by K. T. Tomb
Whether the Holy Grail had any power remained to be seen, but he believed it did. For the light that emanated from it grew brighter, as if beckoning him closer to its splendor.
He heard whispering from behind him. Richard tore his gaze away to see what the hubbub was about. Saladin’s left arm had fallen from the stretch of hide; the hand was opening and closing, slowly, methodically. An amazing feat for someone so close to death.
Welcome back, my friend, my enemy.
Richard and the other litter bearer set the old warrior down. The Holy Grail was situated above them, stuck within the rock perhaps ten feet up the wall. Andre stared in amazement, his mute mouth open.
Richard knew that he was gazing at the Holy Grail the moment he laid eyes on it. A tingle trickled down his spine.
Richard heard one of his men saying to another: “It is beautiful.”
The sun was beginning to lose its intensity. He sat down, his back against a rock wall, and gazed up at the Holy Grail above. He was tired, so tired. Some of his men had climbed the rock wall and were hanging from the rock wall like insects and touching the Holy Grail and then climbing down again. As if it was a game.
Richard had done it.
In his mind, he had done all that God had commanded him seemingly so long ago in the dream. I have redeemed myself in the eyes of God, he thought. Now my soul can be at peace.
But who is right? Fighting a holy war, we both think we are right.
And then a great cheer erupted. Richard turned his head. The men on the wall jumped down from their contact with the Holy Grail. Saladin’s men were embracing each other. The Templars were laughing. One did a little jig.
Andre motioned for Richard to climb on his shoulders and gave him a leg up. Richard climbed the rest of the wall and removed the Holy Grail from the niche returned to the ground by Andre’s strong shoulders.
“I have it,” he said softly to his valet, who smiled.
Saladin sat up. He was even smiling at Richard. Richard smiled back. “You will have your turn,” he whispered to Andre. Tears came to the man’s eyes.
Of course, Christians and Muslims could both be right, thought Richard. And he knew, from the deepest part of his heart and soul and mind, he knew that this was the message that God above was trying to give him:
Peace. There must be peace between you.
“Saladin,” Richard said, “you must drink from the cup first and I will offer it to you from my own hands.”
“What is in it?” Saladin said, his voice a bare whisper.
“I have a feeling that what is in the cup will be different for each man,” Richard said.
“You believe in it, don’t you?” Saladin asked.
“Yes, wholeheartedly.”
Saladin shook his head. “You know my beliefs, Lionheart.”
Richard nodded. Saladin, of course, believed Christ was a prophet... and not the son of God. That the crucifixion did not happen. That Jesus had been raised bodily to heaven. No matter what their individual beliefs, the relic had significance in and of itself; even Saladin could see that.
Richard looked inside of the Grail.
“What do you see in the cup of Christ?” asked Saladin.
“Nothing,” Richard said, puzzled.
“But we are here, so we must believe that there is more than the eye can see,” Saladin said. “If this is a cup from which the Prophet Isa drank, then I wish to drink from it.”
Richard held the cup to Saladin’s lips and tipped it. He heard swallowing sounds and Saladin’s hands rose to cover his own and he drank for a long, long time. When he drank no more, Saladin took the cup from his hands and offered it to him.
Again, Richard looked in the cup and there was nothing in it. But he had faith and raised it to his lips.
Richard drank, too, and it was the sweetest wine he had ever tasted. He could see nothing in the cup, but he could taste it and feel the coolness of it sliding down his throat. When he was finished drinking, he put his hand over the cup and took it from Saladin, who was losing his pale complexion and looking healthier already.
Now Richard felt healthier, stronger, too. But more than that, he felt…redemption.
Was it even possible that redemption could be found in an invisible drink? That to drink from the Holy Grail would bring forgiveness of his horrific sins? He felt humbled and loved and amazed. But he did not speak of it.
“We must all drink from the cup like this,” Richard said to the other men. “With each man offering a drink from the Grail to his enemy, one holds the cup, the other drinks. And then each will serve the other; just as our Lord served Man. Enemy to enemy, we serve the love from the Holy Grail and heal the hearts of war. Each man will drink what he is meant to drink, taste what he is meant to taste and feel what he is meant to feel.”
Richard’s voice choked up and he could not speak for a time.
And so, they all did as Richard commanded. One of Saladin’s men refused his turn. And so, at the very last were Andre and de Mandeville serving each other sips from the empty Grail that filled each man’s mouth and heart with something different, whatever the Lord chose for them to reap.
After Andre the mute, the man with his tongue cut out, finished drinking, he brought the Grail back to Richard, opened his mouth and clearly said, “Thank you, Majesty, for bringing a humble servant on this journey to prove the way, the truth, and the light.”
Richard was shocked and tears came to his eyes as his valet’s tongue and speech were restored.
They stayed in there for hours, praying on their knees, each man in his own way with his God.
Finally, the light in the cavern lessened and it was time to go down Mount Ararat.
***
Richard cautioned against anyone removing the Grail from where he had replaced it. Further, Richard gave strict orders to all of his men and Saladin’s men.
“Never speak of this quest to another living soul, not even among yourselves, or fear the wrath of Him, who you all know now is real.
“What we have experienced here today is a result of a long, enlightening journey and the guidance of the hand of God. May those who come after us receive the same which we have.”
Saladin was in agreement and reinforced the order with a sworn oath of silence from all his men present.
They left the cave by the exit, a hole in the ice, revealed to them by the light. Richard saw in their faces that they disagreed with the decision to leave the Grail behind, and he also saw that they did not understand why they would do such a thing. Only Saladin agreed and supported his decision to leave the Grail where they had found it and just as they had found it.
Saladin and Richard were the last ones to leave the cave, just to ensure that the Grail stayed there.
Three days’ ride from the Mountain of Pain had proven if not interesting, at least profitable for both King Richard and Saladin. And certainly for Richard, who felt joy in the redemption of his soul. Perhaps his obedience had made a difference to God. Perhaps a King should humble himself more often to God.
Saladin, now healthy and sitting erect on his own mount, was still weak, but his strength seemed to be growing daily. For Richard, it was a true miracle to witness the King of Islam’s sudden, almost immediate, recovery.
For his warriors and Saladin’s warriors, it had been a miracle as well, but for them, it was just another amazing incident upon a holy quest. In Richard’s case, it was the capstone on an extraordinary personal journey of faith and redemption. Several times on the way back down the mountain, Richard fell on his knees to pray and Saladin and his men did the same thing, especially Andre, who could now speak again and would not be silenced, once they were out of the range of avalanches. No one doubted what they had experienced.
At the base of the mountain, they bid farewell to the small village that had given them the comforts of home during their brief stay before the ascension to spiritual knowledge.
***
One day’s ride later, u
pon the desert, they were attacked by a band of common thieves.
The thieves, perhaps feeling they outnumbered Richard and Saladin’s twenty or so men, attacked with confidence. Little did they realize they were attacking Europe’s best fighting men and a very large valet, and Saladin’s best warriors. Little did they know how strong the men were, as all had sipped from the Savior’s cup from the Last Supper.
Richard and even Saladin, who was by then feeling quite well, joined the battle against the thieves, and soon, they triumphed over all their attackers. Not one life was lost among their Grail quest group, and not one thief survived.
The soldiers discovered a bounty that the thieves had with them, no doubt gold and jewelry taken from other such raids. Richard and Saladin met with each other in a small tent, as they had been doing now since coming down from the mountain. They decided to disperse the gold and jewelry evenly among their men, for they had fought bravely and had not complained too much during the trip to Mount Ararat. And so, each of the twenty men were given a sizable amount of gold and jewels.
But one of them wanted more.
Chapter Fifteen
Pierre de Mandeville was a brave and chivalrous knight, having gained in status from his bravery at defending Tyre against Saladin and the Muslim king’s vast armies.
Now a high-ranking Templar, de Mandeville had sat in on some of the Knights’ most secret of meetings. However, de Mandeville secretly wanted to rise further in the Order of the Templars—his ultimate goal was to sit at its head, as Master of the Knights Templar.
To do this, he figured that he needed to influence many people. He knew that in order to influence anyone properly, he needed great wealth, wealth which he did not have. It had not escaped his notice or envy that de Sable, after only one year in the Knights Templar, had been elected Master. And that was why when King Richard provided them each with their share of the gold bounty, de Mandeville couldn’t have been happier.
It would get him closer to his goal. The Lionheart had been generous, but secretly, de Mandeville was already working out plans for acquiring more money. He had learned of Richard’s plan to sell Cyprus to de Sable, ‘for the Templars’, but de Mandeville wanted his own fiefdom, as well. There were only two ways to achieve it: money and the King’s favor. And of course, de Sable had to go…
Pierre de Mandeville was not sure if he totally believed Richard’s story about God visiting him in a dream and revealing the way to the Holy Grail. And then there was that nonsense about Noah’s Ark, and how they were all part of a human Trinity. It was heresy, at best!
Anyway, perhaps it had happened, and perhaps not. True, de Mandeville himself had seen the Holy Grail with his own eyes—and had even drunk from the cup of invisible wine, his enemy’s hands serving him—but Richard could have known the way beforehand.
Why had Richard journeyed all the way to Ararat with his dying enemy, Saladin? Pierre did not know and did not really care, though it was truly amazing to see the old man rise from the stretcher after having been so deathly ill.
Or could it have been, as Pierre privately suspected, some scheme between the English king and the Muslim king, to somehow influence their faithfulness to their respective beliefs, to God and Allah? As to the nature of the scheme, Pierre could not fathom the motive, but it was highly suspicious that these two men would meet so secretly.
Perhaps Saladin was never even sick and had feigned it all. But Pierre could not deduce why the old Muslim would do such a thing and why Richard would go along with it. One thing he did know: something was going on or had gone on, and somehow, Pierre de Mandeville had played a role in it.
Now they don’t want us to talk about the Grail, thought Mandeville, as they made camp for the night, on the fifth evening after having left the great mountain. And they’re using the fear of God to try and keep us quiet. Richard is behaving like a traitor, and if I were given half a chance, I’d slit the Muslim’s throat. Look at the two of them, sitting next to the fire, talking amongst each other in French like two old friends. Unbelievable. What would Robert de Sable have to say about that? The Master of the Templars would probably report Richard the Lionheart to the Pope. And, if I were the Master of the Order? Well, I would think Richard was planning something, or negotiating something that may not be in the Order’s best interest. I would probably have him poisoned. Obviously, he is a dangerous and reckless king. It would probably do more harm than good. Indeed, we have plenty of our own assassins who could poison the king, and nobody would be the wiser.
Sitting at the huge fire, Muslims and Christians mingled now, many of whom laughed together in great camaraderie. Pierre laughed, too, chewing his tough meat.
Was it horsemeat? He hoped not. Perhaps it was donkey meat.
Inside, he loathed being so close to his enemies. However, he did not want it to show, as Pierre was nothing if not one to put on a mask—anything to forward his cause. And if that meant socializing with his enemies, so be it. No one could break into his thoughts. Therefore, he plotted without worry.
Yes, King Richard, I would have you killed. You are a traitor. I don’t need to know your secret plans to understand that in some way you are selling out the Holy Lands, the Holy Roman Church and Europe, as a whole. But I will not allow your scheme, trying to ignite the fear of God in us, stand in my way.
After eating his evening meal, with perhaps five more days ride back to Jerusalem, Pierre de Mandeville stopped by Richard’s empty tent before he retired to his own. Still in a celebratory mood at finding the Grail, no guards had been posted at Richard’s royal lodgings.
A goatskin, filled with ripening kefir, hung from a tent pole. That was all the opportunity that de Mandeville needed; it seemed simple enough to drop some dried hemlock into the fermenting goat’s milk in the bag and then make himself scarce. He and most of the Templars were well-versed in botanical identification and alchemy. They would all be suspects, but no one would suspect him.
Without any regret, he proceeded to his own tent, which was a small affair: a stretch of skins over a few poles. Small as it was, it was effective in eliminating the bite of the harsh desert winds. But more importantly, it gave him the privacy he needed to further carry out his simple plan to build wealth.
He crawled into the tiny space of his tent, the stink of his own body sharp in his nostrils, a stink that told the story of hard travel and even held the coppery smell of blood of the earlier battle. Pierre hated the smell of an enemy’s blood on his person. He would welcome a dip in the nearest lake or sea, cold though it might be.
He ran over the events in great detail in his mind…
Earlier that day, in great ceremony, King Richard had presented each knight and Muslim warrior who had accompanied him with their own portion of the bounty. The previous night, Pierre had been eyeing the booty that had been collected after the battle. He secretly wondered how he could get his hands on at least some of it, but not foolish enough to try to simply steal it all.
Indeed, Pierre was not a foolish man: if the risk was too great, he abandoned the idea. And then the king had given—actually given—them each a sizable portion of the gold; more gold than he had ever owned in all his life put together. Part of his own allotment had been a golden scabbard, long enough to sheath his own broadsword. The scabbard was actually ribboned with gold. Between the ribbons of gold were tiny emeralds. It was a thing of kings. Pierre had come up from among commoner’s stock. Growing up as a poor boy in the French countryside, the scabbard alone would have fed his large family for a year.
Carrying a sheep’s tallow candle, de Mandeville placed it on a wooden block at the rear of the canopy tent. Here, from the booty that was neatly piled by his headrest (and on which he had kept a wary eye while he had eaten his evening meal at the main fire), he lifted the golden and emerald scabbard. It was heavy in his hands and set his heart pounding. Its weight and beauty brought a smile to his rugged and slightly scarred face.
With delicate fingers, Pierre de Man
deville reached into the scabbard and withdrew a rolled parchment. Under the flickering light of the candle, and with the wind rocking his small shelter, he unrolled the parchment. His smile widened.
Before him was a map of Ararat, drawn from his best memory. The map traced their route from the west side of the mountain, at the base where the little village was located, then up the huge mountain, angling from the west to north and past what the Muslims had called Jacob’s Well. From there, their path had gone over to the north side below the glacier line.
This main part of the map, which showed the mountain from above, was off to the left side of the parchment. Now, he was just finishing off a second part of the map, drawn to the right of the parchment. Quill in hand, he had drawn the huge cliff, and the boulder, where the actual cave entrance was located. He had drawn the shape of the oval boulder that had concealed the entrance, the one they had rolled away with a lever made of swords.
This boulder was placed slightly to the left of the cliff, exactly where it had been left. Also, he drew the distinguishing landmark in the area: a bent and gnarled tree that had no business being that high up on the mountain. This, he placed near the entrance to the cave, in the exact spot, as best as he could remember its location. With that done, he was satisfied that he would be able to retrace his steps back up to the cave if he had to. And this, he knew, smiling in the glow of the candle, was a very real possibility. The Grail was sitting there, waiting to be taken. Perhaps it was meant to be his. If not, it would buy wealth for his own fiefdom.
Alas, the map was still not complete. With painstaking care, using all the writing skills he had ever learned, and they were not considerable, Pierre detailed exactly how to work one’s way through the catacomb of tunnels within Ararat. By the time he was done, the candle had dwindled significantly, and Pierre could hardly keep his eyes open. But he was indeed finished drawing the map, and as far as he was concerned, he possessed a true treasure map. People would pay a fortune to journey with him to see where the Holy Grail had been discovered, and where it still lay, waiting for a worthier man than Richard or Saladin to claim it.
