The Angel and the Ring

by Sigmund Brouwer

  He shut his mind to the thought. No, Brin had already decided his action against Rachel and those she represented.

  “More revolutionary,” Julius was saying, “these followers of Christ taught His message that the poor should not be abused and that justice must be the goal of those in power. How could an emperor with a hardened heart and wealth built upon the backs of thousands of slaves tolerate such a belief?”

  Julius resumed walking. As they entered the narrow tunnels again, he pointed from side to side, from ledge to ledge. “All these buried here were welcomed during their lives by other Christians. Rich or poor, ugly or beautiful, they were all loved. In life, then, they found freedom. And here…”

  Julius paused again. “Here in death they found freedom to be buried as they wished. The Romans preferred cremation, but the Christians did not. Over the centuries, they all found refuge here as a place of rest for the bodies they left behind as they journeyed to heaven.”

  “Heaven,” Brin whispered, more to himself than to be heard.

  “Heaven,” Rachel whispered, closer behind him than he had expected. “Where God the Father waits with love as surely as your grandfather waits for you in Scotland. With open arms. And love that does not depend on what you have done, but simply on the fact that you are. And Brin, heaven is much, much lovelier than any home on earth. You will be treated as royalty in both places.”

  Inside, he shook off her words. She was a snake of treachery. Outwardly, however, he nodded with a smile.

  Julius was had gained a few steps on them in the narrow tunnel.

  “This is a delight,” Julius said over his shoulder. “I have been the sole custodian of these catacombs for so long, it is wonderful to be able to speak of them.”

  “They are secret?” Brin asked, following.

  “Only because they have been forgotten,” Julius answered. “The empire fell and by the eighth century, the popes were unable to provide protection for the relics in the catacombs. Gradually, the relics were moved to churches in the city, for the Christian faith had triumphed to become the accepted faith. The catacombs were no longer needed now that churches served all. Within decades, landslides and vegetation covered most of the entrances to these catacombs. Two hundred years later, no traces of them existed to the world above.”

  “Except to Keepers of the Grail?” Brin asked. They had nearly reached the first opening where Julius had gathered them before the torch.

  “Yes,” Julius said, “except to Keepers of the Grail.”

  He glanced nervously at Rachel. “How much does he know?”

  “Some,” she said, “but not all.”

  “Explain it all,” Brin said. “You’ve said little about the Keepers of the Grail. Unless I hear the rest of the answers, I will not draw the map.”

  Julius nodded assent.

  “Brin,” Rachel said, “when you become one of us, you will learn our complete history, which begins centuries ago when the Knights Templar were formed to protect Christian pilgrims who visited the Holy Land. The first knights relied on donations to survive, but within 200 years this order was so powerful they could defy all but the pope himself.”

  “You are Keepers of the Grail,” Brin said quietly. “Not Knights Templar.”

  “Patience,” Julius murmured.

  Rachel smiled gently. “He has been very patient so far.”

  Again, Brin fought any feeling of trust for Rachel.

  “Keepers of the Grail,” he said.

  “The Templars,” she continued, “accumulated such great landholdings and wealth that less than 60 years ago, Philip the Fair, king of France, had all Templars arrested on grounds of heresy against God, because this was the only charge that would allow their money to be seized. Members of the Knights Templar were tortured to make ridiculous confessions, then killed.”

  “He would be aware of all of this,” Julius said. “Don’t speak to him as if he were a child.”

  “He was raised by gypsies,” Rachel said. “Gypsies avoid authorities. And politics.”

  “Sorry,” Julius whispered.

  “Keepers of the Grail,” Brin persisted. He was not going to let their discussion distract him.

  “The Knights Templar as an organization was destroyed, and its wealth looted,” Rachel said. “At least officially.”

  She dropped her voice. “Good men of faith are still banded together to fulfill the original vows of the Knights Templar – to help the poor as they pilgrim to Christ. Peasants have long stopped trying to visit the Holy Land, but they still reach for faith in God.”

  “And the wealth?” Brin said, thinking of the ring and their quest here in the catacombs. “Some of it still secretly exists? Like the jewels of Callixtus?”

  “Not for the Knights Templar,” Rachel said. “But for a group secret even within the secrecy of the Templar.”

  “Keepers of the Grail,” Brin said.

  Rachel and Julius nodded.

  “The first vow of the Keepers is to protect the Grail, but some say it was lost centuries ago. Others say that in every generation there is one man within the Keepers who knows its location and passes it on to another before he dies.”

  “There is another vow?”

  “Yes,” Rachel answered Brin. “It is the reason that Julius here has remained to guard the catacombs.”

  “And the jewels of Callixtus,” Brin said.

  “And the jewels of Callixtus,” she agreed. “Callixtus himself was an honorable man. Much in gold and jewels was donated to the cause of the faith, not only from those rich believers buried here, but from all Christians. Can you imagine how much wealth might be here from a half million believers? Legend says it is enough to buy a kingdom. Maybe two. Callixtus hid these riches during the times of persecution—”

  “Here in the catacombs,“ Brin interrupted.

  “Yes,” Rachel said, not at all irritated. “Callixtus devised the map of the two rings. He also brought in craftsman to build the hidden crypt and the invisible door which needed those two rings as a key, knowing that the miles of tunnel would make it impossible for them to ever find it again.”

  Brin nodded. Already he had lost all sense of direction, and they had barely penetrated any of the maze.

  “Knowledge of the jewels of the crypt of Callixtus has always been passed from generation to generation among the Keepers of the Grail, but it was almost considered fanciful legend, even here in Rome where the Keepers have always had one of the rings safely guarded. Then your grandfather found the other ring in hidden tunnels beneath his castle, with a decayed parchment directing the finder to the catacombs here in Rome.”

  “And he sent my father, his son, with that ring.”

  “Yes,” Rachel said. “Your grandfather was too old to travel to Rome himself, although in his younger days he had been here to visit other Keepers. You already know the remainder of it. Now do you understand why your ring had such great value?”

  “But I don’t understand who else would have known of it to be able to betray my father.” Although Brin was sure that Rachel was the treacherous one of this generation, it did not explain who it had been all those years earlier when his father had travelled to Italy to die in the arms of the woman he loved.

  “Within the Templar are others,” Rachel whispered. “Darkness to our light. Among us, they still exist. Hidden, even to us who hide among the Templars.”

  Brin tried to absorb what he had learned.

  Julius shook Brin’s shoulder, gently. He handed Brin a dagger.

  “Now, my son,” Julius said. “If we have satisfied your curiosity, will you sketch in the earth here what you remember of both sides of the ring?”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled forth a ring, similar in size to the one Brin’s parents had left him.

  “Adding the symbols on my medallion will give us a map,” Julius said. “I know the tunnels well enough that if your rendering is accurate, I have confidence we will find the hidden crypt.”


  Brin did not reply but knelt, placing his knees squarely on the ground. With the tip of the dagger, he began to scratch patterns in the packed dirt.

  A half hour later, they stood in front of the crypt of the jewels of St. Callixtus, deep within the earth.

  But without the second ring, they could not open it.

  Angel Blog

  You probably think, as your self-appointed moral guide and guardian, that this is a great opportunity for me to point out that money is evil.

  Yes, you’re right. This is a good opportunity. The wealth of two kingdoms was sealed in that crypt. Already Brin’s father had been betrayed for it. And now someone was trying to do the same to Brin. Great time for a lecture.

  No, you’re wrong. Despite this excellent opportunity, I can’t tell you that money is evil.

  I’ve seen it used to build hospitals. Schools. Send aid halfway across the world. Money feeds and clothes families, gives them a house. Money is very important, and at times, even wonderful.

  But the love of money, that’s a different story.

  Your apostle Paul said it best: For the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil. And some people, craving money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many sorrows.

  We angels are not blind to the price that too many humans pay for their money. Fathers working 80-90 hours a week, ignoring their families. Lying, cheating, stealing. Some of you hoard money when, if used properly, it could do so much good in the world.

  In a way, we angels find this tragically amusing. We understand that your life on earth is so very, very short. Does it really help you to die with millions in a bank account while leaving behind wreckage in the lives of those you should have given more time and love?

  Since I’ve been giving so much advice already, a little more won’t hurt, right?

  Stop asking yourself how much money things will cost you.

  Ask instead how much your money will cost.

  Down in the catacombs, when Brin followed Rachel and Julius away from the wealth of two kingdoms hidden in the tomb and back up to the olive grove, I hoped very much it wouldn’t cost him his life.

  And worse, his soul.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Hours later, Brin woke in the room that Julius had provided him in a small house near a church beyond the olive grove. He and the priest shared one room. Rachel had another.

  After finding the crypt on the second level, it had taken less than half an hour for Julius and Rachel to make a mold by pouring melted wax into the opening for the missing ring. Once the wax had dried and they had taken the impression of the ring, the return trip to the surface had been a short 20 minutes of triumph and hope in the eerie quiet of the catacomb tunnels.

  During that time, Brin had watched Julius carefully, making observations and marking them in his mind. When they reached the small house, Brin had drunk three cups of water before lying down to sleep.

  It was no accident, then, that Brin woke during the stillest, darkest part of the night. He’d known the urgency of a full bladder would take him from sleep at the hour he needed.

  On waking, Brin remained on his straw mattress. He did not move until he was satisfied Julius was in deep sleep. The priest snored with such enthusiasm, Brin immediately decided there was little fear the old man would wake.

  Brin crept out from beneath his blanket. During all the time Brin had watched Julius, the priest had been careless only for a moment, while Brin had pretended sleep. Because of that, Brin knew where to search.

  He squatted beside the wall at the foot of the priest’s bed, alert for any movement from the old man. With slow steady movements of his hands, Brin felt along the wall and pried loose a stone which covered a hiding hole. Brin removed what he needed and set the stone back into place. Brin, after all, was a gypsy who had been trained his entire life to be an expert thief.

  Still silent, and with his bladder now aching, Brin stepped from the room.

  He had no intention of leaving the house, however. He groped along the walls to find the entrance to Rachel’s room.

  He listened carefully to the rhythm of her breathing. It did not alter as he entered her room. She had placed her sack – the one that held the tricks and potions – on the floor beneath the window. Brin lifted the sack, stepped back out of her room, and finally out of the house itself.

  A half moon gave little light, but with it Brin was able to find what he sought in the depths of her sack.

  Brin set aside what he needed. On his toes and alert for any sounds, he returned to the inside of the tiny house. As carefully as he had taken the sack, he returned it to where Rachel had left it on the floor.

  Rachel’s breathing had not changed. Briefly Brin thought of Rachel’s happiness at finding the crypt of St. Callixtus. Remembering the peace and beauty in her smile softened his heart. He wondered if he should continue with his course of action.

  As his determination wavered, Brin forced himself to also remember the sack over his head at the inn and the hands which had roughly searched him. Only by reminding himself of her treachery did he keep his resolve.

  He stepped outside of her room.

  He stopped to listen again to her breathing. No matter how skilled an actress she might be, there would be some change in the rhythm — slight or not — if she woke. Brin knew this, for many were the nights he had stolen away from the gypsies to be alone beneath the stars.

  He heard only the continued softness of her deep breaths.

  Finally he allowed himself to think of his bladder.

  He stepped outside again, pressing himself against the front of the house to keep the pale light the half moon from casting any shadow.

  When he reached a tree almost against the house, he moved beneath it. From there, he crept farther away from the house.

  Once he believed himself safe from detection, he walked through grass wet with dew to the next tree.

  First matters first, he told himself. Hidden from the house, he emptied his bladder behind a tree.

  From there, he made a direct line toward the olive grove.

  Brin felt no fear moving through the deep shadows. Night, after all, was an old friend. And there was plenty of night left. With satisfaction, he judged that far more night remained than what he needed before an equally stealthy return to the house and to the two who slept inside, unaware of his departure.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Julius spent the entire next day in Rome, returning just before sunset. He found Brin and Rachel sitting beneath an olive tree, where they had almost finished a simple meal of chicken, soft bread, and the juice of pressed apples.

  “The silversmith did just as you suggested, Rachel,” Julius said. “First, he molded a clay ball around the wax impression, leaving a small hole. When the clay had dried sufficiently — which was an insufferable wait — he slowly heated the ball in an oven, until all the wax ran out the small hole. Then he poured molten silver through that hole into the clay mold. When the silver cooled, he cracked the mold open. And look!”

  Julius opened his hand to show gleaming silver. The ring. An exact copy of the one which Brin had been given so many years earlier by his father.

  He leaned over and handed it to Rachel. “Carry it for us.”

  She clenched it in her fist and then stood and briefly hugged the priest. Stepping back, she said, “Surely it will fit the opening, just as the wax did. Yet unlike wax, the pressure of hard silver will be enough to open the lock.”

  Julius nodded. “I see no reason to delay. What ceremony have we to fulfill? None. The jewels have been sitting in the dust of centuries. This very hour we shall begin to polish them.”

  “And divide them among us too?” Brin asked, still sitting.

  Julius smiled indulgently. “I know you can hardly believe our intentions for all this wealth. But as we told you last night, half will remain here for the Keepers of the Grail. And half will be used to help the poor in places where the Knights Templ
ar know there is need.”

  Rachel tugged at his hand. “Come, rise. I am as eager as Julius to open the crypt.”

  Brin stood and dusted his lap of bread crumbs. “You are certain you want me to join you? After all, you now have what you sought from me. The ring.”

  Through treachery, he nearly added.

  “Brin,” Rachel said, “I can think of nothing I want more than you by my side.”

  She blushed as the meaning of her words struck them both. “That is…” she stuttered, “as we return to the catacombs and open the crypt.”

  Julius chuckled. “Young man, it seems to me that you have a beautiful woman who regards you as more than a friend.”

  “Hush,” she said to Julius. But she did not hide her smile for Brin.

  Brin felt only confusion. Rachel had the ring now. What more could she gain by acting in this manner?

  Unless, he decided, she meant further treachery in the depths of the catacombs. After all, with the bodies of a half million lost in the dark tunnels, what difference would one or two more make? If she wanted the wealth, with Brin dead, and perhaps Julius too, the jewels would be hers. And the secret of her treachery would never leave the catacombs.

  Brin smiled and hid his thoughts. Then he spoke truth.

  “Rachel,” he said, “I too can think of nothing better than standing at your side as we open the crypt.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  They retraced their steps from the night before. Through the olive grove to a thick hedge, down hidden steps cut into rock, to a small door. Inside, a slow-burning torch waited them.

  Brin followed Julius and Rachel. He was determined to remain behind her. A dagger in the back was not how he wanted to die.

  The torch showed small white xs on the tunnel walls. Julius had marked the path to the jewels the night before.

  Brin would have preferred to walk with his eyes closed. Occasionally, one of the ledges would be open, the result of plaster falling away over time. Where there was no coffin, there would be heaped bones, ghostly soft in the light of the torch, with strands of hair shining near the skull. Century after century the remains of these bodies had lain undisturbed, long since clean of any decay.