by Peter David
But Ron knew Arthur, and he also knew Cardinal Ruehl—a pugnacious individual with a stubborn streak almost as wide as Arthur’s. Initially Ron had wanted the meeting between the two to be in private, but the Cardinal stated that the Pope wanted all communication between his envoy and the United States to be open and aboveboard. Arthur had made similar sentiments known, leaving Ron no wiggle room. He likened the entire upcoming encounter to walking a tightrope smeared with butter, with broken glass as a safety net. He was going to do his damnedest to prevent things from getting out of hand by being present to ride herd. If he failed, then it was merely the chief of staff screwing up. His place in the affair would be forgotten in short order. But if the president were present, his “failure” would be a part of the story, whatever the story was and however long it perpetuated. It would make him look weak, and that was exactly what Cordoba wanted to prevent.
So it was that that day in the Mural Room, the president was off inspecting some well-timed tornado damage in Wisconsin when Arthur Penn sat down in a chair opposite Cardinal Ruehl. Gwen was seated next to him, and Ron was standing nearby. He was standing mainly because he felt that it afforded him a slight position of power by being able to look “down” at the two men who were eyeing each other warily. They shook hands as cameras flashed. It reminded Ron that the tradition of handshaking developed from a time when it was the best means for two suspicious men to make sure the other wasn’t holding a weapon to stab him. It underscored for Ron just the type of environment that had forged Arthur. In the twenty-first century, it was simply a traditional hand greeting. In Arthur’s time, it was the potential difference between life and death.
“I have,” Cardinal Ruehl said with his customary stiffness, “a message to read from His Holiness.” He reached into the folds of his robes, and it was at that moment that Ron saw Percival standing off to the side. He hadn’t even noticed the Grail Knight enter the room. It was amazing how quietly such a large and occasionally menacing-looking man could move. He had his White House security tag hanging around his neck, so the Secret Service hadn’t challenged him. Ron had a feeling that that was a good thing: If the Secret Service tried to go up against Percival, there was every chance they would come up on the short end of the confrontation.
Ruehl placed a pair of reading glasses on the end of his nose and peered at the letter. “We extend greetings to former President Penn, and heartfelt congratulations over the recovery of his lovely wife. In this day and age of cynicism and skepticism, it is comforting to see an indisputable example of a miracle in our midst. The subsequent resuscitation of the gentleman of the press presented even further proof, for the many doubters and strayed among us, that the hand of our lord and savior, Jesus Christ, is present in our day-to-day lives. However,” and Ruehl paused just a heartbeat, peering over the tops of his glasses before continuing, “although faith is a part of our everyday lives, and we accept the words of our savior as faith, we regret we cannot accept that pure faith to the words of mere men. We leave your claims of immortality and ancient pedigree to others to investigate. But we find your claim to be in the possession of the cup of Christ to be so monumental that we believe the full resources here at the Vatican must be brought to bear to explore it. There is, needless to say…”
“And yet he says it anyway,” Arthur commented softly. Ron saw Gwen nudge him slightly.
“…a great deal of interest from every quarter of not only the Catholic Church, but the whole of Christendom,” continued Ruehl as if Arthur hadn’t spoken. “Therefore, it is my request—” Again, Ruehl paused, and this time he lowered the paper and said with slow clarity, as if (to Ron’s mind, at least) he was addressing a simpleton, “I wish to emphasize that the ‘my’ refers, not to me, but to His Holiness himself…”
“Yes,” said Arthur with a tight, restrained smile. “Even a thousand years ago, we had a thorough grasp of pronouns.”
This prompted a ripple of laughter from the assembled press. Ruehl’s face, however, remained slightly pinched. He returned his gaze to the paper. “Therefore, it is my request that the reputed Holy Grail be transferred into the possession of my emissary, Cardinal Ruehl”—and he tapped himself unnecessarily on the chest—“to be transported immediately to Rome. There it will spend the next year being investigated and examined by a wide variety of experts, both theological and scientific. It will be subjected to a rigorous battery of tests to determine its authenticity. If, after that time, we have reason to believe that your claim is genuine, then we assume you would have no objection to the cup of Christ remaining on permanent display in the Vatican. After all, should it be the genuine cup that our savior drank from at the Last Supper, or that caught his blood when he was crucified, it would naturally be the single greatest find in the history of the Church, surpassing even—in my opinion—the Shroud of Turin or claimed pieces of the cross.
“Although naturally we cannot and would not endeavor to force you to accede to our request, please note that we judge you to be a good and fair man who would certainly agree that this presents the best course of action insofar as the reputed Grail would be concerned.”
Cardinal Ruehl then carefully folded the missive and replaced it within his robes. Then he carefully interlaced his fingers, resting his hands upon his lap, and said, “May I have the cup, please.”
In retrospect, Ron would conclude that it was the way he said it—as if the cup coming into his possession was a foregone conclusion and Arthur was simply a messenger of the Pope’s will—that sent the train clattering calamitously off the rails. If the Cardinal had been deferential, or unassuming, or even (don’t laugh) humble, there was a possibility that maybe, just maybe, things would have gone differently.
As it was, Arthur sat there for a long moment, one eyebrow raised, as if he were studying some new and intriguing bit of mold that had presented itself on a sandwich. Then, very calmly, he said, “The Grail is not mine to give.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said,” Arthur repeated, adopting the same tone that Ruehl had used earlier when clarifying who “me” was referring to, “it is not mine to give.”
“I don’t understand,” said the Cardinal, his voice tinged with disdain. “You claim to be a king. If that is the case, then I’d think a king could do whatever he wanted to do.”
“In theory. I, however, am a civilized king,” replied Arthur, “and thus tend to recognize the rights of others.”
“Mr. Penn,” said Ruehl, looking as if he were fighting to keep his temper in check, “let us be…” He glanced uncomfortably at the cameras, clearly wishing that the reporters were not in the room recording every word that was being said. “Let us be candid here. It is in your best interests to cooperate.”
“Is it now?”
“Yes. From my understanding, you are in dire need of all the friends you can acquire. The Senate is holding hearings into the specifics of your election, with the contention that if you are who you say you are, then your election to the presidency represents a massive fraud. Furthermore, I noticed when I arrived the gathering crowds in front of the White House. These are people who are making—there is no other word for it—pilgrimages. The sick, the dying, crawling out of their deathbeds and coming here in the vain hope of drinking from the Holy Grail and cheating death.”
“Former President Penn is more than aware of that, as are we,” Ron spoke up.
“What sort of cruelty, then, is it to these people that you are offering them false hope—”
“I’m not offering anyone anything,” Arthur said a bit heatedly. “The Grail was obtained as part of a quest in which good men and women risked their lives in pursuit of a higher purpose. I did not seek to publicize either the Grail’s existence or its restorative powers. These came about thanks to the fact that modern technology deprived us of our privacy. The fact that there are now people seeking the Grail’s aid is not…unforeseen by me.” He hesitated and looked slightly pained. “The problem is obvious. It was
one thing to act quickly when that reporter was stricken. But if we begin a policy of treating some, then we must treat all. People must be discouraged from gathering outside the White House, because if they are not, they will come from all over the globe in a never-ending stream. Washington will shut down. And I will spend the rest of my life doing nothing else but ministering to the ill. Were I a saint, I suppose it might be an endeavor I would undertake. But I am not. And furthermore, there is a simple aspect that is being overlooked: The Grail is not mine.”
“Not yours?” said the Cardinal. “I don’t understand…”
“The statement is self-explanatory. The Grail is not mine. It is his.” And he gestured toward Percival to come forward. Percival took several strides forward, looking as if he was gliding as he did so. “You may have read about him in literature. This is Percival. He is one of my knights.”
Immediately flashes began going off as the reporters started snapping pictures. Percival winced against the barrage of lights but remained stoically silent. Several reporters were calling out asking to check the spelling of his name, since there was some confusion as to whether it was Percival, Parcival, or Parsifal.
“Gentleman!” Ron shouted above them, quieting them. “You are here with the understanding that you will pose no questions unless invited to by the participants. You are being allowed here because of the historic importance of this meeting. We will not have this degenerate into a free-for-all.”
“This is ridiculous!” the Cardinal said, as if Ron hadn’t spoken. “There were no black knights of the Round Table!”
“Oh, you’re an expert in that field now, are you?” Arthur asked in amusement. “Have a good deal of first-person experience?”
The Cardinal sputtered a moment, then calmed himself by taking a deep breath and forcing a smile that looked like something a pit bull would display, presuming dogs could smile. “So not only are you King Arthur, but you have one of your knights of the Round Table with you as well. How…impressive. Very well. Should I address you as ‘Sir Percival’?”
“‘Percival’ will be fine,” rumbled Percival. Ron could tell that the Grail Knight was deliberately pitching his voice lower to sound even more impressive. Inwardly he grinned at that. Percival had been around long enough to witness the slow, steady battle for equal rights that had been the legacy of blacks in America. So here he now was, in the White House, with everyone including an emissary from his Holiness waiting to hear what he had to say.
“Very well. Percival. Your…liege here…would that be right?”
This generated some more guffaws from the press until Percival said with complete sincerity, “That would be right.” The seriousness with which he addressed the clearly sarcastic question of the Cardinal silenced all the laughers.
“Your liege has said the Grail does not belong to him. That it is, in fact, yours.”
“Were Arthur to order me to present it to him, I would do so. But he would never do that. He has far too much respect for me.”
“And I’m sure it’s well earned,” the Cardinal assured him. “But let’s get down to it, then. Since the alleged Grail belongs to you…and presuming you heard the directive from His Holiness…”
“I heard it,” Percival confirmed.
“Then you would certainly have developed your own answer, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent!”
“And the answer is no.”
The Cardinal was out of his seat when Percival said it, and this time he made no effort to restrain himself. “How dare you!” snapped the Cardinal. “How dare you dismiss a request coming directly from His Holiness in such a disrespectful manner!”
“To be fair, your Eminence,” Ron said quickly, trying in futility to stave off complete disaster, “I saw nothing disrespectful in Percival’s tone.”
“It isn’t his tone! It’s that he’s saying ‘no’ at all! The Catholic Church—”
“I don’t trust the Church, sir,” Percival said quietly. “I have a few more years of existence than you. I am a Moor, sir, and I have witnessed firsthand the brutality that organized religion—particularly yours—can inflict upon people. I risked life and limb to obtain the vessel, and I see no reason to entrust it to a sanctimonious institution that has a history of inflicting torture and death upon innocent people.”
The Cardinal was across the room, boiling mad, ignoring the TV cameras and the bevy of reporters, ignoring Ron’s frustrated efforts to get him to sit back down and take a moment to calm himself. “I won’t stand here and be libeled by you!”
“Slandered. Libeled is written,” Percival said, his calmness seeming to grow in inverse proportion to the Cardinal’s rising anger. “Moreover, it’s neither if the statements in question are true.”
“You’re referring to matters of ancient history…”
“I know you have no offspring, Cardinal,” Percival said quietly. “Nevertheless, I’m sure you can comprehend how parents can look at their adult children and, to them, it’s only yesterday that they were infants. Decades of time pass in a subjective eyeblink. It’s much the same thing. The Crusades, the Spanish Inquisition, the Borgias, hundreds of other incidents big and small, many of which have been lost to the history books…they’re like yesterday for me, Cardinal.”
“You cannot possibly be insinuating that the positions taken by the Church or popes in those times remotely reflect the thinking of the Church now. And to focus only on the evils that can be laid at our door without taking into account any of the great things we’ve accomplished to benefit mankind…”
“I don’t deny that your church has also done good works,” Percival said diplomatically. “And the current Pope, whom I’ve never met, may be a perfectly decent agent of your God’s works on Earth. But you’re suggesting that I turn the Grail over to the Church permanently. I know what I’m talking about when I say that forever is a long, long time, and a lot can happen. If I am to accept the proposition that where the Church is now does not reflect where it once was…then certainly you have to admit that where the Church is now likewise does not necessarily reflect where its policies will be a hundred, two hundred years from now. And if those policies are less than beneficent, and you have the Grail in your possession…well, let’s just say that I feel more comfortable with the Grail in my hands rather than yours in the long term.”
One of the reporters could no longer contain himself. “How did you become immortal? Did you drink from the Grail too?”
There was an outside chance that Ron might still have managed to avoid complete chaos if he’d moved quickly enough to head off Percival’s reply. But even as he tried to say, “We’d rather not go into that at this time,” Percival spoke over him without hesitation: “Yes.”
“It doesn’t just cure you?” said another reporter, and a third called out, “It makes you live forever?”
“No!” shouted Ron.
“It can,” said Percival.
At that moment, Ron would never have believed that matters could possibly get worse as he tried to slam shut the floodgates that had burst open because of Percival’s flat admission. Everyone was talking at once, shouting out questions, and Ron was barking orders that the room was to be cleared while reporters were starting to push forward, each one bellowing questions one over the over.
Yet they did become worse, and that was because Cardinal Ruehl, raised in the rough streets of New York, was accustomed to making himself heard over the most raucous demonstrations. So despite all likelihood, when it seemed that all the voices were blending into one vast cacophony, Ruehl’s voice managed to get above all of them as he bellowed, “If that cup can do what you say it can do, it belongs by rights to the Church because it acquired its powers through the might of our lord, Jesus Christ!”
To make matters even worse than that, it so happened that Percival was capable of being even louder than the Cardinal. “Bullshit! Not only do its powers predate Christ, but it’s entirely possible that he acq
uired whatever abilities he might have had by drinking from the cup!”
At which point it was no longer necessary for anyone to shout. Both exchanges had been easily heard, and a deathly silence fell upon the room. All that kept going through Ron’s head at that moment was Thank God POTUS isn’t here, thank God POTUS isn’t here…
“Are you telling me,” the Cardinal said slowly, as if he were weighing the notion of declaring a sentence of death upon him, “not to mention the millions of Christians throughout the world…that our lord Jesus Christ—”
It was entirely possible that Percival might have said something else, something far more severe, except that Arthur himself interrupted Percival before he could continue. “He is not telling you anything,” Arthur said. His jumping in prompted a glance from Percival, but the obedient knight instantly silenced himself in the face of his liege lord’s taking back control of the situation. “He is simply suggesting possibilities. I will grant you that these are possibilities that the Church may find upsetting, even blasphemous, to contemplate. Then again, once upon a time, the Church found it similarly blasphemous to suggest that the sun did not revolve around the Earth. Those who have suggested notions unpopular to the Church have faced everything from excommunication to torture and death, and yet subsequent generations decided their claims had merit and were true. So perhaps, just for once, the Church might want to keep an open mind before trying to destroy someone with an unpopular opinion.”
But the Cardinal wasn’t buying it. “We are not speaking of a forward-thinking notion that was subsequently proven true via science. We are speaking of a concept that is core to our very faith. The divinity of Jesus Christ can, must, and does come from his divine father who art in heaven. You cannot possibly suggest otherwise.”
