The Cortés Enigma (34 page)

46

The Great Work Mine was located south of the house, in the southernmost part of the estate. Once upon a time it had been the fulcrum of the estate: the family business.

Originally it had been one of three mines located nearby. West Godolphin some five miles west, once leased out to a cost book company. Godolphin Mine to the north, a copper mine in use until the 1840s.

Across the estate, there were an estimated 140 mine shafts.

The Great Work Mine was undoubtedly the largest of the nearby mines. Employing an estimated 3,000 people, it was celebrated not only as among the finest in Cornwall but Britain. By 1715, rapidly increasing production saw the family add a steam engine, its furnaces repaired using the clays of Tregonning Hill, which rose above the site like a small mountain.

Then come 1780, the mine was in decline. Twenty years later it closed forever.

As was every remaining mine on the estate.

Colts couldn’t believe he’d missed something so blindingly obvious.

“You see that?” he asked Ben as they approached Godolphin Hill across the fields on a golf buggy.

Ben sat alongside Colts while Valeria rode in the back where golf clubs would normally be. Directly in front of him he saw two large hills, their greenery occasionally interrupted by isolated buildings.

“What about it?”

“Back in the 1700s the Great Work Mine was as successful as any in the county, arguably the heart of it. Then in around 1800, they just plain closed it, sold off the equipment, shut it all up. Plenty of room to hide a large treasure.”

As the buggy continued across the field, its wheels rattling, its balance shifting from side to side as it traversed the irregular surface, Ben noticed something else, another building between the areas of greenery. On the other side of a line of trees was a large chimney by a ruined building. A thin giant spout rose into the air like a gigantic funnel; while its upper portion was red, the colour of brick, the lower section was grey, pure granite, the same as the nearby building.

For the first time Ben recognised what it was; even though he had never seen it before, he understood from the layout what was going on.

Tin mining had once been prominent in Cornwall. Even before he’d met Colts, he knew the gist. It was the era of open cast and, more importantly, the use of gunpowder. A single blast could achieve more than a week with pickaxes. As the technology grew more sophisticated, progress came faster.

It was the heart of the Godolphins’ success.

Colts stopped the buggy on reaching the former mine buildings, and everyone quickly got off the vehicle.

The pumping engine house was now a derelict building. Vegetation was growing wildly around the sides, the doors and framework of old windows now largely disappeared. The upper half of the building had also vanished, leaving only an empty void where the roof had once been. Metres away was the chimney, now cold and sombre, a stone skeleton drawing in clean air, the fires of the past long forgotten.

Ben could hear things, not just the sounds of nature. There was a road nearby, connecting a small residential area, judging from the map nothing more than a hamlet.

“Where are we heading?” Ben asked as Colts circled the former pumping station for a second time. The ruined building, probably no more than ten metres in length on either side, and the chimney were the only two stone structures in the near vicinity.

“That all depends,” Colts said, opening the door and entering the station. The inside was effectively a large cavity, offering no evidence of past machinery, no clues…just weeds and grass growing uncontrolled.

It was a total ruin.

“That depends on what the missing piece of the puzzle actually said.”

The helicopter moved overhead, changing direction as it passed over a hill.

“How long?” Cortés asked Pizarro, who was concentrating on an electronic tablet in the next seat.

“Four miles,” he said, his concentration bringing fire to his eyes. “Over the next hill.”

Those two physical reminders were two of only three obvious structures, all of which were now open to the general public. The third was smaller, little more than a hole in the ground. A car park was located less than fifty metres away, presently deserted. Two long footpaths bisected the woodland that surrounded them on every side. The air here was cool. A steady breeze moved in from the south, causing the leaves to rustle and the branches to move. Birds tweeted as if delighting in personal conversation, the sounds of other animals – squirrels, hedgehogs, wild rabbits – moving among them as if playing hide and seek both with each other and the humans. With the weather improving, the woodland possessed a soft dreamlike quality: no matter where they walked, the midday sun seemed caught in a permanent point in the sky, its light dancing on the branches of the trees. To Ben, it felt like being trapped in history, a bygone time. There was no evidence of modern-day facilities, man-made structures…even cars passing along the nearby lane were a rarity. It was as if the Godolphin days had returned, the timeless environment swallowing them up.

Ben was last in the trail, behind Valeria in the middle and Colts at the front. They had left the path several minutes previously; instead Colts was taking them across open ground.

“I hope you have at least some idea what you’re looking for,” Ben yelled.

“You know I don’t. Didn’t you listen?”

The southern part of the Godolphin estate was an even larger wilderness than the rest. Despite the passing of time, its features had stayed the same. For every house or road between the nearby villages, some as far as five miles away, there were a hundred trees, mounts of earth, hills and fields that remained unchanged and unspoiled.

Visually matching the features of the replica emeralds.

Ben knew the missing trumpet was the key.

“Where are we now? Compared to the emeralds?”

Colts stopped as he reached the end of the woodland. They were standing at the side of a field. Godolphin was invisible, hidden in the distance by a mask of trees. A large farm was located to their right; every other feature was natural. Tregonning Hill in the near distance rose into the sky like the side of a triangle, its unusual features cloaking the horizon.

Colts had a thought. “Get those rocks out, boy. Sharp now.”

Ben followed his instruction and removed them from his bag, asking Valeria for help. They held them out in their hands, the trumpet, whose features represented the former Great Work Mine, was the only omission.

“Would you look at that,” Colts said, comparing the artificial sights in their hands to the real things. “Makes you proud to be alive, don’t it?”

Again Ben had no idea where this was going. “Come again?”

“Tregonning Hill was an important site for the Godolphins. No one really knows how it got to be that shape.”

Ben looked, again seeing nothing out of the ordinary. The hill leaned at a strange angle; it was not smooth or rounded. It seemed incredible that it was a natural phenomenon. “I’m gonna go out on a limb. Mining sometimes alters the landscape.”

“You honestly think it could be mining related?”

Ben shrugged. “I’ve seen stranger.”

Colts invited Ben for a different view. “Try here, kiddo.”

Ben walked to where Colts was standing, his view similar to before, but different by a good few degrees. The angle of the hill was different, without question more explicit.

A lifetime specialising in European history gave him an answer before Colts had time to speak.

“I suggest we go take a closer look.”

Watching from the air, the view was far better. Cortés had noticed nothing on the first pass. It was only from further away the hill revealed its true significance.

For Cortés the revelation was magnificent, almost emotional. In his dreams he had been there, standing before the answer: it had been in the deepest caves, the highest mountains, the bluest oceans…

Never had he imagined something quite like this.

It took Pizarro longer to catch on, but when he did, he was also in no doubt.

“It’s beautiful.”

Cortés concurred.

“Set her down. We proceed on foot.”

47

Tregonning Hill was an easy walk, at least in terms of distance. All in all, from the woodland, it was less than five hundred metres to the foot.

Next came the summit.

All of the nearby hills formed part of the estate, managed by the Trust but open to the public. Even when the house was let out, people from all around could walk the ruins, enjoy the scenery, and explore what remained of the old mine.

Ben was relieved that today they had decided against it.

There were footpaths everywhere, dissecting Tregonning and the nearby Godolphin Hill from top to bottom. They followed the main pathway, its rocky surface cutting through the greenery like a sharp knife. Though it was a long way up, the route was straightforward, winding and rising at a gentle angle, even Colts had no problems with the climb.

On reaching the top, they stopped.

“Would you look at that?” Colts said.

Ben and Valeria took in the view. Colts wasn’t kidding. St Michael’s Mount was visible in the distance, the gentle sea lapping against the ancient rock. Further north, St Ives appeared in beautiful isolation, its many fine buildings shrouded in a fine sea mist. In every direction there was beauty, beauty of all ages, the old, the timeless and the new.

Cornwall at its very best.

Ben stood, hands on hips, breathing in the clean country air. Even ten miles inland he could feel the freshness of the sea.

“Well, this is all very nice,” he said, eyeing Colts with a piercing stare. “But it doesn’t really answer any questions.”

Colts was equally annoyed. The view was one of the finest in Cornwall, the focal point of the area.

“Just hold your horses,” he said, his expression for once letting him down. Somewhere, somehow, he was near the entrance to the mine.

The treasure was in the mine, he was certain.

Ben was becoming impatient. “Colts?”

“Ever noticed what the inside of a trumpet looks like, Ben? It’s all hollow like. Makes a great big sound.”

“What?”

“See, I never saw this trumpet.”

“Well, it looked kinda normal. Except for the keys.”

“Except for the keys?”

“It matched the pumping station. The chimney was the main key.”

“See, question is, Ben. Why use a trumpet?”

“Because it was one of the original emeralds Cortés gave to his wife.”

“Uh-huh.” He gestured back toward the pumping station, the red-bricked chimney edging up above the trees. “Question is. What’s underneath?”

Ben understood the point. “We know the mine is underneath. The only thing…”

Finally he had it.

A thousand feet above the ground, the helicopter came in for another pass. The hill was the key. The mine was also the key.

The question was how to get in.

As Busquets changed direction, Cortés noticed something down below. A vehicle was moving, like a car, only smaller.

“Pass me those binoculars again,” he asked of Pizarro, who handed them over. The vehicle had a white roof, four wheels; it made good progress over the fields, something a car would struggle with. He couldn’t see the driver or whoever was seated alongside him.

The woman on the backseat was far easier to view.