Ripples in the Chalice: A Tale of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 2) Read online

  Victor turned to the Germans and whispered, “This is where the coronation will take place. These priests are preparing for the ceremony.”

  Henry nodded, assuming they would enter the gated area, but Victor circled around to where the sanctuary met the basilica wall. There, an entry led to a flight of stairs disappearing beneath floor level.

  Twenty steps led to a terracotta chamber dimly lit by candles. Incense, smoke, musky sweat, and an earthy damp mildew odor pressed around a group of robed and hooded people.

  Victor lead the Germans through the crowd toward a man in a simple white robe. He was kneeling in prayer on the packed earthen floor. Politely Victor paused behind him.

  Henry and his men waited at the front of the crowd, silent in the twenty-odd crowd. Chant and incense filtered down to them from the priests praying above. He realized the sanctuary building above served as a shell covering this place: a place once open to the elements and graffiti-writing pilgrims on a windswept hill, holding the mausoleum of a man who once followed Christ. Ate with Him. Prayed with Him. Died for Him.

  Henry did not count himself a religious sort, but even he had to admit the antiquity of the place evoked a feeling of reverence.

  At last Victor leaned forward and whispered in the man’s ear, who turned his head slightly and nodded an acknowledgment. Slowly, stiff from hours of prayer, he rose to his feet with the aid of his attendant.

  He was aged, though not elderly, and crowned by a full head of gray hair well on its way to turning white. A square jaw, lined with time, sat beneath a sharp nose. With his back to the candlelight, his eyes were dark.

  He smiled congenially and approached, opening his arms in welcome. His body was lanky, straight, and healthy.

  “Welcome, King Henry, to the Confessio of Saint Peter,” he said in German. “I cannot tell you how pleased I am someone from House Salian is attending my coronation, hmm?”

  They bowed to each other, as did the others in Henry’s entourage.

  The man, Cardinal Teodorico, stood much taller than the King, almost as tall as Gustave.

  “I regret my presence couldn’t be more official, but as I’m sure you know, my oath as King of Germany is that I would not interfere with my father’s greater empire,” Henry responded, his lip curling ever so slightly at the last part. “You are correct, however, that a Salian should be present for your coronation. My father saw fit to make your predecessor a pope, and he should be here to see you enthroned as well. One of many areas we disagree.”

  Teodorico shrugged slightly. “To be fair to your father, this occasion was not necessarily expected, hmm? We had expected my predecessor to recover from his long sickness, yet he passed rather suddenly. Also, this occasion was not necessarily advertised. The invitation list was short, hmm, yes?”

  Henry paused in thought, and he said, “Your willingness to take on the mantle of antipope is commendable, but I must say I am surprised at your choice to keep your election secret. Your letters said something of a ‘greater plan?’”

  “Becoming the Pope of the Opposition, or ‘antipope’ as you call it, is only the beginning, hmm?” Teodorico said. “My predecessor Clement made little headway towards uniting Christendom under one papal rule. I have no intentions of being just as ineffectual, hmm? From what I gather from your letters in our correspondences, you feel similar about your father’s difficulties in calming civil strife in the empire? What if I offered a path that unites us all, hmm?”

  “One empire, one emperor, one pope,” Henry stated, nodding. “How does keeping your election secret further that?”

  “On occasion, especially when a Church official is in a hostile environment,” Teodorico explained, “it would not be safe or expedient for a priest’s elevation to the position of cardinal to be publicly known. Once identified, his enemies will try to eliminate him, hmm, yes?”

  Henry nodded, adding, “Like taking out the leaders on the battlefield.”

  “Precisely!” the cardinal said enthusiastically, gesturing at Henry as if encouraging a bright student. “Such cardinals are called ‘Cardinalis in Pectore’—Cardinal in the Breast, or ‘Hidden Cardinal.’ Likewise, I plan on being ‘Papa in Pectore’, hmm? Hidden Pope, until I am secure from a position of strength. I will initially accomplish more as a secret pope, procuring that which I need to reveal myself from a position of such strength, nobody will deny I am the one, true pope, hmm? And I will be free to perform a coronation on a one, true emperor, hmm, yes?”

  Teodorico gestured at the young king with open hands.

  At this moment Henry realized two things. One, Teodorico’s speaking proclivity was a stutter of sorts, and stutterers always made him laugh. And two, Teodorico’s revelation, after all the vague statements and insinuations in their correspondences to date, finally confirmed what he had hoped: Teodorico belonged to him. If he played his pieces right, that is. Which he fully intended on doing to ensure positioning this piece in its proper place. The latter fact kept Henry from laughing and ruining their negotiations. Henry did smile though, pleased at what he heard, and amused by how he heard it.

  “And what do you plan on doing to secure your position of irrefutable strength?” he asked, curious.

  Teodorico drew in a breath as he drew up his height.

  “Coronations, crowns, thrones, and crosses... These are all symbols giving strength to those who bear them. They are power,” he said, approaching Saint Peter’s tomb, raising his hands reverently at the stone wall. Turning back to Henry, he added, “They give meaning and purpose. They are beacons to the people, who are comforted by them and follow them without question. Bear the right symbol, and the people will follow you to the ends of the earth. It is why your father went to such great lengths to be crowned emperor by a pope, hmm, yes?”

  Teodorico took quick steps towards a little window from which wafted the chants and sweet smelling incense. He stabbed a finger at it.

  “There, across the river, sitting in luxury in the Lateran Palace, is Pope Paschal the Second,” the cardinal sneered. “Why is he there, presiding over the Cathedral of Rome, hmm? And my predecessor, the previous antipope, died outside walls that should have been his, hmm? And my coronation is being held in darkness, hmm, yes?”

  Henry realized the questions rhetorical and patiently waited for the answer. Though he had a difficult time not smiling as the cardinal’s stutter became more pronounced the more excited the man became.

  “Because his predecessor held a symbol legitimizing his party’s claim to the papacy,” Teodorico’s voice fell almost to a whisper.

  “Jerusalem,” Henry whispered back.

  “Sì,” Teodorico said. “Jerusalem. Pope Urban managed to reclaim the Holy Land from the heathens with an army of crusaders. Therefore, Urban’s papacy was perceived as the righteous one. So the people follow his successor today. Their party isn’t more righteous, more special. They merely hold a symbol, hmm, yes?”

  “You plan on performing a greater victory?” Henry asked.

  “No,” Teodorico responded dramatically. “I plan on possessing a greater symbol.”

  The cardinal returned to the red wall, placed a hand gently on its surface. The glow of the candles on the shelf rimmed him in light.

  “What do you know of the Isle of Avalon?” he asked.

  He kept his back to the king, waiting for a response.

  “The Britannien island from the stories of the Knights of the Round Table?” Henry said, unable to keep his brow from knitting in confusion. “It is a legend. A place full of Valkyries that took König Arthur to his final resting place.”

  Teodorico faced the young king, smiled slyly, and said, “Not a legend. A very real place. One of the British Isles, though secret and hidden—much like everything we talk about tonight, hmm?”

  The cardinal approached Henry and stood uncomfortably close, his gaze serious and his height intimidating. Suddenly he didn’t seem like such a silly old man with a stutter.

  “I guess b
y your reaction you also do not know of the Greensprings School, hmm, yes?”

  Henry shook his head. None of this sounded familiar and it angered him that he felt at a disadvantage.

  “Your father has been keeping secrets from you,” Teodorico wagged a finger at him. “As emperor, he and other rulers have been sending young nobles to a secret school on Avalon.”

  “I doubt it,” Henry scoffed. “He wouldn’t—couldn’t—keep such a secret from me. He was so high and mighty on my own education, he definitely would have sent me to such a special school.”

  “Not this school,” the cardinal almost laughed. “This school was meant to teach peace and cooperation. Things your father viewed as soft and weak. He had no trouble sending his enemies’ children there. Make them more submissive, hmm, yes? But not you. He would not want that for you. Not his son.”

  Henry froze, not sure what to think. Now that he thought about it, his father was perfectly capable of keeping secrets from him, as he was obviously capable of far worse. What surprised him was that his father might have believed in his skills as a future king.

  He resisted the temptation to turn to Gustave and angrily ask, Did you know?

  Instead, he hid his feelings and addressed the cardinal crisply.

  “How is it you would know of such things, but not the son of the emperor?”

  Teodorico wisely chose to remove the gloating from his voice. “Privately I may be a loyal imperialist, but publicly I do serve my cardinal duties for Paschal and his reformers, hmm? How else can I remain in Rome? Therefore, I am not only aware of a certain department within the Roman Curia that oversees this school, called the Board of Benefactors, but I am the appointed cardinal who oversees the overseers, hmm, yes?”

  Henry frowned. “If they believe so much in their mission, why keep the school secret?”

  “That many noble eggs in one basket would tempt a fox to come along and snatch them up, yes?” the cardinal said. “Therefore, it is a school in Pectore, watched over by a Cardinalis in Pectore. The island hides behind a miraculous mist that is next to impossible to navigate. Also, the students are housed in a mighty fortress, the Keep at Greensprings, guarded by an order of knights called the Avangarde.”

  Henry felt his eyes narrow. “I still don’t see how an Avalon compares to a Jerusalem.”

  “It’s what’s in Avalon that I seek, hmm?” Teodorico explained. “The symbol of symbols, that will make reclaiming the Holy Land look like child’s play. One of the Avangarde is a crusader who went on quest and brought back with him a wondrous cup that performed miracles, hmm? Understand, yes?”

  Henry’s teeth ground. He did not like being led like an ass by the nose.

  “I understand I’m losing patience,” he said levelly.

  The cardinal made a conciliatory gesture as he continued. “Don’t you see, hmm? The legends are true: Avalon is the place where the Holy Grail resides. The Cup of the Last Supper. The Lord’s Cup. The vessel that caught the blood of Jesus Christ as it spilled from the wound in his side.”

  Henry felt muscles relax in his face as the implication dawned on him, but then just as quickly disappointment settled in his gut.

  “A crusader?” he almost scoffed. “That is not surprising. The country overflows with veterans of the war coming home from the Holy Land telling fanciful tales. They bring tales of Saint George and dragons.”

  “Agreed, hmm?” Teodorico conceded. “But many witnesses saw this crusader, this Avangarde, place the contents of the cup to the lips of a dead woman and bring her back to life before the altar in the church. The Greensprings annals document this, naming the knight by name: one Sir Patrick Gawain, hmm, yes?”

  Henry remained silent for a moment, mulling his thoughts. “And what if it is true? May I remind you my father already possesses the Spear of Destiny—the very relic that caused the blood of Christ to flow into the cup in the first place—yet, despite the legends surrounding it, he has not been able to put down all rebellions or further his empire. What would the cup accomplish?”

  “Your Highness is most astute, hmm?” Teodorico’s confident smile almost lit up the chamber. “Firstly, your father indeed holds the Spear of Destiny in his treasury. But it is incomplete. It is missing its tip and therefore the legend that any ruler who possesses the weapon will stand undefeated in battle is only partially fulfilled. A situation you only stand to inherit unless something changes, hmm, yes?”

  Henry shifted uneasily at the accuracy of the statement.

  “Secondly, the Cup of the Last Supper is a vessel of healing, and it is complete.” Teodorico continued. “He who holds the cup will be viewed as God’s chosen leader of the Church, hmm?”

  “And you plan on keeping the cup for yourself. I see,” Henry concluded. “How does this help me?”

  “It is my firmest belief God intended for the mighty Empire to hold the spear to protect God’s flock, and for the loving Church to hold the cup to nurture, hmm, yes?”

  Henry’s heart leaped with possibilities, but he maintained his composure.

  “Keep the flock in line and docile,” he summarized, nodding.

  “Another way of putting it, yes, hmm?” Teodorico agreed. “With your support I will be a most grateful ally doing his part to keep the flock docile. With a symbol like the Cup of the Last Supper in my possession, we can be united as a family. One empire, one emperor, one pope. Everyone happy and benefiting, hmm, yes?”

  Henry fought to keep from chewing his lower lip. His eyes ached. He could find no hint of deception in the cardinal’s reasoning.

  Though the discussion did not transpire exactly as Henry pictured it, and he certainly resented the old man’s pretensions, their meeting was going well. After some thought he had to admit the cardinal’s plan had merit. In fact, it rather pleased him. He just didn’t want to appear cowed into it without first obtaining essential concessions of his own.

  Do not behave the rash fifteen year old everyone believes you to be, he reminded himself. Chief among them, your father.

  “Indeed, everyone must benefit,” he said rigidly. “Your plan shows promise, but first let us be clear what those mutual benefits might be.”

  “Very well, hmm?” Teodorico smiled, exhaling his own apprehensions. “I will remain supreme pontiff, hmm, yes?”

  “Of course,” Henry conceded, “but your papacy, and indeed all bishops in the empire, will be staffed by those who meet my approval. Future popes will be of my choosing alone.”

  Teodorico hesitated momentarily, putting on the pretense of considering some response other than the one Henry knew he had to make for these discussions to move forward.

  “Absolutely,” the cardinal said at last. “I agree with you and your father in this matter. It is no accident that kings and emperors are worldly leaders of God’s people. It is by divine appointment and it only makes sense their leadership should decide who guides their people spiritually, hmm? It is a travesty Paschal and his party insist otherwise, perpetuating the conflicts tearing the empire apart, hmm, yes?”

  Henry allowed himself a smile as he sensed the playing piece taking up its position on the board.

  “However,” Teodorico added, “those individuals who present themselves with proper credentials and meet our approval can purchase their positions, hmm, yes?”

  Henry licked his lips, savoring the idea of future revenues for his coffers. “So long as we share equally in the purchase price.”

  Teodorico smiled and inclined his head in agreement.

  “Finally,” the cardinal said, “you will uphold the institution of clerical marriage.”

  Henry shrugged, saying, “I care not what men of the cloth do beneath the covers, I care more from what cloth they are made. You may keep your concubines.”

  Teodorico made a face and tsked.

  “‘Concubine’ is such an unpleasant word. I merely suggest men of the cloth are granted access to the worldly pleasures all men deserve. After all,” the cardinal said and ges
tured with his chin at the red wall, “even Peter had a mother-in-law, proving holy men could and should marry.”

  A pause followed, and the chanting above came to a halt, filling the chamber with silence.

  “We are in agreement then?” Henry stated at last.

  The cardinal inclined his head.

  “As overseer of overseers, I imagine it should be a simple matter for you to obtain this cup?” Henry asked.

  Teodorico pursed his lips, replying, “Though I may be the shepherd, the sheep are numerous and have a tendency to stray, hmm? It won’t be a simple matter, but I assure you the cup will be mine soon enough, especially if I have certain resources at my disposal, hmm, yes?”

  Henry resisted rolling his eyes. Of all things to happen this night, it was the most expected of things, but still the one that galled him the most. “I trust that a large donation to the Church, in your keeping of course, will suffice to secure these resources—and the cup?”

  “Absolutely, your highness,” Teodorico purred.

  Just then Victor, who had slipped out unnoticed earlier, returned and made a sign to the cardinal.

  “Ah, the timing is divine,” the cardinal said. “It would appear all preparations for my coronation are in place. Now, if you will all allow me a final moment with Saint Peter, I will join you above soon.”

  The robed crowd began to shuffle about and ascend the staircase.

  One figure approached the cardinal, removing her hood to reveal a stunningly beautiful woman. Henry blinked. She stood almost as tall as the cardinal, with long dark hair that glinted auburn in the candlelight. Her skin glowed with an olive tone, and her sharp features accompanied a regal nose—all indicating some indistinct Mediterranean heritage. Her thin eyebrows, almost appearing painted on her, delicately arched over her wide brow. Her eyes glittered clear and amber in the darkness.

  Judging from her body language and the proximity to which she stood next to Teodorico, she held a special place with the cardinal.

  “Why, Your Eminence,” Henry said, taking a step forward to join the couple. “Your lady is quite lovely.”