Chapter Three
Clark and Lana sank down on the two chairs opposite the professor's desk. Gillian sat on the desk, leaning casually on her arm and crossing her long legs. Her hose clung to every graceful curve, making Clark wonder how he ever thought she was a boy.
"During the excavation, some of my students found a memoir written by Christopher of Whitley," the professor began. "He was lord of the castle from about 1210 to 1239, when he passed away and was succeeded by his son. He acquired the property though marriage to Lianne of Langdon, who apparently had quite the exciting life.
"Judging by the historical backdrop, I'm guessing the story takes place at the turn of the century, 1203 or1204. It was before King John lost his French holdings to Philip Augustus. You are familiar with Angevin England, right?"
Seeing Clark and Lana's blank looks, Gillian took it upon herself to explain. "By the end of the twelfth century, England had acquired holdings throughout northern and western France. The French king, Philip Augustus, had been seeking to win the lands back, but was unable to make any headway against the strong English kings Henry and Richard. When Richard died in 1199, his brother, John Lackland, took the throne. John was a far weaker king than Richard, and managed to piss off both the pope and the French king. To give you the cliff notes version, Philip was finally able to wrest his lands back from John. By the end of 1204 John had lost all of his French holdings but Gascony and parts of Poitiers."
"Well, you're a walking encyclopedia," Lana remarked.
Gillian shrugged, a dry smile across her face. "What can I say? I've had this stuff drilled into my head since I was little. I can't help it if I'm fascinated with the Middle Ages. They were quite an exciting time."
"Sounds like it," Lana agreed. She turned to the professor. "So what happened to Lianne?"
"Lianne's father, Henry, was a wealthy and powerful baron with holdings in Brittany as well as Langdon," the professor said. "These were acquired through marriage to Sandrine de Beauvais, Lianne's mother. Lianne spent much of her childhood in Brittany until she came to England at the age of sixteen to live as ward to Lord Bedford, father of Robin, to whom she had been betrothed since age twelve. Henry planned to see her married to Robin on her eighteenth birthday.
"Unfortunately, before the couple could be wed, war broke out in France. Both Henry and Robin were in Brittany at the time, defending their holdings. Henry was killed in the service of King John. Lianne's brother, William, was supposed to have inherited Langdon, but William had died on the fourth crusade. Upon William's death, Henry arranged for Langdon to pass on to Lianne's husband. But Robin died as well, of complications from his battle wounds. Lianne's cousin, Anne de Beauvais, was sent to Langdon to relay the news.
"Lianne was devastated by her father's death. Unsure of what would become of her now that Robin had died, she immediately fled to Langdon with Anne. Judging by Christopher's memoir, she was a strong, willful young woman, and refused to lose her property. But unfortunately, women were of no consequence in those days—not being anti-feminist, ladies, just telling like it is. Upper-class women had few choices but to marry or take the veil. Their livelihoods and lives depended on the whims of men. Sad, but such was life in those days.
"Now that Henry was out of the way, Lothar of Blackwood, a vassal of Henry's, set his sights on Langdon. Blackwood was greedy, ambitious, and opportunistic, and had once sought to inherit Henry's lands through marriage to Lianne. He offered for her, but Henry refused him. It was surprising that Henry chose Bedford instead, as Bedford had far less power and wealth than Blackwood. But the fact that he did so suggests that Henry did not fully trust Blackwood.
"When the news of both Henry and Robin's deaths arrived, Blackwood saw his chance. He had a powerful new weapon--Sir Kendrick de Montclair, a knight-errant currently in his employ. According to Christopher, very little was known about De Montclair. Some reports said he was from Aragon, while others say he was Italian. He supposedly rose from humble origins to become a renowned fighter, amassing gold in tournaments all over the continent and building something of a Hercules-like reputation. He was said to have the strength of ten men, to run faster than birds can fly, and to ignite objects just by looking at them."
Clark worked very hard to keep his expression neutral. "That's some story. They have to be exaggerating."
"I'm not so sure," was Henry's reply. "Many knights had extraordinary strength—I've heard of one who could turn a somersault in his armor. These men were trained for war all their lives. They were probably amazing athletes, every bit as good as anyone you see in the Olympics."
"So what happened?" Lana asked.
"Blackwood proposed to Lianne again, and she refused. So Blackwood sent de Montclair to watch her, make sure she didn't try to flee, while he attended to an urgent matter overseas. He warned her that if she had not changed her mind by his return, he would invade Langdon. He came back to find her every bit as adamant as when he'd left. He took de Montclair back to Blackwood with him and planned his attack.
"In the meantime, de Monclair and Lianne had fallen in love. De Montclair intended to betray his lord for her, but was unable to warn her in time. Blackwood's far superior army attacked and soon overwhelmed Langdon's forces. But at some point during the battle, de Montclair apparently helped Lianne escape. A furious Lothar conducted a search for the traitor. Upon finding him, he challenged him to a duel, with Lianne as the prize.
"De Montclair wanted to send Lianne to a convent to keep her safe, but she refused to leave his side. The duel was fought the next morning. Most people thought Blackwood was crazy to take on de Montclair, so imagine their shock and grief when de Montclair actually lost. No one is sure how that happened. All they know is that he died in Lianne's arms, and Blackwood hauled her off to his castle where he held her prisoner until they could be wed.
"Now here's the interesting part. Apparently de Montclair had an ally in Blackwood, for it was said one of Blackwood's knights turned traitor and Blackwood was killed in the skirmish. Lianne somehow escaped, likely aided by Anne. No one is sure of her whereabouts in the following years. Likely Anne took her to France. Anne's father, the Compte de Beauvais, had some holdings in Poitiers where they could have been granted asylum.
"Langdon reverted to the king upon Blackwood's death. Lianne eventually turned up in Gascony, where she met and married Christopher of Whitley. Whitley then became the new lord of Langdon. He and Lianne returned to England and lived what seems to have been a peaceful life together. They had two children, a son and a daughter. Their graves were found side-by-side in a small cemetery behind the chapel."
"Wow… that's some story. So sad," Lana murmured. "But what about Kendrick? Is he buried there as well?"
"The team at Langdon never found a grave, anything to indicate that de Montclair was buried there or that he had had ever been there at all. Perhaps he was buried at Blackwood, or taken back to his home, wherever that was. It may be that de Montclair will forever remain what he was back then—a mystery."
"What an incredible story," Gillian said quietly. "That memoir of Christopher's is a real find."
"I'll say," her father agreed. "The lives those medievals led… it was a hard life back then, so full of tragedy."
"I know," Lana agreed. Her eyes appeared slightly damp. "I can't believe Lianne would marry someone else, after what happened with Kendrick. I mean, if he was her true love…"
"Lana, you must understand that marriage wasn't necessarily about love in those days," the professor said. "For the upper classes, marriage was more often about power, money, or alliances. As a woman, Lianne had little say in her fate. She could never have survived alone, short of becoming a nun. I doubt she loved Robin. Judging by Christopher's account, she barely knew the man."
"And she agreed to marry him anyway?"
"She probably felt it her duty," the professor explained. "Or perhaps she found it better than the alternative. Either way, her story shows what a smart, strong woman she was. How much she endured. She did what she had to to survive."
"At least it's somewhat of a happy ending," Gillian pointed out. "It seems like she and Christopher were happy together."
"I guess," Lana said, but the story's ending still left her vaguely dissatisfied. "I just find it hard to imagine she'd give up on Kendrick so easily."
"Maybe she didn't give up on him," Clark spoke up. "Maybe she realized that he was gone forever, and that she had to go on. I imagine it wasn't easy for her."
"I never said it was," Lana pointed out. "I've just always thought that once you find true love, the heart doesn't heal so easily. There's always a part of that person in there."
"I won't argue with that," Clark said, "but if that person's lost to you forever, you can't go on living in the past."
"Maybe some people just never get over it. How can you give your whole heart to someone else when the person you lost still has it?"
"Because you're left with no choice," Clark murmured.
Lana looked ready to say something, but the professor interrupted. "Well, I'm afraid I've told you all that I know. Lana, I can still send out that tapestry if you'd like."
She hesitated a moment. Finally she said, "I really appreciate the offer, Dr. Arden, but I just don't feel right about it… not that I don't trust you, but Aunt Lily gave it to me, and I feel I should keep it with me. In honor of her memory, I guess."
The professor nodded. "I understand. But if you ever change your mind, the offer still stands."
"Thank you, Dr. Arden."
"Hey, before we go, Dad, I have a question for you," Gillian spoke up. "Do you think we could use Christopher's memoir as our primary source? If you've got a copy somewhere…"
"It's on my hard drive. I'll print it out for you."
"So that means we can use it?"
Her father sighed, but he was smiling. "I should've known you had an ulterior motive for coming here. But sure, you can use it. Just let me print it out."
"Oh, thank you!" Gillian engulfed the professor in a tight hug, which seemed to make him comfortable. "Gillian, dear, you're starting to become American. Remember, we don't hug. We're British."
"Of course, Dad." With a crooked smile, Gillian straightened up and watched as her father's printer began to spit out sheet upon sheet of middle English.
Well, it had been a most interesting day indeed.
Several hours and cups of coffee later, Clark, Lana, and Gillian unanimously decided to call it a night.
"Clark, would you be a dear and give me a ride home?" Gillian asked as they gathered up their books. "Dad's already left… that was the call I got on my cell earlier. I told him I'd be able to bum a ride with you."
"No problem," said Clark easily. "It'll be a tight squeeze, but we'll manage, right, Lana?"
Lana managed to smile. "Right."
The three of them set out for Clark's truck, which stood like a squat red pony in the pale wash of the parking lot's floodlights. Lana shivered in the chilly air, pulling her coat more tightly around her. It was an especially dark, cool evening, the breeze bringing with it a bite suggesting that winter wasn't quite ready to relinquish its hold.
"New moon tonight," Gillian remarked. Lana shivered again. She didn't consider herself a particularly superstitious person, but something about the way Gillian said it made it sound ominous.
She was grateful when they reached the truck. Piling their books in the back, they climbed in awkwardly. Clark wasn't kidding about it being a tight squeeze. Lana was crushed against the door, with Gillian pressed against her other side. Gillian sat in the center, her long legs straddling the gear shift and her hose-clad thigh pressed up against the seam of Clark's jeans. As he reached down to shift gears, his hand brushed Gillian's calf.
"Getting frisky there, eh, high school?" Gillian joked, and in the dim lighting Lana swore she saw Clark blush.
It was going to be a long ride.
Gillian chattered breezily as they navigated the darkened streets of Smallville, pausing only to switch radio stations, which she did about every two minutes. It really began to get on Lana's nerves. Also, every bump caused the door handle to dig deeper into her ribs, and she was sure she'd be black and blue by the time she got home.
She never thought she'd be so glad to see the Sullivans' house. She noticed that Chloe's light was out, and silently thanked God. At least one thing was going right this evening.
"Thanks for the ride, Clark," she mumbled when the truck sputtered to a stop in front of the Sullivans' driveway. She was sure by now that she'd lost all feeling in her right side.
"Don't mention it," Clark said. "Want some help with your books?"
"Nah, I can handle it." So what if her backpack caused her spine to compress a couple of inches? She was just eager to get home and put this day out of its misery ASAP.
"OK…." He didn't look entirely convinced. Lana avoided his eyes as she hefted her backpack over the seat and stumbled from the truck. Dammit, she had to wear her high-heeled boots today. She tripped and stumbled into the Sullivans' fence.
"You sure you don't need help?" Clark called after her.
"I'm fine." She didn't turn around. Face on fire, she focused all her energy on traversing the Sullivans' driveway as quickly as possible.
Clark waited until she got in safely before pulling away. She watched the flash of his headlights out the window as the truck moved out of view, and she swore she still heard Gillian's silvery laughter chasing after her like a mocking poltergeist.
Why is this bothering me so much? she thought grouchily, navigating the stairs as quietly as possible, as not to wake Chloe or her parents. Clark and I are ancient history. We both agreed to see other people.
But why did the person he chose to see have to be so pretty… or so nice… or so freakin' perfect? What girl could rattle off random medieval facts on a dime and beat a boy in fencing? What girl learned to joust and made tights and hose look sexier than the most daring designer evening gown?
Damn Gillian. Damn Clark. Damn medieval lit course. Lana's mood deteriorated even further as she got ready for bed and finally climbed beneath the covers. She was exhausted, but once her head hit the pillow, sleep evaded her. Conflicting thoughts swirled around her head in a senseless, chaotic dance. The professor said those medievals lived hard lives. But she couldn't say much for the twenty-first century, either.
How am I going to get through this project, this week, this night? She glanced out the window at the moonless night. A pale shaft of the streetlight's artificial luminescence fell across the tapestry, which lay draped over the back of her desk chair. Who would have thought such a seemingly innocuous object would complicate her life so much?
Now it is your turn to finish the story. Her great aunt's words echoed in her head. She had no idea what it meant. Was she supposed to finish the tapestry? Which was ridiculous, considering she knew nothing about weaving and that home ec hadn't been her forte. But what else could it possibly mean?
Those thoughts became more and more muddled as sleep gradually stole over her. She was grateful when it found her at least, and dove eagerly into the dark mist of sleep.