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"The Jersey Hoard"


Prologue
The Jersey Hoard.

By write hand blue














A story by Melvyn Lumb.

In June 2012, two detectorists found in a farmers field, a hoard belonging to the Coriosolites tribe and dated at 50-60 BC... Weighing in at three Quarters Of A Ton...The worlds largest find of Celtic coins and gold. How Did It Get There?

This work of fiction, is my attempt to explain events leading up to the burying of the hoard...

***
It was a turbulent period, as Caius Julius Caesar conducted his campaigns to subjugate Gaul. In 57 BC he sent Quintus Sabinus to northern Gaul (modern day France) with three legions to subdue the Unelli, Coriosilites and the Lexovii tribes.

Sabinus pitched camp in Unelli territory, and for days his legions vastly outnumbered were constantly taunted and insulted. Finally he tricked the Unelli warriors into battle, they made a grave error. The slaughter was great and very few warriors managed to escape to freedom. Upon hearing the news of the defeat, the Coriosilites and Lexovii immediately sued for peace... To arrange the surrender Caesar dispatched his Roman legions.

His problems were that prior to his first expedition to Britannia, Ceasar had already amassed a great deal of debt. In addition, he had to contest with the Senate involving certain pay offs in an effort to gain the Senate's favour

****


Chapter one.

The meeting.

It is the year 57 BC and the sun has just risen to create a mild May morning. Several camp fires blaze and blue wood smoke curls lazily to a clear blue sky, looking deceptively peaceful over this fortified Roman camp erected just twelve hours before. The gate is opened and four Roman soldiers escort a pretty Celtic woman out of camp, back to her village nearby.

Meanwhile a freshly bathed Julius Caesar walks outside through the tent entrance, held open by two of his elite bodyguards. Rotating his right sword arm to remove a slight stiffness in his shoulder. In good health and wearing his new summer tunic, so much lighter and comfortable than the winter one. Today he feels invincible. His favourite horse has been rushed to him from the temporary stables and is waiting for him.

Riding at the head of the IX Legion they set off on a short ten mile journey. The destination is Corseul, the capitol town of the Coriosolites. He wonders who will this clan leader be. His emissaries having already sued for peace are with Caesar. Held at sword point and kept as hostages in case of treachery. Caesar is always mindful of the untrustworthy nature of these tribes.

Caesar's army has been paid recently with the spoils of victory, after the dramatic defeat of the Unelli tribe. Expecting substantial tribute from the Coriosilites and liking pearls, he has heard that they are rich in them, this is pleasing to Caesar.

Shaking his head, he pictures the leader in his mind. Who ever it is will have a silver tongue and need a bath. He will be devious that he knows is certain. And with something missing, an eye, nose or ear. Or perhaps an arm like that treacherous chief Brenhin of the Leuci tribe. A smile crosses his face as he remembers they could not crucify him in the normal way. He had to be hung inverted with nails through his feet... "HOW RIDICULOUS," he says out loud.

He gives his orders to Persious Maximus his most senior Centurion, the Primus Pilus.

"I want you to organise this immediately. You are to send two Cohorts (each of eighty men) to surround the town in a pincer movement and trap anyone with ideas of removing anything of value," Caesar declares, "Unless they resist the population is to be left untouched."

"Yes, Caesar it will be done."

He turns his horse towards the rear, where they await his orders.

Caesar's thoughts stray to Rome, as he wonders what is happening in his absence. Fresh victories and full coffers are essential to keep him popular with the people of Rome. Gaul must be conquered to complete the annexation of the Celtic tribes. Caesar knows that time is against him.


Eudeyrn


In the Meanwhile in Corseul town center, in a small one room house the five best warriors in the tribe wait. Having been summoned by a messenger to assemble immediately, no time have they to ask questions. A huge animal of a man appears, dressed in blue woollen breeches and a black cloak fastened with a large amber brooch; 'filling the doorway'... he stands before them every inch a warrior. His strength legendary and with a body that is almost unmarked... but it is the brown, hardened, leather armour he wears under the cloak; showing the deep sword slashes... awful grooves in the leather, that unnerves most men.

This is Eudeyrn, the only surviving son of Kedehern the chief of the Celtic tribe the Coriosolites. He prepares to address the gathering stood before him. Quickly pushing his long mop of brown hair back out of his face with his outspread fingers, his left foot placed on a low three legged wooden stool, he starts. The authority in his voice drills into the souls of the warriors as they listen.

"This is a time of trouble. The Romans are coming. I have known you all my life and there is not a man here that I would not trust. At this moment bags are being secretly filled from the town's coffers and loaded onto mules. We are to transport the entire town's wealth and deposit it in a place of safety away from the Romans. You are the best warriors we have and this is a great honour for you... I know that none of you will let me down; we have an important task to fulfil... You now know what is required of you and what will happen if a word of this escapes from this room." Everyone is silent, as the words sink in. "There will be rewards for all, afterwards."

Everyone is silent, as the words strike home...

Just twenty yards away in the smoky great hall, sitting at the long table with several of his favoured warriors from the clan, is tribal chief known as Kedehern the Bad. A long time ago he assumed the unofficial title of Chief, after murdering 'Arthfael the Strong' as he lay ill and unguarded.
Hesitating, he sups and slurps of his morning potage out of a wooden bowl, unconcerned at the food running down his long moustache and tangled beard. Cursing the situation facing him; he talks to all who are present.

"The Gods are not with us, for the future is uncertain in spite of the sacrifices and what the druids tell us. Having to surrender to Caesar and his army is a disaster for us."

At nearly forty years of age, he knows he will need to be careful, for he is getting old and starting to slow down. He is not quite so eager for combat these days as he once was. These are dangerous times.

"Everyone is dismissed... everyone, except for Adin," he bellows.

She is the 'soothsayer' a most important person in the tribe. When they are alone Kedehern asks advice from this a wrinkled old druid sorceress.
A magical rune is intoned for effect, and then she gives her recommendation where to hide the treasure.

"I see the colour green... she drones on with her incantations...Yes! There is a place, deep under the green fields of Jersey, to rest in safety and be found later. And I can see gold... Yes! An offering to the Gods is needed to ensure this happens," she whispers, this crafty old crone, with a face covered in warts.

Kedehern walks over to the small green shrine in the corner with its expensive, imported, soapstone carvings and places a solid gold amulet onto the pile of gold left as offerings.

"I can see the treasure will be safe never to be disturbed... but speed is needed for I also see that the time grows short," she drones on in her wretchedly, odious way.

"One foul breath of this to anyone and you will be a head shorter... hag!" he warns her.

**********

Writers notes.
Gaul = was the territory of over thirty Gallic tribes covering roughly the area of France and Belgium.

Britannia = the Roman name for modern day Britain.
Corseul = Situated just a few miles from the coast in modern day Brittany (France) believed to be the capitol town for the Coriosolites.

The hoard contains an estimated 60,000 coins valued at about £12,000,000 ($22,000,000 US). These Armorican coins (staters and quarter staters) are made of a silver, copper and tin alloy called billon. Also in the hoard is an unknown quantity of gold jewelery.

The questions that need to be asked are...

1...why was the hoard buried on Jersey?
2... why was it not reclaimed?
Due to the huge amount of coins I believe this could not have been hidden by a private trader. The coins are all from the Coriolites tribe, so the source had to be public money having perhaps just been minted.

The only use for this amount of wealth in my opinion would have been for the purchase and supply of a large army, for even in those days it was hugely expensive to keep an organised army fed and supplied in the field. This can be seen with the problems that Caesar had keeping his troops paid and supplied with grain, meat and vinegar.


Chapter 2
The Jersey Hoard.

By write hand blue














Having just been warned by Kedehern the chief of the Galic tribe the Coriosolites; Adin the soothsayer looks surprised for an instant at the chief. Turning to the altar she realises that he will not touch a hair on her head. Slyly now she looks back at him for she knows that he will be gone, long before her. Caesar will pay well for some information and if it is too late to be of use... Then what would Caesar do to Kedehern?... We will see! Adin cackles with laughter at the thought.

Kedehern gives her a long look but says nothing. For near on two years now he has dictated the path of the tribe, following the advice of the druids of course. To do anything else would be unwise, for his words would have little power without the voice of the druids backing him. He is well aware that he has been chief for a long time now and some day his turn will come to meet the sword. For no chief has ever died of old age in this society led by a core of warrior families...

Eudeyrn returns to the hall for final instructions at the request of his father.

"Eudeyrn my son, you know what I am going to ask of you... My soothsayer recommends and gives her blessing to the fields of Jersey, a place to hide in safe keeping the contents of the town's strong box. You are to take our best warriors as escort. Remember the spot and make sure no one else with this knowledge lives." He looks at his son and sees strength and determination in his eyes.

"You have the trust, the welfare and the future of the Coriosolites in your hands. When the time is right we will rise with Vercingetorix leading all our great tribes against the Roman invaders then I swear by the Gods we will have a glorious victory. Now go my son, you have the Gods behind you."

With that Eudeyrn bowed to his father and left like a panther...gone in an instant without a sound.

"He had better have the Gods behind him," said Kedehern in a loud voice when his son had gone, turning to look at an unconcerned Adin.

Walking with purpose, the six warriors make their way though a crowd of panicking Celtic families, as they flee towards the woods seeking safety from the expected Roman legions. The warriors arrive outside the secure courtyard and every warrior is given charge of a mule, each carrying six large bags of coins and gold.

"To be guarded with your life," Eudeyrn says softly to each warrior in turn as he looks them in the eye and they nod their heads one at a time as they pass him.

A further ten warriors from good families ordered to escort them arrive. By now a bare thirty minutes have passed since the news of the impending Roman visit. Wasting no time they form an escort with the five mules. Eudeyrn stops the troop as soon as they are on their own and out of earshot of the town, with his hand on his sword he gives them this warning.

"Do not ask questions, or talk about what you see to anyone and I mean anyone. You are here to protect the future of the Coriosolites... OUR ... future. One word, that is all I need and you will adorn my wall collection with your head."

With staring eyes and red of face, his wild self induced anger with intention is plainly visible, looking individually at every one of these murderous looking fighters. Several of these individuals visibly tremble, though fierce and battle hardened, they all know the reputation of Eudeyrn, the real power behind Kedehern. Everyone has seen his wall collection.

"Apart from my bodyguard no person must come near the mules, for they will feed the soil with their blood if they do."

Nothing further is said and they quietly follow Eudeyrn down the track, as he leads with his right hand still resting on his lucky short sword (scores of deaths already to its credit). His eyes and senses missing nothing, as he hurries them along, never stopping, always urging them forward.

The warriors proceed on foot to the coast a journey of a few miles, hampered by the heavily laden mules. Marching at a steady pace, the troop keep a respectful distance from the mules, so as not incur the wrath of Eudeyrn. They plough through muddy tracks for miles, nearing mid day they arrive at a small village on the coast.

"We are lucky the tides are in our favour, for we can wade over to Jersey at low tide from here. The Romans will have to wait for the tide unless they find boats. Although we have a good lead they are sure to find out about us."

Impatient, Eudeyrn darts left and right. Happy about the security, he makes a decision.

"We have need to get rid of all the boats we can find," orders Eudeyrn.

"AND RIGHT AWAY!" He shouts.

This triggers a reaction and everyone starts running towards the moorings where the small fishing boats are.

In a short period all the boats in this small village are set adrift and the oars smashed.

"No, no... don't, for how can we eat if you take our boats?" complains one peasant.

"I have a family; children to feed. I must protest." Shouts out a second peasant, wide eyed like the first at the sight of the five mules.

Reluctant to part company with their boats, these two Peasants who have seen too much, after a short chase are speedily put to the sword in a noisy fashion, with much blood spilled. Women running for their lives can be heard cursing them in the distance.

Bread and potage is quickly pillaged from the nearby cottages as is normal. Luckily with no time to spare, the women are not pursued or touched on this occasion. One defiant peasant who spoiled his hot potage with salt so it could not be eaten lost his right hand on the orders of Eudeyrn.

In single file the sixteen warriors and five mules with their burden left the coast. With their eyes fastened on Jersey, they set off wading up to their waists in the water making slow but steady progress over the uneven reefs and rising tide.

Julius Caesar.


At this time centurion Persious Maximus is reporting to Julius Caesar that the small town of Corseul is surrounded and ready to receive him. With Caesar leading his elite bodyguard they enter the town, riding four abreast down the wide main street between the long houses. These eighty men all veterans make an impressive, colourful, sight with their red plumes, cloaks and banners flying in a light breeze as they escort the hostages.

Two bronze dragons... on poles these fearful standards drone in the wind... making their unearthly howl as they are designed to do. Long red silken gossamer tails move, trailing with a lazy flutter in the breeze. Caesar knows that the superstitious Celts will take this to be an omen. He notes also that the population has fled and he is not surprised.

Passing a group of small shops with their rough wooden shutters down, he is interested to see that all the houses in Corseul are constructed with brown wattle and daub walls topped by yellow and grey straw thatched roofs, so different from the construction seen further south.

At a steady canter they make their way to the center of the capital town. Caesar notes to himself when passing the burnt out remains of a long house, that a fire has obviously got out of control at some time and not recently as far as he can tell. He has to take a deep breath before passing an open waste pit by the road.

The grass is churned up and the main thoroughfare is a sea of mud after the recent rain. The large white washed building in the square is where they head. Coming to a stop in front of what is obviously the main entrance, Caesar stays on his horse as he addresses the waiting Kedehern, who stands before him flanked by four disarmed warriors as agreed. Without preamble he starts.

"I come this day to accept your offer of peace and the tribute you have for us," pausing he looks at Kedehern in the eye. "We hope that our peoples can be friends and allies. You will be offered the opportunity to become citizens of Rome and enjoy the protection that we give to our allies."

He looks again at a silent unmoving Kedehern.

To his annoyance centurion Persious Maximus interrupts him. Leaning over to him, he whispers in a low tone to Caesar some news that has just come from an informant. Listening with interest he takes a few seconds to decide, while many eyes watch him.

Caesar eventually turns and commands again in low tones to his centurion. "This chief is to come into custody we have to talk to him and I want you to send a cohort after the mules right away."

Turning to Kedehern he welcomes him in a friendly way.

"You are to come with us. There is no question about it. Do not worry for all will be well."

An unwilling Kedehern is checked for weapons and helped onto a spare horse. In the middle of the troop and under close watch he is escorted behind Caesar, as they leave for the journey back to the Roman camp.

Later, in the large reception tent where Caesar is sitting relaxing after his evening meal, Kederhem is led before him with his hands secured behind his back and a guard on each side of him.

"I have invited you back with us so you can explain where your tribute is, for there is no sign of it."

Kedehern is silent and makes no attempt to acknowledge Caesar or the fact that he spoke his language.

"I have been told that you have a good collection of pearls from your shores," after a pause.

"What do you say to that? Come on, I thought all you Celts were eloquent.

"Caesar if I had any they would be yours," Kedehern finally says.

"How can I believe you?" Caesar hesitates for a few seconds to let this sink in, then adds.

"Kedehern, I have a problem, the Coriosolites are a community trading in fish, pottery and lead with Britannia. You must have coffers of coin at least. You can pay me in your coins if you prefer, I do not mind for I am a reasonable man."

"Caesar, we are poor. Trade is not as you may think, we can give little."

"Then recall the two loaded down mules that were seen leaving your town as they headed for the hills a few hours ago, I will accept them and there will be no reprisals."

"This is most fair of you but you have been wrongly informed," pleads Kedehern.

"Guards put him in chains, I will be back shortly."

Standing up, Caesar leaves the tent and speaks with his secretary Alus Galleria. Returning just ten minutes later with a large silver goblet of wine; sipping thoughtfully for a minute or two, he places it on a nearby table.

"Do not take me for a fool, for you shall pay dearly. You are not a popular leader, chief, or whatever you call yourself, are you? I have had several reports now about this mule train, one says five mules. So we are at this minute torturing the informant to see if it is true. It is your last chance to recall the mules; do you agree to hand them over?"

Caesar is standing and looking down in disgust on the undignified Kedehern now lying on the carpeted floor covered in chains.

"This is your last chance...Well?" Caesar barks at him. There is no answer.

"You will never see your tribe again."

"You can start on him right away and keep it quiet, for I wish to retire now," orders Caesar.

"It will be done, you will have your answer by daybreak I am sure," said Persious Maximus standing to attention and hiding a smile on his face, for he knows there is a freshly bathed and perfumed young lady from Corseul awaiting Caesar in his tent ready to receive her reward for good information.

Soon familiar sounds from the tent drift around the fortified site as Caesar vents his passion.

While Kedehern, at this time is hung in chains by his ankles in agonising fashion, from a specially erected wooden crossbar. An early start to a long night of painful attention, administered by Caesar's special torture division. With a mouth full of rags he utters his first feeble scream.

*************


Writers notes.

I have found no records of fighting between the Coriosolite tribe and the Romans. But I'm sure that skirmishes took place, for some of these warriors will have fought alongside the Unelli and this most probably would have been noticed by Caesar, who was known to be vengeful when this happened.


Chapter 3
The Jersey Hoard.

By write hand blue














Grouville Bay Jersey.

"Keep going we cannot stop here," urges Euderyn.

Four miles east of St Helier the capital town, our small band of sixteen warriors and five laden mules have made good time. Wading ashore and alert for any signs of people, they know that Jersey has only a small population. Mostly concentrated in the small town for defence. This is after lucrative slave raids in previous years by their own people the Coriosolites, had decimated the rural population.

Without pausing they struggle up the soft sand of this sloping beach before heading inland. Over sand dunes at first, then open land, their advance inland is slow. Until they pick up an ancient trail snaking its way between small copses, they stop to rest only when they reach the top of a hill and are a little way inland. While they all rest Eudeyrn stands on a fallen tree, with his hand to his forehead he looks out across the misty sea.

"Damn! I can see some small boats two or three miles away, they must have found them in a nearby village." (He neglects to say that he can see a centuria of eighty Romans on their way). "Prepare a position here where we can stand and defend ourselves."

Jumping down he continues.

"The Romans are following us and they must know we have valuables. They will soon be here then we will fight in our glorious tradition and leave this world naked, as we entered it. Remember we fight to the finish for all survivors will be tortured for information."

Eudeyrn's hand is still on his sword as his eyes scan everyone in this small band of fifteen warriors before him, the best in Northern Gaul... All strong and fierce, a rag tag murderous assortment, from the top fighting families in the tribe.

"Stay here, all you lot! Anyone trying to follow us will feed my sword."

His right hand half draws his sword from his scabbard as a warning. This is heeded by everyone for they know there will be no hesitation by this man. They also know that they have little time left and soon they will all enjoy glorious battle.

"Watch out for us; prepare your blades and feed yourselves... We will be back soon."

Eudeyrn backs away in the normal fashion out of sword range and turns towards his five bodyguards.

"Come with me."

Waving his hand, his five bodyguards follow him with the five tired staggering mules in single file down the trail. On muddy tracks they tread their way through lush growing land with no sign of people or their homes.

Making slow but steady progress the cargo on the mules bumping at this slow pace, a tinkling sound can be heard with each step; above the squeak of the leather harnesses. This is the cause of much concern and the reason why as they journeyed those few miles to the shore in Gaul, they have had to silence a further two more villagers of their own tribe who were stupid enough to notice and understand what they were carrying.

"I fear the Gods have forced all this upon us, perhaps this is a test? Are you Gods all on the Roman's side?"

Eudeyrn looks skyward as he asks these question; their need of rest is far from their minds as they march ever forward at his command.

"This treasure, collected as tax and tribute; with much use made of the sword to extract gold from the tribe all to give to Vercingetorix... Our hero and hope for the future... Are we to use it for this purpose or will it just moulder away in some field? Answer me!"

His shouts disappear as Eudeyrn listens intently for a sign, only the soft sounds of the trees stirring in the breeze, the squeaking of the leather harness and the clink of coins can be heard. These sounds are the only answer in this living forest.

"I met Vercingetorix once, he spoke to a few of us and I swear there is witchcraft in his words. He has a hatred of the Romans so rare to see. They say his family was slaughtered by them."

He urges them on.

"We must succeed in this struggle to keep this treasure away from the Roman hordes sweeping across our lands."

"You push from the rear and I will pull the reins," he says, grabbing hold he helps Elisedd to raise his stumbled mule.

"They will go further," he says although the pace is slowing down now to a crawl."

Walking up and down the line of mules encouraging his bodyguards to keep alert, he has walked further than anyone. Remembering his lump of pig dripping fat, he unfastens the draw string from his belt of the small pouch and squeezes some into his mouth. This keeps him quiet for a short time as he enjoys the rich flavour. Never relaxing for a second he listens as his fellow tribesmen swear in the fashion of the times struggling to drag the animals over the uneven ground... but only 'Eudeyrn' dares to curse the gods.

"This will buy an army in Britannia for they want to see the slaughter of these invading Roman bastards as we do. Our hope is for one great victorious battle to cast them with help from the Gods off our lands."

He spits on the ground for emphasis as he regains his breath.

"We must find the right place... so help me."

Raising his sword aloft, filling with anger he shouts.

"I spit on the God's arses for this situation. I Eudeyrn do curse the Gods."

A fearful whisper can be heard passing between the warriors, as they exclaim their shock at such blaspheming at a time like this.

"Come on all you warriors..." He urges. "You fighters of men and beasts... you sons of Esus, we have much to do, for if we wait for the Gods, then I'm sure death will come first."
Trysan, who is Eudeyrn's best swordsman, lightens the situation a little as he says.

"We will bury it too deep for these tiny Romans to find, they will not be able to reach it with their little arms."

A joker, he is a formidable warrior at six feet two inches tall and as strong as an ox. It is well known that the Romans are a small race.

"These beasts are exhausted after that long crossing at low tide, let them drink in this stream before we cross, for we have further to go. Take water for yourselves, this may be the last chance," says Eudeyrn, for well aware is he that they are all tired out and still soaked in sea water after the crossing.

It is taking some time to move any distance over rough ground with many obstacles, the mules and their loads taking an hour to cover two miles. Before them can be seen a wisp of smoke rising up into the late afternoon sky, eventually revealing to them as they approach, a small thatched single room cottage of wattle and daub standing in the corner of a field.

An old man sees them coming from inside the hovel, but it is too late for him. Dirty and covered in a rag, slow with age, he tries to escape and rushes out straight into the thrusting sword of Eudeyrn. With a scream he falls to the ground, the sword deeply imbedded in his chest.

"Dam you."

Eudeyrn curses as he struggles to remove the bloodied sword from body of this hapless twitching man. With a savage twist and a pull it eventually comes free and the death throes cease...

***********

Writers notes.
Facts have emerged during my research to indicate, that in the first century BC Jersey was important as a staging post for trade between Gaul and Britannia.

Gaul = was the territory of over thirty Gallic tribes covering roughly the area of France and Belgium.
Britannia = the Roman name for modern day Britain.


Chapter 4
A site is found chapter four.

By write hand blue














End of Chapter Three.

The progress has been slow over rough ground with many obstacles, the mules and their loads taking an hour to cover two miles. In the distance can be seen a wisp of smoke rising in the late afternoon sky. Eventually coming into view is a small, thatched, single room cottage, of wattle and daub construction, standing in the corner of a field.

An old man sees them coming from inside his hovel, but it is too late. Dirty, covered in a rag and slow with age, he tries to escape, rushing out straight into the thrusting sword of Eudeyrn. With a scream he falls to the ground, with the sword deeply imbedded in his chest.

"Damn you," Eudeyrn curses as he struggles to remove the blooded blade from the body of this hapless twitching man. With a twist and a pull it comes free and the death throes cease...



The Jersey Hoard

Chapter Four.

A Site Is Found.



Normally Euderyn would wipe the blade on the grass and replace this valuable sword into its scabbard.

"You will not sleep tonight for there's work to do," he says to his blood soaked weapon, his best friend. A quick look confirms the old man lived alone.

"Hide the bags here! We have little time."

Eudeyrn points to a gooseberry bush; and thirty heavy bags are piled underneath.
"Three of us will dig out the pit in the corner of this cabbage patch, by this stinking pigsty of a place. And you three will patrol," Eudeyrn knows he need say no more.

"I want it three arms long and as deep as a tall man," he says as he attacks the soft earth with his sword.

"You will hear nothing but curses until it is dug, for this is all taking far too long."

Shaking his head, for he has never used his sword for this purpose. An old wooden bucket they found is put into use. In silence, three of them labour at top speed, digging deeper and deeper to make a pit; working to a common purpose, to make this, 'their' treasure safe. Taking turns to dig, while the other three keep guard and patrol the area, ready to silence anyone unfortunate enough to witness the proceedings. Eventually the pit is deep enough to hide a man, and Eudeyrn is satisfied.

"Right pass the bags down. Come on now! We don't want Caesar to get his hands on them."

Still working at top speed and perspiring in spite of the cool evening air. They carefully lower the thirty large and heavy bags into the pit, piling them three bags deep.

Filling this hole is tedious work, though much easier than the reverse. One bag had leaked some coins out of an opened seam. This is noticed only when the hole is half re-filled with earth, so the several handfuls of loose coins are thrown into the pit. The area is leveled off, removing all traces.

"Thank the Gods it will be dark in an hour or so, all the better for us," said one of the warriors.

"Right, let the mules go, we have no further need for them."
The men look at Eudeyrn, as he frees the valuable animals and kicks them on their way to disperse them.

"We will all be tortured if the Romans find any of these mules with us, for then they will know for sure, that we carried something."

Heads nod in agreement, as they make their way back to the main party. Worn out and looking forward to something to eat and drink, they hear something.
A distant scream tells them that contact has been made.

"That was a Roman cry, I am sure of that," says one of the warriors, to encourage the others.

Running now and anxious not to miss the action; for it is a fact that these men are warriors, who have trained all their life to fight, kill and revel in battle.

"Yes, and there will be others when I get my hands on these pygmies. For with the help of the gods, I will make the journey to the other world in good company," Grannus raises his sword in the direction they are running.

The others all yell out in agreement and the adrenalin is starting to flow. With all thoughts of rest forgotten, their shouts echo their excitement, as they stop briefly to cover themselves with blue woad.

"Forward," they shout, for this is a fight they are looking forward to.
Eudeyrn and his five warriors return, to their tribal compatriots they have left just two hours before. By now shouts, screams of warning and pain can be heard above the assorted clangs, as swords clash.

Romans enter the edge of the forest en-mass and launch a dozen or more pila together on command. Thuds are heard when they hit the shields of the Coriosolites; designed to penetrate, two screams confirm this.

Meanwhile, Eudeyrn and his small band run forward screaming, as they launch a surprise attack on the right flank of the advancing Roman legionnaires. These are heading a fighting force, five times the size of the Celts. Fierce fighting ensues and the Celts put up a brave fight, giving a good account of themselves.

****

Centurion Quintus Cato, is unhappy with the timing of this development. His scouts were seeking the Celts, when surprised. He knows that Caesar takes no chances and always likes to pick the time and place for battle, always seeking the advantage.

Fighting in the dusk is risky and this puts his troops in danger of high casualties. But now, he must respond and orders the main body of the troops to advance, to the perimeter of the large wooded area. Leaving a small force to guard the base.

****

Eudeyrn and his bodyguards fall back for a short rest... Then they rush to join in the battle, where the fighting is the most intense and hand to hand. The Romans advance forward through the trees towards them... Giving no quarter, Eudeyrn, is where he has been trained...nay... born to be. He charges forward in double time, faster than anyone else, into the Roman line.

The Romans are now all deployed and outnumbering the Coriosilite warriors. In the forest with no room to throw their pila, they push forward slashing left and right.

Eudeyrn has to fall back again with his small remaining band of fellow warriors, reluctantly leaving the area.

"They are devils," shouts a Roman legionare, as a small group of bloodied Romans retreat back the way they came.

Having the advantage of numbers and organisation the Romans continue forward in a line between the trees.

"Stay together and follow me."

Eudeyrn's screams join the rest of the survivors. With their swords flailing above their heads like sycamore leaves. This bright blue bunch of screaming Celtic fighters stream forward, wide eyed. To their destinies they charge. Mayhem the mother of destruction prevails.

The Romans, because of their training hold rank and gradually pick off the Celts, one at a time.

Attacking the Roman wall of shields, Trysan drags a shield forward. This pulls the Roman off balance. A flash of Trysan's sword and his throat is slashed as he falls. Parrying the wildly flaying gladius with his shield, he thrusts the sword down under the helmet and it grinds to a stop. The body goes limp as the spinal cord is severed and blood pumps out everywhere. The man is dead before his arm falls to the ground.

Blood lust rules, as men shout and scream; injuries and death is administered with fanatical enthusiasm.

"Look out Trysan behind you," Eudeyrn shouts a warning.

It is too late to save his friend. As a gladius is thrust into his back between his ribs, mortally wounded, his friend falls forward.

"Arrgh...! You will die for that."

The red mist of anger a fuel to impetuous acts, clouds the mind of Eudeyrn, as he charges with his sword at the Roman.

The legionnaire whirls around and his gladius produces a deep slash across Eudeyrn's left upper arm. He dives forward and his sword penetrates between the leather scales and into the legionaries heart, before he can react.

Backing off with some survivors, they regroup and charge again. Though weakened his injury is ignored.

This chaos continues for some time. During a lull in the fighting while the combatants separate and pause to regain their strength, Eudeyrn hears a familiar whispered voice.

"Eudeyrn, help me, finish me off. I would do the same for you." The words hardly more than a whisper, lying on the grass behind a bush, covered in wounds, he finds Brennus a boy he grew up with.

"Here," he moans pointing to his chest.

"Join the Gods," says Eudeyrn in a soft voice, for he knows it is hopeless for his friend. Hesitating for just a second and with some regret, he carefully drives his razor sharp dagger in between his friend's lower ribs to the hilt. This is a last kindness to a friend.

Outnumbered by the Romans, it is not long before their numbers start to dwindle and they have to fight a retreating action. Now, it is every man for himself and the chase is on, as the Romans race to catch the survivors. The Coriosolites are routed as they retreat to regroup.

Eudeyrn, is left with just two bodyguards, his old friends Elisedd, Seisyll and six others still fighting a rearguard action, as they run across the forest pursued by the Romans.

Out of breath, Elisedd manages to gasp... "You go ahead Eudeyrn and we will fight to delay the Romans... you must escape and go back... to our people, so the site is known..."

Elisedd runs off with Seisyll following closely, both, without a backward glance.

"We will meet again," Eudeyrn calls after them...

**************


Writers notes.
Pila = standard Roman iron tipped spear.


Chapter 5
Eudeyrn's escape chapter five.

By write hand blue







Eudeyrn's Escape.

Nothing more is said as the surviving warriors scatter and disappear back into the forest to face the Romans. Eudeyrn knows that they will not survive the night and he must escape. Quickly darting to one side he disappears into the blackness of the dense undergrowth.

Chanting under his breath time and time again, "They will not get me."
He forces his way into the middle of a dense thicket of gorse bushes. These bushes, higher than his head and almost impenetrable, were planted by the Jersey people for defence.

Somehow he is able to disregard the many thorns digging deep into his flesh. Low laughter emits for a grimacing face; while bulging eyes indicate the pain level he quietly endures. Euderyn is in a murderous mood, "May the gods help any man who comes near me."

He has no fear, knowing that no man can match his speed and skill as a warrior.

Hiding in a gorse bush is an old trick he has heard of... With little interest, he passes the time slowly removing the mass of thorns, one at a time, from his good arm, his legs, side and face. He barely notices the slashed arm and the blood dripping down his side. He decides to hide and await the safety of a moonless black night.

The Romans make camp.


"We will search for survivors tomorrow at first light," said centurion Quintus Cato in charge of a troop, now well under strength ; unaware of the importance of this mission he is responsible for.

"Our casualties are high, at six dead and eighteen wounded," reports Tiberius, his second in command," a man of much experience.

This is the first patrol I have led and with all these casualties to account for. Caesar will not be pleased," said Quintus Cato.

"Not one of them has surrendered. We must find the load they were carrying, for if we do not, there may be consequences when we return to Caesar. We can try searching with fire brands." Said Tiberious.

"No! We have lost enough men... Back to Camp!" orders Quintus and they march off with the rest of the troop following behind.

The Escape.

Later.

Eudeyrn is still safely hidden inside some gorse bushes. Wrapping his arm with a strip of material from his leg binding in the Celtic way, he manages to slow down the blood loss. Rain pours over him and soon he is saturated. His spirits are lifted as he realises, that this will help to cover any traces of the digging.

All is quiet, on this the darkest of nights. Until he hears something move in the distance, he strains to listen and knows that it is one of the mules so recently set free. Carefully standing up, he pushes his way out of the bushes the thorns attacking him again, He tries to walk, feeling unwell, only now does he realise how weak he is, from loss of blood.

Fortune is with him and soon, he is astride the reluctant mule. Heading for the coast he is careful to return along a different path. Daybreak is two hours away as Eudeyrn reaches the shore. With the tide on its way down and desperate to return to his village, he rides out across the gullies and sand banks. With the water up to the mule's underbelly at times, he makes his escape into the black night, completely invisible from land.

*****

Next morning, the Romans make a wide sweep that covers the whole eastern end of the island. Looking for the mules that have been reported to be with the Coriosolites, they burn all before them, pillaging anything of value.

The little hovel where they find the murdered old man, is set on fire as a matter of course. A number of cabbages are taken and the digging site now looks just like any other patch of soggy ground. The remaining four mules are found grazing later that day, having wandered away from the area.

*****

Caesar is furious with Kedehern, who under torture confirms all the details that have been revealed by the informants... plus the fact that the treasure is destined for Jersey. That morning as soon as the information is known, Caesar directs his trusty centurion Persious Maximus, in command of thirty troops to go with all haste to Jersey, and, 'help' centurion Quintus Cato. With the promise of a reward of one hundred gold crowns if they recover the treasure, he knows that he can trust him. Persious also takes five men from the torture division with him.

Eudeyrn Returns.


Riding without stopping, he approaches Corseul and is exhausted. His shoulder wound throbbing badly, with a fever starting to take hold.

He meets Belinus and his brother Albin from the family Eratos. Finding Eudeyrn leaning forward on the mule, they insist on helping him, now he is weak and unable to walk. With enough awareness about him to realise that these brothers are not to be trusted.

Smuggling Euderyn into town unseen on the mule, he is taken to their house. Hidden out of sight of the Romans, he is treated for his infected wound. His pain defused by a liberal intake of beer; he is unable not to scream, as spider's webs are pushed into the wound. With a covering of fresh sphagnum moss this is held in place with strips of rag.

Lying on the bed for two days he battles the infection, his raging fever attended by the women of the family. In a lucid moment he is aware of an audience of six warriors, all are intent on learning the location of the treasure and forwarding it to Versingetorix.

Later it is while lying resting on the bed, due to the quiet conditions, he overhears the two brothers talking quietly outside, some distance away. He listens carefully.

"That was a good idea of yours to send Judoc to see Ceasar," said Albin.

"It worked well, for Keduryn is gone now," agrees his brother Belinus..

"All we need is the location... we will have our day. And father will be chief at last," said Albin.

"We must make Eudeyrn show us the location before we... you know... All that wealth, the coins and gold will make our family strong," adds Belinus.

Gravely ill with pus oozing from the infected slash wound Eudeyrn manages to sit up. The shock of hearing that conversation gives him a temporary boost. Feeling far from helpless, being well able to take a life if need be.

He knows there is little he can do about the situation. With only his heavily pregnant sister he has no one left on his side he can trust. They have all been killed fighting on Jersey. If only he had a living brother. Even Trysan by his side would have changed the situation, no one would have dared to plot as these brothers are doing. He remembers his friend and believes he will soon join him.
Later the two brothers arrive to talk to Eudeyrn.

Keeping his wound covered he has seen the dark blotch that has appeared around the wound. He knows what this means and stalls for time... so precious now, with so little left. With his body trembling and a face dripping with leaking fever, he manages to say in a strong voice.

"I need rest so I can regain my strength."

Aware that this is the last thing the brothers would want. He knows also that he is safe in their hands until the location of the treasure is known. This does not stop him holding on to his dagger under his cloak.

"Eudeyrn, you must show us the site, so we can pass on our tribute to Versingetorix, as your father would have wished," Belinus, leaves this for Euderyn to reflect on for a second or two...then.

"We can leave right away, for the Romans have returned from Jersey."

Unable to resist and not caring for his fate, Euderyn allows himself to be loaded onto a small horse drawn cart. Placing him carefully inside a pile of hay, where hidden from sight, no vengeful villagers can see him.

With no option but to take the shortest route, six Coriosolite warriors and a small cart set off for Jersey.

That evening the party find themselves at the causeway leading to Jersey. There, they spot a Roman patrol and have to wait for it to pass out of sight. At low tide the crossing is made with some apprehension, for they must not be seen.

The setting sun alleviates some of the tension felt by the six Coriosolite warriors. Nothing can be done until daylight, so a few hours of rest follow their arrival on the shores of Jersey.

Eudeyrn, is in a bad way for the hours he spent being jolted about in the cart has only made him worse. Neither medicine nor strange chant helps him.

"Where is the help from the gods when you want them?" he asks in between his moments of delirium.

"For I can see them but they don't help me... Damn them all," he says over and over again.

Euderyn's escort look at one another, hoping he will live long enough. For this kind of battle wound is well known to them and few survive once that smell starts.

With extreme effort, he directs the escorts who are guiding the cart along a track that he traveled so recently. Signs of the battle can be seen, areas of worthless debris, shredded clothing, split shields, etc.

Progress is slow with the cart. He keeps his gaze to the left, as he lies there on the cart cushioned by the hay. Taking great effort, as his mind tries to drift, he keeps conscious.

At first he has an impulse to call out as they approach the small field, but, HE SAYS NOTHING. Looking for that small hovel, he can see that it has been burnt to the ground. The cabbage patch is just a bare patch of land, soon to be covered in grass and weeds. He knows this is the place and what he has to say.

"Carry on for we have a way to go yet."

With his work done, a whisper of a smile steals across his face and the fever is back. Progress is slowing further as Eudeyrn lapses in and out of consciousness unable now to do more than raise his head. Some time later he says.

"We must go back for we have passed it. It is by a large tree next to a hedge you will see it," these are the last words Eudeyrn says before he laps finally into unconsciousness.

One by one, Eudeyrn's internal organs shut down due to stemic shock, caused by gangrene. He dies that evening, taking the location of the hoard to his grave (located somewhere in the East of the island).

Several visits were made to Jersey to search for the treasure during the short lives of the warriors who accompanied Eudeyrn. With close attention to his directions nothing was found...

END

Writers notes.

It may be of interest to note that Caesar was active in this area of Gaul for a further year.

If this had happened as I described, to admit that the mules have been found and no treasure and together with the casualties, this would have been a serious offence, with Quintus Cato held responsible. It is likely that Caesar would have had him quietly tortured and put to death to check that nothing had been found and to make sure he couldn't gain if he was lying. Many of the Coriosolites would have been tortured, or held hostage to loosen a few tongues, had Caesar thought that any of them had definite knowledge about the location of the treasure buried. Perhaps they were tortured, for history is silent about the history of the Corisolite tribe.

In spite of the acidic soil, charcoal and post holes have been found in the vicinity of the hoard. I think I am right about human bones also being found previously in the area.

According to Jersey folklore the last crossing was on horseback in about 1640 AD. It is believed that the land has sunk over the years; now requiring a boat to cross.

Because of the location, size and importance of this find I felt compelled to write something. Starting with the idea of just writing 1500 words or so, it soon expanded to over 8,000. A learning process that during the research has opened my eyes, to how life was in those times. And how we know practically nothing about Celtic tribes in general. It has given me pleasure writing this account of what I think may have happened those many years ago.

This story is about fighting and so is gory by nature, I have not gone to excessive lengths in my descriptions. But this is how it must have been and I make no apologies.

If anyone thinks that this story is a bit fantastic, please remember that truth can be even stranger than fiction. And something did happen.

My thanks to c-lucas for this excellent article www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-2164897/iron-age-coins-worth-10m-discovered-jersey-metal-detector-friends.
"The Jersey Hoard."


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