Sackett's Land (1974) by Louis - Sackett's 0 L'amour Page B
Authors: Louis - Sackett's 0 L'amour
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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
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
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