instagram pinterest linkedin facebook twitter goodreads

Medieval Summer

Born into serfdom, a young boy, Robert, suffers a freak accident, which takes him away from his village near the castle of Muriac and places him in the care of the Abbot of San Michel. Growing up in the monastery, Robert shows unusual aptitude for learning and becomes the tutor for the visiting sons of the nobility. In time, he returns to the castle of his lord, the Viscount of Muriac to tutor his daughter Isabella and his young second wife Blanche. When the Viscount becomes jealous of the growing friendship between Robert and the young women, Robert is forced to flee for his life. A perilous journey leads him through the wilds of Perigord, to the sea and then to Flanders to seek his fortune. The time comes when he must return to Perigord. Here waits his implacable enemy the Viscount and the women Isabella and Blanche. Medieval Summer is a novel of high adventure and romance that will intrigue both young adults and adult readers.

Part I

The rain fell violently; the water splashing over the narrow trail. Red and brown earth ran together to become a dull mud. The going was slippery, at times treacherous. Still, the men, mounted on horses, and the horse-drawn cart behind them, plodded on.

The trail rose along the side of a cliff. On the left there were overhanging rocks, jagged and disturbing; on the right, a valley of woodland and meadow, now shrouded by rain.

The day had waned and the heavy rain and failing light created a sense of uneasiness and depressed spirits. There were three men on horseback. Riding last was the Abbot of St. Michel who rode on a white mare, absorbing the rain stolidly in his woolen vestments. In front of the Abbot rode the Viscount. It was his lands they had entered and his castle their destination He rode stiffly on a great war horse. In front of the viscount rode a man clad in armor, shielded by a cloak. The horse-drawn cart trailed the riders, rolling in an endless series of short bumps. The cart, laden with casks of wine, was driven by a slightly built peasant, thoroughly drenched from the rain.

The Abbot shrugged. This trail was the worst part of the journey. The valley that led from his abbey was pleasant and the plateau above, while rocky, was laden with flowers and woodland. But castles had to be built on high ground and inaccessible, or, so it seemed. The Abbot looked about for some familiar landmark--a boulder perhaps, or a turn in the path--something to tell him how much longer this uncomfortable climb up the trail would be. It was hard to recognize anything in the downpour, but eventually he spied a familiar grouping of fir trees. There was still a long way to go. The Abbot smiled, reconciling himself to the worst, and sank a little more deeply into his saddle, as if somehow to get a little farther away from the rain.