The Mystic Rose (23 page)

“Did you find it?” asked Cait.

“I did, my lady,” answered Matthias. “I found it just as he said I would.”

“And did you see the cup?” asked Rognvald.

“I did,” replied the priest, his voice falling to a whisper. “I saw it in all its manifold splendor, and I worshiped it. I fell on my face before the sacred object, and when I arose three days had passed.”

“Three whole days!” challenged Alethea, disbelief edging into her tone.

“In the mere blink of an eye,” affirmed the monk. “And then I rose and went out, healed and satisfied in heart and mind and soul. I rose as a man renewed and reborn, and with a holy fire burning in my belly. Since then, I have traveled the land, preaching wherever I am welcomed, and building churches for those who have none.”

He spread his hands humbly. “I am as you find me, a much-changed and chastened man.” He drank again, allowing the others to ponder what he had told them.

“Why did you write to the archbishop?” asked Cait after a moment's reflection.

“Ah, that—that has vexed me greatly,” Matthias confessed. “Following my rebirth, the zeal burned so great within me that I could not rest but that I should begin straight away to preach to the poor and build churches for them, and thus bring them to knowledge of the Loving Creator.

“Naturally, I could not set about this new work without the permission of my superior. So, I composed a thoughtful letter and sent it to Archbishop Bertrano, asking for his permission and seeking his blessing. In my rapture, I told him about the Mystic Rose of Virtue—that I had seen it, and been changed by it. In short, I told him everything—and more, for I was enraptured and unable to keep this glorious news to myself, and he is my superior, after all.

“Well, after I sent the letter—not at first, but some time later—I began to fear that I had said too much. What if the letter went astray? What if the news of the Sacred Cup should become known to men of evil intent, low thieves who would steal or destroy? But the deed was done, and I could but trust God to make it right.”

Cait lowered her eyes modestly, hoping the priest would not see the waves of guilt washing over her. They had come, like low thieves, to steal the cup for themselves. The simple, trusting faith of Brother Matthias put her to shame, and she was on the brink of admitting it to the priest, confessing her sin and asking for absolution when her sister spoke up.

“
God
has sent us to you,” declared Alethea with quiet but undeniable conviction.

Cait glanced at her in furtive amazement, only to see that the young woman was in utter and solemn earnest—and this astonished her even more. Mouthing untruth with such brazen audacity must be the worst kind of blasphemy, certainly. She was still trying to take in the enormity of Alethea's sacrilege when Lord Rognvald said, “Archbishop Bertrano also feared for the safety of the cup. He told us that, owing to the reconquest of the land, he considered it only a matter of time before the Holy Cup fell into the hands of the Moors.” The knight smiled, his broad countenance shining with the light of a golden day, and the joy of blessed assurance. “That is why he sent us. With God's help, we will rescue the cup and bear it away to safety before any ill can befall it.”

Grinning, Brother Matthias leaned forward and embraced his visitors—first Alethea, then Rognvald, and then Cait. “I, too, believe God has sent you,” he said. “I have often worried that I had done wrong by sending word to the archbishop; and as often as I worried I prayed God would grant me his peace in the matter. In you, my friends, this peace has finally come. I thank God for it, and for you.”

Unable to bear seeing the unsuspecting priest deceived and deluded still further, Cait made bold to lay bare the fraud that she and the others had perpetrated. “Please, it is not what you think,” she began.

“Nothing ever is, sister,” replied the monk cheerfully. “Where God is concerned, surprise abounds. Our Heavenly Father delights in the unexpected, the unforeseen, serendipitous circumstance and happy accident.”

“Ours is a God of surprises,” Alethea affirmed.

Cait stared at the others, unable to speak.

“My friends, I am convinced the Lord has sent you. What
is more, I feel he is sending me, too.” The monk's grin widened still further. “I will lead you to the Mystic Rose.”

W
HEN THE PARTY
departed Palencia four days later, they were mere travelers no longer; they had become pilgrims, destined for a holy place. And, for at least two of their number, the journey had taken on profound spiritual significance.

Rognvald and Alethea maintained that the sudden stirring of reverence and devotion was a genuine awakening. “I see it so clearly now,” Alethea insisted. It was the night before they were to leave, and the three were talking alone in the magistrate's walled courtyard. “We have been chosen to save the Holy Cup and deliver it to safety.”

“How can you say that?” demanded Cait, “when you know I was the one who took the letter from the Templars?”

“As the Holy Word says: What you intended for evil,” Rognvald intoned, “God has destined for good. So be it.”

“And you!” Cait charged. “
I
bought your release, not the angels, and that for one purpose only—to help me steal the relic.”

“God works in mysterious ways his wonders to perform,” replied the knight placidly. “As for myself, I never doubted that Our Great Redeemer had a hand in your scheme. Surely, it is the divine will that we should rescue the Sacred Vessel from the iniquity of desecration.”

Cait shook her head in disbelief at what she was hearing. “You sound more like a priest every day, my lord,” she grum
bled. “Perhaps you should join a monastery where your preaching would be more appreciated.”

“Only a fool mocks what he does not understand,” the knight replied, unperturbed by Cait's outburst. “Is it so difficult to believe that, in spite of your intentions, Our Great Lord has ordained us to this task, and even now guides us to our destination?”

It was no use talking sense to them, Cait decided, they were so full of holy foolishness that they could not see the blunt, obvious, mud-ugly fact that the whole enterprise was founded on a mass of lies, half-truths, and deceptions, large and small, and all of them growing out of a theft, which itself originated in an act of revenge.

While it might be true that the theft of the letter was instigated by the White Priest—a fact Cait preferred not to mention to anyone—the naked, shabby truth was that she hoped from the first, and hoped still, to employ the Sacred Cup to aid in avenging her father's murder at the hands of de Bracineaux. As she had come to see it, the White Priest's commission provided her with the means to an end she had desired from the first.

Yet, she puzzled over the others' peculiar insistence that their venal and self-serving journey had in some way transmuted itself into a true pilgrimage. In Alethea's case, she suspected the girl was simply enamored with the handsome young monk and his simple, almost childlike ways. Rognvald was a different matter; she could see no reason for his conversion from cunning accomplice to pious pilgrim. She had assumed it was part of his guise—much the same as that which he had adopted to win Archbishop Bertrano's confidence. The knight, however, remained adamant that his manner was in no way calculated to deceive; and in this he appeared sincere. Indeed, he bristled at the suggestion that his virtue had ever been a sham. “Lady, you do wrong to doubt me in this,” he had told her—again, in all sincerity.

With her fellow-conspirators stricken by this inexplicable saintliness, Cait could find no reasonable way to discourage the zealous Brother Matthias from joining the company; and, as the prudent monk seemed wholly disinclined to re
veal any details pertaining to the Holy Cup's whereabouts, she had no choice but to welcome him with as good a grace as she could muster.

Nor was the priest the only newcomer to the group. By the time they were ready to depart, thanks to the Norwegian knights' innate friendliness and Magistrate Carlo's well-intentioned efforts, the party had acquired an escort of six additional knights who happily agreed to accompany the travelers as far as their next stop.

“Four warriors—what is that?” he told her. “It is enough to get you into trouble, but not enough to get you out.” Before she could protest, he surged on. “No, do not thank me. Since you will not listen to sense and reason, sending these additional men is the least I can do. I could not in good conscience allow you to continue your journey otherwise.”

Thus, owing to her growing entourage, Cait had become the reluctant owner of three additional pack mules and a converted hay wain to carry all the extra provender and provisions needed to feed the increased numbers of men and animals. She had also taken to heart Magistrate Carlo Coruña's counsel that she should purchase tents. After Logroño, the next town on the way, he told her, settlements of even modest wealth and substance were few and very far between.

“The weather will not stay fair forever,” he warned. “Sooner or later, the autumn rains must come. Sleeping under a leaking sky is not for a noble lady, Heaven forbid! But you are indeed fortunate, for I know a man who makes the most wonderful tents—a cousin of mine, as it happens, but a tentmaker without peer. I will take you to meet him, and you will see for yourself.”

In the end, the tentmaking cousin had only two completed tents to sell. The number of pilgrims traveling through Palencia on their way to or from Santiago had so declined since the king's ban, that he had not made any new tents for some time and was seriously considering giving up the business altogether. He was overjoyed to sell his last tents to Cait and her company, and explained that if she could wait but a month longer, he could have more ready for her. She declined politely, but purchased the remaining two for a
generous price and added them to the growing mountain of equipment and supplies.

The tents were fashioned in a sturdy, rustic way: tall, peaked leather roofs stretched between two stout poles and anchored on all sides with tight-braided ropes; side pieces of heavy wool cloth were then attached to the upper portion by way of eyes and ties, so that the interior might be opened or closed to the outside depending on the desires of the inhabitants. Whatever the structures may have lacked in elegance, they more than made up in durability; the roof portions were good Spanish leather, and the cloth was tough and impervious to wind or rain. Cait and Alethea took one tent for themselves and were pleasantly surprised by the additional comfort provided. The other tent was given to the men, who took it in turn to use it, five sleepers sharing each night.

Equipped, provisioned, and rested, they set off the next day. At first, the wilful defiance of the king's decree made the ride seem daring and eventful. But as the days passed, the continual vigilance and stealth began to pale—much like the sun-struck wilderness through which they journeyed: a dust-dulled aridity of empty hills and parched valleys filled with tinder-dry plants in subdued shades of ochre and tan and brown.

Because of their greater numbers, the company traveled more slowly than before. The Spanish knights knew many songs and games, and enjoyed teaching them to their Norse swordbrothers. They told stories about the people and places of old Galicia, often vying with one another to see who could tell the most outrageous lies about their homeland. The weather remained warm and dry, the fiery heat of summer slowly giving way to the fresh, cool days of autumn.

As before, they met neither bandits nor pilgrims, and had the road to themselves from dawn's first gleam to twilight's last glimmer. Thus, the days passed pleasantly, if not as swiftly as Cait would have liked. If not for the fact that the cost of provisions threatened to overwhelm her ready resources, Cait would have enjoyed the journey far more.

Keeping everyone fed and watered became the occupying concern of each and every day. The supplies disappeared at
a shocking rate, and Cait began to feel she had made a grave mistake taking on the extra men and horses.

Fortunately, finding good water for so many thirsty throats posed no difficulty; the road was rarely out of sight of a stream or river. Although most had dwindled to little more than a trickle awaiting the autumn rains, at least the animals could be easily watered and the knights were not forced to spend the greater part of every day searching for wells, springs, or drinking holes.

Likewise, once they entered the Ebro valley they could follow the substantial Río Ebro to Logroño—another once-magnificent Roman town which had decayed under the long years of Muhammedan dominion. Upon reaching Logroño they stopped to bathe, wash their clothes, rest, and replenish provisions. As at Palencia, the travelers were welcomed with genuine warmth by the local citizenry who had not seen any travelers for many months and were eager for news of the wider world. During their brief stay, Cait followed Brother Matthias' advice to consult the abbot at the local monastery about the road ahead. The trails beyond Logroño into the lower valley, and eastward into the mountains, were not so well traveled as those they had used so far, and Cait was grateful for any knowledge of the most likely stopping-places along the way.

Because the abbot was not receptive to the idea of women visiting his scriptorium and holding converse with the monks under his charge, he declined to allow Cait to join the visiting party, so Rognvald and Matthias went in her stead.

“They say we can get meat and meal at Milagro on the Río Aragon,” Rognvald told her on the eve of their departure. He and Matthias had spent most of the day studying the monastery's maps and charts of the region. “And then again at Carcastillo.”

“It is four days to Milagro,” Matthias said, “and Carcastillo is two or three days beyond that.”

“We will stop there,” said Cait. “Our provisions will last that long at least.”

“The abbot suggests stopping at both places,” the knight offered. “Once we are into the mountains it will become
very difficult. We will get nothing more until Berdún and then but little.”

“But with fewer in our party,” Cait pointed out, “that should not become a problem.”

“Ah, yes,” said Rognvald, glancing secretively at the monk, “I have been meaning to speak to you about that very thing.”

“Yes?” Cait regarded him dubiously.

“I have been thinking that it would be good to keep the Spanish knights with us.”

“Oh, no,” declared Cait. “I agreed they could come with us this far, but no further. They must go back.” Although she enjoyed their genial and entertaining presence, the Spanish knights cost a great deal more than she had anticipated.

“They are good warriors,” said Rognvald.

“They are good trenchermen, it seems to me,” countered Cait. “We have not seen so much as a Moorish shadow since leaving Santiago. Do not think me a pinchfist in this matter. I enjoy their companionship as much as anyone, but it comes at a price—nearly two hundred marks since joining us.”

The knight frowned, but held his tongue.

“Lady Caitríona,” said Matthias, “forgive me if I speak above my place. But the abbot has strenuously advised us to turn back. He says the mountain passes have become very dangerous in these last days with many lawless and evil men waiting to prey on unwary travelers.”

“With such an army as I possess, we are far from unwary,” Cait pointed out.

“All the more reason to retain the Spanish warriors—if they are willing.” Regarding Cait with sly solemnity, he added, “It is but a small price to pay for the saving of the Blessed Cup.”

His mention of the sacred relic brought a twinge to Cait's raw conscience. Matthias did not yet know her true intentions for the vessel. She hesitated; to insist on sending half her force away might arouse the priest's suspicions regarding the nature of the enterprise which had caught him up. Until she had the cup in her possession, she could not risk
losing his aid and affection. Turning to Rognvald, she asked, “Do you commend it, my lord?”

“Most heartily, I do,” he replied.

“Very well, then,” she decided. “Speak to the men. If they are willing, and agree to abide your command, then they may continue for as long as necessary.”

Thus, when she and Alethea rode out of the gate the next morning to resume the journey, they did so with a company of twenty horses and pack mules, ten knights, and one priest and an interpreter driving a wagon laden with supplies of food and drink. By Cait's rough reckoning, enough ready gold and silver remained from that which she had brought from her father's chest to allow them to reach their destination—so long as it was no further than Matthias' vague intimations. What they would do after that, she did not know.

This cast her into a melancholy, fretful mood—a condition that did not improve when, day after day, they failed to be confronted by any of the region's much-feared bandits. Indeed, they met with no greater mishap than a sudden drenching when the sky opened and dumped a month's supply of rain on them in two days. Riding was so miserable that they camped for a day and a half, staying in their tents for the most part, until the weather cleared and they could continue. The rains filled the all-but-empty river basins, and made fording the streams more of a problem than before. At one crossing the wagon struck a submerged rock and pitched Abu headlong into the rapids; an alert Dag flew after him and plucked him sputtering from the water a few hundred paces downstream.

Each day, they moved on, following the track as it rose slowly higher and yet higher into the hills. The women gradually became accustomed to life on the trail. Cait learned to sleep with her sword, and Alethea eventually ceased complaining about each small discomfort; both became adept at darting quickly into trailside bushes to attend to their more intimate needs, rejoining the company before anyone knew they had gone. The knights grew used to one another's ways, and an easy camaraderie developed between them which made the daily tasks of establishing and breaking
camp tolerable, if not enjoyable. From time to time, as the mood took him, Brother Matthias preached and recited Psalms, and he taught the Norsemen simple hymns in Spanish. Despite the ever-worsening weather, everyone remained in good spirits for the most part.