Siri Mitchell - Chateau of Echoes

“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.”

my thirteenth year

year thirty-seven of the reign of Charles VII, King of France

one day before Saint Dominique

I am Alix de Montôt. I have thirteen years. I am the only child of the first wife of my father. I was left motherless at two years. My father has been married these seven years to Hélène, his second wife. She has had three children. Sons.

But I am the one who was taught the magic of letters by the hand of my father. I am the one to whom he chose to reveal the mystery of numbers. I was betrothed at birth to honor an ancient promise my before-before-grandfather made during the Crusade.

It was said between he and the comte de Barenton, his companion in battle, that their offspring should marry. For two hundred years, the families have had only boys. I am the first chance that the promise can be kept.

And fortunate for my father. After these years of strife between France and the duchy of Bretagne, and France and England, it is a wise match; I am promised to a Breton. If Bretagne turns to England as some say she will, or if Bretagne turns to France, as the king wishes, there will be ties of marriage to Bretagne through me. And father will profit from it. This he has explained to me.

I understand my value.

I am to be fiancéed next month.

one day before Saint Matthieu

My fiançailles will take place tomorrow. I am to marry Awen de Kertanuan, comte de Barenton. He is Breton and so he must be rich from trading by sea.

Agnès, my woman, says me that I shall always have beautiful gowns and will wear only blue and gold.

He has thirty years, which is very old, but I shall be glad if he has still his teeth.

day of Saint Matthieu

My fiançailles took place today. I wore an houppelande of leaf green and lined within and without by fur of gray squirrel. It ceintured about my waist with a length of willow green velvet fastened with a green jasper. Hélène says me that this is to symbolize my faithfulness in fulfilling the ancient promise of my family.

I have been told that my lord does not live near the sea. He is inland, south of Dinan. My lord is dark, as Agnès says me that Bretons are. He is more tall than father and he has his teeth, of which I am glad. And they are still white. I did not speak to him, but as a gift of our fiançailles, he gave me a chest which is studded with nails. And inside a crucifix cloisonné and threaded with gold. I should rather have liked a necklace of gold, but Agnès says me that the gift is very pretty.

The trunk at least is practical. I can place in it this journal, with room for many more.

one day after Saint Matthieu

I spoke with the comte today. I curtsied and said, “My Lord,” in the pretty way I had been taught to do. He said nothing for so long that I rose.

He looked at me so strangely. Then he gave me his hand and drew me near. He touched my face and says me that he had once a sister my age. He spoke it so quietly I could hardly hear him. He seemed to me sad.

I demanded of him if she had been gay.

He smiled and replied to me that she had been quite gay. He looks kind when he smiles.

two days after Saint Matthieu

My lord left today. Hélène says me that I shall join him when I become grown.

five days before Saint Dionysius

Something happened today. My insides started falling out. I screamed and would not be quiet until Agnès had come.

Agnès told Hélène what was happening.

Hélène had fear. I heard her tell Agnès that this means I must leave soon.

two days before Saint Martin

I am being sent to my lord, the comte.

My father says me that I must go. He will give me Agnès.

I do not know how to speak the language of Bretagne. I do not know the people. I feel myself alone. I begged father to let me stay, but he replied to me that he is bound by the contract of fiançailles.

four days after Saint Martin

I spend this week in preparation.

day of Sainte Cécile

Father has given me a present of the most valued possession of my mother. It is a small circular baton made of leather. Twelve jewels the color of violets ring the top. There is a curious ‘N’ inscribed on front with a curved line set on top of it. I shall treasure it always. He has given me also the Book of Days of my mother. I had not before seen it, though my father says me that she read it each day.

From himself he gives me the books of King René d’Anjou, the brother of the King of France. These are the Livre du Cuer d’Amour, Espris, and Mortiffiement de Vaine Plaisance and these please me.

Agnès recounts me still stories of the Emprise de la Joyous Garde at Saumur, the famous tournament of King René. This happened before I am born, but my mother went to see it and Agnès says me that she was more beautiful even than Isabel d’Anjou, the wife of King René.