Mary Reed - One for Sorrow

Thomas smiled ruefully. “I forgot even the laborers here are theologians. And so Jesus finally spoke. This was one who had performed miracles, raised the dead. Now he struck out with a terrible curse. The torments of flesh scourged and beaten had driven even him to despair.”

John nodded wordlessly.

Thomas continued. “Thus it was that he foretold that the man who had so mocked him must wander the earth until the end of the world. And then he staggered on to his terrible death. And as for the man. His name was Ahasuerus.”

The flame in the lamp on the round table where the men sat leapt and sizzled, guttering in a draft.

“That was five centuries ago, Thomas. Surely you don’t believe the soothsayer Ahasuerus is the man you just mentioned?”

“I do. And what is more, if the stories I’ve heard are true, he is the keeper of the Grail. That also was part of his fate.”

“Well, by all reports, the soothsayer has drowned.”

“You believe that?”

“The patriarch does.”

Thomas took a deep draft of wine, then shook his head. “He cannot drown, John. He is doomed to live until the end of the world. But is he now beyond my reach, along with this precious Grail? Yes, that, alas, is certainly possible.”

“You say you followed him to Constantinople?”

“Yes. As I said, I almost caught him in Antioch. He had done readings there, and become well-known. I learned of his whereabouts from a barber who regularly trimmed the beard of a night watchman. This watchman reported he had seen the man I sought pass through the city gates before dawn that very morning, sitting in the back of a rag seller’s cart. On this chance information, I purchased a horse and set off, expecting to catch up by nightfall. But just outside Antioch the road passes through a swampy region along the river. I don’t believe that road could have been constructed by Romans, the stones were so badly laid, but I whipped the horse on, Mithra forgive me.”

He stared sorrowfully into his cup for a time before resuming. “The poor beast caught a hoof in a hole and its leg snapped like a dry stick. I was thrown and ended up in the river. Nearly drowned, I did, and broke my own leg besides. I recuperated for weeks in a nearby hostel, nursed with lepers and dying flagellants and others of a religious nature. As you see, I still have a limp.”

“How were you able to follow his trail here after all that time?”

“I was informed that the rag seller whose cart he had ridden off on was actually smuggling silks. The head of the hostel was a customer. He told me the rag seller had gone to Constantinople. Again, I took a chance, hoping that I would find the soothsayer had come here too.”

The two men fell silent. The racket in the tavern washed over them. Sailors from every corner of the empire were quarreling and trading boasts, but were any telling a tale as wild as Thomas’ account?

“A fantastic story, Thomas. It has the sound of some poet’s concoction.”

“I wouldn’t know. I am not a learned man.”

“Which is not to say you lack imagination. What do you know of this Grail?”

“It is the most powerful of all relics.”

“Here in Constantinople we have several fragments of that very cross that Jesus dragged through the streets, the pillar to which he was tied while scourged, and his crown of thorns, to name but a few. Not to mention several heads of John the Baptist. We also set great store in the Virgin’s girdle. These holy relics are said to protect Constantinople. I would prefer to face a Persian with a sword rather than a relic but then, as you know, I am not a Christian. And neither are you. So why seek this Grail? Could you not serve your king in other ways?”

“The world has seen many religions and many miracles. What one person might attribute to one god, another might credit to some different deity. It is all a mystery to us mortals. But if the edge of my sword draws blood when the need arises, does it matter what forge it came from?”

“True enough. What does this Grail look like?”

Thomas admitted he was not certain.

“That complicates the finding of it, then.”

“Oh, there are many tales. Some say it is a cup, others insist it takes the form of a plate. Still others believe it is a magickal stone.”

“A stone?”

“Yes. It isn’t the form that’s important. Jesus manifested himself in human flesh, after all.”

John took Leukos’ pouch from his belt. He had been carrying it since the reading of the will at the Quaestor’s office that morning. Opening it, he pushed aside the piece of linen, and drew from amidst the necklace and coins, the green stone.

“Could it look like this? It belonged to Leukos.”

Thomas’ eyes widened.

“The soothsayer was in the habit of giving them to all of his clients,” John explained. “But they can’t all be Grails. Anatolius has one, too. May I remind you there was also a monk who reportedly sold fifteen hands of Saint Prokopios?”

“Yes, you’re right, they couldn’t all be what I seek, but don’t you think it shows…?”

The knight’s hand twitched and John wondered if he was thinking of reaching for the stone. Thomas watched intently as it was returned to the pouch.

Thomas looked distressed. “Berta’s pendant had a stone just like that. It was the talisman she tried to use on my leg. If someone mistook it for the Grail, could that be why she was murdered, and her grave violated?”

“Is there anyone else searching for this Grail? Tell me, were you at Isis’ house the night Berta died?”

“You accuse me? A fellow Mithran?”

“Are you a Mithran, or is that a ruse to make me trust you? Who told you about the mithraeum?”

“A man at the inn dropped a hint about another man who mentioned off-hand someone else…we gave the appropriate signs…you understand how it works.”

John nodded. “I shall return home now, Thomas. I trust I will not run into you again this evening.”

Old habits die slowly, and John, a veteran of many military encampments, still retained his ability to sleep lightly no matter how strenuous his day. It was a practice that was useful in Constantinople, where a court official camped as near to his enemies as did any soldier on the Persian border.

In sleep, John remained almost consciously alert for sounds of danger. Thus, while the downpour which dowsed the roofs of the city and their many crosses was merely a soothing background noise, a faint rustle in the hall screamed out that someone was making a stealthy approach.

John woke and, moving more silently than the intruder, was positioned behind the door by the time it swung open. His visitor paused. The lamp in the hall had gone out or been extinguished, for the opened door admitted no light into John’s room.

Lightning flickered briefly as the intruder stepped forward, to be greeted with a choke hold.

A choke hold that was quickly released as John felt a woman’s soft hip pressed against his thigh.

“Do you usually welcome ladies in this fashion?” Cornelia gasped, rubbing her throat. She turned to face him, but did not step away.

“Ladies who arrive unannounced at this hour are usually not ladies, and more often than not visit with evil intent.”

“I couldn’t sleep after all the excitement. I thought you might be awake too. I was hoping we might talk.”

She was wearing only a thin sleeping tunic, and John was aware of her breasts brushing his chest. “Of course.”

Cornelia closed the door and sat down uninvited on John’s bed. The ropes holding its cotton-filled mattress creaked under her slight weight. He lit the lamp on the chest by the window and sat down next to her as she looked around.