Chapter IV
Felicity
It was Felicity, confident Felicity, mostly choosing principle over intrigue and endlessly curious who, one fine June morning, under the blazing Dordogne valley sun, below the gates of Rocamadour, stumbled upon Abelard.
She couldn’t quite account for the abject circumstances in which he was found. She would think about it and eventually come across a perfectly sensible explanation. Until that happened, ‘unknown causes’ would have to do. Felicity poorly tolerated those who would fall back on superstition to pave over current ignorance. Each time the need arose, and it did so more often than not, she patiently pointed out to Abelard that there was but the very tiniest chance he had gone and dozed off for 650 years, so small that it would be best to just set aside the memories of an active medieval life. They were filling a void left by his amnesia. She first began to reset his pendulum, almost four years ago, at the ruined castle. She loved him deeply but sternly resisted the urge to skate around the truth and so soften the blow. To her mind if Abelard was ever to remember his past, this was the only possible way, short sharp pain.
For Abelard it was not always easy pretending believe that he was not really from the Fourteenth Century. He very vividly remembers the violent encounter on the steep, rocky donkey path, but nothing between then and when he finally awoke in the cave. He also has a perfectly detailed recall of a full life lived before the attack. Since then, nothing. He had been unconscious for a very long time. When revived, his withered body had barely the muscular energy to raise its eyelids and his mind was still working the deadly brawl.
Much as he relied upon Felicity’s good judgement, he trusted no one. To be fair, he trusted no one completely. It was a question of degree. Some he trusted not all and Felicity more than anyone else. It was not true that after four years of constant pressure to accept amnesia as his condition some doubt had dribbled in to weaken his own self-assurance. He was still firmly convinced otherwise, and when the time was right he would prove it to all and sundry. He knew how to go about it, only Felicity he was sure would not be willing to support him in his quest. The idiot twins, their erstwhile guides, had believed him, but were no longer around to support him. He had had to kill them.
The find has remained a closely kept secret, shared by only three people. Even if they, Felicity and the good doctor, believed there to be a perfectly sound story, the peculiar circumstances under which they discovered Abelard, not to mention the suspicious business since, meant that it would remain secret, perhaps forever. Felicity was particularly jealous to preserve their furtive little world. She seemed to draw sustenance and comfort within its shroud. There was, of course, The Society, which worried her. It had learned about the dodgy events and then seized upon an altogether outlandish explanation, but there was little risk they would reveal it to anyone, given the nature of their enterprise.
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The Perfect Human: An Abelard Chronicles Book Page 5
