Treasure of the Celtic Triangle

by Michael Phillips

  “Pirate!” exclaimed Steven, but already Percy was running toward the village.

  A minute later Gwyneth came hurrying up. They dismounted and tied their horses at the harbor.

  “What’s this about a pirate, Gwyneth?” asked Florilyn.

  “Haven’t I ever told you about the pirate’s skull I found?”

  “No … ugh—that sounds horrid!”

  “It was in the cave back there, after a terrific storm when the tide was low—just like today. You know the cave, Steven. All the children played in it. I never saw it after that. It was covered over with sand. Percy thinks we’ve found it again. He wants to dig it up.”

  “But why?”

  “Because when Grannie was a girl, she saw a pirate who had washed up on the beach from a shipwreck. He gave her a gold coin.”

  “Gold!”

  “The pirate said there was more. But by the next morning he was dead. Look—I’ve got the coin right here. Grannie gave it to me.” She dug in her pocket and pulled out the coin.

  Steven and Florilyn looked at it with wide eyes. “I want to see this pirate!” said Steven.

  He ran on ahead. By the time Gwyneth and Florilyn followed him into the darkness of the cave, Steven was on his hands and knees where he saw evidence of Percy’s clawing about the cave floor, digging in the hard-packed sand with his fingers.

  When Percy returned five minutes later with a spade, Steven had uncovered the eye sockets that had struck such fear into thirteen-year-old Gwyneth Barrie. Immediately, Percy set in with the spade.

  “Careful … careful,” said Steven. “If the old fellow’s head is still attached to the rest of him, you don’t want to behead him.”

  “Steven … ugh!” exclaimed Florilyn.

  Slowly as they dug down, the skull came more into view. Percy gently loosened the sand while Steven scooped it away with his hands. The two girls gradually moved back out of the cave into the sunlight. This was man’s work. They had seen enough!

  By now the day was reaching its end. Most of the village men were either on their way to Mistress Chattan’s inn for a pint of ale or were walking home from their day’s labors for evening tea.

  The sun continued to settle toward the western horizon. As it did, it sent longer and longer shafts of light into the mouth of the cave where Percy and Steven continued with what seemed to Gwyneth and Florilyn a gruesome task.

  It did not take much more excavation before the excited young men were convinced that it was no mere skull Gwyneth had discovered seven years before but the entire skeleton of a man laying his full length toward the mouth of the cave, buried a foot beneath the surface. A few shards of clothing remained, preserved in the salty, sandy grave.

  “Come look!” yelled Percy, his voice echoing to the outside through the cave mouth. “We’ve found the pirate … all of him!”

  “I don’t want to look!” Florilyn shouted back. “I would have nightmares for weeks.”

  But Gwyneth ventured slowly back inside. She stood for a moment looking down at the trench Percy and Steven had dug in the growing light. A bony human frame lay at the bottom of it, still more than half embedded in the hard sand.

  “It looks like he was trying to crawl out of the cave,” she said. “If he was trying to get away from the other man—the pirate who gave Grannie the coin—or if he was trying to find shelter in the cave, he should be facing the other direction.”

  “You’re right,” said Steven. “I hadn’t thought of that. Why is he facing toward the cave mouth?”

  “Maybe he came in here for shelter,” suggested Percy, “but then was trapped by the incoming tide and tried to get out but then drowned.”

  By then the rays of the setting sun were sending their light from the level of the sea directly into the mouth of the cave, illuminating its wet walls of rock and sandy floor that sloped up toward the back of the cave. As Percy glanced about, it seemed as though the violent waters of the storm had also cleared away a good amount of the sand from the back of the cave wall. Slowly he wandered deeper inside where the rock ceiling above him sloped down to meet the cave floor. He dropped to his hands and knees to examine the farthest end of the cave.

  “What have you found?” asked Steven, following him.

  “I don’t know, maybe nothing,” replied Percy. “I remember being curious about this before. Now that the sunlight is shining on the back of the cave … it looks different. Some of the sand is gone. And look, there is a trickle of water coming out from somewhere.”

  “What’s this,” said Steven, stooping and probing with his hand. “It looks like …” He dug about harder. “There is a small hole that extends through the rock … or under it.”

  Percy scrambled back for the spade. Within seconds, he was again at Steven’s side, digging away furiously at the base of what appeared as the back wall of the cave. After a minute he stopped, stretched out on his belly, and reached his hand through the opening he had made under the rock, feeling about with his fingers. In another moment, his hand poked through into an opening behind it. Immediately a rush of cool air met his face.

  “There’s a cavity behind the rock,” he said. He stretched his arm as far as he could through the hole. “I’m moving my hand about. I think the cave goes farther back. It’s been blocked up by sand!”

  He pulled his arm out, grabbed the spade again, and now began digging harder than ever.

  “I can feel back in there. There’s definitely an opening! And I’m feeling something … It feels like rope.”

  “Watch yourself,” said Steven. “It might be alive!”

  By now Gwyneth had come up behind them and was watching intently. Even Florilyn, hearing the conversation in the distance, crept a step or two into the cave mouth to listen.

  Working together, Percy and Steven managed to excavate an opening a foot deep under the back wall of the cave. As it required digging out below the level of the cave floor, it would fill with sea water the moment the incoming tide reached it again. As soon as it did, their excavated tunnel would fill with sand.

  “We’ve got to get a deeper opening,” said Percy. “I need to squeeze in before the tide.”

  “You’re not going to crawl back through there?” said Steven.

  “I’m thinner than you. Somebody has to. We have to see what’s there.”

  “And if the tide comes in, you’ll be trapped inside! A hundred years from now someone will be digging up your skeleton.”

  “I have more faith in you than that,” laughed Percy. “You won’t let that happen to me.”

  “Then we need to dig a wider opening,” said Steven. He took up the spade again.

  Without looking too closely, Florilyn crept past the crypt where the silent skeleton lay. Both girls now watched the progress. They did not like the idea of Percy trying to crawl into what looked like an opening too small for a cat.

  Fifteen minutes later, a tunnel through the cave floor under the sloping back wall appeared large enough for Percy to make an attempt.

  “Percy, be careful!” said Florilyn.

  “I don’t know that I like this,” said Gwyneth. “Once it turns, the tide rises quickly.”

  “Then you all keep an eye on it. The moment there is any danger, I promise I’ll come right back out.” Percy lay flat, the entire front of his body now wet, and began to wriggle and squeeze into the opening he and Steven had excavated. Inch by inch, he wormed his way into the darkness until his feet disappeared from sight.

  “Percy!” wailed Florilyn.

  As her voice echoed away, the cave fell silent.

  The next sound they heard was Percy’s voice. It sounded a mile away and echoed strangely off the stone walls of the cave.

  “I’m inside a small chamber,” he said. “It’s nearly black. I can’t see a thing. I’m feeling about … there’s not room to stand … it’s probably five feet by four feet. The larger cave must originally have included this little back part. There is definitely a rope and … now I’m fee
ling what I think are two or three cork floats. It must have washed in here when the cave was open … and … wait, there’s something …”

  The other three waited.

  “There’s some kind of box,” Percy’s voice echoed back again. “I can’t see it, but … it’s too heavy to lift. It’s tangled up in the rope. Steven, hand your knife through. I’ll try to cut away some of the rope.”

  Steven lay down and stretched his hand through the tunnel. A moment later, Percy’s hand fumbled from the other side, grabbing for the knife. Again they waited.

  “I’ve cut it away from this mess of rope,” called Percy. “I can hardly move it … it feels like there’s a lock … it must be made of metal, otherwise it would have rotted. Here, Steven, take your knife.”

  Again Steven reached through and retrieved his knife.

  “I’ll try to get the box into the opening … I’ll shove it your way … you’re stronger than I am, Steven—if you can pull it through …” Grunting and pushing sounds followed as Percy struggled with whatever he had discovered.

  Still on his stomach looking through the tunnel with what light the sun sent in, Steven saw the black end of a box some eight or nine inches square being pushed toward him from the inner portion of the cave.

  “That’s as far as I can move it,” Percy called to him. “It’s so heavy it wants to sink into the sand. I can’t budge it another inch.”

  Steven stretched his hand as far as he could reach. It took several minutes and a great effort, but inch by inch he managed to pull the box through toward the open side of the cave. As the girls waited anxiously, behind them a wave sounded on the shoreline outside.

  “Percy … the tide!” cried Florilyn. “Whatever is in there isn’t worth you getting trapped!”

  Gwyneth turned and ran out to the beach, glanced to her right and left, then out to sea, then hurried back inside. “The tide has turned, Percy,” she said into the darkened tunnel of the cave floor. “Probably fifteen minutes ago.”

  “She’s right, old man,” said Steven. “I didn’t want to mention it, but the bottom of this little tunnel we dug is getting soggy. It will fill up with water anytime. I’ve got the box. It’s time you got out of there before this cave becomes known for two graves.”

  “Just give me another minute or two. I want to make sure there’s nothing else in here.”

  “Like another pirate!”

  “I don’t know. But we may not have this chance again.” “Percy!” cried Florilyn again.

  By the time the fading light of the sun began to reflect off Percy’s white face as he wriggled back into the front of the cave, his hair was matted and wet, and his shirt and trousers soaked and caked with sand. Both girls let out great sighs of relief when he was through and back on his hands and knees.

  Nearly the same moment the sun began to sink below the horizon. The briefly lit cave again grew dark.

  “I’m getting out of here while I can still see,” said Florilyn. “I don’t want to trip and fall on that old pirate!”

  Gwyneth followed her out. Percy and Steven together lugged the small chest behind them into the open air.

  “This thing weighs a ton!” said Percy. “It must be made of solid lead.”

  “Are you going to open it?” said Florilyn excitedly.

  “The box must be of brass or silver not to have rusted,” began Steven, “but that lock is definitely rusted shut.”

  Percy turned and ran back inside the cave. He returned with the spade. Two whacks was all it took to demolish latch and lock together.

  The four knelt down around it.

  “Well, Gwyneth,” said Percy. “If you are the future owner of all this, which I assume includes the land all the way down to the water’s edge, I suppose technically this box belongs to you. You should do the honors.”

  “You discovered it, Percy,” said Gwyneth. “I would rather you open it.”

  Percy reached out his hand, took hold of the broken latch, and pulled hard on the lid. The two rusted hinges on the other side shattered. The lid swung free and flew back.

  Four gasps of disbelief sounded simultaneously at the sight that met their eyes in the golden light of the setting sun.

  SEVENTY-SEVEN

  Rebuke and Forgiveness

  It took some time for their stupefaction at what they had found, and their subsequent frenzied discussion of what it must be worth, to subside.

  Steven at length sounded the practical note. “We need to get this back to the manor,” he said. “We obviously can’t carry it. I’ll ride back and bring a buggy. Florilyn and I left our horses at the harbor.”

  “I’ll go with you,” said Florilyn, jumping to her feet.

  “And we shall stand guard,” added Percy.

  “Do you really think all that gold is mine, Percy?” asked Gwyneth when they were again alone and dusk began to settle around them.

  “It will be. I suppose it is Aunt Katherine’s right now. Who else’s would it be but yours?”

  “You and Steven found it.”

  “All four of us found it … and on your land.”

  “What will be my land. Or may be. It’s not mine yet. But this gold must belong to somebody.”

  “I doubt it. Look at these inscriptions,” said Percy, removing one of the gold coins from the chest. I never paid much attention to the markings on Grannie’s coin before. But these are all identical—and very old. Those pirates must have stumbled on some ancient site, maybe going back to King Alfred’s time or earlier. I’m no expert, but I would guess these to be of Celtic origin from somewhere in Wales or Scotland or Ireland. Whatever the value of the gold, which is considerable, the historical value is probably greater.”

  “What should we do with it?”

  “That will be up to you and Aunt Katherine.”

  After Steven and Percy had lugged the bog to the waiting buggy at the harbor, and once it was safely locked in the safe in the late viscount’s office that evening, Katherine, Gwyneth, and Percy had a long discussion. They judged it best to say nothing to anyone for the present, even to Courtenay. They needed to consult with experts and seek legal advice without allowing rumors to begin circulating.

  Meanwhile, Katherine told several of the leading men of the village about the skeleton that had been found. That would be fuel for rumor enough. She arranged for them to dig up the remains and bury them in the village cemetery beside the shipmate who had been found two generations before.

  At first pass, Hamilton Murray agreed with Percy’s assessment that the gold belonged to the Westbrooke estate where it had been found. He would look into the matter, he said. In the meantime, if they had need of any portion of it, he could arrange to sell some of the coins through confidential antiquarian sources.

  A few weeks later, Percy and Gwyneth returned to Ireland to help Gwyneth’s father with the return move to Wales. Codnor Barrie and Grannie arrived back in Llanfryniog in July. By now, all of north Wales knew that the former urchin and witch child of Llanfryniog had all along been the viscount’s secret granddaughter and was now the future viscountess and Lady Snowdon. This raised Codnor Barrie and Grannie almost to the level of royalty in the eyes of their former neighbors. Their arrival was greeted with great fanfare.

  One person who was not rejoicing at the many changes coming to Westbrooke Manor was Courtenay Westbrooke. In his opinion, the place was becoming a home for peasants and vagabonds. The sooner he could get away from it the better. But he had bigger problems than Gwyneth and her family. His mother did not have the money to clear off his debt to Litchfield. She had as good as told him she wouldn’t do so even if she did. Pride prevented him going cap in hand to his religious uncle, Percy’s father, for a handout.

  It killed him, but he knew there was only one way to hope to raise a portion of the cash needed to keep him out of jail. He would have to sell his racehorses. He had floated an offer to Lord Litchfield, offering his four thoroughbreds in exchange for the full sum. Though the reply had
been sent in writing, he could feel Litchfield laughing in his face at the absurdity of the suggestion, concluding with a summary of the current amount due, including interest, and a renewed threat of legal action if the matter was not resolved in a timely fashion.

  He might be able to get £2,500 for the four animals, £3,000 if he was lucky. That would hardly raise half the cash he needed. And where would he find buyers out in this wasteland of north Wales? He was in trouble, and he knew it. Litchfield’s were no idle threats. He knew the man would have no qualms seeing him sent to prison. If he could just get his fastest horse into a race or two during the summer, perhaps the winnings would get him out of this pickle.

  He walked into the new stables in an irritable temper, piqued to think that he might soon have to say good-bye to these magnificent horses and angry at the rest of the world for putting him in this position. He was especially angry at his father for his ridiculous deathbed pangs of conscience, at Percy for interfering when he could have simply let the thing drop, at his mother for all her religious claptrap, and most of all at the little fool Gwyneth Barrie for … just for being alive at all. Blast his father for his youthful indiscretion! Why couldn’t he have just died and let his secret be buried with him.

  As his eyes accustomed to the dim light, he saw someone standing in front of the stall of the jewel of his stable, a three-year-old reddish-brown filly from the south of France. He had had such high hopes for this animal.

  As he walked closer, his pent-up frustration finally exploded. “Gwyneth, what are you doing here?” he cried angrily. “Get away from that horse!”

  “She won’t hurt me, Courtenay,” said Gwyneth calmly.

  “It’s not you I’m worried about. Get back, I tell you. That is an expensive racehorse. You’ve meddled enough in my affairs. I won’t have you disturbing my animals.”

  “I’m sorry, Courtenay,” said Gwyneth as she stepped back.

  “These horses of mine are extremely valuable. I don’t want you near them, is that clear? What do you know about horses anyway? Because of you, I am being forced to sell them to pay a debt that I would not have if it weren’t for you. You have caused me enough trouble without meddling with my thoroughbreds.”