Field of Blood

thought he was referring to the Paradise Tree but he wasn't, Sir John. You see, since his day, the Tower has been extended and strengthened. However, when Gundulf built the great keep, that was his "turris". The church he was referring to…'
    'Of course!' Sir John exclaimed. 'St Peter ad Vincula! The little chapel in the Tower grounds which stands next to the keep.'
    'That,' Athelstan agreed, 'is what Gundulf was referring to. He had his treasure melted down, covered with a brass sundial and placed in the stone pillar outside the chapel of St Peter ad Vincula. The years passed. People found references to the treasure being hidden but they forgot that, in Gundulf's day, the word "tower" referred to the keep, not to the walls and fortifications we know now.'
    'So how did you know it was here?'
    He placed his hands around the edge of the sundial and tried to move it but couldn't.
    'It was in that accounts book. Do you remember, Sir John, when we first came here? Someone told us how Stephen Vestler loved curiosities? How he'd brought shields and swords from the Tower to hang on the wall.'
    'Yes!' Sir John breathed. 'And Stephen had a love of ancient things.'
    'Apparently, Sir John, Stephen Vestler bought the sundial from the new Constable of the Tower. There's a reference to a cart being hired, labourers being paid for this sundial to be brought here.'
    'Satan's tits!'
    'And when I was in the Tower last week,' Athelstan continued, 'I could see that the small churchyard outside the Tower had been refurbished. Some of the old tombstones had disappeared. When I read that entry, I began to think.' Athelstan sighed. 'Ah well, Sir John, you are coroner, an official of the city. This tavern will soon be in the hands of the Crown.'
    Sir John took his dagger out and tried to slide it between the rim dividing the sundial from the grey-stone which held it.
    'I doubt if you can move it,' Athelstan said.
    The coroner went back to the Paradise Tree and returned carrying a heavy hammer. The ale-master came out protesting.
    'Oh, shut up!' Sir John bellowed. 'And stand well
    He threw his cloak over his shoulder and began to smash the stone cup which held the sundial. At first all he raised were small chips of flying stone. Time and again he brought the hammer down. The stone split, crashed and rolled on to the grass. Even before the dust cleared Athelstan knew he was correct. The stone cup had broken; on the grass, covered in a grey film of dirt, was a circle of glowing yellow about a foot across and at least nine inches thick. It lay like the cup of a chalice without the stem, beside the thin bronze face of the old sundial. Sir John and Athelstan crouched down, the rest of the servants clustered round. Athelstan took the hem of his robe and rubbed the yellow metal until it glowed, catching the rays of the sun.
    'Fulgens sicut sol!' Athelstan said. 'Glowing like the sun and hidden under the sun!'
    The gold, because of the way if tapered at the end, tipped and turned. Everyone's face, including Sir John's, had a strange look, eyes fixed, mouths open.
    'I've never seen so much!' the coroner said wistfully. 'Not even the booty of war piled high on a cart.'
    'As the preacher says,' Athelstan remarked, 'the love of wealth is the root of all evil. This was Gundulf's secret as well as his little joke. He was dying, probably a sickly man, and he thought he'd used his treasure for something useful. So he left the riddle for those who wished to search for it. Time passed and people made mistakes.' Athelstan tapped the gold with his finger. 'This has been the cause of all our troubles. Sir John, you'd best tell people here to keep a still tongue.'
    Sir John got to his feet and drew his sword.
    'This is the King's treasure!' he bellowed. 'To take it, to even think of stealing it, is high treason!' He pointed to the ale-master. 'You, sir, bring a barrow!'
    The man didn't move, his eyes still on the gold. Sir
    John lifted his sword and pricked him under the chin.
    'Bring a barrow and a piece of cloth. Brother, we are going to need a company of archers to take this to the Tower.'
    'We are not taking it there, Sir John, but into Black Meadow,' Athelstan said quietly. 'Go on, man!' he ordered the ale-master. 'Do what the coroner says!'
    The fellow hurried away. A short while later he returned trundling a wheelbarrow, a dirty canvas sheet folded inside it. They tried to lift the gold in but it was too difficult and slippery so the handcart was laid on