Pirate

Fifty-eight

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.”