After I’d cooked for my guests and Sévérine had finished serving them, Cranwell came back down with Lucy for an evening walk. They returned as we were putting away the last of the dishes.
He rapped on the kitchen door, startling me. It wasn’t the normal entrance for guests.
Sévérine let him in. Lucy barked at her.
“I hear you’re the expert on Alix de Montôt.”
“The expert!” Sévérine laughed. “This is me.”
Cranwell pulled out a stool for her and then one for himself. “What was she like?”
“What was she like?” Sévérine gave the slightest shrug. “Who can say?”
“I mean, was she… a daredevil? A prude? A tomboy?”
“I do not know these words, but you are asking me of her character?”
“Yes.”
“Her character…” Sévérine thought a moment, a slight ‘v’ appearing on her forehead between her eyes, just pronounced enough to make a person want to lean over and smooth it away. “This is difficult, you know, because she is not of our age. This is the problem of history. You see, we cannot expect that a woman in the fifteenth century would be the same person in the twenty-first century. The society are different and they affect the behavior of each person. You understand this, yes?”
Cranwell nodded.
Sitting at my desk behind them, I decided to get a head start on the next week’s menu.
“For her century, she was… I do not know how you say this, ahead of her time?”
“Yes.”
“She was educated. She wrote very much. She had her own thoughts…”
“You mean she thought for herself?”
“Yes. This is what I mean.”
“Thoughts that were not common?”
“Maybe thoughts that were common for a man to think, but not for a woman.”
“That sounds modern. Advanced.”
“Yes, but we find this is because she is not taught.”
“You just said she was educated.”
“Yes. Educated. But not… she was mal élevée.”
The silence stretched and I couldn’t help but interject. “She was poorly raised.”
“Yes. That is the one!” Sévérine turned and smiled her thanks at me. “She was poorly raised, so she does not know what is expected of her.”
“In what way?”
“As a woman. As a wife. She knows how to read and write and do the maths, but she cannot manage a chateau. She knows nothing of food or of servants. She does not do broderie or sing or play music. And of life, she does not understand that she does not have choices, and so she thinks and makes as if she does.”
“So, she’s ahead of her time, but she’s also behind it.”
“No. Behind it would be no education. It is that she is not…”
Again, I intervened. “She’s not socialized.”
“Yes. Not socialized.”
“So did she not want to get married?”
“No. She did. She knew she must because she was a woman, but she did not know what this meant.”
“You mean leaving her home?”
“This she knows. She does not know, by example, about sex. She does not understand what a correct wife does.”
“So what does she do?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.” Sévérine sighed. “This is complicated. You could perhaps read my notes and the journals and understand the marriage better.”
“But what about the history? In her era, Brittany was not a part of France.”
“This is correct. Many parts of the republic of today were not ruled then by the King of France. They owed fealty to the king, but the lands had their own kings or rulers. Brittany was one of the most powerful, but there were many others.”
“Exactly what was ‘France’ then?”
Sévérine shrugged. “It is hard to know, but normally we say Normandy, Champagne, Poitou, Langedoc, Dauphiny, Touraine, and the area around Bordeaux to Cahors.”
“And Alix’s family came from this France?”
“Yes. Her father’s family from Touraine, near Chinon. Her mother’s family comes from Provence, from the land of a different king, King René.”
“Was Brittany friendly with France?”
Sévérine sucked air between her teeth. “Yes. But she is also friendly with England.”
“And England and France hate each other.”
“Yes. The Hundred Year War is not long over. Not even ten years.”
“So Alix’s marriage is strategic.”
“Yes. And this is correct for her family.”
“Was her family close to the king?”
“They are related. Cousins, but not close.”
“And Brittany, did it have a king?”
“No. In Bretagne we have the duke. The duc de Bretagne. He is the king.”
“The family Alix married into, were they close to the duke?”
“Yes. They are cousins also, but more close than the family of Alix to the king.”
“Is it possible then that Alix could have been a spy?”
“A spy?! I do not think so. There is nothing we have to say this.”
“But is it possible?”
“I do not think a spy.”
Again I turned from my cookbooks to interject. “Cranwell writes fiction Sévérine. Les romans d’espionnage. He’s not writing a story about Alix. He’s writing a story about a girl of Alix’s time. Is it possible such a girl could have been used by her father to get information on Brittany’s relationship with England?”
Cranwell sent me a grateful look over his shoulder.
“Yes. Yes, this is possible.”
The way things sounded, Sévérine and Cranwell might talk late into the night. So I went upstairs and left them alone. The sooner he got the information he needed, the sooner he would leave. I craved my solitude, and it had been lacking that day. I decided to take him out in the forest the next day and trot him around the boundaries of the old estate.
I sank into bed, enjoying the peaceful familiarity of the room around me. My room is on the top floor of the chateau at the end of the hall. The ceiling low and beamed. The fireplace, small and utilitarian. I have several windows, but they are tiny. At the time the chateau was built, archers would have used them to shoot at enemies. Some people might think it gloomy, but I’d never been one to linger in a bedroom. If I retreated, it was to the kitchen. I have a double bed set into a dark wood carved frame; it looks ancient, but it is a reproduction. I’d chosen furniture for my room that I’d fallen in love with. Les coups de coeur.
There is a carved wooden blanket chest that I use as nightstand, the top made of smoothly joined planks, the sides carved with a menagerie of animals. There is a simple oak Louis XIII-style chair that has more dignity in its simplicity than any curvaceous Louis XV I’d ever seen. I also have an armoire of walnut. It is a cross-period piece that mixes Louis XV and Louis XVI. The sides are columned, the top and bottom curved. The ironwork around the lock and the hinges is flowery. At the top of the piece in the center, an eighteenth-century craftsman had cut out a circle and filled it with ivory, bone, and ebony fitted together in the shape of a star. My one luxury item is a huge oriental Tabriz rug with a cherry red background. I had found it at the Puces in Paris when Peter was still living, and I could not tear my eyes from its vivid colors. It also has the benefit of keeping my feet from freezing as I walk across the stone floor to the bathroom. Apart from the carpet, my room is composed of the gray of the stone walls, the dark sheen from the wood furniture and beams, and the soft white of my duvet cover.
That next morning, after a breakfast of tartines of bread, chocolate-hazelnut spread, and espresso, I took Lucy and Cranwell on a tour. The overcast sky and hint of chill in the air were harbingers of the weather to come. I wore a pair of old jeans and a thick mariner-style long-sleeved shirt striped in cream and red, with work boots laced over thick socks. Cranwell too wore jeans and a light yellow button-down shirt, but his loafers were more suited to a day at the Louvre than a walk through the countryside.
Glancing at the forest, I decided to steer him first through the woods to the remains of the old outbuilding in the meadow.
“What was the size of the old estate?”
“It depends on what you mean by estate. The Forest of Paimpont used to extend for miles. Alix’s husband held this chateau and the hectares surrounding it, but the duc de Bretagne had also given him lands in other parts of Brittany.”
“Where?”
“Off to the west, as far as Chateaulin and up north toward Morlaix.”
“So he had several chateaux?”
“No. Just extensive properties. He was given rights to various mills and other commercial operations, which allowed him to collect a percentage of their profits.”
“He was wealthy.”
“Extremely.”
“And where did the king… the duke sit?”
“In Nantes, to the south.”
“But Alix and her husband lived here…?” We walked along together in silence for a while, Lucy bounding ahead and then stopping to wait up for us. “Was he involved in sea trade?”
“No. Not that they’ve found. The Hundred Years War was hard on trade in this part of Europe, and it never fully rebounded.”
Cranwell frowned. “But for such a wealthy man, this location seems isolated.”
“It is. But you have to imagine what can no longer be seen. A chateau of this size would have required many people to support it. And there would have been fields which would also have needed people. And if people were needed to support the chateau, then others would have come to support the needs of those people. There would have been a baker, a cobbler, a smith, a miller. There would have been a dairy and a church-”
“Here?”
“Yes. An entire village.”
Cranwell stopped and looked around at the trees that seemed to stretch to the horizon. “It’s just hard to believe.”
Lucy barked, urging us forward. Ahead of her, I could detect the meadow through the trees, but we needed another minute to reach it.
We walked toward the middle of the meadow where the old building had been standing. “This is where I found the journals.”
“Here?” Cranwell stopped in mid-step. “Why would they have been placed here? It’s so far from the chateau.”
Good question. As far as I knew, no one had asked it before. As far as the university was concerned, the important thing was that they had been found at all.
We stepped over the foundation, and Cranwell crouched down and reached toward the ring to open the trap door. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
What had taken me a crowbar to accomplish, he seemed to find effortless. He went nimbly down the ladder and spent several minutes in the cellar before climbing back up. Lucy was uneasy, spending the whole time whining into the darkness of the hole.
I gave him a hand as he climbed out, and he let the door drop with a thud. He wiped his hands on his jeans and then stood for several minutes, looking once again at the forest surrounding us. Lucy sat at his feet, practically on his toes, a sentinel.
Finally, he nudged Lucy, and we ventured further out into the meadow. “I’ve visited strange places before, but here it seems…”
“Like you’re being watched?”
“Yes.” He sent a keen glance my way. “You feel it too.”
“Ever since I’ve been here. That’s why in the garden… when you…”
His lips split into a grin over his white teeth.
I shrugged.
“Does it help?”
“He goes away. For a while.”
“Who?”
“God.”
“Ah. But he always comes back, doesn’t he?” The way Cranwell said it, it almost sounded as if he were grateful.
Feeling uncomfortable discussing private business with someone I hardly knew, I changed the topic. “The history of this area is very old. And legendary. King Arthur. The Knights of the Round Table. Merlin. His fairy lover. Assorted druids.”
“Here?”
“The Forest of Paimpont is part of the pays de Brocéliande, the Country of Brocéliande. This is where the search for the grail took place.”
That comment stopped Cranwell in his tracks and brought his eyes to bear on mine. “I recall it being in Britain. Near Glastonbury.”
“Most people think that, but it’s not true. Some of the legends took place here.”
“Why would you think that?”
He was beginning to bother me with his insistence. “Why else is the birthplace of Viviane the fairy just up the road? And why is Merlin’s tomb just a few kilometers farther? And why can I visit the spot where Merlin first met Viviane?”
“You sure you’re not making this up?”
“Yes!” I stalked ahead of him several steps. The man was insufferable. How can a person have an opinion of something he knows nothing about?
“Why would they search for the grail in France?”
By that time, I was ready to tear my hair out. “Because of Joseph of Arimathea.”
“Who?”
“Joseph. The owner of the tomb in which Jesus was buried. Come on, Cranwell. King Arthur is a classic of Western literature.”
“Joseph rings a bell, but I know next to nothing about him. So shoot me.”
Lucy looked anxiously up at Cranwell and then over at me. She placed herself between us and sat on her haunches.
“The grail, from which Jesus ate during the last supper, was given to Joseph, and it was used to collect Christ’s blood when his body was taken from the cross. After Jesus’ body disappeared, Joseph was convicted of its theft and thrown into prison. While in prison, Christ appeared to him and blessed the grail, allowing it to sustain Joseph during his forty-two years in chains. When he was released, he and his family fled Israel for a place in the Roman Empire where they could live in peace. He brought his family, and the grail, to Gaul.”
“To France?”
“Yes. It was a familiar part of the Roman Empire.”
“And so then what happened to it?”
“No one knows.”
“And you claim the good king Arthur came over to recover it? But how would he have known about it?”
“All the Celts, all the Breton peoples knew about it.”
He shrugged. “If you say so.”
For such a well-traveled person, he had a surprising lack of information about this particular part of the world. I wiped my nose against my sleeve and shot a look at him over my arm. I wasn’t used to feeling like an idiot.
Lucy shifted her weight between her feet and let out a strange whimpery bark that made Cranwell look down at her with a piercing glance.
“Lucy wants to go.”
“Fine.” I turned my back on him and started toward the opposite stand of trees, tramping the dewy green meadow grasses under my feet. When I reached the edge of the forest, I turned, expecting to find Cranwell behind me.
He was still standing in the meadow where I’d left him, looking around. He shook his shoulders as if to ward off a sudden chill and then ran to catch up with me, Lucy at his heels.
“This place is strange.” He said it with an unsettled look in his eyes.
“This place is old. Ancient. Its past infused with all sorts of pagan religions.”
“I’ve never felt this way in any other part of France.”
“This is not France, it’s Brittany. Bretagne. Different country, different history.”