Chester Bentley and The Last Treasure of Ancient England - Classic Edition: The Chester Bentley Mysteries - Classic Edition, #2

By MJ Colewood

"Absolutely epic - the ultimate adventure page-turner!" Rose Collins on Goodreads

 

"This is a brilliant Young Adult and Teen mystery thriller." Susan Hampson - AMAZON TOP 500 REVIEWER - Vine Voice

 

Meet schoolboy Chester Bentley, the world's most famous and extraordinary treasure hunter!

 

All heroes begin as ordinary children and that's how it was with Chester Bentley. Unsurprisingly, he made the pages of the local and national newspapers, and so began his journey into notoriety as the nation started to follow his many adventures and marvel at his incredible discoveries.

 

The Last Treasure of Ancient England:

 

It is 1066 and in the aftermath of the Battle of Hastings the mutilated corpse of King Harold has been looted. The disappearance of a particular item enrages Duke William, and only one of his knights knows its whereabouts. In his remaining years this knight has to make a decision: will he ever share his secret, or take the greatest enigma in English history to the grave?

 

Centuries later, when Chester Bentley arrives at his remote boarding school, he is unprepared for the mystery it conceals. The discovery of an age-old riddle lures him and his new friends into a quest to uncover the secrets safeguarded by the stately manor house. Hidden somewhere in the county of rural Devon is an extraordinary treasure and the school holds the puzzling key to its surprising location.

 

But something is lurking in the dark, shadowing them each time they venture out from their dormitory at night, and a ghostly legend puts fear into the bravest of pupils. In their last year at the school, time is running out; so can they succeed where others have failed, and even died, in a chilling hunt to reveal the last treasure of ancient England?

 

Buy The Last Treasure of Ancient England and begin a page-turning mystery that you won't be able to put down!

 

About The Chester Bentley Mysteries:

 

Chester Bentley has an almost magical gift for finding famous treasure... with a little help from his friends that is. And with each national treasure that Bentley uncovers, he soon becomes a household name, attracting the attention of a mysterious collector who turns against him. But why? And what is it he knows about Bentley's hidden childhood?

 

So will Bentley fulfill his destiny and the adventure of a lifetime by locating some of the greatest lost treasures from England's dramatic past? Or will he go on to fail when he learns the truth behind the strange dreams that haunt him and why his opponent is obsessed with stopping him?

 

The Chester Bentley Mysteries is a page-turning series for curious adventurers age 11+ (and their grown-ups); The Da Vinci Code for kids.

 

Are you fascinated by clues and riddles? Determined not to give up until you solve a mystery? Then you're ready to join Chester Bentley and his epic tales of history, mystery and adventure!

• Language: English
• Publisher: MJ Colewood
• Release date: Apr 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201146719

Book preview

PROLOGUE

BUCKLAND HOUSE SCHOOL

1962

It was a still night. The only noise in the grounds of Buckland House School was the swish of long grass as two dressing gown clad figures made their way towards the dark bamboo maze, their torches shining like nervous searchlights.

We’ll easily win this challenge, whispered Colin, Johnson will regret it when he has to hand over his precious box of Mars bars!

Can’t wait to see his face! chuckled Simon from close behind. As long as we bring back the red handkerchief as proof that we made it into the maze he’ll have to keep his side of the bargain.

There it is! Colin’s torch picked out the tall thicket of bamboo and the entrance to the maze. Its gaping mouth seemed darker at night. As light shone on the serpentine path inside, he shivered, wondering just how far in Johnson expected them to go. Unease prickled his scalp.

Come on! urged Simon, pushing him. Piece of cake! Nothing to be afraid of!

The two boys stepped forward into the jaws of the maze, their torches arcing from side to side as they searched for the red handkerchief. Their feet crunched on the dry ground. Close by the bamboo suddenly rustled. What was that? They froze.

A mouse, a rat, a big black bat? Simon laughed. What else do you think would be down here at this time of night?

They continued. Colin’s heart was pounding and his palms sweating. They were deeper into the maze than he had hoped to go. He began to feel claustrophobic.

Ta-da, there it is! shouted Simon triumphantly, untying the red handkerchief from the bamboo. Colin felt his chest tighten and his mouth go dry. He sensed a change in the pressure of the air around them. The undergrowth rustled again – louder and closer this time.

Simon, I think there’s something there.

Come out, come out whatever you are! called Simon. There was silence.

See, I told you there was noth…

At that moment a whooshing sound emerged from the depths of the maze. It swirled along the pathways growing louder and louder until it was directly ahead of them. The leaves on the ground rose as it approached. The boys didn’t have time to react as the invisible force knocked them to the ground. They dropped their torches which went out, leaving them in total darkness, the only sounds were their rasping breaths until another noise began; an unearthly wailing that amplified as it surrounded them in a suffocating whirlpool of ice-cold pressure. Colin fumbled desperately for his torch, found it and with shaking fingers switched it on. He immediately wished that he hadn’t, because what the two boys saw looming over them could never be forgotten.

PART ONE

- BELLUM –

TRUNKS & TUCK BOXES

1982

- I -

image005.jpg

Chester Bentley stood in the driveway of his new school beside his trunk and tuck box. He had never felt more alone even though he was surrounded by pupils dressed exactly like him in a uniform which was a worrying shade of brown. Car doors slammed and shouts filled the air as children waved goodbye to their parents. He glanced round for reassurance, but his mother’s car was gone. It suddenly dawned on him that he wouldn’t see his parents again for a month. A lump formed in his throat.

He turned away and looked towards the church, where he found himself staring at a dark figure, half hidden behind a tree. It stared back at him with soulless eyes. A flush of cold sweat swept over him. No, not again, he thought. It can’t be. Then all around him fell deathly silent until the only thing he could hear was a soft voice, whispering on a breeze that blew from nowhere, Bentley, come! But the figure’s lips were not moving. Its face became blurred. He rubbed his eyes again.

Bentley, Chester Bentley?

He jumped and turned; two identical boys were staring at him with curiosity.

Yes, yes, sorry that’s me, I just… he pointed at the tree.

Saw a ghost? chuckled one.

I think I did.

Yeah, yeah, nice wind up, Bentley. We’ve read about all about you in the papers. First time anyone famous has been at the school. Come on, we’ll help you with your stuff. Welcome to Buckland House! You’re in Bryanston dorm with us.

They struggled up the grand red carpeted staircase almost dropping the heavy trunk. When they reached the dorm, Bentley could clearly hear the intimidating hum of voices behind the oak panelled door. The others had already arrived. He took a deep breath. Stan pushed the door open. It creaked painfully on its old hinges. Everybody stopped what they were doing and looked up. Except for one person.

Silhouetted against the bay window was a tall broad-shouldered boy. He was facing out, admiring the view. His hands were positioned behind his back, like a Major, inspecting the troops.

Last to arrive – that must be Chester Bentley. I’m Montague, your guide until you settle in, he rocked on his feet and nonchalantly swivelled to face everyone.

Then the whispers flew around the room, Is that Bentley?

The real Chester Bentley?

That’s him all right.

Bentley? said someone, finally addressing him directly, As in the cars?

Bentley? As in the cars? someone shouted.

No, as in the hot-air balloons, replied Bentley automatically. How many times had someone asked him that dumb question? he thought. The others laughed and Montague seemed to be suppressing a smile.

Well, we usually refer to each other by our last names here, but I’ve decided to call you Chester. Might avoid a few wise cracks.

Bentley was glad he had made a good first impression and resolved to build upon his positive start. He was intrigued by Montague. He was slightly taller than himself, with strong forearms and a surprisingly confident look in his eyes. He didn’t lower his stare once and rarely blinked which was quite off-putting. His dark red, thickly matted hair looked almost black. He had a spattering of freckles left over from a holiday in the sun and there was something of the military in his demeanour. He looked fearless.

Montague introduced the others.

You’ve already met the Cloughs; Stan and Dan. Montague pointed at them in turn.

They’re both bookworms and would be joined at the hip if they could. Nothing can separate them.

Not true, laughed Dan correcting Montague, we have different favourite books.

Of course, said Montague correcting himself, but that is the only point of difference. Dan’s favourite book is Lord of the Flies and Stan’s is Animal Farm.

Apart from that they are one and the same, said the boy next to Bentley. Anyway, he went on, I never understood that title about the flies.

It refers to Beelzebub, said Dan, you know? Satan? Because of the evil that happens when the boys are stranded on the island.

Okay, replied the boy that had asked. He hadn’t really understood the explanation but was too self-conscious to admit it in front of the others, and Animal Farm?

It’s about a bunch of animals on a farm, interrupted Bentley trying to be funny. No one laughed, they just waited for Stan to answer instead, while Bentley fought a blush.

It’s a fable about how a revolution gets hijacked by the very forces they are trying to overthrow. It’s about human nature, not animals. It’s amazing; you should all read it.

You won’t forget that title in a hurry, will you, Chester? observed Montague. And this is the esteemed Audley Quigg, he continued. He’s the school academic. If there’s anything you don’t understand, he’ll explain it. He reads Latin and Ancient Greek. No joke. If there’s something interesting said in class, just once, he will never forget it.

Quigg grinned at the praise but didn’t lift his gaze from the floor.

Sounds like a genius! exclaimed Bentley.

Quigg suddenly looked up sharply and stared at Bentley. He turned his head to one side like a curious bird. Have we met before? he asked. I’m sure I know you!

From the papers? suggested Montague. I believe that Chester is a bit of a legend.

No, no, no! That’s not it at all! Quigg grew agitated and put his head down again, muttering to himself. The others shrugged their shoulders and smiled.

Bentley decided that he liked Quigg who was now wandering off, no longer interested in hearing the rest of the introductions. He sat down on his bed, took out a book, thumbed to the relevant page and immersed himself in it.

And that behind Audley, asleep on the pillow, is Cheddar the cat. Give him a wide berth; he’s the headmaster’s moggy and the school’s unofficial mascot. India has the cow, and Buckland House has Cheddar.

The yellow tomcat purred, as if happy that the school year had begun.

Adam Morris. He’s a farmer and the strong man in the school. Ask him anything you like about tractors, sheep or rugby. Next to Adam is Warren Burrows, yes really. And this is Bertie. He’s the happiest guy we know. Never gets cross. Completely indestructible.

The atmosphere took a sudden change the moment the last pupil to be introduced began to speak. He had been lying in silence on the bottom bunk by the door with his hands casually placed behind his head and had done nothing more than snigger to himself.

Bentley? Is it? He didn’t wait for an answer. As you look slow to catch on, my name is Ralph Bass-Hasting, the only one here with a truly distinguished name. I’m the head of the dorm, so be careful, or you’ll find yourself outside the headmaster’s study.

Bentley thought that Ralph must have just eaten a rotten lemon with rind and all from the expression on his face. He stared at Bentley, his frosted eyes as compassionless as a swooping hawk. Then he lifted his nostrils slightly and looked down his nose.

Ralph Bass-Hasting clearly thought the world of himself and very little of everyone else. Bentley knew the type and was disappointed that he had come across someone like it again so soon.

Bentley had a kind manner which probably encouraged the worst kind of people to pick on him. But weak he was not. Wisely, he decided to be patient and wait for his moment to silence his opponent, but first, he wanted to size him up.

Bentley? What a ridiculous name. As in the car, I suppose? Ralph continued to taunt him.

Silence descended. The boys held their breath to see if Bentley would take the bait. They were not disappointed.

No, as in the skateboards, he replied mockingly. They were delighted he had gone for it and stifled their giggles.

What the hell did you just say?! spat Ralph in a voice laced with hatred. Only Montague looked relaxed while Morris braced himself to break up a fight. Bentley was not calm inside. His heart was pounding against his rib cage. He knew what he had to do. He chose his next phrase very carefully, wary of angering Ralph any further.

Are you deaf as well as stupid? he said defiantly.

Ralph lurched forward and pressed himself up against Bentley, who squared up to him. Morris put his hands between the two of them.

You be careful, Morris Minor, hissed Ralph, or I’ll put you in your place, but Morris just grinned.

Like Bentley just did to you, you mean? smirked Montague, happy to see Ralph the colour of a beetroot.

It was Tommo, the housemaster though, who put an end to things. The moment Ralph heard the characteristic jangle of his sandal buckles he backed off, pointing a threatening finger in Bentley’s face. Bentley did nothing more than stare him down, and while he looked deep into Ralph’s eyes, he searched for any sign of doubt or shakiness in his expression and then he caught it. It was only a glimmer, but there it was. Ralph’s eyes had softened at the edges, and Bentley knew he wasn’t quite the tough guy he desperately tried to be.

Pyjamas, dressing gowns, faces and teeth! called Tommo. You know the drill. He smiled kindly at Bentley who marvelled at the man’s huge stature. It should have been menacing yet his blue wool tie lent him an air of schoolboy innocence.

With everyone now in their beds, the heavy footsteps were soon heard pounding down the corridor again. The door creaked open.

Right then lads, lights out!

Darkness and silence suddenly engulfed the dorm as Tommo’s footsteps began to fade away. Then the whispering began. They all knew the risks: ‘Talking after Lights Out’ was punishable by four-of-the-best and was the most ‘fashionable’ caning offence. But it was impossible to maintain the silence with twelve boys in a dorm far from the prying ears of an adult. Even Ralph’s limp threats had no effect, especially after Montague had told him to put a sock in it and Morris had offered to do it for him.

Montague leaned over to speak to Bentley.

"Don’t worry about Ralph; he’s harmless even though he’s a right pain.

I’m not worried, answered Bentley, happy that Montague was prepared to take the risk and speak to him.

Yeah, I can see that. You’ll have a good year here, if you keep out of trouble and away from the lake.

The lake? Why, what’s wrong with the lake?

The whispering suddenly stopped.

What’s wrong with the lake? insisted Bentley

We don’t know, said Bertie, suddenly switching on his torch and placing it under his chin so that it lit up his face eerily. But there’s something wrong with it, so wrong that two boys left the school because of it!

Pack it in, Bertie! warned Montague, that’s just a legend! But Bertie had a captive audience now as one by one the boys sat up in bed to listen. All we know is, he continued, that one dark night, two boys crept down to the lake and there they saw something that changed them forever. They returned so traumatised that they didn’t even wait until dawn to pack up their things and leave!

Boo! shouted Quigg, making them all jump.

Quigg! Three pillows flew across the room. He deflected all of them with a book and the dexterity of a ninja.

Hey, Bentley, you saw something earlier, didn’t you? called Dan. Bentley hesitated, he could hear the sudden intake of breath as the boys waited for his answer. He remembered the dark figure behind the tree and the voice calling him.

Just my imagination, he reassured them. There were eleven sighs of relief.

Did you know that there could well be Norman ghosts here. According to my research…

Shut up, Audley! everyone groaned.

Bentley snuggled down under the covers, but he felt frozen with fear. Was the shadowy figure he had seen anything to do with what the boys had witnessed at the lake?  He lay awake for a long time listening to the sniffles and snores as one by one the boys fell asleep. Outside, the brook that fed the lake bubbled softly. The shriek of a fox pierced the night, and beside the lake the bamboo swished as something moved through the maze.

RALLY THE TROOPS!

- II -

image005

Before the cockerel could muster a crow from its untimely voice and the raven utter a response, the wifemen of the village had already arisen and in hushed movements were building the first fires in their huts. The menfolk would be the last to awaken as was the custom. Their obligations were to hunt, fish and do battle when the need came. There was no urgency for them to bend their backs to chores in the village and even the harvest that had already been gathered from the fields could be prepared later.

You men sleep longer and work less, whispered Leala complainingly to herself, satisfying her need to speak her mind, even though she did not want to wake her husband, yet you think somehow you are above us. On what authority? Ridiculous!

Algernon of Colville rolled over away from the crackling fire now building strength in the centre of their humble home. In the corner of their only room rested his sheathed sword, sleeping more deeply than he did. The blade had grown blunt and the handle dusty, as had the old warrior who was now almost forty and nearing the end of his days. He had nearly forgotten the craft of war despite the many painful battle scars that covered his skin like a body map of all his past conflicts. He was calm in the knowledge though that the few years left to him by his fading health would be spent quietly here, where he had been born.

The idyllic dawn, however, was not to last, nor was Algernon’s vision of his gentle future. Gathering speed, there came the thunderous hooves of Norman cavalry in full battle dress, lances in hand and restless swords at their sides. The fires that had been lit to warm the village dwellings and ward off the morning chill were about to be used to burn down the houses and create a scene of terror. Algernon could not have known that the glance he caught of his wife as she stepped out of their hut that morning, like every morning, would be the last he would ever see of her.

Richard arose as always to the pungent smell of the animals that occupied the stalls next to his bed. He thought that at some time in his life he would eventually get used to the revolting stench, but that time had never come. His uncle, Algernon, who he lived with, was already up waiting for his wife Leala to brew something hot to drink. Regrettably, the herbs she had dropped into the water were not enough to overcome the penetrating odours of the sweaty livestock that they depended on for their precarious livelihood.

The pigs grunted their morning greetings to Richard who slowly made it to his feet after another agitated night kept awake by the lice that shared his bed by night and inhabited his hair by day. The chickens meanwhile busied themselves searching for any grain that they had missed from the day before. Richard put on his battered shoes. He was now ready to lend his uncle a hand with the feeding.

Richard went outside to greet the new day, but the smell there was no more welcoming than inside his hovel. Human waste was dumped behind each home, swelling the number of insects drawn to where they slept. The Romans had never had this problem, he thought.

Richard had hated his existence from the time the Duke’s men had burnt his parents’ substantial farmstead to the ground and left both his parents dead in the raid. What part did my family play in their Lord’s betrayal of the Duke? he would often hiss. And yet the villagers had been punished as if they had been accountable for such disloyal actions. Ever since he had been forced to live with his uncle, who was infirm and whose poverty had trapped them both, he had sworn revenge for the death of his dear parents. He wondered how he could keep his word and quench the anger that burned so fiercely inside him. It was impossible for him to even enter the same building as the Duke, let alone into the same room. He was little more than a dispossessed peasant now when once he had tilled his own land. He had had position but was now reduced to the station of a landless pig farmer and no better off than a slave.

Richard could only take pleasure in one thing now, and that was his prized position as the strongest man amongst the villages for miles around, hence his name, Richard the Strong. He wasn’t the biggest man, but he was sturdy and swift. He had earned his nickname when he had felled a giant of a man in a bar brawl with just one well-placed punch, which the colossal oaf had been powerless to avoid. And yet, even that self-indulgent label was of little importance to him now. He could not endure his life like this much more. He would prefer to end it all than continue living such daily purgatory. He felt defeated by life after having worked so hard to build up his family’s impressive estate, only to have it taken from him prematurely and so cruelly. But family was everything. He did not need a religious book or any Greek philosopher to tell him that. One could possess the most magnificent estate in the dukedom, but one would still have naught without kith and kin. Even the Duke knew that, why else would he have had four sons? No man had the right to dispatch the life of another’s loved one.

Richard knew that his hate was self-destructive, but he wanted his dark emotion to fuel his desire to destroy the one who had reduced his heart to feeling such spiteful sentiment. All Richard could think about at that moment was dealing the death blow to the Duke of Normandy. He knew it would never happen but reliving the imaginary instant over and over in his mind was the only thing that helped him through the day and awaken the following morning to see another begin.

Richard went to the well, and there was Baldwin, his only friend if he indeed could call him that. Richard had found himself thrown into his circle after coming to live with his uncle and aunt and the two would never have met had Richard not lost all in the raid.

Morning, Richard, grunted Baldwin, not even bothering to lift his head to look at him. Richard mumbled something back.

Don’t tell me you’ve already started the day, thinking about how you’re going to cut the Duke down, huffed Baldwin. I must be the only one mad enough to suffer your company.

And I am certainly the only one who can suffer yours! retorted Richard as he scooped up some murky water to drink before washing his face.

There really is only so much a man can take when hearing the same story over and over again, but for some reason, I am a glutton for punishment. So, tell me, what is it exactly you are going to do to the Duke when you meet him?

You would feel the same had it happened to your parents.

You can’t control events, Richard. I keep telling you that, but you won’t listen. The sooner you just accept things as they are, the better. The nobles do with us as they wish; it’s our lot to suffer in this life. I don’t know why you bother worrying about it all the time. If you just learned to live with it, you’d be better off like me.

Baldwin, you really do have all the imagination of a toad trapped in a tiny pond its whole life, don’t you?

And you think too much. It isn’t normal for people to be thinking all the time and you know it.

I know it’s not normal for you to think, Baldwin, that’s for sure.

Sometimes I wonder how on earth we are friends.

Well, at least you wonder sometimes, that’s a start, said Richard with a sigh of relief.

If you weren’t strong in arm like me and able to wield a sword, I swear we would never have spoken.

I believe, for the first time, you are probably right.

Both had used their swords in anger and killed in the field of battle. They lamented having experienced the horrors of warfare, and despite their gloomy existence in the village, it was preferable to seeing the savagery of man let loose in combat. There was no greater crime against God and man than igniting a war, and on that they both agreed.

Richard and Baldwin’s company would often help them overcome their recurrent nightmares. It was something they could only confide in each other and never mention to anyone else in the community. Friendship was a compromise. The only thing more horrendous than enduring a battle was suffering a lifetime of loneliness.

As Baldwin turned to ask Richard for some firewood to light his stove for the day, his attention was drawn away from his chore, to beyond the village boundaries. Something seemed to be approaching. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it. The ground gave the impression it was trembling slightly. He stopped walking and narrowed his gaze, focusing his eyes on the hillock just above the village. He instinctively knew something was happening but could not quite tell what it was. Richard had also felt that something was afoot, but unlike Baldwin he knew the signs all too well and grabbed his friend by the arm, dragging him out of the hamlet’s clearing.

What is it, Richard?

Can’t you tell? Horsemen! Get your sword! Richard already had his weapon clenched in his fist. Baldwin soon re-joined him, and the