Chinon ... The Race is On

Commanding the Plateau

Chinon Castle stands in medieval glory on a raised planteau overlooking the picturesque Vienne River. It was built in the 11th century on a Gallo-Roman site by Theobald I, Count of Blois but over time became the property of the Counts of Anjou.

Imposing Walls.

It had been a favorite residence, not only because of its central location within Henry's lands but also, I imagine, for the view and balmier weather it offered.  During excavation for the visitor center, archeologists discovered a buried wing, including a chapel, that was determined to have been the rooms built for, and occupied by Eleanor during the early, happy years of her marriage to Henry.

La Vienne River

Even though we arrived a day late, the staff was gracious in accommodating our request for an English tour guide. She reminded us that after Henry fell ill, he was brought to Chinon by William Marshal where Henry died shortly thereafter, heartbroken at his son's renewed rebellion and betrayal.

With little time to explore, I skipped down at least four flights of stairs to a cold, dark, wet dungeon-like area and enroute came across what I think was the garderobe.  I've read about them but don't think I've ever seen one before.  For those unfamiliar with the term, this was a medieval toilet.

Garderobe?

I wanted to capture the spirit of the castle so that when I wrote I might describe what life was like living in a stone fortress similar to this one, obviously improved by the 1300s but still lacking in many creature comforts.

I doubt my camera did justice to any of it but let's hope the photos will jog my memory, and creative juices, when tackling the keyboard.

The climb back up to the towers and ramparts took considerably more effort than my 'skip' down the circular stairwells.  But time was ticking and we had to leave.

Looking down from turret.

It had taken four hours to drive from Caen to Fontevraud and I estimated we had six to make it to Cherbourg to catch our 6:30 ferry back to England. I programmed the GPS to take us to the town where we would pick up our chevauchee route and Mary at the wheel, we headed down the road.  I had maps tucked in my lap to navigate along with our GPS genie.

Pretty quickly I realized that I couldn't find the route number nor the towns were were traveling through on the regional Atlas map I was utilzing. My atennae went up. Worry gnawed at my gut. Were we heading north as we should be? With the overcast, it was inpossible to tell and I couldn't locate the compass on the unfamiliar dashboard.

My suspicions high, we pulled over. I reprogrammed the GPS for St. Lo, a larger town along our route.  The GPS directed us to turn right at the next intersection. Finally, I located the next signposted town on the map. OMG!  We had been traveling southwest instead of north!  About 30 minutes later we made it back to about the position of our original starting point in Chinon.  We had lost a full hour!

We pressed on along country backroads losing precious minutes as we slowed for each village along the route. As bad luck would have it, we encountered another 'barre' and lost even more time trying to find a way around it. When I saw the sign stating that Caen was stilll 75 kilometers away, I knew we were in deep doo-doo. At the next town, we stopped to reevalute. Our final destination, Cherbourg, was still 203 kilometers north, two hours of travel time remained, and the average distance traveled per hour was about 60 kilometers. I did the math. There was no way to pick up the chevauchee route and visit the landing beach at St Vaast la Hougue. With so much distance still to travel, even making the ferry was questionable! No kidding. We were out luck and out of time!

I can't begin to tell you how crushed I was.  St Vaast had been the starting point of the entire campaign and I was going to miss seeing it, walking it, imagining the ships being unloaded and the the horses swimming to shore.

My heart pounded like this rabbit!

With great regret,  I reprogrammed the GPS for Cherbourg eliminating the 'no toll roads' directive hoping that might shorten the distance.

It didn't.

Without much hope of making it on time, I jumped behind the wheel and took off.  I imagined the 'spinners' laughing at us once again.  What entertainment we must provide!

The overcast gave way to drizzle and the intermittant swish of the windshield wipers whisked the rain and miles away. Traveling a major highway, ecstatically with no tolls yet, the speedomter read 130 kph.  My adrenaline pulsed matching our speed.

I fiinally located the compass direction on the video screen and sighed with relief - we were headed north. The highway signs indicated we were on the road to Caen, which I knew was southeast of Chebourg but I recalled from the map that the highway split somewhere ahead - part east to Caen and part north to Cherbourg.

The topography began to change and the land gently rose. From  my research I knew the western portion of the Cotentin Peninsula climbed a plateau similar to the Massif Central in southern France. I watched with dismay as the exits for the towns along the chevauchee route whizzed by.

Rain drummed and the sky lowered still further.  With this weather, what might the four-hour Channel crossing be like?  Similar to the storms the English experienced for two weeks prior to finally setting sail for Normandy?  I would soon find out ... that's if we made it.

This is close but not quite -
imagine a scarlet-colored elliptical hole surrounded
by an ominious lead-gray sky.

The speed limit lowered to 110 kph but thankfully, still no tolls!  I prayed to Edward's Trinity as we raced through increasingly congested roads and Cherbourg's rush hour traffic. There was no time to stop and replenish the fuel tank. Illuminated signs indicated the road to the ferry launch but our route took us directly into town.

The leaden sky luminesced scarlet as one of the squalls the Channel is famous for bore down upon us. I had promised myself to memorize the sunsets and this one was definitely for the record books.

Just ahead on the right the Hertz sign glowed yellow and black. Tailights winked. Cars parked nose to tail lined both sides of the busy street. We inched forward. Miracles do happen. A  parking spot materialized just steps from the agency door.  As I hopped out and grabbed my luggage from the hatch, the skies opened up and, there's no other way to describe it, we got dumped on!  Oh, how the spinners cackled! 

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. 

The more than accommodating agent called a taxi and before I had handed her the car keys our taxi pulled up! Less than five minutes and we were checking in at Brittany Ferries. I handed the driver the last of my euros along with a grin-inducing tip!

The sun had set completely and the sky was now a midnight blue-black. As the ferry powered away from the dock, I glanced to my right, which I believed was west. It was by now about 7 pm and the moon had risen. From my experience, the moon rises in the east, like the sun, or so I believed. But this moon, hung just above the western horizon. Are there times of year and phases of the moon when this occurs?  I don't know.
The roll of the ship and the moon's faint reflection on the water moved me. I thought about sixteen-year old Edward and the knightly adventure that awaited him in Normandy, a mixture of excitement and fear flooding his veins.
.