The Drustone

Chapter Eleven. A Roman Chariot.

Chapter Eleven 

A Roman Chariot? 

Uncle Steve emerged from the cottage much sooner than expected. He was carrying a rectangular piece of wood that almost covered his complete torso. Beside him walked a lean, tall, silver-haired figure. 

"You should be okay, Steve. I was out on the sands yesterday and everything seems to have firmed up. You have the sled, just in case. Don't attempt to cross the Leven without me." 

"Right, George. Thanks again, mate. See you in the morning."

They shook hands.

"Okay, Molyneux, let's be off. Just stop off at the Co-op so I can pick up a few things, and then take us down to the shore at Sandgate." 

By three o'clock the boys were settled on the shore. Henry's inner thighs had been buttered, the boys well fed, their thirsts quenched. Molyneux had left. He was to meet them at the Priory the following morning.  

"Okay, lads. One hour to rest, then we'll make our way to our campsite." 

"Where's that?" asked P.C.  

Uncle Steve turned and pointed out in to the bay. "Chapel Island."

"Wow! I've always wanted to go there." 

"But what about the tides, Mr. Dover?" 

"No problem, Rev. We'll leave around four and George Capes told me the tide isn't due till seven. It only takes an hour to get across, but you need to rest up."  

As the boys, with the exception of a troubled Henry, fitfully dozed, Uncle Steve made the final preparations, packing the remaining food, filling the water bottles, and tying a length of rope to the mud sledge. When all was ready, he roused the boys, led them to the sands, and they headed towards the distant island. 

Initially, much to Henry's relief, no rivers or streams barred their way. Progress was rapid, despite the fact that Uncle Steve was having difficulty pulling the sled across the dry sand. They were about half a mile from the island when they approached a high bank on the edge of a fast flowing stream.  

"Could be a brack, Mr. Dover." 

"Could be, Rev. Best to make a detour. Let's head to Black Scars." 

Before they reached the huge mound of rocks, the stream that they were so assiduously avoiding, mysteriously disappeared, and they were able to turn once more towards the island. As they turned away from the rocks, Henry noticed a shaft of wood sticking out of the sand.  

"What's that, Uncle Steve?" 

Closer inspection of the site revealed what looked like a wheel rim. "It looks like it might be part of a cart." 

"How can that be, Mr.D?" 

"Well accidents do happen out here, and in the old days people used to travel across the sands on stagecoaches. I remember that once the tide uncovered a stagecoach. The skeletons of the horses were still in the traces." 

"That's hard to believe," said Rev. Uncle Steve shrugged. P.C. had another suggestion 

"Isn't it more likely to be part of a cockler's cart? It probably lost a wheel and they left it here." 

"Could be, P.C." 

Henry, who was convinced they had discovered the remains of a Roman chariot, urged them to look closer. There was plenty of time, so Uncle Steve agreed. The boys were keen and started to gouge out the sand around the shaft and exposed rim. Nothing remained of the front of the cart, only the bare frame of the base of the wagon to which the shaft was still attached.