somewhere near.
Following its centuries-long veneration by pilgrims from around the world, a garden had been established to create a tranquil atmosphere for contemplation and prayer. Shavi, Ruth and Laura entered it just before noon, in the bright of the sun beneath clear blue skies. They recognised the same rare, sanctified atmosphere they had experienced at the abbey.
'In Celtic and pre-Christian cultures, springs were renowned for their magical, life-giving properties,' Shavi noted. 'They were sites of worship, the homes of fertility spirits. Genius Locii. Sacred groves often grew up around them. And Christianity has always followed in the footsteps of pagan worship. At all the most important sites, the old religion was there first. Who is to say,' he mused, 'that they were not worshipping the same power?'
The path to the well wound around the outskirts of the garden like a route of pilgrimage, twisting through clumps of trees and bushes where hidden seats surrounded by fragrant flowers were placed for meditation. Eventually it folded back on itself and they found themselves at the wellhead, set against mediaeval stone beneath the hanging branches of ancient trees; the light in that one spot seemed to have an unusual quality; an uncommon calm lay over everything. The well itself was covered with a lid of wood and fine wrought-iron which showed two interlocking circles revealing at their centre the ancient symbol of a fish. The pamphlet they had been given at the entrance called it the Vesica Pisces. The design pre-dated Christianity and represented the overlapping of the visible and invisible worlds, yin and yang, the conscious and the unconscious, masculine and feminine natures. More duality, Ruth thought.
Shavi noticed the troubled expression on her face. 'Are you okay?'
'That design is similar to the layouts of some of the stone circles. I think it has something to do with the earth power, the Blue Fire.' She chewed on a nail. 'Everywhere I look I see hidden knowledge, signs, portents, things that point to something unimaginably big. It makes me feel so … uneasy.'
'We always feel that way when we glimpse movement behind the curtain,' he replied. 'And, as you rightly point out, the signs are everywhere if you only look.'
'More signals behind the noise,' she said wearily. 'I don't think I can cope with it all.' Ruth half-expected Laura to make some sarcastic comment, but she stayed staring at the well, her face impassive behind her sunglasses.
They were about to return to the path when Ruth became aware someone was behind them. She spun round with a start. In the shadows under the trees stood a man in his late forties, his pate balding, but his greying hair bushy at the back. He was wearing the dog collar of a cleric, a black jacket and trousers, and around his neck hung a gold crucifix, glinting in the morning light.
'I'm sorry,' he said. He smiled gently; his face was honest and open. 'I didn't mean to startle you.' There was a long pause while he looked into all their faces, then he said, 'I saw you at the abbey yesterday. You discovered the message, didn't you?'
'Yes, and it said Don't talk to strangers,' Laura blurted defensively.
He laughed bashfully, his hands rubbing together in faint embarrassment. 'I suppose I deserved that, sneaking up on you this way.'
'Are you going to try to stop us?' Ruth asked combatively.
He shook his head, still smiling. 'The path is there for everyone who has the patience and insight to look for it. If not, do you think we would have kept those particular tiles there in that particular position? Hundreds more were unearthed and discarded. I simply wanted to be sure you were aware of the risks.' The others eyed him cautiously. 'Shall we sit?' he said, motioning towards a seat near the wellhead.
Shavi nodded and joined him on the bench, but Laura hung well back, with Ruth hovering somewhere between the two.
Once they had settled, the cleric said, 'My name is Father James, or Jim if you like. I must apologise for approaching you like this, but it seemed the best time and the surroundings are certainly conducive to contemplation.' He paused, as if to search for the correct words, then continued, 'We keep watch on the tiles in the abbey, just in case, but I don't think any of us ever expected the secret to be discovered.'
'Who's we?' Ruth asked.
'A few of us, chosen every ten years from the local parishes and abbey establishment. People who can be trusted to keep the secret. We're known as the Watchmen.' He laughed. 'I know what you're thinking: Quis custodiet ipsos custodes!'
'Yeah. That's just what I was thinking,' Laura said sourly.
'A vast amount of knowledge has always been stored at the abbey,' he continued. 'In the early days, the library had a collection of ancient manuscripts that was unmatched in all Christendom. Great wisdom. And much secret knowledge handed down the years. It was all supposedly destroyed in a great fire, and any manuscripts that escaped were lost during the dissolution.'
'But it was not all lost,' Shavi mused.
'Typical double-dealing Christians,' Laura said spitefully.
James didn't seem offended by her words. 'The great twelfth century historian William of Malmesbury was allowed to study some of those manuscripts before he wrote his Antiquities of Glaston. He quotes the story of Joseph of Arimathea's arrival at Glastonbury, and his burial here, recounted in several manuscripts. And although his reading was heavily censored, he dropped broad hints about a `sacred mystery' encrypted in the mosaic of the church floor. William had no idea what that mystery was. But we, as I'm sure you can see, had every idea and it has been passed down among a select few of us throughout the centuries. That, and another … prophecy? … legend? I'm not quite sure of the right word. Of a saviour rising in the world's darkest hour. Although the word is in the singular, in context it seems to be plural. Curious.' He eyed them thoughtfully. 'And these are certainly dark times.'
Shavi nodded. 'We are aware of these things.'
'Excellent. I am particularly interested to find out what this has to do with King Arthur. William speaks of reading a connected manuscript referring to him, but that knowledge has been lost to us.' Jim nodded excitedly and clapped his hands. 'This is like being at the end of history. So many different threads leading to this point. You know what you are to do next?'
Shavi stroked his chin thoughtfully. 'Take some of the water from the well-'
'Yes, yes, the strong water,' Jim interjected.
— up to the top of the tor.'
'After that we get a bit vague,' Ruth added.
'Of course, part of the guidance is lost. And do you know what this all leads to?' To Ruth's surprise, Jim actually seemed pleased with their discovery. She had warmed to his pleasant, optimistic manner very quickly; and more, she trusted him, which surprised her even more.
'I would guess,' Shavi answered, 'the Grail.'
'Of course. All the legends, all the mythology, centuries of stories would suggest that is the only answer. But do you know what the Grail is?' He seemed to be enjoying the intellectual game he was playing with them.
Ruth glanced at Shavi, but he didn't respond so she said, 'Everyone knows the Grail is the cup that was supposed to have been used to catch Christ's blood at the crucifixion. It had amazing magical powers, and in the romances the Knights of the Round Table spent their time searching for it.'
'To heal the land. To bring purity to the world,' Shavi interposed.
'But we're actually looking for a Celtic artefact,' Ruth added. She turned to Shavi once again. 'I suppose, of the four, the nearest to a cup would be the cauldron?'
This time Jim laughed aloud. 'We live in a universe where the language is one of symbols. Through it, the cosmos speaks directly to our subconscious, the sym bols and messages repeating across the millennia. Words written by man are only interpretations of those symbols, so it's never wise to trust them implicitly-'
'Does that include the Bible?' Laura said pointedly.
The cleric ignored her. 'Grails and cauldrons. Same thing, different names. A vessel of great power. Do you feel comfortable enough for a little instructional dialogue?'
'I suppose you're not going to let us go until you do it,' Ruth sighed.
'Officially, the Church doesn't believe that Joseph brought the Chalice of the Last Supper to Britain,' he began. 'Our scholars recognise that the myth surrounding it goes back much further than Christ's death. Back, in fact, to the pagan cup of plenty, the Graal, which had power over life and death, healing and riches. But somehow the Graal
