Lynda Kristiansen continues her fictional journey through Scotland’s Wars of Independence in the fourteenth century. It’s a tale of courage and treachery, and is a brilliant way to learn of our history. Please enjoy this extract.

The Bruce’s Treasure
By Lynda Kristiansen
Published by Ringwood

Bertrand could be as argumentative as he liked if he did what he was told and recognised she was in charge.  

His eyes followed her as she climbed over all the mounds, still curious, but he didn’t ask any more questions and feigned disinterest. He was like many brutes – adept at following orders, but unlike a leader, he had little interest in why.   

‘Madame, let us know if you need us to join you.’ Madame could tell this was what he thought he should say rather than what he wanted to say.  

She shook her head and continued to wade through each pile, throwing pieces to either side.  

‘Did you find any sign of the keel when you were scouring the river?’ She continued rummaging. 

‘No, whoever sent the fireship set the explosion where the river is deepest, and the water is still full of a devil’s mixture of soot, mud, and charcoal. You can only see a few feet down from the side of any ship.’  

‘Send more free divers to take a look?’ Madame continued to scrutinise each mound. 

‘Madame, there are no more to be found in these parts. The peasants consider it a mistake to learn to swim, and we would have to send south for the Persian divers. And in any case, you can’t see your hand in front of your eyes.’  

Baldwin cleared his throat, spat on the ground, and placed his hands directly in front of his eyes to illustrate his point. 

Bertrand pulled a small chest which had miraculously survived almost intact from one of the piles and sat on the lid, followed quickly by Baldwin. He then produced a small flask from inside his tabard and seemed to drink most of the contents before he handed the flask to Baldwin. 

She was now covered in more filth as she progressed deeper into each mound. Blackened sweat started to drip into her eyes, stinging them, rendering her vision blurred. As she attempted to wipe the moisture away, she only made things worse, but it was of no consequence, as she had found what she was looking for deep in one of the mounds.  

Her exertion had aggravated her wound, the pain was excruciating so whilst her companions drank, she removed a leather pouch from her tunic which was filled with poppy juice that Olivier de Pau had provided. She felt underneath her woollen shirt and recognised the sticky, warm sensation of fresh blood. 

‘Madame, did you find anything in those piles of rubbish?’ Bertrand mocked, emboldened by the contents of the flask. 

She could see both men grinning. ‘Indeed, I have.’ 

She kicked the chest onto its side, surprising the brothers, who fell onto the muddy ground. 

‘What have you found?’ Bertrand struggled to get up from his backside. 

She pulled the chest upright. ‘Sit, and I will explain.’  

The brothers sat down, and Bertrand produced another flask. 

‘Some people will tell you lies. Others will tell you what they believe to be the truth and mislead, despite genuine intent. Evidence has no voice. It cannot lie, and it tells me a lot without any concerns about truth or the perception of truth. The trick is interpreting what it is shouting out. What are you looking like and what is it telling you?’  

Madame pointed at the largest heap and drew a frame in the air around the detritus with her hands. 

‘Isn’t it obvious? It tells me everything was destroyed, and the barge is at the bottom of the Seine.’ Baldwin delivered his conclusion with the ignorance she had come to expect. Bertrand simply nodded and continued drinking. 

‘That is partially true. The wood I threw to the right is covered in soot and a black resin, which is tar mixed with the magical black powder that created such carnage. The explosion has blinded your senses. You are ignoring what is in plain sight and what is missing from these remnants.’ 

‘You are sounding like a sorceress. Be careful.’ Bertrand’s torso swelled, and he placed his dagger on the chest. His comment was mocking, but managed to sound like a threat.  

Madame had already marked them both down for death. Bertrand’s continued ignorance had simply made that outcome more certain. Stupidity combined with drunkenness, even if there was a brutal efficiency about them, it was something King Phillip could do without amongst servants trusted with such serious state business.  

‘Look again. We believe both the fireship and the barge were destroyed in the explosion. Several other ships were damaged but not sunk, including our own. The large heap on the right is what remains of the fireship. The grain and texture of the wood is the same, and it smells the same, because it came from the same ship.’  

‘Fascinating, but as you have said, we already knew that ship had sunk. Hundreds of witnesses saw it completely alight before it sank.’ Bertrand added impertinence to ignorance.  

‘Now look at the tiny pile on the left. I am sure these wooden chests and the one you now sit on came from the barge. The pieces don’t look damaged – they look like they were jettisoned overboard. There is no sign of fire, because the barge survived the explosion.’ 

The Bruce’s Treasure by Lynda Kristiansen is published by Ringwood, priced £9.99.