'Should the archbishop fail to recover,' Rognvald said, amending his words, 'his death would place both Hasan and the village in peril.'

'Blame would inevitably fall upon the Moors,' the prince explained. 'There would be reprisals. The Spanish kings would insist.'

Cait nodded. 'I see.'

'And then there is the question of what to do with the surviving Templars,' said Rognvald. 'There are nine altogether-de Bracineaux's sergeant among them.'

'They cannot have been privy to their commander's wicked schemes,' Brother Timotheus pointed out. 'We must show clemency.'

'But we cannot allow them to simply ride away as if nothing happened,' said Hasan.

'Would you imprison them?' said the priest.

Seeing a tedious discussion stretching ahead of them, Cait stood. 'Please, excuse me. I want to see Bertrano. Where is he?'

'He is in the church,' Timotheus said. 'We thought it best not to move him just yet.'

'Allow me to attend you,' Rognvald said; rising, he took her arm. Cait covered his hand with hers and let the touch linger for a moment. Then, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, she removed it, saying, 'I am well enough, my lord. Stay and finish your talk. I will return when I have seen how the good bishop fares.'

She moved to the entrance where Elantra opened the door for her, then walked with her out into a fresh, crisp day. The sun was high; it had passed midday and the sky was clear and bright and blue. The dead had been removed from the battleground, and were now placed in orderly rows beside the church where Prince Hasan's men and most of the villagers were working over them, removing armour, weapons, clothing, and boots – anything that could be of use to the living.

As she drew near the church, she saw that someone had tried to dig a grave; a long, narrow rectangle had been scraped in the snow, and the green turf beneath was cut. But the ground was too hard, so the work had been abandoned. Down by the lake, she saw men working to erect a wooden pyre; the corpses would be burned.

Upon entering the church, she stood for a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Then she saw, against the south wall, a heap of wadded cloaks; around it huddled three or four nuns, and Halhuli, sitting on his heels, his hands resting idly in his lap. They turned to look as Cait entered, then returned to their vigil as Alethea rose to greet her sister. The two met and embraced without speaking; they simply stood and held one another. After a time, Cait whispered, 'Thank you, Thea.'

They held one another for a little longer, and then Alethea said, 'They were going to burn the village and the abbey. Once they got hold of the Blessed Cup, they were going to destroy everything.'

'How do you know?'

'The Templars confessed it. Dag and Svein and the others were securing the prisoners, and they told them de Bracineaux had ordered them to destroy everything and kill everyone because he did not want anyone left alive to tell what had happened.'

Cait shook her head in bewilderment and started the pain clawing at her throat again.

Alethea saw her wince, and raised a hand to Cait's neck, touching the bandage gently. 'I think it will leave a scar.'

'I will recover; they say Bertrano may not.'

Alethea nodded. 'His wound is very bad, but it does not seem to pain him overmuch.'

They walked together to the makeshift bed where the archbishop lay. Halhuli rose and said, 'I have made him comfortable. Now we can but wait, and pray the Great Healer to perform a wonder.' Cait thanked him, whereupon he inclined his head in a bow and departed.

The nuns made room for Cait and Alethea as they took their places beside the bishop. Bertrano lay quietly, hands folded over his stomach as if in peaceful meditation. Cait thought he was asleep, but when she had, with Alethea's help, knelt down beside him, Bertrano opened his eyes and smiled weakly. 'You still have your head, my dear,' he said. 'That is good.'

'And we still have the Holy Chalice,' she replied, returning his smile. 'I must ask your forgiveness, archbishop. None of this would have happened if not for me. I am sorry.'

'If not for you and your dauntless sister, dear lady, de Bracineaux would be halfway to Jerusalem with the cup by now. Even so, I do forgive you. Lying to an archbishop is a sin-only a very minor sin, mind, for everyone does it. Still, I would not recommend making a practice of it.' He raised his hand and traced the sign of the cross. 'In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I absolve you.'

Cait leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. 'Thank you, my lord archbishop.'

'And you, dear girl,' he said to Alethea, 'are a very brave and intrepid adversary. I absolve you, too. Any ill the commander suffered, he brought upon himself. He alone was the author of his demise.'

'My only thought was for my sister,' Alethea replied, 'and for the Blessed Cup.'

'He would have kept it, you know,' Bertrano told them. 'Once de Bracineaux had it, he would never have given it up.'

'Well, it is safe now,' said Alethea.

'No,' the archbishop shook his head weakly. 'The Holy Cup will never be safe here again. Sooner or later, others will come and it will be taken.'

Abbess Annora appeared just then, holding a steaming bowl on a tray; Sister Besa was with her, carrying a pile of clean, folded cloths. She acknowledged Cait's presence with a kindly nod, and placed the tray beside the bed. 'We must change the bandage,' she said as, with Alethea's ready help, she knelt down beside Cait.

'In a moment,' said the archbishop. To Cait he said, 'Annora has been telling me that you have been chosen to become the next Guardian of the Sacred Chalice.'

'So it would seem,' Cait answered.

'Show him,' whispered Alethea.

Cait stretched out her hands, palms up, and drew back the sleeves of her robe so that the churchman could see the marks of the stigmata on her wrists.

Archbishop Bertrano placed a finger lightly on the livid mark. 'The foolishness of God is wiser than the wisdom of men. It is a heavy charge that is laid upon you, daughter. Still, your only freedom lies there-if you will accept it. That I do believe.'

'So do I,' replied Cait, realizing as she spoke the affirmation that she had decided to answer the call.

'Good.' He smiled, and a spasm of pain passed over his face. He closed his eyes and held his breath. When it was over, he opened his eyes again; they were a little duller this time, his gaze slightly less intense.

'Perhaps you should rest now,' suggested Thea.

'Soon I shall have all the rest I need,' Archbishop Bertrano replied.

'Let us change your bandage now,' said Annora. 'You will feel better.'

'A moment longer, and then you can have me,' he replied. 'I told Caitriona that the Blessed Cup will not be safe here any longer. Because of my infernal meddling, too many people know about it now. If it remains here, it will only bring trouble to the village; they would never know a moment's peace again.' He reached out and took Cait's hand. 'But it has pleased God to choose you. Therefore, I bid you take it. Take it far from here, and hide it well. One day the time will come when it can be revealed once more. Keep it safe until then.'

Cait lifted his hand and brought it to her lips. 'By the strength and wisdom of God, I will, my lord archbishop.'

'There now. That is settled.' Bertrano smiled again. 'Now, if I might make one last request of you, dear abbess.'

'Certainly,' Annora replied. 'Anything.'

'I should like to receive the Holy Sacrament of the Cup once before I die.'

'Of course, archbishop.'

'Could we do it now, do you think? I do not wish to keep the ferryman waiting.'

'At once, my lord.' The abbess retrieved the Holy Chalice from its place on the altar, and Cait and Alethea watched as she proceeded to administer the holy rite to the dying man. Kneeling at his bedside, she spoke so softly to him that none in the room heard what passed between them, but in the end, when Bertrano drank from the cup, a smile of such serenity and pleasure lit his features that each one present felt as if they had seen a little of Heaven's bright glory reflected on his face.