An Unholy Communion

by Donna Fletcher Crow

  “I guess you could say he was ‘bewitched,’” Evie giggled.

  Antony smiled. “I think the correct term is Black Widow—a woman who preys on men for her own ends—sex, power, money, whatever.”

  “Yes, Anne Morgan was using her husband, just as Lydia was using Michael.”

  “She was using everyone; Marissa at Chakra Health, all the followers in her coven, everyone on her committee…”

  Sister Nora came in with a fresh pitcher of hot chocolate and walked around the circle of seated pilgrims, refilling their mugs. Felicity had the sense that she was giving each one of them a special benediction as she did so. When the Sister had gone out again, Felicity’s gaze fell on the scorched leather pouch lying on the table next to Ryan. “Oh, there it is.”

  Ryan looked a little embarrassed. “Yeah, I put it inside my jacket when I grabbed it, and in all the excitement I forgot. Actually, Lydia was coming for me and I—well, I’m not sure what I did. I remember pushing her. Then she sort of flew at me and then…” He shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

  “I remember,” Nancy grinned. “I grabbed her by the hair and pulled her off you. Then I hit her with that pole with their disgusting symbol on it. Whacked her a good one. That was about the time the police arrived.”

  Ryan put his arm around her. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “But what is it?” Felicity hadn’t thought she would ever want to leave her cozy nest beside Antony, but she set her hot chocolate down, shoved herself to her feet and crossed the room. The ancient leather felt hard as a board when she picked it up.

  “It’s amazing this has survived. It should be in a controlled climate. Like the Dead Sea Scrolls.”

  Antony joined her. “I’m sure it soon will be. We’ll take it to the bishop in the morning. Reunite it with the scrynne and let the cathedral archivist take it from there.”

  Working with great care so as not to crack the brittle parchment, Felicity drew two sheets out of the packet. She pulled the top open just far enough to be able to see a few lines of writing, then shook her head and handed it to Antony with a sigh. “I can’t read this. I don’t even know what language it is.”

  Antony looked carefully. “Aramaic, I’d say. I’m guessing first century. That was the common language of the time. Scholars will undoubtedly be poring over this for some time to come.”

  “But this,” Felicity held up the second sheet with a flourish. “This is Latin. Just my cup of—hot chocolate.” She sat on a small wooden chair and held the document under the lamp on the table beside it, studying the page carefully. At last she looked up, trying to suppress the excitement she was feeling. She could be wrong, of course. But… “Well, this is only a guess. This needs lots of study, too. And the Latin is very bad. Probably because it’s late. The translation may have been made as late as the fourteenth century.”

  “Fourteenth century? That was—” Antony began.

  “Bishop Henry Gower. Exactly.” Felicity nodded. She took a breath. “It could be a translation Gower made of the parchment before he sealed it away.” She took another breath. “Of course, I could be completely wrong and it could be much earlier.”

  “You mean…” Antony began.

  “Yeah. It could be as early as the sixth century.” She paused, shaken by her own audacity. “Well, David was quite a scholar. He definitely would have known Latin.”

  “Oh, never mind that!” Evie burst out. “What is it? What does it say?”

  Felicity bent over the small sheet. “It seems to be a letter. From a Roman soldier. Cornelius, centurion, Cohors II Italica Civium Romanorum…”

  “Cornelius?” Antony’s exclamation was so sharp Felicity jumped.

  “Yes. That’s what it says.” She looked again. “Yes, I’m sure. Does that mean something to you?”

  Antony bit his lip. “It might. What does he say?”

  “Well, I don’t have it exact, but he seems to have had some kind of vision, and he sent an officer to get someone named Peter and—”

  “That’s it! This is a letter from Cornelius—the centurion who sent for Peter…”

  “That’s what I just said. It is, if I’m reading the translation right.”

  “Don’t you see? This is a firsthand account of the first Gentile conversion. It’s in the book of Acts. Cornelius’s coming to faith showed that the gospel was for all people, all nations.”

  “Oh,” now Felicity understood. “It’s your ecumenical thing.” “Wait. Let me get this straight,” Michael spoke up. “This Roman centurion wrote a letter to someone in Britannia. Someone like Aaron or Julius, maybe?” He stopped. “No, that can’t be right. They were 300 years later.”

  Antony nodded. “They were. But Aaron or Julius is a very good guess. We know of their devotion and their strength. This could have been in one of their families, and brought with them when they went to the furthest edge of the empire; or sent to them for safekeeping when persecutions became severe in their homeland.”

  “A powerful reminder to give them assurance when they had to stand strong,” Felicity added. “Then David discovered it at Caerleon. But how would it make his preaching against heresy to the synod more powerful?”

  “We don’t know that it did,” Antony began.

  “The Orbis Astri must have believed it. Anne Morgan said it had resurfaced to add power. That’s why they wanted to burn it.”

  “We’ll probably have a better idea after the scholars analyze it. Perhaps David quoted from it. Or perhaps having it gave him confidence so he spoke with greater authority.”

  “So why would he hide it? Wasn’t that what you were digging for in Caerleon, Michael?” Felicity asked.

  Michael nodded. “I don’t expect he meant to hide it. I expect he was guarding it for safekeeping.”

  Kaylyn leaned forward. “But then David took it from Caerleon to St David’s along the same route we walked? Sweet!”

  Antony nodded. “I think that’s more or less what happened.”

  “And Gower found it when he was restoring the cathedral. Then he needed money to build his palace, so he sold it to wealthy monks—the Cistercians near Penrhys, maybe? And Evan Roberts—” Felicity ground to a halt.

  Antony laughed. “Whoa, too much conjecture. Let’s leave that to mystery.”

  Felicity made a face. Mystery. She would rather know. But some things they couldn’t know. She sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to accept that. But Hwyl—did he jump under some kind of spell, or was he pushed?”

  “We’ll probably know when the police get the toxicology report. But it was murder, either way, and we have the people responsible. Even if the police can’t prove Hwyl was murdered, I’m sure they’ll find plenty of evidence to convict those responsible for Joe’s death.”

  “Why do you think they killed Joe?” Chloe asked with a catch in her voice.

  Antony shook his head. “I hope that wasn’t our fault. We told the police who he was. When they started asking questions Anne must have been afraid he would give too much away.”

  “Or maybe Rhys told Anne that Joe was pressuring him for money,” Michael suggested.

  Felicity sighed and closed her eyes. Well, it wasn’t all tied up, but it was enough for now. She leaned her head against Antony’s shoulder and gazed around the room, observing those there and thinking of those not there: Lydia, “helping the police with their enquiries;” Adam, asleep with his head in Michael’s lap, awaiting his father’s arrival; Jared, sitting between Kaylyn and Evie, looking pleased with himself as Evie whispered in his ear and Kaylyn smiled; Ryan, holding his mobile out to Nancy, sitting very close beside him, who read out a text from the fully recovered and still chatty Colin: his tutor predicted an A for him in his archeology exam; he hoped to make an original find. Would any of them do a dig with him? He asked.

  “What a shame Colin had to miss this. He would be so excited.” Felicity missed him.

  “My fault again, I’m afraid,” Michael
said. “I was worried I’d involved him too much. I called his mum.”

  “Well, when this winds up in a glass case back in the Roman museum in Caerleon, the plaque must have Colin’s name on it as a member of the discovering party,” Antony said.

  Chloe was the first to move. She thanked the group, especially Antony, over and over. “If you hadn’t come along, taken me in as part of you, I don’t know what might have happened.” She choked. “I’ll send you all pictures. Gotta go pack.” And she swiftly left the room.

  Felicity smiled. Pilgrimage was designed to change, broaden, perhaps even purify the pilgrim, but could any of them possibly have foreseen such outcomes as they had experienced?

  “We’ll all be heading home tomorrow, so we should get some sleep.” Antony made a motion to get to his feet. But Felicity still didn’t want to move. They had all shared so much, been through such amazing experiences together, and they would likely never see each other again—not in a group. Not like this.

  Nancy spoke up. “Father, before we go, let’s say The Grace together.”

  “Excellent.” Antony held out his hands to Felicity and Nancy on each side of him, and the circle closed.

  “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ,” everyone entered in; there was even a very drowsy voice from Adam, “and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with us all, evermore.” Felicity felt her own fervency rise as she joined in a wholehearted, “Amen.”

  She turned to Antony. Exhausted, but infinitely grateful, she gave a weary smile. “Let’s go home.”

  Felicity and Antony’s adventures continue:

  Look for A Muffled Tolling, Book 4 in THE MONASTERY MURDERS

  Chapter 1

  Wednesday

  St Frideswide’s Day

  “Now don’t get into mischief.” Antony kissed Felicity on her forehead; then, on second thought, lingered a moment on her lips.

  She broke away with a chuckle. “Me? I’m spending a week in a convent, then attending a conference on the Oxford Movement. What could possibly be less mischief-making?”

  Antony’s forehead furrowed as he raised his eyebrows. “I can’t imagine. But it seems you always manage to find a way.”

  Felicity started to protest, but her words were muffled in his hug. “Never mind,” he said when he released her. “Go get your translating done for the good Sisters. I’ll be there with my students at the end of the week.”

  Felicity tossed her long blonde braid and picked up her small bag as the train drew into the station. She turned back for one last quick kiss. “I’ll miss you.”

  “You’d better.” He started to wave her away, then paused. “It’s only a few days. I’ll be there for All Soul’s.” His voice clearly said that the assurance was more for himself than for her.

  “Don’t worry, silly,” she mouthed through the glass as the door shut between them.

  But he was worried.

  Permissions and References

  Gabriele Amorth, An Exorcist Tells His Story, San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 1994.

  Michael Boag et. al., ed. A Week of Simple Offices (prayer), Mirfield: Community of the Resurrection, 2000. Used by permission, Fr Nicholas Stebbing.

  Rebecca Brown, MD, He Came to Set the Captives Free, New Kensington, PA: Whitaker House, 1992.

  Eifion Evans, The Welsh Revival of 1904, Brigend: Bryntirion Press, 2000.

  Dion Fortune, Psychic Self-Defense, San Francisco, CA: Weiser Books, 2001.

  Brynmore P. Jones, Voices from the Welsh Revival 1904–1905, Brigend: The Evangelical Press of Wales, 1995.

  David Matthews, I Saw the Welsh Revival, Chicago, IL: Moody Press, 1951,

  Johanna Michaelsen, The Beautiful Side of Evil, Eugene, Oregon: Harvest House Publishers, 1960 (1982 ed.).

  James A. Stewart, Invasion of Wales by the Spirit Through Evan Roberts, Asheville, NC: Revival Literature, 1963.

  Jack Dover Wellman, A Priest’s Psychic Diary, London: SPCK Publishing, 1977.

  Author’s note: All of the occult occurrences in my story were fictionalized accounts of events recorded in the above nonfiction books or based on reports from people to whom they happened.

  About the Author

  Donna Fletcher Crow is the author of 40 books, mostly novels dealing with British history. The award-winning Glastonbury, A Novel of the Holy Grail, an Arthurian grail search epic covering 15 centuries of English history, is her best-known work. Besides The Monastery Murders series she is also the author of The Lord Danvers series of Victorian true-crime novels and the romantic suspense series The Elizabeth & Richard Mysteries. Donna and her husband live in Boise, Idaho. They have 4 adult children and 11 grandchildren. She is an enthusiastic gardener.

  To read more about all of Donna’s books and see pictures from her garden and research trips go to

  http://www.donnafletchercrow.com/

  You can follow her on Facebook at:

  http://ning.it/OHi0MY