importantly, numerous ornaments of widely varied provenance, ranging from native Celtic designs to Mediterranean and Oriental. Particularly striking was a golden coronet formed of two intertwining snakes –’
‘Ah yes,’ interrupted the presenter, who had the TV personality’s terror that if left out of shot long enough he would cease to exist. ‘This is what’s known as the serpent crown, right? Isn’t it supposed to have belonged to some brigand queen?’
‘A queen of the Brigantes, which is not quite the same thing,’ murmured Belchamber courteously. ‘This was Cartimandua, who handed over Caractacus to the Romans, but her connection with the crown is tenuous and owes more, I believe, to Victorian sentimental horror at the betrayal than any historical research. Snakes in our Christian society have come to be linked with treachery and falsehood. But, as you know, in the symbolism of Celtic art they have quite a different significance …’
‘Yes, of course,’ said the presenter. ‘Quite different. Right. But this Hoard, where did it actually come from? And was it simply a question of finders keepers?’
‘In law, there is no such thing as a simple question,’ said Belchamber, smiling.
‘You can say that again, you bastard,’ muttered Dalziel in the kitchen.
‘Scholars theorized that the Hoard was probably the collection of an important and well-travelled Roman official who found himself, either through choice or accident, isolated in Britain when the Roman rule broke down early in the fifth century. The big legal question was whether the chest had been deliberately hidden by its owner, thinking it prudent to conceal his treasure till quieter times came, in which case it would have been treasure trove and the property of the Crown; or whether it had simply been lost or abandoned, in which case it was the property of the land-owner. Fortunately for the Elsecars, the matter was settled in their favour when further drainage revealed the remains of a wheeled vehicle, suggesting the chest was being transported somewhere when accident or ambush had caused the carriage to overturn and sink in the swamp.’
‘So it was theirs, no question? Why didn’t they sell it straight away if they were so hard up?’ asked the presenter.
‘Because good things like bad often come in bundles, and at just about the same time the heir apparent to the baronetcy caught himself a rich American heiress, so they stowed the Hoard in the bank vault against a rainy day …’
‘Which has now arrived,’ interrupted the presenter, seeing his producer making for-God’s-sake-hurry-this-along signals from the control room.
Dalziel clearly felt much the same. He’d returned with drinks and was sitting next to Cap on the sofa, glowering at the screen with an intensity of hatred which he usually only saved for winning Welsh rugby teams.
‘So Lord Elsecar has put the Hoard on the market,’ continued the presenter at a gallop. ‘The best offer to date has been from America, the British Museum has been given the chance to match it, but so far, even with lottery money and a public appeal, they’re still well short of the mark. So as a last gasp, and following a suggestion made, one might even say a pressure exerted, by the Yorkshire Archaeological Society led by yourself, the Elsecars have agreed for the Hoard to go on tour, with all profits from admission charges to go to the Save Our Hoard Fund. Will they do it?’
Belchamber made hopeful noises. Cap Marvell laughed derisively.
‘Not a hope,’ she said. ‘They’re so far short they’d need everyone in Yorkshire to go five times to get anywhere near! First time I’ve seen a lawyer who can’t add up!’
‘That’s great,’ said the presenter. ‘So there you are, all you culture vultures, take the family along to see the money your ancestors spent and what they spent it on back in the Dark Ages. The Hoard will be on exhibition in Bradford till the New Year, then in Sheffield till Friday, January twenty-fifth, after which it moves to Mid-Yorkshire. Don’t miss it! And now the Christmas Party. How many kids are you hoping to get this year, Marcus?’
Dalziel stood up and said, ‘Like another drink?’
‘I’ve hardly touched this one,’ said Cap as she picked up the remote control and zapped the sound off. ‘But I can take a hint. Is there some all-in wrestling on another channel you want to watch?’
‘No. It’s just I hear quite enough of yon turd, Belcher, without letting him into my own parlour,’ said Dalziel.
‘I take it this means he represents criminals and does a rather good job of it?’
‘He does better than a good job,’ said Dalziel grimly. ‘He bends the law till it nigh on breaks. Every top villain in the county’s on his books. I’m late tonight ’cos there was a scare with our one witness in the Linford case, and guess who’s representing Linford.’
‘You’re not suggesting that Marcus Belchamber, solicitor, gentleman, scholar and philanthropist, goes around intimidating witnesses?’
‘Of course not. But I don’t doubt it’s him as told Linford’s dad, Wally, that the case was hopeless unless they got shut of our witness. Any road, it turned out a false alarm and I left Wieldy soothing the lad.’
‘Oh yes. Is the sergeant a good soother?’
‘Oh aye. He tells ’em if they don’t calm down, he’ll have to stay the night. That usually does the trick.’
Cap, who sometimes had a problem working out when Dalziel’s political incorrectness was post-modern ironical and when it was prehistoric offensive, turned the sound back on.
‘You look awfully smart, Marcus,’ the presenter was saying. ‘Off clubbing tonight?’
Belchamber gave the weary little smile with which in court he frequently underlined some prosecution witness’s inconsistency or inanity, and said, ‘I’m driving to Leeds for the Northern Law Society’s dinner.’
‘Well, don’t drink too much or you could end up defending yourself.’
‘In which case I would have a fool for a client,’ said Belchamber. ‘But rest easy. I shall be spending the night there.’
‘Only joking! Have a good night. It’s been a privilege having you on the show. Ladies and gentlemen, Marcus Belchamber!’
Belchamber rose easily from the depths of his chair, the presenter struggled to get upright, the two men shook hands, and the lawyer walked off to enthusiastic applause.
‘He’s a fine-looking man,’ said Cap provocatively.
‘He’d look better strapped on the end of a ducking stool,’ said Dalziel.
‘And did you notice that DJ? Lovely cut. Conceals the embonpoint perfectly with no suggestion of tightness. Next time you see him, you really must ask who his tailor is.’
This was a provocation too far.
‘Right, lass, if you just came round here to be rude, you can bugger off back to that fancy flat of thine. What did you come round for anyway?’
She grinned at him and ran her tongue round the rim of her glass.
‘Actually I just thought I’d pop round to see what you wanted for Christmas,’ she said languorously.
‘I’ll
