The Closed Book: Concerning the Secret of the Borgias Part 20

Beyond, although the abbey church extended just as far eastward as the ruins ran westward, all had disappeared.

There was no sign of the whereabouts of the grand altar from which to take our bearings. The whole of the eastern side of the church had been swept away and converted into a modern churchyard.

"Perhaps the guide will tell us something," Wyman suggested, and at once began to scan its pages, while we stood in the rank gra.s.s beneath the shadow of that magnificent arch which is the admiration of all modern builders.

Presently he pointed out to me the original measurements, showing that the nave had been one hundred and forty-four feet long by twenty-eight feet wide and seventy-five feet high, which after careful comparison with other calculations, made it clear that the grand altar must have stood eighty-six feet from the broken pier of the central tower where we stood.

We had fortunately purchased a measuring tape in Peterborough; therefore, without delay, we marked out eighty-six feet in a direct easterly direction towards the open fen pastures straight before us, and, looking round, discovered to our satisfaction some broken stone foundations hidden in the gra.s.s and weeds--evidently the lower stones of the grand altar mentioned by the monk G.o.dfrey.

Some twelve feet farther on there were some similar moss-grown stones, which struck me as being the remains of the rear of the demolished altar; therefore from this latter point we determined to take our bearings, and begin our operations.

We stood and glanced around to find the monastery fish pond. Southward in the direction indicated, in the centre of a gra.s.s field, which, filled with mounds where old foundations had been overgrown, was a deep dip in the ground, a small pond quite unlike the deep lake full of old carp that we had imagined.

"That's it?" I exclaimed, much disappointed. "There certainly isn't much water there. I suppose we had better measure the hundred and thirty-one paces, so as to be quite certain that it really is the spot."

"Come along," cried my friend. "Let's do it separately;" and, turning our faces to the south, we paced on, each counting silently, and being compelled to scale the churchyard wall in our progress.

At one hundred and nine paces, however, I arrived at the edge of what had, no doubt, once been a big pond, for the gra.s.sy hollow was some thirty feet wide and sixty long, divided into two, and in each remained a few feet of muddy water from which the cattle drank.

The discrepancy in the distance puzzled us. Was it possible that the celebrated silver altar of Crowland and the three chestfuls of treasure lay buried in the centre of the slime of that half-dried pond?

Surely the lake must have been of much larger dimensions in G.o.dfrey's day; and, if it were, then the distance between its edge and the grand altar would not be so great.

I produced the tracing of the mysterious plan contained in The Closed Book, but failed to comprehend it in any detail. The shaky lines, intended to be straight, were mostly numbered, as though denoting paces distant. But there was no number 131, or 109, as I had found it, hence we were utterly mystified, and both inclined to believe that in imagining the plan to concern Crowland we had been mistaken.

We both stood at the edge of the muddy pond and glanced into its green, stagnant water.

Was it possible that the great treasures of that half-demolished abbey, whose high ruined walls and b.u.t.tresses cast their shadows behind, had been hidden deep in the mud below by the same hand that had written The Closed Book, the hand that had envenomed its pages and thus preserved the great secret from age to age?

It seemed almost incredible in these matter-of-fact times, and yet we both felt confident that the treasure enumerated in that list lay cunningly concealed somewhere in that vicinity.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

WHAT HAPPENED AT CROWLAND.

The long hollow in the field, with a small quant.i.ty of muddy water in the bottom, was by no means the kind of place where one would expect to find a treasure concealed. The fields around that neglected churchyard were uneven, where the foundations of the monastic buildings were now overgrown with rank gra.s.s and nettles, and in the centre was this hollow where undoubtedly the pond had once been.

Facing us there ran across the eastern boundary of the field a line of beeches, and then, beyond, the broad, bare, misty fenland, without a tree almost as far as the eye could reach, flat, inhospitable, and uninteresting. Like the Maremma, with which I was so familiar in Tuscany, there lay over everything a light mist--that miasma which in Italy is so deadly to the peasantry; and yet even more barren and more cheerless was it than the wide marshes on the road to Rome. The old windmill, with broken sails and roofless outbuildings, stood forth, the most prominent object in that flat, unbroken landscape, without hedgerow, a pitiful relic of the days when it paid to grind corn, before the advent of steam machinery; while cl.u.s.tered on the north side of the abbey were rows of old-fashioned cottages, mostly built of the stones of the monks' houses thrown down by Cromwell. The quiet old village of Crowland is still far from the railway, and modern progress has therefore been slow in reaching it.

As I stood beside that weedy hollow with my companion, I was bound to admit that although old G.o.dfrey Lovel might have inhabited the monastery for eighteen years or so, and his chronicle might be proved to be correct on comparison with contemporary history, yet his statement regarding the distance of the fish pond from the grand altar was incorrect.

Walter pointed out that we had measured from a spot where we merely surmised the altar to have been, and therefore we might have mistaken the distance. Nevertheless, we gazed about us in uncertainty. We alone knew the existence of treasure there, being in possession of a secret lost to the world ever since the year of grace 1538.

Was not that in itself sufficient incentive to cause us to make a search?

"This is evidently where G.o.dfrey Lovel hid the Borgia jewels," remarked Walter Wyman, referring to my transcript of the secret record which he held in his hand. "But he apparently dragged the casket out of the pond on the night before his departure for Scotland."

"Leaving the abbey treasure still hidden," I added.

"Certainly," he said. Then rapidly referring to my transcript, he added: "As far as I can make out, the silver altar and the three chests full of treasure hidden from Cromwell's men were not placed in the same lake as the Borgia jewels. Old G.o.dfrey was clever enough not to suggest that, fearing that the casket he himself had secreted might be discovered by some prying person. You see he says that the abbey plate and jewels were buried `at the opposite end to where, through many years, my own treasure lay well concealed.' Again he says: `Once I heard rumour that Southwell intended to pump out the lakes.' He speaks in the plural, thus showing that there was more than one fish pond at this place. Of course, they've since been filled in, and this ground made comparatively level over the old foundations."

I glanced at the pa.s.sages he referred to, and saw that his surmise was correct. There was certainly more than one pond there in G.o.dfrey's day, and although the Borgia jewels were hidden in the water one hundred and thirty-one paces southeast of the grand altar, yet it did not actually allege that the abbey plate was submerged in the same lake, but at the opposite end. That would be south-west of the grand altar.

I pointed this out to my friend, and, both turning at the same moment, we saw the glint of sunshine upon water at the opposite corner of the rough and broken ground, level with the clock tower, and ab.u.t.ting upon the road which skirted the village itself.

Together we eagerly approached it, first, however, returning to the spot where we had fixed the whereabouts of the main altar, and counting the paces towards it. I counted them as one hundred and twenty-nine, while Walter made them one hundred and thirty-two.

The pond was big, full of dark water, and weedless, showing it to be of considerable depth. It had escaped our notice on entering the abbey grounds, and we both saw that although it was now bounded on one side by the high, black-tarred fence of a cottage garden, and at the end by some red-brick farm outbuildings and hayricks, it had nevertheless once been of considerable dimensions--unquestionably the fish pond of the monks from which they caught their Friday fare.

Once it had undoubtedly been well kept and cared for, but today the cattle grazing on that weedy ground drank from it, for round the mud showed prints of hoofs.

"This is it, no doubt," exclaimed Wyman, again referring to the record.

"You see it says `the pond was deep and dried not in summer, being fed by several springs.' This one is of fresh water, while the other is stagnant. If the treasure has not already been found, it is most likely sunk deep in the mud here."

We both gazed upon the unruffled surface of the water glittering beneath the sun, wondering in which part had been the centre of the original pond. At present it was not more than twenty feet across and perhaps fifty feet long. Its previous dimensions had, of course, been much greater, for it must have extended nearly the whole length of the abbey if, as seemed so probable, the depression on the east side of the field had been in connection with it.

Of course, we had at once seen that the abbey and monastic buildings had originally spread over all the fields southward, eastward, and northward; but we had here sufficient evidence of the existence of the ponds, the hiding place of the treasure.

A flock of rooks were lazily circling around the tower, and as we stood there in silence at the edge of the pond the deep-toned abbey bell rang out the hour.

"I cannot see how we can search here without its being known," Wyman remarked at last. "How are we to pump out this pond and dig out the mud secretly? Why, the whole village would be here in half an hour if we attempted it."

"I am quite of your opinion," I answered. "And I would point out further that until we are aware of where the _centre_ of the pond was it is no use searching at all. My idea is that the spot where the treasure lies is not beneath the water at all, but in another place, midway between here and the other pond--a place that has since been filled up with the debris when the abbey was destroyed. As you see, the ground has practically been levelled, yet at one time nearly the whole of this field was a deep pond. Recollect that there were sometimes as many as seven hundred monks here; therefore they required good-sized fish ponds.

No; I feel confident that if we ever do discover the treasure we shall find it somewhere about the centre of this field."

"Which means that we've a lot of excavation to do, and that we must disclose our secret to the whole countryside--even if we were successful in obtaining permission from the lord of the manor, the Ecclesiastical Commissioners, or whoever owns the land."

"It means all that," I said, "and more. It means that if we do go to work without knowing the exact spot where old G.o.dfrey and the abbot concealed the silver altar and the three chestsful of plate we might continue our investigations until doomsday and achieve nothing except the inevitable reputation of having made arrant fools of ourselves."

"But how can we know the exact spot?" inquired Wyman, who was nothing if not entirely practical.

"By this plan most probably. The other plan undoubtedly refers to Threave Castle, in Scotland; therefore, what more likely than this should record the exact spot where the chests were submerged," and I glanced at the tracing of the roughly drawn diagram with its crooked lines and puzzling numerals. "If we could only discover the key!" I added wistfully.

"I think it would be wise, seeing that we can carry our investigations here no farther at this point, to ascertain who is the proprietor of this land and other facts for our future guidance. I notice that the writer of this guide is the rector, the Reverend Henry Mason. Why not call on him and make some antiquarian inquiries?"

To this I at once consented, and a quarter of an hour later we were seated in the rector's cozy study under the shadow of the abbey walls.

He was a short, elderly, spectacled gentleman of very affable manner, and full of information upon the subject which interested us.

Finding us interested in the history of the abbey, he produced from his bookshelves several rare volumes, including Felix's "Life of St Guthlac," Histories of Crowland by Gough, Nicholls, and Canon Moore, and a volume of Cole's collection of ma.n.u.scripts which contained many notable extracts from the abbey registers. These interested me most of all; and while Wyman chatted with the rector I scanned through the pages, finding references to the silver altar and the golden cups and chalices of which we were now in search.

My friend made some casual inquiries regarding the field which we had just been over, whereupon the rector said:

"The old fish ponds were originally there, but have since been filled in with rubbish and fallen stones. Traces of the ponds, however, still remain. You may, perhaps, have noticed them. In that field, too, at the beginning of the century, a fine silver cup was dug up by a workman while getting out some of the old stones with which to build a cottage.

It was claimed by the lord of the manor, and is now in the possession of the Marquis of Exeter at Burghley."

"There may be some more," I suggested, laughing.

"More than likely," replied the clergyman. "According to a popular legend, a great treasure is buried somewhere hereabouts, but no one has yet been able to find it."