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Zusatztext “Engrossing…. Will appeal to a diverse group of readers! from Da Vinci Code devotees to those who relish the archeological mysteries of Elizabeth Peters.”— Booklist Informationen zum Autor Barbara Cleverly is the author of nine novels of historical suspense, including The Damascened Blade , winner of the CWA Ellis Peters Historical Dagger Award, The Last Kashmiri Rose, Ragtime in Simla, The Palace Tiger, The Bee’s Kiss, Tug of War, An Old Magic and The Tomb of Zeus . She lives in Cambridge, England where she is now at work on the newest Joe Scandilands novel, Folly du Jour. Klappentext In Burgundy! France! in 1926! a famed archaeologist dies a terrible death in a country not his own....Thus begins CWA Historical Dagger Award winner Barbara Cleverly's dazzling new mystery novel. And soon aspiring archaeologist Laetitia Talbot will find herself embroiled in a murderous conspiracy centuries in the making. Letty's joy at snaring a place in the excavation of an ancient church in Burgundy is dimmed by the tragedy of her godfather Daniel's violent death. But when Letty receives a posthumous encoded message! she begins to believe that Daniel's death was not a random act. Her investigation into Daniel's murder sends her on a journey into a country's remote history...into the orbit of a privileged French family harboring its own damning secret...into ancient Celtic mysteries and one sacred truth kept through the ages. It is an explosive revelation that could rock modern Christianity—and force a killer out of the shadows as a country devastated by one war lays the groundwork for another.... Chapter One Fontigny, Burgundy, 1926 The Englishman groped his way along the dark hallway and hesitated by the front door, listening to the nighttime sounds of the house. Nothing to be heard but the creaking of ancient timbers in the autumn wind gusting against the structure. Hand halfway to the key in its place in the massive lock, he stopped to check once again the contents of his pockets. All present and correct. The all-important postcard was readily to hand in the right pocket of his tweed overcoat. The letter in the left he took out and considered for a moment before stowing it away again. "Can't imagine what you'll make of this, Johnny, old man," he said to himself. "If it reaches you—well and good. Let's hope I'll have a chance to explain one day. Face-to-face. We'll sip a brandy in one of those sleep-inducing armchairs in your club and you can make fun of me. I'll be only too delighted! And if it doesn't get through . . ." He suppressed a bark of laughter. ". . . at least I'll have scared them shitless!" He tugged a black felt fedora down snugly over his brow, concealing fair hair heavily streaked with silver. Amongst the dark denizens of Burgundy he'd stand out like a harbour-light if the full moon out there penetrated the rain clouds. He listened again to the heartbeat of the house: sleeping . . . sleeping . . . sleeping. Then he froze. His straining ears picked up a slight sound from above. The same sound, repeated, identified itself as no more than the familiar overture to the nightly basso profundo performance from old Capitaine Huleux on the floor above. Could the man's wife possibly sleep through that? Had any of the other sleepers in the house been disturbed? He waited. When he was confident that he was unobserved, he turned the key twice in the lock, glad that he'd taken the precaution of oiling it the previous day, and slipped out into a chilly Burgundy night. An hour to go before dawn and the sky was still black. But at least the rain had stopped. He glanced to right and left down the deserted street, unable for a moment to move on. "Brace up! You don't want me to call you a Cowardy Custard, do you?" His nanny's voice sounded in his head, still sharp over the distance of half ...
