“True enough; I was holding a staff meeting.”
“What would Milord care to do about this gentleman?”
“Have him brought to me.”
“Should we take any precautions?”
“Such as?”
“Such as blindfolding him, for example.”
“To what end? He can only see what I want him to see, which is that I’m surrounded by eleven thousand brave men who ask nothing better than to cut their throats for the honor of the Parliament of England and Scotland.”
“And this man, Milord?” said Spithead, pointing at the fisherman, who during this conversation had stood silently with a blank expression, like a man who sees but doesn’t understand.
“Ah, right,” said Monck. Then, turning to the fish merchant, he said, “Farewell, my good man; I’ve selected your lodgings. Digby, take him away. Don’t worry, we’ll send you your money presently.”
“Thank you, Milord,” said the fisherman, who bowed and left with Digby. About a hundred paces from the tent they came upon his crew, who were whispering volubly among themselves, betraying some anxiety, but he made a gesture that seemed to reassure them. “Hoy, you lot,” he said, “come along. His Lordship General Monck has the generosity to pay for our fish and the goodness to offer us hospitality for the night.”
The fishermen fell in behind their captain, and, escorted by Digby, the little troop marched toward the canteen, where they’d been assigned their lodgings.
As they walked through the gloom, the fishermen passed the guard who was escorting the French gentleman to General Monck. This gentleman was on horseback and wrapped in a large cloak, so the captain couldn’t get a good look at him, despite his curiosity. As for the gentleman, unaware that he was passing fellow countrymen, he paid no attention to the little troop.
The aide-de-camp installed his guests in a reasonably clean tent, dislodging an Irish cook-wife who went off with her six children to sleep wherever she could. A large fire was burning in front of this tent, casting its flickering light over the open pools in the marsh, which were rippled by a cool breeze. Once the crew was settled, the aide-de-camp wished the sailors a good evening, pointing out that the swaying masts of their boat were visible from the tent door, proof that it was still afloat. This sight seemed to please the fishermen’s captain.
XXIV The Treasure
The French gentleman whom Spithead had announced to Monck, and who, enveloped in his cloak, had passed near the fisherman after he’d left the general’s tent five minutes before, passed through a series of guard posts without so much as glancing around him to avoid appearing too inquisitive. As ordered, he was escorted to the general’s tent. The gentleman was left alone in the sort of canvas antechamber at the tent’s entrance, where he awaited Monck, who was not long in appearing once he’d heard his man’s report. He paused at the gap in the canvas door to study the face of this man who’d requested an interview. The soldier who’d accompanied the French gentleman must have reported that he’d behaved with discretion, for the first impression the foreigner received from his reception by the general was more favorable than he might have expected from such a suspicious man.
Nevertheless, as was his usual custom when meeting a stranger, Monck surveyed the man with a penetrating gaze, which, for his part, the foreigner tolerated without showing embarrassment or anxiety. After a few moments, the general indicated with a nod and a gesture that he was ready to listen.
“Milord,” said the gentleman in excellent English, “I’ve requested an interview with Your Honor on a matter of consequence.”
“Monsieur,” replied Monck in French, “you speak our language well for a son of the continent. I beg your pardon, because perhaps the question is indiscreet, but do you speak French with the same purity?”
“It’s not surprising, Milord, that I speak English fluently, as I lived in England during my youth and since then have visited it twice.” These words were spoken in a French so pure that it not only revealed the speaker as a Frenchman, but a native of the region of Tours.
“And where in England did you live, Monsieur?”
“In my youth, in London, Milord. After that, in 1635, I took a pleasure trip to Scotland, and in 1648 I resided for a time in Newcastle, specifically in that abbey whose gardens are occupied by your army.”
“Your pardon, Monsieur, but you understand why I must ask such questions, do you not?”
“I’d be astonished if you didn’t, Milord.”
“Now, Monsieur, how may I serve, and what do you ask of me?”
“Well, Milord—but first, are we alone?”
“Completely so, Monsieur, except for the guard outside at his post.” And saying this, Monck lifted aside the tent door, showing the gentleman the sentry ten paces beyond, where he could be summoned at a single word.
“In that case, Milord,” said the gentleman, in a tone as calm as if he were speaking with an old friend, “I’m determined to speak with Your Honor because I know you to be an honest man. Moreover, what I’m about to say will prove the esteem in which I hold you.”
Monck, astonished at the tone that claimed between the French gentleman and himself at least equality, raised his piercing gaze to the stranger’s face, and with the merest trace of irony in his voice, though his expression never changed, he said, “Thank you, Monsieur—but first, who are you, if you please?”
“I already gave my name to your sergeant, Milord.”
“Your pardon, Monsieur, but he’s Scottish, and found your name difficult to retain.”
“I’m called the Comte de La Fère, Monsieur,” said Athos with a bow.
“The Comte de La Fère?” said Monck, searching his memory. “Pardon me, Monsieur, but it seems to me this is the first time I’ve heard that name. Do you fill an office at the Court of France?”
“No. I am a simple gentleman.”
“Of what rank?”
“King Charles I made me a Knight of the Garter, and Queen Anne of Austria gave me the Cordon du Saint-Esprit. Those are my only dignities, Monsieur.”
“The Garter! And the Saint-Esprit! You’re a knight of both orders, Monsieur?”
“Yes.”
“And on what occasions were such favors granted to you?”
“For services rendered to Their Majesties.”
Monck looked with astonishment at this man, who appeared so simple and yet at the same time so grand; then, as if he’d renounced the intention to penetrate the mystery of this simplicity and grandeur, since the stranger didn’t seem disposed to give him any information than what he’d already conveyed, he said, “So, it was you who presented yourself at the guard post yesterday?”
“And who was sent away; yes, Milord.”
“Many commanders, Monsieur, wouldn’t let any outsider enter their camp, especially on the eve of a probable battle; but I’m not like my colleagues, and I prefer to leave no loose ends behind me. To me, all advice has value; every danger was sent by God as a warning or test, and I weigh it in my hand and respond with the energy it deserves. Thus, you were turned away yesterday only because I was taking counsel of my staff. Today I am free, so speak.”
“Milord, it was quite proper for you to receive me, as my business doesn’t concern the battle you’re about to have with General Lambert, nor with your camp, and the proof is that I turned my head as I passed through your men and closed my eyes so I couldn’t count your tents. No, what I have to say to you, Milord, is on my own account.”
“Speak, then, Monsieur,” said Monck.
“Just now,” continued Athos, “I had the honor to tell Your Lordship that I once resided in Newcastle; this was at the time when King Charles I was turned over to Cromwell by the Scots.”
“I know,” said Monck coldly.
“At that moment I had a large sum of gold, and on the eve of the battle, perhaps due to some presentiment as to what would happen the next day, I hid it in the main cellar of Newcastle Abbey, beneath that tower the top of which you can see by the
moon’s silvery light.
“My treasure was buried there, and I came to beg Your Honor to allow me to retrieve it before, perhaps, if the battle turned that way, a mine or some other engine of war might destroy the building and scatter my gold, exposing it to the soldiers.”
Monck was a judge of men, and he saw in this one a model of energy, reason, and discretion. He could only attribute to magnanimous discernment the confidence the French gentleman showed in him, and he showed himself profoundly touched by it. “Monsieur,” he said, “you have divined my character well. But is the sum worth taking the risk? Can you even believe it’s still there?”
“It’s there, Milord, I have no doubt of it.”
“That answers one question, but what of the other? I asked if the sum was so great that it’s worth exposing yourself in this way.”
“It is that great, Milord, for it’s a million in gold that I packed into two barrels.”
“A million!” Monck cried, and this time it was Athos who looked at him so long and searchingly that his distrust returned. Here, Monck thought, is a man who’s setting a trap for me… Aloud, he said, “So, Monsieur, you would like to retrieve this sum, as I understand it?”
“If you please, Milord.”
“Today?”
“This very evening, because of the circumstances that I explained to you.”
“But, Monsieur,” objected Monck, “General Lambert is as near to that abbey as I am. Why didn’t you address yourself to him?”
“Because, Milord, when one acts on matters of importance, one must trust one’s instincts over all. And General Lambert doesn’t inspire in me the confidence that you do.”
“So be it, Monsieur. I’ll help you retrieve your money, assuming it’s still there, which it may not be. Since 1648 a dozen years have passed and many things have happened.”
Monck offered this excuse to see if the French gentleman would grasp at it, but Athos didn’t deviate. “I assure you, Milord,” he said firmly, “that I’m convinced those two barrels are still there and have changed neither position nor possessor.”
This answer removed one suspicion from Monck but suggested another. What if this Frenchman was some agent sent to lead the protector of Parliament astray? The gold might be only a decoy, a lure meant to excite the general’s avarice. A treasure like that couldn’t really exist. It was up to Monck to expose the gentleman’s ruse and turn the tables on his enemies, adding another triumph to his name.
Once Monck had decided what he had to do, “Monsieur,” he said to Athos, “no doubt you will do me the honor of sharing my supper this evening.”
“Yes, Milord,” replied Athos with a bow, “for you do me an honor that is in accord with my esteem for you.”
“It’s all the more gracious of you to accept this offer under the circumstances, which are that my cooks are few and poorly trained and my foragers have returned this evening with empty hands. In fact, if it wasn’t for a fisherman of your own country who strayed into my camp, tonight General Monck would have no supper at all. I have fresh fish, however, thanks to this sailor.”
“Milord, it is principally for the honor of spending a bit more time with you that I accept.”
After this exchange of civilities, which had done nothing to quell Monck’s suspicions, the supper, or what stood in for one, was served before them on a wooden folding table. Monck invited the Comte de La Fère to seat himself at the table and sat down across from him. The single platter, stacked with boiled fish, that was offered to the illustrious guests, promised more to hungry stomachs than to sophisticated palates.
While supping—that is, eating fish and washing it down with bad ale—Monck had Athos tell him of the concluding events of the Fronde, the reconciliation of Monsieur de Condé with the king, and the probable marriage of His Majesty to the Infanta Maria Teresa. But he avoided any allusion to the current political situation that united, or rather disunited, England, France, and Holland, and Athos did the same. During this conversation Monck became convinced of one thing, confirming his first impression, which was that he was dealing with a man of great distinction.
This man was no assassin, and Monck couldn’t imagine him as a spy. But he showed enough resolve and finesse that he might be a conspirator. When they rose from the table, Monck asked, “You really believe in your treasure, Monsieur?”
“Yes, Milord.”
“Seriously?”
“Quite seriously.”
“And you’re sure you can find where it was buried?”
“At a single glance.”
“Well, Monsieur!” said Monck. “Out of curiosity, I will go with you. In fact, you need me or one of my lieutenants as your escort, or you wouldn’t be allowed to move freely through the camp.”
“General, I wouldn’t allow you to trouble yourself with this if I didn’t need your company—but as I recognize that your company is not only honorable but necessary, I accept.”
“Do you think we ought to take any soldiers with us?” Monck asked Athos.
“No point to it, I think, General, unless you believe they’re needed. Two men and a horse will suffice to carry the barrels to the sloop that brought me here.”
“But surely you must dig, through earth, brick, and stone, and you don’t intend to do that yourself, do you?”
“General, there’s no need to pry or dig. The treasure is hidden beneath the abbey’s burial vault, under a stone that’s drawn up by a big iron ring. Beneath that, it’s four steps down into a crypt. The barrels are there, placed end to end and covered with plaster to form the shape of a bier. The right stone has a certain inscription on it, and since this is a delicate matter that depends on trust, I’ll share the secret with Your Honor. The inscription reads, Hic jacet venerabilis Petrus Guillelmus Scott, Canon. Honorab. Conventus Novi Castelli. Obiit quarta et decima die. Feb. ann. Dom., MCCVIII. Requiescat in pace.”
Monck didn’t miss a word of this. He was astonished by either the amazing duplicity of this man and the superior manner in which he played his role, or at the candid good faith in which he presented his request in a situation where a million in gold could be lost at the stroke of a dagger, in the middle of an army that would regard the theft as rightful restitution.
“All right,” he said, “I’ll accompany you, and the adventure is so intriguing I’ll carry your torch personally.” And saying this, he buckled on a short sword and thrust a pistol into his belt, in the act of which his doublet opened enough to reveal beneath it the rings of a mail coat intended to turn an assassin’s blade. He took a Scottish dirk in his left hand, and said to Athos, “Are you ready, Monsieur? I am.”
Athos, on the other hand, removed his dagger and put it on the table, unbuckled his sword belt, which he placed next to the dagger, and, unbuttoning his doublet while affecting to look for his handkerchief, revealed nothing beneath it but a fine cambric shirt and no other arms or armor.
This is indeed a singular man, thought Monck. He’s unarmed. Has he laid an ambush down there?
“General,” said Athos, as if he’d guessed Monck’s thoughts, “you said we should go alone, which would usually be right, but a high commander should never expose himself to such risk. It’s night, and the marsh might conceal hidden dangers; bring someone with you.”
“You’re right,” said Monck. And raising his voice, he called, “Digby!”
His aide-de-camp appeared.
“Fifty men armed with sword and musket,” Monck said, looking at Athos.
“Not enough, if there’s real danger,” said Athos, “and far too many if there isn’t.”
“I’ll go alone,” Monck said. “Digby, I don’t need anyone after all. Let’s go, Monsieur.”
XXV The Marsh
In going from the camp to the Tweed, Athos and Monck crossed the same ground Digby had crossed bringing the fishermen from the Tweed to the camp. The aspect of the place, and the appearance of the changes wrought upon it by the actions of men, made a deep impression on the i
magination of a man as sensitive as Athos. Athos saw only desolation, while Monck looked only at Athos as he looked around at heaven and earth, and sought, and thought, and sighed.
Digby, to whom the general’s last order, and particularly the tone in which it was given, seemed unusual, had followed the two, staying about twenty paces behind. But the expression of the general, upon turning around and seeing that his final orders hadn’t been executed, was such that the aide-de-camp realized he was out of line and returned to his tent. He supposed that the general wanted to make one of those incognito inspections of the camp that a veteran commander never fails to make on the eve of a battle, and then tried to explain to himself the presence of Athos, as a subordinate tries to figure out everything mysterious done by his superior. Digby decided that Athos must be a sort of spy who was reporting important information to the general.
At the end of ten minutes’ walk between the tents and supply posts, which were thickest near headquarters, Monck arrived at a pathway that split into three directions. The branch on the left led to the river, the middle branch to Newcastle Abbey, while the path to the right crossed the outer lines of Monck’s camp, that is, the lines closest to Lambert’s army.
Across the river was an advance post of Monck’s army, one hundred and fifty Scots who were keeping an eye on the enemy. They had swum across the Tweed, and if attacked were to swim back, giving the alarm, but as there was no bridge at this spot, and Lambert’s soldiers seemed less eager to enter the water than Monck’s, he wasn’t much worried about that flank.
This side of the river, about five hundred paces from the old abbey, the fishermen were lodged in a busy anthill of small tents put up by the soldiers of the local clans to house their wives and children. This haphazard bivouac was visible by the glow of the half-moon, which gleamed from stacked musket barrels and highlighted every white piece of linen and canvas.
Monck arrived with Athos at this spot, a dark landscape lit only by the moon and a dying fire at the little crossroads of three paths. There Monck stopped and said to his companion, “Monsieur, do you know your way?”
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