"THE SHADOW OF THE OFT-CARRIED THRONE"
Four miles to the north of Ormsby lies the valley of Ravensdale,
extending due east and west, with sides steep and wall-like.
The eastern end opens out upon the sea-beach, and here the width of
the valley is greatest, the distance across being about half a mile.
Farther inland the breadth contracts, and the sides approach each other
till they meet in a narrow leafy gorge, whence issues the slender,
silvery Ravensbec.
The valley contains no human habitation. The only sounds that disturb
the stillness are the melancholy murmur of the sea, and the occasional
tinkling of sheep-bells.
In the middle of the dale, and distant a few hundred yards from the
beach, rises the eminence that for centuries has borne the name of
Ormfell, an eminence circular at the base, about fifty feet in height,
and covered with green turf.
Upon this hillock Idris was now gazing with deep interest.
It was a beautiful summer morning, and with Beatrice for his companion
he had come to take a view of the tumulus, preliminary to the task of
breaking into it at night.
"We want no geologist," he remarked, "to tell us that this is an
artificial elevation. Nature never carved out this pyramid; it has been
raised by the hand of man. This is the 'lofty tomb' spoken of on the
runic ring. Within the heart of this tumulus we shall find all that
remains of old Orm the Viking."
Beatrice shared fully in his enthusiasm. She had seen the mound many a
time, but now the words on the runic ring had invested the spot with a
new and mysterious charm.
"Orm's warriors were men with a taste for the picturesque," she said.
"They could not have chosen a prettier place for the grave of their
hero."
"Ay, close to the sea, that he doubtless loved well, as became a Norse
Viking. And here for ages he has remained in solitary glory, with the
surge forever murmuring his requiem."
"This is certainly a tremendous mass of earth to pile over one poor
mortal," said Beatrice, contemplating the mound.
"Every vassal was supposed to contribute one helmetful of soil to the
grave of his chieftain."
"Judged by that test Orm must have had a pretty numerous following,"
said Beatrice.
"Or else each follower contributed more than the orthodox helmetful.
O, they could toil as well as fight, these old Norsemen. They were not
afraid of work."
"May the old Norse blood in us never die out, then!"
"Amen to that! But I see an upright stone crowning the apex of our
fell. Let us examine it. There may be runes upon it."
Idris extended his hand to Beatrice and assisted her up the side of
the mound. Arrived at the summit he closely inspected the stone, which
was a six-sided pillar, about four feet in height, black in colour,
relieved here and there by curious red convolutions.
"So far as I can see," he said, "this pillar does not betray any mark
of a tool. Its hexagonal shape, then, is due to nature. The stone is
basalt, which often assumes a six-sided form. These red spirals are
apparently sandstone. It is evident that the mass of basalt, of which
this pillar is a fragment, was forced upwards in an igneous liquid
state through a bed of sandstone, taking up some of the latter in its
passage. Hence these red convoluted bands."
"I have heard that there is only one place in Europe where basalt
of this character is to be found," said Beatrice, "and that is in a
certain valley of the Crimea."
"It may be so. The old Norse people are said by some historians to
have been of Scythian origin, and to have migrated from the region of
the Crimea. Perhaps they carried this piece of basalt with them. It
may have been a _baitulion_, or holy stone; in fact," continued Idris,
as he removed some moss from the foot of the pillar, "there can be
no doubt about it. Look on this side, and you will see why a sacred
character was attributed to it. Tell me, Miss Ravengar, what does this
red streak resemble?"
"A curved sword!" cried Beatrice, in wonderment. "Why have I never
noticed it before? A curved sword, with blade, hilt, and cross-guard,
as perfect as if drawn by human hand."
"Just so. And history says that the ancient Scythians worshipped a
scimitar--an appropriate deity for a barbaric and warlike race. This
hexagon, stamped with the image of their god, would be holy in their
eyes. It would be their altar-stone, and a necessary companion in all
their migrations."
Beatrice, not doubting the truth of Idris' theory, gazed with a feeling
almost akin to awe upon the mysterious stone, which the superstition
of a far-off age had elevated to the rank of deity. Eternity seemed
to be its attribute. In its presence she and Idris were but as the
quickly-evaporating dew; long after their bodies should have crumbled
to dust this altar would remain. A silent contemporary of the rise
and fall of past empires, it would survive the rise and fall of many
to come. If ever stone was eloquent on the evanescence of all things
human, surely this stone was!
Such were Beatrice's thoughts, while Idris, more prosaic, was on his
knees, removing the earth from the foot of the pillar, and scraping the
surface of the stone with his penknife in the hope of finding runic
letters engraved upon it: but in this he met with disappointment; each
face of the hexagon was free from inscription.
"I was hoping," he said, rising to his feet, "to come upon some
epitaph, such as, '_I, Magnus, raise this stone to the memory of my
sire, Orm_', which would give me proof that I am on the right track,
since, after all, my opinion that this is the tomb of the Golden Viking
is purely conjectural."
They descended to level ground again, and Idris proceeded to walk
slowly around the base of the hillock, endeavouring to take no more
than a foot at each step.
"The circumference is, roughly speaking, about one hundred and fifty
feet," he remarked, when he had completed the circuit. "The diameter,
therefore, will be about fifty, and the centre about twenty-five feet
off."
"If you have that distance, or nearly that distance, of solid earth to
bore through, you have a hard task," said Beatrice.
"My work will be of a much lighter nature, I trust. If this tumulus
has been constructed like the generality of its kind, there should be
a stone chamber in the centre with a stone passage leading to it from
the side of the mound. Earth was piled over the mouth of the passage,
but marks, usually taking the shape of two upright stones, were left to
indicate the entrance."
"What point of the compass did the Norsemen favour when constructing
the entrance-passage of their tumuli?"
"The point of ingress usually faced the east."
"This is the easternmost point, nearest the sea," said Beatrice, moving
onward a few steps; and full of their enterprise, she cried, "Let us
try to find the guide-stones."
They carefully surveyed the eastern curve of the base, Beatrice probing
with the point of her sunshade, and Idris with the ferule of his
walking-stick, among the long grass and bracken that grew in profusion
at the foot of the hillock. Their search, however, was without result.
"I am at fault, it seems," said Idris, "or, it may be, the rain of
centuries has washed down so much earth from the side of the mound that
the guide-stones at its foot have become buried. We can do nothing
without proper tools."
"Let us explore all round," suggested Beatrice, the spirit of adventure
growing upon her.
They examined the entire circuit of the base, and, when that
investigation was over, were no wiser than when they had begun.
Beatrice seated herself on a grassy bank facing the tumulus, and Idris
took his place beside her.
"This will never do," he muttered, ruefully contemplating the hillock.
"I _must_ discover the mouth of the passage. If I begin to bore at any
other point I might indeed reach the wall of the central chamber, but I
should be on the outside, and it would be difficult, if not impossible,
to make a way through the masonry. Besides, as I cannot admit the
coöperation of any one but Godfrey, tunnelling through twenty feet of
earth is a task that will take several nights, not to speak of the
impossibility of concealing our work in the daytime."
"Or the risk of your tunnel falling upon you, in which case," added
Beatrice, demurely, "you would have _much ground_ for complaint."
"Wicked Miss Ravengar! Would you jest at my misfortunes? I will defeat
your hopes by finding the legitimate entrance."
"And how do you propose to find it?"
"Well, I conceive that the entrance is shaped like an ordinary doorway,
that is to say, it consists of two upright stones a little distance
apart, with a third resting horizontally upon them. I shall have to
move round the base of the hillock with an iron implement, striking
into the soil till I meet with stone. A little judicious probing will
soon tell me whether it be a boulder, or one of the entrance-columns.
If a boulder merely, I shall have to pass on, repeating my experiment."
"But if these entrance-columns stand well within the hillock you may go
all round without lighting upon them."
"In that case I shall have to begin again, and strike deeper."
"Even then you may fail. You are arguing on the supposition that the
mouth of the passage must be on a level with the base of the hillock,
whereas it may be higher, six, nine, or twelve feet above level ground.
And," pursued Beatrice, "if you conduct your operations in the manner
you describe, it will be difficult to keep your work secret. The
disturbed state of the soil, and the uprooting of the herbage, will
tell a tale to the earl's bailiffs."
"Humph! these are difficulties which call for a cheroot," replied
Idris. "You have no objection, Miss Ravengar? Thank you," he continued,
lighting it. "Now to put on my thinking-cap."
Reclining upon the grass he puffed thoughtfully at his cheroot,
and gazed at the green mound that seemed to be quietly mocking his
endeavours.
"Ormfell appears determined to keep its secret," said Beatrice. "We
want Belzoni here."
"Belzoni? 'I thank thee, Jew,'--or shall I say Jewess?--'for teaching
me that word.' Shall an Italian find his way to the heart of the great
stone pyramid, while I, an Englishman, am to be defeated by a paltry
cone of earth, fifty feet only in diameter? Never!" he exclaimed,
theatrically. "How," he continued, knitting his brows in perplexity,
"how were the Norsemen themselves enabled to remember where the point
of ingress lay? They must surely have left some mark to indicate it."
For the twentieth time that morning Idris murmured the inscription on
the runic ring.
"'_Within the lofty tomb of thy sire, Orm the Golden, wilt thou
find the treasure won by his high arm. The noontide shadow of the
oft-carried throne will be to thee for a sign._' How long am I to be
baffled by this dark oracle? What is meant by the 'oft-carried throne'?"
The light of understanding suddenly leaped into Beatrice's eyes, and
she pointed excitedly to the piece of basalt crowning the summit.
"Mr. Breakspear, are not the words 'oft-carried' very applicable to
that stone, if it has really been brought over sea and land from the
Crimea? Is not that the 'throne' alluded to?"
The cheroot dropped from Idris' lips, and he sprang to his feet with a
cry of exultation.
"By heaven! Miss Ravengar, you are right. 'Oft-carried throne?' Yes,
that must be it! As the holy _baitulion_ of a tribe, marked with the
image of their deity, it would doubtless be the stone on which the new
chief would stand when invested with kingly rule. That piece of basalt
was a kind of _Lia Fail_, like the coronation-stone at Westminster."
"Ormfell is becoming more interesting than ever," said Beatrice, her
eyes sparkling with pleasure at having solved a problem that had
perplexed Idris so long. "We have discovered the oft-carried throne,
and the oft-carried throne is to be to us for a sign. A sign of what?"
"Indicative of the entrance, I presume, otherwise there would be no
reason for engraving the fact on the ring."
"Do the words mean that the stone stands over the entrance itself? If
we remove it, shall we discover the mouth of a shaft?"
"Scarcely, I think: for, if so, the stone would be a sign at all hours
of the twenty-four, whereas the language of the ring restricts its
significance to the noontide hour only."
"It wants an hour yet to noon," said Beatrice, referring to her watch.
"Good! We will wait till then. I have formed my opinion. Mark my words,
Miss Ravengar, we shall find that the entrance is on the northern side.
The noontide hour will show whether I am right."
And Idris, resuming his fallen cheroot, relighted it, and reclining
once more upon the grassy bank, waited for the time to pass, while
Beatrice sat beside him in a state of pleasing suspense.
"Now if my grandfather were here," she remarked, "he might be able to
tell us whether or not Ormfell contains the treasure, without taking
the trouble to break into the tumulus."
"Then your grandfather must have been a remarkably clever fellow."
"He was. By simply walking barefoot over the ground he was able to tell
whether metals lay below, and not only that, but the depth even at
which they lay. He has been known to point out and trace accurately
the course of water, veins of metal, coal-measures, and the like."
"I have heard of similar feats performed by miners of the Hartz
Mountains," said Idris, "but have always regarded such stories as
apocryphal. Had your grandfather any theory to account for his
marvellous power?"
"His idea was that the proximity of metals imparted a peculiar
sensation to the soles of his feet, the intensity of the impression
being a measure of their nearness to the surface. His belief was that
metals cast off subtle exhalations capable of being detected by a
highly magnetic organism, which his undoubtedly was."
"There may be something in that theory. There are persons who cannot
enter the Mint without fainting."
"He always maintained," Beatrice went on, "that this valley of
Ravensdale was the centre of a rich coalfield."
"Your grandfather's power of divining for metals has not descended to
you and Godfrey, I presume?"
"I sometimes think it has--in a slight degree. We still keep his
walking-stick cut from the witch-hazel. This stick would turn visibly
in his hands at the proximity of metals; it has sometimes turned in
Godfrey's hands, and more than once in mine."
"Strange! Well, if this stick is capable of being affected by metals
let Godfrey by all means bring it with him to-night," said Idris, more
in jest than in earnest. "The treasures of the Viking, supposing them
to be still within the hillock, may lie concealed under the floor of
the chamber, and we shall be at a loss to know at what point to dig for
them."
The minutes moved tardily on, and as the meridian hour approached,
Beatrice said:--
"Have you noticed how the shadow cast by the stone creeps slowly along
over the face of the ground? This hillock could easily be turned into a
giant sun-dial."
"You echo my thoughts, Miss Ravengar. And it seems to me that this
shadow will furnish us with the clue we want."
"You mean that the shadow of the stone will fall on the very spot where
the entrance is?"
"Not quite: for in that case the shadow would be an uncertain guide,
varying with the sun's altitude at the different seasons: and, besides,
you will notice that the shadow is many yards from the foot of the
tumulus. It is not probable that the secret entrance lies so far off.
No: my idea is this. Connect the oft-carried throne and its shadow with
an ideal line, and near the point where this line cuts the base of the
hillock will be found the mouth of the passage. It is the noontide hour
now," continued Idris, rising. "We will put a little pile of stones
to mark the spot where the apex of the shadow falls--so," he added,
suiting the action to the word. "Now all we have to do is to walk from
this point to the foot of the hillock, keeping in a bee-line with that
piece of basalt on the summit, and, unless I err, we shall hit upon the
entrance."
Speaking thus, Idris began his experiment. When he had come to the foot
of the hillock, Beatrice observed with surprise that the thick, heavy
walking-stick carried by him was in reality the receptacle for a long
and stout sword. This weapon he pushed into the side of the hillock at
the spot touched by the imaginary line.
After a series of probings, begun on a level with the ground and
continued in an upward direction, Idris paused with a gleam of
excitement on his face. Changing the direction, he resumed his probing,
moving horizontally to the right and stopping again. Then he continued
the movement, this time coming downward, so that the course of his
sword had described three sides of a rectangle.
"Miss Ravengar," he cried, in a voice of emotion, "I have found the
entrance! As I live, I have found it! Here, hidden within the soil,
are two stone blocks a little distance apart, with a third resting
crosswise upon them, the three forming a kind of doorway. We have only
to remove the earth overlying them, and we shall find a hollow passage
beyond."
Beatrice's cheek coloured with pleasure as Idris continued:--
"Miss Ravengar, you have proved yourself a valuable auxiliary. But for
your explanation I might still be puzzling my mind as to the meaning of
'the oft-carried throne.' I offer you a somewhat problematic reward.
Whatever spoil is found within shall be divided equally between us."
"_Merci!_ But are you not promising too much? Is not treasure-trove the
property of the Crown?"
"Provided that the Crown hears of the discovery."
"Fie, Mr. Breakspear! you would corrupt my honesty."
"I can depart now with a hopeful heart for to-night's work. I shall
have but little difficulty in penetrating to the interior of the
hillock. We have no need to mark the entrance. Nature has already done
it for us."
He pointed to a cluster of white flowers growing upon the side of the
hillock. Beatrice had no sooner set eyes upon them than an expression
of surprise stole over her face.
"Do you know the name of this flower?" she said. "It is the vernal
mandrake."
"What? The mandragora of the ancients?--the plant that played so potent
a factor in classic witchcraft?"
"The same."
Idris gazed with considerable interest upon the pale mysterious plant
around which so many weird superstitions have gathered.
"And a curious circumstance it is," continued Beatrice, who was
somewhat of a botanist, "that it should be growing here."
"Why so?"
"Because it is a plant requiring cultivation. It does not grow wild, at
least not in this country."
"Then your inference is that it has been planted here by human agency?"
"Sown is perhaps a better word than planted. It certainly did not
spring up spontaneously from the soil."
"Hum! This raises a curious question. For what purpose was it sown? Is
some one carrying on botanic experiments here? Or shall we say that my
projected visit to the interior of the tumulus has been forestalled,
and my unknown forerunner, desirous of renewing his visit at an early
date, has left these tokens here to mark the point of entrance,
probably having had the same difficulty as ourselves in discovering it?
What simpler plan could he adopt than just to sprinkle here a few seeds
of the white-flowering mandrake?"
Beatrice had nothing to say either for or against this last theory,
and, after puzzling themselves in vain to account for the presence of
the mandrake, they set off for Ormsby.
On their way they passed a small workshop belonging to the
cemetery-mason. The man himself was standing at the door, and Beatrice
stopped to exchange a few civilities with him.
"Well, Robin, how is the world using you?" she asked pleasantly.
"Rather badly of late. The people of Ormsby seem to live longer than
they used to do."
"I am afraid my brother is partly responsible for that," said Beatrice
demurely. "It is his business to oppose yours, you see."
"No one seems to want a tombstone nowadays," continued the man
gloomily. "However, I had a little work put in my way yesterday by
Mademoiselle Rivière."
"Mademoiselle Rivière!" echoed Beatrice in surprise. "What order has
_she_ given you?"
"You have perhaps heard that more than twenty years ago an unknown
vessel was wrecked in Ormsby Race. Four bodies only were washed
ashore, and these were buried in a corner of St. Oswald's churchyard.
Mademoiselle Rivière has obtained permission of the Rector to place a
marble cross over their grave."
"Did she say why she takes such an interest in these drowned men?"
asked Beatrice.
"Well, as to that I was a little bit curious myself, and so I could not
help putting a question or two. Mademoiselle said she had good reason
for believing that the lost vessel was French: and being French herself
she felt a desire to honour their grave. If you will step inside, I
will show you what she has chosen."
Idris, who felt a strange interest in Mademoiselle Rivière, required no
second bidding, and with Beatrice entered the workshop, where the mason
exhibited with manifest pride a cross of Sicilian marble, standing on a
base of the same material. This pedestal was wrought in the shape of a
rock, and decorated with seaweed and an anchor.
"What is the epitaph to be?" asked Idris, after some words
complimentary to the mason's skill.
The man produced a paper upon which was written, in the same delicate,
flowing penmanship that had adorned the margin of the Lombard
historian, the following words:--
"SACRED
TO THE MEMORY
OF
THE DROWNED.
OCTOBER 13TH, 1876.
'_He that is without sin, let him first
cast the stone._'"
Idris laid down the paper, and, after a few more words with the mason,
the two went on their way again.
"Mademoiselle Rivière must know something more about those shipwrecked
men than that they were Frenchmen merely," observed Idris. "If the
verse cited is to have any application at all, it must mean that the
drowned men were guilty of--I know not what, but something upon which
the world would not look leniently. Hence, perhaps, the absence of
their names from the epitaph."
"You think she knows their names?"
"Without doubt. Why should a lady erect a costly memorial over the
grave of men of whom she knows nothing? If I may venture a conjecture I
should say that she must be related to one of them. 'He that is without
sin, let him first cast the stone.' I have often thought that that
verse might very well form a part of my father's epitaph."