And they were.
I jumped to my feet. Far out in the water, I could see bobbing dots. A lot of bobbing dots. They were here.
We grabbed our kit and settled in our carefully chosen site. Somewhere we could see them and they couldn’t see us.
Tim was correct. They were island hopping. We set up the recorders and got stuck in.
‘Look at that,’ said Tim, softly. ‘Who says our ancestors weren’t bright?’
He was right. They were wonderfully well organised. A series of rafts were strung together, piled high with bundles and carrying what looked like the old and the very young. I’ve heard it said that you can judge a civilisation by the treatment of its old people. In an age where people were a scarce resource, every person was valued. There were not so many people in the world that they could be careless with each other.
The more able-bodied – women as well as men, ranged up and down the rafts, checking, pushing, pulling, encouraging.
Some carried long staffs, not to punt, as we initially thought, but over the deep places one person would extend their staff horizontally, someone would grasp the other end and the shorter people and those who couldn’t swim would work their way, in perfect safety, hand over hand, from one staff to the next.
Some half dozen men led from the front, poking with their staffs, finding the way.
‘Pathfinders,’ said Peterson, smugly.
Some people carried tiny children on their shoulders and all the time they shouted to each other. They had language. They shouted instructions, advice, and encouragement. They urged each other on. No one was forgotten.
Occasionally, someone clung to a raft, either guiding it or having a rest.
They were swimming one minute, thent they were splashing through shallow water. Then back to swimming again as they hopped from island to tiny island.
But the longest and most difficult stretch was the final stage. The last tiny piece of land was some way from the eastern shore. And the currents ran swift here. And they would be tired.
Their leaders struggled to keep their feet, gave it up, and began to swim, dog-style, heads held high out of the water. And then, even as we watched, they weren’t swimming – they were floundering. Two or three lost their staffs, which were immediately whirled away from them. People shouted from the rafts. Some tried to stand up and the rafts wobbled. Packs fell over the side and floated away. More people shouted. Someone made a grab for one and fell overboard. Someone else screamed. The men at the front, who should have had all their attention on finding their way forward, looked back. Another of them was whirled away by the current.
The line of rafts began to separate. Either because the lines had snapped or they were being cut so that if one sank, it wouldn’t take the others with it.
Men and women shouted incomprehensibly. Panic was beginning to spread. The convoy was breaking up. One raft began to float away. There were children on it …
They still had some way to go to shore. They weren’t going to make it. This crossing was going to be as unsuccessful as all the others.
I felt a kind of despair. They’d come so far. They’d so nearly made it. They deserved to make it. Surely we could do something. We had ropes. We could help.
I scrambled to my feet in the sand.
Peterson pulled me back down again.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘Rope. We can help.’
‘No, we can’t.’
‘Tim, for God’s sake …’
‘No, you can’t, Max. Not this time.’
‘They’re not going to make it. We must do something. This is one of the most significant events in human History.’
‘And that’s why we can’t interfere. Not this time. Don’t you see? It’s far too important. If we interfere we’re changing all of human History.’
I struggled against him.
‘Stop it,’ he said sharply. ‘I’m not letting go and you’ll just hurt yourself.’
‘Tim, these people are dying.’
‘Then they’re meant to. You know that. You’re an historian, Max. You’ve got away with a lot in the past and you probably will again in the future. But not today.’
‘Let me go, Mr Peterson. Now.’
‘No,’ he said, simply.
‘I’m ordering you …’
‘No.’
‘Tim …’
‘I’m not doing it, Max, so give it up.’
I was still struggling. We were kicking sand everywhere but he held me in a grip of iron. I had no idea he was so strong.
‘They’re dying out there. ‘
‘And we’ll be dying here if I let you go.’
‘They’re our ancestors. They’re us. What is the matter with you?’
‘Do you think I’m happy about this? But someone always has to keep their head. It was you at Troy. Today, here and now, it’s me. You can’t do this, Max. You can’t wipe Chief Farrell out of your life for what he did at Troy and then turn round and do exactly the same thing yourself.’