Death in an Ivory Tower (Dotsy Lamb Travel Mysteries) by Maria Hudgins

Author:Maria Hudgins [Hudgins, Maria]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Five Star
Published: 2014-06-18T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

* * *

I was happy to see fifteen people show up, filling almost all of the chairs in the little room they’d assigned me. Claudia and Robin’s presentation yesterday had not drawn so many. I had already started my spiel when Larry Roberts walked in. My stomach lurched.

I emphasized the pageantry, citing examples of courtly love and gallantry in Shakespeare’s stories. These were uncontroversial topics, even for Larry, and I felt I was in safe territory as long as I stuck to them. I’d totally forgotten that, in Oxford, I might come face to face with a die-hard Oxfordian—one who believes that Edward de Vere, Earl of Oxford, was the author of the plays and poems attributed to William Shakespeare.

A prune-faced man interrupted me defiantly. “And you believe the son of a glove maker from Stratford donned the soul of a nobleman and wrote all this as easily as he could have donned one of his old man’s gloves?”

While considering my response, I gave him one of the looks I used on my boys when they were growing up and acting like asses. “I’m continually amazed that anyone, from any social background, could write so many beautiful works, but someone obviously did.”

I got smiles and a few winks from most of my other listeners. Having spent half my allotted time in safe territory, I had to venture out. After all, my topic was “Shakespeare’s Historical Sources and References to Arthurian Legend in his Plays.” So far, I hadn’t mentioned Arthur. I killed a few seconds by pouring myself a glass of lukewarm water from the pitcher someone had brought me.

“Shakespeare relied heavily on the work of Holinshed, as most of you know,” I said, hoping no one would dispute that well-known fact. “But remember, Holinshed was also influenced by earlier writers. He didn’t write centuries of history from memory.” That got a laugh. I felt emboldened. “Holinshed read Malory, William of Malmesbury, Geoffrey of Monmouth, and even Gildas. Gildas was a near-contemporary of the events attributed to Arthur.” I paused for breath. “So the story of King Arthur, be it history or myth, was firmly fixed in the brain of Raphael Holinshed.”

Larry Roberts stopped me there. “You’re suggesting the possibility Arthur is a myth and the possibility he’s history are equally likely?”

“That isn’t what I said.”

“‘Be it history or myth?’ isn’t that what you said? Or is there a strange echo in here?”

“You’re twisting my meaning!”

“I’m listening, but what I’m hearing sounds like it came straight from the grey-haired hippies of Glastonbury.”

By this time, everyone in the room was glaring at Larry. He looked around quickly, then stood and headed for the door.

Someone said, “Of all the nerve!” loudly enough so that Larry, now hurrying across the threshold, must have heard it too.

He turned and looked at me, his face nearly purple, and said, “And you can forget about that PhD.”

At least I thought that was what he said.

I went straight back to my room and paced, talking to myself.

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