Ysabel (50 page)

“What kind of a question is that?” he said, looking up.

“Obvious one, I’d say.”

“No gentleman would answer that.”

She waited.

Ned felt himself flush. “No, of course I didn’t.”

Kate smiled. “Good.”

She’d brushed her hair out, was wearing Ned’s black Pearl Jam T-shirt this time, over jeans. She’d done that trick girls did, tying it at her midriff, for the climb. It didn’t look much the way it did when he wore it.

“I prefer New York women, anyhow,” he said.

She sniffed. “Don’t make assumptions.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She grinned suddenly. “I don’t mind if you
dream
of it.”

Ned stared up at her, unable to think of anything to say. He looked away to his left again, beyond the ridge towards the Riviera, Italy, the sun. The land below them
to the south had been a battlefield once. Probably more than once, he thought. It was bathed in a long, mild morning glory.

Kate extended her hands. “Come on, we’ll get too far behind.”

“What’s wrong with that?” he asked, looking up at her.

She smiled again. “Nothing, I guess.”

He gave her both his hands and let her help him rise.

Never again will a single story be told
as though it were the only one

—
JOHN BERGER

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

L
aura and Sybil, as always, on both sides of the Atlantic.

Ysabel
was written largely in the countryside near Aix-en-Provence, and so it is proper to first note those who were of great assistance in our time there.

Bethany Atherton offered Villa Sans Souci, pointed us to a ruined tower, and found the garagai one windy day’s climb up Sainte-Victoire. Leslie-Ellen Ray shared a professional’s approach to photographing Aix’s cathedral.

At the University of Aix-Marseille, Gilles Dorival offered suggestions, answered questions, arranged access to the university library, and introduced me to the wonderfully generous Jean-Marc Gassend and Pierre Varène, architects of the Institut de Recherche sur l’Architecture Antique. I am grateful for their courtesy and enthusiasm, for their precise sketches of the cathedral and the history beneath it, and for a wonderful, evocative afternoon among the still-closed-off ruins of the newly excavated Roman theatre in Aix.

Sam Kay was with me on a long note-taking drive around the mountain, came up to Entremont several
times, pacing the terrain, and—with Matthew and Laura—joined me at, among other places, the Saint-Sauveur and Saint-Trophime cloisters, Les Alyscamps and the Roman theatre in Arles, and at Glanum. “You have to use this place in the book,” from both boys, became a motivating refrain. Sam also went back up the mountain again weeks after we all did, to further establish details of the route and the cave above the chasm. Matthew took photos everywhere. Sons becoming researchers marks a transition.

I read too many texts on the Celtic, Greek, and Roman presences in Provence to be comprehensive in naming them here. Let me cite Theodore Cook’s
Old Provence
as memorable, along with S. Baring-Gould’s genuinely charming (and undoubtedly idiosyncratic)
A Ramble in Provence
. Jean Markale’s extensive work on the Celts was helpful, and so were Miranda Green, Marie-Louise Sjoestedt, Nora Chadwick (again), and the prolific Barry Cunliffe. Cunliffe’s short book on Pytheas the Greek gave me a number of ideas that found their way into
Ysabel
. Philip Freeman’s
War, Women, and Druids
is a tidy, useful collection of primary sources on the intersection of the classical and Celtic worlds.
Ecstasies
, by Carlo Ginzburg, a historian I have long admired, was fertile ground for concepts and images.

On the oppidum of Entremont, Fernand Benoit’s monograph,
Entremont
, about the history of the site and the excavations there, was immensely helpful. So, also, was the official website at
www.culture.gouv.fr/culture/arcnat/entremont/en/index2.html
(in English and in French).

I hope it is obvious that it does not fall to any of these writers to bear the least responsibility for the uses I have made of history and myth in shaping this fiction.

I am grateful to Deborah Meghnagi (the presiding spirit of
www.brightweavings.com
) and Rex Kay for careful readings of the completed draft.

Ysabel
owes much to all of these people, and so does the author.