With a sigh and a groan, I stood up and walked unsteadily out of the small chamber, my legs feeling like bars of Indian rubber. I headed toward the entrance staircase, breathing heavily in the stuffy air, and protecting the tiny, naked candle flame with my hand. I reached the column door quickly but found it closed. Despite pulling and prodding, I simply could not get it open again. Desperate, I returned to the great cave below.
I knew my candle would not last forever and I had no other. My pounding head and a weak feeling in my limbs told me I had other things to worry about. I saw several openings into a maze of other caverns. It would be easy to get lost in here. Looking at the ground, I found a piece chalk. Scratching it on the wall provided me with a method to mark my passage.
I entered the first cave to my left but left right away, as it had no other exits. I saw rotting bags on the ground, which held ancient grain. All around, items lay about, a small casket, wine bottles, rum, statues, yet all I could think of was freedom. I had yearned to find this place my entire life. Now my every thought was to leave.
I heard the sound of water on my right and could smell it as well, salty and damp, giving hope a way to the channel could be found. I followed the smell, noting the floor was worn by the passage of countless feet. The size of the complex was incredible. Each cave had treasures to reveal. After a long way down, I arrived at an underground lake. Its brackish water suggested it might have an opening to the channel, although I could not see one. Feeling increasingly unwell, I staggered back the way I came. I noticed the worn steps forked into two separate trails. Choosing the left one, I found a round tunnel lined with ancient bricks.
It was too late to turn back; I had to go this way. My senses were fading in and out. I walked through water, then waded. My candle was growing dim and I was feeling dizzy, having to rest every few steps. When I arrived at a dead end, I truly despaired.
On the left, a narrow tunnel lay hidden in the shadows. I could barely fit through it. At its end, I found a stone doorway, large stone pins holding it in place, with a bar sticking out from the wall. Playing with the bar with my waning strength, I was able to push it upwards. The door opened and I fell through its opening.
I knew where I was: this was one of the cliff tunnels mentioned by the priest Cochet, located under the Amont Cliff. I could make out a faint dot of light at its end. The timing could not be better, as both my candle and I were on our last legs. Unfortunately, my tribulations were not over. When I arrived at the end, I found myself about seven metres in the air. The cliff had eroded away, removing the last few metres of tunnel. There was no choice but to hang down and let myself fall.
I fell badly, twisting my ankle and knocking myself out on the rocks below. When I came to, I was in the house of Old Man Vallin.
By writing down these words, I have been reminded of the turmoil of those times, so long ago. The intervening years had softened the impact of those events. While I cannot fault any specific decision I made, it all went astray, no matter what I did. Painful as it may be to retrace my footsteps, I must continue, for this was just the beginning. My adventures were far from over.
An Unexpected Friendship
When I woke up, I was lying on a cot and covered by an old smelly blanket. There was something tightly wrapped over my head, which was throbbing. My ordeal suddenly came back and I sat up. A strong wave of dizziness hit me. A hand on my shoulder steadied me and, in that way, I became aware I was not alone in the room.
Sitting in a tattered chair next to the cot, was an old man, his face wrinkled and covered with a three-day-old beard. The sour odour of whisky emanated from him. When his face broke into a concerned smile, I understood he meant no harm. He had been combing the beach when I fell onto the rocks about sixty metres away. He had dragged me to his cart and placed me in the back, covering me with a few potato sacks to keep me warm. He brought me back to his home and tended to my wounds. I had been unconscious for more than a day.
While I rested, he told me about himself. He admitted being a poacher but he was still a proud man with strong morals, having fallen on hard times. I asked him why he had not simply returned me home. He replied he had seen me often, sneaking about the hills and cliffs of Etretat, when common talk said I was sick and resting at home. Suspecting I wanted to keep my activities under wraps, he had kept my accident quiet. It took another day before I was able to summon enough strength to return home. I was sure my wife would be worried about my unexplained absence.
Surprisingly, during these few days of rest, a strong friendship was forged with Old Man Vallin. It was as unlikely a friendship as it was timely.
I had shared my discovery with him, knowing instinctively he could be trusted. I desperately needed a friend as well as help in dealing with this terrible turn of events. I had uncovered the secret of Etretat, only to inadvertently reveal it to the would-be murderer, Johann Hister. He had already plundered some of the cave's treasures and I was convinced he would come back for more.
The more time passed, the more I grew concerned about the implications of my discovery. This cave held incredible treasures, many of them historical in nature. Premature release of its discovery would attract treasure hunters of the worst sort. I need only refer to Hister for proof of this assertion. Whatever the caves contained would vanish in the night. France would be robbed of its heritage before it even learned of it.
Hister had planned his assault long before I had even entered the cave. He had waited for the best moment to catch me unaware. Luckily, his vicious blows had not succeeded. However, my personal fate paled into insignificance. A murderous thief now knew the way into the caves.
It was my responsibility, my duty, to right this wrong. Old Man Vallin swore to help me. I arranged to meet him in a few days in order to return to the fort. In the meantime, Vallin would contact some of his friends, to keep an eye out for suspicious strangers about town. If Hister was still in the area, he would be found and dealt with.
Vallin arrived at the fort, a shotgun cradled in his arms. He considered this situation as seriously as I did. Walking into the servant's corridor, I found all evidence of my previous presence erased. The wall had been rebuilt; there was no sign of the wheelbarrow, or of my tools. Hister had taken his time before vanishing into the night. He must have thought me truly dead.
We broke through the wall easily, as I knew exactly where to hit. Soon after, Old Man Vallin and I arrived in the dungeon. To my relief, the column opened as before. With the stronger light from the miner's hat, it was easy to see why I had been unable to open the door when stuck inside the caves. The lack of light from my candle had prevented me from noticing the long rods of stone used as locks.
I have long felt foolish for having been so close to the way out, yet not finding it. Of course, had I done so, it is likely I would have encountered Hister bricking the wall back up. In my weakened state, I would not have stood a chance against him.
We became aware of an inexplicable glowing of the walls when fresh air entered into the long sealed room but it faded after we closed the door behind us. I was not sure what to think of the phenomena. It was transient and we had other things on our minds.
Without a word, we went down the curving staircase, reaching the main chamber and headed into the impressive long hallway. Entering into the small chamber again, I found my small shovel on the ground, noting a dark stain on its edge and a large pool of drying blood on the ground. My blood. It had been a close thing.
Leaving the chamber, we saw paintings on the wall, high up and to the left side. They were magnificent, prehistoric drawings of animals, with groups of hunters dancing around them. We saw evidence of ancient fires in another corner, surrounded by piles of flint flakes.
Everywhere I looked, I saw evidence of Roman presence. There were column supports shoring up weaker parts of the cave roof. I saw niches, carved at regular intervals into the tunnel walls, which must have held skeletons at some point. Stone stairs had been installed in many a
reas where the cave floor fell away too sharply.
The geological features of the cave implied water had been the original creator of this complex. However, the sheer multitude of interconnected caves implied a latticework of cracks must have existed before any water got in here.
French workers had also been here, confirming Francis' discovery of the caves during his renovations of the fort. He must have been the one who ordered the sealing up of the dungeon access. We found one large chamber transformed into a grand reception hall, with tapestries hanging on every wall. The floor was worn smooth and hard. Two large chandeliers hung from ancient chains. At the end of the room, a large chair was positioned on a raised platform, looking like a throne. Everything was highly ornate, intended to impress royalty.
Going on, we chose the tunnel leading to the large body of brackish water. With the brighter light of our miner's hat, we were able to appreciate the true size of this particular cave. It was big enough to hold a small lake. Looking at the roof, we saw a dip in the northern direction that might form a large tunnel to the open sea. However, no light came from there. Whatever had existed before was now collapsed.
Retracing our steps, we came upon the trail where I had changed direction. I had been in a bad state when I last staggered through here and had missed much, my concern being survival rather than discovery.
We undertook the journey, our eyes alert. About halfway through, deep under Etretat, we saw a tunnel fork away to the right but ignored it for the moment. Eventually we reached the small cave, carved into the side of the tunnel. Its entrance was cleverly positioned, which might explain why I had such trouble locating it in the first place. Stored inside, we found our first real treasure.
A corner of the small room had a collapsed, plaster-covered cache, similar to the one plundered by Hister, only this one was still stuffed full of rotting leather bags, each holding either precious stones or gold and silver coins. A heavy, hinged box, forced into the narrowest part of the crevice, held various gold objects, looking like the spoils of theft or piracy. A smaller box held a variety of ancient gold rings. Our excitement was palpable.
I filled our food basket with as many leather sacks as I could carry. Before leaving the small cave, I reiterated what might happen to Etretat if it were ever known what riches lay hidden here. Old Man Vallin spit in his hand and shook mine. Looking straight into my eyes, he held up his other hand, folding in his two middle fingers, leaving the outside ones extended. He held it against his chest, waiting for me to do the same. Then, we swore a solemn oath to secrecy.
We would use these riches to protect the caves. Vallin took a single coin to remind him of his oath. He was to receive further payment later on. We left the room and followed the tunnel to its end, where the stone door lay in wait. I had been frantic for sunlight when I arrived here before. This time, we went the other way to see where it might lead us.
After a long walk along the dark tunnel, we found ourselves going uphill until we reached the end of the tunnel, exiting into a small wooded glade. Seeing a building nearby, I recognised the restaurant known as 'the Dungeon', a name that flew in the face of coincidence. We had travelled an incredibly long way, coming out on the other side of Etretat.
Our travels had also left us with a fantastic revelation: we now had another way into the caves!
A Decision is Reached
Later that evening, we reviewed the day. We were stunned by the size of the cave system and by the magnitude of what lay hidden there. I was also singularly conscious there was another man out there who knew of the caves. Although I hoped I had seen the last of Hister, deep down, I knew he would return.
It was Vallin who came up with the most logical solution. We were the only ones who knew of the second entrance to the caves. Even if someone were able to find their way into the tunnel in the glade, they would never find the hidden doorway that led under Etretat. If we were to destroy the original entrance, Hister would never be able to find his way in again.
It was a good suggestion but could we be so bold? To destroy the Fort of Frefosse, a veritable landmark in Etretat? Since this act could not be hidden, it would be done in plain sight. Vallin had a working knowledge of explosives, sufficient to ensure the complete obliteration of the dungeon. He felt confident he could come up with a sufficiently convincing cover story, given his existing reputation. I would remain in the background, using my influence and our newfound funds to protect him from the legal repercussions. We were in agreement.
That is how we arrived at the inconceivable but necessary decision of blowing up the Fort of Frefosse. All through this journal, I have shown you how each decision led to the other, linking into an inevitable chain of events. We had no other choice!
A Friend is Contacted
It took only a few days to get ready, with Old Man Vallin pestering the local militia effectively, preparing to carry out our carefully laid plans. As for myself, I knew I had to enlist the help of yet another in our plans. I had long thought about this step, because it would involve someone who already had a dangerous reputation. Despite my concerns about the outcome, I sent a message along the usual route, through Raymond Lindon, asking A.L. to come and meet me, on the following evening.
Now, I know what you're thinking, Patrice, so let me put a few things to rest. Yes, my character was based on a real person. He is not much like my creation but he is a man of high intellect and of immense resources. Because of his desire for anonymity, I will not name him, even here. I will simply refer to him as A.L.
He arrived on time, using the small gate door to which only he had the key. We had shared more than one adventure. In the course of our time spent together, we had cemented a friendship, despite our differing viewpoints. After the usual small talk and tea, I explained why I had asked him here. The look on his face was priceless, when I revealed my investigation, the danger I had been in, and then, my discoveries. He laughed in delight when I explained how I had solved the mechanism of the dungeon door.
However, he became thoughtful when I explained our planned solution, the destruction of the fort itself. He thought deeply for a while then nodded, directing me to contact Raymond Lindon again and to engage his services. We could trust Lindon and he was perfectly placed to assist us with the repercussions of Vallin's plan. Accustomed to money and high society since his early years, due to his affiliations with A.L., Lindon had chosen to devote himself to legal studies. Gifted with a keen intellect, Lindon already had many connections to men of power and the maturity to know when to use these connections.
The next morning, I went to see Lindon, who had already been briefed about the situation. A.L. certainly acted fast. Lindon had drafted a more complete version of events. He knew of a company anxious to purchase the fort property in order to open a golf resort. It was an impossible request because Etretat's inhabitants would never acquiesce to the fort's removal. Anticipating the fallout from our plans once the fort was destroyed, Lindon felt he could obtain economic and public support from them, which would help smooth over the problems for Vallin.
I was impressed by Lindon and retained him as my advisor on the spot. He became my friend and my right hand man in a secret battle that was to last for more than thirty years.
The Die is Cast
Inevitably, a date was set. I was jittery throughout that fateful day and, when the explosion finally happened, it was more of a relief than anything else. Many thought there had been an earthquake, until the news reached them. The incident flooded the local papers and Old Man Vallin had a pretty rough time at first. He bore it well, with honour and silence.
Lindon was in the background through it all. He hired the lawyer who defended Vallin, supporting the accidental nature of the fort's destruction. It did not hurt that Lindon knew the judge personally and had met with him privately the previous evening.
Vallin was found innocent of wrongdoing, receiving a mild slap on the hands, and was sent on his way. Rumours abounded but, with the
judgement passed, little could be done. Events returned to normal. It was the calm before the storm.
Murder is done
It happened on a Friday evening, late in the night. A horrible scream was heard by Mr Lanoix around midnight. The state of Vallin's body, when he was found, was frightful. He had been severely beaten, tortured for hours before his death. He was thrown, barely alive, down into the jumble of stones, all that remained of the fort, left to die, stuck between two jagged boulders.
Lindon was able to view the body discreetly. Old Man Vallin's last act was to clench his hand against his chest, with the two middle fingers folded in. That act could have but one meaning for me. He had died without revealing the existence of the second entrance. It also meant someone had tried to get him to reveal that information before killing him. There could only be one such man.
This is when I first felt the weight of the enormous burden of guilt, which I have shouldered since. We had decided together to blow up the fort but it was Vallin who took the blame. Now, because of his decision, he was dead!
Vallin had left behind a son, who knew nothing of his father's recent actions. After a brief talk with Lindon, we decided to keep the son in the dark. However, in the following years, I kept tabs on his family and arranged to have money anonymously mailed to them, to help during difficult financial times. It was the least my conscience would allow me to do.
After Vallin's death, both Lindon and I kept close counsel indeed. We felt besieged by an invisible villain, looking for a way to get at us and to the treasure in the caves. Lindon contacted many friends and created a string of watchers all around Etretat. No stranger could enter our small valley without being seen. It was through this growing 'net' that we learned of Hister's next foray into our territory.