Free Two Crosses by Elizabeth Musser

killed or imprisoned here in this tower after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685.”
    “Yes, of course. When our king decided everyone should be Catholic. But these Huguenots, what did they believe? Do you know, mademoiselle ?”
    “I don’t have all the answers, but I know they believed much the same as the Protestants of today. They were followers of Calvin and the Reformation. They believed in Jesus and the Bible.”
    “ Mais, oui! I see. And you have come from far away to visit this tower? A pilgrimage for your faith?”
    “Oh, not so far. I just came over for the day from Montpellier. I mean, that’s not where I’m from originally.… I’m just studying there.”
    “Then why do you wear this cross, if I may ask?”
    Gabriella looked surprised. “Me? It was a gift from my mother. We’re Protestants, and I suppose she knew of its history and wanted me to understand its symbolism.”
    The young man moved closer. “It is symbolic of what? Forgive me, but could I see your cross?”
    Gabriella suddenly felt uneasy and stepped back, tripping on an uneven stone. “Oh, it’s just the same as the one on the banner. Nothing unusual. I … I must be going now.”
    She shifted her weight and walked toward the steps, but he caught her arm. “Please, mademoiselle . I only wish to know a few things about this history. Perhaps we could have lunch together? My treat.”
    “Oh, no. That is quite impossible, thank you. I have a friend waiting for me for lunch.”
    “This friend did not wish to visit the tower?”
    “No, I’m afraid he doesn’t have much interest in Protestants and Huguenot crosses.” She laughed nervously, feeling, as she often did, that she had said too much. Another flirtatious Frenchman.
    “Well, I think I will have a look around upstairs on the terrace—it gives a magnificent view of the village, I’m told. You’re sure you won’t join me?” He moved toward her again.
    “No, I need to be going now.” Gabriella turned and walked quickly down the winding stairs until she came to the large room on the ground floor. She paused to listen for the young man, but he did not follow. Again she touched the cross around her neck, then carefully placed it back under her blouse.
    She glanced at her watch. Eleven thirty. She still had plenty of time to visit the ramparts. As she stepped across the drawbridge, she turned to her right where a sign indicated the way. Several flights of stone steps, worn lower in the middle through centuries of use, led to the impressive walls of the city. She climbed the stairs until she stood on the narrow walkway at the top of the wall. To her right she saw a canal filled with fishing boats and happy sailors. The canal twisted its way out to the Mediterranean Sea, barely visible on the horizon. She stared for a moment at the quiet marshes and the white gulls that flew toward the sun in search of an unknown destination.
    The walkway along the wall was interspersed with many thick towers, much smaller in size than the Tower of Constance. Gabriella walked along, enchanted as she looked to her left into the interior of the city. From the ramparts she had a bird’s-eye view of the town and its red-tiled roofs, which protected the streets from the sun like a large sombrero. Occasionally the roofs would open to reveal a beautiful garden, perfectly manicured, with geraniums cascading down the walls of a house. Olive, cedar, and magnolia trees rustled their leaves to applaud an ancient city constructed with the same elaborate planning as the yards in which they stood.
    Taken by the scenery, Gabriella barely noticed that she had already walked almost a third of the way around the ramparts. She stopped to peek inside a small vaulted room containing an ancient fireplace and three windows that gave a view onto the marshes and the water. She gathered her skirt under her and perched by a small open window to read more about the history of the city.

    From the terrace above the