Siri Mitchell - Chateau of Echoes

This vallée I wished to see. And Anne also wished it.

My lord promised he would take us.

I replied to him that it was only worth the effort if seen at night.

He laughed and then declared it would be so.

We took with us the men, as brigandes are known to patrol the ways at night.

We rode to the vallée singing and talking and making much noise to warn of our strength and presence.

It was beautiful, this vallée, in the light of the moon and with the lake set into the cleft. We dismounted and bid the men watch our mounts, then we stood beside the lake, all the three, and found in it a reflection. A curious thing then happened.

What began as a reflection of three became a reflection of two. As we watched a wind stirred the waters and the reflection of Anne was slowly erased as the reflection of myself and my lord remained.

Anne ran weeping.

My lord stared at the reflections as if bewitched. He turned to me and made as if to speak, but then heard Anne cry and left me to follow her.

I stayed and watched my reflection and made note of another curiosity. My reflection aged me. I lifted a hand to touch my face, and the reflection also did, but it was not the same face.

Would that I look the same two or three years hence.

I waited for the return of my lord and Anne, but when they did not appear, I made a place for myself by a rock on the edge of the lake. I pulled my cloak around me and slept.

When I woke, my lord and Anne did not yet come again. I found the men and we mounted finally our horses and made the return to the inn.

two days after Saint Matthias

At day, the men of my lord made a search for him and found him, still at the vallée, and brought him back.

We stay here one more night which makes one night the less in Dinan.

I have heard from Agnès that my lord tried to find his way from the vallée but could not.

I demand of myself to whom he has done wrong.

four days after Saint Matthias

On the way to Dinan, we stopped at the Temple de Mars. Some people call this the Tour de Courseul and say it is the most ancient building in Bretagne.

A storm blew in and we were obliged to take shelter in the parish church nearby. I read tombstones to Anne. The most ancient I found looked Roman. It read: Consecrated to the god Manes. Silicia Namigidde who from Africa, her country, moved by an admirable tenderness for her son, followed him, rests in this place. She lived 65 years. Cneius Flavius Jannaris, her son, to her erected this tomb.

I demand of myself what it would be like to live 65 years. I suppose if one lived near those one loved, it might be satisfying. To leave a homeland for a son. Would I dare to do the same? If I did it for a husband, might I do it for a son?

My lord installed me first in my chamber, and then he installed Anne. I did not see the two of them until my lord passed to take me to dinner.

one day before Shrove Tuesday

We have come to Dinan this day. We mounted to the city through the vallée of the River Rance after having passed over a new bridge composed of four arches.

It is a powerful city with strong walls, a city rich from trade. We entered through the Porte du Guichet, with two towers flanking it and thick doors of wood. It looks as if it could withstand any assault. And near to it the donjon where we will rest these coming days.

There are many strange buildings made of stone and plaster, separated by lengths of timber. It seems an odd way to build and not nearly as strong as stone. Perhaps it is a fashion that shall pass in these next years.

My nose is assaulted by the smell of this place and the air is foul. As the wind blows always through these streets, the scent of the fishmongers and tanners comes by times to overtake us. Glad I am that Agnès has commanded me to travel with a sachet of spices. The mace invades my nostrils, leaving no room for the stench of the tanner.

I have pain in the ears from the noise of the city. At home, none speak but speak softly and none sings but songs of gladness. Here men cry in the streets and people shout from the windows and the horses and the carts make much noise.

I surprise myself by longing for the chateau.

Shrove Tuesday

My lord presented me to the duc de Bretagne, François II, which is not a grand thing, as I have already met the King of France. But this, duc has much power and I reminded myself of the position of my father and so I curtsied most deep and talked to him of pretty things.

Ash Wednesday

My lord came to tell me a story this night, but before he did it, I demanded of my lord where a husband for Anne might be found.

He demanded of me why one must be found.

I explained to him that Anne is old and it may be that next year few men will want her. And as he knows those at court it is possible he may inquire.

He demanded of me if Anne does not please me.

I told him that she does. That if Anne were not here that I would have no friend. That if it were to me, I would have her stay forever, but that this is too much to demand of her, for she would make someone a good wife.

He bid me to speak of this to Anne to discover what she will reply to me.

And the follow is the story that my lord told me: There was one time a King called Gradlon. He had great riches and a fleet of boats of war. There came a time when his sailors became fatigued from fighting in cold, strange lands. They left King Gradlon, took the boats, and returned to Bretagne.

The King was very sad, but felt a comforting presence. He looked up and saw a woman with hair red like a fox. It was Malgven, Queen of the North, who ruled the lands where it is always winter. She told the King that her husband was old and that if Gradlon helped her to kill him, then she would return with him to Bretagne.

They killed the husband of Malgven, took a chest filled with gold, and leapt onto Morvarc’h, the horse of Malgven. The horse made a path over the waves of the sea, galloping through the night, and delivered them to one of the boats of the king and they lived there a full year, on the sea.

And at this point here, I demanded of my lord how the horse Morvarc’h can be in two stories at the same time. I recalled to him that Morvarc’h also was the horse of King Marc’h who was killed by the hind he had chased.

And my lord replied to me that Morvarc’h is the magic horse of the sea who can gallop on water as well as on land. And then he made as if he would continue.

And I told him that even if Morvarc’h gallops on water it does not mean that he can be the horse of every king.

And my lord replied to me that perhaps it may not be so in Touraine, but in Bretagne these things are possible. And he continued with the story.

Malgven came to give birth to a girl child she named Dahut, and then became ill and died.

King Gradlon took his child and returned to Bretagne. The child grew to be more beautiful than her mother. The only pleasure of the king was his daughter, but the only pleasure of Dahut was the sea.

One day Dahut convinced her father to build her a city beside the sea. Thousands of workers labored to build the city. The city became the most beautiful of all the world. To keep the sea from engulfing it, a high dike was formed. It was closed and locked by a brass door; King Gradlon was the guardian of the key. The city was named Ys.

Ys soon became known for great feasting and mariners came from all over the world to take part in the revelry. But Dahut bored herself with these fêtes.

It came to be that each day she would choose from the men a favorite and place a black mask around his face. She would take the favorite into her bed and he would stay with her until the rising of the sun. At this point here, the mask would tighten, suffocate the favorite, and he would die. A rider on horseback would take the body from Dahut and throw it into the sea.