Timeline by Michael Crichton Read Free Book Online Page B

French and the other side was English. Fighting went back and forth. Directly beneath us is Beynac, a French stronghold.”
    Kramer looked down on a picturesque tourist town with quaint stone buildings and dark stone roofs. The narrow, twisting streets were empty of tourists. The town of Beynac was built against the cliff face, rising from the river up to the walls of an old castle.
    “And over there,” Marek said, pointing across the river, “you see the opposing town of Castelnaud. An English stronghold.”
    High on a far hill, Kramer saw a second castle, this one built entirely of yellow stone. The castle was small but beautifully restored, its three circular towers rising gracefully into the air, connected by high walls. It, too, had a quaint tourist town built around its base.
    She said, “But this isn’t our project. . . .”
    “No,” Marek said. “I’m just showing you the general layout in this region. All along the Dordogne, you find these paired, opposing castles. Our project also involves a pair of opposing castles, but it’s a few miles downstream from here. We’ll go there now.”
    :
    The helicopter banked, heading west over rolling hills. They left the tourist area behind; Kramer was pleased to see the land beneath her was mostly forest. They passed a small town called Envaux near the river, and then climbed up into the hills again. As they came over one rise, she suddenly saw an open expanse of cleared green field. In the center of the field were the remains of ruined stone houses, walls set at odd angles to one another. This had clearly once been a town, its houses located beneath the walls of a castle. But the walls were just a line of rubble, and nearly nothing of the castle remained; she saw only the bases of two round towers and bits of broken wall connecting them. Here and there, white tents had been pitched among the ruins. She saw several dozen people working there.
    “All this was owned by a goat farmer, until three years ago,” Marek said. “The French had mostly forgotten about these ruins, which were overgrown by forest. We’ve been clearing it away, and doing some rebuilding. What you see was once the famous English stronghold of Castelgard.”
    “This is Castelgard?” Kramer sighed. So little remained. A few standing walls to indicate the town. And of the castle itself, almost nothing.
    “I thought there would be more,” she said.
    “Eventually, there will be. Castelgard was a large town in its day, with a very imposing castle,” Marek said. “But it’ll be several years before it’s restored.”
    Kramer was wondering how she would explain this to Doniger. The Dordogne project was not as far advanced as Doniger had imagined it to be. It would be extremely difficult to begin major reconstruction while the site was still so fragmented. And she was certain Professor Johnston would resist any suggestion to begin.
    Marek was saying, “We’ve set up our headquarters in that farm over there.” He pointed to a farmhouse with several stone buildings, not far from the ruins. A green tent stood beside one building. “Want to circle Castelgard for another look?”
    “No,” Kramer said, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Let’s move on.”
    “Okay, then, we’ll go to the mill.”
    The helicopter turned, heading north toward the river. The land sloped downward, then flattened along the banks of the Dordogne. They crossed the river, broad and dark brown, and came to a heavily wooded island near the far shore. Between the island and the northern shore was a narrower, rushing stream perhaps fifteen feet wide. And here she saw ruins of another structure — so ruined, in fact, that it was hard to tell what it once had been. “And this?” she said, looking down. “What’s this?”
    “That’s the water mill. There was once a bridge over the river, with water wheels beneath. They used water power to grind grain, and to pump big bellows for making