued. "Should we go down and have a look now or leave it til the morning?"
"I say we have a quick look now" said Spooner. "what harm could there be?"
There was general assent. "I'm quite certain" said Miss Rutmore "that nothing dreadful or awful could possibly befall us."
So down we went, handkerchiefs held to our noses to shield us from the noxious fumes emerging from below.
"By golly" said Digger. "Its worse than my Aunt Marys after she's been out for a curry."
We kept going down. It was unnerving. We went far past the point that would have brought us to the bottom of the ravine, and the slabs, as we descended, became more roughly hewn at the same time as the walls became more densely inscribed with the weird glyphs that had accompanied the runes on the entrance slab. It was Spadely who eventually expressed our unspoken thoughts - "This wasn't the work of the celts" he said "or any ancient Briton. Look!"
Two steps below we found our first skeletal remains. The skull was broad and flat, the frame of the body barely bipedal. "Those remains are stone age" he said, quavering. "Early stone age, maybe a million years ago."
We halted. The implications were impossible. Spooner had taken a camera from his knapsack and began to photograph the glyphs on the walls. The bright flash was sudden and shot down the tunnel like a bolt of lightning. In response, from somewhere deep down below, we heard a weird sort of giggling - like, 'ubble ubble ubble ubble'. The darkness wrapped itself around us again and we froze.
"Other people did hear that didn't they?" asked Digger.
"Er yes Professor," I said " and if you step into a puddle unexpectedly, don't worry that's just me."
"ubble ubble ubble ubble", closer.
"And er.. n-now that I think about it," added Gladys "I'm not sure I turned the primus stove off. I might just run upstairs to check."
"Thats right" said Digger. "We don't want any accidents."
"A bit late for that." I muttered.
"All this damp air anyway" added Spooner. "Its no good for my joints. A quick sprint will help loosen them up."
And so it was we decided to depart the tunnel in a brisk but timely fashion. Or as Digger later put it in his report - "Bloody scarper."
We chose not to sleep that night, but instead, made a cheering fire to ward off the gloom and tried to revive our spirits with generous portions of whisky. But neither did much to dispel the impression that something unwholesome was waiting to emerge from the freshly opened tomb behind us. We were all relieved when dawn finally rose.
"... and really" Spooner was saying, "there's no point going back down until we research what we've already discovered. We've got the inscriptions, the finds .. its groundbreaking stuff already. And what do archeologists do if they don't break fresh ground?" he laughed weakly.
"But really we should go back for the skeleton" said Spadely. This was not a popular opinion.
"No I agree with Mr Spooner" said Gladys. "It would be rash to go back down until we know more. Don't you think so Mr Bodkin?"
"Well mother always said. the further down you go, the more likely you are to get a rash."
"There you go."
"All the same, professor Digger," I added "you wouldn't regret, not attempting to locate the source of this strange Tartarus?"
"Its no good looking for Tartarus source lad" he replied, "if you've already had your chips." That summed it up nicely.
"Do you have regrets Ivor?" asked Gladys.
I shook my head. Indeed i did not. The only thing I regretted was taking a look behind as we pelted up the steps. For I swear I saw, in the receding light, that white bubbling mass suggested to me in the old saxon records of Godleys library. That terrible thing the locals call a 'Shaggit'. I shuddered.
"So thats decided" said Spooner. "We go back to the Ginantonic and take it from there."
Just as i was getting used to the whisky, I thought.
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