He continued while Sean inspected the medallion. “When you told me that Frank had been murdered, I was initially shocked. Frank and I have known each other a long time. But if Frank had figured out the code on this stone, it could be the first step toward finding the most incredible treasure in history. And if someone found out about this stone and that Frank was working on it, that certainly explains his murder and Tommy’s disappearance.”
Sean and Allison were both still looking at the ancient medallion.
“How much do you know about the chambers, Joe?” Sean looked up at his friend, trying to piece all the information together.
Joe’s lively eyes lingered briefly in thought, then darted up, perched above a wide grin. “I’d be glad to tell ya. But first, I want to know what you know about them.” He wagged his rough finger at the air in Sean’s direction in a playful gesture.
“Well,” he replied, somewhat unsure of himself. He took a look at Allyson and then back at the curious face staring at him from a few feet away, “According to most of the mainstream legends, seven priests left their parishes in Spain when they came under attack by the Moors. No one is sure about the timeframe, but it could have been somewhere between 800-1000 A.D. These priests sailed west and constructed a city of gold, El Dorado, Cibola, whatever you want to call it. Again, I’m not sure why. Down through the centuries from around 1150 AD to the present, explorers have searched for the lost city. Francisco Coronado was perhaps the most famous to try and find it. There were rumors that Cortez believed it to be Mexico. DeSoto was relentless in his quest throughout the southeastern United States. Ponce de Leon was also said to have been trying to locate it. Of course, Ponce de Leon’s more well-known search was for the fountain of youth, but some say that was only one of two reasons he came to the new world.”
McElroy smiled at the last statement.
“Anyway, the lost city was never found, so, throughout history it has simply been regarded as myth. To most historians, it still is.” He took a sip from his steaming cup of coffee as he finished.
“As well it should be regarded that way.” McElroy chimed in. “Even though the legend was originally a European folktale, the Indians learned that by retelling the story and embellishing it, the invaders were pacified, at least temporarily, by the thought of finding a city of unimaginable wealth.”
Joe took a gulp of coffee then went on, “There is another story that Tommy and a handful of others came across that bears a small resemblance, but has different details.”
Allyson sat quietly, completely out of her element. All she could do was listen; her eyes wide with curiosity.
“Which is the story that I believe to be far more valid,” Joe added.
Sean nodded and went on, “A few people, Tommy being one of them, believe the core part of the story about large quantities of gold in several places is correct. So, to them, the question isn’t whether or not the gold exists. It is where and in how many locations. These researchers do not believe the part of the legend that talks about seven golden cities. They also don’t give any merit to the seven priests sailing west to escape Islamic persecution or that Europeans even built these mystical places.”
“But if the Europeans didn’t build them, who did?” Allyson found the topic spellbinding.
“Native Americans,” Sean answered in a matter-of-fact tone. “But some of the facts became twisted and removed so that the white settlers would never find the true locations. There were never seven cities built from gold, but there was a number which Tommy kept coming across in many places all over the Southeast. Through the years of his research concerning the lost cities of gold, he kept coming across the number four. He found many clues in ancient Native locations that led him to there were four compartments or chambers. So, it was four golden rooms built by ancient native peoples, not seven cities built by European settlers.”
“What did they use these golden rooms for?” she had to ask.
“That’s just it, no one really knows,” Sean answered. “There are some ideas, but nothing really adds up. They must have been used for ancient ceremonies or rituals. Native Americans did not put a great deal of import on the material value of gold. It was more of a sacred metal to them than anything else.”
“Perhaps, this is where I may be able to shed some light on the story,” Joe interrupted.
Sean set his cup down and listened intently, glad to be out of the spotlight in the conversation. He had a feeling Joe McElroy was about to enlighten them far more than he ever could on the current situation.
The older man’s face looked like he was ready to explode. He started by saying, “There are several local legends that have been passed around for the last fifty or so years that revolve around a constant theme…Indian gold.” After pausing for a second, Joe went on, “Now, you won’t find these stories in any history books. In fact, they’re probably more like family tales than local legends.” His eyes moved dramatically from left to right as he spoke, peering at his audience.
“Most of what I’ve heard came from my father, stories he’d heard from friends or relatives. The first legend, supposedly took place not too far from here, up in the mountains where there is a small river that leads to a waterfall. This waterfall is probably around seventy feet high. One day about thirty years ago, some rock climber was scaling the wall behind the falling water. Not sure how you do that without slipping on the wet rocks, but this guy did it. When he got up near the top, he found himself at the lip of a shallow cave. After pulling himself up onto the ledge, he crawled back into the dark space. His eyes fell upon something quite peculiar sitting on the ground in the corner of the small room. What he had found was a stack of gold bars.”
McElroy let what he believed to be a small climax set in with his audience. “The climber picked up one of the heavy bars and took it closer to the edge of the rock face so he could get a better look at what he’d found. Once in the light, he discovered odd characters carved into the shiny yellow bricks.”
Allyson and Sean cast each other a surprised look. “What was it?” She asked, mesmerized.
“An ancient native form of writing that used a combination of symbols and pictures, much like hieroglyphics,” he replied. “Of course, the man who found the gold was not permitted to keep it since it was discovered on government land.” His tone had become cynical.
Sean laughed, “Naturally.”
“Indeed,” Joe chuckled. “Have to say the Natives were right not to trust our government.” Taking one last gulp of the coffee, he returned the empty mug to the wooden surface. “Now, legend number two spans about two hundred years and contains many fascinating implications.
“Right around the end of the 18th century, in the 1790s, there was a wealthy Cherokee businessman named James Vann who lived in the area near Chatsworth, Georgia. He was a powerful leader in the Cherokee nation and ran one of the most profitable plantations in the state. In 1804, he completed construction of an elegant brick home on his large estate. To this day it is Georgia’s best preserved historical site.”
Joe stood up and walked over to the fireplace. The flames that had been crackling vibrantly before had died down to just a flicker. He grabbed another log from the stack next to the hearth and placed it in the fire before stoking the coals with an iron poker. The two visitors looked like children sitting around a campfire listening to ghost stories, so he went on, “James Vann had a charmed life for an Indian, right up until 1809 when he was mysteriously murdered.”
“Murdered?” Allyson chimed in.
“Yes. Murdered. They never found the killer, and no one knows why they did it. Oh, sure, there were suspects. Rival Cherokee leaders, jealous white settlers, even his son Joseph was a suspect.”