As he finished the book that had been the longest in his life, Percival wrote the last sentence and with his hand up, he closed his eyes and felt the moment as great as victory itself. He felt victorious. His heart was beating too fast. Because this feeling was stronger than falling in love. This feeling was stronger and more important than love. When he opened his eyes, he looked out the window, at the people passing by and at the sea that glistened far away and then, he looked at his papers. He had finished another of his books. But this book was different from the others. For each page held only one name - Adelard. Yes, he did write a book about him. It was his biography. From his childhood to his betrayal. All these three years he had worked on only one book. Every day of those three years he studied the town, the people and the history. He listened to people talk, he asked them about Adelard. He went to the library and read a lot. But he only had time at night. And so, for all
