Whoever would sup in Paradise, let him eat with me!
And spurring toward the enemy he overturned and killed the first Turk he met. Of an instant he himself was slain. Yet he died rejoicing, emboldened, strengthened by his love of Jesus, finding glory in Heaven while he lay bleeding on earth. So others rode out to give battle but could not overwhelm these Turks and were forced backward through the narrow gate. More than one hundred suffocated. As noble Boethius has written, at the price of glorious death shall men earn fame that future generations venerate.
Now occurred a miracle. A servant from Provence, by name Bartholomew, lay alone in his tent when the earth began to shake, whereupon he cried out to God. Then he beheld Saint Andrew, who said he should go to the church of Saint Peter where he would be shown the lance that pierced the side of our Lord as He hung upon the cross. And suddenly, as if they had flown hand in hand, they entered the north door of the church. Saint Andrew vanished. Presently he came back with the lance that opened the side of our Lord, whence flowed the salvation of the world. This inestimable relic he offered to the servant who wept for joy.
When the horror of battle threatens, Saint Andrew said, this shalt thou turn against the enemy. And he took back the lance.
At that moment Bartholomew awoke in his tent, hearing the cock twice acclaim morning.
Bartholomew sought and obtained audience with Count Raymond and Bishop Adhémar to recount the vision. He said he had been told by Saint Andrew to search the floor of the church in the company of twelve pious men. By every account Bishop Adhémar was unimpressed, knowing Bartholomew as one who frequented taverns. Count Raymond, being cut from different cloth, resolved to explore the dream. Five days later they proceeded to the church at sunrise, twelve pious men, Bishop Adhémar, Count Raymond, and such lords as Pontius of Balazun and Faraldus of Thuart. When they asked Bartholomew where to dig, he hesitated. Then adopting a look of authority he pointed. So they commenced, broke through the floor and dug until the hour of vespers to no avail, as though the earth could not yield what it never received. Bartholomew disrobed, excepting his shirt, and leapt into the pit with a spade.
Here is the place, said he, leaning toward a corner. Here lies hidden what we seek.
Then they heard the clash of metal against metal and Bartholomew cried out, for the point of the lance was seen, leaf-shaped hammered iron. Raymond d’Agiles, chaplain to the count of Toulouse, declares in his chronicle that he himself kissed the point where it stood half revealed, the point that Longius thrust into the side of our Lord.
Some would not believe. Arnulf Malecorne, chaplain to the duke of Normandy, thought it the rusty point of a Muslim spear. Mockingly he inquired when Pontius Pilate or the centurions visited Antioch. Bishop Adhémar also withheld approval. Lord Bohemond detected a trick, wondering aloud at suspicious things, by shrewd conjecture throwing doubt, casting shadows. By what vagaries of thought are we molded? Bohemond asked. How is it that Saint Andrew would visit a man who, so I hear, prowls the streets and devotes himself to public houses? Why has the apostle disclosed to such a man the secret of heaven? How came the lance to this church? If some Christian hid it, why not at the nearest altar? Or if some Jew or Gentile concealed the lance, why bury it within a church? Does not darkness abet deceit? For at the moment of cozenage this Provençal sprang into the hole, turned his back and found what others vainly sought. Why should any man be vouchsafed in darkness what was denied to others in the light? Thus did Lord Bohemond belittle the relic. Just so did Arnulf Malecorne, the counts of Normandy and Flanders, Tancred, and more who peeked beneath the shell. Here began that sullen dispute between Provençals and Normans. Those quick to believe, those who doubted. It is said that Count Raymond felt bitterly aggrieved and considered vengeance, digesting a thousand plots in the sanguine depth of his heart. With what ambiguous success does fate unfold the course of affairs.
Now the lance swaddled in gold cloth was borne triumphantly through the streets of Antioch while ecstatic pilgrims followed, chanting, singing, paying homage. According to some, the Holy Shroud lay in this self-same trench and was secured by Adhémar, that it rests enshrined at the abbey of Cadouin.
How often may God’s favor be revealed? Saint Andrew reappeared to Bartholomew on the second night after the lance was found, accompanied by a radiant companion, radiant beyond the children of men.
Draw near that you may kiss His foot, Saint Andrew commanded.
And Bartholomew perceived that the foot was freshly wounded, bloody.
Behold our Lord, Saint Andrew said. Behold our Lord who suffered on the Cross, whence this wound. The day you were given the lance, that day would He have you celebrate. And since it was given you at vespers, and that day cannot be celebrated, therefore will you celebrate on the eighth day in the following week, and each year on the day of discovery. Let clerics sing before the lance. Let them conclude the hymn on bended knees. Let all deport themselves as is taught in the epistle. Humble yourselves beneath the mighty hand of God.
Moreover, the Lord appeared to a priest while he knelt in the church of Our Lady grieving at the expected death of himself and his brothers. He had put on the garb of confession, obtained absolution, and was reciting psalms when he observed a light greater than the sun and a visitor of indescribable beauty. It seemed to the priest that he was asked who
