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A SUPPLICANT'S TALE
(British Isles, 530 AD)
Setting down his tankard,
the Abbot sighed, and returned to his task. In the guttering tallow candlelight he strained to read the missive. An account
of a most peculiar interview with one Saint Severik, self-proclaimed Arian Hermit and Holy man.
And when he had done with these preparations, he turned askance at me and spread his hands upon his lap in a gesture of supplication,
staring long into them as if they contained something. And thus poised between the acts of turning or remaining, he spoke
steadily into his hands in a tone meet for a scribe. "I have had dreams, Jerome. I know that they are come from the Father.
See that you tell no one of this; yet I can no longer be silent, keeping my heart from thee. It is all too much for me. "
(Brother Jerome tended towards melodrama.)
A corner of his mouth shifted and the eye above it narrowed, the fingers of
his far hand curled over, and his eyes shifted briefly to his rough nails. He composed his features to evenness.
I must
admit that I was astounded by his tale, my brow and cheek flushed by the possibilities if it were true. The very air seemed
hot and still, and I could hear all the near and distant sounds with perfect clarity. I waited for a sign from God that it
might be true, some affirmation.
But none came. Why was my God so parsimonious with evidence and yet so generous with
this Arian heretic? Were they one and the same? These blasphemous thoughts so roiled my bodily humours that I became sickened
in the area of the stomach. I thought to myself; here is evidence of a sort! Evidence that this was for my Lord Abbots ears
alone! But..... What if it was the Grail?
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