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
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 constant vigilance 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.
Even more troubling was his refusal to discuss anything beyond the immediate investigation.
Whenever Henri attempted to broach the subject of their marriage, their eventual return to normal life, or what their future might bring once the mystery was solved, Gabriel would deflect with diplomatic skill that left her feeling more like a temporary travel companion than a wife.
The one bright spot in their deteriorating dynamic was their continued collaboration on deciphering the ancient puzzle.
When focused on the intellectual challenge of unraveling the clues, Gabriel became animated and engaged, sharing his knowledge freely and building on Henri’s insights with genuine enthusiasm.
It was during these moments that Henri caught glimpses of the man she thought she had married, the partner she had hoped to spend her life beside.
But those moments were becoming increasingly rare as Gabriel withdrew further into himself with each mile that brought them closer to Tintagel.
The inn where they stopped as evening fell was an average establishment with few hardy travelers this late in winter.
The innkeeper, a weathered man with the distinctive accent of the region, greeted them with polite curiosity about their business in such an isolated location during such an inhospitable time of the year.
“Tintagel Castle, you say?” The innkeeper glanced toward the window, where sea mist clung to the panes. “Aye, it draws folk who fancy the old legends. Arthur and Merlin, all that. But I will say there is not much up there in February that would not be better seen in spring.”
Gabriel had deflected the man’s curiosity, but Henri caught the way his jaw tightened at the innocent questions. Everything put Gabriel on edge lately, as though he were bracing himself for some unnamed catastrophe that only he could see approaching.
After a hurried meal that featured more silence than conversation, Gabriel announced his intention to visit the ruins immediately rather than waiting for morning.
“The moon is full,” he explained, though his tone suggested he was stating a fact rather than seeking Henri’s agreement.
“If our interpretation of the clue is correct, tonight may be our only opportunity to discover what we are meant to find.”
Henri agreed readily, eager for any activity that might break the oppressive atmosphere that had settled between them.
She wrapped herself in her thick cloak and followed Gabriel out into the cold Cornish night, hoping that their shared investigation might restore some measure of the camaraderie they had begun to develop.
The ruins of Tintagel Castle stretched over both the mainland and the rocky peninsula beyond, their dark silhouettes etched against the star-scattered sky.
Two parts of the medieval structure were once linked by a bridge now long vanished, its remnants passing into memory.
What remained were the ruins on either side, connected by steep stairways and a perilous narrow approach.
Only the most resolute could navigate under the uncertain stars.
Gabriel carried a shuttered lantern that cast dancing shadows on the ancient stones as they made their way carefully through the mainland ruins first. The sound of waves crashing against the rocks far below provided a constant backdrop to their exploration, a reminder of the wild forces that had shaped this legendary landscape.
“According to our deciphered message, we must focus on the cliffside,” Gabriel said as he consulted the sketch he had made of the spiral carving. “The clue speaks of ‘from cliff to sea,’ which suggests we are searching for something that joins the upper ruins to the water below.”
Henri inclined her head, though her mind was not entirely upon the puzzle.
They would need to cross to the island portion of the castle to reach the most formidable cliffs, and the narrow rocky path that remained would be daunting even in full daylight.
The thought of attempting it under the present conditions made her pulse quicken with both dread and anticipation.
They began their search upon the mainland, studying the weathered stones of the outer walls for any trace of the symbolic markings they had seen in earlier clues, under the light of the full moon and Gabriel’s lantern.
When this yielded nothing, Gabriel took the lead across the perilous natural crossing to the island, where the most substantial ruins clung to the cliff top above the restless crash of the sea.
“Here,” Henri called out after nearly an hour of careful examination along the western wall of the island ruins. “Gabriel, I think I have found it.”
Gabriel hurried to her position, holding the lantern steady as Henri traced what appeared to be a faint carving in the stone. The etching was shallow and worn, barely visible even with direct illumination, but the design was unmistakably deliberate.