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 steel."
"Nothing's been rebuilt here at all," Kramer said. She sighed.
"No," Marek said. "But we've been studying it. Chris Hughes, one of our graduate students, has investigated it quite extensively. That's Chris down there now, with the Professor."
Kramer saw a compact, dark-haired young man, standing beside the tall, imposing figure she recognized as Professor Johnston. Neither man looked up at the helicopter passing overhead; they were focused on their work.
Now the helicopter left the river behind, and moved on to the flat land to the east. They passed over a complex of low rectangular walls, visible as dark lines in the slanting morning light. Kramer guessed that the walls were no more than a few inches high. But it clearly outlined what looked like a small town.
"And this? Another town?"
"Just about. That's the Monastery of Sainte-Mère," Marek said. "One of the wealthiest and most powerful monasteries in France. It was burned to the ground in the fourteenth century."
"Lot of digging down there," Kramer said.
"Yes, it's our most important site."
As they flew by, she could see the big square pits they had dug down to the catacombs beneath the monastery. Kramer knew the team devoted a great deal of attention here because they hoped to find more buried caches of monastic documents; they had already discovered quite a few.
The helicopter swung away, and approached the limestone cliffs on the French side, and a small town. The helicopter rose up to the top of the cliffs.
"We come to the fourth and final site," Marek said. "The fortress above the town of Bezenac. In the Middle Ages it was called La Roque. Although it's on the French side of the river, it was actually built by the English, who were intent on maintaining a permanent foothold in French territory. As you see, it's quite extensive."
And it was: a huge military complex on top of the hill, with two sets of concentric walls, one inside the other, spread out over fifty acres. She gave a little sigh of relief. The fortress of La Roque was in better condition than the other sites of the project, and it had more standing walls. It was easier to see what it once had been.