“Who is this cardinal, and why does he want to see me?” Patrick asked. This news discomfited him even more as he rubbed at his temple, trying to remember something the face in the crowd had triggered.
“I’m sure you saw the rather large boat out on the dock? That is his. He is the papal legate from Rome and the head of the Board of Benefactors for the Greensprings School. You’ve met him once before when he came to investigate the attack last year. I understand you were one of the knights called to the inquest.”
Patrick frowned thoughtfully, trying to remember. Many outsiders came that day, but one did stand out in his mind: a hawk-nosed man with an Italian accent, ruthless in his pursuit of information.
“I believe I know who you speak of,” Patrick said uneasily. “Why is he here now? We were told the report we sent over the Loki affair was adequate and another inquest was unnecessary.”
“So we were told,” Marcus replied, taking dishes the innkeeper brought and helping distribute them about the table, “and I was under the impression when they read it in Rome they did not believe a half of it—which is quite often the case with news coming out of Avalon. Plus, they were truly unconcerned when they learned the only ‘death’ that occurred turned out to be not a death after all, and even then of a maidservant—no offense, mademoiselle.”
Aimeé shrugged and picked at her roast chicken.
“So what changed?” Patrick asked, ladling stew from a small pot into a round of bread. “And why does he need an army?”
“My guess is he was waiting for you,” Marcus said, lowering his voice and looking around. “He knew you were gone and so he came with this year’s new batch of Guests, knowing you would be here to greet them. My suspicions were confirmed when he asked for you by name—and for the maidservant.”
“Me? Why me?” Aimeé asked.
Marcus shrugged, saying, “I’m sure he wishes to lay eyes on the miracle itself. Speaking of cups...”
Marcus poured ale all around.
Patrick did not take his mug up right away. He rubbed his face and groaned. He could guess what the cardinal really wanted. Patrick wished again that he had returned the cup to its guardians immediately. He had not anticipated a papal legate, let alone the head of the Board of Benefactors himself, to show up so soon.
“I’m afraid His Eminence is going to be very disappointed,” Patrick said stoically, taking up his mug of ale and sipping. “I made a promise to return the cup. It was a mistake of mine to let Father Hugh talk me into letting him keep the cup to be adored in the church while I was away. I should have returned it right away to the cave from where it came. It needs to go back. I made a promise. No one, not even a cardinal and his army, is going to stop me from fulfilling my oath.”
Patrick expected Marcus, a senior Avangardesman, to chastise him for his insubordination. Instead, a shock of a different sort crossed the man’s face.
“That’s right,” Marcus said distantly, as if thinking out loud. “You don’t know yet.”
Patrick frowned. “Know what?”
“The cup, it won’t move.”
“What do you mean, ‘Won’t move.’”
“Just that.” Marcus took a drink. “It won’t allow itself to be touched. Anyone who tries, their hand passes right through it.”
#
The following morning, Patrick stood on the dock beside the cardinal’s ship with Marcus. Though not raining, the sky still cast a pallid grayness over the fisherman going about their routines and the workers loading the Avalon-bound boats.
“I will not be joining you,” Marcus explained. “I was severely chastised for allowing Loki access to Avalon and ever since have not been welcome in the presence of the head of the Board of Benefactors, or as he put it, ‘Get thee from my sight!’”
“You can’t be serious,” Patrick said, his jaw dropping a fraction in shock at the revelation.
“I’m very serious, and since I was lucky enough not to be expelled from the Order, I’d rather not tempt him into changing his mind.”
“Trust me, Loki had a talent for manipulation. Many fell victim to his charms. Perhaps if I could convey that fact to the cardinal...”
Marcus put up a hand, responding, “No need. I take full responsibility for my actions and the consequences. I will wait for a chance to redeem myself through my own efforts.”
Patrick wanted to protest but decided to respect the man’s wishes.
This news, added to the disturbing revelation of the cup’s odd behavior, made his already-spinning head want to fly off his shoulders. He figured he should change the subject and keep his head where it was.
“Sir Corbin is truly Captain of the Guard now?”
“Aye, being the senior Avangarde, he was next in line for succession,” Marcus responded, “and it happened rather suddenly when Sir Mark eloped with the Lady Christianne Morneau.”
Patrick shook his head, still trying to clear the spinning.
“Speaking of marriages,” Marcus added, “and I‘m sorry if I’m overstepping here, but after seeing you and the mademoiselle did not share a room last night, may I ask if all is well? Rumor suggested you two would be returning from Eire as a married couple, but that does not seem to be the case.”
A tired growl rumbled deep inside Patrick, but he suppressed it and gave Marcus a terse, but polite, explanation of what had happened in Ireland.
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Marcus said as Aimeé approached, making her way through the crowd on the dock. “I hope all works out in the end. She seems like a nice lass.”
Patrick nodded silently at Marcus’ support.
“My apologies for my lateness,” she said as she curtsied. “I came across the Greensprings servants making arrangements for transporting food supplies to the island. I offered my assistance after our audience with the cardinal.”
You wouldn’t have to work another day in the kitchens if you would just marry me, Patrick thought, but held his tongue.
Sensing some frostiness between Patrick and the maidservant, Marcus cleared his throat and said, “Just up the gangplank here, and to the left, you will find the entrance to the cardinal’s cabin. He is expecting you. I’ll wait your return here.”
Once on board, a short walk on the gently rolling deck brought them to the door of the aft structure that easily could have been a richly decorated house on a merchant street. There, Patrick banged the large iron ring on the door.
“Ah, welcome.” A slightly built young man greeted them. His goatee curled into a smile. “His Eminence is expecting you.”
Patrick and Aimeé followed the young man through the maze of rooms and doors, finally ending at a room with a plush chair and many traveling chests. Upon the chair sat an older man in a simple red robe, but of rich silk. When seeing his graying hair, only partially covered by a red skullcap, and the hawk nose, Patrick recognized him as the unpleasant inquisitor.
Today, however, the man who had all but dismissed Sir Marcus for the Loki affair now gave warm smiles and came forward with open arms.
“Greetings,” the cardinal said putting forth his ring finger with an ornate gold and topaz ring upon it.
Patrick and Aimeé dutifully kissed the symbol of his office as they made their bows and curtsies. Yet Patrick’s shoulder blades drew together.
“His Eminence, Cardinal Teodorico,” the assistant announced his master, “Archbishop of Albano, member of the Roman Curia, Papal Legate, and Head of the Board of Benefactors for the Greensprings École.”
“Well, then, hmm,” he said. “I was so eager to meet you two. The discoverer of the cup, and the one who came back to life because of it, hmm, yes? What a wondrous age we live in! The Cup of the Last Supper has returned to us!”
Patrick’s stomach tightened and he struggled to maintain eye contact with the cardinal. “Your Eminence, my apologies for my presumptions, but it was made quite clear to me by the guardians of the vessel I was to return it. Its residency in the Greensprings church is
only a temporary matter.”
“Nonsense,” Teodorico said, waving the thought aside with the swipe of his hand. “The cup has revealed itself through your intercession, and more, made manifest its miraculous works for the world to see, hmm?” The cardinal gestured at Aimeé. “It is begging to be shared on a larger scale! Christ told us He would always be with us, in His body and His blood in the holy sacrament of the Eucharist at Mass, hmm? Now that promise has been made more tangible by the revelation of the cup from which He last drank. It is no surprise it happened now, and here on Avalon, hmm, yes?”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Patrick said, trying not to sound disrespectful.
“Greensprings was tasked with bringing the noble youth of Christendom together to learn peace. Christendom is at war with itself. The Church is in conflict. If ever there was a time for Jesus to be among us in a very real form, it is now, hmm?”
Teodorico left his hands in an open gesture as if to say, See?
Patrick’s head swam and he resisted the temptation to rub at the pain in his skull. He had walked in with his resolve set, and had even stated his intent. Now, however, he found himself confounded and finding it difficult to argue with the cardinal’s reasoning.
Despite the tumult in his mind, he managed to say, “Then why do the guardians insist I bring it back?”
“Yes, yes, the guardians, hmm?” Teodorico said, his tone turning thoughtful. He stood and addressed Patrick closer, his congenial demeanor turning a little intimidating at close proximity. “I read your report about these mystical beings who guard a wondrous treasure in the same cave where you found the cup, hmm, yes? Are you certain they were angels? Was not this same cave, by your own admission in another report, once inhabited by a demon-spawn wolf, hmm, yes?”
“That was different,” Patrick said defensively. “That creature was an evil remnant of a bygone era. The guardian spirits were helpless to remove it. I killed it for them, freeing the cave from its evil presence.”
“Yes, hmm?” Teodorico said. “But these ‘guardian spirits,’ hmm? Were they angels, or no?”
Patrick hesitated, then said, “Well, perhaps partially.”
Teodorico made a puzzled expression that he shared with his assistant.
“Partially?”
Flustered, Patrick experienced precisely the sort of confrontation he did not wish to have. He much rather cross swords with someone than exchange intellectual barbs.
“They were spirits of the former inhabitants of Avalon. They were creatures of Faerie,” Patrick responded. “It is my belief that long ago they were the offspring of angels and men.”
Teodorico’s smile turned patronizing, though he made an effort to temper any condescension.
“A theologically charming notion, though highly unlikely, hmm?” he said. “We benefactors have long been aware of the ghosts who populate the Misty Isle. We thought them harmless apparitions. Some of us even argued they would serve as good morality lessons to the students. Lessons in avoiding the temptations of devils, and all their glamours.”
“But they’re not!” Aimeé interjected.
Everyone in the room turned to the maidservant who had spoken out.
She turned sheepish, but added, “My Lord, they are not all bad, the Fair Folk. They sometimes play tricks on us, yes, but they often help, too. Bringing home lost children and such.”
Teodorico tsked gently and stroked Aimeé’s cheek, saying, “Child, your view is not rare among the common folk, hmm, yes? I imagine you even put out saucers of milk for them on the porch, hmm? You avoid stepping on their fairy rings in the forest? You probably even light a midsummer candle to appease them, hmm, yes?” He crossed himself. “But trust me, I’m a man of God. I know demons when I see them. Since the time of Eden they have manipulated us to do what they wish for their own motives, whether to convince us to eat of the Fruit of Knowledge to cut us off from God, or to simply feed them saucers of milk... or remove a troublesome wolf from their lair, hmm, yes?”
He directed this last at Patrick, and added, “And why do you feel so strongly about them?”
Patrick swallowed hard and his gaze flickered to the flute-crucifix nestled between Aimeé’s breasts. In doing so, he noticed Aimeé had grown quiet and her attention was on one of the many travel chests, lined up on the other side of the room. A noise came from that direction and she took a step closer to him.
“I understand your desire to keep your oaths,” Teodorico continued, not waiting for a response and drawing Patrick back into the conversation, “but is it not inconceivable the Holy Spirit led you to that cave to liberate the cup from these creatures, hmm? That your true responsibility is to bring the cup into the light of the world, hmm, yes?”
“But they saved me from my injuries after my battle with the wolf,” Patrick said, the fog in his mind growing. “I cannot believe they are evil.”
Teodorico put up a hand. “All I ask is that you should be open to other possibilities. I would like to see the cup tour the kingdoms, held aloft by the Knight of Cups and the Lazarine Maid, ushering an era of peace. The other benefactors will convene soon on the island and we will discuss the matter, and after they see the moving reaction of the people I have brought with me who wish to adore the relic, they will see the wisdom of releasing it from the island hmm, yes?”
“It may all be a moot point,” Patrick said tersely, his fists clenching over the cardinal’s dismissive tone. “The cup is not allowing anyone to touch it.”
“So I’ve been told,” the cardinal conceded. “It’s my belief it is waiting for you, Sir Patrick, hmm, yes?”
“Waiting for me?”
“Yes, you transported it to the church, and there it awaits you to be transported again, and I trust you will make the right choice as to where it will go.”
Patrick blinked and opened his mouth to counter with a convincing objection, but nothing appropriate came to mind.
Patrick and Aimeé stayed a little longer, but the cardinal excused them. On their way out, Patrick relented to his desire to massage his throbbing headache, barely noticing Aimeé casting a fearful glance over her shoulder at the trunk in the corner of the room.
#
They made their way down the gangplank, fighting against the flow of porters and servants.
When they reached the crowded dock, Marcus waited for them as promised. They had to stand close to one another to avoid the press of people. Oxcarts also took up space, sitting patiently as their loads were hoisted skyward and into the boats.
All the activity and shouts from the workers made it difficult to concentrate. Patrick ruminated over the cardinal’s last words, pondering what on earth he would do when the time came for him to stand over the cup. Eventually, he came to realize through the noise inside and outside his head that Aimeé spoke, trying to tell him something about a chest and a lid.
“Pardon?” he said.
“You didn’t see it?” she reiterated, brow creased in exasperation.
“See what?”
Aimeé flailed her hands in frustration. “There was something in the cardinal’s trunk, watching us!”
Patrick made a face, trying to process the odd statement.
“Oh, never mind! I am going to help the Greensprings servants. Good day, Sir Patrick.” She huffed and departed, pulling her hood over her head. Before striding too far, however, she turned and added, “You know, I find it odd you say you want to talk things out, but every time I try to talk, your mind is elsewhere!”
“Aimeé, wait!” he called after her, but she had stomped out of earshot.
“Women,” Sir Marcus said thoughtfully, watching her receding form. “Whether high-born or low-born, they are a beautiful chaos. I often wonder if the world would be better or worse for their absence.”
Patrick did not respond—merely ground his teeth helplessly.
“Come, Patrick, let us go drink the universal remedy. Let’s get a beer.”
Silently, Patrick turned to
follow his fellow guardsman, meandering through the crowd. He looked up just in time to glimpse an individual watching him from the crowd on the other side of a passing oxcart. Patrick drew a sharp breath at the face he thought he had only imagined the night before at the inn. A face conjuring memories of battles, hunger, and death. A crusader named Lucan.
“Patrick, what is it?” Marcus asked.
“I saw someone I know,” Patrick replied over his shoulder, and plunged into the crowd. He frantically searched for the man, but he had disappeared.
“Not surprising,” Marcus said, shrugging when he caught up to Patrick. “The place is full of Greensprings and Aesclinn people.”
“No, this person couldn’t possibly be here,” Patrick whispered, closing his eyes under the attack of a headache and voices in his head. “I saw him die during the Crusade.”
#
The moon floated fat and bright in the sky, appearing and disappearing with the clouds.
Gwyndaline waited until late evening to fetch the day’s water from the town well to avoid the crowds of Avalon folk. Like the others of the community, she did not mind the extra coin they brought. They paid well to keep the event a secret, but they did cause a God-awful disruption to the daily routine.
She grunted as she worked the winch to bring the bucket from the depths of the well, then when the handle bumped her swollen belly, barked a laugh born somewhere between frustration and absurdity.
“Ah, sorry my darlin’. Only a bit longer and we won’t have to worry about that,” she said to her stomach, rubbing it tenderly after setting the locking mechanism on the winch. She blew sweaty stray hair out of her eyes. “You’re a bit overdue, and you make things a bit difficult, but I’m sure you’ll be worth the wait.”
Before reaching for the bucket dangling over the well mouth, she hummed to her stomach, wondering not for the first time whether a girl or a boy child heard her voice.
“They say because you hang so low, you must be a boy, but I...”
Her attention suddenly turned to the empty darkness of the cobblestone street. She had heard a scrabbling noise on the stones.
Ripples in the Chalice: A Tale of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 2) Page 9