Chapter Twenty-Six #2
Feeling torn between her love for Aedan and for her work, she walked deep in thought.
Reaching the souterrain, she pulled away a corner of the tarpaulin, which was heavy with rain, mud encroaching along the rim of the opening, though the canvas covering protected the underground chamber.
Twilight flowed down into the hole as she descended the ladder and groped about in the dark pit to find the candles and matchbox kept nearby.
Shining the flaming candle around, she was relieved to see the pots undisturbed, stacked deep against the wall. The space was somewhat damp due to the recent rains and the smell of old earth made her cough.
Kneeling, she waved the candle flame to look at the larger clay jars that carried painted images.
Rounded clay shoulders and tapered bases were decorated with reddish-brown color in linear designs and free drawings—bands of loops and swirls, contour drawings of animals, weapons, a few human figures.
Two large pots had depictions of bearlike creatures.
Scuttling closer, heedless of her skirts in the dirt, Christina set the brass candle dish on the ground and leaned to look at the abstract linear images.
The pot was one of those that were stoppered with hardened wax, likely tallow fat.
Rocking it a bit, finding it heavy, she sighed, then made a decision.
Reaching into a pocket, she took out the little sewing scissors she had brought, and began to pry at the waxen plug.
Overhead, she heard the muffled sound of another blast on the far side of the hill.
The ground under her knees shook a little, dirt and small stones dropping around her.
The candle flickered and bloomed bright again.
Aedan had mentioned they sometimes set off small blasts in series, especially now with the ancient walls nearby.
But she could see that even small blasts could affect the ruins.
Otherwise, the chamber was snug and sturdy, lined with stones.
Collapse was not a concern. These walls had stood secure for centuries.
She worked at the stubborn wax seal, shifting the angle of her assault. Then she saw a single word painted inside a small circle on the pot’s shoulder.
òr, it said. In Gaelic, Latin too, it meant gold.
She sat back, stunned. This vessel had been here all the while, close against the wall, but she had not seen the tiny word until now. A bear design and the word for gold. What could be inside?
She recalled Hector mentioning the old legend that Arthur had hidden gold in these hills, and somehow related to the Dundrennan legend.
He found it amusing and unlikely, and Christina had agreed.
Similar tales appeared in other places in Britain.
Yet now that she had a feeling that something might indeed be found on Dundrennan lands, she was determined to give it a chance.
Tugging, prying, she felt the plug crack loose from the rim, and she pulled out a chunk of the seal.
A sweetish smell wafted out with a punch of fermentation that reeled her back for an instant.
Holding the candle high, she saw the glint of black muck inside.
Not gold. Whatever it was, time had not preserved it well.
She poked at the mass with the scissor tips. It was gluey and dark.
Honey. The pot must have been full of honey. Of course. Bears, gold, honey—how apt, and how sensible. It was merely a wealth of the golden food source.
She replaced the plug and crawled to the next pot, popped the seal without destroying it, peeked inside.
Doing this with one vessel after another, she found a variety of contents.
There were oats, dry and shrunken, and desiccated root vegetables, dried meats, more honey, and some folded cloths of a beautiful weave that looked too fragile to touch.
Two large pots held what apparently had been beer, dried and sour smelling.
But no gold, no treasure, nothing to link this place with Artorius the Bear or Aedan mac Brudei and Liadan, Daughter of the Bear. Just bears outlined in ink, which might be, or might not be, connected to the bear name on the manuscript pages.
She had not found anything marvelous, but it was a solid find regarding domestic life centuries past. Wiping her gloved hands, she rose, went to the ladder, and blew out the candle.
As she set her foot on the bottom rung, she heard the crunch of stones above, near the lip of the opening.
Perhaps the explosions had loosened something above.
Then she saw feet, legs, and then a man appeared beside the gap in the tarpaulin. His lean form was a dark silhouette against the twilight sky.
Edgar.
He had not seen her. Moving away from the ladder, she told herself he was no threat. Just annoying Edgar. She sighed as he began to descend the ladder. Then she lit the candle again and waited.
Setting a foot on the floor, he jumped, startled. “Christina! I wondered if you had come here.” He walked toward her, head ducked under the low ceiling. “I read your notes.”
“My excavation notes, aye.”
“And your new translation too. That cabinet is shamefully easy to open, you know.” His tone was smug. So very Edgar.
She felt too aware that they were alone here, and that he stood blocking the only exit. Suddenly she wanted to leave.
“So I guessed you might come here tonight before the pots were moved. My dear,” he said, “did you think the significance of dux bellorum escaped me? I am familiar with your uncle’s work. I know his theory about the historical Arthur in Scotland.”
“But you said there is nothing significant in this site.”
“I kept my thoughts to myself. You and I are both here for same reason. To find King Arthur’s gold.”
“But there is no gold here. I looked in the pots because I wanted to study them in place before you take them away.”
“Surely, you suspect there is more here, as I do. Come here.” He reached for her arm, but she flinched away, so he snatched her wrist in a painful grip.
Then he grabbed the candle dish from her and pulled her to the other end of the underground chamber.
He moved the flickering light over the vessels.
“When I first saw these vases,” he said, “I was disappointed. So ordinary. And you were fussing with toothbrushes and Danish methods. I thought you might know about the gold too, and just delayed to find it yourself. Your uncle would have told you about it.”
“He never mentioned gold.” She tugged against his hold.
“Sir Hugh first told me about the gold, and then Reverend Carriston mentioned it in a note in one of his books. Hugh was sure it was hidden on his estate somewhere, but never found it. I convinced him that a codicil in his will would protect any treasure found after his death. But I was determined to find it first, if it existed.”
“The codicil was your suggestion?”
“Sir Hugh was brilliant but impractical. He was glad to have a plan to protect his estate. When Sir Aedan set black powder to this hill and the wall was exposed, I thought we might find the treasure at last.”
“But you sent me instead of coming here.” She yanked against his hand, but he did not let go, even when he turned to set the candle atop a wooden box.
“I could not appear too eager, so I sent you before me.”
“Then you always believed this find was important.”
“I had some doubts until I saw your reports. There are intriguing coincidences between this site and the legends. That ancient page you are translating seems to refer to that nonsense about the briar princess.”
“It is not nonsense. I believe now that it truly happened. It is historical.”
“Be that as it may, there may be more important references to Arthur, which could also indicate that the legend of Arthur’s lost treasure has some credence.”
“There is no gold here. Those pots hold honey, grain, and such. My translation has nothing to do with it. This is storeroom. A larder.”
“And bears on the pots. The daughter of the bear,” he said. “Who was that? Curious, don’t you think? Why would the ancestor of the MacBrides write poetry about her in the margin of the roster?”
“I am not sure.” But she knew it was the ancient Aedan’s spell to call back Liadan’s wandering soul. She would not give that to Edgar, and was glad she had not written all her thoughts that day. She wanted to protect the love and power of the charm spell.
“Why do you want this gold? You are a wealthy man,” she said.
“A man can always use more, my dear. Ask Aedan MacBride. His inheritance is dwindling. His father’s fault, to be sure,” he added.
“I don’t seek a fortune. Just imagine discovering treasure hidden by King Arthur’s own hand!
It would be the most important discovery of our age.
” He smiled coldly. “Quite simply, I want the glory of that find.”
“My uncle’s work leads to it, and he should have credit for his theories.”
“Not him, nor you. God forbid a woman should have credit for this accomplishment. Nor should it be attached to Sir Hugh either. This will be my find. I have dreamed of making a glorious discovery nearly all my life. The time has come.”
“But you did not want to come here and do the work yourself.”
“Of course not,” he said easily. He pointed to the pots. “Tell me—you opened these and found ordinary contents. What more did you find?”
“Nothing else.” She would not tell him about the word òr. It was only honey, after all.
He sighed. “Then I must look for myself.” His glance in the half darkness was sardonic and suddenly dangerous.
How could she have been so wrong about him?
She often trusted too well, too quickly.
Aedan loathed Edgar, and John disliked him too, and both had tried to warn her.
She knew how disagreeable Edgar could be, but had not thought him capable of real harm.
She had not recognized Stephen’s darker qualities either, leading to tragedy.
But she realized that Edgar could not let her walk away now, knowing what he intended. He was an academic gone mad for glory he had not earned.
He twisted her arm to pull her closer, shining the candlelight over the pots. “This gold will be found. And I will be the one to find it.”
A shiver ran through her. Somehow, destiny had a hand in all of this, from Edgar sending her to Dundrennan, to meeting and falling in love with Aedan, to finding the ruins and translating the spell.
All of it led to this moment and beyond.
The treasure she had discovered was the profound magic of love and the true home of her soul, and she would protect that will all she had.
And she would not allow Edgar to destroy the happiness she and Aedan had found.
Again she pulled against his surprisingly strong grasp. “Let go. Do whatever you want here. I must go. Soon Aedan MacBride will come looking for me.”
“You cannot go anywhere now, my dear. I did not want to hurt you, but if you cannot help me, you may have to be silenced. This magnificent discovery may demand it.”
“Let me go. I will not tell. Do what you want. Leave us alone.” As she spoke, another blast sounded in the distance.
Not a blast, she realized then. A burst of thunder and lightning, followed by a sudden torrential downpour that beat loudly on the tarpaulin above the opening. Water dripped down the ladder. Even if she got free, she would have to run out into a dangerous storm.
“This place is not safe, I think.” He glanced around the dark and eerie chamber. “At least, not safe for you.”