Timeline - Michael Crichton [197]
“Here,” Johnston said, shining his light on the floor.
They all walked over to see.
Broken tree branches and a layer of damp leaves covered the floor. Johnston was down on his hands and knees, brushing them away to expose weathered burial stones that had been set in the floor. Chris sucked in his breath when he saw the first one. It was a woman, dressed demurely in long robes, lying on her back. The carving was unmistakably the Lady Claire. Unlike many carvings, Claire was depicted with her eyes open, staring frankly at the viewer.
“Still beautiful,” Kate said, standing with her back arched, her hand pressed into her side.
“Yes,” Johnston said. “Still beautiful.”
Now the second stone was cleared away. Lying next to Claire, they saw André Marek. He, too, had his eyes open. Marek looked older, and he had a crease on the side of his face that might have been from age, or might have been a scar.
Elsie said, “According to the documents, Andrew escorted Lady Claire back to England from France, and then married her. He didn’t care about the rumors that Claire had murdered her previous husband. By all accounts he was deeply in love with his wife. They had five sons, and were inseparable all their lives.
“In his old age,” Elsie said, “the old routier settled down to a quiet life, and doted on his grandchildren. Andrew’s dying words were ‘I have chosen a good life.’ He was buried in the family chapel in Eltham, in June 1382.”
“Thirteen eighty-two,” Chris said. “He was fifty-four.”
Johnston was cleaning the rest of the stone. They saw Marek’s shield: a prancing English lion on a field of French lilies. Above the shield were words in French.
Elsie said, “His family motto, echoing Richard Lionheart, appeared above the coat of arms: Mes compaingnons cui j’amoie et cui j’aim, … Me di, chanson. “ She paused. “ ‘Companions whom I loved, and still do love, … Tell them, my song.’”
They stared at André for a long time.
Johnston touched the stone contours of Marek’s face with his fingertips. “Well,” he said finally, “at least we know what happened.”
“Do you think he was happy?” Chris said.
“Yes,” Johnston said. But he was thinking that however much Marek loved it, it could never be his world. Not really. He must have always felt a foreigner there, a person separated from his surroundings, because he had come from somewhere else.
The wind whined. A few leaves blew, scraping across the floor. The air was damp and cold. They stood silently.
“I wonder if he thought of us,” Chris said, looking at the stone face. “I wonder if he ever missed us.”
“Of course he did,” the Professor said. “Don’t you miss him?”
Chris nodded. Kate sniffled, and blew her nose.
“I do,” Johnston said.
They went back outside. They walked down the hill to the car. By now the rain had entirely stopped, but the clouds remained dark and heavy, hanging low over the distant hills.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Our understanding of the medieval period has changed dramatically in the last fifty years. Although one occasionally still hears a self-important scientist speak of the Dark Ages, modern views have long since overthrown such simplicities. An age that was once thought to be static, brutal and benighted is now understood as dynamic and swiftly changing: an age where knowledge was sought and valued; where great universities were born, and learning fostered; where technology was enthusiastically advanced; where social relations were in flux; where trade was international; where the general level of violence was often less deadly than it is today. As for the old reputation of medieval times as a dark time of parochialism, religious prejudice and mass slaughter, the record of the twentieth century must lead any thoughtful observer to conclude that we are in no way superior.
In fact, the conception of a brutal medieval period was an invention of the Renaissance, whose proponents were at pains to emphasize a new spirit, even at the expense