The gentle shape of the ship crept towards her from the darker blue below. The image came into focus the way a dream starts, from nothing to an epic, yet without beginning or end. The Burdigala revealed herself and Shelly introduced her spirit to the ship in an intimate moment that she would never be able to describe to another. Intoxicated by the silence of this other world, she drank in the beauty of it all.

She tried to control her excitement, once again concentrating on breathing calmly, slowing her heartrate, saving oxygen. Although it was darker now, and everything turned a deeper blue, some sunlight still filtered down thanks to the clear water. She relied on her headlamp to see into the depths of the wreck as she approached.

The Burdigala sat on her keel, like a sleeping fish on the bottom, upright, ready to sail away at its first disturbance. Then she saw why it couldn’t. The hull was cleanly cut into two, almost exactly across the centre.

The similarities between the Burdigala and the Britannic fascinated her. By studying this wreck, would some vital piece of information come to light as to why these two magnificent ships were destroyed? Harry had dived the Britannic and the Burdigala several times, was he looking for information too? Something didn’t add up, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

She took a few seconds to enjoy the thrill of the moment; her body, weightless and free. What really caused the Burdigala to sink? She glanced across to Harry, three metres to her right. Did he know? Was it in his best interest to keep the mystery alive? He made the OK sign with his thumb and forefinger, which she mirrored. Her only regret was that she had not had the opportunity to read about the ship before this visit. She knew almost nothing, but she consoled herself; she would be back.

The place was a wonderland festooned with delicate vegetation and coral-like structures that rose to resemble gothic, yet lacy architecture. Fat hats of sulphur-yellow sponges, barnacles, anemones and crustaceans in every shade of pink and orange, all spread before her. Saddle oysters, like pale blue discs of delicate flaky pastry, nestled between fan-like vegetation. Rigging turned into furred pipe cleaners by microscopic organisms that grew on the ropes. Fifty metres of fishing net hung like swags and drapes in a curtain shop window. Shelly had to remind herself the Burdigala went down in 1916. The ship had slept in the very same spot on the seabed for over a hundred years, yet it seemed so fresh, so alive!