The Angel and the Ring

by Sigmund Brouwer

  You are also physical beings who often don’t want to believe there is a spiritual world. So you spend a lot of effort trying to, well, humanize us by putting us in make-believe forms that are physical. And harmless.

  It’s like you don’t ever want to think about the, um, important thing I need to mention.

  Let me put it this way. A while back – it doesn’t seem long ago to me, of course – there was this mean commander of a big army. This commander, an Assyrian, threatened God’s people in the land of Israel. This Assyrian commander had the luxury of 185,000 soldiers to back up his threats against the Israelites. Until he woke up in the morning to discover all of his soldiers were dead.

  Stop and think about how many soldiers that is. At 30 to a school bus – yes, I know they didn’t have school buses back then, but work with me on this – that would be nearly 6200 school buses filled with soldiers. If you still can’t picture that, then realize that, bumper to bumper, all those school buses would form a line 35 miles long. There you have it, enough soldiers to fill a 35-mile line of school buses. Let me repeat, the Assyrian commander woke up to find all of them dead. D-E-A-D. As in not breathing, not moving, and certainly not capable of picking up swords and swinging them against the Israelites.

  The gory details of how all 185,000 soldiers were killed are not the point here. This is the point: They were all killed by a single angel sent by our Father. In a single night.

  Sure, we’re guardians. Sure we’re messengers. Those are the nice things you always choose to remember about angels.

  We’re also powerful enough to do whatever our Father asks of us. And we always do whatever our Father asks of us – even if the results mean a 35-mile line of school buses filled with dead ancient soldiers.

  Our Father has a grand plan, you see. Do you think He would allow anyone or anything to get in the way of his plan? Think anyone or anything would be able to escape the powers He gives to His angels in order to see His plan accomplished?

  And what if Brin – who had heard the gospel message repeatedly from Rachel – was going to choose the way of darkness?

  I certainly didn’t want that to happen.

  But I was prepared.

  Because if our Father finally revealed to me that I’d been sent not as a guardian in the way I wanted to assume, but instead to eventually stop Brin from acting against our Father, I would follow His orders, whatever they were, without hesitation…

  Chapter Nineteen

  Bells from the center of Rome penetrated the darkness. Brin counted. Ten times. The black velvet of a clear night had long since arrived, and the scattered white dust of stars showed through the gaps in the roof.

  Rachel sat beneath the open window. Seven candles were lined across the window. The flames burned straight in the breezeless air. The candles themselves were nearly stubs. When they had first begun waiting, the candles had been new.

  “Without more candles in your sack, you are sure to be disappointed,” Brin said, standing again and stretching. “Or perhaps your guide is blind. If indeed he exists.”

  “Not blind,” a voice said from behind him. “Merely silent and cautious.”

  Brin stumbled backward and spun around. Still he saw no one.

  “Know that here lies united an army of saints.” The voice came from beyond the open doorway, drifting in quietly.

  “These venerable tombs enclose their bodies,” Rachel recited, equally quietly and with no fear, “while the kingdom of heaven has already welcomed their souls.”

  Brin watched the opening carefully, waiting for a deeper blackness to show him that a person had moved into the doorway. Yet only the voice entered.

  “Here lie the companions of Sixtus, who bear the trophies won from the enemy,” came the voice. “Here lie the brotherhood of popes who guard the altar of Christ.”

  Rachel took a breath. “Here too I, Damasus, confess I would like to be buried were it not for the fear of disturbing the ashes of these holy persons.”

  Brin waited for the voice to return. It did not. Instead, seconds later, the flames of the candles were extinguished by someone outside the ruined building. Brin jumped and stumbled in the opposite direction.

  “Come,” the voice said as Brin was recovering himself. “Step outside.”

  “Fear not,” Rachel said to Brin, standing. “He is our friend. And he knows we are his friends. I have replied as he expected. And he as I required. From an inscription on a tomb below.”

  “Tomb? Below?”

  In the darkness, Brin felt her take his hand. He allowed her to take him outside. She dropped his hand.

  The outline of the man in front of them was tall, the shoulders bowed.

  Without a word, he began to walk away from them, his footsteps soft in the deep grass.

  Rachel followed. Then Brin.

  Fifty steps away he turned, directly into a hedge.

  “Protect your face with your arms,” he said. “Otherwise the branches will scratch your face.”

  Again Rachel followed with Brin behind, groping as a blind man in the deeper darkness of the branches. His hands found Rachel’s shoulders. She reached up and squeezed his fingers.

  Her shoulders dropped. Then Brin understood. They were walking down steps. Slowly. It did not take them long to reach the bottom. Only a slight creaking warned Brin that a door had been opened. The faint glow of a torch showed narrow tunnel walls.

  The tall figure stepped inside. Rachel did not hesitate to do the same.

  Brin paused. What madness was this? Entering the depths of the earth with the woman who had betrayed him twice already?

  Rachel stepped back and found his hand again.

  “You will not be met with harm,” she said. “Give me your trust.”

  Trust was last of any possession he would grant her. Only his vow to return treachery with treachery gave him the courage to move ahead.

  Once he was inside, the guide closed the door behind him.

  All three walked toward the glow of the torch. As the light grew, Brin was able to see more of his surroundings. The tunnel was hardly higher than the guide’s head. The tunnel walls were narrow; Brin could stretch his arms like wings, and his fingertips brushed both sides.

  The tunnel turned once, and the light grew even brighter. They proceeded another dozen steps. In that short space, two other tunnels broke off in different directions.

  Brin saw too that ledges had been cut into the tunnel walls. These ledges were about the length of a body, only a couple of feet high, and a couple of feet deep. Every few steps, there were three or four ledges appeared on each side, one ledge above the other and above the other. Some ledges were plastered over, contents hidden. Some were empty. Some contained wooden boxes. Others had shrouds, and, walking as quickly as he was to stay with them, Brin could not determine what the thin, ghostly cloth covered.

  Brin remained silent and followed, unable to make sense of it.

  The tunnel turned once more before they finally reached an open area, lit by the flames of the torch set into the wall.

  For the first time, Brin clearly saw the guide. An old priest in simple black garb.

  “Greetings from the Keepers in Scotland,” Rachel said, stepping forward and formally embracing the man. “And greetings from my brother Edwin, who was unable to travel with us. My own name is Rachel. This is Brin.”

  “Greetings and welcome,” the guide said. “My name is Julius. After all these years, welcome to the hidden catacombs of St. Callixtus.”

  “Catacombs?” asked Brin.

  “Yes,” the guide said. “Burial chambers for the followers of Christ during the time of the great empire. Here, in 20 miles of tunnels, and forgotten over the last four centuries, are the remains of over a half million dead.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Brin shuddered. The ledges dug into the walls made sudden sense to Brin. Bodies. That’s what had been on the ledges.

  The guide frowned. Brin could see him closer now. The man
’s face was thin and bearded with gray.

  “I was told to expect a young woman,” Julius said. He turned to Rachel and spoke hardly above a whisper. “And of course, Edwin, whom I would have recognized. I am sad to hear he was not able to join you. The presence of a third person, however, is a surprise. As is his question. How is it he does not know of the catacombs. Is he not one of us?”

  “I wish that he were,” Rachel said. “But that is a matter for his grandfather in Scotland to decide. As for now, we need him greatly.”

  Julius nodded gravely. It impressed Brin that Julius did not express doubt in Rachel’s answer. Rachel was far younger than he, and a stranger. Keepers of the Grail, Brin decided, respect each other greatly, regardless of station in life.

  “It was Brin’s father,” Rachel explained further to Julius, “who first began the journey here with the ring you need. When he disappeared, we believed him lost all these years. And then the letter arrived …”

  Rachel explained the rest. The air in the tunnels was still and cool. The soft glow of the torch light showed there was beauty even in the shadows of her face. Brin watched and listened, captivated by her presence and outraged at her calm lies.

  He wanted to tell Julius that Rachel was the betrayer, seeking the ring for herself. But Brin knew patience would pay greater rewards. He listened as she finished the story.

  “So you and Edwin spent the better part of a year in the north, searching the gypsy clans for word of a fair-haired gypsy,” Julius said. “And you have found him, along with the ring given him by his father, Christopher, may his soul rest in peace.”

  “Brin does not have the ring,” Rachel said. “He cast it away, so that it would not fall into the hands of those who attacked my brother.”

  Julius let his shoulders slump. “Surely you know all of this is for nothing without the second ring. Mile after mile of these tunnels wind beneath the city. There are four levels. Not even I, who have spent my whole life searching these tunnels, know them all. Daily, I must walk with pieces of chalk in my pockets, marking the walls where I have been so that even I will not get lost. How can we find the treasure without the second ring?”

  “He will sketch it for us,” Rachel said. “He knows the symbols by heart.”

  Julius shook his head. “Did his grandfather not explain before you left Scotland? It is not sufficient merely to find where the jewels of Callixtus are hidden, but the rings themselves serve as keys. There are two slots in the wall, one for each ring. Once both rings are inserted, it springs a lock, and the hidden door opens.”

  Jewels of Callixtus? Brin felt his heart beat faster.

  “I do understand,” Rachel said. “It was explained to me very clearly. The ancients devised a cunning system to keep the treasure from thieves. Supports behind the walls will collapse if the door is not opened on its hinges. We cannot dig to get the jewels, for not only will they be lost, but the entire portion of the tunnel will fall on us.”

  “This, then, is the reason for my despair,” Julius said.

  “Edwin and I have given our problem much thought,” she said, removing the sack she had slung over her shoulder. “Before we left Edwin behind at the monastery to recover from his wounds, he suggested a solution. All it requires is a Keeper’s bag of tricks.”

  Brin knew this was the sack which contained her exploding powder, the blinding acid, and sleeping potion for darts. He would not be surprised at anything she pulled from it. Except for what appeared in her hands.

  It was merely a lump of wax.

  “Julius,” she said. “Here is our second ring.”

  Julius steepled his fingers and regarded her thoughtfully.

  “Once we find the location, we melt this wax and pour it into the slot. After it cools, we gently pull the wax free. It should hold the shape of the ring. From it, we make a mold. From the mold, we form another ring.”

  “It may suffice,” Julius said. “It just may suffice! In the early days, thieves would not have had the time that you and I have. Yes, it may take several days for us to make a new ring, but now centuries later the tunnels are ours alone.”

  Both turned to Brin.

  “All we need,” Rachel said to Brin, “is your sketch. Julius has the other ring. With it, we can move through this maze to the Jewels of Callixtus.”

  “Yes,” Julius said. He could not hide his excitement. “Perhaps even within the hour. Sketch it on the dirt of this floor, and Rachel and I shall proceed.”

  “No,” Brin said. “You will not proceed without me. Furthermore, explain what it is we seek. How it happens to be there. And how my grandfather knew of it.”

  “Young man,” Julius began. “Words mean so little against what is the prize of centuries, and against what will greatly assist the Keepers of the Grail over the next centuries.”

  Rachel sighed. “Julius, I am afraid he is more stubborn than a team of mules. I know him well enough to recognize that when he speaks in such a tone, he cannot be budged.”

  “Then I will tell you,” Julius said with a sigh louder than Rachel’s, “about the catacombs and the jewels of Callixtus.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “It began during the first century after Christ’s death,” Julius said in gentle, modulated tones. “After the apostle Paul reached Rome with his message of hope, a growing number of slaves and citizens began to convert to faith in a risen Lord. Most were buried in common cemeteries, among non-believers. By the second century, rich families of converts made room on their estates for the burial of poorer Christians. Excavations begin then, for the rocky ground of these estates — vineyards and olive groves — consist of soil over top of tufa. They…”

  Julius had been watching Brin closely, for he saw his puzzled expression.

  “Tufa,” Julias said, “is volcanic rock. Soft and easy to dig. It hardens once exposed to air. If you look closely at these walls, you can see the marks of the workers’ picks.”

  He allowed Brin the chance to examine the walls by torchlight before continuing.

  “The workers removed this rock and dirt by basket. You have already seen the ledges they carved to make room for bodies.”

  Brin nodded.

  “There are many catacombs in Rome,” Julius said. “These, the catacombs of St. Callixtus, are among the largest. From the third century on, the Church of Rome administered these tombs, and for many years a deacon named Callixtus was the custodian.”

  Julius walked several steps. Brin merely watched.

  “Come with me,” Julius said, growing more enthusiastic as teacher. He took the torch from the wall. “Your eyes will teach you better than your ears.”

  Brin followed first this time, with Rachel behind.

  Julius led them farther down the tunnel until they reached another opening, much larger than where they had first stopped. He swept the torch to let Brin see the full extent of the widened walls.

  “The Crypt of the Popes,” Julius whispered. “We do not worship the popes as saints; however, they were men of God and deserve much respect. Antherus, Fabian, Lucius, Eutichian. And Damasus.”

  Torchlight showed an arched roof of brick with marble columns supporting the roof. There was an altar. In front of it stood a table, made of a large sheet of smooth marble covered with an inscription.

  “Go ahead,” Julius invited Brin. “Step forward. Read the inscription. It is the one you heard Rachel and I recite to each other. Translated from the Latin, of course.”

  Brin squirmed. He did not want to admit that he had no knowledge of Latin, let alone that he could not read.

  “He has already heard it,” Rachel said with a light laugh. “Let us not waste his time by straining his eyes in this poor light.”

  “My apologies,” Julius said with a slight bow.

  For a moment, Brin was tempted to throw aside all his bitterness toward Rachel. She had been gracious, preserving him from embarrassment.

  “The Christians worshiped here,” Rachel said quickly to kee
p the silence from becoming awkward. “Not only did the catacombs serve as a burial place, but also as a church, for there were times the Roman emperors persecuted the Christians.”

  “Yes, Rachel,” Julius said, “whoever taught you, taught you well. Christians worshiped here and used it as a place of refuge during those difficult times. Imagine how cruel the Romans could be. Covering Christians with tar and hanging them on a post before lighting them so they would be human torches.”

  Again, Brin found himself wondering about the determination of people who would rather cling to beliefs than save their lives.

  “Why kill them?” Brin asked. “Rachel told me that the Romans encouraged different beliefs and customs.”

  “Ah, yes,” Julius said with the enthusiasm of one who enjoyed debate but has not had the chance for some time. “But once it began to take root, there were some emperors who found these new beliefs threatening.”

  “They are only beliefs,” Brin protested.

  “Beliefs much different than the religions tolerated by the Roman emperors,” Julius countered. “The other religions compromised and adapted themselves to the whims of officials. The other religions were simply private affairs, serving the inner needs of those who selfishly preferred vague spiritual pronouncements.”

  Julius stopped and raised his forefinger as if addressing an assembly. “But Christ’s message was much different. It was radical and rejected the cults of the emperors, bringing a total renewal to each believer and, in so doing, threatened to change society.”

  Julius took a breath. “You see, it was revolutionary to preach that every man, even a slave, is brother to the other, and that we are all children of God.”

  He gasped with mock horror. “Imagine! Preaching that we should help the poor. Preaching that all men should love all men as a reflection of God’s love for us. Then actually acting upon it!”

  Despite his suspicions, Brin could not help but be entranced by Julius. His manner had changed from a stooped old man to one flushed with energy. If this was how Keepers learned, Brin would enjoy the chance to become one of them and…