meanwhile, be careful.”
The interest of great men is flattering, but I had no faith in such matters. I
had found no luck and no opportunity except that I made. Finding the gold—that
was luck, but on the other hand, had I not been walking the Dyke home from work
I would never have been where the gold was. It did not come to me. I went to it.
“I shall be out of the way for two, maybe three days,” I suggested.
He glanced at me, and I said, “It is a venture in antiquities, and may come to
nothing.”
“Luck to you, then. Be in touch with me when you return. I will arrange the
meeting for then.”
When he had gone, I met with Jublain and Corvino. “I shall need a horse,” I
said.
“A horse is easy,” Corvino said. “Why not three?”
“What I do may come to nothing.”
Jublain shrugged. “Much of what any of us do comes to nothing, yet I notice that
whatever you do has at least an intelligence.”
Quietly, I explained. “Do not think of treasure,” I warned. “It may be some
simple thing. A pot, a Roman sword, an inscription. We may waste our time.”
“If you go alone,” Jublain said, “you’ll fall into trouble. We shall ride with
you.”
We took only the food we needed, and digging tools. The latter we wrapped in a
cloak and we rode swiftly. Out of town and long into the countryside, then into
the deep woods.
Suddenly Jublain said, “We are followed, Barnabas.”
Glancing back I saw a lone horseman upon a hill. He was sitting very still,
seeming to scan the country.
“Just a chance rider,” I suggested.
“Who turns when we turn? Who stops when we stop?”
“All right then, be prepared.”
Our horses were good, but I had no mind to trust to speed. I had walked through
this country before this. The road ahead dipped low between a barn and a walled
field. Beyond was a sunken road, a road that branched three ways. Between two of
these roads was a brook.
Swiftly we dipped into the sunken road. We took the middle one and, coming to
the brook, went into the water and rode swiftly to the other road and into the
woods. Turning from the road we rode into the forest, weaving among the trees,
splashing through a marsh and soon came upon another trail.
We went back, then, by devious lanes used only by farmers, into the deeper
forest.
Though I was sure I could ride right to the spot, it took me some time to find
it. We dismounted and looked about. It was Corvino whose quick eyes made
contact.
“There!” he said. “Where the mound is! That is probably all tumbled rock
underneath. See? It is not a natural mound, that one.”
Jublain had not moved. Suddenly he looked over at me. “It is wrong … this,” he
said quietly. “It is very wrong.”
We looked at him, and he flushed a little. “You’ll think me a fool,” he said,
“but if there is anything here, if there are old things, they lie as they have
fallen … where they fell, when they fell.”
Neither of us knew what he was talking about. “Is it because you fear the
ghosts?” Corvino wondered.
Jublain shook his head. “I know nothing of such things,” he said, “I should be
the last to speak, but your Society … If this place were opened with care, if
every thing were taken out and its position marked, could one not tell how the
object was used? You spoke of pots … for the kitchen? Or for perfumes or
powder or such things? If things are moved, how will they ever find out?”
We stared at him, and I, for one, saw his point at last. It irritated me,
because I began to feel he was right. I did not know exactly why, but …
“You spoke of history, of these things being a part of history. If we take them
all apart, then who will know how they once fitted?”
“If we don’t, someone else will,” I grumbled.
“I think that remark has excused more sins than any other,” Jublain commented.
I stared at him, irritated. “Since when did you become so sanctimonious? You
have killed, looted. You’ve lived by the sword.”
He shrugged. “A good point, and I’m caught upon it. I am a soldier, have on
occasion been a brigand, but nonetheless—”
“Dig!” I said, “I came not this way for nothing.”
Corvino had crossed the hollow where I had fallen on my first discovery. “A
corner was here, I think. Let us try.”
Nobody said more, and we all dug, but reluctantly, I think.
We found broken stone, another fragment of a statue, a bit of a robe this time,
much dirt and debris, more fallen rock and finally a whole wall that had fallen
in. Then much finer soil, dust that had blown in, the black soil of moldered
leaves, some fragments of broken pottery.
They worked slowly, and with great care, breaking up each clod of mud, searching
for whatever they might find. Jublain straightened at last. “Barnabas,” he said,
“there is something here. The floor,” he pointed up, “is there. What we find
here is under the floor.”
“A cellar. A tunnel, perhaps,” I suggested.
Corvino shook his head. “I think not. The place of the floor was built above
this, built after it. What we are working now is the edge of an older ruin …
before the Romans.”
“Who was here before the Romans?” Jublain asked.
I shrugged. “Arthur … you have heard of him? Arthur was here. He was a Celt, I
think. And the Danes were here, they came and went. My own people were among
those who were here. But … who knows?”
We hesitated. I looked up at the floor, about five feet above where we now
worked. “It may be for nothing, for no purpose,” I said irritably.
Jublain leaned on his shovel. “We should leave it alone,” he insisted. “We know
nothing of this. Perhaps if your antiquaries came here to dig—”
“They might know little more,” I said. “Jublain, work on the floor above.
Corvino and I will work down here. We will disturb as little as possible.”
Suddenly a thought came to me. That rider who seemed to follow us: what of him?
“Keep your weapons close,” I said suddenly. “I have a bad feeling about this
place.”
“Aye,” Jublain was grim. “Men have died here. See?” He indicated some charred
and ancient timber he had uncovered. “Fire … and blood, I am thinking.”
Corvino dug carefully in the corner, removing the dirt bit by bit.
I watched, then returned to my own digging. The earth was black and rich …
with the bodies of the dead? Who had lived and died in this place? Did they
believe their world was all? Did they look with amused interest mingled with
mild contempt at the past?
Something rounded and smooth … something! “A skull,’ I said, removing it
gently from the soil, “a skull cleft by a blow.”
There it was, the bone parted from behind by a blow. I took it up, gently.
Placing it at one side I slowly worked about, finding other bones, scattered
finger bones, a pelvis … suddenly some metal studs from a belt or something,
and then a small packet of coins. They were stuck together, but I lifted them
out. There must have been a dozen, most of them gold. Two came free as I lifted
them.
One had a horse with its head looking back, tail flowing, and what might have
been a chariot behind. There was a worn figure, man or woman we could not tell.
Another was of a seated woman, holding a staff, and some symbols or letters
behind the staff.
“There!” Jublain indicated them. “We have found what we came for. Let us go.”
“You? The looter? You wish to leave now?” I scoffed gently.
“It is you who have done this to me,” he said calmly. “You with your talk of
preserving history. I had not thought of it before, but what do we who make
history have left, if our victories and defeats are not known to our ancestors?
“I think … I feel some lonely battle was fought here, and fought well, and men
died for what they believed, perhaps surrounded in this place. Someday men may
come with more knowledge than we and they will put the parts together. And out
of it will come a story of heroes.”
“You believe in heroes?” Corvino looked at him thoughtfully.
“I cannot believe in anything else. A man needs heroes. He needs to believe in
strength, nobility and courage. Otherwise we become sheep to be herded to the
slaughterhouse of death. I believe this. I am a soldier. I try to fight for the