“Did I thank you for the pictures?”
“At least a dozen times.”
“The photographs of the countryside, where you were staying, were wonderful. They reminded me of an Elizabethan England.” Adam knew he was speaking to hear himself, but he was seeking any sign of betraying emotion beyond her bland façade.
Kate's shoulders lifted with the faintest of noncommittal shrugs. “The smaller towns are beautiful.”
“What would you say was your impression of the surrounding area where you were, Kate?” He ventured boldly, detecting a momentary flicker of emotion.
“Most definitely Shakespearean.”
Frustrated, Adam was outwardly calm. There was a semblance of betraying emotion apparent in her response and, if only fleeting, he couldn't let it to vanish.
“Where are we off to today?” She questioned abruptly and Adam knew it was her attempt to change the subject. Her gaze left him and returned to the white dusted countryside.
Adam recalled the name of the town where her employment had transferred her. Subsequently, without her knowledge, he'd been stealthily working his way north from London. He knew his actions were underhanded but there had to be something to trigger a reaction from her, no matter how miserable. “Do you remember the history teacher from middle school?”
“You forget there are years between us.” Kate provided with a brief flash of a smile. “Staff changed constantly at the school we attended.”
“I know.” He supplied, reflecting back on their youth. “I'm speaking of the older teachers, the ones that stayed year after year.”
Kate was silent, mentally attempting to recall Adam's history teacher. “Elmhurst?”
“No, the other one,” he shook his head. “There was an elderly woman who taught history. I was in her class from middle school until I graduated.”
“Mrs. Tuttle.” She supplied with a nod, the memory of the woman who bore more of a resemblance to a mystery sleuth leaping into her mind. Mrs. Tuttle had been Adam's favorite instructor and an outstanding teacher, encouraging the students in her class with praise and smiles. Kate remembered her fondly, thinking the woman would have probably enjoyed afternoon tea and crumpets.
“Yes.” Adam sighed wistfully, his folded arms crossing his chest as he settled comfortably into his seat. “She was the perfect mentor, and the reason I chose the path I did.”
Kate chuckled at his admission, “The archaeological career?”
“More or less,” Adam admitted sheepishly. “Do you know Mrs. Tuttle was in her sixties when I first had her class? She traveled the world with her husband.”
“She did?” Kate questioned, curious about the direction of the conversation.
Adam nodded eagerly. “Faithfully, every summer she began with taking a flight from Phoenix to Frankfurt or London. I couldn't wait for her to return, eager to hear her stories and see those wonderful photographs.”
“Really?” Kate supplied, recalling the impatient boy he'd been who had counted the days until school resumed.
“I was shown pictures of timbered homes from the middle ages, cobblestone streets walked by knights in armor, and the most fabulous castles.” He warmed at the subject, his eyes glazing over as he reminisced. “There's this wonderful home directly outside of Frankfurt, on the autobahn…” He paused, realizing the word was foreign to her. “The highway route to a town called Würzburg, where there's a seventeenth century hunting lodge.”
“I suppose I should take your word.” Kate provided with a scowl.
“Remind me to show the pictures she gave me.” He rewarded her with an equal grimace.
“Okay, okay,” she placated, not wishing to dampen his enthusiasm. “Please, continue.”
Dreamily, he returned to the subject. “There's a castle on the hill outside Würzburg and an ornate chapel on an adjacent hill. There's a baroque palace called the Residenz, completed in seventeen forty-four, which became the home of the prince bishops in succession to the citadel.”
Kate smiled indulgently, encouraging him.
“On one trip, Mrs. Tuttle showed me slides of a medieval town called Rothenburg. The name of the town is a shortened version of Rothenburg ob Der Tauber, which meant Rothenburg over the River Tauber.”
“I vaguely recall you telling Mom about the place.” She managed with feigned interest.
“The town is a walled city, with ramparts from the thirteenth and fourteenth century, entirely undamaged with the passage of time. Eight centuries of humanity built the various sections of the town.” Adam's expression warmed perceptibly. “In the square where the town hall is situated, there are baroque buildings. There's a clock tower in the center of town, in the old plaza. Every day, a carved effigy of the burger-meister appears as the clock chimes and replays a vital historical scene.”
“First of all, you will have to explain to me exactly what a burger-meister is.” Kate interjected with a quirky tilt of her brow.
“I suppose town mayor might be a good description.” Adam provided hastily, realizing he had her attention. “In sixteen thirty one, the town of Rothenburg was seized by the Imperial forces of Count Tilly. Tilly overran the town and threatened to raze it to the ground and slaughter the citizens. To amuse himself, they said he'd spare them if someone managed to inhale nearly three point one liters of wine in one gulp. The burger-meister volunteered and history was made.”
“Let me guess, the mayor was an accomplished drinker?”
“Apparently the best,” Adam managed with a sly wink. “Anyway, the town survived.”
Kate laughed. “I suppose you were Mrs. Tuttle's favorite pupil?”
“I couldn't wait for her class.” Adam admitted sheepishly. “I loved her slide shows and, when she became computer literate, the pictures she would send me.”
“I didn't realize you were so close to her.”
Adam smiled at his sister's bemusement. “Who do you think made her computer literate?”
“Ah.” Kate laughed, winking at her brother.
“Anyway, her trips would begin in Frankfurt am Hessen. From there, her husband and she would decide the eventual route of their summer travel. Sometimes, it was the train routes to Greece, then backpacking to the Acropolis and various outlying islands. Other times, she would travel to England.”
“Absorbing as many historical sites as possible?”
“Of course,” Adam admitted. “Her favorite was touring the ruins of old castles, Hadrian's Wall, Stonehenge, and ancient cathedrals. She'd return with the brass rubbing and such….”
“Brass rubbings?” Kate interrupted. “I assume you're speaking of the ones that littered your room as a teen, the copies of the engravings from tombs?”
“Of course!” He restrained the urge to rub his hands together while he drove. “Most brasses are widely copied throughout England with actual one on one contact, from floors or walls of most churches. The only exception would be a floor brass where the tar securing the rendering has perished.”
“Now, how are you going to determine if the tar has cracked, Adam?” Kate questioned skeptically. “You're studying history, if I recall, not engineering, or whatever it might be.”
Adam dealt her an extremely harassed glare, as if she had insulted his intelligence.
“If the brass is tapped, there'll be a hollow, clanging sound.” He provided tightly, minutely offended. “That's how I know if the tar is decaying. When a brass emits such a sound, there's the possibility of the metal bending under the stress of the rubbing and, eventually, cracking.”
“Sorry, Adam” Kate issued to his obvious knowledge, her lips firmly pressed together, and her expression shamefaced. “You did your research and I made a fool of myself by jumping to conclusions. I forget you aren't a child any longer.”
“I haven't been a child in years, Kate.” He muttered beneath his breath. Absently, Adam patted at the satchel at his side. “I've everything I need for today's expedition.”
“I watched you pack
this morning.” She admitted, curious at the items that had much to do with the actual trek he purposed. There was a short, rolled tube of thick black paper, masking tape, a handful of paper towels, a set of bronzed wax crayons, and a large cosmetic brush.
Again, Adam patted the bag affectionately, his eyes glowing. “I had one hell of a time planning this trip. Before I left school, I researched the available lists of brasses. Yesterday, I made a few phone calls to ask permission to make my own copies.”
“Are you thinking of spending hours on your knees, on a cold church floor, copying a tomb of some long dead knight?” Kate groaned, her expression crestfallen.
“Probably,” he admitted with a sly wink. “Don't worry, sis. I found a church in some shire called Waldenford. St. Gabriel's was a prosperous church in the late fourteen hundreds, conveniently on the main route from Scotland into England.”
“Am I your camera assistant?” Kate questioned.
“Well, historical reference system, you aren't.” He responded with a sarcastic twist of his lips. “I shall have to trust you on the camera.”
“I'm not that hopeless.” She responded tightly, but her eyes twinkled.
“Did you know, Kate, most knights were either buried in the floor or entombed in the walls of the cathedrals?” He only half-heard her comment. “Some, if there was enough money and honor involved, could afford the elaborate above ground tombs.”
“Like we saw in London?”
“Right!” Her younger brother nearly shouted with glee. “St. Gabriel's has the best floors in England. Reportedly, there's a bunch of knights entombed in the floor and walls.”
Kate nodded vaguely; secretly delighted she had recharged the battery pack for the digital camera. Her gaze shifted to the passing scenery and she paid attention to only a small amount of Adam's ramblings as the car sped past snow-covered landscapes. The vehicle roared down the deserted lanes, the sound of the engine disrupting a flock of black birds. A great mass rose from the boughs of ancient trees, filling the sky with an unforeseen cloud of darkness. Kate fell back in her seat, stupefied, her mind blank.
“Lord, Kate, I've never seen so many ravens in my life!” Adam proclaimed aloud, blinking in astonishment before he returned his attention to the route.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kate halted as the massive doors to the church closed behind her. She shuddered and pulled the collar of her jacket tighter about her, the chill of the outside winter air intensified by the thickness of the ancient walls.
Adam, with his usual self-absorbed and unintentional rudeness, left her behind and bounded into the structure. He was involved in a discussion with a black garbed priest, their heads lowered as they scanned the available brasses on the worn floors. Kate stifled an indulgent smile, her brother's excitement apparent.
She glanced at the towering domed roof of the building, struck speechless by the stunning array of buttresses looming high above her. She revolved on her heel and, with a baited breath, looked at her surroundings. She moved across the floor, aware her shoes echoed loudly on the stone floor, the sound bouncing off the thick walls. Kate was in awe, disbelief clearly etched on her face at the glory of the magnificent building.
She paused as she reached her brother's side, the parish priest having left him assembling his brass rubbing supplies on the bare floor. He knelt by the image imprinted into the floor, with what was an over-sized make up brush, careful not to place any weight on the brass itself. Cautiously, he brushed the grit from the surrounding area.
“Why in the world are you cleaning a fourteenth century old brass?”
“Kate, this is an ancient church. There's enough debris, despite the cleaning staff, on the floor that can destroy my work. If I don't brush away the dirt and grime, my paper might tear.” He provided calmly, apparently pleased with his efforts, and placed the thick bristled brush aside. He pulled the roll of thick paper from his satchel, spreading it across the brass and permitting enough overlay for a generous margin. He cut the paper loose from the roll with tiny scissors.
Kate dropped to her haunches and placed the roll of paper back into Adam's worn satchel, watching her brother tape the paper to the cold stone floor. Adam outlined the ancient composition with his fingertips, his actions resembling the delicate ministrations of a blind man.
“What are you doing?”
“There are rivets holding the plaque into place. If I don't pay attention to what I'm doing, they'll tear my work.” Adam explained vaguely, the scissors still in his steady hand.
Cautiously, he made small holes in the paper over the rivets, forcing it to lie flat. He sat back on his heels, examining his work with a critical eye before reaching into his satchel. From the nearly bottomless depths, Adam extracted a rolled tube of napkins and his coveted, metallic-hued wax crayon.
Deliberately cautious, he leaned forward. Gently holding the bit of wax in his hand, he rubbed the oversized crayon over the extended paper. He rubbed consistently in one direction, diligently striving for a uniform finish.
Kate leaned closer as the picture magically appeared on the black paper, her hair brushing Adam's shoulder. He paused in his movements, a long and exasperated sigh escaping him as he fell back and landed heavily on his bottom.
“Kate, sis,” he began, his tone reverently low. “I love you to death, hermana, but I hate people looking over my shoulder while I'm working.”
Kate rose, granting him a childish view of the tip of her tongue before she crept away. She knew Adam was going to forget the simple matter of time and her, being engrossed in his new hobby.
Silent, she roamed the length of the aisles, avoiding the more modern pews. Pausing before the altar, Kate turned about and examined the length of the church. Candles glowed in a hidden alcove and there was a trio of large and blindingly white alabaster tombs gracing a distant niche.
Sighing, Kate moved toward the tombs. She muttered under her breath, wishing she had remembered to bring Adam's dog-eared travel guide with her. Frowning, she knew she would have to try her hand at old English script, hoping the engraved words weren't Latin.
She halted at the tombs, looking on the gloriously carved figures of two knights, fully encased in battle armor. From the research she had studied with Anne, she knew the portrayed armor would have easily cost nearly half of a year's income, during their era. Kate drew closer, feeling an overwhelming attraction to the pair, entranced by the elaborate carvings.
She approached the image of a younger knight, his helmet, and gauntlets resting at one side, a hand on the armored breastplate. Kate reached out, trailing her fingers over his, expecting the contact to be warm to the touch. She laughed at her foolishness, the sound muffled as she stared at his hand.
The knuckles, finely groomed nails, and veins were precisely forged into the stone. There was an excellent stonemason employed for the portrayal of the knight, her gaze lifting to his face, returning the slight smile evident on his eternally sleeping features.
Her fingertips trailed over the strong bones of the slumbering knight's face. She faltered at the image of a precisely etched battle scar marring his smooth brow before trailing down the crooked length of his broken nose. She was dazzled by the exactness of the sculpture, and wondered at the knight's identity.
Kate turned to the larger knight. This tomb was a few decades older, she determined by the artistic reproduction of the armor adorning his statuesque form. A long sword rested on the heavy breastplate, the hilt concealed by the interlacing of his exquisitely carved figures on his chest. Kate understood the significance of the carving; a knight's sword was his most valued weapon of battle, the weapon blessed by the Church and an obvious symbol of the vows he swore on his investiture.
Even to the most casual of bystanders, it was obvious the same stonemason had carved the tombs. Although there was a difference of nearly thirty years between their deaths, both men were dutifully revered and represented. Again, she wished she had brought the travel guide, wondering what
secrets the tombs held.
Kate's hand trailed across the carved armor of the older alabaster knight's thigh, pausing to touch tentatively the sword, fearing the stone blade had the capability of slicing through the tips of her fingers. She shook her head in disbelief at the cold stone beneath her hand. Her attention drifted to the knight's helmet, resting in a similar position at his side, cradled protectively in the crook of his arm.
“They're an exquisite set of tombs, are they not?”
The sudden and unexpected sound of a man's gentle and lulling voice intruded on her thoughts. Nervously, Kate jumped, her hand falling to her side. She turned to find a darkly garbed parish priest at her elbow, his eyes twinkling over the rim of the spectacles resting low on his nose.
“They're absolutely amazing,” she admitted, coloring slightly for having been caught caressing the tomb. She glanced over her shoulder at the pair of figures, realizing there was a third tomb nearby.
“The first tomb, of the larger knight, was carved in the middle part of the fifteen hundreds. History tells us an Italian stone carver, Santiago de Guglielmi, was the stonemason.”
“I'm afraid I'm a bit negligent in the history department.” Kate admitted with embarrassment. The priest chuckled behind the cover of a pale hand, the sound comparative to a youthful giggle.
“Are you related to the studious young gentlemen toiling over at the rubbing?”
“My brother,” she admitted, granting a quick glance in Adam's direction. “He was so intent on getting a duplicate of Sir Edmund Charleston's brass that he left our tour book in the car.”
“Ah!” The priest commented with a touch of amusement. “He appears to be a wonderful chap, well versed in his history.”
“Currently, he's majoring in English history.” She supplied with a touch of pride before she provided a shamefaced glance to the priest. “Unfortunately, I'm a bit slower at the learning.”
The priest afforded her an understanding smile. His hands firmly clasped behind his back, he turned toward the carved set of alabaster tombs.
My Lord Raven (The Ravensmoor Saga) Page 24
