The Phantom and the Crown

By Glen Williams

One village, Aberglais in Wales, one forest: lives linked across time.
A drama which unfolded there in the thirteenth century can only be resolved today.
Clues left hidden by a medieval monk lead schoolboy Tom Rhys and his school-friend, Beth Jones, to an incredible discovery.
Down the centuries nobody knew how the legend of King Arthur was locked in the past of Aberglais.
In the twentieth century, Tom, Beth and their school-friends unravel the mystery, placing themselves in great peril as they do so.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Conrad Press
• Release date: Feb 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781913227852

Book preview

Williams

1

Aberglais, South Wales

1965

The coal lorry had arrived early to spill the mountain of cobbles across the pavement onto the road in front of the little terraced house.

Tom always looked forward to joining his dad, Will, in shovelling the delivery through the trapdoor into the cellar which served as the cottage coal bunker.

He knew that from there it would be his job to carry full buckets up the internal steps and through the trap door to keep the fire going through the colder months.

Tom watched his father from across the mound of coal as he seemed to gather huge shovel loads with ease. His strength seemed superhuman.

‘It’s like you’re lifting feathers, dad,’ he said with pride.

‘Working the pit has some advantages, boy.’ He shovelled faster ,making his taut muscles flex. ‘Not for you, though. Nice office for you, lad.’

Tom felt a shudder of determination cascade through his body as he worked harder to prove to his dad that he had what it takes to be a miner just like him.

After all, he was only ten right now, but in a few years he would be a man.

He thought how for the moment he could just enjoy working with his father and savour the smiles of neighbours and passers-by who watched Will and his son operating in harmony.

Tom stopped for a second and slid his hand over his short, cropped hair and down his face to wipe away the perspiration.

His father was not wearing a shirt, but Tom kept his T-shirt on. He was not tall for his age but he knew he was well muscled. Still, he did not want his torso to be compared to his fathers.

As Tom shovelled he glanced sideways to catch sight of Mrs Harris from across the road standing, as usual, unashamedly on her doorstep with arms folded across her chest as she watched them work.

‘Be clear in no time the way you two go at it.’

Tom and Will replied by nodding their agreement. Tom shovelled that little bit harder and faster to warrant the praise.

Tom knew there was another, and stronger, reason he always felt a closeness with his father during these ritual moments of togetherness.

He remembered the day just, a year ago, that his father had told him how, some twenty or so years earlier, as a teenager he had been shovelling a coal delivery in the same way with his widowed mother, grandma, Angharad.

It was at her home in Clarence Road on a winter morning, Will had said. The village police sergeant and constable had marched slowly by.

The two uniformed officers returned in the other direction and had then walked back down the road yet again some minutes later.

‘We didn’t really notice them at first but they carried on, back and forth,’ his father had said.

‘Then after all the coal was in we went inside to wash and have a cup of tea. That’s when they knocked the door.’

Tom vividly remembered every word of the story. It was planted on his memory as if he had been there.

The unexpected knock on the front door. The two officers standing straight and still with grim faces. The news they had was terrible.

Will’s older brother, Eifion, had been killed in action. The Second World War had claimed another life from the quiet little Welsh village of Aberglais.

After hearing that story Tom felt it his duty to stand side by side with his father whenever the coal delivery was piled onto the pavement.

He might moan about doing other household chores, but shovelling the coal delivery needed no second ask.

He could not find words to share with his dad about those sad memories, but by helping it somehow said it all for him.

They were well ahead with their work and Tom’s mother, Rachel, had brought out a brush to clean the last of the coal-dust into the cellar when Bethan appeared around the corner running at pace down the centre of the road.

‘Your pal’s here.’ said Rachel, ‘In a hurry too running like that. Must be important.’

Tom looked up in time to see his friend slide to a halt in the middle of the road sending tiny pebbles and dust flying into the air.

‘You’ll come unstuck one day Beth, running down the road like that.’ Rachel’s disapproval was delivered in a friendly tone.

‘No cars here. See more horses than cars we do.’ Beth always had a quick answer to criticism.

Tom looked at his father and let his eyes glance skywards to show his frustration. Why did Beth always have to try to start arguments?

Of course he knew she was right though. Very few of the villagers could afford or want cars.

Most of them would say how there was a bus service to town every day and you could walk it in twenty minutes if you kept a good pace.

Tom almost started to remind Beth that his mother and father owned a car of their own so she was not completely correct. The second-hand Ford Anglia was kept in the garage down a side lane, but was only rarely taken out and driven.

Best not, he thought. She would only accuse him of bragging up his dad. He cringed as he imagined how Beth would not let it drop.

He would then spite her by hurling in the fact that they also had a new telephone.

Beth’s response would then be, ‘But nobody calls you and you only ever ring that speaking clock. We had a television before you rented yours too.’

After playing out their friendly argument quickly in his head Tom stared at Beth to show he wanted to know what was up.

She said a quick hello to his father and mother before grabbing her friend’s shoulder to share her confidence.

Beth was almost as tall as Tom and with her brunette hair worn short they were often mistaken for brother and sister.

‘There’s a sighting! He’s back.’

‘Who, who’s back?’

‘The Phantom, stupid. The boys up at the Caer saw it in the trees. All of them saw it, Owen, Jack and Barry. All of them were up there and Jack spotted this moving shadow. It was like a ghost.’

Tom felt immensely impressed. His mind pictured the forest clearing which had always been knows as the Caer.

‘Did they follow?’

Before Beth answered, they both glanced sideways at Will who was leaning on his shovel and shaking his head in mock despair.

What was he to know? They were convinced it was true. It had to be true as there had been so many sightings.

Beth could not hold back.

‘It’s true, Will, just because no grown-ups have seen it. Well plenty of us have seen something. I saw it myself. It’s real. There’s something in the woods.’

‘Did they find anything?’ Tom was desperate for some evidence. After all, there had been three of them this time.

Beth was momentarily subdued as she stared down at her shoes.

‘No, it vanished again, just like a ghost.’ She aimed her words straight at Will. ‘But it was there. It really was. They lost track of whatever it was, so they sent Barry down to get me. He’s already on his way back up the Caer.’

Rachel stopped sweeping the coal dust into the cellar.

‘You lot be careful. You’re all just scaring each other witless over nothing. You’ll be doing yourselves an injury. Look at poor Sergeant Rees wasting his time tramping through the forest last week. He’s got better things to do.’

Her voice was stern, but Will laughed out loud.

‘Perhaps it’s Dr Who landing in Aberglais. Maybe you’ll bring us back one of those Daleks. That’ll put us on the map. We’ll be on the tele. On the news, famous.’

It was Tom’s turn to be offended.

‘There’s something there, dad. You never go up the Caer. Nobody believes us because we call it the Phantom. It could be a big animal or somebody weird up to no good. We know we’re right.’

Rachel continued her brushing faster and more urgently than before.

‘Off you go again then. You’re done here anyway. Don’t be late back for tea tonight though I’ll be cooking.’

‘Yes, Mam.’

Before he had even finished his response he dropped his shovel and ran off.

‘Come here. Wash that coal-dust off your hands before you go.’

Tom clearly heard the shouted order but just raised his hand in a gesture of dismissal as he and Beth sprinted away up towards the northern edge of the village and the narrow road which led up to the woods.

Beth punched him in the shoulder as they ran. ‘Let’s keep running til we reach the Caer, Tom.’

He nodded his understanding of her real meaning. They needed some distance and would be safe from parents there. The Caer was a place for the youngsters of Aberglais to use as their own forest play park. No adults allowed!

Except David, he thought as they ran. David was the war veteran who had once settled in the forest like a hermit when his crippling shell-shock had made him abandon the village to be alone with his torment.

Tom felt proud of how he and Beth had befriended him and had played active roles in making him find the strength to return to his cottage in Aberglais.

Tom felt a surge of pride as he thought of the old man and wondered if he might be the one to help them unlock the mystery of the Phantom.

‘We need David’s help,’ said Tom as they both continued running, but at a slower pace now.

‘They’d believe us if he saw it,’ Beth answered.

‘You know what he’s like though?’ Tom did not feel confident he could help. ‘He’ll just light his pipe and laugh. He just wants to teach us all that carpentry stuff and fishing. He never notices anything else.’

Beth slowed to a walk and tugged Tom to a halt so he would listen to her answer.

‘He’s just not interested, Tom. You know what he said when we told him. Poacher, no doubt. Then he said we were all frightening ourselves for nothing.

I thought he might be right, but not now. They saw it Tom.’

They were still walking as they left the Forestry Commission land and entered the old Beech-woods and took the track to their clearing.

Barry, Jack and Owen were sitting around the homemade wooden table which was the centrepiece of the Caer.

‘Where?’ shouted Tom without bothering to say any hellos.

All three of the boys pointed to a spot away inside the treeline.

‘Just shuffling about from side to side," said Owen as he stood up and swayed back and forth to show what he meant.

‘But then it must have heard us, and moved quickly off.’

‘Deeper into the woods then,’ said Tom

‘Or it could have peeled off east and headed down to the river,’ Beth pointed in the direction she meant. ‘It’s on up into the hills from there.’

Tom stared at her and hoped she would not ask them why they had not followed.

He spoke up quickly with his own thoughts. ‘Best sighting we’ve had, you lot. Brilliant. We know we’re onto something now. We have to find the Phantom.’

‘Trap it in a net or dig a whole for it to fall into,’ offered Barry. He stopped speaking when he looked around and realised he was being ignored.

‘Why doesn’t the Phantom want to be found and what’s he up to?’ Tom wanted them to realise it was time for some sensible thinking and planning.

‘Why a he?’ Asked Barry. ‘Could be an evil spirit, or a spaceman.’ He looked at Beth before adding, ‘or spacewoman.’

Tom picked up a stick and threw it far into the trees. He was daring the Phantom to return fire.

‘No, it’s someone real. No doubt. Sergeant Rees couldn’t find him, but we will. There’s enough of us. We’ll get the group together in school and make a proper plan.’

‘We’ll need binoculars,’ said Jack.

‘…and weapons," added Barry, with enthusiasm. ‘Our catapults and we’ll get some stones for ammo. If the Phantom is hiding to frighten us we’ll attack.’

The group had walked on past the spot where the Phantom had been sighted, but Tom and Beth turned to walk back towards the clearing.

Enough of this. They would find the Phantom.

2

Tom jerked upright in his seat and stared at the boy walking into the classroom behind Mr Edwards. Unusual events were rare in Aberglais so the arrival at school of a new face was a big event.

The elderly teacher pointed the new boy to an empty seat just across the aisle from Tom.

‘Master Harry James,’ said Mr Edwards before adding with just a little sense of awe, ‘he’s from England.’

Tom turned and saw the new boy stare downwards with despair at being singled out as an oddity.

Harry was tall for his age and Tom thought he looked quite skinny under the dark blue blazer he was wearing. His hair was almost jet-black and looked carefully combed with a side-parting.

‘Young Harry’s going to be with us for a few months, so I want you all to give him a big, Aberglais welcome.’

Tom watched his face get even redder. So he smiled at him in a gesture he hoped the new boy would take as a, ‘don’t worry.’

He knew that being a newcomer would be bad enough, but making him seem so different to everyone by saying he was from England just made it worse.

‘Harry is here with his grandfather and they’re living in the old farmhouse out on the north road. You’ll know it. Been empty since the Richards family went to Cardiff.’

Mr Edwards was not finished yet. He seemed to be speaking as if the exalted nature of his new arrival was a reflection on his own status. What an idiot!

‘His grandfather is a retired university professor. A historian, no less.’

Tom looked around the classroom to confirm that everyone was now staring hard at Harry.

His eyes rested on Beth a couple of rows in front of him and he realised from the stare she returned that she shared his concerns

All this build-up would ensure the new boy would be given a hard time by some of the bigger lads.

‘Now stop staring as if you’re all at the zoo and let’s get to work.’

When the bell went for the morning break, Harry stayed in his seat. Tom and Beth stayed back and stood together in front of him.

‘Hi, I’m Tom Rhys and this is Beth Jones.’

Harry looked up with a timid expression as he whispered ‘How do you do,’ before dropping his gaze back down to the pen he was still holding as if it was something of intense interest.

‘Come on,’ said Beth. ‘Let’s go out the yard. They’ll be playing football. You play football?’

Harry shrugged as Tom grabbed him by the lapel of his blazer and started dragging him to his feet and down the aisle towards the door.

‘Let’s go. Best you get to meet the gang. They’re alright and they won’t bite. Me and Beth will make sure. Bit of advice though, lose the blazer from tomorrow.’

Harry smiled and simply said ‘thanks’ as the three of them stepped outside and walked across the middle of the yard to sit together on the grass verge from where they could watch the football game.

‘So, your grandpa is a prof? Must be a brainbox. I bet he’s got straggly white hair and looks mad,’ said Beth in her attempt at a joke.

Tom just cringed and looked at Harry as he inwardly said, ‘ignore her.’

He also wanted to add that she meant well and would be a good ally in a fight but thought that could wait until later.

Harry smiled as he looked at them both and nodded his head. He could already tell they were leaders in this small group and he was grateful for their show of friendship.

He had seen a few hard stares as they had crossed the yard, but it was noticeable that none of the boys had dared make any comment to him as he walked alongside Tom and Beth..

‘Now you mention it, he does have white hair and it could do with a cut. He smokes a pipe too. There’s those old tweed suits with waistcoats as well, oh, and the little round specs.’

The three of them laughed.

‘Good to meet you Harry James,’ said Tim, ‘but why has a professor come to Aberglais? Nobody comes to live here, not some posh professor anyway.’

‘Yea, this is the end of the world,’ added Beth.

‘Hardly posh,’ Harry said quickly as he ignored the dismissive comments about the village. ‘He was a medieval history lecturer and now he’s retired he moves around quite a bit. Studies old stuff and writes it up. I suppose he’s quite well known.’

‘Not quite one of The Beatles though?’ said Beth. ‘No museum around here. What’s he here to see? Are we a lost tribe like in the films then?’

Tom stared at Harry and sensed his new friend’s confidence draining in the face of the direct questioning from Beth.

‘A bit quiet for you and him around here, but we have our fun,’ Tom said, changing the tone.

‘You must come with us up to the Caer. It’s our secret place, well not so secret. We get up to all sorts up there. You’ll love it.’

Harry’s face brightened. He was nodding his approval and was about to add his gratitude and ask what this Caer was when Mr Edwards appeared in the doorway and started ringing the bell he was holding. Neat lines were formed as the noise of conversations died away.

Beth leant over and whispered in Tom’s ear as they stood in line.‘I think we should tell Harry about the Phantom.’

Tom nodded enthusiastically.

3

Aberglais

1290

The sky above the tiny hamlet was draped in stars just before dawn as the men left their homes to make their way through the silence into the woods.

A little later the sound of the men’s axes cut through the early morning air as they gathered wood for the winter stock.

The pony, harnessed to their crude wooden sleigh for carrying logs, was the first to hear the far-off sound of something else in the forest.

The mare stood watching Emyr swing his axe at the dead branch and snorted to register her concern. A ground-mist still shrouded the trees and gave every sound a ghostly impact on the silence.

Emyr stopped to wipe beads of sweat from above his eyes and looked around at his father, Llyr, his two brothers, Caradog and Teifi along with three more village men, Gwynfor, Madog and Afon. The noise of their axes drowned out the forest sounds.

‘Two or three more days,’ said Emyr. He spoke Medieval Welsh, ‘Dau neu dri diwrnod eto,’ then added: ‘Unwaith i ni nol, bydd yr hen sgubor un etha llawn gydar’r llwyth yma’. ‘The old barn will be pretty full when we get this lot back.’

Llyr let his axe rest on the ground and raised his face skywards as he seemed to be taking in the air of the forest.

‘We’re due a hard winter,’ he said, almost to himself. Then he turned to face his son. ‘Remember, there’s a new cottage this year, more fuel to burn there. We’re not done yet.’

‘And the weaving,’ Caradog joined the chat. ‘My wife made my ears burn last winter about how cold their hut was. They want it as hot as the forge they do.’

Afon laughed out loud. ‘Tell them to come and help us with the stones in the barn then. No fire for us masons. Not one all winter.’

‘Aye.’ It was Teifi now. Never one to keep quiet when there was a chance of a good gossip to stop their work. ‘No complaints from the little ones working our tools. Covered in dust and cold as ice, but they love it.’

The group all joined in the laughter but soon set back to work. Each of the men knew it was their devotion to being industrious enough to pay their taxes to the lord which allowed Aberglais to exist.

Moments after they had restarted their efforts Emyr stopped, looked at the pony and then stared into the distance.

He listened until he clearly identified the distant clatter of hooves moving slowly along the track which led east to west through the middle of the forest.

Emyr was immediately alert as it was not a main route although it had often been used by travellers who did not wish to encounter others along the main track on their journey across Wales.

In the recent wars, noises on the track had