Pirate (32 page)

T
he next day, Sam, Remi, and Nigel drove out to Newark under a dark sky that threatened more rain. They parked in the lot across the River Trent, the wind gusting as they walked across the bridge toward the imposing fortress. From this side, the castle appeared whole, but when they passed through to the other side, it was apparent that little remained of the once-impressive structure beyond the near-intact curtain wall along the riverbank, the gatehouse, a large hexagonal tower at the northwest corner, and a lower tower at the southwest end where King John was said to have died.

“Not much left,” Sam said as they looked around at the park-like grounds in what had at one time been the castle keep.

The wind whistled through the crumbling ruins, whipping at Remi's hair. She nodded toward the lower, southeast tower. “My money's where King John died. The riddle's clearly talking about his death.”

“Isn't that a little obvious?” Sam asked.

“Hide in plain sight. Why not?”

Sam picked up a few pamphlets so that they'd look more like visiting tourists instead of burglars who planned to sneak into the parts of the castle closed to the public. “As many times as this place has been occupied and remodeled since King John's death, where would they hide it?”

“The point of our visit, isn't it?” Remi asked.

He pulled out his phone and accessed the text with the ciphered riddle that Selma had sent.

The fourth chamber. Above death. Below death. With the last meal.

Remi tapped the screen. “
Chamber
is another word for
room
. That could be the room where he died.”

“The
last meal
could mean a
dining hall
.”

“Which is long gone.”

“The tour's starting,” Nigel said, pointing to the small crowd near the south tower.

They followed the others into the tower, climbing up the stone steps, as the guide gave a running commentary on the originations of the castle. “In 1646, after the civil war, Parliament ordered the castle destroyed. Had an outbreak of plague in Newark town
not
halted the destruction, there'd be nothing left.”

As they filed down the hall into one of the rooms, a gust of wind swept through the castle ruins, sounding much like a person moaning. “Ghost!” someone said, followed by soft laughter from several in the crowd.

“Actually,” the guide told them, “the castle is said to be haunted by those murdered here over the centuries. In fact, this
room is where King John died, some say poisoned by his enemies. And there's the dungeons far below where hundreds of poor souls were tortured and left to die, starved, their bodies eaten by armies of rats until they were nothing but a pile of bones.”

Sam pulled Nigel and Remi back as the group moved on. Nigel stood guard in the hall while Sam and Remi examined the room where King John breathed his last, looking for any hidden doors, loose floorboards, or passages. After twenty minutes, they found nothing encouraging.

“Looks like old King John took the secret of his treasure with him,” said Sam.

“We still have several chambers in the main part of the castle to search,” Remi countered.

They hurried out and caught the group as the guide finished another lecture on the castle kitchen. Then he led them down a narrow circular staircase, quoting his spiel about the castle being haunted by the ghosts of those who died here. They passed the level containing the castle sewer and the root cellar. Next, he lectured the group about the gruesome torture of political prisoners as he stopped at an opening in the floor with a ladder that led straight down into the dismal dungeons.

“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.”

R
emi, 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.”

I
n 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.”

“Remi and I are foreigners,” said Sam. “I don't see how we can help.”

“I don't understand,” said Aldridge. “The treasure never would have been discovered without the two of you.

“Because of your contribution to the British Realm, you could achieve the honor of knighthood,” added Aldridge.

“Sir Sam,” said Remi with a wide smile. “I couldn't live with him.”

Sam gave Remi a dark look. “Spread the word that it was the three of you, working as a team, who found and deciphered the key to the cipher that led to the hidden trove.”

“And don't forget to mention Madge Crowley and her theory about the king's riches secretly hidden by William the Marshal, Earl of Pembroke,” added Remi.

“Because of him,” said Nigel, “the king's treasure never left Castle Newark, while William spread the story that it was lost in the fens during a storm. Unfortunately, a week later he was killed in battle with the French and the secret of the treasure's location died with him.”

“I wish we could stay while the treasure is studied and restored, but we have a plane to catch at Heathrow.”

“Can't you stay for a few days?” asked Percy.

Sam gave a slight shake of his head. “We're truly sorry, but we have important business at home that can't wait.”

“But you will come back?” pleaded Nigel.

“We promise to return,” said Remi. She kissed all three on the cheek as Sam gave each a warm, masculine hug.

Sam and Remi climbed into the car, waved, and drove away.

Remi waved until they were out of sight. “I could have sworn Percy and Nigel had tears in their eyes as we left them.”

“They weren't the only ones,” said Sam.

“Me too,” said Remi, dabbing her cheeks with a Kleenex.

For the first time in two weeks, Sam looked relaxed. He glanced at Remi, who was absorbed with something on her cell phone that made her laugh.

“What's so amusing?”

“This.” She showed him a photo of the treasure taken after the three of them opened at least twelve chests, revealing much of the gold, gemstones, and King John's crown jewels. “I sent it to Alexandra, who emailed it to Charles. Apparently right after he opened it, the police arrived and arrested him.”

“That's got to hurt.” He took one final look at Newark Castle in the rearview mirror. “Now that our work here is done, how about that vacation I promised you?”

“Forget it, Fargo. You're never going to top this,” she said as she gave his knee a tight squeeze. “Best vacation. Ever.”