The Lost Prophecies Read Online Free PDF Page B

treasure!’
    The older man shook his tonsured head ruefully. ‘Perhaps not, my son. This new find we heard about today might well fire up even more interest in hidden silver.’
    Thomas crossed himself fervently. ‘Dear God, I hope not! They have disturbed enough of my papers already, scrabbling through all this.’ He waved a hand at the dusty shelves and the mouldering parchments.
    ‘The lust for silver and gold seems ingrained in mankind,’ pondered the old canon. ‘No wonder greed is classed as one of the seven deadly sins. Even my own brethren are not immune, for I found one of my fellow canons rooting through the shelves yesterday, when you were away on coroner’s business.’
    He avoided naming the person, but Thomas knew that many of the canons were fond of an expensive lifestyle, far removed from the austere rules laid down by St Benedict and St Chrodegang.
    ‘We should limit those who can have access to our archives, canon,’ said Thomas earnestly. ‘Some of these old parchments are brittle and faded. They could be damaged beyond repair and much information about olden days be lost for ever.’
    Jordan le Brent nodded slowly. ‘I agree that we should keep out the clerks of burgesses and merchants, but we cannot bar clergy in the upper orders. But I will ask the proctors to keep an eye on the place at night and make sure the door is locked.’
    He wandered away and Thomas went back to his pleasant labours.
    Meanwhile, down in the Bush Inn in Idle Lane, where the city sloped steeply down towards the river, John de Wolfe was enjoying a quart of best ale and the company of his mistress Nesta, the pretty Welsh redhead who owned the tavern.
    He sat at his usual table near the firepit, where the cold weather was being defeated by a large heap of crackling logs, spitting sparks on to the floor rushes which had frequently to be stamped out by old Edwin, the one-eyed potman. Nesta was taking a few minutes off from harrying her two maids, who were cooking in the kitchen-shed at the back of the inn. John told her all the details of the find of treasure that morning, and inevitably she also brought up the curious fact that so many finds had been made in recent weeks. He explained about the Saxon panic of a century or more ago, when much of their wealth had hurriedly been hidden in the hope of saving it from the invaders.
    ‘But why is it being found now, for it’s been lying there for long enough, God knows!’ she said.
    They spoke in Welsh, her native language and one that John had learned at his mother’s knee. In fact, Gwyn’s native Cornish was close enough for all three to converse in the Celtic tongue, as did a sizeable proportion of the country people in both Devon and Cornwall, who spoke Western Welsh.
    ‘Such hoards have been turning up regularly for many years, Nesta,’ he said. ‘The one just before Christ Mass was a chance find, but then this note being found in the cathedral that led to the discovery in Alphington has started a kind of madness amongst the population. A number of mounds have been dug into around the city, but all they found were ancient pots and a few bones.’
    ‘Thomas tells me that many people have been hampering his work in the cathedral by demanding to search the books there,’ she said rather indignantly, for the little priest was a favourite of hers.
    ‘Thank God so few can read!’ said John fervently. ‘Otherwise half the population of Exeter would be rooting through the archives.’
    Only about one in a hundred were literate, this being confined to those in holy orders, both ordained priests and deacons, as well as those in the lower clerical orders, who also provided the clerks to merchants and the authorities.
    De Wolfe dallied at the tavern for as long as he could, enjoying the company of his vivacious lover, but as early dusk fell he had to tear himself away to go home, where he would be expected for supper, a newfangled idea of Matilda’s, who always wished to be