The Two Confessions by John Whitbourn (good books to read for adults .TXT) 📕

them were twotorchmen with pistols at the ready. The Wizard followed on alongside Wulfstan'sassistant who traced their progress on special waxed paper - human memory beingtoo fallible to trust with recalling the way back through a labyrinth. Behindthem were the soldiery and more torches. Samuel had drilled all to move in slowsteps, treading softly.

Theydidn’t need a mining expert to discern that the tunnel sloped down. The waterlevel should soon have been there to meet them, but dusty dryness persisted.Samuel didn't query that particular unanswerable, but he did wonder about thenature of their route. Why the smoothness of the walls? How come the lack ofprops? Wulfstan detected the silent question in Trevan's expression.

‘Notman-made,’ he whispered. ‘Melted, not cut.’

BeforeSamuel could decide if that was good news or not, facts came along tocontradict it. The tunnel took a hard right turn. They edged cautiously roundit and arrived at a junction with a more grandiose downward route. Thetorchlight picked out shaped stone and brickwork succeeding the bland curves,reuniting them with the work of human hands. A single glance identified it asboth old and church-style. They'd found what they were looking for - or atleast the start of it. Samuel punched the unoffending air in glee. No one elseseemed so pleased.

Dutifullythey took the descending option. Their footing was no longer as easy; rocks andpitfalls dotted the floor. There was abundant dust; so much that it stiffenedthe already soupy atmosphere. Wulfstan held forth the caged bird and observedits unaltered despond.

‘Theair's still sweet,’ he hissed, and smiled for once. Samuel presumed this to besome highly specialised use of the word. To him it smelt like history – minusthe happy moments.

Thenthere were stone steps, broad and ancient, worn down in places by the passageof feet. The engineer directed torchlight at one particular point.

‘See?Repairs.’

Thatwas certainly what they looked like. Where fragments had fallen away on theedges of some steps, crude hard-core-and-pebbles had been rammed in to makegood. This careless work appeared far more recent. Wulfstan overlooked that torun appreciative fingers over the original sides.

‘Fireyour pop-guns as you may,’ he told them, in a voice touched by awe. It wasobviously a point that had been preying on him. ‘Shoot 'em all but this won'tcome down. 'Er's fine: solid: proper job!’

Thereassurance was noted in silence. Samuel counted fifty steps down and thenshied from tall figures revealed by the advancing pool of light. Behind him twopistols came up to the aim position.

Fortunately,there was no need to deafen Trevan by firing from right beside his ear. Theobjects of alarm were not at all hostile - quite the contrary. The steel beamssunk into floor and roof were passive in intention, merely an incompletebarrier against entry - or perhaps exit.

Samuelwent up to them. Each column was as thick as a man's leg and the space betweenlikewise. Save for a slim central gap, only a rat would be able to squeezepast. They were fixed into pools of Portland cement - which was revealing initself. That was only made or sold by archbishop's licence, because of itsinstant-castle-making potential. Therefore this project had had'friends-in-high-places'. Samuel was duly advised and regarded it with newrespect - until the engineer showed it up as a failure.

‘Look,’he said. ‘They never finished.’

Overin the darkness by the tunnel wall was a final beam lying prone. About it werethe tools and buckets and jacks to accomplish its erection. There were evensome stacked bags of cement dust, their smoky-red papal seals still intact.

‘The1702 lot,’ said Samuel, speaking his judgement aloud. No one dissented.

‘Theygot close,’ added Wulfstan's assistant, pointing to embryo-excavations in thecentral gap. The intention had clearly been to seal this way forever. So,either the workmen had left in a hurry - or maybe never left at all.

Well,that was sad for them but salvation as far as Samuel was concerned. Even withthe right gear it would be a day's work cutting through just one of thecolumns. Save for the providential gap they'd be heading back now.

‘Singlefile,’ he commanded - albeit quietly. ‘Twelve steps on and then halt toreform.’

Inthe event their path dictated that anyway. A dozen steps were all that remainedafter they edged past the bars. The stairs and descent ended in a widevestibule whose edges were beyond the torches' reach.

‘Circle.Then to the centre. My lead.’

Thiswas another long-practised formation. The soldiers formed an outer ring roundthe two engineers and the Wizard. Samuel was at '12 o'clock' and others at '3','6' and '9' could be deputised to lead the way at need.

Theysoon discovered myriad small objects underfoot, making each step treacherous.Samuel called a halt, and torches directed floorwards revealed they werewalking on coins; a patchy, scattered layer of minted gold. Some looked fairlymodern, others ancient indeed.

‘Don'teven think about it,’ Trevan ordered, in wearied tones. Several of thegun-toters had developed stooping shoulder syndrome. It was ratherdisappointing really: he'd had hopes such a careful selection process mighthave sifted out those enslaved to instinct. But, thinking on, it was reallymore his failing than theirs. His fault in forgetting, even temporarily, thereliable shabbiness of human nature. Shame on him.

Afew paces on and a grinning face lurched into sight. Fortunately it was dead -long dead - and detached from its former body and covering flesh.

Theskull had been impaled on a rough-hewn stake, which was itself driven deep intothe floor slabs.

Trevandrew close to his cheerful new friend and looked him (or her) in the eye. Helearnt nothing. An exploratory tap to the brow dislodged a gentle fall of dust.

‘Human,’he announced.

‘Deceased,’added the Wizard.

Samuelspan on him and served an evidently eloquent 'not here, stupid!'expression which shut the man up. Indeed, it almost shocked him into apology -almost.

Therewere other occupied poles dimly visible now and Trevan ordered all torches heldaloft. The chamber's outer limits came into rough and ready view. It proved tobe ideal: he'd been looking for somewhere safe and small-ish to wean them offbunching together against the dark.

‘1,4, 7 and 11 o'clock to the room corners. Then torches high.’

Itwas gratifying and a tribute to him or his training that they went right away,no slacking; scrunching and sliding over the coinage carpet.

Therest of them waited