always had to make my case to get her to believe, and that case had to be full of provable facts. It was the scientist in her. But our leap through time appeared to be changing her. Changing all of us.
“San Galgano performed many miracles afterward,” Marcello said, making the sign of the cross from forehead to chest and across again, a note of defense in his tone. Luca did the same. “Why is it that you doubt this story?” he asked, blinking at me with concern in his handsome eyes.
I shifted, trying to get comfortable on my sidesaddle. Marcello had insisted we use them, given our official task in the visit. Then I shrugged. “I know not. In Normandy we are taught to suspect everything. Believe once proven. Don’t you find the tale rather…wondrous?”
“That is exactly how I think of it. Wondrous. A miracle.” He smiled at me, and I admired him anew. He truly was the most handsome guy I’d ever met. Strong chin. Prominent cheekbones. Large, warm eyes. He was attractive all the time—but when he smiled, man , I was lost.
“The Cistercian monks think of it as a miraculous land too,” he went on with a wry smile. When he glanced back and spotted Dad giving him a steady stare, he hastily dropped it and looked forward again as if caught doing something terrible.
“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to distract them both.
“They own most of the valley ahead of us,” he said. “Every principal building. Most of the industry. The people work for them.”
“But it is a good valley, a prosperous valley,” Luca added. “Her people are content.”
As we neared, I could see why. It was beautiful country, with a strong river and many creeks, soil that was dark and rich, and heavy forests, even though much had already been cleared to make way for more farmable acreage.
“So why did San Galgano thrust his sword in the stone?” I asked.
Dad smiled. “He forswore everything he hated—wealth and war. Violence and lust.” Did he glance at Marcello when he said that last word? Oh, you did NOT, Dad! C’mon … “An angel—”
“Archangel,” Marcello gently corrected.
“ Archangel, ” Dad repeated with a nod, “came to him and asked him to come here, to this place.”
“The twelve apostles, too,” Marcello said.
“Do you wish to tell this story, or may I, m’lord? Mayhap our version in Normandy is different than yours.”
It was Marcello’s turn to nod in deference. But he was smiling, and he gestured for Dad to go on.
“On Montesiepi he was told to build a church, and once there, he thrust his sword into the stone in an effort to create a rudimentary cross. He succeeded—only the end remained visible, which, indeed, looked like a cross.”
“And then the pilgrims came,” I guessed, “and the monks after them.” I’d spent enough time in this country, in my own time, to know how it worked. If something holy happened, the people had to come check it out.
“Indeed,” Dad said, clearly pleased with me.
When Marcello and Luca started chatting about something else, I leaned back over the rump of my horse, toward Dad. “So…do you think it’s a hoax?” I asked.
He pursed his lips. “I, like you, would like to see it myself. But many have tried over the years to pull it from the stone and failed.”
“I read that they tested the alloys around 2000,” Mom whispered. “Completely consistent with an eleventh- or twelfth-century weapon.”
Lia glanced at me with raised eyebrows. Her expression said, Impressive .
I hoped I had the chance to give the old sword a pull. Mayhap I was the true queen of England, and Excalibur would show it was so. I giggled under my breath. Yeah, that’s just what you need, Gabs. A whole other gig drawing some serious attention …
The abbey rose from a wide basin surrounded by hills that would become miles of crops—sprouting wheat and grapevines full of leaves and fruit—come summer. She was all the more inspiring sitting as she was, alone in
“San Galgano performed many miracles afterward,” Marcello said, making the sign of the cross from forehead to chest and across again, a note of defense in his tone. Luca did the same. “Why is it that you doubt this story?” he asked, blinking at me with concern in his handsome eyes.
I shifted, trying to get comfortable on my sidesaddle. Marcello had insisted we use them, given our official task in the visit. Then I shrugged. “I know not. In Normandy we are taught to suspect everything. Believe once proven. Don’t you find the tale rather…wondrous?”
“That is exactly how I think of it. Wondrous. A miracle.” He smiled at me, and I admired him anew. He truly was the most handsome guy I’d ever met. Strong chin. Prominent cheekbones. Large, warm eyes. He was attractive all the time—but when he smiled, man , I was lost.
“The Cistercian monks think of it as a miraculous land too,” he went on with a wry smile. When he glanced back and spotted Dad giving him a steady stare, he hastily dropped it and looked forward again as if caught doing something terrible.
“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to distract them both.
“They own most of the valley ahead of us,” he said. “Every principal building. Most of the industry. The people work for them.”
“But it is a good valley, a prosperous valley,” Luca added. “Her people are content.”
As we neared, I could see why. It was beautiful country, with a strong river and many creeks, soil that was dark and rich, and heavy forests, even though much had already been cleared to make way for more farmable acreage.
“So why did San Galgano thrust his sword in the stone?” I asked.
Dad smiled. “He forswore everything he hated—wealth and war. Violence and lust.” Did he glance at Marcello when he said that last word? Oh, you did NOT, Dad! C’mon … “An angel—”
“Archangel,” Marcello gently corrected.
“ Archangel, ” Dad repeated with a nod, “came to him and asked him to come here, to this place.”
“The twelve apostles, too,” Marcello said.
“Do you wish to tell this story, or may I, m’lord? Mayhap our version in Normandy is different than yours.”
It was Marcello’s turn to nod in deference. But he was smiling, and he gestured for Dad to go on.
“On Montesiepi he was told to build a church, and once there, he thrust his sword into the stone in an effort to create a rudimentary cross. He succeeded—only the end remained visible, which, indeed, looked like a cross.”
“And then the pilgrims came,” I guessed, “and the monks after them.” I’d spent enough time in this country, in my own time, to know how it worked. If something holy happened, the people had to come check it out.
“Indeed,” Dad said, clearly pleased with me.
When Marcello and Luca started chatting about something else, I leaned back over the rump of my horse, toward Dad. “So…do you think it’s a hoax?” I asked.
He pursed his lips. “I, like you, would like to see it myself. But many have tried over the years to pull it from the stone and failed.”
“I read that they tested the alloys around 2000,” Mom whispered. “Completely consistent with an eleventh- or twelfth-century weapon.”
Lia glanced at me with raised eyebrows. Her expression said, Impressive .
I hoped I had the chance to give the old sword a pull. Mayhap I was the true queen of England, and Excalibur would show it was so. I giggled under my breath. Yeah, that’s just what you need, Gabs. A whole other gig drawing some serious attention …
The abbey rose from a wide basin surrounded by hills that would become miles of crops—sprouting wheat and grapevines full of leaves and fruit—come summer. She was all the more inspiring sitting as she was, alone in
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