Sean and company weren’t just out to see the sights and indulge in local tastes though. They weren’t entirely convinced Dufort was gone. It was certainly within the realm of possibility that the man had regrouped, brought in reinforcements, and returned to Helsingor to start digging around the area Tommy had described.
Dufort's face, however, never appeared. They kept a close eye on the burial mound, checking on it sporadically, and doubling back through the village to make sure no one was tailing them. Perhaps a little paranoid, but as Sean always believed, it was way better to be safe than sorry.
On the third day, the group met up with a man named Olan Dolffson, a historian who lived nearby and helped maintain and curate the gallery within Kronborg Castle. At first, he wasn’t too excited about the idea of a few Americans and a Spaniard digging around so close to the fortress grounds. When Tommy explained who he was, though, the man immediately warmed to the idea. The IAA had apparently done some good work with the man before, and he was more than happy to help retrieve more artifacts that would be put into his museum.
The labor involved in getting the stone moved took less than two hours. When it was finally hefted out of its resting place, using the combined strength of four men with levers, the group was able to see inside a tomb that hadn’t been witnessed by human eyes for over two hundred years.
Inside the tomb, the sarcophagus that Jonathan Stuart had found was still intact. The last person to have seen it was Francis Jackson; nearly seven years after Stuart had stumbled his way into the tomb.
Based on the story, Sean and Tommy decided that Stuart must have fallen through a hole created by a cannon ball; a cavity that was covered up by erosion and time over the next six years. When they gazed upon the exterior of the mound, several such undulations indicated this to be more than plausible.
The three companions carefully made their way into the crypt, followed closely by Dolffson. Their lights shone brightly in the darkness of the small room, illuminating every corner with a bright digital glow. The cover of the sarcophagus still lay on its side, just as Francis Jackson had left it two centuries before in his hurry to escape.
After a few minutes of searching carefully through the burial box and the rest of the room, concern began to set in with the group. The only thing they could find that seemed out of the ordinary was a tattered piece of plaid cloth, designed in what looked like a family tartan.
Apart from some weapons, a few utensils and tools, a metal vase, and some trinkets, there was nothing to indicate where to go on the next leg of their journey.
They believed they’d reached a dead end.
That all changed when Tommy took a picture of the tartan cloth and sent the image to Alex and Tara for analysis. It only took them a little over an hour to call back and let Tommy know that the tartan he’d found came from an area near Dumfries, Scotland, and while they would need to analyze the fabric to be certain, they were pretty sure Dumfries was the next place to look.
Other than that, they had no idea where to proceed. There was nothing in the way of a map and certainly no proverbial X that marked the spot.
Sean learned a long time ago that life was full of little ironies. The universe sometimes had a funny way of humbling a person, and making one realize they weren’t always in control.
So was the case with the clue leading to Dumfries.
Tommy received a call from Tara the next morning as the group was packing up their few belongings, getting ready to head back to the States. “You’re not going to believe this,” she told him and instructed him to check out the link she’d just emailed and texted.
He ended the call and tapped the blue lettering on the screen. The image swooshed over to a webpage that featured an astounding article. Tommy read it with disbelieving eyes.
A retired businessman living in Dumfries had requested permission from a nearby church to search the grounds for any metals that might be buried in the earth. The man spent several days using his metal detector to scour the area in the hope of finding something interesting.
He had no idea the significance of what that search would unveil.
On one of the last days of his search, the businessman’s metal detector began to indicate something big underground. What he found after doing a little digging changed history.
What later became known as the Dumfries Hoard or Dumfries Trove, was a cornucopia of ancient Viking treasures, relics, and several other important artifacts. A Carolingian pot, fully intact, was one of many items discovered in the trove. More crucial to Sean and his friends was the solitary gold coin that was unearthed with the other items.
Now, they stood outside the museum in the chilly, damp Scottish air and glanced around. None of them was completely satisfied that Dufort had given up his search or his quest to beat them to the treasure, but they never saw his face.
Inside, the museum was quaint. For years it had been a real estate office, which had closed during the international recession and only recently converted to a museum due to the extraordinary find of a local retiree.
The three visitors made their way through the foyer, a modest room with a few plants in the corner and a donation box by the entryway. A young woman with curly, reddish-brown hair sat behind a counter with a bright smile. She handed the group a pamphlet on the Dumfries Hoard and invited them to take a look around.
They made their way through the little maze of glass cases and shadow boxes. There were pictures on the walls featuring some of the people who had made the discovery, as well as some images of the unearthing of the artifacts.
“There’s a lot of stuff here,” Adriana said as she stopped to admire a beaded necklace with a four-sided cross hanging from it.
“Not as much as I would have thought though,” Tommy said and drifted over to another side of the room, examining a few knives and utensils while Sean walked to the far end. The exhibition area only covered around a thousand square feet, so the entire collection could be seen in less than twenty minutes. Maybe even fifteen.
“Guys,” Sean said, motioning for his friends to join him at a glass box. He stared down at the object protected within.
When the other two joined him, they stared with wide, disbelieving eyes through the glass protecting the artifact within. It was the golden coin, the next clue in the search for the final resting place of Holger Danske and the missing Holy Lance.
“I can’t believe some random guy just happened upon all this,” he said to Tommy and Adriana. “What are the odds?”
“Yeah,” Tommy agreed quietly, his voice a low murmur. “I actually kinda hoped that it was just a random coincidence and that it wasn’t the same treasure hoard we were looking for.”
Sean turned his eyes to the side and gave his friend a baffled glance. “Really? Two ancient Viking treasures in the little town of Dumfries?”
Tommy shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”
“I guess.”
“Boys, we need to find the clue that goes with this coin.” Adriana tried to get them back on track, pointing at the golden object. “It’s got to be in here somewhere.”
“Right,” Sean said. “Keep looking around. See if anything catches your eye.”
The three split up again and slowly made their way through the exhibit, careful to not let anything go unnoticed.
There were strange markings on one of the crosses. The emblems on the Carolingian pot were ornate, but nothing stood out. They looked over some of the other items in the museum, like the weapons and armor, hoping there would be a clue hidden somewhere.
After nearly forty minutes and at least three trips each around the room, the group decided to call it a day. They’d taken several pictures of pieces they thought might have something to offer, but from all appearances, the trail had gone cold.