Dr. Rapkin simply nodded as he went to reclaim his seat, still looking at the papers in his hand. In fact, all of them were starting to settle back into their seats and Abigail took the opportunity to plead her case before the heavy questioning started. There were a few things she wanted to clear up.
“I had someone tell me once that writing about English history like this wasn’t my right because I’m not British,” she said. “As I explained to him, my love of England is in my blood. I may not have been born here, but my heart is here. I didn’t set out to change English history as we know it but I did want to give a voice to those men, those warriors, whose deeds and names had been lost to time. Maybe it was arrogant of me, but just maybe I actually did something that will make people look back on these knights – the Anges de Guerre – and appreciate them for their accomplishments. Yes, I know they conquered a nation, but it goes beyond that – these were men of great honor, and when you read the transcription of the Book of Battle, you’ll see how much they were devoted to each other. Nowadays, we just don’t see honor and duty like that. These men literally risked their lives for a colleague, just to rescue the man, and that’s a kind of heroism that is largely lost these days. People have forgotten what it means to love your friends like these men loved each other. I think that’s the greatest thing I took away from this whole project – the love these knights had for each other. They were the original band of brothers.”
By the time she was finished speaking, the entire panel was looking at her. They were reclaiming their seats, refocusing on the task at hand even though there wasn’t one of them that didn’t want to run off with the Book of Battle and bury themselves in a room with it for the next six months. Such history, and such artifacts, were rare in their field. But even more rare was the passion from this young woman who spoke of men who had been dead for almost a thousand years as if they were her real-life heroes. That alone infused her dissertation with a glow that was difficult to describe, but one that was most worth listening to.
“Then let’s talk about these men, Miss Devlin,” Dr. Sorkin said, a smile playing on his lips. “You speak as if you know them personally.”
Abigail was dead serious as she looked at them. “I do,” she said. “Let me tell you about them.”
As Abigail began to speak of Gaetan de Wolfe and his humble origins, Groby and Queensborough sat back and listened with the pride of fathers listening to their children. Abigail was articulate and intelligent, and she spoke of Warwolfe and the Anges de Guerre as if she knew them all personally. But, as she’d said, she did. She truly did. These weren’t simply men on paper; these were men who had lived and died but, now thanks to her, they were living once again. Now, the world would know what Abigail and Queensborough knew.
The world would know the importance of the Duke of Normandy’s greatest knights.
Therefore, this was a satisfying moment as well as a defining one, at least for Queensborough. He was proud; so very proud to have been part of something that brought the honored dead to life. From that old book that had remained buried in his family’s artifacts, he was glad he’d been the one that allowed the story to finally be told. It gave him a sense of satisfaction he’d never known before.
“She told you she would make these men breathe again, Queenie,” Groby leaned over and whispered to him. “Do you believe her now?”
Queensborough smiled, remembering those words from the day he’d first met the determined Abigail Devlin.
I’ll make you proud, I swear it. I’ll make these men breathe again.
She had. And somewhere in the halls of heaven, he was pretty sure Gaetan was smiling, too.
* THE END *