Warwolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 0)(4)
Abigail could sense that they were getting somewhere now and she didn’t waste the opportunity. “Mr. Groby told me that your family has artifacts that no museum has seen,” she said quietly. “Artifacts pertaining to exactly what I’m looking for – the knights and soldiers who were on the front lines of the Duke of Normandy’s fighting force when they arrived in England. These are the men who really won the Battle of Hastings, Mr. Browne – the Duke of Normandy was a great commander, but it was these line officers who fought and died for England. It’s their stories I want to tell and Mr. Groby says you know something about that. Will you please tell me what you know?”
“And you’re going to write a paper about it?”
“I am writing my doctoral dissertation about it, yes.”
Queensborough looked like he was considering it. Then he looked at Groby. “You have been begging me to turn these things over to the museum,” he said. “Is this how you intend to force my hand? Once she publishes her sources, every Medieval scholar in the world is going to want to see them.”
Groby cleared his throat. “I’m not trying to force your hand. But this young woman may be the perfect way to introduce your artifacts to the world.”
Queensborough pondered that a moment before finally shaking his head. “I don’t know,” he said. He’d been hiding the artifacts for so long that he really didn’t know any other way. It was a difficult mindset to change. “Maybe… maybe you should come back tomorrow. I must think.”
Abigail didn’t want to lose control of the conversation, not now. She didn’t want to leave and take the chance that she’d never be invited back.
“Mr. Browne, do you have any children?” she asked pointedly. “Children that you plan to pass all of these artifacts down to?”
An expression of regret, perhaps even concern, flickered across Queensborough’s face. “Only nieces,” he said. “But that shouldn’t concern you.”
Abigail wouldn’t let go. “Do they care about these artifacts?” she asked. “I mean, are they going to take good care of them? Hide them away from the world like you do?”
“I’m sure they’ll do what needs to be done.”
“Do you really want to take that chance?” Abigail asked, her tone nearly pleading. “Why are you hiding these things away? If what Mr. Groby tells me is true, then you have a story that has never before been told about men whose names have been lost to time. Why are you hiding away these men who lived and died in a battle that changed the course of history? Don’t they deserve better than to be hidden away? Don’t they deserve to have people know of their bravery?”
Queensborough simply looked at her; it was clear that her words were having an impact on him. She made a good deal of sense. Truth be told, he’d been wrestling with the same thing for years. Next to Abigail, Groby spoke softly.
“That’s what I’ve been telling you for years, Queenie,” he said with some regret. “For you not to let these stories be told… they’ll die with you. You know that. Your nieces don’t care about these family artifacts. They’ll probably donate them or just let them rot. Why not let Abby take a look at what you have? At least let someone who will love these artifacts like you do tell the story you can’t tell.”
Queensborough’s gaze hovered on Groby for a few long moments before, finally, he turned his attention to the open box in front of him.
With a heavy sigh, he reached into it and pulled forth what looked like an extremely old cloth covering up something square shaped, roughly twelve inches by twelve inches and maybe four inches high.
In fact, Abigail stood up as Queensborough sat down with the package in front of him, leaning over the table so she could get a good look at the object as Queensborough unwrapped it, revealing a rather thick book with ancient yellowed pages and writing that was more artwork than letters.
Classic Medieval writing.
Abigail’s heart started to pound. Having spent many an hour reading through Medieval manuscripts and having studied ancient codices like the Book of Kells, she knew a very old book when she saw one. Pinpricks of excitement began to pepper her hands as she began to suspect the magnitude of the object before her.
“This is called the Book of Battle,” Queensborough finally said. “It was finished in the year 1068 A.D., two years after the Battle of Hastings, by a fighting priest known as Jathan de Guerre.”
“Jathan of War,” Abigail translated, instantly enamored with the book in front of Queensborough. “My God… is that book really almost a thousand years old?”
Queensborough nodded. “It is, indeed,” he replied, reverence in his tone. “Jathan came to these shores with the Duke of Normandy’s army. I suppose you could call him the first war correspondent because he described the battle down to the last detail and he also relayed a remarkable event following the battle. It was a journey of sorts to regain one of the duke’s men who had been kidnapped by the enemy.”
Abigail’s pounding heart grew stronger as she realized the significance of the book. She was so excited that she was beginning to feel faint. “Oh… my,” she breathed. “Actual details of Hastings? But we know so little about it. To have another source – a source who was actually there – that would transform everything we know about the battle.”