Late in his career, on the verge of retirement and an inevitable drift into relative inconsequence, he had suddenly become, in the eyes of his peers, the acknowledged authority on the most sensational find of the decade. (Outside the narrow, arcane circle of academe, of course, in the less-demanding world of popular culture, it was Ivan Gunderson who enjoyed that position.) Since the find, Vanderwater had been the sole or senior author of a dozen monographs and two well-received scholarly books, all dealing with the social and cultural implications of the First Family and Gibraltar Boy, and their many ramifications. Even now, he was rumored to be working on a third.

“The name Gibraltar, as you may know, is a corruption of the Arabic Jebel Tarik, or ‘Jebel’s Mountain.’ And Jebel’s Mountain it remained until 1462, when the Arabs were driven out by Spain, which held the land for more than two centuries, until Britain took it in 1704.”

“Yes,” Gideon said. “They-”

“This they accomplished, during the War of Spanish Succession, by means of an Anglo-Dutch fleet under the command of Admiral George Rooke, and the British have held it ever since, the much-fortified Rock proving an impregnable military outpost of Empire – ‘safe as the Rock of Gibraltar’ has been a catch phrase since the nineteenth century, you know – through the long years of the Great Siege, the Napoleonic Wars, and the terrible world conflicts of the twentieth century.”

Julie, who had been listening courteously until now, her head cocked, glanced at Gideon with her eyebrows raised, her forehead creased. “Is he reading, or what?” she whispered.

Gideon suppressed his laugh. “I’ve never been able to figure out how he does that.”

Still, it was, as always, an impressive performance. Not an uh, not an um, not a pause. Not for the first time he wondered if Vanderwater didn’t prepare these sermons ahead of time, knowing he’d have the chance to use them at some point.