Chalice of Roses

by Jo Beverley

  Not for the first time, I wished for a weapon of some sort. But the council had instructed me to avoid violence when placing the Holy Grail into a place of power, especially in a dedicated chapel.

  As we moved through the yard, Arabella looked up and gazed at a carved monument. A sculpted angel held a banner that said, LOVE CONQUERS DEATH. She gazed at me and smiled. “That’s a good sign, a good sentiment. There is something inside of me that believes it, Will. I don’t know why, but I do.” She said it with a certain hopeful defiance, and I kissed her hand. I was not sure I believed as she did, but I would not dispel her hope.

  Too soon, I spied the area through which we needed to go to enter the sacred chambers. I will not reveal it here in this journal; the danger is too great for both the ancient relics and any who would take them.

  “I do believe I like the chapel better than this place,” Arabella said, gazing at the knights and ladies in marble repose over their coffins. “This looks distinctly cryptlike.”

  I think she took comfort in holding my hand as we walked through the gloom of the chambers. Someone had lit the dank rooms with candles set here and there: a member of the council, I believed, for they always had someone in attendance. I took a lantern that sat on a ledge along one of the cavernous halls and held it aloft. The candles and lantern, the sense that we were expected, should have consoled my sense of uneasiness; we were near our goal.

  They did not. Something felt wrong. I looked around, and a dark spot on the floor caught my attention.

  “Wait here,” I said to Arabella, and moved forward. I noticed, much to my irritation, that she did not listen to me, but followed instead. I raised my lantern as I approached the dark spot and saw that it was connected to a hand—a blood-soaked hand. I took a step forward—the man’s wig was askew, showing his thinning gray hair, and his spectacles were crushed, but I recognized him. My breath went from me in a rush, as if someone had punched me in the stomach. I put my hand behind me, intending to bar Arabella from the sight, but when I glanced back, she was on tiptoe, looking over my arm, an interested expression on her face.

  “Is he dead?” she asked. “He looks dead, perhaps even newly so, although I have seen only one dead person, and that was Papa a few years ago.”

  “Yes,” I said. “It’s Mr. Caldwell, one of the Grail Council.”

  She winced and put her arm around me. “I am so sorry, Will, if he was your friend.”

  “No, he was not,” I said. “And a more harsh and contrary man I have yet to meet, but he was an honest one, and carried out his duties faithfully.” I backed away, intending to leave the place, but Arabella stepped forward, peering at the man.

  “Will, I do believe he was killed.” She pointed to a rock near the body. “See? This rock is matted with his hair.”

  Once more I lifted the lantern in my hand and came closer. A patch of gray hair and red wetness clung to the rock next to him. She, unfortunately, was right. I swallowed bile, then raised my lantern higher, looking into the dimness around us. Nothing. No indication of an intruder. One could have left before we came here, but the signs also were that Caldwell had not been dead long.

  “Come away,” I said, for now it was even more imperative that we not tarry. She moved toward me, and I took her hand in mine as I hurried past the body. I frowned at her. “You are not upset or frightened by this?”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Of course I am. But it is not as if the poor man will do anything to us, since he is dead, and it cannot be anything but a horrible inconvenience if I were to have the vapors or go into hysterics, so I will not.” She took a quick glance about the caverns. “I am more afraid of whoever killed him.” She sighed. “I wish I had my pistol.”

  I stared at her. “You have a pistol?”

  “Not with me, of course, for you did tell me that one must not have blood on one’s hands before handling the Grail, and there is always that chance with a pistol.” She took my arm and smiled up at me.

  I shook my head. Why she was designated the Guardian of the Grail, I do not know. Between whacking villains on their heads with her reticule and wishing for pistols, she must be one of the most violent of Guardians. I thought of poor Caldwell behind us. Perhaps there was reason.

  We came at last to the alcove in which we were to put the Grail and the spear . . . but I could not feel safe in doing so. It is said that these holy relics have a spirit of their own, or perhaps were guarded by angelic forces; the legends vary and are not clear. It’s said that one should trust that the Grail and the spear would find their way to places where the divine power was strongest. Yet this did not prevent greedy men who wished only for power and glory from stealing and using them for evil.

  I took a deep breath. I had to have faith. I looked once more around me, and something flickered at the corner of my eye. I turned and heard a distinct click.

  “Oh,” Arabella said. “It’s Mr. Waldo.”

  It was the thinner one, the one who fancied red-and-white waistcoats. It seemed always the smaller ones who had tempers, and I supposed our tying him up exacerbated it, if the pistol in his hand was any indication.

  “Mr. Waldo it is,” he replied. He gestured with the gun. “I suppose you have the spear with you?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Arabella said. “Why would we have a spear? This is a chapel.” She looked up at me, and her eyebrow lifted for one moment. I nodded slightly, noticing that she clutched her reticule a little tighter. “We are to be married, are we not, Will?”

  Waldo looked around the dim alcove. “It is a crypt, not a church.”

  “Aye, and ’tis a place to creep the flesh, too,” came another voice behind him. “A great lot of dead people—including the gray-headed fellow,” the voice said, with a surprising hint of regret. The one Arabella called Beefhead came forward. I remembered she said he was not as intelligent as the other, though obviously much larger. He looked uneasily around him, and then resentfully at Waldo. “Not a place for a weddin’, to my mind.”

  “A crypt?” Arabella’s voice rose, and she turned to me. “A crypt! Oh, how dare you!” She stomped her foot. “You are the most horrid man imaginable! You said I would be properly married! You said I would have a wedding dress and flowers, and all you have done is bring me to a place with dead people in it!” Her hands flailed about—including her reticule—and I ducked to avoid being hit with it.

  Beefhead chuckled as I did so. “Aye, you’d best avoid her little purse—it’s a deadly thing.” He rubbed his temple, and I could see a large bruise there.

  “Silence!” Waldo waved his pistol at us, and Beefhead immediately closed his lips, looking apprehensive.

  “My sweet, you must listen to the man,” I said consolingly, and moved away from her, stepping between Waldo and Beefhead. I slightly moved my head, indicating the larger man. If she could hit him with her reticule—it would take but a step for her to be close enough—I could seize Waldo and disable him. I prayed that I could get to him before he could pull the trigger.

  She stomped her foot again. “I will not! Not, not, not! And you!” She whirled toward Beefhead, her reticule flying toward him.

  Beefhead cowered and ducked, but it was enough for Waldo to turn his attention toward them and away from me. I struck him across the jaw, his face looking stunned as he fell into unconsciousness.

  But not before the report from his pistol sounded in the small alcove, as loud as thunder.

  Time slowed. The reticule flew in an arc over our heads, Beefhead continued to cringe and Arabella fell, a surprised look on her face. Red bloomed over her left breast, and I managed, just managed, to catch her before she hit the ground.

  I could not speak, only hold her close. She opened her eyes and looked at me. “Oh, Will, it hurts.”

  “Hush, hush, Bella.” Guilt choked off my words. I had brought her to this; I had failed. Never mind that I was a failure as a Grail Knight—I cared not for that any longer. I was a failure as a lover, as a husband. I had not kept her
safe even in those roles.

  “Don’t cry, Will.” Her hand lifted to touch my cheek and came away wet. “I will be well; you’ll see.” But she coughed, and I could see flecks of blood on her lips. “Oh, Will, I never said it—I wrote it, but I never said it, my dear sweet love, my love, my Will.” Her voice seemed to bubble in her throat, her eyes closed and her breath left her. A terrible anger and grief clutched me.

  “Is she—”

  “Shut up,” I said. “Just shut up.”

  Beefhead retreated. “It’s that sorry I am,” he said. “I’ll not want the bloody spear from you, sir, and I’ll be sure to return the Grail thing Mr. Waldo took from you.” He paused. “The little missus—she’s a fierce one. Maybe it won’t be so bad. . . .”

  The Grail. They thought they still had it, but it was Arabella’s tin toothbrush cup, not the real one. We had it—Arabella had it, still in her bandbox. Hope and rage filled me. I cared not who should rightfully handle the holy relic; I cared only that there might be a chance the Grail might exert its power on Arabella’s behalf, even if I had failed in my mission.

  Gently, I set her down, and then ran to the bandbox she had set near the lighted shelf on which we were to put both relics. I seized the box, tore it open, and pulled out the Grail.

  Heat and light flowed from it and around me, but I ignored it. I ran back to Arabella and picked her up, holding the golden chalice in my hand. God, she was still, so still. Anger rose in me again, and I stared defiantly at the Grail. “I have tried,” I said. “I have tried, and that should count for something. So I have failed as the Grail Knight. But you will heal Arabella. You will make my wife well. I may not be what you wanted, but don’t take my love from me. Don’t—” My throat closed. My eyes closed.

  My hands grew hot, as hot as the Grail I held, but I only clutched it harder, willing that Arabella be better somehow.

  Her body heaved; I held her tighter. “Please,” I whispered. “Please.” I could hear her breathe, and her breath did not gurgle, but came freely. I felt like weeping, but I held tight to the Grail, willing that she be well, all well, completely well.

  “Ouch.”

  I kept my eyes closed, holding her tighter.

  “Ouch. Will, I love you dearly, but you are holding me too tightly.” I opened my eyes, and she was looking up at me, love in her own.

  “Oh, God. Arabella.” I buried my face in her hair, holding her close again. “I thought I had lost you.”

  “Of course not,” she said. “We have been through too much for me to give up on you. My dear love.” She touched my cheek again, and then looked at the Grail. “You know . . . I think Mr. Scott was right.”

  I thought of the poet’s letter, of the stories surrounding the role of the Grail Knight and the Guardian, of Arabella’s pistol and dangerous reticule, of her sacrifice. “We were indeed dedicated to the holy relics, as he said. Except . . . I believe you are the Grail Knight and I am the Grail Guardian.”

  “No, silly. I meant what he said about love. I only wish I had been holding the spear when I tried to whack Beefhead with my reticule, because then I would have hit him.” She pulled me down and kissed me.

  I allowed myself to be persuaded for a while, and then heard Beefhead clear his throat.

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, ma’am.” I looked at him, and he had his hat in his hand, looking ashamed. “It’s that sorry I am I listened to Mr. Waldo. It’s been hard times, and the money was too good, and I shouldn’t have, and the lass didn’t deserve being hurt. If all is well, I think I might . . .” He began to shuffle his feet, moving away from us, and I was willing to let him go, more concerned with Arabella. I turned back to her.

  “All is not well!” cried a voice. Dear God, it was Waldo again.

  However, a hard thwack, a thump and a dragging sound told me that Beefhead had redeemed himself and was taking his erstwhile companion away.

  Arabella and I rose to our feet at last, and as we did, she gasped. “Oh . . . oh, Will, look at the Grail.”

  I still held it in my hand, and for one moment had to shield my eyes from its brightness. But I looked at it again, and it seemed three dawn-colored roses sat within it, and silvery streams of light flowed out of it like sunlit water. A sweet scent floated around me, and when Arabella took the Spear of Destiny from its pillowcase, the light grew brighter. The spear had changed entirely: It was also gold, and a piercing light blazed from it. Arabella gazed at it, and for one moment it seemed she grew in stature, becoming stately and stern.

  And then she smiled at me, and was my own Arabella again. Thank you, I said mentally. Thank you.

  “Let’s be rid—er, dedicate them now, quickly. Then we can be on our way,” I said.

  She nodded, and we went to the alcove in which the two holy relics were to reside. I gave her the words to say, and she repeated them after me, and together we put the Holy Grail and the Spear of Destiny together in the alcove made for them so long ago. A high humming sounded then, and shortly increased to a dull rumble beneath our feet. I saw cracks form above the alcove, and pieces of rock from which the space had been carved fell to the floor and next to the relics. Arabella shot forward, about to seize them again, but I held her back. “No,” I said. “It is better this way.”

  Instead, I held her to me and pulled her next to a wall, waiting out the increased rumbling and falling rock. Dust rose, and both of us covered our mouth and nose, but we had to move away nevertheless to keep ourselves from being overwhelmed by the debris.

  At last the rumbling stopped, and all was silent. The dust settled, and all we could see of the alcove was rubble. The relics were safe. We turned away. Our mission was done.

  “I hope they are not ruined by the rocks falling on them,” Arabella said when we came out into the spring morning.

  I grinned at her. “If they survived two villains, your bandbox, a pillowcase and hundreds of miles of travel, I am sure they are fine. Besides, they may not be there now.”

  “What? Do you mean Bonaparte might get his hands on them? After all our trouble?”

  “No. The Grail and the spear have a way of disappearing and appearing where they will if they are brought to the right places of power and the right rituals are said.” I looked at her and smiled. “If one’s heart is in the right place. Or so I believe now.”

  She took my hand in hers as we approached Mr. Scott’s coach again. I ignored the coachman’s aghast expression as I directed him to the nearest inn.

  “Nay, sir, it’ll be Mr. Scott’s own house in Edinburgh, beggin’ yer pardon,” Mathieson said. “If you’ll forgive me for sayin’ it, the wee lass looks a mite alarmin’, and you’re no’ in good shape, either, I’m thinking.”

  My opinion of Mr. Scott increased greatly upon this news, and I nodded, and then relaxed in the coach next to Arabella. She put her head on my shoulder as the coach went forward, and I noticed my arm hurt no longer. The Grail had healed me as well. I put my arm around her, and she moved closer to me.

  All is well with the world for now, and I am a lucky man.

  —W. Marstone

  April 23, 1806

  We took our time journeying back to London, stopping at Ashiestiel and enjoying the Scotts’ hospitality. Mrs. Scott is a delightful lady, with an interesting mix of a French and Scots accent, and the children are adorable. It made me think that I should like to have children as well, and when I told Will so, he thought it was an excellent idea and said we should begin immediately to bring it about, and we would have to try more than a few times, perhaps every day, for that was what it would take. Though I understand from Mama that the end of the process might not be as pleasant, I thought at least one could enjoy what one could of the process itself as much as possible.

  We had our wedding party not long after we returned to London, and I met Will’s parents and his siblings, and when they met cousin Jeanne, we found that she was related to them as well, for Will’s ancestor was Catherine de la Fer, a sister to Jeanne’s own
ancestor almost a hundred and fifty years ago. I was glad to see that Jeanne was welcomed with open arms, and indeed was invited to visit the Marstone estate and stay anytime she wished. I certainly would be glad to have her with me.

  Meanwhile, I am very happy. As Will promised, we made a great deal of love, especially after the wedding ball, and though the light that had attended our lovemaking was still about us, I was thankful it was not as bright as it had been when we had the Grail and the spear with us. I did try to see if the light differed depending on the length and intensity of our experience, and I must say it did not seem to matter except when we tried something different, such as having me sitting on top of him, or sometimes on a table.

  I did notice that Will had gained a distracted air after a few weeks, and I admit I felt a little restless as well. I found I missed traveling across the country, ventre à terre, and I suspected he did also. But the Grail and the spear were gone, and that was that.

  We were having our breakfast (actually, luncheon, for we had slept quite late) together in the parlor when cousin Jeanne rushed in, looking pale and very upset. She carried a large paper-wrapped package that looked heavy as she held it awkwardly in her arms.

  “William . . . Arabella . . .”

  I rose from my chair, alarmed. “What is it, Jeanne? Are you ill? What is it you are carrying?”

  She looked distractedly about her, spied the open door, and closed it firmly. She turned to us, then laid her package tenderly down on a table. “You must help me,” she said, a note of desperation in her voice. “I was just sent this. . . . My relatives, still suffering under Napoleon’s rule—persecuted . . .” She swallowed. “You must see it is the only way.” She tore open the package and hurriedly unwrapped the padding.