“It was returned last summer by what the police called an anonymous intermediary.”
“Thank goodness,” said Bethany. “But listen, you’ve got to believe that I am not here looking for the Grail; I’m just here to digitize manuscripts. And if I did find the Grail . . . if we found the Grail, the last person I’d tell about it would be Jesse Johnson. You do believe me, don’t you?”
“It’s rather strange,” said Arthur, “what I do and don’t believe. I’m surrounded by a five-hundred-year-old monument to God, and I don’t believe in Him, but I believe in a cup that most people think is a myth or a legend. And I’m sitting here with someone who was a total stranger less than a month ago and with whom I was furious quite recently, but I believe her. I trust her. I trust you.”
“Thank you, Arthur,” said Bethany. “That means a lot to me. And do you know what else would mean a lot to me?”
“What?”
“Getting out of here before that candle burns out. So where is that memorial you need to transcribe?”
—
When they returned to the library, Arthur told Bethany all about his search for the Grail—how he had discovered the lions on the tower and the yew tree in the cloister. He shared his suspicion that the lost Book of Ewolda was somehow connected to the Grail. He showed her the marginalia in the medieval service book that spoke of a great treasure of Barchester and the note in the Stansby Morte d’Arthur about Barchester being the perfect place for that book.
“I should have noticed that,” said Bethany, “but I was only on chapter twenty-six.”
“What’s your favorite part?” said Arthur. “I mean apart from the Grail.”
“Merlin,” said Bethany. “I love his mysticism. He always felt very Old Testament to me, but like somebody from the Old Testament you’d actually want to sit down and talk to. They’re not all that way. I think I liked that he could be wise and kind and frightening all at once. My dad is a little like that, but he lacks the . . . I don’t know, the mystery. My dad is an open book and Merlin was anything but. And of course I love the idea that he transcended time. This idea that he might still be asleep in a cave somewhere—it’s very Christian in a way, but in a weird way that my dad would call heresy. Did you ever read C. S. Lewis’s space trilogy? He brings Merlin back in the third book.”
“I’ve read just about everything by Lewis,” said Arthur. “He was a nonbeliever who became a believer. I wanted to see if I thought I might follow in his path. A lot of my college friends scoffed at the space trilogy—I mean it is a bit muddled. But I liked parts of it, and I loved that Merlin was part of the story.”
“Who was your favorite?”
“My favorite C. S. Lewis character?”
“No, silly, your favorite in the Arthur stories.”
“I suppose it should be one of the ones who achieved the Grail. . . .”
“So, Percival, Bors, or Galahad?” said Bethany.
“It’s none of them,” said Arthur. “Oddly enough, my favorite was always Lancelot. I could never really relate to purity—the near perfection of the knights who saw the Grail. But Lancelot was anything but pure; Lancelot had faults but he was still a great knight. That seemed a lot more achievable to me.”
“So you wanted to be a knight?”
“Not as such,” said Arthur, “but I wanted to see that people with weaknesses could still have success. I think it was part of my whole struggle with belief. I went to a Church of England school and that’s when I started to love church without believing in God. As a child I thought that meant something was wrong with me—so I related to Lancelot. He defied the biggest rule in chivalry but he was still Arthur’s best friend and most talented knight.”
“Until the bit where his affair with Queen Guinevere brings the whole kingdom crashing down.”
“Well, there is that. But I still liked him.” They sat in silence for a moment, until they heard the sound of a bird in the cloister. Arthur wondered if it was a nightingale or a lark.
“Listen, as long as we’re telling secrets,” he said, “there’s one more thing you need to know. I’m not sure if it has anything to do with the Grail or the Book of Ewolda, and I might never have even found out if it hadn’t been for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“One of the names in the list of rectors of St. Cuthbert’s—the one that came right after Henry Albert Naylor—was my grandfather.”
“The same grandfather who told you to go Grail hunting but keep it a secret?”
“The same one. And eventually he was rector of Plumstead Episcopi, too.”
“The same posts that Naylor held. Arthur, your grandfather must be a part of this story, somehow.”
“It could just be a coincidence.”
“There are no coincidences,” said Bethany.
“That’s what he always said,” said Arthur.
VIII
THE HIGH ALTAR
In ancient religions the first altars were tombs; they later developed into places of sacrifice. At Barchester, the high altar is both. It serves as a tomb just once a year, when, after the Maundy Thursday service, the Communion elements, signifying the body and blood of Christ, are “entombed” in a chamber in the side of the altar as Christ’s death and burial are commemorated. From this “Easter sepulchre” the elements are retrieved when Christ’s Resurrection is proclaimed at the Great Vigil of Easter. As a place of sacrifice, the altar serves at least once a week, as the sacrificial service of the Eucharist is performed here.
1285, Priory of St. Ewolda