The Lamps of Arontain recounts the harrowing adventures of Olivier de Montmorency, second son to the Count de
Montmorency, a young knight summoned along with his evil older brother, Guy, to bring their father’s vassals and join
the king of France in the Third Crusade to liberate Jerusalem from the forces of Saladin. It is a tale of intrigue
and bloodline secrets, treachery, and the horrors of war, but also a tale of courage, self-sacrifice, survival,
passion, and the redemptive power of love in various manifestations.
Olivier encounters the magnificent Saladin, King Richard the Lion Heart, Sibylla, the tragic queen of Jerusalem, plus
a myriad of medieval characters, including lusty friars, ascetic scholar priests, minstrels, jugglers and performers,
wild women of the forest who have fled their husbands, pirates, and Knights Templar. He meets with betrayal at the
hands of Christians, mercy at the hands of Moslems, and life-saving assistance at the hands of a Jew.
Will Olivier escape the massacre at Acre and reach his homeland with the dark-eyed beauty he loves, the daughter of
the Arab physician who saved his life after he was left for dead by his own brother? Will he vanquish the hereditary
evil that now lives in the ruthless Guy? Will he learn the secret of his birthright and find his true father? And
will he fulfill his destiny as the one born to re-unite the ancient lost lamps of Arontain, harbingers of the rebirth
of timeless wisdom?
Author’s note: the discovery of Arontain and crusader memories
When my brother, Dr. Brent Davis, was still in chiropractic college he undertook a trip to Brittany on behalf of
our mother’s business. He had had a dream of a past time when he was an aspiring initiate living in the magical forest
of Huelgoat, and the dream was so powerful and so unsettling that he knew he had to go there. During the night before
his planned trek he fell ill with a high fever, but he felt so compelled to reach the forest that he braved a
thunderstorm on a dilapidated borrowed bicycle, and when he came to a place on a narrow road, his inner guidance
directed him to stop and head into the dense woods. There he thrashed delirious through the underbrush until he came
upon the stone ruins of an ancient place of initiation—the very place he had been shown in his dream. Sitting among
the stones he lost consciousness for some time, but when he awoke he stumbled upon one of the pathways through the
forest. Looking down, he spied a moss covered stone, and acting on an impulse he could not explain, he took out his
pocket knife and began to scrape away the moss. It was not long before he uncovered a time worn coat of arms carved
into the rock centuries ago, and on it was the name “Arontain.”
Soon after this surreal discovery, he consulted with his spiritual mentor, a gifted spirit channel. With no prior
knowledge of his ordeal or his amazing discovery, from somewhere on the other side, she brought forth the words,
“Greetings, my son, I see that you found my coat of arms. I am Arontain, keeper of Huelgoat.” My brother’s reading
went on from there with details of his lifetime as a hermit healer living in Huelgoat, a moving account which he
later related to me. This story together with details from my late husband’s lifetime as a reluctant French crusader
knight, my own memories of a short life as his page who died from plague en route to the Holy Land, and an oil lamp
from long, long ago gave birth to The Lamps of Arontain.