'The Rose of Mystic Virtue,' he announced, savouring the words. Eyes shining with excitement, he looked from one to the other of his guests, and seeing the uncomprehending expressions, exclaimed, 'Here! Does the name mean nothing to you?'

'Upon my word, it does not,' Cait confessed, beguiling in her innocence. 'What does it betoken?'

'The holiest, most worshipful object that ever was known,' declared the archbishop. 'It is nothing less than the very cup used by our Lord and Saviour in the holy communion of the Last Supper.'

Yes! Cait's heart quickened. At last! Oh, and what a rare treasure indeed. Beyond price, to be sure. The treasure of the ages, she thought, remembering the description on the parchment, our very real and manifest hope for this present age and the kingdom to come.

It was all she could do to keep from laughing out loud for the sheer joy of having discovered the secret. Oh, yes! she thought, this is what I have been catted to do. Like my father and grandfather before me, I am to seek a prize worth kingdoms!

Adopting a more solemn tone, she said, 'But how do you know? I mean no disrespect, my lord archbishop, but it has been lost a very long time, as you have said. Forgive my asking, but how does anyone know it is the selfsame cup?'

'It is a fair question,' allowed Bertrano, 'and one I did not hesitate to ask myself. But the good brother who brought this discovery to my attention is stalwart and trustworthy. I have known him for many years as a priest of unquestionable faith and character. Furthermore, he is most adamant about the provenance of the holy relic. In fact, it was his revelation that prompted my letter to the pope.

'You see, ever since the reconquest began, the Moors have been pushed slowly but steadily further and further south and east. Many of the Moors who used to live on the plains and in the valleys have fled to the hills and mountains to escape the king's relentless pursuit. Thus, unless its loss can be prevented, it is only a matter of time before the most sacred and holy relic ever known falls into the hands of the infidel.'

'I understand,' replied Rognvald thoughtfully. 'Then the pope must have passed the letter on to Master de Bracineaux.'

'Who else?' asked the archbishop. 'No doubt the pope entrusted the task of recovering the holy relic to the Templars. It follows, since the commander would be charged with guarding this inestimable treasure once it has been returned to its proper position as the centrepiece of our faith. Indeed, that, to my mind, will be the most difficult part-protecting it from the Saracens, heathens, pagans, and Greeks who would undoubtedly try to steal it so as to mock our glorious salvation.'

'Do you know where it is?' Cait asked, unable to keep the tremble of excitement out of her voice.

'No.' Archbishop Bertrano shook his head. 'And I do not wish to know. Owing to Brother Matthias' careful directions, however, it should be easy enough to find.'

'The directions-were they in the letter?' said Cait, thinking of the obscure text she had not been able to read.

Again, the archbishop shook his head; he reached for the flagon and refilled his cup. 'No,' hie said, between gulps of wine, 'I did not think it wise to trust information of such importance to a mere letter.' He lowered his cup, and smiled with sly satisfaction. 'Instead, I told the pope where to find Brother Matthias; the good brother knows where the cup is to be found. And I wrote the directions in a secret language.'

Cait was about to ask the nature of this secret language, but Rognvald spoke first. 'Very wise,' he agreed. 'You seem to have thought of everything.' He poured himself more wine, and filled Caitriona's cup as well. 'But now, everything has changed. If we are to help protect the Mystic Rose, then we will need to know where to find Brother Matthias.'

'In time, my impatient friend,' replied the churchman. 'All in good time. First, you must find fearless and trustworthy men to help you. From the little Matthias has related, I believe the Sacred Cup resides in Aragon far away-in the mountains somewhere, if I am not mistaken – and there are a great many Saracens between here and there. You will need troops.'

Rognvald slapped the table with the flat of his hand. 'Ask and it shall be given,' he declared jubilantly. 'As it happens, I have men with me – countrymen who were imprisoned with me in Damascus. They are sworn liegemen, tried and true; I trust them with my life.'

The archbishop raised his hands in benedictory praise. 'Truly, you have been sent by God himself for this very purpose.' Turning to Cait, he said, 'My lady, you can no longer have any objection to your noble husband pursuing this enterprise. It is blessed and ordained by the Lord God himself, and Heaven stands ready to pour out grace and honour and glory upon any who undertake this service.'

Rognvald regarded Cait with the look of a loving husband. 'What say you, dear heart? Will you allow it?'

At the knight's use of the intimate term-the one her father had so often used in their talk together-her throat tightened and it was a moment before she could answer. 'Yes,' she replied at last, gazing at Rognvald with genuine admiration, 'I will allow it. How could I, a mere woman, stand against Heaven's decree?'

Having taken their leave of Archbishop Bertrano, Cait and Rognvald stood up from the table and walked through the dark and quiet streets of Compostela alone. Save for occasional roisterers, whose loud singing echoed from the walls and galleries round about, they had the city to themselves; respectable townsfolk were asleep in their beds.

'Lying to an archbishop, now,' Rognvald said, shaking his head in mock remorse, 'that is a very low thing.'

'De Bracineaux dead in prison,' remarked Cait. 'If I had my way he would be.' She regarded the tall knight with a new appreciation. 'Wherever did you think of that? I confess, when I heard you say it, I thought you had taken leave of your senses.'

'I know we agreed that we should pretend the pope had commissioned us to look into the matter on his behalf, but that did not sit well with me. It raised more questions than it answered.'

'You might have warned me,' she said, her tone more irritable than she felt.

'In truth, I did not think of it until I said it.'

'Well, it all came right in the end,' she allowed. 'What is more, it was a better tale by far. Indeed, you told it with such conviction, I began to believe it myself.'

'Thank you, my lady,' said Rognvald, pleased to have earned her guarded praise.

'God willing,' she added, 'we will be far away from here before anyone learns otherwise.'

They walked the rest of the way in silence, listening to the roisterers and the crickets chirruping in the long grass beside the walls. Upon reaching the inn they found the doors barred and locked, but Rognvald's insistent rapping on the door eventually roused the disgruntled landlord who took his time letting them in. Caitriona, enraptured with their triumph and exhilarated by Bertrano's revelations, lay down on her bed and tried to compose her mind. It was no use. Her thoughts whirled with gleaming images of the wonderful treasure waiting for her, the Mystic Rose, Chalice of Christ-even the sound of the words on her lips made her feel quivery inside with an almost unbearable excitement. The most holy object in the world and she, herself alone, had been given the task of finding it, and protecting it.

Oh, but that was not all, far from it. For, once she had the sacred relic in her possession, she could use it to lure Renaud de Bracineaux to his richly deserved doom. Her thoughts teemed with ways to bring about his demise. Time and again she brought his fleshy, grey-bearded face before her mind's eye and imagined his astonished expression as the realization broke upon him that he had been bested by the daughter of the man he had so rashly, thoughtlessly, viciously murdered. Just how and where this fateful meeting would take place, she could not determine. But time and again she imagined the moment when cold, implacable justice would find its fulfilment.