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“Which is long gone.”
“The tour’s starting,” Nigel said, pointing to the small crowd near the south tower.
They followed the others into the tower, climbing up the stone steps, as the guide gave a running commentary on the originations of the castle. “In 1646, after the civil war, Parliament ordered the castle destroyed. Had an outbreak of plague in Newark town not halted the destruction, there’d be nothing left.”
As they filed down the hall into one of the rooms, a gust of wind swept through the castle ruins, sounding much like a person moaning. “Ghost!” someone said, followed by soft laughter from several in the crowd.
“Actually,” the guide told them, “the castle is said to be haunted by those murdered here over the centuries. In fact, this room is where King John died, some say poisoned by his enemies. And there’s the dungeons far below where hundreds of poor souls were tortured and left to die, starved, their bodies eaten by armies of rats until they were nothing but a pile of bones.”
Sam pulled Nigel and Remi back as the group moved on. Nigel stood guard in the hall while Sam and Remi examined the room where King John breathed his last, looking for any hidden doors, loose floorboards, or passages. After twenty minutes, they found nothing encouraging.
“Looks like old King John took the secret of his treasure with him,” said Sam.
“We still have several chambers in the main part of the castle to search,” Remi countered.
They hurried out and caught the group as the guide finished another lecture on the castle kitchen. Then he led them down a narrow circular staircase, quoting his spiel about the castle being haunted by the ghosts of those who died here. They passed the level containing the castle sewer and the root cellar. Next, he lectured the group about the gruesome torture of political prisoners as he stopped at an opening in the floor with a ladder that led straight down into the dismal dungeons.
“For those of you brave enough to climb down, you can see some of the graffiti carved, they say, by the Templar Knights who were imprisoned here.”
Of course, Sam, Remi, and Nigel made the descent, with a moaning greeting them that sounded much like a chorus of ghosts. All three knew it was a recording coming from one of the cells.
Remi studied the graffiti on the stone walls while Sam and Nigel studied the walls themselves, pushing and tapping for any suspicious movement or the hollow sound of a tunnel.
“Any rumors of King John hiding his treasure here?” Sam asked once they left the dungeons.
The guide’s brow went up. “Here? That would be an interesting twist on the legend of his treasure being lost in the mud of the fens. Now, if you will follow me.”
“One question,” Remi said. “It concerns an old riddle from centuries past. Something to do with King John.”
The guide looked at her, waiting.
“The fourth chamber. Above death. Below death. With the last meal. Any idea where that location might be if it meant somewhere in this Newark Castle?”
“Easy.” The guide grinned. “The root cellar. It’s the fourth level above the lowest dungeon, and below the tower where King John died.”
“And where would that be?”
“The root cellar? We passed it on our way here.” He pointed up. “You’re welcome to take a look, since Mr. Ridgewell is with you.”
That they did, but like the other locations, there didn’t seem to be anything that appeared as though it might contain a hidden chamber. The ancient stone walls looked solid after eight hundred years of mold, dust, and dampness.
Just as they were about to leave, Sam stopped and stared at a arch in one wall, about the size of a window but bricked in solid. Considering how barren and dreary the rest of the cellar was, it didn’t seem likely that some twelfth-century contractor decided to put a decorative touch in an underground room designed to hold potatoes for the winter.
“Remi, look at this. Odd, don’t you think?”
She aimed her flashlight beam at the faux window and studied it for a few moments. “Looks like whoever dug the chamber had an artistic streak.”
Sam didn’t reply. Using the butt of his flashlight, he tapped on the bricks inside the border arch and heard only a hollow clink, giving evidence that the bricks were either loosely stacked or shielding a hollow area behind them.
He started pressing and kicking the bricks. Finally, one came loose. It took a minute to work it free. Then he used it to strike and remove the other bricks until he stopped to aim his flashlight into the darkness beyond.
“What do you see?” Remi asked anxiously.
Sam shrugged. “I guess we don’t have to waste our time looking for King John’s Treasure anymore.”
“The chamber is empty?” Nigel muttered with deep disappointment in his voice.
“No,” Sam spoke with a broad smile. “You can reach out and touch it.”
