the front of the plough and peered into the small hole
Gordon Butcher had dug with his hands. He touched the rim of green-blue metal
with a gloved finger. He scraped away a bit more earth. He leaned further
forward so that his pointed nose was right down the hole. He ran fingers over
the rough green surface. Then he stood up and said, "Let's get the plough
out of the way and do some digging." Although there were fireworks
exploding in his head and shivers running all over his body, Ford kept his
voice very soft and casual.
Between them they pulled the plough back a couple of yards.
"Give me the spade," Ford said, and he began cautiously to dig the
soil away in a circle about three feet in diameter around the exposed patch of
metal. When the hole was two feet deep, he threw away the spade and used his
hands. He knelt down and scraped the soil away, and gradually the little patch
of metal grew and grew until at last there lay exposed before them the great
round disc of an enormous plate. It was fully twenty-four inches in diameter.
The lower point of the plough had just caught the raised centre rim of the
plate, for one could see the dent.
Carefully Ford lifted it out of the hole. He got to his feet, and stood wiping
the soil away from it, turning it over and over in his hands. There was nothing
much to see, for the whole surface was crusted over with a thick layer of a
hard greenish-blue substance. But he knew that it was an enormous plate or dish
of great weight and thickness. It weighed about eighteen pounds!
Ford stood in the field of yellow barley stubble and gazed at the huge plate.
His hands began to shake. A tremendous and almost unbearable excitement started
boiling up inside him and it was not easy for him to hide it. But he did his
best.
"Some sort of a dish," he said.
Butcher was kneeling on the ground beside the hole. "Must be pretty
old," he said.
"Could be old," Ford said. "But it's all rusted up and eaten
away."
"That don't look like rust to me," Butcher said. "That greenish
stuff isn't rust. It's something else. . ."
" It's green rust," Ford said rather
superbly, and that ended the discussion.
Butcher, still on his knees, was poking about casually in the now
three-feet-wide hole with his gloved hands. "There's another one down
here," he said.
Instantly, Ford laid the great dish on the ground. He knelt beside Butcher, and
within minutes they had unearthed a second large green-encrusted plate. This
one was a shade smaller than the first, and deeper. More of a
bowl than a dish.
Ford stood up and held the new find in his hands.
Another heavy one. And now he knew for certain they
were on to something absolutely tremendous. They were on to Roman Treasure, and
almost without question it was pure silver. Two things pointed to its being
pure silver. First the weight, and second, the particular type of green crust
caused by oxidation.
How often is a piece of Roman silver discovered in the world?
Almost never any more. And had pieces as large as this ever been unearthed before?
Ford wasn't sure, but he very much doubted it.
Worth millions it must be.
Worth literally millions of pounds.
His breath, coming fast, was making little white clouds in the freezing
atmosphere.
"There's still more down here, Mr Ford,"
Butcher was saying. "I can feel bits of it all over the place. You'll need
the spade again."
The third piece they got out was another large plate, somewhat similar to the
first. Ford placed it in the barley stubble with the other two.
When Butcher felt the first flake of snow upon his cheek he looked up and saw
over to the north-east a great white curtain drawn across the sky, a solid wall
of snow flying forward on the wings of the wind.
"Here she comes!" he said, and Ford looked round and saw the snow
moving upon them and he said, "It's a blizzard. It's a filthy stinking
blizzard!"
The two men stared at the blizzard as it raced across the fens towards them.
Then it was
Gordon Butcher had dug with his hands. He touched the rim of green-blue metal
with a gloved finger. He scraped away a bit more earth. He leaned further
forward so that his pointed nose was right down the hole. He ran fingers over
the rough green surface. Then he stood up and said, "Let's get the plough
out of the way and do some digging." Although there were fireworks
exploding in his head and shivers running all over his body, Ford kept his
voice very soft and casual.
Between them they pulled the plough back a couple of yards.
"Give me the spade," Ford said, and he began cautiously to dig the
soil away in a circle about three feet in diameter around the exposed patch of
metal. When the hole was two feet deep, he threw away the spade and used his
hands. He knelt down and scraped the soil away, and gradually the little patch
of metal grew and grew until at last there lay exposed before them the great
round disc of an enormous plate. It was fully twenty-four inches in diameter.
The lower point of the plough had just caught the raised centre rim of the
plate, for one could see the dent.
Carefully Ford lifted it out of the hole. He got to his feet, and stood wiping
the soil away from it, turning it over and over in his hands. There was nothing
much to see, for the whole surface was crusted over with a thick layer of a
hard greenish-blue substance. But he knew that it was an enormous plate or dish
of great weight and thickness. It weighed about eighteen pounds!
Ford stood in the field of yellow barley stubble and gazed at the huge plate.
His hands began to shake. A tremendous and almost unbearable excitement started
boiling up inside him and it was not easy for him to hide it. But he did his
best.
"Some sort of a dish," he said.
Butcher was kneeling on the ground beside the hole. "Must be pretty
old," he said.
"Could be old," Ford said. "But it's all rusted up and eaten
away."
"That don't look like rust to me," Butcher said. "That greenish
stuff isn't rust. It's something else. . ."
" It's green rust," Ford said rather
superbly, and that ended the discussion.
Butcher, still on his knees, was poking about casually in the now
three-feet-wide hole with his gloved hands. "There's another one down
here," he said.
Instantly, Ford laid the great dish on the ground. He knelt beside Butcher, and
within minutes they had unearthed a second large green-encrusted plate. This
one was a shade smaller than the first, and deeper. More of a
bowl than a dish.
Ford stood up and held the new find in his hands.
Another heavy one. And now he knew for certain they
were on to something absolutely tremendous. They were on to Roman Treasure, and
almost without question it was pure silver. Two things pointed to its being
pure silver. First the weight, and second, the particular type of green crust
caused by oxidation.
How often is a piece of Roman silver discovered in the world?
Almost never any more. And had pieces as large as this ever been unearthed before?
Ford wasn't sure, but he very much doubted it.
Worth millions it must be.
Worth literally millions of pounds.
His breath, coming fast, was making little white clouds in the freezing
atmosphere.
"There's still more down here, Mr Ford,"
Butcher was saying. "I can feel bits of it all over the place. You'll need
the spade again."
The third piece they got out was another large plate, somewhat similar to the
first. Ford placed it in the barley stubble with the other two.
When Butcher felt the first flake of snow upon his cheek he looked up and saw
over to the north-east a great white curtain drawn across the sky, a solid wall
of snow flying forward on the wings of the wind.
"Here she comes!" he said, and Ford looked round and saw the snow
moving upon them and he said, "It's a blizzard. It's a filthy stinking
blizzard!"
The two men stared at the blizzard as it raced across the fens towards them.
Then it was
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