However, weirdly, in this modern age with internationalism being so popular, there were pockets of people who now brought up their children with Cornish as their first language.
“I’ve moved all the stuff I don’t need into boxes in the attic,” Tamsyn said.
“Thanks lass,” said Tom.
Tamsyn accepted a mug of tea and sat there as a spectator in a play of which she felt she was not really a part. These people had never met her before, and yet they seemed to think they knew her well. Strangely, with each moment that passed, her own memories seemed to contain snippets of a past that had never existed. She shook her head as she tried in vain to make sense of the whole scenario.
“How’s uni?” Tom asked her.
“Fine.”
He was not a man of many words, so he raised his eyebrow at her.
“Boring. I’m not sure I’m on the right course.”
“I said that, didn’t I?”
“Probably.”
“Still, it’s not too late to change courses, is it?”
“I don’t know. What about the money?”
“Your parents’ trust covers things like education, you know that!”
“I do? Oh, I suppose I do, did, um, yes.”
Tamsyn decided to shut up until she was able to glean more information.
“What course would you rather do?” he uncle persisted, making it hard to say nothing.
“I’m not sure, something more practical.”
“Media studies is a bit wishy-washy, isn’t it?” he asked.
She shrugged.
“I suppose,” she said, vaguely.
“I still think all young people of your age should join the army or one of the services,” he said.
“Your boys didn’t,” Tamsyn said.
“It might have improved them,” Tom said, looking glum.
“Oh, our boys are fine. You just got the hump because they don’t want to take on the farm. Besides, you can’t ask that of Tamsyn, she’s a girl,” said Helen.
“I had noticed that, thank you, dear. I don’t give a flying f....” he paused, looking at his audience, only to continue, “…fiddlestick whether someone is a boy or a girl or something strange in the middle. Military service teaches self respect and respect for others. There’s a shortage of respect, if you ask me.”
Tamsyn sat and watched these people that she had just met, yet they treated her as if they’d known her for her entire life.
Gwen observed the girl, not understanding what had happened, but marvelling at how events were unravelling. Legend met the present, with a twist of a game play and echoes of history all came together to create something marvellous. She smiled as the excitement gripped her. Tamsyn caught her glance and smiled back; the girl knew what she as feeling and shared it.
Not long afterwards, they were travelling in Gwen’s car back to Falmouth. Tamsyn was quiet.
“So, penny for them?” Gwen asked.
“How did those people know who I was?”
“You’re their niece.”
“No, I’m a total stranger who never existed before a couple of days ago. Yet, they believed that they’ve been looking after me for ten years!”
“Don’t try to understand the unfathomable. It’s not our place to understand, just to follow what we feel has to be done.”
“I want to understand, though. It’s important for me to understand. I’ve gone from being, well, let’s just call him – him, to being me. Is there a price to pay?”
“I don’t know, dear. I doubt it.”
“Why?”
“You’re going to attempt to fulfil destiny, to complete the incomplete, to finish what needs to be finished. I think that will be the price you will have to pay, if you like.”
“And when it is done?”
Gwen shrugged, negotiating a slow tractor taking up most of the road.
“You’ll know.”
“What will happen then? Will I go back to being him?”
“If you don’t want to, why should you?”
“I don’t feel I deserve this life. I mean....” she lapsed into silenced and Gwen saw a tear in her eye.
“Is this the life you’ve always craved?”
“Yes, but..”
“Have you taken anyone else’s life?”
“No, but..”
“Will he be missed?”
Tamsyn thought about Miriam and the children.
“Not really. I shouldn’t have been so messy, I guess.”
“Messy? Don’t be ridiculous; you did a splendid job. The sea often fails to sick up the dead, so it’s not messy at all. It’s not like a body is going to actually appear, and neither will he suddenly be seen wandering around a flea market in Brisbane or somewhere!”
“Huh?”
“That was a John Stonehouse reference. Coming from America, you’ll probably not know what I’m talking about. We had a philandering MP called John Stonehouse who faked his own death and buggered off to Australia with a girlfriend. He was spotted and arrested for fraud and all sorts of offences.”
“I can’t help feeling guilty, though. She never deserved this,” Tamsyn said.
“By this, do you mean having to suddenly be alone and accept that being a widow means you have to get off your arse and do stuff for yourself?”
Tamsyn smiled briefly at the image of Miriam having to get off the sofa and do something for a change.
“I guess I do.”
“Oi, none of this slipping back into Americanisms. You’re a good Cornish lass, so don’t back-slide. He’s gone, dear, and as long as you accept that, just live for the present and the future. Take this unique opportunity and make the most of it. Besides, Allun was insured, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, he was.”
Gwen smiled.
“See, now even you are dealing with him in the third person. Leave him in the past where he belongs, okay?”
“Yes,” said Tamsyn, smiling again. “Thanks.”
“Can I drop you anywhere?” Gwen asked.
“Yes, please, back at the guest house. I have to earn my keep.”
“Is there anything I can research while I have the chance?”
“Yes, as it happens. The name Brandt – I think he was a Saxon warlord; the lake where the sword originated and the place where the torque might have been forged. I got a place – across the water, before you get to Scotia, and a man called Gladwyn. So perhaps it might be worth starting with them.”
Gwen was surprised.
“Brandt, Gladwyn and across the water; got them,” she said, scribbling the names on a piece of paper. “What sword?”
“The sword; I suppose it might be Excalibur, but don’t know. Whatever it is, it has to go back to where it came from.”
Gwen regarded Tamsyn as the girl got out of the car.
“Thanks for taking me home. I still feel this is all real strange... sorry, very odd,” she said, correcting herself and lugging her suitcase into the guesthouse.
Gwen felt that, finally, she would be able to do something constructive with her passion. All would become clear, and she could fulfil whatever destiny held for her.
Tamsyn didn’t have time to dwell on her odd morning, as Mary had new guests and so, as soon as she had dropped her case in her room, she went to work with Mary, preparing the rooms and helping in the kitchen. They chatted as they worked. Mary was pleased that Tamsyn had been back to her uncle’s farm and collected clothes and her documentation. She had felt that perhaps the girl was being somewhat frugal with the truth, so it was a relief to know she wasn’t a runaway or anything like that.
“How were your uncle and aunt?”
“Okay. Uncle Tom was going on about national service, as usual. He’s pissed off that my cousins don’t want to be farmers.”
“It’s never easy dealing with kids who want to go their own ways. You mustn’t force children to follow your dreams for them when they may have dreams of their own. It’s fine if the dreams match, but if they don’t, you have to let go and allow them the freedom to do what they want to do.”