The Dumnonian Hoard: Rosenberg Twins Adventure #1

By Adrien Leduc

Fourteen year old Sarah Rosenberg and her twin brother Joshua are spending the summer in France on an archaeological expedition with their Uncle Marty. However, what begins as a relaxing and fun-filled vacation quickly becomes a dangerous and harrowing adventure when the twins cross paths with a pair of ruthless antique smugglers. Will the twins find the treasure they seek before it's too late?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adrien Leduc
• Release date: Jul 4, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310772580

Adrien Leduc

Originally from Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Adrien Leduc makes his home in Victoria, British Columbia with his wife Ashley and beloved Cuban chihuahua Beyonce. A graduate of Carleton University (BA '10), Adrien is an avid fan of Canadian history and hopes to write many more books in his lifetime.

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THE DUMNONIAN HOARD

Rosenberg Twins Adventure #1

Version Two

Copyright © 2014. Adrien Leduc. Smashwords Edition. All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

(Leduc, Adrien 1987- )

Cover Art by Lily Ruiz

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form than that in which it is published.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

For my grandmother, A.M.A. Rest in peace. Love you forever.

Prologue

A packed lecture hall at the University of London. It’s a fancy sort of lecture hall, with rows of comfy chairs filling its centre and buffet tables laden with gourmet finger food lining the back wall. Dr. Martin Rosenberg, mid-way through his presentation, stands at the podium. The projector screen behind him serves as a visual aid for his presentation.

And so, to summarize, the Dumnonii lived a life of humble extravagance.

Dr. Rosenberg clicks the remote in his hand and the image on the screen changes to show an assortment of gold jewellery spread out on a black canvas.

Men and women would adorn themselves with rings and amulets and necklaces for special occasions, but otherwise seldom wore it. Boys were given silver amulets on their twelfth birthday and girls were given silver bracelets once they reached puberty.

Dr. Rosenberg clicks the remote once more.

Their precious metal reserves, he motions at the screen where the audience is now treated to an image of bars of gold and silver on black canvas, were held in common, by a clan treasurer. This was, in part, because it was simply impractical for each individual family to carry the stuff around. But more importantly, the Dumnonii, as many of you are surely aware, were heavily involved in overseas trade, (he pauses to take a sip of water), and it was the treasurer, under the direction of a clan’s chieftain, who was responsible for coordinating transactions and making payments."

Dr. Rosenberg takes another sip of water and clicks the remote in his hand once more. This time the image shows a map of medieval Europe.

Their heavy involvement in trade meant that by the seventh century the Dumnonii had amassed a sizeable collection of precious metals, silver and gold coins, and treasures from across the known world. Susan Maccari’s latest essay, published in the January edition of Archaeologist Today, provides an excellent overview of the trading relationships they established. As many of you will know, the Dumnonii were exporting tin to Spain and the Mediterranean region. They traded with the Romans. They traded with the Gauls. They traded with the Irish.

The University of Toronto professor pauses and takes another sip of water. The Dumnonii’s extensive trade network therefore brought them into contact with a number of diverse civilizations and the wares they accrued reflect that. Artifacts of Asian and Middle Eastern origin have been found at Dumnonii sites throughout Devon and Cornwall and in nineteen seventy three, a French team uncovered a gold crown at Saint Brieuc. The crown was believed to have belonged to Artogenos, head chief of the the Dumnonii of that part of France, and carbon dating revealed it to be more than fifteen hundred years old. As we know, gold at that time was only mined and manufactured in Greece and Egypt. Such a discovery thus not only serves to further illustrate the vastness of the Dumnonii’s trade network, it also brings me to my next point.

He pauses again to clear his throat and take another sip of water. As Dr. Henderson explained in his presentation yesterday -

He throws a nod to the Harvard professor seated in the front row.

- as early as the fifth century, the Dumnonii began migrating across the English Channel and settling in northwestern France. This migration continued well into the tenth century, increasing exponentially whenever their communities faced threats from the West Saxons who for centuries had been eyeing their lands. The consequence of this was that there came to be two Dumnonii communities – the original one, the one in southern England, and the secondary one in northern France. The Dumnonii inhabitants of these two communities – culturally, linguistically, and genetically related – maintained a close relationship, engaging in commerce and arranging marriages between their sons and daughters.

Dr. Rosenberg pauses to take another sip of water and change the image on the screen. This time the image is of a warrior dressed in Saxon garb. The man has a braided beard of coarse blonde hair and a sword hanging from his side.

West Saxon incursions into Dumnonian territory became more frequent beginning in the eighth century. Ine of Wessex was their leader then - and a brutal one at that – and he was well aware of the wealth the Dumnonii possessed.

The professor pauses and takes another sip of water.

The Dumnonii, tragically, were no match for the West Saxons who, with their superior numbers and superior weaponry, quickly overwhelmed the Dumnonii. They seized their farm land, seized their mines, enslaved their women and children, and slaughtered many of their men.

Dr. Rosenberg clicks the remote and the image on the screen changes once more. This time we see a battlefield. The battlefield is littered with the corpses of mortally wounded warriors. Some of these are Saxon, though the vast majority are Dumnonii, recognizable by their leather armour and white tunics.

Now, what’s puzzled us all for years is that, despite losing battle after battle to the Saxons, no significant treasure hoard was ever surrendered. In other words, the West Saxons never did manage to get their hands on Dumnonii treasure. The question then, for all of us, is: did the Dumnonii even have a hoard treasure stashed away somewhere and if so, where did they hide it?

Dr. Rosenberg clicks the remote in his hand once more and up pops an image of a very old looking cathedral.

"The discovery of the Scroll of Isca beneath Exeter Cathedral in nineteen ninety three was an important milestone for our field. For it validated, quite concretely, the existence of the Dumnonii’s long lost treasure - the fabled Dumnonian Hoard.

He pauses and takes another sip of water, smacking his lips ever so slightly as he turns the page in his speaking notes.

As many of you are likely aware, the Scroll’s third passage translates as follows: ‘protected by our beloved Saint, where Dumnonia meets the sea, lie the prizes of the Dumnonii’. The ‘prizes of the Dumnonii’ most certainly refers to their treasure. ‘Where Dumnonian meets the sea’ obviously indicates that the treasure is more than likely buried or hidden at some spot along the coast. Finally, the line: ‘protected by our beloved Saint’, would suggest that the treasure is buried or hidden in close proximity to some vestige of a celebrated saint.

Dr. Rosenberg pauses again and scans the crowd, hoping they’ll be receptive to what he’s about to say.

Most scholars seem to have arrived at a consensus: that the Dumnonian Hoard - if it does truly exist - is hidden somewhere in Cornwall or Devon. Cornwall and Devon, as most of you will know, are the two English counties which today comprise what was once Dumnonia.

He pauses and clicks the remote again.

The idea that the Dumnonian Hoard is hidden somewhere in present-day Cornwall and Devon is not unreasonable. Saint Petroc was arguably the most celebrated saint in Dumnonia and he preached and tended monasteries and churches throughout the region. Both Cornwall and Devon are on the sea. And there are plenty of sites along the coast where there were once statues of Saint Petroc and monasteries where Saint Petroc was priest. In fact some of these remain today. However, in twenty years of searching up and down the English coast, from Penzance to Exmouth, digging around at old churches and monasteries and studying statues and combing beaches, we’ve found nothing. Not a trace.

That doesn’t mean it’s not here! blurts a man seated in the third row, his face as red as his bowtie.

Dr. Rosenberg purses his lips. No, it doesn’t. But it is also fair to surmise that the Dumnonian Hoard may in fact not be here at all.

Just what exactly are you suggesting, Dr. Rosenberg? asks a tall, spectacled man near the back.

I am suggesting, Dr. Baxter, that the Dumnonian Hoard may be elsewhere. Allow me to explain, he says quickly, quelling the murmurs enough to continue, over the course of the past twenty four months I have done some digging. That’s pun intended, by the way, he adds with a wink, hoping to garner a few laughs; he gets none. Instead the multitudes of eyes seem to be examining him as though he was some curious form of insect. Dr. Rosenberg clears his throat and continues. I’ve come up with a rather bold - yet entirely feasible - hypothesis.

And just what is your hypothesis, Dr. Rosenberg? interrupts a short, squat man in the front row.

My hypothesis, Dr…?

Dr. Mueller.

Dr. Rosenberg nods. Dr. Mueller, my hypothesis is that the Dumnonian Hoard is not in England, but in France.

No…

I don’t believe it…

How can you imagine such a thing!?

Absolutely preposterous…

The reaction - from all sides - comes fast and furious.

Please, dear colleagues, says Dr. Rosenberg, his tone pleading, if you’ll bear with me for just a moment -

I can’t even listen to this…

The Dumnonian Hoard in France! I never!

Dr. Rosenberg raises a hand. Friends, please. Just a moment and I will explain.

Please do! huffs a woman in the second row, her gaze, through her pince-nez, wholly scrutinizing.

How can you bring such poppycock to this conference!? demands the man with the bowtie.

My hypothesis is not poppycock! Dr. Rosenberg replies hotly. And if you would just listen - for two minutes - you might actually agree!

I hardly think so! the man retorts with a small laugh.

This was it. He’d had enough.

Not one to lose his temper, Dr. Rosenberg takes a deep breath, gathers up his notes, and steps calmly back from the podium. Thank you for your time.

The chair for this particular afternoon - a middle-aged woman by the name of Helga Olsen from the University of Oslo calls after him as he leaves the stage. Dr. Rosenberg, you’ve not finished your presentation!

Oh, I think I’ve quite finished, Dr. Olsen. Thank you. And with that, he turns and exits the lecture hall.

* * *

The following morning. Hotel Grand. Room 404.

Hearing a knock at the door, Dr. Rosenberg rises from his chair by the window (taking care to set down his mug of green tea on the window sill), and makes his way to the door. His suitcase lies open on the bed, half packed, with the remainder of the items due to go inside lying strewn about it.

Who is it? he calls as he arrives at the door.

He glances through the peep hole and spies a middle aged man dressed in a smart suit and wearing thick-framed glasses. Tucked under the man’s arm is a fine leather briefcase.

He pulls the door open.

Can I help you?

The man smiles. Dr. Rosenberg…I am glad you haven’t left yet. The kind woman at the desk downstairs said you would be checking out shortly.

The man speaks with a London accent - the kind found in Chelsea and at upper class boarding schools back in North America.

Yes, I’ve got a plane in - the professor pauses as he glances at his watch, about five hours. I should probably get a move on.

The man nods, pushing past him and heading straight for the table by the window. Well, I shan’t take too much of your time. I merely wanted to express my delight at your presentation of yesterday. I firmly believe that your hypothesis may in fact be correct.

Somewhat miffed by his guest’s intrusion, Dr. Rosenberg is nonetheless flattered. Well…thank you. It’s nice to hear that at least one person gleaned something of value from it.

The man laughs as he sets his briefcase on the table and undoes its fasteners. Trust me, old boy, your presentation was thoroughly exhilarating.

Positively beaming now - and not being one to shy away from a compliment - Dr. Rosenberg steps closer to the man, curious to see what’s inside the briefcase. Er...I’ve got some time yet...before I have to leave...would you like a cup of tea? I’ve only just made a pot, he adds, indicating his tea cup on the window sill.

Really? I…that is most…thank you, Dr. Rosenberg. He laughs again, a vain, guffawing laugh, the kind of laugh you hear in lawyers’ boardrooms and men’s-only cigar shops. I don’t want to impose, he adds, glancing at the suitcase on the bed.

You’re not imposing, Dr…I just realized I didn’t get your name?

Nigel Cook. And, alas, unlike you, I’m no doctor. In fact I dropped out of university in my second year.

Oh?

Yes…I didn’t have the best upbringing you see, despite my accent. He laughs. This, he says, pointing to his mouth, took eons to acquire.

And so…what is your interest in my field of study exactly? asks Dr. Rosenberg, feeling somewhat perplexed.

That is an excellent question and if you’ll allow me, I’d like to show you something. May I? he asks, opening the flap of his briefcase and gesturing toward the chair on the opposite side of the table, the chair Dr. Rosenberg had vacated only moments earlier when he’d gone to answer the door.

Of course, says Dr. Rosenberg obligingly, taking a seat.

Yes, it’s quite…well, I’ll show you in just a moment…I reckon you’ll be rather impressed.

Dr. Rosenberg nods, only half listening, moving his dirtied breakfast dishes to the farthest end of the table.

Ah, here we are, Nigel announces, producing a handful of what appear to be newspaper clippings from his briefcase. Set your eyes on these wondrous discoveries…I’ll lay them out nicely so you can have a proper look, he adds, sorting them and spreading them out across the length of the table.

Dr. Rosenberg, having deposited the mess from the table on the kitchen counter, returns to the table and peers at the faded and yellowed newspaper clippings.

1,200 year old Viking stash found at Aldershot reads one.

Ancient Celtic burial ground uncovered at Cardiff reads another.

So what exactly am I looking at? asks Dr. Rosenberg after a minute, his eyes scanning the headlines and skimming the articles. The one at his fingertips reads: Boudicca’s Booty?: Ancient treasure stash found at Surrey believed to have belonged to medieval Briton queen

You, Dr. Rosenberg, Nigel begins proudly, are looking at my history. My work history that is.

Are you trying to tell me you discovered all of these?

The man’s eyes are positively gleaming now. And more.

There are more?

Many. Not from England. I have a strict rule about reporting my finds in England. That, and the authorities are quite diligent here. Moreso than in countries like Hungary and Macedonia.

Dr. Rosenberg’s jaw drops involuntarily. You’ve found treasures there as well?

Nigel emits a mighty guffaw. Among other places.

So, let me get this straight. You travel around the world searching for long lost treasure, and when you find it, you don’t report it? Are you just…are you keeping it for yourself!?

Nigel’s face darkens. Do you have a problem with that?

I most certainly do have a problem with that! Dr. Rosenberg replies angrily. For one thing, it’s not yours. For another, such treasures and artifacts belong in museums where everyone can benefit from them - not just wealthy collectors. He seems to almost spit the word collectors.

For a man with a P.H.D., you are rather naïve. Do you honestly believe that treasure never goes missing from public collections? There was a case here in England, not long ago in fact, where a curator was discovered to have been stealing artifacts from a museum and selling them on the black market. Why should we go to the trouble of finding these valuable treasures only to serve them up on a silver platter for such individuals? Why not simply profit ourselves?

Because I’m not in this for profit, Dr. Rosenberg growls.

There’s silence for awhile - an awkward silence - and then finally Nigel begins gathering up the newspaper clippings. "I really must be going, it appears I’ve wasted your time - or rather, I should