by K. T. Tomb
Marcus, the butler, had told Chyna that if she ever wanted to tap Angus McKinley for information, all she had to do was bring a pack of Embassy Kings and a lighter along with her. The old man had claimed to have given up smoking a few years prior, but Marcus was convinced he’d only given up buying them. Chyna rarely smoked anymore, but she could sympathize with him.
She took the open pack from her pocket and offered it to Angus with the lighter. He smiled at her as he put the cigarette to his lips and lit it, savoring the first draw and blowing the smoke out slowly. He handed them back to her and continued.
“Cupper?”
“What?” Chyna asked.
Angus laughed at the look of bewilderment on her face as he remembered she was American.
“Would you like a cup of tea, lass?”
“Oh! Yes, certainly.”
Angus went into the kitchen and emerged with a clean, white mug which he filled from his tea pot and handed to her.
“So what do you know about the place?”
“Not much, I’ll admit. All I really know is that Robert and his family members are descendants of the Plantagenets and that the stolen armor belonged to Eleanor of Aquitaine.”
“Quite right,” Angus agreed. “Do you know much about her then?”
“Just the basics, I’m afraid, but I’m completely fascinated. She was such a powerful woman and for her to have survived and remained so formidable in such a strange and perilous time for women who dared to grasp at power and wealth is absolutely amazing,” Chyna said, intrigued. “But tell me, Angus, tell me what you know. Robert says you’re quite the expert. I especially want to know why they called her ‘The Eagle’.”
“How much time ‘ave ya got?” the old man asked her, with a cheeky look in his eye.
“As long as it takes for you to tell me everything, Angus,” Chyna said, with a smile.
She reached into her pocket and took out the pack of Embassy cigarettes again, placing them on the stump between them and dropping the lighter beside it before leaning back in the garden chair and repeating, “As long as it takes.”
The old man smiled as he took a cigarette from the pack and lit it. Chyna joined him this time; she had decided to settle in to listen to his story.
“Alright then, missy. We might as well start at the very beginning. I can only tell you how I remember the story. It’s no joke that Sir Robert and the Barons Dordogne before him came down from the Plantagenet line. All of that history is still at Châtellerault Castle in Winchester. They’ve got a library there that dates back to Matilda the Empress. It was sacked in 1141 during the rout of Winchester, but a monk locked himself in the library so the soldiers couldn’t burn the manuscripts. If you go to the estate, you’ll get to read it all for yourself in the original copy.
“Before her birth, Eleanor’s life had been prophesized about. History doesn’t say by whom, but the prophecy itself was recorded. Eleanor was the eagle, the broken bond was the annulment of her marriage to Louis and the third nestling was Eleanor’s favorite son, Richard.
“She was born into the ruling family of the duchy of Aquitaine, a cultural center, much ahead of its time compared to the other French duchies and cities, who still lived in a medieval world. Aquitaine was also the largest of the French duchies, the prize of Western Europe. Eleanor’s family had ruled Aquitaine for centuries, first gaining power in the year 841.
“Eleanor’s father, William, was born in 1099. His father was famous across the continent for his scandalous behavior and turned Aquitaine into a land of culture and beauty. The court of his Aquitanian duchy became a center for artists, poets, musicians, singers, and writers. He married Philipa of Aragon, but it wasn’t long before he took on a mistress, a woman named Dangereuse de Chatellerault. She had a daughter named Aenor, who William decided to marry to his son.
“Although William refused, the marriage took place, probably around 1120, when Aenor was only seventeen. They had three children; two daughters came first Eleanor and Petronilla, and then a son they called William Aigret. Sadly, in 1130, Aenor of Châtellerault died at the age of twenty-seven, as did William Aigret, at the age of four. William was left with only his two daughters and this brought up talk of a possible female succession. William decided to name Eleanor as his heir, to become the Duchess of Aquitaine, the first and only woman to rule the duchy in her own right.
“In the summer of 1137, William suffered from food poisoning, and Eleanor was named Duchess of Aquitaine. Almost immediately, she was being urged to marry quickly to protect her own interest and so she could take control of Aquitaine. She married King Louis’ son, the Dauphin, Louis, in the summer of 1137 in Bordeaux and the agreement was that Eleanor would remain the sole ruler of Aquitaine, Louis as her consort, and in the event of her death, he would inherit it.
A week after their marriage, on August 1, 1137, King Louis VI died of dysentery so that left Louis as King Louis VII of France and Eleanor , his queen.
“When Louis wrote to the German emperor, Conrad III, and convinced him to join the French troops on the expedition, that became known as the Second Crusade. Eleanor had no intention to sit at home in Paris. Although reluctant, Eleanor convinced Louis to let her join him on the crusade. In 1147, Eleanor and Louis reached the Holy Land and their French and German troops reached Constantinople to a royal greeting.
“While in Antioch, Eleanor’s uncle, Prince Raymond, pleaded with her to aid him in defense of Antioch against the Muslim invaders. Eleanor brought the matter before Louis who declined, and decided it was best to leave Antioch, for his sake and Eleanor’s. He forced Eleanor to come with him and Prince Raymond was killed in 1149 while in combat, his severed head sent to the caliph of Baghdad.
“In 1152, Eleanor and Louis annulled their marriage, and barely two months later she remarried. This time to the Duke of Anjou, Henry, a member of the Plantagenet family. Henry’s grandfather was Henry the first, King of England. His mother was the famous Matilda, the former empress of Germany and the Duchess of Normandy. The marriage shocked the people of France; nonetheless, she had found a man she loved more than Louis.
“In 1154, her husband became King Henry II of England, following the disastrous reign of King Stephen of England. Eleanor was now the Queen of England. Before his marriage to Eleanor, Henry had controlled Anjou and Normandy, and now he controlled in addition not only England but Gascony, Touraine, and Aquitaine. As powerful a nation as England had become, they soon felt the need to relaunch the Crusades to the Holy Land. Again Eleanor accompanied her husband and their troops.
“On April 1, 1204, Eleanor died at the age of eighty-two at the Abbey of Fontevrault. She was buried there, between Henry II and her son Richard, who is today remembered as Richard le Coeur de Lion, Richard the Lionheart. Eleanor had outlived five of her seven children. During her reign the construction of the Notre-Dame Cathedral took place, and the population of Paris soared to 200,000.
“Today, Eleanor’s descendants hold thrones across Europe and she is remembered as a very important figure of the Crusades. Her cultures that she introduced to the great kingdoms almost a millennia ago still live on today and Eleanor lives on as one of the most ruthless, yet beloved, rulers ever.”
“So, this is the woman whose armor I must find?” Chyna said, marveling at the magnificent story she had just heard.
“It disappeared just over thirty-five years ago. Stolen, right out of the manor house. Just gone one night, without a trace and hasn’t been seen since.”
“Angus,” Chyna asked curiously, “Outside of it having once belonged to Eleanor and the fact that a woman in that time would never need a suit of armor, much less worn one, what’s so special about it?”
“Well, lass, if you were listening and put two and two together, you’d have gotten that both of her husbands went on crusade and both times, Eleanor went with them. Both times she ended up pregnant in the field.”
“So?”
“So, Eleanor’s armor wasn’t just
designed for a woman; it was designed for a pregnant woman,” Angus said, sitting back and smiling widely at her as he lit another cigarette. “A very pregnant queen. A one of a kind piece of history, Miss Stone; it’s absolutely priceless. There isn’t another like it.”
***
“Sir… umm… I mean, Robert, how are you? How’s London been?” Chyna asked, as soon as he had come on the line.
“It’s been wonderful, Chyna. London at this time of year can be overrun with tourists, but it must still be quite early in the season. The weather is lovely, though.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“How have things been on the estate? Are you and Tony adequately enjoying yourselves? Is everything to your satisfaction?”
“Absolutely, Robert. We’re having the time of our lives and everybody is so nice to us here; I really can’t thank you enough. We haven’t had any quality time like this in a long while.”
“It’s my pleasure, Chyna. But I’m sure you didn’t call me just to check up on how I’m doing. How can I help you?”
“Well, Robert, it’s more a matter of how I can help you. I spoke to my technical director today and he’s agreed to join me on the investigation. Lana, my senior investigator, is a bit busy planning her wedding back home. So we’ll take your case, if you still want us to investigate it.”
“Of course I do. I’m truly astounded by the news. Absolutely gobsmacked.”
“We’re happy to be of assistance, Sir Robert. Oscar will be here at the end of the week and we plan to get started right away.”
“Excellent. Do keep me in the loop since I won’t be back in Bristol for another couple of weeks.”
“We will do that, Robert. Take care.”
“You too, Chyna.”
As she hung up the telephone and looked up at Tony, Chyna felt conflicted. Their time together was coming to a close. That made her sad but in the same breath, she and Oscar would officially be launching their dig into the mystery of Eleanor of Aquitaine’s missing armor. How many archaeologists on the planet would give their ten toes to be sitting in her seat right then?
Every one of them, she reckoned.
Chapter Two
It wasn’t long before Chyna realized that there was much more information to be had from Angus McKinley than she had expected.
There was some disconnect between the history of the armor and how it actually could have gone missing; which was what she really went there to find out. She decided that she would pay the old man another visit that afternoon to talk more about what happened that year when the theft occurred at Dordogne.
“Angus!” Chyna called from the little garden gate.
“Aye! Chyna, how are you today, lass?”
“As well as can be expected, Angus. I wondered if I could ask you a few more questions.”
“Well, that’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? Come on in, I’ll put the kettle on.”
Chyna smiled at the English connotation of preparing tea when one had visitors; their version of basic hospitality. When the man was seated opposite her under the tree in his garden, she began asking him the questions she had been thinking about all morning.
“Angus, tell me what was happening on the estate the year the armor was stolen?”
“Let me see now, I remember that the house was closed for the season, but it was also undergoing renovations at the time. The entire place was empty; even the regular staff were gone.”
“Where did they go?”
“Some went to the London house with the family, the others went home for their annual holidays or to work at the other properties.”
“I see. How were renovations to be done with everything still inside the house though?”
“We cleared the whole place out before the staff left. Everything was stored in the carriage house and the antiques were placed in the old bunker at the edge of the estate. Sir Montgomery was very afraid of items being taken from the estate and even more so of taking anything more to London. There was quite a bit of civil unrest in the city, what with labor strikes and increased attacks and bombings by the IRA that were happening at the time.”
Chyna nodded and asked, “Is there anyone else you think we should speak to?”
“Well, there was also a police investigation, so you could see if they still have a copy of the reports. And then there are the Spencers.”
“Okay, but who are the Spencers?”
“That would be Marion Spencer née Wainwright and John Spencer. Marion was head maid at the manor house when the theft occurred; in fact, even though it was closed, she would have been at the house. Marion was an orphan, she didn’t have any other home but Dordogne. John was Sir William Montgomery’s valet since his minority. He was retired by Sir Robert when Sir William died and then he and Marion moved away.”
“That sounds very promising, Angus. Anything else you recommend us doing?”
“Possibly. Evan Montgomery would be helpful as well. Evan’s design company wasn’t doing too well in the seventies, what with the economic crisis and political instability of the time and all. Sir William had arranged for his firm to handle the complete renovation of the manor house as a means of income for Evan; that and the fact that the place was getting rather run down.”
“That was very generous of him.”
Angus laughed heartily at the comment.
“Sir William always felt guilty for being born first, I think.”
“What do you mean, Angus?”
“Well, all the family lands and property went to Sir William when their father died. Evan was expected to carve out a life for himself outside of the family wealth. Sir Geoffrey only left him Dordogne Place in Bristol and an annual pension of about £24000 to be paid out of the family joint fund and if Sir William didn’t keep the fund viable, then Evan would lose that as well.”
Chyna felt a volley of fireworks going off in her head with Angus’ last revelation. She decided it was enough to end the interview on. She had some important phone calls to make.
“Thank you, Angus. I’ll come back if I have any more questions.”
“Very well, lass, but let me give you my card. You can just as easily call me if you need to. I don’t get to give out too many of these things; I don’t even know why Sir Robert had them done up.”
He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the small rectangle of white paper, handing it to her.
“Thank you, Angus. I’ll stay in touch.”
***
Ichita Nagasaki looked up from his desk.
He was calmly thinking about all the things he could have people do to Chyna and her special agent boyfriend, if they ever got too close to finding out about his wonderful and extremely venerated collection of ancient and medieval artifacts.
There was a knot of nervous energy in the pit of his stomach, as the scenarios of what could happen, should they be discovered in his possession, started to play themselves out in his mind.
He shook himself free of the disturbing thoughts and stepped toward the door of his enormous office. Outside, he turned down the hallway, silently waving away the constant stream of secretaries and junior executives who stepped forward with papers or questions.
He pressed the call button for the elevator and when it arrived, he went in and pressed ‘P’ for the building’s penthouse. The doors closed, but the elevator did not move. As he was about to lose his temper, Ichita remembered that he had not gone through the security protocol required to get to that floor. He placed his palm on the scan pad and once the machine was satisfied with his identity and his security clearance, it jolted to a start and delivered him smoothly to the penthouse.
Ichita had spent six months and an obscene amount of money remodeling it a few years ago when he had decided that he and the people in the upper echelon of his corporation spent too much time in the offices of IchiCo to not have a place to relax, center themselves and recharge their bodies and minds.
They all practically lived there afte
r all; some of them actually did. He stepped into the atrium and stopped to close his eyes and take a few very deep breaths. Before he could open them again, a young woman in a white uniform removed the suit jacket from his shoulders while another kneeled at his feet to remove his black leather Testoni shoes.
Already feeling better, Ichita stepped onto the plush tatami mats that lined the floor from wall to wall. He had intentionally done the room in the style of a traditional Japanese teahouse. He found the setting relaxing. It was classic and from a time when life had made sense; when Japan was a center of civilized culture, not the parody it had become as a result of the failures of the second world war.
He then proceeded to his private changing room and removed his clothes, donned a soft white Egyptian cotton robe and went to the acupuncture room. The therapist came in as soon as he was reclined on the table.
“Konichiwa, Nagasaki-san,” the elderly man said, bowing slightly from the waist.
Ichita mumbled his reply, not even looking up from the table.
“What seems to be the problem this afternoon?”
“I am nervous, Osamu-san.”
The man tsk’d at him and opened the cabinet drawers, taking out sterile packages of acupuncture needles, gauze and swabs.
“That is no good.”
“I do not wish for it to affect my liver function. You know how much trouble I had with that last year. Liver trouble is incredulous for someone who has never even lifted a sake cup to his lips, who takes wine only in moderation and when I do, it is only red.”
“Life is cruel and kind, Nagasaki-san. We must always be taking the good with the bad, the yin and the yang; all we can hope to do is maintain it all in a good enough balance. That business last year with the redesign of that muscle relaxant drug threw your body and its components into a tailspin. It was bad business.”
“Hai, Osamu-san. That is exactly how I am feeling again, so I came directly to you.”
