Free Finding Camlann by Sean Pidgeon Page A

wondering why there was quite so much of Geoffrey. He seems mostly incidental to the story, don’t you think?’
    The charming look of uncertainty and contrition on Felicity’s face persuades him she is not joking. Geoffrey’s fanciful history of the British monarchy, the Historia Regum Britanniae , with its heroic narrative of Arthur and its famous prophecies spoken by the young Merlin, was responsible for the transformation of these characters from largely unfamiliar names in the old Welsh tales, little known beyond the Celtic lands, into the most celebrated figures of medieval romance. The implausible historical writings of this twelfth-century scholar have been a central theme of Donald’s research from the outset. ‘Don’t forget, he’s the reason we have all heard of King Arthur.’
    ‘I’m sorry to be such a poor student,’ Felicity says, grimacing faintly. ‘I do very much admire what you’ve done.’
    Donald finds himself smiling in sympathy with his editor as she stretches her diplomatic skills to the limit. ‘Why don’t you tell me what you really think?’
    She hesitates now, choosing her words cautiously. ‘Your writing seems so full of caveats and qualifications. I’m hearing about who Arthur was not, rather than who he really was.’
    ‘That’s exactly the point,’ Donald says. ‘If there ever was an Arthur of history, he is lost to us. All we can do is try to understand the origins of the story, and why it became so pervasive in European mythology.’
    Felicity, despite her ignorance of the twelfth century, is a dependable literary pragmatist. ‘I think your readers are going to want something a little more positive than that. If Arthur is so tenuous, historically speaking, could you perhaps get a little more creative, try to reconstruct him as he might have been?’
    Donald is rescued from answering this question by a loud knock at the door. ‘But now here’s Madeleine,’ Felicity says. ‘We can ask her what she thinks. You remesenks. Yoember Madeleine, of course?’
    Madeleine d’Alembert, director of sales and marketing at Crandall & Boyd, would be a difficult person to forget. She is slim, elegant, dressed in black with lipstick and nail varnish in a coordinated dark crimson. Her face is frozen in an arctic demeanour that perceptibly chills the air as she walks into the room. She smiles, and the ice cracks momentarily.
    ‘Hello, Donald,’ she says. There is the faintest hint of a French accent. Her nails dig in a little as she shakes his hand. ‘I hope you haven’t quite finished your book yet, because I have something for you—but I expect you have seen this already?’ She hands him a cutting from the Guardian newspaper, a short, whimsical article from the bottom of the front page.
    (Un)Holy Grail Discovered in Wiltshire Field
Despite the lofty ambitions of her mythical quest, Dr. Lucinda Trevelyan of St. Anne’s College, Oxford would be the first to admit that she is far from being the perfect Grail knight. She is female, of course, and half-American on her mother’s side, neither of which were attributes of Sir Perceval; though it is true that she, like Sir P., was removed at an early age from the corrupted world of chivalry (England), to be brought up by her mother in rural obscurity (California); and that she, being precocious in the acquisition of knightly skills, was determined to return to the royal court at the earliest opportunity. This she did in fine style some ten years ago, having first obtained her doctorate from Berkeley, and has since made her reputation at Oxford as an outspoken nonconformist scholar working at the thinly populated intersection of women’s studies and archaeology.
Dr. Trevelyan’s unusual characterisation of the ritual cup discovered in an excavated pit near Stonehenge as a ‘magical’ object has led to some speculation that the Holy Grail has at last come to light. While scholars may choose to enter into prolonged and elaborate