The Templar regarded the two women without expression. Both were dressed in the gray robes of their order, hooded against the cold.
“I will tell the commander you are here,” said the soldier, and disappeared inside, reappearing a moment later. “Please come in, abbess. Grand Commander de Bracineaux will receive you now.”
The abbess and her companion stepped through the door and into the dim interior of the church. Brother Timotheus met them just inside the door. “Abbess Annora,” he said, rushing up, “thank God you have come. I have been telling these men that there is no need to hold everyone like this. I am certain matters can be settled peaceably to the satisfaction of all concerned.”
Cait looked past the village priest and saw de Bracineaux sitting in one of Dominico’s chairs before the altar. His white hair was matted and damp, clinging to his head like wet leaves; his face was red from the cold and wind, but his eyes were keen as blades. Beside the Templar sat Archbishop Bertrano; Gislebert stood behind his commander’s chair, and the fair-haired man named d’Anjou was pacing in the shadows behind the altar. The villagers were sitting on the floor in family groups—silent, watching, waiting. She searched among them for her own knights, but Rognvald and the others were not there. She wondered where they might be hiding.
The priest, seeing Cait, opened his mouth to greet her, but the abbess cut him off saying, “I came as soon as I received your message. Tell me, what is the urgency? And why are all the people here? Are they being held captive?”
“They are here to help us keep things from becoming, shall we say, needlessly complicated. Also, to pay their respects,” said de Bracineaux, rising slowly from his chair. “After all, it is not every day an archbishop comes to call.”
At this, Bertrano also rose. “God be good to you, abbess.” He introduced himself to her, and said, “I think you will find that we are both serving at the pleasure of the pope and his Templars in this matter.”
“So it would appear,” answered the abbess. “But perhaps someone could be so kind as to explain what it is that requires my most urgent attention.”
“It is very simple,” began the archbishop. “Some little time ago, I received word that the Holy Cup of Christ was preserved in this village. Naturally, I was intrigued, and inasmuch as the stability of the region has lately come under threat due to the continuing reclamation of Christian lands from the Moors, I decided to seek advisement in th—”
“Enough!” said de Bracineaux sharply. He stepped forward, pushing past the archbishop. “Thank you, Bertrano, for airing your explanation, but if we stay to hear you finish it, we will be here all night.” He took his place before the two nuns, arms folded over his broad chest. “Just tell me this,” he said, gazing sternly at the abbess, “do you have the cup?”
“Yes,” answered Annora. “The holy relic of which you speak resides at the convent.”
The commander’s smile was greedy and wide. “Good. His Holiness the pope has determined that the cup is to be delivered into my hands for safekeeping.”
“That I will not do,” answered Annora, “until I know the reason. The Holy Cup has been in our possession since the Blessed Apostle himself came to Iberia. You cannot expect me to give it up without good reason.”
De Bracineaux’s gaze grew fierce. “Yet, I say you will give it up.”
“Allow me to speak,” put in the archbishop, interposing himself between them. “This is my doing, for it was my letter which alerted the pope to the danger of losing the cup to the Moors.”
“Very well,” de Bracineaux growled. “If it will help bring the matter to a close. We have wasted too much time here already.”
“Dear abbess,” said Bertrano, stepping close, “the region is in turmoil; war and strife are rampant throughout all the land. It is the wish of His Holiness, the Patriarch of Rome, that the cup should be removed to a place where it can be guarded in all safety. You and the sisters of your order have performed your duty admirably well—indeed, I have nothing but the highest praise for your faithfulness and care, and I will see to it that the pope learns of your long obedience—but you must see that the time has come to make better arrangements for the safekeeping of what is certainly Christendom’s single most valuable object. It simply cannot reside here any longer—that much, at least, must be clear to you.”
Annora’s face hardened. “It is clear to me that you have created a problem where none existed. Certainly, now that the world knows about the Holy Chalice its continued safety is compromised.” Her thin lips pressed themselves into a line of harsh disapproval.
“Just so,” conceded Bertrano. “I am sorry.” His remorseful gaze drifted to the Templar commander, and he added, “You will never know the depth of my regret.”
“There!” said de Bracineaux, impatience pinching his tone. “You have heard the reason. Will you now give us the cup?”
“We may be secluded here in the mountains, but we are not blind to the dangers you mention,” the abbess replied crisply. “It would seem the time has come to make better arrangements for the cup’s safekeeping.”
“Then you will give us the cup?” said de Bracineaux, his tone rising to a demand.
“If the archbishop assures me in the name of his holy and sacred office that all he has told me is true, and that this has been ordained by his superiors in the faith,” Annora regarded Bertrano closely, “then, yes, I will deliver the Sacred Cup of Christ to you.”
“Abbess, no—” objected Cait, dismayed by what she was hearing. She reached out to take Annora’s arm, as if to protest the decision. De Bracineaux saw the movement, and his hand snaked out, seizing her by the wrist.
“I think,” he said, “the abbess has made a wise decision.”
Revolted by the touch, Cait jerked her hand free from his grasp. As she did so, the hood slipped back on her head and the side of her face came into view. She quickly replaced it, but de Bracineaux continued to stare at her.
The archbishop also saw, and opened his mouth to speak, but the abbess took Cait by the shoulder and turned her toward the door. “Wait for me outside, sister.” As Cait moved away, the abbess turned to face the archbishop. “Well? What is your answer?”
“Good abbess,” said Bertrano, watching as Cait departed, “I am Archbishop of Santiago de Compostela, and however much I might wish it was otherwise at this moment, all I have said of this matter is true. However loathsome it is to find myself in agreement with the commander, nevertheless, on my holy and sacred office, I do assure you of my veracity. But know that it is with a heavy and contrite heart that I do so.”
“Satisfied?” demanded de Bracineaux.
“You shall have the cup,” Annora repeated. “I will deliver it to you following our last Holy Communion. You understand, I must allow the sisters of my order a chance to say farewell to the Sacred Vessel. The service will be held tonight at the convent, and we will bring the Holy Chalice tomorrow morning.”
“Splendid,” sighed the archbishop, much relieved. “We will await this historic occasion with God’s own patience.”
“Better still,” countered de Bracineaux, “we will come and retrieve the relic, and save you the trouble of bringing it to us.”
“Thank you, but that will not be necessary,” the abbess declined. “Instead, I will insist that you respect the hallowed tradition of our order which does not allow men to set foot within the boundaries of the convent.”
Cait glanced back as she opened the door to step outside. She heard Archbishop Bertrano say, “Let it be as you say. Until tomorrow then.” And then she was through the door and away.
They were silent on the way back to the abbey. The short winter day ended, and picking their way along the trail in the deepening twilight was difficult work, so it was not until the moon rose and the stars came out that the way grew easier. Upon reaching the upper path, the abbess turned and waited for Cait to join her. “You do not agree with my decision.”
“I did not say that,” Cait repl
ied.
“No,” allowed Annora, “but your silence is most eloquent. You think I am wrong to give it to them.”
“I do, yes.”
“Do you also see that I have no choice in the matter?” When Cait did not respond the abbess stopped walking. “Listen to me, Caitríona; it is ordained. Oh, yes, I do believe so. Despite whatever you may think of the instruments God has chosen to perform this work, the fact remains: Archbishop Bertrano wrote a letter to the pope, who has entrusted the Templars to carry out his wishes.” She softened, placing a hand on the younger woman’s shoulder. “They would have come for the cup in any event.” Cait made to protest, but the abbess raised a hand in admonition. “The pope is my superior before God. I must obey.”
“Regardless of the consequences?” Cait asked bitterly. “I thought God had chosen me to be the next guardian of the cup.” She thrust her hands out to show the red welts on her wrists. “I was chosen. That is what you said.”
“Caitríona, the ways of God are beyond reckoning. Even so, I know he is at work in this. We come to him with the shattered remains of our best intentions, and he gathers all the broken pieces, reforms and reshapes them, and makes them new according to his purposes. He is able to achieve his will in the world, never doubt it.”
There was nothing more to be said, so they continued in silence. The abbess knew the last stretch of the path along the fields, and moved quickly; Cait followed, her spirit in turmoil. True, she had already decided that she could not become the next Guardian of the Chalice; yet she was far from prepared to see de Bracineaux get his profaning hands on the sacred object. She did not see how she could prevent that now. The abbess had spoken and that was that.
Although night was hurrying on, and they were cold, hungry, and exhausted from their long climb, upon their return to the abbey the abbess bade Cait to sound the bell to gather the sisters. When they were all assembled in the refectory, Annora announced, “Tonight a strange and portentous thing has happened. The Archbishop of Santiago de Compostela has arrived in the village with a charge from His Holiness the Pope to take possession of our Blessed Cup.” A fretful murmur coursed through the assembled nuns. “As abbess of this order, I am sworn to obey, and have pledged my assent to the pope’s wishes.”
Some of the sisters took this hard. They raised their voices and stretched out their hands, pleading to know if there was not some other way. The abbess turned a deaf ear to their cries. “Peace, dear sisters,” Annora continued. “Cease your pleading and have faith. All shall be well. I have requested a last communion with the cup, and it has been granted. Each sister will partake of the cup this night. Now, I want all of you to go and wash, and put on your best habits; let us pay a reverent and joyful farewell to the Holy Cup we have protected so long.”
The sisters did as they were told, and were soon gathering in the yard outside the refectory, each with a candle to light the way to the chapel. The gently flickering gleam on the snow mirrored the heavens as the nuns stood waiting. One of the sisters began to sing, and all quickly joined in, their voices ringing in the crisp, cold air. They sounded like a heavenly choir, Cait thought, as the angelic sound swirled up and up into the moon-bright sky.
When all were assembled, the abbess led them to the chapel cut into the rock of the mountain. They processed along the deep-shadowed passages, the song echoing down unseen corridors and walls round about, until they entered the cavernous sanctuary where they silently formed a wide circle around the altar.
After lighting the altar candles, the abbess turned to the nuns and said, “Beloved Sisters in Christ, for generations beyond counting our order has remained faithful to its calling. Tonight, our long vigil of obedience is at an end. Tomorrow we will deliver Our Lord’s Sacred Chalice to the agents of the pope, and a new day of God’s grace will dawn.”
These words brought tears to the eyes of many of the older nuns, and a gentle sniffling could be heard around the candlelit ring.
“Though the cup shall no longer form the center point of our life here in the abbey, nevertheless life will go on. What our duty shall be, we cannot yet tell. But I know that whatever is given us, we will strive to serve God with the same humility and faith that have distinguished our order from its beginning to this day.
“My dear sisters, your tears show that you have borne your duty with loving hearts, and this is right and good. But do not give in to sorrow; rather let your hearts be glad. For surely, this is the long-awaited sign that the Day of the Lord is upon us; our redemption is drawing near.”
Here the old abbess turned to face the altar; she knelt briefly, and then approached the great golden cross which occupied the altar top. Placing her hands on either side of the cross, she gently pressed the hidden catch and the door opened in the base. Making the sign of the cross—once, twice, three times, while saying a simple prayer for purity—she then withdrew the holy relic from its hiding place in the base of the cross. Turning to the sisters, she raised the chalice high and said, “This will be the last time we partake of the Blessed Cup together. Let us do so with the love of Our Lord in our hearts, and the prayer on our lips that God’s mighty purpose shall achieve its fulfillment in our sight.”
Taking the cup, she bowed her head over it and stood for a long time in silent prayer; then, eyes closed, she raised her face toward Heaven and said, “Father of Lights, in whom there is no darkness at all, nor shadow of turning: we, the humblest of your many servants, greet you with gladness, and glory in the greatness of your holy name even as we remember the countless blessings you have showered upon us throughout these many years. Tonight, according to your will which has been revealed to us through your emissary on earth, we lay down our duty of care and relinquish the charge we have long maintained. Know that we have only ever sought the pleasure of your service, O Lord, and we ask you to look kindly on the work of your servants, for the sake of your Son, Our Savior.”
Then, beginning with the oldest member of the order, Abbess Annora took the cup to the sisters and gave them to drink, lingering before each one, speaking softly, offering words of comfort and hope. Cait, standing next to Alethea, watched as the Holy Vessel made its slow way around the circle and wondered if she, along with her sister, would be included in the sacred rite.
As the cup came nearer, she heard Alethea praying to herself, and so bent her head as well. But what to say? Her thoughts and feelings were in such a ferment of confusion she did not know how to pray. To honor the abbess, she must go against her call by the White Priest; yet, to obey the White Priest, she must betray the abbess. In the end, she fell back on her first, and most heartfelt desire. Lord of Hosts, and Ruler of Destinies, she prayed, a great injustice has taken place; the blood of my father, your servant, cries out to be avenged. You, whose judgment against the wicked is everlasting, make me the instrument of your vengeance. Lord, hear my prayer.
Voices sounded in the passageway. There was a shout. She looked up and saw men with torches swarming into the sanctuary. In the wildly flickering light, she caught a glimpse of a red cross on a white cloak and knew the Templars had come to take their prize.
FORTY-FIVE
THE ROCK-CUT sanctuary was suddenly filled with Templar knights. Swords drawn, they rushed for the altar. The circle of nuns collapsed into a tightly huddled knot around the abbess and the Holy Cup. Within moments they were surrounded by the white-cloaked knights. Some of the frightened sisters cried out in terror, others fell to their knees, hands clasped in desperate prayer, as the naked blades encircled them.
From the center of the close-crowded mass, Cait observed the nearest knights. Faces tight in the lurid light, they stared with oddly hesitant severity at the quaking nuns. Young men for the most part, they were not yet jaded by the constant warring of their order, and unused to attacking women—much less nuns. They glanced guiltily at one another, growing more uncertain of their duty with every passing moment. Someone called a calming order from across the sanctuary; Cait looked out and saw Serge
ant Gislebert approach, a torchbearer on either side.
As he drew near, the abbess pressed the Holy Cup into Cait’s hands, saying, “I will speak to him.”
Taking the chalice, she felt a mild burning sensation in the marks of her stigmata, as if the sympathetic wounds in her hands and feet and side were aroused by the nearness of the Holy Vessel. The abbess turned and pushed through the protective cluster of distraught sisters to address the sergeant. “What is this?” she demanded angrily. Before he could reply, she said, “You invade sanctified ground like brigands and violate the custom of our order to interrupt a sacred and holy sacrament by force of arms.” She stepped before him, pushing the point of his sword aside with a bare hand. “By what authority do you perpetrate this sacrilege?”
Abbess Annora stood defiant before him, holding her frail body erect, her whole being ablaze with holy anger. The sergeant was taken aback by the force of her outrage. He looked around as if seeking the aid of his absent superior.
“I demand an answer!” said the abbess, her voice sharp as a slap. Some of the Templars shifted uneasily in their places.
“By the authority of the Master of Jerusalem,” replied Gislebert unhappily, “and under his command, we have come for the Sacred Cup.”
“I agreed with your commander that we would bring it in the morning,” said the abbess. “We are not finished with our observance.”
“He wants it now,” muttered the sergeant dully. “Where is it?”
“The Blessed Cup is in my keeping until I place it in the hands of the archbishop,” Annora said. “And I say when that will be. Until then, you shall not touch it.”
Gislebert, out of his depth with this spirited woman, seemed at a loss to know how to proceed in this confrontation. He looked across at the trembling nuns and came to a decision at last. “You can take up the matter with the Master.” Turning away, he called a command to his knights. “Bring them,” he shouted. “Bring them all!”
The Mystic Rose Page 44
