Swiftly we dipped into the sunken road. We took the middle one and, coming to the brook, went into the water and rode swiftly to the other road and into the woods. Turning from the road we rode into the forest, weaving among the trees, splashing through a marsh and soon came upon another trail.
We went back, then, by devious lanes used only by farmers, into the deeper forest.
Though I was sure I could ride right to the spot, it took me some time to find it. We dismounted and looked about. It was Corvino whose quick eyes made contact.
'There!' he said. 'Where the mound is! That is probably all tumbled rock underneath. See? It is not a natural mound, that one.'
Jublain had not moved. Suddenly he looked over at me. 'It is wrong ... this,' he said quietly. 'It is very wrong.'
We looked at him, and he flushed a little. 'You'll think me a fool,' he said, 'but if there is anything here, if there are old things, they lie as they have fallen ... where they fell, when they fell.'
Neither of us knew what he was talking about. 'Is it because you fear the ghosts?' Corvino wondered.
Jublain shook his head. 'I know nothing of such things,' he said, 'I should be the last to speak, but your Society ... If this place were opened with care, if every thing were taken out and its position marked, could one not tell how the object was used? You spoke of pots ... for the kitchen? Or for perfumes or powder or such things? If things are moved, how will they ever find out?'
We stared at him, and I, for one, saw his point at last. It irritated me, because I began to feel he was right. I did not know exactly why, but ...
'You spoke of history, of these things being a part of history. If we take them all apart, then who will know how they once fitted?'
'If
'I think that remark has excused more sins than any other,' Jublain commented.
I stared at him, irritated. 'Since when did you become so sanctimonious? You have killed, looted. You've lived by the sword.'
He shrugged. 'A good point, and I'm caught upon it. I am a soldier, have on occasion been a brigand, but nonetheless—'
'Dig!' I said, 'I came not this way for nothing.'
Corvino had crossed the hollow where I had fallen on my first discovery. 'A corner was here, I think. Let us try.'
Nobody said more, and we all dug, but reluctantly, I think.
We found broken stone, another fragment of a statue, a bit of a robe this time, much dirt and debris, more fallen rock and finally a whole wall that had fallen in. Then much finer soil, dust that had blown in, the black soil of moldered leaves, some fragments of broken pottery.
They worked slowly, and with great care, breaking up each clod of mud, searching for whatever they might find. Jublain straightened at last. 'Barnabas,' he said, 'there is something here. The floor,' he pointed up, 'is there. What we find here is under the floor.'
'A cellar. A tunnel, perhaps,' I suggested.
Corvino shook his head. 'I think not. The place of the floor was built above this, built after it. What we are working now is the edge of an older ruin ... before the Romans.'
'Who was here before the Romans?' Jublain asked.
I shrugged. 'Arthur ... you have heard of him? Arthur was here. He was a Celt, I think. And the Danes were here, they came and went. My own people were among those who were here. But ... who knows?'
We hesitated. I looked up at the floor, about five feet above where we now worked. 'It may be for nothing, for no purpose,' I said irritably.
Jublain leaned on his shovel. 'We should leave it alone,' he insisted. 'We know nothing of this. Perhaps if your antiquaries came here to dig—'
'They might know little more,' I said. 'Jublain, work on the floor above. Corvino and I will work down here. We will disturb as little as possible.'
Suddenly a thought came to me. That rider who seemed to follow us: what of him?
'Keep your weapons close,' I said suddenly. 'I have a bad feeling about this place.'
'Aye,' Jublain was grim. 'Men have died here. See?' He indicated some charred and ancient timber he had uncovered. 'Fire ... and blood, I am thinking.'
Corvino dug carefully in the corner, removing the dirt bit by bit.
I watched, then returned to my own digging. The earth was black and rich ... with the bodies of the dead? Who had lived and died in this place? Did they believe their world was all? Did they look with amused interest mingled with mild contempt at the past?
Something rounded and smooth ... something! 'A skull,' I said, removing it gently from the soil, 'a skull cleft by a blow.'
There it was, the bone parted from behind by a blow. I took it up, gently. Placing it at one side I slowly worked about, finding other bones, scattered finger bones, a pelvis ... suddenly some metal studs from a belt or something, and then a small packet of coins. They were stuck together, but I lifted them out. There must have been a dozen, most of them gold. Two came free as I lifted them.
One had a horse with its head looking back, tail flowing, and what might have been a chariot behind. There was a worn figure, man or woman we could not tell. Another was of a seated woman, holding a staff, and some symbols or letters behind the staff.
'There!' Jublain indicated them. 'We have found what we came for. Let us go.'
'You? The looter? You wish to leave now?' I scoffed gently.
'It is you who have done this to me,' he said calmly. 'You with your talk of preserving history. I had not thought of it before, but what do we who make history have left, if our victories and defeats are not known to our ancestors?
'I think ... I feel some lonely battle was fought here, and fought well, and men died for what they believed, perhaps surrounded in this place. Someday men may come with more knowledge than we and they will put the parts together. And out of it will come a story of heroes.'
'You believe in heroes?' Corvino looked at him thoughtfully.
'I cannot believe in anything else. A man needs heroes. He needs to believe in strength, nobility and courage. Otherwise we become sheep to be herded to the slaughterhouse of death. I believe this. I am a soldier. I try to fight for the right cause. Sometimes it is hard to know.
'But I do not sit back and sneer in cowardice at those with the courage to fight. The blood of good men makes the earth rich, as it is here. When I die sword in hand, I hope someone lives to sing of it. I live my life so that when death comes I may die well. I ask no more.'
'We will go,' I said.
The coins I put away. We climbed from the hole and brushed away the dirt of our digging. Then, remembering what Jublain had said, I kicked with my heels at the edge and caved the earth into the hole. Then I threw in some broken branches and a few stones that lay about.
'Let us go to our horses,' I said. 'We can ride a little way before dark.'
Together we walked back through the darkening forest, not talking, each alive with his own thinking. And so we came to the small clearing where our horses were, and they awaited us there. Eight men with swords. In my present mood, it was not too many.
I threw my shovel into their faces and went in with my sword. Staggered or leaping to escape the flying shovel, they were momentarily taken aback, and my swinging laid open the cheek of one man, scarred the brow of the man next to him. Both were bloody in an instant, and I was parrying a blow from another.
Jublain had been no less swift. Accustomed to attack and counterattack, he had gone in low and fast. One who had leaped back from the shovel had thrown his hands high, and Jublain's point parted his laces down the middle of his stomach. The blade went in—I seemed to see it go. Then he was cutting left with it.
Suddenly the attack was over and they were gone. Corvino had scooped a handful of earth and flung it into their eyes, and brought down two with the flat of his shovel.
