Deep underground lay a secret, slumbering, undisturbed for millennia. It would still be a secret were it not for the inquisitive nature of a man, one of three brothers, renowned for his habit of digging up bits of his dad’s fields on a whim. What was discovered could change the ancient history of England, and that of another ancient land on another continent. A tomb, containing all the worldly wealth of a king of one of the richest, grandest cultures known to man, had been carved out of the hillside. Sealed, and then forgotten. Why was the tomb here? Who had done it? Who had witnessed it? Why was there no record in any ancient texts of its construction? The three intrepid brothers were fascinated by what they had found. The spirit of the deceased king was displeased at being discovered. His guardians had failed him; the servants that had been slaughtered at the burial could not prevent the discovery. Someone would have to take their place, if no-one offered, the King would choose his own guardians.