Goldhill's Treasure

by Jilly Bowling

  ***

  That night Eirik came to her in her dreams, his ice blue eyes full of love and desire, and he made love to her until she fell into a deep sleep, with the thoughts of Calum’s betrayal reduced to nothing. Lying over her he gazed at her beautiful face and wished he could be there by her side, then as the keepers of the gates to Valhalla called to him, he gave her one last lingering kiss and faded away into the darkness.

  ***

  Her nightly dreams of Eirik kept her strong, and if she noticed that her lips were swollen, her breasts were sensitive, and her sex was tender, she never admitted it to herself; it was enough that she had him in her bed, real or imaginary she didn’t know and tried not to worry about it. Having him with her with her in the darkness made the frustrating days endurable, as slowly, very slowly, but surely, Eirik’s treasure was brought into the light, the experts amazed and excited at the fact that it was so fine and intact. A part of her studio was used to store the less precious objects, like cooking pots and clay bowls. These were the items that Sophie had used to eat off as she dug the hole to bury the treasure, and by treasure trove rights would be her’s and not the crown’s.

  The ninth century pots she had designed were the talk of the art world and she was flooded with requests to reveal how she’d discovered the authentic designs. Studios and galleries vied with each other to have her work and they became the ‘in thing’ to own.

  She was invited onto television programmes to talk about her work, but really to be asked about what was being found on her land, and how big her share of the treasure trove would be. She honestly didn’t know and said as much, but nobody believed her and she got fed up of being asked the same questions.

  After she’d been on the television, much to her surprise, Anglo/Saxon scholars and academics asked her opinion on various subjects, never asking how she knew about that time, just surmising that she’d spent years researching the subject of the ninth century, and that was how she’d known about Goldhill’s treasure. She was even asked if she’d bought the land because she’d known that it was there.

  As well as all that, her studio was very busy and she’d taken on a girl to run it when she couldn’t be there. The girl Katie was keen and she was teaching her how to make pots, from preparing the clay to firing the finished object. Her friends from the craft fairs had also placed their wares into the studio and she now stocked soaps and creams, hand felted items and other bits and pieces. She’d actually shown her felter friend how to make a child’s ball in the way that the Danes had. She took a small commision on everything she sold, not taking sixty percent as many studios did and people were queueing up to get their crafts into her studio.

  She no longer had to worry about money, Calum had gone very quiet and she was finally managing to finish furnishing the cottage. The spare bedrooms were decorated in pastel shades, reminiscent of the dyes used by the Danes, with polished solid wood floors, thick fur rugs and bed throws. Her bedroom was a luxurious haven with a fur bedspread to welcome Eirik when he came, which now was only about two or three nights a week. She was so contentedly tired when she fell into her bed that she was sleeping soundly even on the nights he didn’t visit her dreams.

  The sunlounge was now a haven of bleached wood floors, comfortable furniture and large succulent plants and she often sat in there during the day and gazed out at the panorama in front of her, remembering how it had looked twelve hundred years before. She never doubted that what had happened to her was real, but spoke of it to no one. She wouldn’t be believed and didn’t want her memories of Eirik to be spoilt by speaking about it, if she had to wait until she died to find him, she didn’t doubt that she would, and if that made her crazy then so be it.

  The freezing weather of December and January had slowed the dig down, with nothing at all being done over the Christmas break, which she had spent with Sarah and Aidan, next door, but the site was deemed so important that a night watchman had been installed, in her studio, and he patrolled regularly with a German shepherd dog. The experts were excited over their discoveries and Goldhill treasure trove was being called one of the important finds of the century. Sophie’s share would make her a very rich woman and she contemplated, quite often, what to do with it. She knew that she wanted to do something to commemorate Eirik and the Danes who had added so much to the history of this island. She wanted to dispel the myths about them just being barbaric and dirty written into history by the Anglo/Saxons who had been conquered by them. Perhaps she could fund some future digs or research into their culture and way of life, after all she knew better than any expert about the everyday way of life they had led.

  One day, when there was no one around and before the night watchman had arrived she walked along the path to the dig and kneeling down brushed gently at the earth. The last things the experts had unearthed had been Eirik’s arm rings and she desperately wanted a keepsake that he would have worn. It was against the rules of treasure trove, but she reasoned that she had put it there and but for her it would have all been lost, so surely she was entitled to a little thing.

  Under her fingers she felt what could have been a stone, but as she dug it out her heart skipped a beat and she knew that it was one of Eirik’s rings. Slipping it into her pocket she made her way back to the studio door, just as Paul, the watchman, drew up in his van.

  “Hi Sophie, just finished have you? Going to be another cold frost by the feel of it.”

  “Yeah, the kiln’s on so it’s nice and warm in the studio. Have a good night,” and she escaped and hurried up the hill to the cottage.

  In the kitchen she turned the cold water tap on and taking the ring out of her pocket gently washed away the mud of centuries. As the dirt disappeared, the ring, that she had taken off Eirik’s little finger, appeared, still complete, the dull gold gleaming in the overhead light. The gold must have been very pure for it to have stayed in that condition, she thought, and it slipped onto her middle finger as if it had been made for it. It was a plain gold band with rune signs engraved all around it, and although she didn’t know what they meant she felt as if it had some significance to her.

  Thrilled with her find she prepared her ‘Nattmal’ and curling up in front of the log fire in the living room ate it. She couldn’t stop looking at the ring, remembering the pleasure Eirik had always got from giving her something, although he’d always growled “Spending my hard earned gilt,” as if he begrudged it.

  That night he came to her again and after they’d made love, she showed him the ring.

  “Ah good, you have found it.”

  “It was for me?”

  “Yes, I was going to give it to you when we got back from patrol.”

  “What do the runes mean?”

  Eirik laughed “They say, ‘Not even the gates of Valhalla’.”

  “Oh Eirik, it’s lovely, I love you and always will,” she said as he took her in his arms and whispered “I’ll always be with you, but it is time for you to carry on with your life, here in your world. You know that one day we will be together again.”

  Then he was gone and in her heart she knew that he would come no more.

  Chapter 25

  A year later Sophie stood at the entrance to the new Goldhill room in the British museum amazed at the crowd of people, who, on seeing her, burst into spontaneous applause. It was the opening day of the exhibition displaying Eirik’s treasure and she hadn’t expected such a large turnout. The event was by invitation, only dignitaries, scholars, experts and their other halves having been invited. She had asked Mick to accompany her, as it was his work that had started all her adventures, but he’d said no it wasn’t his kind of thing, so she had asked Jenny, her friend from Riding for the Disabled, who’d been delighted to accept. Sarah and Aidan had reluctantly said no as they were too busy with their restaurant to spend two days in London

  “Goodness,” Jenny said “I didn�
��t expect to see so many well known people. I’m glad I dragged out my LBD, a sweater and skirt definitely wouldn’t have done.”

  “I know,” Sophie laughed “It looks like a night at the Oscars, not the stuffy British Museum.” She was dressed in a plain sheath dress in the blue that Eirik had always liked her in, and she wore a collar, that a jewellery maker friend had made from Sophie’s design, an exact replica of Eirik’s sigil. The fine tattoo around her neck blended into the sigil’s design and a person would have had to touch it to discover it wasn’t part of the collar.

  “Ah, Sophie, there you are. We were beginning to wonder if you were going to make it.” The museum’s PR girl bustled up to her, dressed to the nines in a black designer trouser suit.

  “I’m sorry we’re late, I had a meeting with the Crown’s treasure trove people and it overran some what.”

  “Not to worry, now if you could just come this way, the director is just about to make his opening speech.”

  Sophie grimaced at Jenny, who wisely snagged two flutes of champagne, and followed the self important girl. She’d be glad when this evening was over and she could sink back into anonymity at last.

  The speeches seemed to drone on forever and she was grateful to Jenny who kept her supplied with canapes and a couple more glasses of champagne. By the time the dignitaries had finished she felt quite mellow and when she was asked to say a few words, she smiled and said “I’m delighted that this treasure has been saved for posterity and I’d like you to raise your glasses to the person who made all this possible, someone none of you know but without whom this treasure would never have been found. So a toast to a very special man called Eirik,” and she raised her glass.

  Despite the blank looks and raised eyebrows the Director raised his glass and everyone followed. “To Eirik.”

  Feeling her eyes filling with tears and a lump forming in her throat, Sophie turned away and struggled to compose herself.

  “Are you alright?” Jenny whispered.

  “Yes, it’s all just a bit much,” then she blew her nose and said, “let’s have a look at how they’ve laid everything out.”

  As she moved from case to case and listened to the people commenting on the quality of the things on display, she mused on the meeting she’d had earlier. To her surprise the representative of the Crown had told her that her share of the value of the treasure trove would be in her bank within the next two weeks. For the last year people had been telling her that it could be years before a settlement would be made, as the Crown moved so slowly.

  However no one had ever found a treasure trove in such good condition, indeed experts all over the world were taking samples of the clay at Goldhill, thinking that there was something in it that had preserved the metal items. She had spent the year dodging awkward questions and would be doing that for quite some time. Luckily because of the quality and purity of the gold and silver, Eirik had had a very discerning eye, it made it easier to value them. Of course as the finest example of a Viking hoard ever found it was invaluable, and had answered many questions that no one had come up with the answer to before.

  She had donated the other artifacts to the museum, including her pot of lavender salve and was amused at how excited the experts were with it all.

  When she got to the display of Eirik’s rings and arm rings, she choked up again, and raising her ring to her lips kissed it.

  “That’s a very fine ring you have there,” one of the ‘experts’ commented.

  “Yes, it’s pretty isn’t it? The lady who made my collar made it for me.” Sophie answered, “she put the runes on it it for fun.”

  The expert raised her hand to his eyes and said “Yes very pretty, just ornamental, aren’t correct, don’t mean anything.”

  “No, I don’t expect they do,” she said as she moved onto the next case containing gold tankards and plate.

  Chapter 26

  Trudging around the sand school leading Zimba, one of the ponies she had bought and donated to the group, Sophie felt content for the first time since she had lost Eirik.

  Life was good, Calum had been paid off, her pots were selling all over the world and the studio was always busy. She now had three students working under her and they were all nice girls, delighted at the chance to be trained by Sophie Dickton. She had a good group of friends who made sure she was always included in parties and nights out. Luckily they had learned not to try and fix her up with a man as they’d done in the beginning. Occasionally at night she longed for Eirik to come to her but had accepted that he was gone. Sometimes even in a crowd she felt lonely and was considering getting herself a dog for company at night. A wolfhound perhaps.

  “The only bug bear she had at the moment was her neighbour, a Mr. Wilkins who had bought the land off the old couple, who unfortunately had passed away, and owned the fields beyond her wood and to one side of her. Although he wasn’t supposed to, because of the rare wild daffodils that flourished all over the hill, he’d turned cattle into the field where they grew, and they’d trampled and destroyed the daffodils on his land, and, once broken into her garden destroying a nice greengage tree she’d just planted. Stuart had been furious and wanted to punch the man for letting his beasts destroy the garden he had taken such pains with.

  A bombastic unpleasant man he had laughed at her when she complained and told her he enjoyed upsetting his neighbours.

  She had strengthened her fences and ignored him when she was unlucky enough to bump into him. However, today, one of the other helpers had told her that his wife had left him and was suing for divorce. It looked like he’d have to sell up so he could give her half of the value of the property. On the land was a modern bungalow, and about forty acres of land and Sophie was considering buying it. She could either rent out the bungalow or sell it with a bit of land, and keep the fields that surrounded her wood and garden.

  She’d always wanted her own horse and if Jenny was agreeable they could move the RDA ponies and horses between her land and Sophie’s. Jenny’s husband farmed sheep and cattle and didn’t want too many horses spoiling his land. If they came to an agreement he could put his sheep on her land occasionally to rest his fields.

  When the riding session was over and the children had departed on their school coach, the horses and ponies were turned out and she joined Jenny in her kitchen for a cup of tea. After she’d put her idea into words, Jenny suggested that they go and find her husband, Simon, and see what he thought, so they put their barbours and boots back on and went out to find him. They found him at the bull pen, scratching the head of his young bull, Barney.

  “Well, we seem to be collecting more and more ponies, so for me it would be a great idea,”he said “but how will you manage the land?”

  “I’m afraid I hadn’t thought about that. Would it be difficult?”

  Simon laughed “Not if you knew what you were doing. I tell you what though, if I could put my sheep there it would keep the grass right and I expect I could help you.”

  Sophie hugged him “Thank you Simon, I’ll make sure you don’t regret it.”

  As they walked back to the house Jenny asked “So what kind of horse do you want?”

  “I’ve thought about it for a while, I’d like something you could use for RDA, so it would have to have a good temperament. I did wonder about a Friesian?”

  Jenny smiled “Certainly got good temperaments. Is it because they’re thought of as Viking horses?”

  “No, no,” Sophie chuckled “I know they use them on all the television programmes and films about Vikings, but actually that’s not right. Icelandic horses were small and pony like and the Vikings didn’t bring horses with them on their longships, but stole them off the locals. They usually marched on foot into battle.”

  “You know so much about them, was it the treasure that made you interested or did you know about them before?”
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  Wishing that she could tell her friend the truth Sophie said “I’ve always been interested in history, especially of pot making, and have learned more because of the treasure trove. They were a very interesting people.”

  Chapter 27

  Sophie had discovered a stud in the Vale of York that bred Friesians, and on telephoning them had discovered that, yes they had some four and five year olds, broken and ready to go on. She had made an appointment with the owner, Lee Rikson to go up and have a look.

  Deciding that for once she would splash the cash, she had arranged for a local helicopter company to pick her and Jenny up at Jenny’s farm, where there was plenty of room to land.

  When she’d left Jenny and Simon on the Thursday she had rushed home, phoned her solicitor and told him to put an offer in for Mr. Wilkin’s bungalow and land. After two impatient days of waiting she had her answer, her offer had been accepted, so she had rung the stud and made an appointment for the Monday at eleven thirty.

  She parked her car by Jenny’s beautiful old house, just as the door opened and Jenny came out.

  “Gosh, this is exciting, I’ve only been in a helicopter once and that wasn’t to go very far.”

  “Well that’s one more than me” Sophie laughed, “I hope I don’t get travel sick.”

  “We’ll be flying over some interesting country and it won’t be for long.”

  “Yeah, it’s great that it’s a bright sunny day, should be lots to see.”

  Walking to the large field in which Simon had obligingly laid out an old white sheet and pegged it down, they heard the noise of the helicopter arriving.

  “Right on time” Sophie commented “that’s a good sign.”

  As they climbed in they were given earphones so they could talk to each other and the pilot, then they were off.

  They both thoroughly enjoyed the trip, which was over much too quickly, as they could see the ground below and they chattered away excitedly.