“Did I say something wrong?”
“No-no.” He took her face in his hands. “You're a genius; you know that?”
“Of course,” she quipped. “Now get up. I'm hungry!”
As he approached the massive monastery after breakfast, David began to feel lightheaded and recognized this by now as his personal sign that he was on the right track.
David composed himself as he took in the grand edifice of the monastery, still unsure where to start.
A librarian—an elderly man with glasses and thinning silver hair—met him at the door. “Can I help you?”
“Well . . .” David knew he had to formulate a question that made sense. “I've come looking for information. Bohemian history, mostly. The kingdom, I mean.”
“I think we can help you,” the librarian said. “Come with me.” The librarian led him through an opulent first floor with ornately paneled ceilings, ones that rivaled the Palace of Versailles. Shelves upon shelves of books stretched as far as he could see. The answer must be here, David thought. Before long, he had several stacks of books.
“You can start with these, and I will see if I can find more that will interest you,” the librarian said. “Come find me if you have any questions.”
David sank into an executive chair at a long, walnut wood table as he opened the first book. With the help of the librarian over the next few hours, David gained great insight into the history of Bohemia, but the queen’s confession still eluded him.
“I just don’t know where to look,” David said, sighing in frustration and running his hands through his hair.
“Young man, I wish I could help you more,” the librarian said resolutely. “There are other records you could search, and we just got started. Perhaps you could come back tomorrow?” he asked. “After all, this is history. It will be here tomorrow also. My shift is over, and I need to be going.”
David's heart sank to his stomach, for they had only a few more days in Prague. “Please,” he said, his voice cracking. “I think this library is my only hope. Is there any way that I could stay for a few more hours? I-I need to find this answer.”
The librarian regarded him for a moment with watery blue eyes. “I can see that you are serious about your search, so I will see if I can help you. I have a friend who lives nearby—not a librarian—but a volunteer who is equally knowledgeable of Bohemian history. I will call him.”
David felt his spirit rise.
“On one condition,” the librarian added.
“Yes, anything,” David said, realizing that he little choice but to agree.
“When you find what you're seeking, would you let me know? I'm curious about what inspires such passion.”
David was so focused on his research; he startled when a deep warm voice said, “So you like Bohemian history, do you?”
An old Czech gentleman chuckled and moved closer to the table. He took David's hand and gave it a warm shake before David could react.
“Ah, yes, David Fristensky. I thought it would be you. The librarian told me that there was a charming young American man here who was parked in the library on a treasure hunt, and he would not leave without it.”
After overcoming his initial surprise, David beamed at Gustav, the kind old man who had treated them to Christmas Eve dinner so many months ago. “My friend,” he said. “What a wonderful surprise!” He pulled a chair out for Gustav. “I had no idea you were a volunteer here.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. I do what I can for maintaining the national literature here,” he said. “What research brings you to the monastery?”
“I'm trying to find out why King Wenceslas IV tried to force Queen Sophia’s confession out of Jan of Nepomuk.”
“I see,” Gustav said, rising and turning toward the stacks. “Are you writing an article about this?”
“It's more an interest of personal nature,” David said. He pointed to his Wenzel Bible, his constant companion since his experience on the bridge. “Something happened to me that while I was in Prague last time that made me want to know more.”
The old library volunteer slowly approached the table, unable to contain his curiosity. “It is a fine work. Very detailed illustrations. I have one myself-a copy of course.” He reached for the Bible. “May I?”
“Sure.” David picked up his Wenzel Bible and handed it to Gustav.
The old man turned the Bible over in his hands, inspecting it carefully. He sat down with it and started leafing through the pages, his excitement visibly growing. “This, young man,” he finally said, “is indeed a rare find. This is the queen's Bible, with her diary!” He started to chuckle. “My, oh my. I have often wondered if it still existed.” He glanced at David. “Have you found anything useful in her diary?”
“Not yet, but I am hopeful,” David said. “I've been through it from cover to cover; Genesis to Ezekiel, hoping her journal would reveal the answer.”
Gustav's eyes twinkled. “Personal diaries were not always written word-for-word, dear boy. During that era, messages were hidden in many ways. It might be right in front of us, my friend. It's up to us to see it. Da Vinci, for example, was known as a master decoder. I would not expect this to be easy.” He sat back in his chair. “Now Jan, he is an enigma, don't you think?”
“How so?”
“Doesn't it seem strange to you that Jan was sainted for upholding the same policy for which he was martyred? After all, it wasn't a Nobel Prize.”
“What does Nobel Prize have to do with Jan’s sainthood?”
“The Nobel is given for acts of peace, but it can also promote acts of peace which have yet to take place. Sainthood is not bestowed for future acts; they require certain criteria to be met. Such as the three miracles. I find it highly unlikely that sainthood should be granted to a man who merely does his job.”
“They must’ve had their reasons,” David said.
“Reasons, so popular a notion today. But then was different than now, and the reasons were much clearer,” Gustav said. “I was never convinced that the story told about Jan made sense.”
“Why?”
“David, I am a historian. History is about people. But in our society, we want the simple truth. People's lives are in fact messy, and there is no simple truth.”
“I don’t understand,” David said.
“I am a cynical old man who has come to the conclusion that all people are not altruistic. Yes, they do things for different reasons, most often ones that serve them. Jan's sacrifice makes no sense; I cannot see how it served him,” Gustav said matter-of-factly.
“Jan kept the queen's confidence and defended the church.”
Gustav clucked his tongue a few times. “Yes, but we have to remember that in those days, priest and king ruled together. One ruled the mind, and one ruled the heart. Why, then, would Jan have exhibited such disloyalty to the king? How did it serve him? This execution no doubt stirred great public turmoil.” He leaned toward David. “I think there is another fly in the ointment. Can you see it?”
David sat for a moment, searching his memory. Then it came to him. “By all accounts, the king and queen were reported to be in love, before and after the incident. Her diary says as much. In fact, it says nothing about the execution.”
“It does not fit,” Gustav agreed. “We will make a sleuth out of you yet. Who's your favorite?”
“When I performed theater early on, I really enjoyed Sherlock Holmes,” David replied. “And the principle that if one eliminates what is not true, what is left—no matter how apparently unlikely—must be the truth.”
“Ah, Occam's razor,” Gustav said. “We should be so lucky to live in such a world.”
“I could use a fresh eye.”
“A jaundiced one is what I have,” Gustav said with a grin.
“Then that will have to do.”
The two men worked into the night, mulling over every fact and story about the Wenzel Bible. Referencing and cross-referencing everything, David's eye
s were blurring when he realized that Gustav had fallen asleep in his chair. So far, they'd learned nothing new.
David decided to stretch his legs and use the restroom. As he rose, he accidentally kicked one of the old books he'd placed on the floor by his chair. It slid across the floor, open and facedown.
“Damn, I hope I didn't—” He bent to pick the book up, noticing it was open to a page showing a painting of Queen Sophia. He laid it on the table and headed toward the WC. He checked his watch, noting the time—three a.m. He had told Amy he would be late, and hoped she didn't worry. When he looked up from his watch, he recognized another small portrait hanging in a glass case across from the restroom. Indeed, this was yet another painting of the queen sitting in silhouette, the king standing behind her. He studied her face a moment, and a wave of dizziness came over him again.
“What are you trying to tell me, John?” David's eyes burned from hours of reading and now squinting at this small picture. He shifted his gaze to a picture above the case, of the monastery's board of directors, and everything became clear. “Thank you, John. I see it,” he said.
David returned to Gustav a few moments later, gathered three books, and woke him.
“I have a question for you.”
“Oh? What?” The old man straightened himself.
“What interest do you have in this game?”
Gustav thought. “I'm a historian; it's what I do.”
David nodded. “That is the simple answer.”
“What do you mean?”
“I see you are a board member.”
“You didn't ask.”
“No. And the ring on your left hand. Devotional?”
The old man hesitated. “It's a Templar ring.”
David nodded. “The Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon.”
“That's right. I found some ancient manuscripts once that claim a connection between Queen Sophia and the Templars, but there is no way of proving it.”
“But,” David countered, “As the Knights Templars grew in number and fame, their power doubled.
King Philip viewed this rise in power as a threat, and when the final Grand Master of the Knights Templar was executed, the era came to an end. Queen Sophia was inspired by stories of the Knights and was on a quest to find them.”
The old man pointed to the Bible. “You wouldn't get that from this book, necessarily—not unless you knew what you were looking for.”
“Let me show you something,” David said. “Can you carry these books?”
Gustav coughed. “Of course. You have me curious.”
They proceeded down the hallway to the cabinet in front of the WC. David opened one book, with a picture of Jan.
David took another book from Gustav and opened it to the picture of Sophia. “I looked at that Bible over a hundred times without seeing it, until I saw this picture. You are a Templar. Your line has owed a debt to this royal family for centuries.”
“Fascinating, I will grant you that,” Gustav replied, “but quite impossible since the Knights were disbanded in 1312 by the pope and executed.”
“Some went into hiding,” David countered. “Then I saw this picture.” He pointed to the case. “Sophia was with child; she had all the features, including a larger belly. But in the corner here, you see a small, empty chair. That was a common symbol for a lost child, perhaps a stillborn.”
The old man considered this for a moment, warily studying the floor. “Yes, it's been rumored that Sophia was romantically involved with one of the Templars. She was once with child, but I believe the baby was legitimate. The king was away during the majority of her pregnancy. She became ill and went to the monastery which was customary at that time. The child was stillborn, so it could not be memorialized on consecrated ground. This meant—according to the church—that the child would walk in purgatory for all eternity, a fate worse than death. Sophia could not bear this.” Gustav paused. “She begged Jan to give the child an appropriate burial. He agreed, and he did, in a secret crypt. This act of kindness led Sophia to become closer to Jan, and to his ideologies.”
David leaned against the wall and listened.
“Sophia knew Jan was intent on protecting the church and its faith. Though it seemed like an act against the church, Jan was always convinced that the Templars were innocent, and never in favor of bloodbaths. Understanding their existence is necessary for the church. He remained silent, letting them prepare for their return when the church needs them the most. Sophia agreed with Jan and remained faithful—even after Jan’s death—in her commitment to helping the Templars.” Gustav moved to sit on a bench in the corridor. “She did as promised, never revealing to the king that she had lost a child, or where it was buried.”
The story came to a halt, but David was certain there was more.
“So the queen was blackmailed?”
“Jan swore her to secrecy, saying that if these truths were ever revealed, each of them would be unmasked as heretics, and innocent lives would be lost.” Gustav looked tired. “The king suspected something, and he made the assumption she'd had an affair. He executed Jan, as you know. But had the truth come out, Jan would have been executed, anyway. His and Sophia’s silence allowed the Templars, with Sophia’s help, to escape to America.”
“But not all Templars.”
“No, not all. Rumors flew, and there was concern that Sophia would finally tell the king about the child's burial, so our predecessors swore to her that one day we would clear her name and correct history. But with the loss of her Bible and the fires, we also lost the location of the crypt. So we no longer had any proof. We have been searching in the monastery ever since.”
David raised his finger. “Jan has the proof, I think. The diary has two entries: one written by Sophia, and another, by a scribe.” David picked up the Bible, opened to the back, and read. “Today the lamb can sleep in the everlasting peace of Heaven. May you rest in the arms of the Virgin and the knights and watch over you.” David showed Gustav. “Like you said, people used symbolism in diaries.” He pointed. “The lamb, here, is the child. Next to it appears to be a page number. I counted the pages, but this number is not a page number, although it's made to look that way. If you go to that page—” David flipped to the actual page number, showing Gustav— “there is a symbol of a lamb lying in a field, surrounded by lilies.”
“I know this image,” the old man suddenly sputtered. “I have seen this carving.” He stood, trying to recall. “Of course, of course . . . we have been looking in the wrong place.” Gustav took off down the hallway, David following. Partway down the hall, they walked into the librarian’s office. Gustav checked several drawers in the desk, and then hastily walked out.
David decided to trust him and followed.
“Wait for me at the entrance gate,” Gustav ordered. Before David could ask anything else, he was gone.
He waited at the baroque entrance gate, looking at the statue of St. Norbert. Had Gustav deserted him? St. Jan, help me, David prayed. I don't know the way.
Half an hour later, David could see a 1927 black Praga Alfa approaching. The elegant old car had a bit of a knock, and Gustav was driving. “You might have to bear with some dust. She hasn’t been well cared for.”
David had no clue where they were driving. His brain was exhausted, and in a matter of moments, he fell fast asleep.
At the break of dawn, he opened his eyes and saw that they were approaching a massive Gothic structure. David jerked awake. Wasn't St. Vitus the largest of its kind?
“The Benedictine Abbey of Kladruby. Protecting it from King Wenceslas’s political interests was another reason for the king’s obvious hatred towards Jan that led to his torture and unfortunate death.” Gustav led him through the massive basilica. “This monastery was originally built in Romanesque style and later Gothicized sometime during the reign of King Wenceslas I. The structure was consecrated to the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, one of the richest and oldest mona
steries in Bohemia. Renovated in 1590 after a disastrous fire, and was also robbed many times. It was later reconstructed following the ravages of the Thirty Year’s War., thus becoming the Baroque Gothic architecture we see today. I’ll save the history lesson for another day. Right now, we have a much larger task.”
They entered the abbey and walked past the High Altar. David couldn't make up his mind whether to stop and admire the architecture or continue their relentless search for answers. Gustav pressed onward, David following until they reached a small, circular room. The room seemed to be a replica of the High Altar, decorated with golden lilies and sculptures.
“So this was probably part of the monastery at some time,” David said.
“I know where the lamb is.” Gustav confidently stated and continued toward the altar. In between all the other sculptures was a painting of the Virgin Mary holding an infant which seemed out of place with the rest of the architecture.
“The tombs of monks were thrown out,” Gustav said. “The presbytery was preserved along with this image of the Blessed Virgin in spite of major renovation by Santini himself, for reasons said to be ideological. In this room, the abbey was consecrated to the Blessed Virgin.” Gustav bent and ran his shaking hands over intricate carvings on the altar. “Ah, here it is.” The old man finally said.
At the foot of the image of the Blessed Virgin, David saw a carving of a sleeping lamb.
“There is no name or any mention of this being a tombstone,” Gustav admitted. “All this time we thought perhaps this lamb was a symbolic representation of consecrating the church to the care of the Blessed Virgin.” He pulled out a kerchief and wiped his brow. “But this is Sophia’s child; I am sure of it. This is, finally, the missing piece. Jan ensured that the lamb slept in peace under the Virgin Mother's care, not allowing the baby's tomb to go down with the fate of the Abbey.”
For David, the possibility of the grave was enough to see. It meant salvation for the child—a salvation so precious that the queen would forever remain silent, knowing her child was in Heaven. She saved this grief from her husband and, in the end, fulfilled the promise she made to Jan. This sight was now the salvation of the Templars—Gustav included—who had for so long looked for evidence they could bare to the world.
The Dawn of Grace :: A Mystery and Suspense Christian Historical Fiction Comprising of Enduring Love and Glory (Revelation Book 1) Page 10