Heart of Gold

'At the age of ninety-four,' Caroline pointed out. 'A respectable age for those times.'

'For any time.' Aubrey squinted at the plaque. 'Ninetyfour? All the books say he died not long after being locked up. Hmm.'

'He would have seen so much, living for ninety years in the fourteenth century,' George said. 'Well, he would have if he hadn't spent most of it locked up.'

'True. Wars, invasions, the Plague. His father defeated us, you know, at the Battle of Ballan. Took most of our Gallian territories before he was killed the next year at the siege of Tigre.'

Caroline made a peculiar noise.

'What is it?' Aubrey asked her. 'Are you all right?'

She didn't answer the question. 'Who succeeded Stephen III?'

Aubrey rummaged his memory. 'His son, I think. Paul II.'

'Who died soon after, mysteriously.'

Aubrey shrugged. 'Well, the only mysterious thing about it was the exact nature of the poison. And who among the hundreds of potential suspects was the actual killer. He was a bad king.'

'So who succeeded him?'

Aubrey tried to remember. The fourteenth century was a particularly muddy time in Gallia, with a great deal of back-stabbing, false alliances and betrayals. Like most of Gallian history, he thought, only more so.

'One of his brothers,' George said. 'Theodore. That's the one.' He caught Aubrey's look. 'I haven't been wasting my time, you know. I picked up a few things while traipsing around those churches. Quite interesting, all this stuff.'

'Theodore,' Caroline repeated. 'The same Theodore who died in the Battle of St Hugo?'

'Yes,' George said.

Aubrey was intrigued. Caroline's eyes were bright and excited in the lantern light.

'All of this was in the time they called the Year of the Four Kings, wasn't it?'

'You seem to know your history pretty well,' George said.

'History is important,' she said.

'The Year of Four Kings ended when Stephen's brother Armand took the throne, uniting the insanely arguing family factions,' Aubrey put in, not wanting to be left out. 'He ruled for ten years, and spent most of it getting soundly beaten by Albion but not dying in the process, unlike many of his predecessors.'

Caroline waved a finger. 'A further question. What if Christian weren't illegitimate?'

'Well, that'd mean that he was robbed of the throne by his uncle Armand. Gallia was probably better off, given that Christian wasn't in the best state to lead the country.'

'True, but look closely.' Caroline took Aubrey's arm in a fierce grip. 'Prince Albert says he's the direct descendent of Prince Christian on his mother's side. If Christian was the rightful king of Gallia, then our Crown Prince is the heir to the throne of Gallia.'

Aubrey made a strangled noise before he found his words again. 'What did you say?'

'King Albert,' George said. 'Monarch of Albion and Gallia. Sounds good, wouldn't you say?'

Aubrey's mind whirled. The political situation on the Continent was precarious enough without a bombshell like this. 'No. This can't be true. It would have been raised before now.'

Caroline shook her head. 'Only if it were known. So what if the Prince just found some new evidence to suggest Christian was a truly recognised son of Stephen?'

'Bertie is a deep one,' Aubrey admitted. 'He keeps his motives to himself, but I don't believe our genealogical search was just a ruse.'

'I'm not saying that. I'm guessing that he's only come across this recently, after sending you looking for his ancestors.'

'Proof.'

They both looked at George. 'Proof,' he repeated. 'All this is no good without some sort of evidence.'

In the excitement, Aubrey had crumpled Bertie's letter. He smoothed it on his leg. 'Special features. The tomb. Special features. The tomb.'

'Aubrey,' Caroline said sternly. 'Gibberish.'

He looked up. 'I think Bertie wants us to bring back something from the tomb.'

George grimaced. 'He wants us to turn grave-robbers?'

Aubrey read the letter again. He placed a hand on the marble. 'No, we don't have to open the coffin. I think Bertie's veiled instructions point somewhere else.'

'Another code, old man?' George asked.

Aubrey studied the tomb. 'No. Just Bertie's execrable fondness for puns. At the end of the letter, after he asks me to find Prince Christian's tomb, he adds a post script. "I want you to look for some support for the family tree." It's underlined, just in case I was feeling more than usually obtuse.'

'The Crown Prince enjoys puns?' George's brow wrinkled as he tried to come to terms with this notion.

'He's an ordinary sort of fellow in lots of ways, George. He still puts his trousers on right way up, just like you and me.'

'I see.'

'Did you know that Christian never went to battle in his life?' Aubrey continued. 'All this armour is a sham for him. Even this chest at his feet.' He reached out and tapped it. 'Just the sort of thing a knight would bring back from a busy time looting and such, full of riches. Christian, of course, did no such thing.'

'I'm sure this is leading up to something,' George said.

'I think I have it,' Caroline said. 'What's another word for chest?'

George shrugged. 'I'm happy to play my part. Another word for chest? What about box, container, trunk –'

'Trunk will do. And how did Prince Albert put it, Aubrey? "Support for the family tree"?'

'Precisely.'

'So what supports a tree?'

George held up a hand. 'Please, Miss: a trunk!'

'So there you have it.' Caroline put her hand on the small marble box. 'Perhaps this isn't just ornamentation.'

Aubrey nodded. 'Let's see what we can see.'

Caroline tapped at the base of the chest.

Aubrey joined her, running his hand along its carved sides, feeling the smooth marble. It had a rolled edge, semi-circular in profile. Alternating lozenges and diamond shapes decorated its sides and a large, flowerlike rosette had a prominent position in the middle of each face.

Caroline shook her head. 'I can't hear anything.'

'I should hope not,' said George. He shuddered. 'Is anyone else cold?'

Aubrey peered at one of the rosettes. Was there a crack around it? 'I think –' He pushed at it – unsuccessfully – then pushed and twisted. He heard a click. The rosette depressed, then released, and a drawer slid out of the base of the chest.

The body of the drawer was made of copper and lying in it was a sheaf of documents. A dry, spicy smell came from them, a mixture of dust and cinnamon.

Aubrey lifted the documents. He screwed up his face at the dust, and gently shook them.

'Heavy paper,' George said.