“What does it say?” said Bethany. “Does that last word mean what I think it means?”
Arthur found it hard to breathe. He knew he needed to read the passage in English to Bethany, but his lips did not seem to work. Coming to the end of a journey, he thought, was a funny thing. You never knew when the end might come or how it might affect you. He thought the journey had ended at Ewolda’s tomb, but there had been another bend in the road, leading to an even more astonishing ending. He realized that, like Bethany, he didn’t need every question answered. Nonetheless, the answers that lay before him—answers that would make Barchester a place of pilgrimage for millions and secure the future of the cathedral—took his breath away.
“Arthur?” said Bethany. “Are you there, Arthur, it’s me, Bethany.”
“Sorry,” said Arthur, finding his voice at last. “It’s just . . . well, let me read it to you.” He picked up the Latin transcription and scanned it once more, wanting to make his English translation as accurate as possible. Then he read.
Some years after Ewolda’s death, an old man in a dark cloak came to that place where she had fallen and with him he carried an ancient and holy cup, which he called a grael. He begged of Wigbert, who was by then the abbot of that place, permission to drink from the holy waters and he dipped the cup into the spring. When he had drunk he threw off his cloak and his skin glowed dazzling gold and he revealed himself as that same man who had brought the Gospel to Ewolda. And the man’s name was Arthur.
“King Arthur?” said Bethany. “King Arthur converted Ewolda to Christianity?”
“And King Arthur drank from Ewolda’s spring with a holy cup.”
“The Holy Grail.”
“Do you know what this means?” said Arthur. “This is a completely unknown reference to King Arthur and the Holy Grail. And even if this manuscript is from the sixteenth century, the story it tells predates every other record of Arthur.” Arthur felt almost disconnected from his own body as he read the words over and over. His grandfather had been right. There was a connection between Barchester and the Grail, and they had found it.
“It seems so . . . so real.”
“The skin glowing gold is a bit much.”
“Compared to ladies in lakes handing out swords it’s pretty tame,” said Bethany.
“It’s not a medieval romance.”
“No,” said Bethany.
“It’s a Saxon . . . well, something between a myth and a historical account.”
“But closer to the latter. After all, we know the spring and the tomb are there. Name one other Arthurian story that has that kind of physical evidence.”
“We’ve done more than save the library,” said Arthur. “We’ve made Barchester a major pilgrimage site. Even if the true Grail is only a myth, even if it’s real but it only visited Barchester briefly fifteen hundred years ago, the cup on the manuscript cover is meant to be the Holy Grail. And so is the cup in the medieval roof carving in the cloister.”
“And the cup in Bishop Gladwyn’s painting. I guess the chapter will want to get that back from the hotel.”
“People will come to see the Barchester Grail images,” said Arthur. “And they will come to read this paragraph, even if it is in code.”
“You’re going to need to rewrite the guidebook,” said Bethany with a smile.
“With pleasure.”
“And do it fast.”
“I’m sure the dean will want that,” said Arthur.
“I want it,” said Bethany.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m finished,” said Bethany. “I’m done with the job. The manuscripts are digitized and I’m going back to America.”
Arthur felt as if the breath had been knocked out of him. “When?”
“In a few days,” said Bethany. “I’m starting a new job.”
“In a few days? When were you going to tell me this?”
“You knew this day was coming, Arthur. Now, do you want to hear about my job?”
No, I don’t, thought Arthur, but he smiled weakly and said, “Of course.”
“I’m going to be curator of digital assets at the library of Ridgefield University.”
“Never heard of it,” said Arthur sourly.
“I’m surprised you haven’t. They have a great collection of rare books. Some nice medieval manuscripts, too.”
“Do I even want to know what digital assets are?” said Arthur. “I don’t, actually. I really don’t. I don’t even want to know that you’re going. I mean, fine, I never expected that this . . . this relationship would go anywhere, and I didn’t think you would stay here forever, but only a few more days? I mean, we only just . . . you know. And then there’s the manuscript and the tomb and the spring and King Arthur and the Holy Grail. The excitement is only just starting. How can you walk away from all that?”
“Jesus, Arthur, you sound like me. No wonder I drive you crazy. I know the manuscript and the tomb and all the rest of it will be in good hands. And this . . . us . . . it doesn’t have to end with me walking away.”
“What do you mean?” asked Arthur. The reality of her departure, which had hit him like a punch to the gut at first, now settled weightily on his shoulders and the exhaustion that adrenaline had kept at bay for the past several hours seemed to overwhelm him.
“Here,” said Bethany, handing him an envelope.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a job offer from Ridgefield. They want an Englishman in their English department, and I convinced them that the man who found the lost Book of Ewolda would be just the fellow. I’m sure the King Arthur bit will only make them that much more excited.”
“You got me a job?”
“A job offer.”
“In America?”
“All you have to do is believe, Arthur,” she said, bending over and kissing him on the cheek.
XVI
THE EPIPHANY CHAPEL
With its High Victorian décor, the Epiphany Chapel is one of the most beautiful spots in the cathedral. In the floor in front of the altar is the simple tomb of Bishop Gladwyn, who restored parts of the cathedral in the latter part of the nineteenth century. The stained glass window by Edward Burne-Jones depicts the moment that the Magi recognize Christ as divine—bestowing gifts upon him. Gladwyn thought this a perfect metaphor for his vision for the cathedral, and often prayed alone in this chapel.