Page 53 of The Hidden Lord
“Leo,” Henri repeated thoughtfully, the connections beginning to form in her mind. “The lion. That connects directly to the ‘Lion’s gate’ mentioned in our deciphered message?”
“Indeed it does,” Gabriel confirmed, taking on the tone of growing certainty that Henri was learning to recognize. “In medieval and Renaissance symbolism, Leo represents strength, royal birth, and noble destiny. All qualities that would have been particularly significant to anyone claiming connection to Arthurian heritage.”
Henri experienced a surge of understanding as the pieces began to fall into place. “So ‘Lion’s gate’ is not referring to a physical structure at all. It is a metaphorical reference to Leo’s domain, to the power and legitimacy associated with Arthur’s royal bloodline.”
“Exactly,” Gabriel said, his excitement evident despite his attempt to maintain his usual measured demeanor. “And if the sword bearing Leo’s symbol points southwest from our current position …”
“Southwest would be Cornwall,” Henri finished. “Tintagel, specifically. The legendary birthplace of King Arthur, according to most versions of the traditional stories.”
Gabriel nodded slowly, though Henri caught a shadow of concern crossing his features as the implications of their discovery became clear. “It appears our next destination has been decided for us. The question is whether we can reach Cornwall before others who might be following the same trail.”
Henri felt a chill that went far deeper than the winter weather as she considered Gabriel’s words. Their discovery was thrilling and represented a major step forward in understanding the ancient puzzle they had been following. But it also meant they might be drawing ever closer to whatever forces had threatened her at Danbury’s estate.
“How long would it take us to reach Cornwall?” Henri asked.
Gabriel considered the question, clearly calculating distances and travel times in his head. “Under normal circumstances, perhaps four or five days of hard travel. But with winter conditions and the need to avoid main routes where we might be easily located … it could take considerably longer.”
It was a grim reminder of the assailant at Danbury’s who had threatened her with the pistol. She only wished Gabriel would reveal anything he knew about it.
“Then we had better depart immediately,” Henri said, hoping that their growing partnership would prove strong enough to face whatever awaited them in the legendary homeland of King Arthur.
CHAPTER 17
“Now I see well that such is our fate, and what is written must needs be.”
Sir Thomas Malory,Le Morte d’Arthur
FEBRUARY 6, 1822
Henri had awakened to the most welcome sight she had seen in days back in Yorkshire. Pale sunlight streaming through the frost-covered windows of their inn, promising a reprieve from the brutal weather that had plagued their journey north. The improvement in conditions felt like a blessing from the heavens themselves, and she had found herself energized by both their remarkable discovery at the Fallen Chapel and the prospect of finally making good time toward their next destination.
Gabriel had seemed equally pleased by the change in weather, his usual morning reserve giving way to something approaching actual conversation as they broke their fast and prepared for departure. For the first time since leaving London, Henri felt hopeful that their partnership might indeed be developing into more than mere necessity.
“If we leave within the hour, we can make excellent time,” Gabriel had said, consulting his pocket watch with characteristic precision. “The roads should be passable now, and we can put considerable distance behind us before evening.”
He had left with the coachman to return the stone piece to the fallen chapel, while Henri had packed their belongings with vigor, her mind already racing ahead to Cornwall and whatever secrets awaited them at Tintagel. As their carriage had pulled away from the inn with the morning sun casting long shadows across the Yorkshire landscape, she felt more optimistic about their prospects than she had since their wedding day.
The conversation during those first hours of travel had been the most open Henri had experienced with Gabriel since their night together in Calais. They had discussed the deciphered message at length, exploring various interpretations of its cryptic language and speculating about what they might encounter when they reached Arthur’s legendary birthplace.
“The Lion’s gate opens when the Silver Queen reigns in Arthur’s sky,” Gabriel had mused, his gaze fixed on the passing countryside. “If we are correct in assuming the Silver Queen represents the moon, then timing will be crucial to whatever we are meant to discover.”
Henri had leaned forward with interest, grateful for any opportunity to engage Gabriel in substantive discussion. “You think the location itself changes depending on lunar conditions?”
“It is possible,” Gabriel had replied thoughtfully. “In Arthurian and Celtic mythology, caves and hidden places are often described as thresholds to other realms. Doorways that appear only when specific conditions are met. If there is a cave or passage at Tintagel that becomes accessible during the full moon, that could be the gate referenced in our clue.”
The idea had sent a thrill of excitement through Henri. “And when will the next full moon occur?”
Gabriel had calculated quickly in his head. “If we maintain our current pace and do not encounter significant delays, we should arrive at Tintagel just as the moon reaches its fullest phase. The timing could hardly be more fortuitous.”
Those early conversations had filled Henri with hope that their shared investigation was indeed fostering the kind of marriage she had envisioned. Gabriel was more relaxed away from the pressures of London society, more willing to share his knowledge and insights without the careful guardedness that had characterized so much of their earlier interactions.
But as the miles accumulated and the days passed in relentless travel, Henri began to notice subtle changes in Gabriel that gradually eroded her initial optimism.
By the time they reached the rugged coastline of Cornwall three days later, the easy companionship of their early travel had given way to a tension that Henri found increasingly difficult to ignore. Gabriel had grown progressively more distant with each passing day, retreating behind walls of polite reserve that grew higher the closer they came to their destination.
The physical demands of their journey were certainly part of the problem. They had traveled hard, stopping only when absolutely necessary and pushing their horses to the limits of endurance in their eagerness to reach Tintagel before the lunar phase changed. The long hours confined in the carriage, the uncomfortable nights at roadside inns, and the constantvigilance required to watch for potential pursuers had all taken their toll.
Henri suspected there was more to Gabriel’s withdrawal than mere exhaustion. He had stopped making love to her entirely since before London, claiming fatigue whenever she attempted to initiate intimacy. While she understood that their travel was hardly conducive to romance, his complete avoidance of physical affection felt like a rejection that cut deeper than she cared to admit.
