Clive Cussler - Pirate

“For those of you brave enough to climb down, you can see some of the graffiti carved, they say, by the Templar Knights who were imprisoned here.”

Of course, Sam, Remi, and Nigel made the descent, with a moaning greeting them that sounded much like a chorus of ghosts. All three knew it was a recording coming from one of the cells.

Remi studied the graffiti on the stone walls while Sam and Nigel studied the walls themselves, pushing and tapping for any suspicious movement or the hollow sound of a tunnel.

“Any rumors of King John hiding his treasure here?” Sam asked once they left the dungeons.

The guide’s brow went up. “Here? That would be an interesting twist on the legend of his treasure being lost in the mud of the fens. Now, if you will follow me.”

“One question,” Remi said. “It concerns an old riddle from centuries past. Something to do with King John.”

The guide looked at her, waiting.

“ The fourth chamber. Above death. Below death. With the last meal. Any idea where that location might be if it meant somewhere in this Newark Castle?”

“Easy.” The guide grinned. “The root cellar. It’s the fourth level above the lowest dungeon, and below the tower where King John died.”

“And where would that be?”

“The root cellar? We passed it on our way here.” He pointed up. “You’re welcome to take a look, since Mr. Ridgewell is with you.”

That they did, but like the other locations, there didn’t seem to be anything that appeared as though it might contain a hidden chamber. The ancient stone walls looked solid after eight hundred years of mold, dust, and dampness.

Just as they were about to leave, Sam stopped and stared at a arch in one wall, about the size of a window but bricked in solid. Considering how barren and dreary the rest of the cellar was, it didn’t seem likely that some twelfth-century contractor decided to put a decorative touch in an underground room designed to hold potatoes for the winter.

“Remi, look at this. Odd, don’t you think?”

She aimed her flashlight beam at the faux window and studied it for a few moments. “Looks like whoever dug the chamber had an artistic streak.”

Sam didn’t reply. Using the butt of his flashlight, he tapped on the bricks inside the border arch and heard only a hollow clink, giving evidence that the bricks were either loosely stacked or shielding a hollow area behind them.

He started pressing and kicking the bricks. Finally, one came loose. It took a minute to work it free. Then he used it to strike and remove the other bricks until he stopped to aim his flashlight into the darkness beyond.

“What do you see?” Remi asked anxiously.

Sam shrugged. “I guess we don’t have to waste our time looking for King John’s Treasure anymore.”

“The chamber is empty?” Nigel muttered with deep disappointment in his voice.

“No,” Sam spoke with a broad smile. “You can reach out and touch it.”

Remi, her heart pounding twice its normal pace, crawled through the narrow opening, followed by Nigel, then Sam.

At first, it looked like nothing more than dust-covered stones, as their lights darted about the walls and ceiling of the chamber. On closer inspection, it soon became obvious dozens of ancient metal chests littered the area, floor to ceiling, in at least thirty stacks, deeply coated with sandstone dust.

“They all have locks,” said Nigel. “How are we going to open them?”

Without a word, Sam picked up a brick he’d knocked to the floor and beat it against the lock on a rusty chest. The ancient latch easily broke apart.

Sam lifted the lid, and they were stunned at seeing it was filled with hundreds of tarnished silver coins, depicting the heads of King Henry I, King Harold II, and King William I. The next three chests were loaded with gold coins. Then came a mixture of pearls, silver plates, gold goblets, swords and their scabbards, inlaid with precious jewels.

History recorded that King John had a passion for rubies, emeralds, and diamonds, and had a large cache of semi-rare gems.

“Amazing,” Sam said, suddenly leaning down and picking up something none of them had noticed. “Look at this.” A golden arrow — or, rather, a gold-leafed arrow. He passed it to Remi.

She stared in awe. “Robin Hood?”

“No one in Nottingham I can think of,” said Nigel, “would have a golden arrow. Maybe the legends were true after all.”

“Jackpot,” Sam gasped, staring into another open chest. “This one holds the crown jewels, scepter, and orb.” He held up the golden crown encrusted with pearls and rubies.

“You should see what goes with them,” said Remi. She showed them three large chests filled with King John’s wardrobe. Most had survived inside the chests, some had rotted away, but there were many robes in magnificent colors and gold thread.

“Can I put one on?” asked Sam with a broad smile.

“Don’t you dare,” said Remi. “It’s been eight hundred years since King John wore the crown and royal clothing. They’re historic relics.”

“He’s been dead a long time.” Sam grinned. “He won’t mind.”

“You’re looking at and touching artifacts worth a hundred million pounds,” said Nigel. “If the authorities knew what you want to do, you’d be locked up in Nottingham Prison for the rest of your life.”

“I don’t think I’d like that,” said Remi with a note of sarcasm.

“Better we clean this place up before the next tour comes through,” Nigel warned.

Sam nodded as he checked his watch. “Nigel’s right. We only have another ten minutes before our jolly guide shows up.”

Remi took several photographs from different angles for their own records, then swiveled back into the chamber so Sam and Nigel could replace the bricks.

Their tour guide and his followers came along just as Sam, Remi, and Nigel reached the opening to the root cellar. “Find the treasure?” he asked teasingly.

“Wrong chamber,” replied Sam.

“Wrong castle,” added Remi.

The guide simply smiled and said, “I told you so.”

Sam and Remi fought to keep straight faces.

Once outside, they breathed clean, crisp air again. Sam stared at Nigel and said, “Well, Nigel, it’s all yours.”

Nigel looked at Sam with a lost expression. “I don’t understand.”

Remi gave him a light kiss on the cheek. “We’re leaving before the mob floods through the front gate.”

In the morning, Sam and Remi checked out of their hotel and decided to stop by Newark Castle and see the turmoil from a company of security guards and an army of archaeologists over the discovery of the largest treasure in a hundred years. They parked as close as possible and approached the front gate, guarded by the Nottinghamshire police. A guard stopped them as they approached.

“Your name, sir?” asked the guard.

“Longstreet,” announced Sam. “Lord and Lady Longstreet.”

“That name is wearing a little thin, don’t you think,” said Remi.

The guard scanned a notebook and shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir, your name is not among those who are allowed to pass.”

“Could you contact Mr. Nigel Ridgeway,” asked Remi, “and let him know we’re here?”

“Yes, milady, I can do that for you,” the guard said politely.

Ten minutes later, Nigel, with Percy Wendorf and Professor Cedric Aldridge tagging along behind, walked briskly across the keep.

“Thank heavens, you came,” said Nigel. “We have government officials driving us crazy, from the Ministry of Culture to the British Museum, and many others claiming jurisdiction, all crawling over each other to glimpse a piece of history that had been frozen in time.”