Oswine agreed to Cenhelm’s terms and for the next three days searched every chamber of the monastery, from the kitchens to the cells to the very church itself. Cenhelm was proud of his church. Stone structures were not common in Britain, and part of the foundation’s poverty was due to the cost of its construction. He cringed to see the monk pulling stones from the floor to look for hidden treasure.
All sixteen members of the foundation were subjected to Oswine’s scowling interrogation. None had any knowledge of a treasure from Glastonbury. Oswine’s refusal to reveal what form this treasure took made it difficult for them to cooperate with his search, but, at the instruction of their abbot, they rendered what aid they could.
“It is tragic that such a relic should be lost,” said Oswine to Cenhelm at the end of the third day.
“The years in a century are many. I regret that you will never know the fate of what you seek.”
“Perhaps,” said Oswine icily. “Or perhaps it will yet come to light.” By dawn of the following day, he was gone.
—
Cenhelm waited an entire day after Oswine’s departure—followed by a long restless night. Worried the monk might not really be gone, but might instead be spying on St. Ewolda’s, he sent several brothers into the surrounding countryside to look for him, but they found no trace. Only then did Cenhelm make his way to the small wattle-and-daub barn that lay some distance outside the precincts. He swept away the hay from the darkest corner of the building to reveal a section of wooden floor. Carefully lifting two of the floorboards, he saw that the box holding the treasure was still in place. He replaced the boards and the hay and was back in his chamber before anyone had noticed his absence. That evening, he sent for the youngest monk in the foundation.
“I serve you, Father,” said Leofwine.
“Great service is required of you,” said the abbot. “Now that the threat of the northern pagans withdraws, our foundation will not be so isolated. I fear our most recent visitor may be the first of many.” He paused for a moment, before adding, almost to himself, “And the power of Glastonbury grows.”
“What need we fear from Glastonbury? They serve Christ as we do. We should rejoice in their power. Perhaps now the light of Christ will reach every darkened corner of the land.”
“There is a great secret at St. Ewolda’s,” said the abbot. “A secret I am about to entrust to you.”
“I am honored,” said the monk.
Cenhelm reached within his robes and withdrew a folded parchment he had kept there since the day he had become Guardian. Its words he had long ago committed to memory, lest anything should happen to the document. Now he held it out to Leofwine.
“This parchment contains all you need to know. You will not sleep this night until its words are deeply etched in your memory. Henceforth you will keep it hidden on yourself at all times. Others may come to St. Ewolda’s to seek this parchment and the treasure it describes, but you are to reveal the secrets to no one. Only you will know when the time comes to pass this secret to a new Guardian. Then you must do as I am doing now. But I warn you, the monks of Glastonbury will want to unearth our secret and claim our treasure. Beware of any brother who hails from Somerset.”
“But what is this great treasure? And who wrote this document?”
“The document was written by a monk of Glastonbury more than a century ago and has been handed down from one Guardian to the next beginning with holy Cyneburga. The treasure I shall take you to see now. Then you must move with all haste to find a new hiding place. It is dangerous for more than one man to know where such a treasure rests. Mark well how thoroughly our recent visitor searched the monastery, and choose carefully. Now come. The moon is near full, and we shall need no tapers.”
Cenhelm led Leofwine into the night and beyond the border of the monastery to the hiding place of the great treasure. He himself had not seen the holy relic since a similar night, more than twenty years ago, shortly after he became Guardian. Then his fear had been attack by Vikings, so he had placed the treasure outside the monastery’s precincts. That way, if the heathens came and burned St. Ewolda’s to the ground, the treasure would still be safe. Leofwine would have to choose his own hiding place, safe from the new threat of Glastonbury.
The barn was pitch-dark, but Cenhelm had no trouble again uncovering the hidden cavity. This time he removed the box and carried it into the moonlight. He spoke a prayer, and then, with trembling hands, opened the box to reveal the most spectacular treasure in the land.
“I confess,” said Leofwine, “I am somewhat disappointed. I expected gold and jewels sparkling in the moonlight.”
“There is a saying of Cyneburga that is well known to this day at St. Ewolda’s,” said Cenhelm. “You have passed but a few months among us, so perhaps you have not yet heard it spoken.”
“What is this saying?” said Leofwine.
“The gifts of God are rarely what we expect.”
April 19, 2016
FEAST OF ST. ALPHEGE, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY
“Bethany Davis has gotten her things moved into the library,” said the dean with a smile as she hurled a tennis ball across the meadow and watched Mag and Nunc explode after it.
“You know she’s doing the devil’s work.”
“Oh, Arthur, don’t be such an old poop. The cathedral is receiving a very tidy sum for allowing the manuscripts to be added to this American database. The chapter thinks we should use the money for technical upgrades: an updated cathedral Web site, a Wi-Fi system. Who knows, maybe we could get you a shiny new computer for the library.”
“Why not put the money toward the new Lady Chapel?”
“It’s a nice sum, but not that nice a sum,” said Gwyn.
“I don’t know how I am expected to work in the library with that young woman snapping her camera all day long.”
“It will do you some good, Arthur, to be exposed to a member of the general public.”
“She’s an American.”
“A member of the very general public.”
“And she doesn’t breathe when she talks. She just goes on and on and on.”
“Then she’ll certainly do you some good,” said Gwyn. “Someone who can give you a run for your money, conversationally speaking.”
“Miss Davis thinks our library isn’t fulfilling its purpose because we don’t have many users.” He had been thinking about what Miss Davis had said and considering how it might be addressed.
“Do we have any users other than you, Arthur?”
“A few,” said Arthur, “though, I admit, a very few. We don’t really have the staff to open the library to the general public.”
“The library is an underused resource, certainly.”