Chapter 24

A fortnight later Sophie stood half way along the passage that was taking shape along the back of the studio, watching as Luke skilfully manipulated the jaws of the mini digger and cleared the soil and debris away from the spot just behind the Roman milestone. It had taken a while to cut down the shrubs and small trees that lined the slope before they could get the digger in. Another retaining wall would need to be built to stop the soil running back down again even though the earth was thick red clay two feet down. Mick had spared Ron to help Luke and they had done a brilliant job. The bank was solid at the moment, but Ron had already started to build a retaining wall at the beginning of the pathway. Knowing how close they were to where the treasure should be Sophie had brought them out a cup of tea as an excuse to be there and was watching with bated breath as Luke took one more jawful before taking his cup off her. If they didn’t find the treasure the expense would be one more thing she’d have to worry about.

Crossing her fingers, she prayed to the Norns to help her and biting her lip watched the digger bucket closely. Luke had pulled her leg and promised that he wouldn’t damage her studio as she was always popping out to watch him and she was trying to appear nonchalant. If anybody suspected that she’d expected to find a Viking hoard, there would be difficult questions to answer and she knew she wasn’t a good liar.

As the bucket came up again she thought she saw a dull gleam of metal and shouted “Hang on Luke, what’s that?” and she hurried up to the side of the digger.

“Hey, be careful there.” Luke shouted, quickly locking the bucket into place. “You’ll get badly hurt if it catches you.”

Ignoring him she reached up to the jaws of the bucket and pulled out a piece of metal.

“What’s that you’ve got?” Luke asked jumping off the digger.

“I’m not sure” Sophie lied “I thought it could be a piece of pipe or something and was worried we might have ruptured a water pipe or electric conduit.”

Taking her sleeve she wiped it along the object and her heart leaped with joy. It was Eirik’s short sword, tarnished and dull, but still intact. To her surprise it hadn’t become just rust and bits of verdi gris and other things, that she’d seen on exhibits in museums but was still very obviously a finely wrought weapon. Wonderingly she turned it this way and that wiping away the muck and marvelled at how it had survived so well. She had thought that some of the purer gold and silver might survive but not a blacksmith made metal sword.

Sighing she decided that she’d never be able to understand all that had happened to her, and why Eirik’s sword looked as if it had only been in the ground for weeks not centuries.

Perhaps it had only been there for a short time as she’d only buried it a fortnight ago. Vowing to not let her thoughts cloud her mind or cause her to become unhinged, she turned to Luke who was staring at the sword in amazement.

“My god, it’s a bloody sword of some kind,” he said “a bit small, maybe a child’s?”

“I think it’s what’s called a short sword, like a dagger, and I think there are other things in your bucket. I don’t know much about these things but I think I need to report this to someone. You’d better just leave everything as it is while I find out what to do. I don’t know whether I need to call the police or who, but I do know we mustn’t dig anymore in case we damage anything.”

***

The next few weeks were exasperating to say the least. Officialdom had moved so slowly that it was all Sophie could do not to scream.

After a finds liaison officer had inspected what she’d discovered, reported it to the coroner’s office, who had then informed the British museum, a group of ‘experts’ had descended on her and the back of her studio had become an archeological dig. The experts argued among themselves over what everything they found was and Sophie, who could have told them what every item was and what it had been used for wasn’t allowed near the site, or allowed any input. Her little clay pot of lavender salve was oohed and aahed over and finally sent away for analysis, while Sophie who had made the pot and the salve looked on in growing exasperation.

She longed to correct them on so many things, that, to make sure she wasn’t declared mentally deranged, she retired to her studio and left them to their own devices. The Viking pots she was making soothed her and she turned them out by the dozen.

Calum had heard that a treasure had been found on ‘his’ land and quickly made his claim public. Furious and determined that he’d get no more than his share of the value of Goldhill, Sophie had her lawyers inform him that if he claimed the treasure she would counter divorce him for adultery and drag him and his girlfriend through a messy divorce. Unable to bully her into giving him what he thought was his due he eventually turned up in person, certain that he’d be able to charm her into agreeing to anything, even to taking him back.

Life with a spoilt superstar, who was more famous than him, hadn’t lived up to his expectations. The release of his film had been delayed for some reason and he was penniless which was pointed out to him,by Carla, everyday by

Finding Sophie in the cottage about to have her lunch he presented her with a bunch of filling station flowers and told her how much he missed her.

“I was a fool Soph, I love you and always will. I just got swept away with the hollywood hype, please forgive me. Think how happy we were, how wonderful our life could be, together again. We wouldn’t have to worry about money, you could give up that silly potting and I could finance my own film, without being at the beck and call of the money grabbing producers.”

She listened to him coldly and calmly until he’d finished then looking him square in the eye said “If you think I would take you back then you are delusional. I now know that you never loved me, you used me to keep you so you wouldn’t have to get a proper job; you had multiple affairs and finally when you thought you’d made it into the film world you dropped me like a hot potato. If you pursue your claim to any part of my treasure trove I will ruin you. I gave you everything and you gave me nothing, what a naive fool I was to fall for a weak pretty boy and think that you loved me. Well, let me tell you Calum, I’ve grown up. I have the love of a real man whose boots you’re not fit to lick. No matter how you bully or cajole me that is my final word on the subject. If I have to accuse you of adultery, I will, and I know there will be more women come out of the woodwork ready to sell their story about what a stud you aren’t! The three jobs I worked to keep you and pay a mortgage, while you swanned around being an ‘actor’ will be made public, plus the fact that having sex with you, for that’s all it was, not making love, was like a Chinese meal, hungry for more as soon as you finished. I’m sure all the women you’ve disappointed or used would have some comment to make too.”

“You bitch, it’s you who’s cold and frigid. You couldn’t get enough of me, never said no and would do it anywhere.”

“I think you’ve just contradicted yourself. You can’t be cold and frigid and not get enough sex. Anyhow, it’s immaterial, it’s not my reputation as a superstar stud that’s at stake, but your’s . I thought I loved you, but now I know what love really is and that all I felt for you was a young girl’s self delusion that you were a wonderful husband and the thought that a good looking man like you would want me. Now I wouldn’t even call you a man!”

Calum stepped closer and raised his hand, only to find himself lying on the floor with an aching throat and the point of a knife poised above him.

“Don’t ever come here again. As soon as I get my payment for the treasure I’ll give you your share of the value of Goldhill. Until I’m sure that you won’t pursue me for more money you’ll put the divorce on hold. I don’t trust you Calum and promise that I will ruin you if you play dirty.”

She stood back and he staggered to his feet clutching his throat “Bitch!” he grated.

“Yes, I am a bitch and proud of it. I’m no longer the naive girl whose eyes you could pull the wool over, now get out.” Sophie stood there, head up looking like the proud shieldmaiden she was as he flung open the door and almost ran out. Then she started laughing, which quickly turned to sobs as she cried “Oh Eirik, will I ever find you again, I need your strength, my love, please help me to stay strong.”

***

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.