From Across the Ancient Waters

by Michael Phillips

  In a few minutes they had gathered round her.

  “It was like this,” Grannie began. “I was walking on the beach as a child.” The moment she began, her voice took on an ancient and mysterious tone. The time of which she spoke was seventy-nine years before, in the previous century. “I was out on the white sand below the bluff,” she went on, “white and as pretty to a child then as it is now. It was early in the morning. Most of the village still slept. But there’d been a fierce storm all the previous day and most of the night, worse than this one around us now, worse than any storm I’ve ever seen. I’d felt forebodings in my young heart all night. I heard voices calling out of the wind, wailing in the midst of the storm. I didn’t know what I know now, that I had been both blessed and cursed with the ancient eyes that see what a body sometimes wished she hadn’t seen.

  “I rose early. It was a still dawn. The wind had died down. All about outside was deathly calm, yet still I thought I heard voices, eventually only one voice. I don’t mean with my ears, but I heard it inside. And with that voice wailing somewhere in the wind, I couldn’t sleep. I’d always been a free kind of child, like yourself, Gwyneth, and my mama and papa seldom worried about me.

  “I set out in the morning light. There was a chill over the coast where my feet were leading me—straight to the sea, for throughout the storm I knew the wailing was coming from its waves. I climbed down the path. By the time I reached the sand, the sun was creeping up from behind the mountains in the east, though the promontory kept the beach in darkness for many hours. There was no breath of wind. But the waves still pounded the shore as if reminding me what business they had been about the night before. The tide was brown and gray from the storm, menacing with the color of evil tidings.

  “I glanced about, then began walking along the shore like I had a hundred times before. Only this time there was fear in my heart for what I might see. Above me two eyes were watching me. They were the eyes of another youngster in the village, though no friend of mine. He was on top of the cliff. I didn’t see him yet. But I would see him before long.

  “Halfway down the beach, what should I see but the very thing I knew I’d half expected—the body of a man lying at the water’s edge. I ran toward him trembling and knelt down. He looked dead. I reached my hand slowly out to touch his arm.

  “Then suddenly it moved! A groan sounded. My heart leaped to my throat in terror. I’d never seen a pirate, but that was surely what the man was. He was fearsome as any man I’d laid eyes on. That he had just come back, as I thought, from the dead made him all the more terrifying. Sensing that I was near, he rolled over. Slowly he opened his eyes and gazed into my face. He tried to speak but couldn’t. Then he seemed to gain strength. Finally he spoke.” Grannie stopped and took a sip of her tea.

  Gwyneth’s eyes were huge as she listened. “What did he say?” she asked.

  “He said they’d been shipwrecked by the storm, that the great and mighty Rhodri Mawr had gone down with all its treasure aboard.”

  By now Percy’s eyes were wide as well.

  Grannie’s voice took on an eerie sound as she relived the scene from days long gone by. “‘It’s all there,’ “she went on. “‘It’s all out there,’ the dying man said, trying to point behind him to the sea. ‘The fools wouldn’t listen to me. I told them to put in. But they wouldn’t listen. Lifeboats no better than sticks in them waves. When the lifeboat broke up and the others went down, I laid hold of a piece of the keel that was floating nearby. It kept me afloat long enough, just long enough. I made it, I tell you. I made it here … and I’m giving it to you, little girl,’ he said, now grabbing hold of my arm, ‘I’m giving it all to you—the treasure of Dolau Cothi.’

  “I stood listening in terror. I hardly heard what he was saying. ‘Don’t believe me, little girl? I tell you, I saw it … saw it all, helped dig it out of the ruins, a whole chestful—and it’s all out there now. It’s yours. Look, I’ll prove it,’ he said. He let go of my arm that he’d kept clutching. I was too terrified to run away. He tried to sit up but fell back into the shallow water, fumbling about in some pocket of his water-soaked clothes. Then his eyes lit up as with fire, and he exclaimed triumphantly. He turned toward me again and thrust in front of my eyes a round gold coin he had pinched between his thumb and forefinger. ‘There, little girl—you see! I tell you the whole treasure’s there … and it’s yours.’

  “Then a spasm seized him. He coughed and choked and fell backward. His eyes rolled back into his head. Now I was certain he was dead. But then he groaned again, and tried to get up, but still lay on the sand. He opened his eyes and motioned me closer. ‘Little girl,’ he said, ‘you take this coin. It’s valuable enough, but I tell you there’s thousands of them—down there.’ Again he pointed out to sea. ‘You take it. You never know what fate your steps will lead you to. Yours led you to me. It’s yours now.’ He grabbed my hand and pressed the coin into it.”

  As the three listened to Grannie’s spooky tale, suddenly the heavens erupted, and the rain again poured down. They had no idea that at that very moment, had she been at home, Grannie’s premonitions about her own fate might well have come to pass.

  For as the wild and stormy night advanced, Rupert Wilkes crept to her cottage. No light shown inside. There was no sign of life. He tried the latch on the door. It was not locked. He went inside.

  But fate did not order Grannie to die that night by the hand that had murdered the very youngster of her story. And she went on with the tale. “Suddenly I heard footsteps running up behind me,” Grannie continued. “I turned, and there was a little boy named Sean Drindod, a little village troublemaker, as I thought. And I was right, for he caused me trouble all his life till his untimely end three years ago.”

  “‘What’s that?’ he cried, for he had seen the old pirate give me something. He grabbed at my hand and caught a glimpse of the gold. Seeing it, he struggled all the harder to take it from me. ‘Give it to me, Bryn!’ he cried.

  “‘The man gave it to me,’ I said, squeezing my fingers tight. I knew that if once little Sean got his greedy hands on it, that was the last I would see of it. He fussed and ranted, but being four and I was five, I was stronger and faster than him, and he could do nothing to get it from me.

  “I ran back to the village, little Sean on my heels still trying to get his hands on the coin. I told my father everything that had happened. He and some of the men went down to the beach. They found the poor old sailor on shore and pulled him up out of the water and buried him in the town cemetery where you see the marker to this day.

  “Word spread quickly up and down the coast. Bits of wood and rope and sail and rigging were gradually found over the next few weeks, confirming that there had indeed been a shipwreck that night. I told everyone what the man had said about the treasure that had gone down with it, though most of the grown-ups laughed because they were already finding out that I saw things other people didn’t see. Most of them didn’t believe half my stories. And Sean Drindod was known as a mischief maker and liar throughout Llanfryniog. So his tale about the coin, which I repeated to no one, not a soul believed.

  “All the rest of his life, Sean tried everything he could to get his hands on that coin. I think he thought it would lead him to the Rhodri Mawr’s treasure where it had gone down with the ship. But I kept it where no other person ever saw it, though I know he told people of it, and I think he died because of it. And now my own life’s in danger just like his.”

  “How do you know that, Grannie?” asked Codnor Barrie. His voice was serious.

  “I can feel it, my boy,” she replied. “I can feel it. There’s those that are looking for me—I can feel their eyes upon me. Maybe it’s only death itself that’s stalking me. Whatever it be, it is time I passed the coin on, as it was passed on to me. Whether there ever was any box of treasure that went down with that ship, I don’t know. But there is this one coin. And it shall be mine no longer.” Slowly she untied the gold coin from the inside
of her dress. She held it a moment in her hand.

  None of the others had ever seen actual gold in their lives. Their eyes widened as they saw the gleam from the ancient coin glitter in the light of the room’s lanterns.

  She looked at each of the three in turn. “But who is meant to watch over it now?” she said. “I would give it to you, Codnor, for you’re a good man, but trouble is bound to follow it, and whoever would find me could find you. But none would think to look for it from a child. So you, Gwyneth—you will take it and keep it safe. It shall be yours, for maybe you will need whatever it might bring you sometime in your life.” Grannie handed the coin to Gwyneth.

  Gwyneth stared in awe at the bright shiny thing in her palm.

  “But be careful,” Grannie said. “I fear more than one’s been killed for it already. Put it somewhere it will be safe. Tell not a soul about it.”

  “Was the man who gave you this the same man I saw in the cave, Grannie?” asked Gwyneth.

  “It couldn’t have been him, Gwyneth, dear. The old pirate who gave me the coin was hauled up and buried with his head still attached to him.”

  A deep silence fell. The hour had grown late, and dusk was descending. It was nearly dark, and Percy knew he needed to be on his way. It had already been arranged that Grannie would spend the night in the cottage because of the weather.

  “It doesn’t appear the storm is going to let up,” said Percy, glancing out the window. “If I am going to run back to the manor in the rain, I had better get started. Thank you for an enjoyable evening. And, Mr. Barrie, if I do not see you again before I go, good-bye until next time.” The two shook hands.

  Gwyneth walked with him to the door. When they were alone, she handed Percy the coin. “I want no part of it,” she said. “It frightens me. You take it, Percy. You keep it.”

  “It is yours, Gwyneth.”

  “Then you keep it for me. Please,” she said, with pleading in her eyes.

  “I will keep it for you, then. But it will always be yours.”

  Finally launching himself through the door and out into the storm, Percy sprinted for the road then up the hill. When he arrived at the manor ten minutes later, he was drenched to the skin.

  SIXTY-THREE

  Uncle and Nephew

  The stormy night passed fitfully for Roderick Westbrooke, viscount Lord Snowdon.

  The previous night he had slept like a baby, relieved as he grew more and more convinced in his mind that Percy was innocent of Rhawn Lorimer’s charges. But gradually the other topic of the conversation that had taken place in his study returned to haunt him.

  Percy’s words from a day before played themselves over and over all night in his brain. Your people would love you if you gave them half a chance. … But you never go near them.

  The young blackguard had put his finger exactly on the nub of his discomfort with his position. He avoided the very people who depended on him, and upon whom he was likewise dependent for what meager income their rents provided.

  The boy’s manliness in refusing to defend himself … it had enraged him. Yet what a stout show of character!

  In spite of his sleeplessness, yet also because of it, the viscount rose early. He felt that it was a day of new beginnings. He made an unexpectedly early appearance in the breakfast room.

  The storm had passed and the day dawned cloudless and bright. The danger to Grannie’s life had passed, and with it so had the tumult.

  Percy and his aunt were the only others present, chatting over their tea and eggs and toast. Things seemed to be gradually returning to their former ways. There was still no sign of Florilyn.

  “Ah, Percy, my boy … your last day in Wales, what?” said the viscount as he entered with unusual bounce to his step.

  “Yes, sir. I am already feeing the sadness of departure coming over me.”

  “What do you have planned for the day?”

  “I don’t know—say my farewells, I suppose.”

  “How about you and I going for a ride together?”

  “I would like that, Uncle Roderick.”

  “And, er … about that matter we discussed—the Lorimer girl. I told Katherine what you said. We are both in agreement—we do know you are innocent. You have proved yourself, and we know what mettle you are made of. You are right—sometimes silence is the best defense. I am sorry I doubted you.”

  “Thank you, Uncle Roderick. I appreciate that very much.”

  “After lunch, then?”

  “I will look forward to it.”

  The ride that afternoon was not what Percy had expected. The apology seemed to have filled his uncle with new energy. He was in a rambunctious mood in the saddle, galloping with abandon, jumping streams recklessly. He was a skilled horseman, and Percy could hardly keep up with him.

  “Easy, Uncle Roderick!” Percy laughed more than once as his uncle wobbled and nearly lost his seat. “Now I know where Florilyn gets her nerve in the saddle.”

  “I never felt better in my life, Percy, my boy. I feel like a young man again!”

  On their way back, the viscount slowed, and they rode side by side together. They were still a good distance northeast of the manor.

  “You know, Percy, my boy,” said his uncle, “it has been a genuine pleasure to have you here this summer. Even more so than last time.”

  “Thank you, Uncle Roderick. I have enjoyed it, too. I appreciate your hospitality.”

  “I know my daughter has taken most of your time, but I have greatly enjoyed your company. I would say that I got the better half of the bargain—all your help with the stables—wouldn’t you?”

  “I had a great time. I wish I could stay longer. But I have a job waiting for me in Aberdeen.”

  “You are a responsible young man. I’m sure your father is very proud. And,” he went on, clearing his throat, “I must repeat my apology for doubting you in the matter of that unfortunate business with the Lorimer girl. I knew better, of course. I was far too hasty to judge you.”

  “Think nothing of it, Uncle Roderick.”

  “But I feel bad about it. I had no right. Nevertheless, ‘all’s well that ends well,’ as you are fond of saying.”

  “One of the two quotes from Shakespeare I know!” Percy laughed.

  “What do you think of my daughter, Percy, my boy?” asked the viscount abruptly.

  “I don’t know, Uncle Roderick. In what way?”

  “As a girl, you know—a young woman.”

  “I am very fond of her. We got off to a bit of a rocky start three years ago. But she and I have become the best of friends. I think a great deal of her.”

  The viscount took in his words thoughtfully.

  Again they rode for a while in silence.

  “You were right, too, Percy, my boy,” the viscount began again, “about what you said about my contacts with the local peasantry. I have been far too distant. It took courage for you to look me in the eye and tell me that. You have helped me see the thing clearly. Isn’t the Muir place around here somewhere?”

  “Why yes? Uncle Roderick. It’s probably a mile or two.”

  “Will you take me there and introduce me to the woman, the widow. I would like to see her.”

  “You will hardly need an introduction.”

  “Still, it might be awkward. I would feel better if you eased the way into it for me.”

  “Then I will be happy to.” Percy veered off slightly to the left from the course they had been pursuing and led the rest of the way until the familiar cottage came into view.

  They rode up. Stevie did not appear to be about, though two dogs ran barking toward them. The viscount appeared concerned.

  “Don’t worry, Uncle Roderick,” said Percy, jumping down. “These lads know me … don’t you, boys?” he said, stooping and roughing up the backs and heads of the tail-waggers with his hands. “Of course they’ll have to take a little sniff of you,” he said as his uncle dismounted. “It’s their way of introducing themselves.”

&nbs
p; Moments later they were approaching the open door of the humble cottage.

  As he began to duck down and walk inside, Gwyneth’s aunt appeared.

  “Why, Percy,” she exclaimed, “what brings you—” Her words died on her lips as she saw the man walking up behind him.

  “I’ve brought you a visitor, Mrs. Muir,” said Percy. “He wanted to meet you. This is—”

  “I know well enough who it is,” interrupted Adela. “Welcome to you, sir … Lord Snowdon, sir.”

  “Percy has told me about your husband, Mrs. Muir,” said the viscount a little nervously but with genuine feeling. He removed his riding cap and attempted an awkward smile. “I am sorry.”

  “Thank you, sir,” replied Adela, her initial shock now giving way to her natural hospitality. “Won’t you come in for a cup of tea?”

  “We, uh … I don’t think—” began the viscount.

  “We would love to,” said Percy.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have any fancy cakes or the like to offer you, sir,” said Adela, leading them through the door into her kitchen.

  “Mrs. Muir, your oatcakes are the best in Wales,” said Percy. “I would have nothing else with tea even if you offered it to me.”

  They sat down at the table. Adela bustled about in a veritable panic of excitement to have the viscount under her roof. “How I wish my Glythvyr could have been here. He would have loved to see you, sir.”

  “I am sorry,” replied the viscount. “I should not have waited so long to pay you a visit.”

  “Bless you, sir. He used to work at the manor as a lad, you know. For your father. He was fond of your father, he was.” She poured out tea.

  Stevie arrived a few minutes later, with equal astonishment to see who was sitting in his kitchen. The conversation continued to flow pleasantly.

  After about thirty minutes, Percy judged that sufficient initial spadework had been done in his uncle’s heart for one day. He rose and said that it was time they were leaving. He had much to do to prepare for his departure on the morrow. Hugs, handshakes, and tearful farewells followed. Who knew when Percy would visit the beloved cottage in the hills again?