Free The Janus Stone by Elly Griffiths Page A

skeletons are mixed together. Then, the process of trying to separate and record is an arduous one. But this is just one skeleton, one little body. Ruth handles the bones with tenderness, reverence even.
    Irish Ted has already bagged the bones of the cat. She will take them to the lab on her way home. Neither cat nor human skull has been found.
    'Good day.' The voice is so close that Ruth jumps. She looks up and sees a good-looking man of about her age, immaculately dressed in a cotton shirt and linen trousers. With him is an older man in a panama hat. Ruth straightens up, shielding her eyes with her hand.
    The younger man squats down as if he is about to jump into the trench. Ruth is horrified. Like most archaeologists, she likes to keep her trench immaculate. Standing in someone's trench is like walking uninvited into their house.
    'Stop!' she says sharply.
    The man looks at her quizzically.
    'You can't come into the trench,' says Ruth, struggling to keep her voice polite, 'you'll contaminate it.'
    The man straightens up. 'We haven't been introduced,' he says, as if the introduction will make all the difference. 'I'm Edward Spens.'
    That figures. The famous Edward Spens no doubt considers that Ruth's trench, like the rest of the site, belongs to him.
    'Ruth Galloway.' Ruth forces herself to smile up at him. She feels at a disadvantage being so low down.
    'So these are the fateful bones.'
    Fateful, thinks Ruth. It's a funny way of describing the find but somehow appropriate. She sees Spens' intelligent eyes fixed on her face. She must be careful not to give too much away.
    'This is the skeleton, yes.'
    'And have you any idea how old it is?'
    'Not yet. We might find some clues in the fill.'
    'The fill?'
    'The grave,' says Ruth, thinking how emotive the word is. But that is what they have found: a grave, where a body is buried. 'We might find bricks or pottery,' she explains. 'I thought I saw a shard from a bottle. That can be dated. And we'll do radiocarbon dating, though that's less useful when dealing with a modern skeleton.'
    'What exactly does radiocarbon dating involve?' Edward Spens smiles down charmingly.
    'It tests the amount of carbon in the bones. When we're alive, we take in carbon fourteen. When we die, we stop. By estimating when these bones stopped taking in carbon fourteen, we'll be able to estimate the age of the skeleton.'
    'Fascinating. How accurate is it?'
    'To about plus or minus five per cent.' Then, relenting slightly, 'Other factors affect the carbon dating but we can be accurate to about a hundred years.'
    'A hundred years! That's not very accurate.'
    'There are other indicators,' says Ruth, slightly irritated. 'Recent bones still contain blood pigment and amino acids, for example. We'll be able to tell if these remains are medieval or relatively modern.'
    The older man, who has been looking around him with every appearance of pleasure, now says, 'You know this used to be a church?'
    'My father, Sir Roderick Spens,' introduces Edward. 'He's very interested in history.' He says this in a resigned way, as if ferrying his elderly father to sites of archaeological interest is not his preferred way of passing the time.
    Roderick Spens doffs his hat with a flourish. 'Delighted to meet you.'
    Ruth smiles. She thinks she prefers Sir Roderick's interest to Edward's barely concealed impatience.
    'They say that a church used to stand here,' Roderick Spens explains. 'Probably destroyed during the dissolution of the monasteries, gravestones broken up, stained glass smashed, gold and silver melted down.'
    Ruth thinks of the workman smashing the windows in the conservatory and the momentary regret she had felt for those coloured pieces of glass, for the destruction of anything that was once prized. 'We found a chalice yesterday,' she says, 'probably 1400s or thereabouts. Some beautiful work on it.'
    Sir Roderick's eyes gleam. 'Now that I'd like to see.'
    'It's back at the university,' says Ruth, 'but I'm sure we could