Chateau of Echoes

can also be a chevalier. When Arthur had sixteen years, his true father, King Uther, died without an heir.

At the death of King Uther, the leaders of the clans demanded of Marzin the Magician, to name them a new king. Marzin answered them to wait until heaven touches earth, the dead come back to life, and those who cannot speak are given voice.

One day, in the parvis in front of the cathedrale in a place which had been empty, a stone appeared with a handsome sword sunk into its mass. This stone was not like those of the country. It was so large that no man could move it and it had writing on it so strange that no man could read it. And all the people came to see it.

It was Marzin, the last one to come, and the first one to be able to read what the stone would say. It was written on the stone: The one who is able to take from the stone this sword is the one who must be king. Marzin remembered to them that neither family of birth nor richness make nothing to do with the decision of who must be king. It is for the store to decide to whom it will yield the sword.

Each of the leaders stepped up to the stone and placed his hands around the sword, but each of the leaders failed to pull it from the stone. After all of the leaders had not succeeded, it was given to any person to try to take the sword. Many of the men of the town tried this, but none of them, even not the smith, had success. At this, the leaders made their sons try. And after the sons had failed, then the sons of the men of the town were given it to try. And after, even the servants and their sons. And then even the most young, those who could not yet walk, were let to try. And finally, although all had tried, none had succeeded, and still the sword remained in the stone.

At this moment here, Arthur was searching a sword for the chevalier who had kept him since birth. When he walked into the parvis and saw the sword sunk into the stone, he demanded if it did not belong to any person. When he was replied that it did not, Arthur placed his hand on the sword and pulled it from the stone. At this, Marzin named him King of Bretons.

At this, the people of the town are very happy, for they have known Arthur and he has lived among them, but the leaders are unhappy and they demand of Marzin that Arthur return the sword to the stone so that they might try once more to succeed in pulling it out. Once more, all of the leaders try at this and fail. And the men of the town try and fail. And then the sons of the leaders try once more without finding success, as well, the sons of the men of the town. And still, once more, the servants and their sons are given to try and when they also fail, then the young and babies are given a chance. Again, as before, it is Arthur the only one who has success.

But even at this, the leaders refuse him as their king until Marzin says them that Arthur is, in actuality, the son of Uther. At this, Arthur gathers a great army made not of the sons of the leaders, but of the sons of the people of the town and Arthur leads his army with Kaledvoulc’h, his sword; Gweneb-Gourzhuc’her, his shield; and Rongomyant, his lance.

My lord began to tell me more, but I found myself falling into sleep. He saved the rest of the story for the next time.

I dreamt this night that someone came beside me and combed through my hair with their fingers all the long of the night.

This seems to me bizarre because it is normal that I do not remember my dreams.

one day before Saint Andre

Anne demands me of the feast of Noel, what I would like served. I am ignorant of the customs of the Bretons and I cannot remember what was served this past year. I do not know why she demands this of me so I have given her permission to do as she likes.

Agnes says me that I must take interest in the affairs of the house. A good wife is certain that things are managed according to the desires of her husband.

I replied to Agnes that as Anne has managed these past years, she must know what my lord requires. Far better for her to plan the feast than for me to plan and have it disappoint my lord, the comte.

one day after Saint Hilaire

My lord finished his story from three months past: soon after Arthur became King of Bretons, Marzin the Magician tells him that the Saxons have come to take the land of the giant Gogvran Gaor. As Arthur comes to help Gogvran Gaor, Marziri suggests to Arthur to attack first.

The lady of Gogvran Gaor and her daughters watch the battle which follows from the safety of the chateau. The fight is long and very bloody, and at one point, Gogvran Gaor is taken by the Saxons. Arthur, seeing this, plunges into the middle of the battle, overtaking the Saxon lord and rescuing the chevalier. When the Saxons have seen this, they lose their morale, gather their men, and draw back, leaving the lands of Gogvran Gaor.

Arthur is carried back to the chateau of the giant by his army, much wounded and in danger of death. The oldest daughter of Gogvran Gaor, Guenievre, commands that all leave the presence of Arthur and allows no person but herself to aid him.

My lord says me that Guenievre means White Ghost. She is so fair she is said to glow in the moonlight, her step is so soft it is said that none can hear it, and her voice so low it is said that it sounds like the call of a bird in the night. She is the girl the most kind of all the world. Her touch is so cool it gives life to Arthur as a spring in the middle of the forest.

Gogvran says to Arthur that he is happy to have as a son-in-law the man who has saved him from death, even though he has not yet been told the identity of this man.

At this moment here, Marzin says to Gogvran Gaor that the name of this man is Arthur, King of Bretons, and son of the great king Uther.

The marriage takes place the next month, and all the world has never been so happy.

I told my lord that Gogvran Gaor was a generous man to give his oldest daughter to Arthur, thinking him just a brave peasant; the chevalier might have given Arthur gold or silver in her stead.

My lord replied to me that sometimes daughters, and sisters, are more dear to men than riches.

15

The first day of November came cold and clear. It served to magnify the barren trees against the sky, and the dusting of frost over the dead grasses highlighted the hardness of the ground. It was entirely appropriate for Toussaint. All Saint’s Day. A day for remembering the dead.

I didn’t like Toussaint. I didn’t know what to do on it.

My memories of Peter were private. I had mourned. I had worked through all the cycles of my grief. He would always be a part of me, for the person I am is due, in large part, to him.

I didn’t know what to do on Toussaint because he was buried in a family plot in Massachusetts. I had no grave to visit, no place to leave flowers. But I felt guilty if I didn’t do something in his memory. So in the past, I had honored his memory by making his favorite meal: clam chowder and sourdough bread.

The only problem with that ritual was that I happened to hate clam chowder, and I much preferred a normal baguette to sourdough. My heart just wasn’t in it.

I pulled on my checkered pants and tank top and lumbered down the stairs to the kitchen. I made the breads in autopilot and sipped my morning espresso without enjoying it.

What would Peter have done if the situation were reversed?

I tried to picture him, tried to imagine where he would be were he still alive. He certainly wouldn’t have given his whole day over to morose thoughts of me. He probably would have done something I’d liked to do. Read my favorite poem, drunk a glass of my favorite wine in toast to me. Something of that sort.

So why did I feel the need to make a crock of clam chowder that I’d never eat?

Rousing myself from the stool where I was sitting, I grabbed a bottle of Bushmill’s, Peter’s favorite whiskey, and a shot glass and marched up the stairs.

I flung open the door to my room and stood in front of the picture of Peter that graced my night table.

After pouring a shot of whiskey, I raised the glass in his memory. As I downed the shot, a ray of sunlight fell directly on the photo. I’d done the right thing.

Satisfied, I started toward the kitchen, but I ran into Cranwell and Lucy on the stairs.

“That bad a day already?” Cranwell was eying the bottle of Bushmill’s I held in my hand.