Pyne pointed to the southeast. “I picked up those coins over that way.”
Callum battled to contain his excitement. His tone even, he said, “Let’s go and see.” He exchanged a wide-eyed look with Honor, one brimming with hope.
She smiled and fell in beside him as Pyne led the company in the direction in which he’d pointed.
The children hurried at Pyne’s heels, and Henry wasn’t far behind them. The rest trooped in a loose line in the vanguard’s wake. They dodged around trees, angling down a gradual slope, then Pyne walked into a relatively flattish clearing.
As he stepped past the bole of a massive ancient oak and into the clearer, more-level space, Callum scanned the area, and his breath hitched. He stopped dead and whispered to Honor, “Look around. The old trees—they form a very large ring. Younger trees have seeded and grown inside the space, but there are no old trees inside the ring…” He swung around, gauging the topography. “Good Lord,” he murmured. “This spot is perfect.”
Pyne was kicking at the blanket of leaves a little way from the center of the clearing. “It was about here that I picked up those coins.” He gestured. “They were just lying, scattered among the leaves.”
Callum heard and walked over. He halted where Henry and the children were already scouting around the spot Pyne had indicated. “This place,” Callum declared, “is exactly where Silvesterius Magnus’s compound should be.”
When the others looked at him, Callum pointed through the trees to the east. “We’re about a hundred yards from the northbound lane—the one Silvesterius would have used to cart goods to the river to send to Clausentum and the coast.” He swung and pointed south. “And we’re not all that far from the Clausentum-Sorviodunum road—it’s roughly the same distance as the river is from here.”
He could no longer keep the excitement from his voice.
The children and Henry stared at him, then looked at the ground they’d been searching.
“There are no holes here.” Lottie scuffed her shoe through the leaves. “No digging or anything like that.”
Callum glanced around. The rest of their party had gathered in a knot about Lady Osbaldestone on one side of the clearing. Callum did a swift head count, then nodded. “Right, then.” He looked at the children, their cousins, Henry, and his friends. “The chances are excellent that the source of the coins is somewhere near. The area we’re standing in was probably the central clear space in the merchant’s compound, which means all the buildings were likely built around its edge, extending between the larger trees into the gaps where the wood has since encroached. Those are the areas we need to search.”
He waved the others up. “We need to spread out and circle this space.” He pointed to the edges of the clearing. “We’re looking for any sort of excavation that’s resulted in earth being turned—an animal burrow, anything like that. Squirrels and even birds move coins, although usually not far.” He drew a tense breath and stated, “What we’re searching for has to be somewhere close.”
Everyone fell to with a will. Even Lady Osbaldestone, closely accompanied by her dresser, Orneby, forged into the section of undergrowth to which Callum directed the pair.
In short order, the entire perimeter of the ancient clearing was being closely searched.
Jamie, George, and Lottie claimed one of the larger sectors, between two huge old trees. There, the growth of brush was dense. The three pushed past a minor thicket and nearly tumbled into a huge hole left by the roots of a massive tree that had fallen outward from the clearing’s edge.
Lottie clutched George’s sleeve and pointed—below the clump of the tree’s gnarled roots. “Look! There! See it glinting?”
George bent and squinted, then shot Lottie a grin. “It’s another coin!”
Jamie put his hands to his lips, forming a trumpet, and yelled, “Here! We’ve found more coins!”
Then Jamie followed Lottie and George as they slithered and slipped down the crumbling side of the hole to fetch up before the massive ball of roots.
The others came crashing toward them. “Where are you?” Henry called.
“Past the thicket,” George yelled. “But watch out—there’s a hole!”
The others took him at his word and edged cautiously past the thicket, then fanned out about the rim of the hole, peering into the depression in which the three children were enthusiastically scrabbling.
Then Jamie cupped his hands, and Lottie and George dropped the coins they’d found into his palms, then while the younger pair went back to poking and sifting through the loose soil, Jamie stretched upward and held up their find.
Crouching by the hole’s edge, Callum reached down, and Jamie poured the coins into Callum’s palm.
Callum straightened, and the others pressed close, watching as he brushed the coins free of dirt, then held one up. “Another denarius.” He poked at the seven coins remaining in his palm. “More denarii and another siliqua. Good Lord!” The exclamation was one of awe.
Then Lottie stood and waved something over her head. “There’s goldy things here, too!”
Along with the others, Callum looked down and focused on what Lottie now held in her chubby fingers. “Dear heaven—that’s a cloak pin.” He looked at Honor, then, grinning hugely, glanced at the faces all around. “This is real. We’ve found a hoard!”
The children cheered, and so did everyone else. Laughter, exclamations, and questions rang out.
On his way through the manor gardens, Simms had picked up a short shovel, which he now offered to Callum. “I thought we might need it to clear the way for the log.”
Callum accepted the shovel with thanks and, when the children invitingly shifted aside, dropped down into the cramped hole. After examining the limited site, with the children peering at his elbows and everyone else peering from above, Callum used the shovel to carefully drag up clods of earth from beneath the ball of roots.
The children fell on the clumps, swiftly sifting through the soil and eagerly brandishing the coins and other pieces they found, then handing them up to the others waiting around the hole.
Mandy donated her short cape as a means of collecting and carrying the finds. There was much excited chatter and talk as those waiting around the hole organized a search of the ground around the fallen tree, and Tilly and Dulcie found more coins, and Mrs. Haggerty found part of an ancient buckle.
There were so many of them moving around beneath the trees, all talking and exclaiming and looking at the ground, that no one realized anyone was approaching until Professor Webster came huffing and puffing up a slight incline toward them.
Henry, Dagenham, and Melissa were on that side of the fallen tree.
The professor glanced up, saw them, and waved. “I heard the cheering and all the chatter.” He huffed out a breath as he halted before them. “Don’t tell me you’ve found something?”
Henry, Melissa, and Dagenham shifted, allowing the professor to see the ball of roots and the hole beyond and below—just as Callum, until then crouched in the hole, straightened and looked that way.
The professor paled, then choleric color rushed to his cheeks. “You!” He took an aggressive step forward, to the lip of the hole. “What the devil are you doing here?”
Callum studied Webster for a second, then waved at the mini-excavation at his feet. “I’m helping unearth the hoard left by Silvesterius Magnus, a Roman merchant who built his compound here.”
The professor goggled, and his angry color deepened, then he saw the small pile of items resting on Mandy’s cape, and something akin to horror filled his face. “See here!” He pointed at the treasure. “You can’t touch that—I won’t have it! You’re no better than a damned poacher—selling antiquities for gain! It’s appalling. It shouldn’t be allowed. The authorities…”
The professor railed on.
His face devoid of expression, Callum stood stock-still and let the angry tirade roll over him.
The others watched, eyes narrowing as the professor angrily d
enounced Callum. Gradually, Henry and his friends and those from the manor shifted around the hole until the group stood spread at Callum’s back, flanking him. It hadn’t been the professor who had been helping them search for the hoard for weeks; it hadn’t been the professor who had been with them today, when they’d finally found it.
Eventually, Callum noticed the others’ silent show of support. He glanced to either side, seeking Honor. He found her standing beside Lady Osbaldestone; her gaze flitted between her uncle and Callum, but her position and her determined expression very clearly declared she was on his side. Her eyes briefly met his before she looked back at her uncle.
The professor followed Callum’s gaze and finally noticed his niece. Webster’s heated words trailed off, and in the sudden silence, belatedly taking in the tableau and its implications, he frowned. “Honor?”
Therese caught Callum’s gaze—caught the appeal in his look. She’d already noted the glance he’d shared with Honor; even before, from Honor’s reaction to Webster’s tirade, Therese had realized that Callum had satisfied her ultimatum. Honor knew who Callum truly was, knew of his relationship with her uncle, and had chosen to accept his explanation and stand with him. To support him and his way forward.
From the first, Therese had suspected that Honor had a sound head on her shoulders.
Apparently reading the signs of growing resistance toward him, Webster, still choleric, puffed himself up, pointed at the pile on Mandy’s cape, and in ringing tones, declared, “I claim this find for Brentmore College.”
Callum reacted to that. “Oh no, you don’t.” He started climbing out of the hole; Simms reached down and gave him a hand. Once standing on the rim, Callum faced the professor. “You’ve done nothing to assist the search—you weren’t even here when the hoard was discovered.”
Before Callum could say more, Therese stepped forward. “No, indeed.” As it happened, she was equidistant from the professor and Callum as they glared at each other across the hole. She leaned lightly on her shooting stick and fixed first Callum, then the professor, with a warning eye. “But before this discussion proceeds, allow me to point out that the hoard was discovered on Hartington Manor lands and, initially, was discovered by my grandchildren.”
She paused to bend an approving look on the three still standing in the hole, then smiled, looked around the circle, and stated, “I believe that makes the hoard mine—or at least in my charge, mine to direct as I see fit.” She paused, then, when neither the professor nor Callum sought to contradict her, smoothly continued, “In that light, I am willing to entertain submissions as to what should be done with the Hartington hoard.”
Callum and the professor spoke over each other.
Therese held up a hand, and they quieted. She looked down and opened the seat of her shooting stick, sat, settled, then regarded the two men. She gestured to the professor. “Professor Webster first. Explain to me, Professor, why I should hand over this hoard to Brentmore College.”
Webster shot a triumphant glare at Callum; clearly, he believed his case superior on every count. Curling his fingers around his lapels and taking up a stance—no doubt the same stance he used when lecturing—Webster tipped back his head and made what Therese mentally labeled the scholar’s pitch. “With a hoard of such potential historical significance, it’s crucial that the find be given into the hands of those recognized and erudite scholars who will best appreciate it, who will study it appropriately, establish and record its significance, and ensure that it is kept safe.” Webster paused as if replaying his words, then nodded, as much to himself as anyone else. “That, in a nutshell, is why Brentmore College is the right place for this treasure.”
With that, Webster looked belligerently at Callum, as if daring him to attempt a counterargument.
Therese shifted her attention to Callum and, in a clear voice, directed, “Now, Mr. Harris-Goodrich, if you please, explain to me your proposal, and why I should agree to it, rather than to Professor Webster’s.”
Callum stared at Lady Osbaldestone as the full gamut of what the old lady had managed to achieve slammed into his awareness.
He was surrounded by supporters who believed in him; he’d successfully guided the search, and the fruits of their labors lay at his feet. Honor was there, too, and she understood and was willing to stand by him.
And he was facing Webster with a hoard between them.
Callum couldn’t imagine any other scenario that would better force Webster to listen to Callum’s ideas—to pay attention and understand them.
He’d called in at Oxford hoping to speak with Webster and make him understand; in reality, Webster would never have listened to Callum’s explanations, certainly not long enough to comprehend the true nature of Callum’s approach. The same qualities that had made the professor a dogged and successful archeologist-explorer—his stubbornness, his persistence, his refusal to bow or bend—were hurdles when it came to changing his mind.
Callum kept his gaze trained on Lady Osbaldestone—the redoubtable benefactress he had no idea what he’d done to deserve—while he drew in a steadying breath and rapidly organized his arguments. “To begin with, I concur with the professor’s assertion that, for a hoard of this type, to properly establish its significance, it’s absolutely vital that the find be made available to the best and brightest scholars for study, for verification and validation. And of course, ensuring the hoard’s safety goes without saying.” Without looking at the professor, Callum tipped his head the older man’s way.
“However,” he went on, “I would argue that achieving those things alone is not making the most of any find. Our view of history—the general populace’s knowledge of such times—is a central plank in our understanding of ourselves and of other countries, other nations, as well. History itself is important in teaching us how to live, and how do ordinary people learn about history?”
He glanced at the others. “The only place ordinary people would ever see a hoard such as this—or any other historical artifact—is in a museum.” He returned his gaze to Lady Osbaldestone. “Should you give this hoard to Brentmore College, no one other than scholars of the college will likely ever see it. Ordinary folk won’t even know it exists.”
Lady Osbaldestone arched her brows. “And your alternative is?”
Callum drew in a breath. “If you assigned the hoard to me, I would offer it for sale—”
“To whom?” Lady Osbaldestone demanded, overriding the professor’s imminent outburst.
Callum paused for effect, then offered, “Lord Lovett or Lord Lynley—possibly both. Both are wealthy enough, and both are avid collectors of Roman antiquities, and I know they are willing to accept the proviso I would attach to the sale, namely, that whoever buys the hoard gifts it immediately to a suitable museum. In this case, I would stipulate the hoard goes to the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford—I know the curators there are seeking more Roman artifacts for their collection.”
Webster gave vent to a disgusted snort. “So you’ll sell the find and pocket the cash yourself!”
Unruffled, Callum looked at the professor; this was the point Webster had never listened long enough to hear, let alone understand. “I would keep a commission—twenty percent of the final price. That allows me to live and to fund my next expedition to find ancient artifacts—and many of the expeditions I now undertake are at the behest of various museum curators.”
Callum returned his gaze to Lady Osbaldestone, then looked at the others about the hole. “The other eighty percent of the money from the sale—the bulk of it—would be split between”—he glanced at Lady Osbaldestone—“in this case, Lady Osbaldestone—”
“And the village of Little Moseley,” that grande dame supplied.
Callum inclined his head. “That would be for you to decide. But the eighty percent would be split between you and the institution—in this instance, the Ashmolean—to cover the costs of proper cleaning, restoration if required, and presentation and public display of the hoard.�
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From the corner of his eye, Callum watched Webster’s scowl fade to a puzzled frown.
Callum focused on Lady Osbaldestone; it was time to hammer his point home. “You asked why you should favor my proposal over that of Professor Webster. The answer is that, through my proposal, everyone stands to gain. Me”—he pointed to himself—“in having enough to go on with and fund my next expedition. You and the village through your share of the proceeds of the sale—the money Lovett and Lynley will happily hand over. Lovett and Lynley also benefit because they live to see their names on plaques beside artifacts displayed to the public—thus having their erudite largesse acknowledged. The Ashmolean will benefit both through the enlargement of their catalog and by having the funds to pay their staff involved in the housing, preparation, and display of such artifacts. As for scholars, those from far and wide wishing to study the items in this hoard will be able to do so through the good offices of the museum. And last but not, to my mind, least, the wider public will benefit by being able to view the hoard and learn about the past—boys and girls and parents and others will be able to see the coins and pins and all the other items in the hoard and wonder and imagine how people lived long ago. Their eyes will see, their imaginations will be sparked, and their minds will be broadened.”
Webster’s scowl had returned, but it now held a pouting quality as he directed it at Callum. “You’ve changed your tune.”
Calmly, his gaze open and direct, Callum met Webster’s eyes and shook his head. “No. I haven’t changed at all. You simply never gave me a chance to explain—you never waited to hear me out. That’s the same pattern I’ve used for all the items I’ve handled, commencing with the bronze figurine.”
Webster pointed an accusing finger at Callum. “You sold that figurine—don’t try to deny it!”
Imperturbably, Callum nodded. “I did, and it’s been in the British Museum ever since, with a plaque beside it citing Lord Devon—who paid me for the figurine—as the benefactor who donated the piece.”
Webster’s mouth worked, as if he wanted to scoff but couldn’t find the grounds to do so.
Lady Osbaldestone’s Plum Puddings: Lady Osbaldestone’s Christmas Chronicles Volume 3 Page 20
