baggage train,” she said. “This object was with King John’s baggage train; with his treasures.”
“King John,” Ryan said. “1199”
“King John has stolen his brother’s crown,” Violet said. She opened her eyes and looked around. “I can tell you the story now. King John is the most unpopular king the English have ever known. He is pursued by enemies on all sides. His subjects hover on the brink of starvation and his rebellious barons have invited the French king to cross the Channel and rid them of their hated ruler.”
“You can find this in any history book,” Ryan said.
“I see the king,” Violet declared. “He has ridden ahead of the baggage train and he waits at the far end of the marsh. He is impatient. There is a road across the marsh, a causeway of roughhewn logs skirting the deepest of the sink holes. The king is anxious. The tide is rising. The sea is lapping at the edges of the road. Why doesn’t he ride on? Why doesn’t he ride to safety? His enemies are close by. Why is he waiting?”
“Why?” asked Mandretti.
Ryan said nothing although he knew the answer. He was taking Violet’s words and filling in the scene for himself as though he was once again making a TV special.
King John was without a stronghold to call his own. He was fleeing across the country accompanied by all of his personal possessions. Wherever he went on his desperate journeys he was followed by a long lumbering train of baggage wagons dragged through dust and mud by teams of sweating carthorses. Wagon after wagon would be loaded down with gold and silver plate, tapestries, fine linens, armor, jewelry, and gold to pay the soldiers. Without the gold the soldiers would desert. The baggage train was the king’s only security and he would never let it out of his sight.
“The sun is setting,” Violet said, “in a sullen red ball. The king peers through the gathering gloom. He can barely make out the shape of the wagons, but he can hear the shrieking of the carthorses and the cracking of the drovers’ whips, the plunging hooves and the rattle of the harnesses. Torches flare here and there along the causeway and the king sees the rising water lapping at the logs and reaching for the wagon wheels. He is searching for one wagon, just one wagon from the whole train; the wagon containing the Crown Jewels of England. He sees it far back in the marsh.”
Ryan listened to Violet’s voice, and his mind continued to fill in the dramatic details. He set the king in motion, fuming and cursing as he rides down to the water’s edge and threatens death to any man who abandons his wagon. The men aren’t listening. They ignore him. Some of them take pity on the horses and cut the traces. Some of them abandon the horses and run for dry land. The sea sweeps in. The wagons roll onto their sides and sink into the mud. He clothed the king with the dark beard and moustache that he had seen in portraits and translated John’s curses into Norman French, the language of the kings in those times.
“The moon rises over a calm sea,” Violet said. “The Wash has recaptured the causeway and there is no trace of the king’s baggage train. It is all gone. Beneath the dark waves, the crown jewels sink slowly down into the mud.”
She returned the goblet to Mandretti. “This was under the mud,” she said. “This was part of the treasure. This was with the sword.”
For a moment Ryan was lost in his own emotions. Despite himself he had been deeply affected by Violet’s voice. As she spoke he had felt himself carried back through time, as though he had been there himself on that causeway as the tide rolled in. He felt as though he had personally witnessed the loss of the treasure. He had seen what happened to the Great Sword of England.
“Is that it?”
“King John,” Ryan said. “1199”
“King John has stolen his brother’s crown,” Violet said. She opened her eyes and looked around. “I can tell you the story now. King John is the most unpopular king the English have ever known. He is pursued by enemies on all sides. His subjects hover on the brink of starvation and his rebellious barons have invited the French king to cross the Channel and rid them of their hated ruler.”
“You can find this in any history book,” Ryan said.
“I see the king,” Violet declared. “He has ridden ahead of the baggage train and he waits at the far end of the marsh. He is impatient. There is a road across the marsh, a causeway of roughhewn logs skirting the deepest of the sink holes. The king is anxious. The tide is rising. The sea is lapping at the edges of the road. Why doesn’t he ride on? Why doesn’t he ride to safety? His enemies are close by. Why is he waiting?”
“Why?” asked Mandretti.
Ryan said nothing although he knew the answer. He was taking Violet’s words and filling in the scene for himself as though he was once again making a TV special.
King John was without a stronghold to call his own. He was fleeing across the country accompanied by all of his personal possessions. Wherever he went on his desperate journeys he was followed by a long lumbering train of baggage wagons dragged through dust and mud by teams of sweating carthorses. Wagon after wagon would be loaded down with gold and silver plate, tapestries, fine linens, armor, jewelry, and gold to pay the soldiers. Without the gold the soldiers would desert. The baggage train was the king’s only security and he would never let it out of his sight.
“The sun is setting,” Violet said, “in a sullen red ball. The king peers through the gathering gloom. He can barely make out the shape of the wagons, but he can hear the shrieking of the carthorses and the cracking of the drovers’ whips, the plunging hooves and the rattle of the harnesses. Torches flare here and there along the causeway and the king sees the rising water lapping at the logs and reaching for the wagon wheels. He is searching for one wagon, just one wagon from the whole train; the wagon containing the Crown Jewels of England. He sees it far back in the marsh.”
Ryan listened to Violet’s voice, and his mind continued to fill in the dramatic details. He set the king in motion, fuming and cursing as he rides down to the water’s edge and threatens death to any man who abandons his wagon. The men aren’t listening. They ignore him. Some of them take pity on the horses and cut the traces. Some of them abandon the horses and run for dry land. The sea sweeps in. The wagons roll onto their sides and sink into the mud. He clothed the king with the dark beard and moustache that he had seen in portraits and translated John’s curses into Norman French, the language of the kings in those times.
“The moon rises over a calm sea,” Violet said. “The Wash has recaptured the causeway and there is no trace of the king’s baggage train. It is all gone. Beneath the dark waves, the crown jewels sink slowly down into the mud.”
She returned the goblet to Mandretti. “This was under the mud,” she said. “This was part of the treasure. This was with the sword.”
For a moment Ryan was lost in his own emotions. Despite himself he had been deeply affected by Violet’s voice. As she spoke he had felt himself carried back through time, as though he had been there himself on that causeway as the tide rolled in. He felt as though he had personally witnessed the loss of the treasure. He had seen what happened to the Great Sword of England.
“Is that it?”
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