“What is that?”
Innis brought up another image. Possibly more gold coins to pay for their passage back to France?
He enlarged then sharpened the image.
“It looks like some sort of box.”
The image lost detail as he enlarged it, but it did look like a box of some kind, possibly a coffer. They were common to the period, often used for storage of documents, money, anything of value. In the next scene, the group was seen boarding a ship, followed by a sea voyage with a familiar image in the distance—the Abbey at Mont St. Michel.
Vilette told them that Isa and James were given sanctuary at the abbey by the Benedictine monks. The following scene showed the young man in a bed, the young woman standingbeside him, their hands joined as one of the Benedictine monks stood with them.
The last rites? Kris wondered. Not according to the expression on Isabel Raveneau's face. She was smiling as the monk seemed to give his blessing.
In the next scene Isabelle Raveneau could be seen weeping. The young man was dying, his hand resting in hers. Then in the next scene he had been dressed in armor, and a ship was seen leaving the island.
“She was taking him home.”
“Where?” Innis asked.
She pointed out the image in the next scene, those iconic white cliffs. It would have been a long journey—England, then north to Scotland, if what Vilette had told them was true.
The following scenes showed a long journey overland by horse cart, the changing seasons shown in leaves that fell from the trees, then patches of snow. The next scene showed a solemn ceremony with only Isabel and the man who had accompanied her to Spain as they stood beside a gravesite next to a stone wall in a small churchyard.
“What's this little piece?” Innis pointed out an image. He enhanced the image as much as possible.
“It's in every scene, along the border.”
“Can you bring up the scan of the photograph Cate sent me?”
The magic of computers. With a few keystrokes, Innis brought back up the scan of the black-and-white photograph Paul Bennett had taken. He split the screen image and brought the two photographs up side by side.
“They're the same,” Innis said. “Here, and here. All along the edge.”
A tiny symbol that appeared throughout the tapestry, that hadn't been obvious in the photograph Diana Jodion had provided. But it was there in those photographs taken in 1912,and again in the photograph Paul Bennett had taken during the war, a symbol that must have held great meaning for the young woman who had painstakingly stitched it over and over into the fabric of the tapestry.
Kris sat back in the chair. She stared at image after image that he brought up, the same from one scene to the next, some of the images smaller than others, but it was there along the bottom of each panel.
Innis scrolled through several more scenes.
“Whoever stitched the bloody thing was either a glutton for punishment, or had nothing better to do. Or possibly on drugs. What the bloody hell is it?”
“It's a trinity knot and thistle.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
AUGUST 12, 1944, NORMANDY, FRANCE
St. Lo, then Caen.
They'd been on the move for days, pushing north, then joining up with another British unit, the 3rd. They slept in foxholes, ate cold rations, and kept moving.
Town after town had been reduced to ruin as Allied forces swept inland from those beach landings pursuing an enemy who left a trail of scorched earth. Convoy after convoy followed, supporting the advance with more infantry, food, and fuel. And there were the staggering losses where the fighting had been fierce—a determined Allied offensive pursuing an equally determined, lethal German army.
His photographs told their own story—the contrast of the invasion force with average people who had lived under German occupation the past four years.
It was rumored that in Paris, little had changed with the Nazi occupation. For the most part, life went on as usual in the City of Light. Local citizenry mingled with their German occupiers. Restaurants, museums, art galleries remained open. But in the countryside, it was different.
