(A short story written to include the names (red) of all the horses in the Melbourne Cup)

The Associate Professor of Arabic and Middle Eastern Studies at Cambridge was on summer vacation. Most years he returned to his boyhood hunting ground - Galleons Reach, just south of Cork in southern Ireland where the fishing was still good and the colleens always pretty and engaging. Seamus O'Reilly, now in his early forties, was enjoying the quiet and solitary life after yet another hectic college year. This year he'd been elevated to Master and the students now deferentially called him Master O'Reilly. The phone rang. "Sufferin' serpents, can't they leave a man when he's on holiday. Hallo. O'Reilly speaking."
"Excuse me, Sir. Hope you're enjoying your holiday." It was the cheery voice of his secretary, Daf. (Her parents had misguidedly named her Daffodil.) "Sorry to bother you but there's a message just come in from Abu Dhabi. Seems the French "dig" out there has come across something very unusual. They wondered if you'd like to go out and help the investigation."
"Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn't. I am on holiday you know and the fishing's good. OK, give me the details."

The jumbo landed smoothly; a fierce hot wind surrounded O'Reilly as he walked from the plane. He'd met the leader of the French expedition before. He was waiting for him. Henri Zavite was a short avuncular man; a jovial, middle-aged character. O'Reilly observed that despite the heat he was still wearing his favourite Harris Tweed jacket patched at the elbows. He'd never seen him in anything else. Reminds me of Hercule Poirot he mused.

"Ah, Henri. How are you? Thanks for meeting me."
" 'Allo, 'allo, Seamus. I 'ave lots to do. Zis dig is taking all my time, n'est pas." They walked to the car. "You see we 'ave found some bodies. It is very unusual you know."
They drove to the hotel, enjoyed dinner, then settled in the lounge. O'Reilly was feeling more relaxed after the long flight. He checked the wine list. "Ah, they've got some Fiumicino. It's a new port wine from Italy. It's been on the shelf at home for a while now. Fiumicino's in Italy,
did you know. Means "little river". Good name for a wine, eh? It's very good. You should try some. Much better than this alcopop rubbish the kids are into."
Henri Zavite continued his story. "We 'ave been digging 'ere for five summers now. It's a palace site: Late Bronze and last week we came across zis burial chamber, long and narrow. It seems no one knew about it."

Next morning they drove across the burning yellow desert sand to the site. The dig was scattered over a large area. Zavite said, "It is a very strange thing. It looks like a massacre occurred 'ere. My assistant, Maurice, called me, 'Hurry Henri. Allez! Wonder! What's 'ere?' I just spin around so quickly and I am so astonished. It was 'orrible. C'est la guerre, I say. What 'as 'appened 'ere? It is like nothing I 'ave ever seen. So quickly I pull out my trusty little Leica camera for the pictures and Leica, ding! Ding! Ding! It is like a crime scene; the bodies 'ave been ritually dismembered and they are all women. You see these two with legs and arms in strange positions. Maybe they were princesses or harem girls and they appear to 'ave been named. We 'ave found these small steles nearby with names: Ista Kareem, Munsef: royal-sounding names and there's another one over there. It's not very clear but could be Mourilyan. You are the expert Seamus. What do you think?"
O'Reilly bent over the skeletons, then turned to one of the local Arabs and said: "Please, lend me your cape. Cover the bones. I'll need to examine them again." Standing up he said, "An Arabian sheikh lived in this area somewhere about 1750 BCE. The best translation of his name would be Basaltico. He was a big wig. Very sadistic by all accounts and held life pretty cheap. Rather like Claudius, you remember, the Roman Emperor. Derek Jacobi played him in the movie.
"What I see here Henri is exactly what I would have expected. Gruesome, shocking yes, but not when viewedfrom the perspective of the times they lived in. I'm a bit surprised there aren't more. Perhaps you'll find some. And by the way let me know if you find the remains of any horses. This fellow was well known for his chariot racing. I'll be away now Henri. Promised my sister in Australia I'd come on over to her since I'm already half way round the world."
"Where does she live?" asked Zavite.
"Oh, a little place near Sydney. Warringah. She says it's a little kibbutz. Her husband's Jewish. Should add another dimension to my Middle Eastern studies. Enjoy your discoveries Henri."