‘If it had been the Knights, Kaskrin would not have been so anxious to come here. Bonaparte must have got it the day it was hidden. It is like him to allow us to waste our time searching, while he conquers the world.’
Dover nodded. ‘Well, Mr Borg, I fear that I must believe you, but I have men watching you. If you give me any reason to think you are working against Britain’s interests …’ He gestured with the pistol.
Looking up, his face drawn with pain, Borg nodded. ‘I believe you, Mr Dover, but I am hardly in a condition to lead an uprising, am I?’
‘Smith!’ Dover backed away, replacing his pistol in the long holster under his arm. ‘It’s been a pleasure, Mr and Mrs Tarver. Until next time.’ He then withdrew through the door to the outer chamber.
‘There will be no next time,’ Bethany called after him, and glanced at Jack. ‘Really, Jacko, that man does the country no credit at all!’
‘He did save my life,’ Jack reminded her.
‘Only for his own ends,’ Bethany told him firmly. ‘No, he is a murderer and an out-and-out blackguard. That is all there is to it.’
Having decided Dover’s character to her own satisfaction, she turned her attention to more important concerns. ‘Well, then, Mr Borg, since there is no treasure, we must find you a physician. I have little time for the butchers they employ in the army, so I presume there is somebody qualified in Malta?’
Serious-faced and efficient, the doctor stepped back from the heavily bandaged Borg. He spoke in French, some of which Bethany translated for the benefit of Jack.
‘I am not at all satisfied with the quality of the previous work,’ the doctor said. ‘The cuts were too long and the wound should have been cleaned better and stitched immediately, but on the whole Mr Borg was lucky.’ He looked at Bethany over the top of his spectacles. ‘You did a fair job, Mrs Tarver, but I would advise you to leave such things to men of experience and training in future.’
‘Yes, doctor,’ Bethany said humbly. ‘The next time Mr Borg is shot in my presence, I will ensure that you are on hand.’
Maria Borg smiled and placed a supporting hand on Bethany’s arm.
When the doctor withdrew, Borg struggled to sit up. ‘Well now, Mr and Mrs Tarver, you seem to have come to the end of your quest in Malta.’
Jack nodded. ‘It would seem so, Mr Borg. We wasted a lot of time searching for a treasure that never existed.’ His smile was rueful. ‘I presume that Bonaparte got it all and it went to the bottom of the sea with L’Orient.’
Borg shook his head. ‘And does Mr Dover also presume that?’
‘What Mr Dover presumes is of no interest to me,’ Bethany said hotly. ‘That scoundrel has left the island to return to the court of King Ferdinand, where he is well suited, if all I have heard of that royal gentleman is correct.’
‘Mr Dover does seem a little too dedicated in his love for King George,’ Borg said. ‘You must tell me why sometime.’ He eased himself upright. ‘But now, Mrs Tarver, if you would be so good as to leave the room for a few moments, I wish to rise.’
‘You’re not fit,’ Bethany objected.
‘I would be obliged,’ Borg said, and when he slid his feet from under the covers, Bethany hastily withdrew, as Maria Borg laughed.
Although she spoke in Maltese, there was no mistaking the tone of Maria’s voice as Borg limped out of the house. The relentless heat of late afternoon poured down on them, made worse by the fine dust in the air.
‘I’m just off for a casual stroll,’ Borg told her, first in Maltese, then, for the benefit of his guests, in English. ‘You might wish to come along, Mrs Tarver. Bring your curiosity with you, and your husband.’
‘What?’
‘Go,’ Maria surprised Jack by speaking English. She pushed Bethany towards the second horse. ‘Go on – if you don’t go, you’ll always wonder.’ She watched as Bethany gestured for Jack to follow. ‘Look after them, Joseph.’
‘You notice how she does not tell me to look after myself? Thirty-five years of marriage and she no longer cares.’ Shaking his head, Borg waited for them before limping down the twisting path to the beach.
‘You be careful here,’ Bethany warned, but Borg continued, unheeding.
‘I’ve been walking this path since I was in the womb. Having my arm in a sling does not affect my feet, Mrs Tarver.’
The path seemed to waver before them as the heat increased, bouncing from the great cliffs. Lizards sheltered under the small stones that their feet overturned. The sound of the sea exploding on the headlands below echoed around, but Borg did not hesitate, as he led them downwards to the first ledge.
‘You were told once that there was a sacred site along here,’ he said to Jack, who nodded. ‘Well, that was an understatement. Come with me.’
The path broadened slightly, as they followed the ledge, until there was a sizeable terrace. A stone wall protected a crop of wilting grain from a dozen assorted goats.
‘You see, this island has been populated for thousands of years. It is scattered with temples that date back to a time before Christ.’
‘I see.’ Bethany sounded interested, as Jack looked out at the immense view of the Mediterranean and the distant island of Fifla.
‘So we are used to finding strange things from time to time.’ Borg looked at Jack. ‘You are an engineer, Mr Tarver. What do you think of the geology of this island?’
‘Two layers of limestone,’ Jack answered at once, ‘with a layer of clay and sand between. I suspect that it is the clay that retains Malta’s water supply.’
‘I suspect that too,’ Borg agreed. He stopped for a moment and adjusted the sling. ‘But such geology is perfect for the formation of caves. That is why the catacombs were so easy to fashion.’
Jack nodded.
‘Every so often, we come across new caves – or rather we discover old caves.’ Borg was walking again. ‘And sometimes these caves have religious icons in them.’
‘I see.’ Jack tried to keep the impatience from his voice. ‘Mr Borg, I appreciate that many people on Malta are very devout, but I truly have little interest in such things. I believe, of course, as all sane and decent people do, but the deeper meanings and the physical artefacts I leave to priests.’
Bethany’s look could have chilled even Malta’s summer sun. ‘I am interested, Mr Borg, so please go on. Ignore my ignorant husband. I will speak to him later, when there are no witnesses, Jack Tarver!’
Borg stopped outside a cave, where a familiar face grinned to them. ‘You will remember George, of course?’
‘Of course,’ Jack said. ‘I thought Egerton had killed you.’
George touched the bandage that swathed his head. ‘Not this time.’
‘And you believe he betrayed me to Mr Dover?’ Borg’s smile was as bright as it was unexpected. ‘I am afraid George was working for me all the time, Jack. He watched you, took Mr Dover’s gold and informed me of everything that had happened.’
‘George!’ Bethany sounded scandalised, but her smile welcomed George back into her favour.
‘George has replaced my guard today,’ Borg explained. ‘He is here to ensure that only the faithful enter this place. Please follow me.’
‘I am not of your faith,’ Jack said. He remembered the last occasion when he had even looked up this ledge: the sentinel had threatened him with a musket.
‘You are with me,’ Borg said. ‘And you are with Mrs Tarver.’
The interior of the cave was dry and surprisingly spacious, with multi-coloured rock banding the wall. Borg led them in about twenty paces and stopped. At first Jack thought they had reached the back of the cave, but when Borg asked him to reach out, he started.
‘That’s canvas!’
‘Indeed,’ Borg said. ‘It’s a canvas screen.’ He lifted a lantern. ‘And if you look behind, Mrs Tarver, you will see one of the most sacred sites in Malta. Mr Tarver, as you are not interested, you may remain or retire, as you wish. The choice is yours.’
&nb
sp; As he was about to leave, Jack caught something in Borg’s voice; a challenge perhaps, or a hint of consequences. ‘I’ll remain,’ he said.
Borg nodded. ‘As you wish, Mr Tarver. Mrs Tarver?’
Looking as devout as if she were in church, Bethany pushed aside the canvas screen and stepped in. There was a moment’s silence, then she called out. ‘Jack! Jack! Come and see this!’
Jack thrust through.
Behind the screen, the interior of the cave was about twenty feet long, rising to ten feet from the ground, and about eight feet wide. When Borg lit the two lanterns that stood on ledges on the wall, their light glittered from a mass of artefacts such as Jack had never seen – and never dreamed he would see.
Leaning against the wall was a profusion of paintings. Most depicted religious scenes – saints with golden halos, the Virgin and child, or illustrations from the Bible. Between them, and covering most of the ground, was a confusion of articles, mostly of gold but with some silver for variety. There were silver altar lamps and a golden crucifix; an exquisitely worked gold-embossed monstrance; tabernacles woven in silver and satin, embroidered with gold thread and encrusted with jewels; a statue of a bearded saint with his arm upraised and a golden halo on his head … and more, incredibly much more. There were statues in marble and maces, silver filigree and golden reliquaries, silver salvers and small golden figures of the saints.
Jack felt Bethany’s hand creep into his. ‘Quite a holy site,’ he said, yet he did not think of the sanctity but of the sheer value of the objects on display.
‘Quite, Mr Tarver.’ Borg stood behind him, smiling faintly. ‘But now you have to make a decision, Mr Tarver, and you alone.’
‘Me?’ Tarver asked.
‘Indeed. You now know that Bonaparte did not steal all our treasure. The Knights rescued some, but before they could store it, the French spread over the island like a disease and the Knights fled. As they left, they hid the keys, so we placed the treasure here as a temporary measure.’
‘So you knew that there was nothing behind the mural?’ Bethany asked. ‘So why the deception?’
‘We wanted Mr Dover there when we opened the door so he could see the empty chamber. George had primed him, but the Knight’s arrival nearly spoiled everything.’
‘I see,’ Bethany said.
‘Of course you do.’ Borg agreed. ‘Now, Mr Dover thinks there is no treasure, but now everything depends on Mr Tarver. Will you tell Sir Alexander Ball where the treasure is? Or will you keep silent?’ He glanced at Bethany. ‘I think I can trust you to make the correct choice.’
Jack looked from Bethany to the treasure and back. He remembered Sir Alexander’s warnings about the perilous state of the Third Coalition and Britain’s constant need to subsidise unreliable allies, but this treasure was equally or even more important to the people of Malta. There was also Borg’s warning of a Maltese rising to consider, if Britain claimed these holy artefacts.
‘Well, Mr Tarver?’ Borg urged.
‘Don’t rush him,’ Bethany protested. ‘He’s an engineer, remember; he has to take his time before choosing which sock to put on first in the morning let alone decide what to do with thousands of pounds worth of gold.’
Jack said nothing, as he assessed his situation.
Sir Alexander had stressed the need for revenue for the Crown, or for a British victory on land. Well, Sir Alexander had been provided with his victory. Jack had stood on the plain of Maida when the volleys of musketry had scythed into the French. He had seen the blood and courage and horror. Did Sir Alexander need this treasure as well? But on the other hand, such an accumulation would be of great benefit to the country. There must be thousands of pounds worth of gold and silver here, thought Jack, enough to finance a small country; in fact, enough to finance King Ferdinand of the Two Sicilies and thereby relieve Britain of an immense monetary burden.
‘Don’t forget, Jack, that we are only guests here,’ Bethany said quietly. ‘Consider if we have the right to take what rightfully belongs to the people of Malta.’
‘It belongs to the Church,’ Borg corrected, equally softly.
‘The Church?’ Jack cursed himself for not realising such a simple fact. Of course all this was the property of the Roman Catholic Church. As a good Protestant, Jack should not have any truck with another branch of Christianity, but he acknowledged that he had no personal animosity to the Catholic faith. Anyway, Bethany had Catholic connections.
‘If I do alert the authorities, Mr Borg,’ Jack asked advice of the older man, ‘what would they do?’
‘Sir Alexander Ball would have a difficult choice.’ Borg said at once. ‘He would probably wish to give everything back to the Church, but he is loyal to his country. Ultimately, the decision would not be his. The politicians would overrule him and transfer all this to the Treasury in London as spoils of war. They will claim that it was looted by Bonaparte and recovered by the British.’
Jack nodded. ‘I think you are right. And what would the people of Malta think about that?’
‘They would be most unhappy with the British for stealing their sacred objects,’ Borg said. It was exactly what Jack expected. ‘There would be unrest, maybe an insurrection.’
‘I can imagine that,’ Jack said. He sighed and looked at Bethany, who was watching him, smiling slightly, with that lock of hair flopping over her forehead. ‘There is really no choice to make, is there? The treasure is yours, Mr Borg. It always has been. The British government has no claim on it at all, and I shall not inform them where it is.’
Even as he said the words, Jack knew he was condemning himself to another long period of poverty. If he had told Sir Alexander about the treasure, he may have been rewarded with a lifetime of employment, security and satisfaction. As it was, he had nothing, and would gain nothing for all the effort and danger he had been in, and in which he had placed Bethany. The time he had spent searching for this treasure meant he now had no chance of completing his road, so his reputation as an engineer would suffer, with inevitable consequences on any further contracts.
But Bethany was smiling at him, and Borg was holding out his hand.
‘Well done, Jack.’ Borg held his eye for a long moment. ‘Your father would have been proud of you.’
It took some moments for the words to sink in, and then Jack could only stare. ‘What do you know of my father?’
Chapter Twenty
Surprising Revelations
‘I knew your father, Captain Martin Tarver. He was a good man,’ continued Borg. A smile spread slowly over his face.
‘You knew him?’ Jack felt weak. The proximity of so much wealth was suddenly of no importance compared to even a fragment of information about his father.
‘I sailed with Martin Tarver. I knew him well.’ Borg was smiling, his eyes warm. ‘I also knew your mother, Sarah. She was a bit like your Bethany, Mrs Tarver.’
‘Please,’ unconscious of the dignity of a gentleman, Jack took hold of Borg’s sleeve, ‘please tell me about them.’
‘Not here. Come to the cave entrance, where there is a view of the sea.’ Borg looked at Bethany. ‘If that’s all right with you, Mrs Tarver, but it is more fitting.’
They sat on the terrace above the tremendous drop, with the sea surging below them, blue and restless and endlessly fascinating. ‘That was your father’s home,’ Borg explained. ‘He was a seaman through and through.’ His smile broadened with memory. ‘When I was a young man, I sailed on the colonial whalers, American whalers now, and what was it we said about a true seaman? His mother was a mermaid, his natural father was Neptune. He was born on the crest of a wave, and rocked in the cradle of the deep. Seaweed and barnacles were his clothes, and his blood was Stockholm Tar.’ He shook his head. ‘That was Martin Tarver, sure enough.’
‘Was he a colonial? I was always informed he was a Shropshire man, although I did wonder at the maritime connection,’ Jack said.
‘Now, I could not say in which part of the world he was b
orn, Mr Tarver. He was a seaman and your mother was the businesswoman. She accompanied him to sea and kept the ship’s books.’
‘What was she like?’ Bethany had been silent for a long five minutes.
‘She was fair and quiet and very determined.’ Borg raised his eyebrows. ‘You share a lot of these attributes, Mrs Tarver.’
Bethany coloured slightly but said nothing.
‘And you, Jack,’ Borg touched his shoulder, ‘have inherited her goodness.’
‘But not her business acumen!’ Jack heard the bitterness in his voice.
‘You share his good taste in choosing a wife,’ Borg continued, as though Jack had not spoken. ‘Here,’ he said, taking the pendant from around his neck. ‘I think you should have this.’
‘What is it?’ Jack asked.
‘It is a carving from a sperm whale’s tooth. Your father killed that one himself a few score miles south of the Azores.’ Borg’s eyes altered slightly. ‘Aye, I remember him now, standing in the bows of a whaleboat with the harpoon held double-handed …’ Borg stopped when he saw Jack examining the tooth.
‘It’s the only thing I have ever seen that connects me to him,’ Jack said, closing his fist on the tooth. It was warm from contact with Borg’s body. ‘I cannot thank you enough, Mr Borg.’
Borg nodded. ‘You gave us countless thousands of pounds worth of treasure and I gave you the tooth of a dead fish. It is hardly a fair bargain.’ He glanced at Bethany. ‘And Mrs Tarver has nothing, which is even less fair.’ Moving quickly, he slid back inside the cave and returned with a gold ring, set with a single red ruby.
‘Try that on, Mrs Tarver.’
It slid onto Bethany’s middle finger and sat there as though it belonged. She looked at it for a moment, smiled and handed it back. ‘I cannot accept something that is not yours to give, Mr Borg. That ring belongs to the Church.’
‘And now it belongs to you. The Church looks after her own.’
Jack saw Bethany hesitate again, and then return the ring to the pile. ‘Thank you for the thought, Mr Borg, but I cannot take what rightfully belongs to the people of Malta.’
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