“And the liturgy?”
“There isn’t exactly a liturgy. It’s mostly a rock band playing and my dad preaching. The original preacher who founded the place—he was amazingly charismatic. Unfortunately, he was so charismatic that he ended up resigning because of what he called ‘moral mistakes,’ which means he slept with about six church employees. So my dad, who had been an assistant, took over as head pastor. Anyhow, the whole thing left a sour taste in my mouth about churchgoing. I mean, I believe in God, I just don’t like to go to church.”
“That’s funny,” said Arthur. “I go to church, but I don’t believe in God.”
“You don’t believe in God?” said Bethany.
“Not in the way that you, or your father, or the Church of England would define him. Anyway, it sounds like we could both use Evensong, and it starts in a few minutes. I’m usually in my seat by now.”
“Maybe another time,” said Bethany, but Arthur could tell this was her American way of saying no.
“Besides,” she said, “I have to stop by my room and pick up an extra USB cable to connect the Wi-Fi hotspot in the library.”
“Of course you do,” said Arthur, having no idea what she meant.
“I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other if we’re both going to be working up there.”
“No doubt,” said Arthur coldly. The reintroduction of her purpose in Barchester reminded him of the bibliographical future she claimed to represent.
“Well,” said Bethany as they reached the other side of the bridge, “I’m at a little bed-and-breakfast up the road here, so I guess this is where I say good-bye. Thanks for showing me the Holy Grail.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned the corner into a narrow lane, and for an instant all Arthur saw of her was her blond hair caught in the wind, flying out behind the head that had already disappeared into the shadows. It was lovely hair, he thought, but why couldn’t it be attached to a head that paid attention to what he said. The last thing he wanted in Barchester was some American hunting for the Holy Grail.
IV
THE CLOISTER
The cloister, once used by medieval scribes to pen manuscripts, contains roof bosses dating from the thirteenth century, including four carvings, at the four corners, of St. Ewolda. These bosses still retain flecks of their original paint. The first shows Ewolda in flowing robes, wearing a circlet of gold, indicating royal descent. Next we see her in a nun’s habit holding a church, showing that she was in holy orders and was the founder of Barchester’s original monastery. In the third carving, she holds two roses, one white and one red, symbols of purity and martyrdom. In the final boss, Ewolda holds a cup overflowing with water.
A.D. 880, St. Ewolda’s Monastery
Cenhelm did not like visitors. In the twelve years he had served as abbot of St. Ewolda’s, only one visitor had ever come with good news. That had been almost a decade ago, when King Alfred had turned the tide against the Danes at the Battle of Ashdown. For the first time in living memory, the threat of a sacking of the monastery by Vikings had faded. So this morning’s visitor was not likely to bring catastrophic news, but still Cenhelm’s stomach hardened as he ushered the man into his chamber.
Cenhelm was the first abbot of St. Ewolda’s Monastery who oversaw only monks. He had not decided that St. Ewolda’s should cease being a dual foundation—it had simply happened. One day, the last of the nuns had died, and no novices had come to the gates since. It had been a peaceful transition, and Cenhelm was happiest when the monastery was peaceful. Sometimes for days, rarely for weeks, once in his memory for nearly three months, he enjoyed a life of quiet contemplation. But inevitably the peace was broken. Two of the brothers would fall into an argument over whose turn it was to tend the monastery’s modest flock of sheep. A local merchant would claim he had not been paid for the latest delivery of flour. A fire would break out in the kitchens. Or a visitor would arrive. And a visitor never wanted to speak to a lowly monk; a visitor always wanted the abbot.
“I greet you in the name of Christ, good Cenhelm. Your reputation as a fair and just abbot is known throughout the land.” This was an especially unbelievable bit of flattery, as Cenhelm was abbot of possibly the smallest monastery in the British Isles, but he let the visitor continue.
“I am Brother Oswine of the abbey of Glastonbury. I come with greetings from our abbot, Hereferth, who desires me to speak with you on a matter of great importance to our foundation.”
“Our kitchens and our place of worship, though surely less grand than what you know at Glastonbury, are open to you, good brother,” said Cenhelm, sincerely hoping he could dispense with this monk before the need arose for hospitality.
“If you are able to grant the request of Abbot Hereferth, my stay will be brief and I need not trouble you for food or shelter.”
“And what does your abbot request?”
“Nearly a century ago, when word first came of the invasions from the north and the destruction of Lindisfarne, our beloved Abbot Beaduwulf sent to your Abbess Cyneburga one of the great treasures of Glastonbury, that it might be kept safe here from the attacks of the heathens. Now that King Alfred has driven the invaders far from our home, I am sent to retrieve this treasure and restore it to its rightful place at the altar of our monastic church.”
“I have no wish to displease your father abbot,” said Cenhelm, “but how can you ask of things that happened a century ago? No monk here is older than three score years. How could any remember back through a century?”
“I have no doubt,” said Oswine, “that the story of this treasure has been passed down from generation to generation.”
“You monks of Glastonbury are wealthy; we are poor. If we had any great treasure we would have sold it long ago.”
“No man of God would have sold such a treasure,” said Oswine firmly.
Cenhelm feared this visitor would not be as easily dismissed as he had hoped. “I can tell you only this, Brother. I know nothing of any treasure from Glastonbury or anywhere else. You are free to search our church, modest though it is, and any other parts of our meager foundation. You may question any of my brothers and I will instruct them to speak freely and answer you truthfully. But though I offer you hospitality, our means are few. Take no more than three days. Remove any treasure you discover and leave us be.”