Michael Spradlin - Keeper of the Grail

Except the pain didn’t come.

Robard rushed to my side, dropping to his knees. “My God! Tristan, please, please forgive me! I had no…I never thought…Please. I did not mean…” His eyes were wild and full of fear. He looked at the arrow, protruding as it did from my chest, and tears fell down his cheeks.

I sat up.

Robard gasped. “How? What?” He stared at me in wonderment.

I looked down at my chest and saw a miracle. Strong words, I know, and the brothers would take me to task for assigning such heavenly status to my own mere survival. But to me, it was a miracle, for I knew I should be dead, or at least gravely injured, and I was neither.

Then I saw the source of my miracle and almost wished I were dead instead. There could be only one explanation.

As I had leapt toward Robard from where I crouched beside the Assassin, the satchel that hung around my shoulder had swung upward with my forward momentum. As it did, it had moved to a spot in front of my chest, and Robard’s arrow had found not flesh, but the tough leather of the case. I was glad to be alive, but that feeling changed as soon as I noticed that the arrow had punctured the satchel where the Grail lay hidden in the false bottom.

When Robard realized I was alive and unharmed, he began to laugh hysterically, pounding me on the shoulders.

“Oh dear God,” he said. Nervous at the thought of what he had nearly done, his questions came rapidly. “Are you all right? Lucky for you that satchel stayed my arrow. Why did you do that? What were you thinking? Are you sure you are not hurt?”

“I’m fine, really. No harm.” In truth, I felt sick and wished very much to crawl into the bushes and empty my stomach of my last meal. But I sat there trying to steady my breathing and quiet the rushing sound in my ears.

“Then, Tristan, why? What were you thinking?” he asked.

I faced Robard, seeing a look of genuine curiosity on his face mixed with concern and anguish at what he had nearly done.

“Templars do not kill a defenseless enemy. Such an act is forbidden by our laws. I realize you are not bound by them, but I can’t allow you to harm the Assassin while he is injured. It isn’t right.”

Robard said nothing. He looked away for a moment, then stood and paced a few steps away. “I don’t believe in ‘rules of warfare,’” he said. “Nothing but foolishness. There are no rules except kill or be killed. Do you forget that he came to murder us in our sleep? To slit our throats while we lay dreaming?”

I finally felt steady enough to rise to my feet. “I don’t forget that at all, Robard. And in battle, I would strike him down and not think twice. As to murder, well, you have a point. But they did not murder us. We fought them hand to hand. Therefore, once the fight is over and he is helpless, then his life belongs to us. There is no honor in killing a defenseless man.”

“Honor! You sound like the Lionheart,” he said. And as always whenever he mentioned the King, he spat in the dirt for emphasis.

I did not know what to do. We really had no time for this. “We can discuss this later. But now we should see to this man’s wounds, then be on our way. Before the Assassins return.”

Robard paced back and forth several times within the circle of the rocks. Throwing up his hands he stalked off to the opening of the boulders to check over his bow and wallet.

I could not be angry with Robard. In many ways he was right. Anyway, I was glad to have a moment to myself. As much as I did not want to, I needed to look inside the hidden compartment of the satchel. I feared the worst. Robard’s arrow might have shattered the most sacred relic in all of Christendom. But to check on it I needed Robard to be gone temporarily. I couldn’t risk him seeing what I carried and asking questions.

I knelt by the Assassin. Apparently he had passed out again, but it appeared the bleeding had slowed. The arrow needed to be removed and that would not be pleasant. From what I could see of his face, the Assassin looked young, perhaps my age or even younger. That might have explained why our attackers broke and ran. Perhaps they were initiates and not full-fledged members of the cult. It could also explain why the two of us could drive them off. Otherwise we’d most certainly be dead.

“Robard, a favor if you please? I’m going to need to remove this arrow. Would you mind filling the water skin at the spring we used yonder? And if you could, find a small piece of wood, maybe the size of a finger in diameter. He’s going to need something to bite on when I pull it out.”

Robard glared at me with disdain, spitting on the ground and looking ready to launch into another round of arguments, but to my relief he took the water skin and left the boulders. He would be gone a few moments at least.

As I removed the satchel from my shoulder, it felt much heavier than I remembered. My nerves were so jangled, it felt for a moment as if I could barely lift it. I pulled the arrow free of the coarse leather and, setting it on the ground, undid the leather tie holding it closed to look inside.

Dumping all of my personal items from the bag, I thought to myself how I would explain this to Father William if I ever reached Rosslyn. “Hello, Father. Sir Thomas Leux sent me with the Grail. So sorry for the damage. Here it is. Well, good-bye then.” “The broken Grail, Father? Well now, there’s a tale. You see, my friend shot at me with an arrow, and rather than let it pierce my chest, I thought it wise instead to hide behind the cup of the Savior.” I would need to come up with a better story.

Lifting up the hidden bottom of the satchel, I held my breath. Robard’s arrow had pierced the leather and driven into the linen wrap. This was bad. This was horribly, horribly bad.

I was more nervous than I’d ever been. Here I was, a simple squire, about to lay eyes on something that had been the object of obsession for more than a thousand years. What would it look like? Would it change me? Taking a deep breath I grasped the cloth covering it.

It was a simple chalice made of fired clay, unremarkable, really, for all that had been written and told and made of it. I held history in my hands. Had this cup once held the blood of our Savior? Was this what men had fought and died over? An arrow shot from a longbow with enough force can easily pierce armor and mail. By all rights, Robard’s arrow should have turned it into holy shards. Instead, I found the Grail as it had been placed there by Sir Thomas. No scratches or cracks or defects of any kind.

The Holy Grail had not a mark on it.

Holding the Grail in my hands, I could scarcely believe my luck. Pulling it close to my eyes, I turned it slowly, but could find no imperfection of any kind. No scratch or indentation at all. I went limp with relief and quickly rewrapped the Grail in the linen cloth, restoring it to the secret compartment within the satchel. With my fingers, I pushed back on the leather around the space where the arrow had pierced the satchel and found that the hole closed up well and was not very noticeable. At the very least the white cloth would not show through the satchel wall and would hide the Grail well enough until I could find some way to repair the hole.

Pulling the satchel back over my shoulder, I turned my attention to the wounded Assassin on the ground. With my knife I carefully cut into the cloth of his garment around where the arrow had punctured his shoulder. The bleeding had stopped, but the arrow was buried deep in the flesh.

I had seen how Templar physicians removed arrows when injured knights returned from the battlefield. However, I had never performed this technique before on any living person. The most efficient way was to push the arrow all the way through, then cut off the arrowhead and pull the shaft back out. This was often not as easy as it sounded, for the arrowhead can encounter bone and muscle, causing more damage. But it was usually better than the damage caused by pulling the arrowhead out the way it went in.