Hundreds of people had seen it. When she came out of the hospital, her story had been changed for her. She stuck with her belief; she'd seen the Magdalene carrying a cup and not Jesus.
There was a group, The Way of Jesus...they're a right wing group the Church allowed to make a permanent shrine at the site with an account that she had seen Jesus.
Patrice Chaplin
City of Secrets
. . . .
..::The secret should never be revealed because, before the tale is fully told, something may be stirred up that is better left unaroused...these comments by medieval writers suggest they were dealing with a mystery which they recognised as both profound and unorthodox.
The Church, far from taking the Grail under its wing, treated the legends with cold reserve::..
Prince Henry Sinclair was lord of Orkney and the Shetlands, the axis of transatlantic trade...in 1398 Prince Henry St. Clair set out with a large expedition of soldiers and monks to establish two colonies in the New World, one at Louisburg in Nova Scotia, and another at Newport Rhode Island.
{there is} The notorious round tower on a hill there with its 8 arches in the manner of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.
Also, at Westford Massachussets, is a worn carving of what is
believed by experts to be a medieval knight in effigy dated to the latter half of the 14th C.
The long sword with a large wheel pommel is of a late 14th C. type. It is a Scottish claymore of 1350-1400. Armorial scholars say that the basinet was a form that was in fashion for only 25 years from 1375-1400.
Karen Ralls MacLeod
Ian Robertson
The Quest for the Celtic Key
. . . .
Der Rosenkavalier
Opera by Richard Strauss
Der Rosenkavalier (The Knight of the Rose or The Rose-Bearer), Op. 59, is a comic opera in three acts by Richard Strauss to an original German libretto by Hugo von Hofmannsthal. It is loosely adapted from the novel Les amours du chevalier de Faublas by Louvet de Couvrai and Molière’s comedy Monsieur de Pourceaugnac.
he opera has four main characters: the aristocratic Marschallin, her very young lover Count Octavian Rofrano, her coarse cousin Baron Ochs and Ochs' prospective fiancée Sophie von Faninal, daughter of a rich bourgeois. At the Marschallin's suggestion Ochs gets Octavian to act as his Rosenkavalier and present the ceremonial silver rose to Sophie. But when Octavian meets Sophie they fall in love at first sight. By a comic intrigue they get rid of Ochs with the help of the Marschallin, who then yields Octavian to the younger woman.
Although a comic opera, Der Rosenkavalier also operates at a deeper level. Conscious of the difference in age between herself and Octavian, the Marschallin muses in bittersweet fashion over the passing of time, growing old and men's inconstancy.
. . . .
Emlyn craved soup.
Timewalking, or whatever it had been...when Axelis had spirited her away to meet with Thelene and Anara, always left her feeling dehydrated and ghostlike for days thereafter.
A ton of garlic, therefore, for strength; onion, herbs, celery, carrot, peppers were relegated to the chop; methodic wholesome work which freed her mind.
Chaos condensed then into bits to be sorted: specifically, how to best deal with Daryl whilst she headed back to the City; and then, back down the coast to the Village of Sopa and Fog. There to seek the elusive, enigmatic Raimundo.
And, hopefully, thereby learn news of Alice and Lev.
Working the knife, Em formulated a plan; she would later pay a visit to Athena at the gatehouse. Perhaps she would accompany her, along with Manuel, of course, to the village. How to slip all this past Daryl, however, was the fly in the soup...
Em settled lid upon pot and turned her mind to fly swatting and her footsteps to the library...
. . . .
Daryl still lingered over his map. Yeats had flown, no doubt literally, along with Axelis. He exhaled, relieved that no confrontation had taken place betwixt Emlyn's, (and Anara's), immense, ancient and well-fortified father, (and his possible inlaw-to-be), and himself. Not this time.
Daryl was discomfited, all the same. It seemed all that had come together so seamlessly was now unraveling; Emlyn wished to return his ring and 'postpone' the engagement; Yeats was no help in locating prospective artefacts; even his longtime friend and mentor, Athena, he'd discovered had been secretly shifting about with Axelis, no less!
'On MY watch!' He declared to himself, not really knowing what he meant, but feeling somehow betrayed. Or at least, left out.
He fell onto the desk chair and sighed. He would find what he sought; he usually did. Eris and Discordia he would banish: 'I must govern the clock not allow it to govern...' he misquoted under his breath, forgetting the source.
His gaze fell upon the books piled at his feet. Leaning over, he plucked a volume and began his study anew.
The door opened softly and Emlyn entered, a savory waft of cooking accompanied her.
'Something smells delightful,' Daryl murmured, not looking up as Em slowly wound her way to his side, always bemused by the books en route.
'I made a stoup.' At Daryl's questioning glance she clarified, 'Not quite a stew, but more than a soup. Be ready in about an hour...' She came to his side and peered over his shoulder. 'What are you working on?' She knew Daryl, much like herself, seldom read for entertainment.
'Ah...well, it is an old alchemical text, with diagrams, thus...'
He held it up on the desk toward them both. '...which supposedly show the chemical wedding of the Red King with the White Queen, or the interaction of sulphur with mercury to produce the Philosopher's Stone.'
Emlyn smiled. 'I love these old depictions; so very Gnostic, yes? And layers within layers of meaning...'
'Exactly, querida.' Daryl stole a warm hand about her waist as he turned the pages. 'Just when I have one idea, another layer is revealed and I have to, ah, recalculate.'
'Umm. Poetry in sigils...music in mathematics.' Em bent over the big book now flat on the desk top. '...It reminds me of something else, too...'
'Well, it could also be Christ and Sophia, as the early christian gnostics believed...' Daryl offered.
'No; I was thinking of something different,' Emlyn mused. 'The red and the white, king and queen...could also refer to the Lily and the Rose.'
Daryl pushed back his chair, and gazed at Em. 'Yes...I've heard the tale, in fact, several. There are as many divergent legends of this, as there are of the Graal.' His attention shifted back to the book. 'It all comes back to that...' he murmured. 'Floris and Blancefleur, yes...'
'Fleur and Blancefleur,' Em continued, 'Both born on the same day,'
'--Palm Sunday,' Daryl interrupted.
Em went on undaunted, '...at the same hour; were betrothed to each other, despite the King of Spain's desire for Blancefleur, and his plan to kill Fleur. The Queen, meanwhile had sent Fleur into exile and sold Blanchefleur to Babylonian merchants, for a Precious Cup.'
'That's it!' Daryl sat forward. 'Yes! The Cup! I knew it related to the Graal...' Involuntarily, Daryl's gaze went to the armoire wherein sat the Cup and Box.
Em frowned. 'The tale simply states that it was 'a cup.'' She also flicked a glance to where the Infernal Instruments reposed, for now.
'A cup,' she continued, 'said to be forged by Vulcan himself.'
'Indeed?' Daryl frowned, chewing his lip as he studied the pictures before him.
'Yes. And Athene, goddess of wisdom, was engraved upon it, along with Paris, Venus and Juno.'
'We must, I must study this legend more in depth.' Daryl looked at Emlyn at last. 'Merci, cheri. We work well together...' A brief smile, then he began paging through the alchemical grimoire. 'There was something about a tower, as well. She was kept in a tower apart from her amor...'
'In a land ruled by 7 kings.' Emlyn stared outside the window, attempting to recall more. 'Four Watchers, guarded the tower.'
'"Watchers"', Daryl parroted. 'Nephilim, Anakhim...,' He shut the book and drummed fingers on the desk. 'The 7 kings; obviously planetary rulers, also prison guards of the fallen world. Sofia, wisdom, locked away, where no love may find and rescue her? "Guardians of the Watchtowers of the West~!"' Daryl intoned, tracing signs in the air.
'...I know the two lovers reunite, for they are living together for a hundred years and die upon the same day.' Emlyn finished, looking pensive. 'I heard the tale from Jeanne and Shannon.' Em sighed; how long it seemed since she'd made up the Cambrian 3rd of her Triskele.
'The real Floris, Charibert of Laon, journeyed to the courts of the Caliphs seeking secrets of Persian mysteries,' Daryl mused. 'That tale is also metaphor; echoing the same desire of the early Templars to wed the hidden knowledge of the Druids and Greek philosophers in the West with the Kabbalahists and Sufis, and wisdom of the East...'
Daryl sat back and ran both hands through his wild locks. 'I MUST have more information! DATA!' he exclaimed, as though issuing a a command. 'I cannot theorize without needed data!'
Emlyn and Daryl regarded one another. If only they knew each of them had been thinking the same thought as the other: I must be off, to find what I seek, and how to do this without letting Emlyn/Daryl know?
'Em..'
'--Daryl...'
They both trod upon the other's words...
Smiling, Daryl attempted to smooth his mane, and stood, holding a hand out to Emlyn. 'Come sit with me a while.'
Taking her hand, he led Em to the sofa before the large fireplace at one end of the study. 'Ah, there,' he sighed as they fell together upon the plush burgundy leather.
Now: how best to go about this? he wondered. He did not wish to conceal anything from his novia...he was still adamant that their relationship had not changed. But, years of research could not be allowed to simply stagnate; not when he was this close...
'So. How was your meeting with Axelis?'
That dropped rather a weighty bat bomb.
Emlyn reclined her head back and sighed. 'I hardly know...' She leaned an elbow upon the armrest and looked tiredly at Daryl. 'You know how it is; whatever happens There, barely translates when one returns Here. My head spins. I get flashes of scenes together on the beach, with Thelene and Anara...snippets of conversations...' She waved a languid hand in air, '...but it's now all so nebulous, it has only the substance of dream. Much like Axelis himself,' she finished, frowning.
'Umm.' Daryl commented, without replying. He had hoped rather for more, especially concerning Anara...
'I don't entirely trust him, though,' was Emlyn's assessment of her otherworldly paterfamilias.
'No?'
'No.' Em wasn't sure why not. A feeling, perhaps. 'I do not feel easy with him, nor what he'd imparted, not in the way that I accept Thelene's or Anara's teachings.'
Daryl stroked her hair softly. 'You haven't had the best luck with fathers this time round, cara.'
Emlyn laughed. 'That's putting it mildly! Ah...maybe. Maybe I have had to build fortifications against deception. The old self-preservation instinct, perhaps.'
'Sound logic, Em.' Daryl paused. 'Frankly, I do not trust him, either.'
For many, many reasons, he thought to himself, 'Despite his assistance in Jack's rescue.' He shook his head, 'Although, truly, I do not know how we could have gotten him out of that particular scrape otherwise.'
Thoughts of Jack, sobered both into silence for a time. What to tell Jack? Well, that was a bridge too far at the moment.
'I think...' Emlyn began, 'I need time to think, about it all.'
'Of course, cara.' Daryl sat up straight, hoping to somehow crowbar himself into some wiggle room away from Em, without alienating his beloved.
'I think, perhaps, that Athena may be of help,' There, thought Em. Now I have a reason to visit the gatehouse at least.
'That's a grand idea, luv.' Daryl approved.
'Yes. After lunch, if that's alright?'
'That's perfect. I have a lot of work to catch up on...' Daryl figured this break would buy him time in which to figure out an escape plan.
Emlyn stood, smoothing her skirt. 'Looks like a break between storms. I shouldn't be too long...'
'Take your time...' Daryl followed Em to the door, opening it. 'But first let's sup this stoup of yours.'
'Of course, querido.' She turned and put a hand to his cheek. 'Thank you. I may need a little time alone, is all.'
Daryl caught her hand, bestowing a soft kiss. 'Take as much time as you desire, ma Fleur-de-Lis...'
. . . .
Installed upon Athena's sofa facing the stone fireplace in the gatehouse, Emlyn tucked her legs beneath her and felt relaxed for the first time since she'd arrived back in Massachusetts. Sipping hot cocoa, she allowed her vision to wander and gained solace viewing all the familiar items it rested upon; of well-worn, well-read books there were many, of course, Athena was a former librarian, after all.
Em noticed her owl was not on her perch upon the mantle, however. 'Your owl is out?'
Athena joined Em on the sofa, setting a plate of oat scones between them on her antique pirate chest. Stretching her long legs before her, she plunked her feet up on it as well, as she took a sip
from her mocha.
'So, Daryl busy much?'
Emlyn smiled into her cup, thinking of Daryl's fear of fathers-in-law.
'Oh, he is busy, alright.' She barked a short laugh. 'You know he believed that Axelis would do him some damage; beheading, particularly.' Poor Daryl, she mused...once beheaded, it was the sort of thing one doesn't forget easily.
'I can understand why...' Athena dryly commented. 'But, he did ask for it. Travel by Cup can be fraught with peril. Stray down that path at your own risk.'
'He is obsessed...all he does is peer at that old map, and others...' Em allowed herself a scone. 'But, if it keeps him occupied, that's fine with me.'
'Indeed?' Athena pricked her ears.
'Yes.' Well, no reason not to simply leap into the fray... 'Athena, how would you like to accompany me back to the City? I am planning a trip back down the coast to the Village of Sopa and Fog.'
'Are you now?' Athena sat up now, attentive. 'What brings this on?'
Emlyn took small bites of scone. 'These are delicious! by the way.' She mused about how much to disclose to Athena, but, why not simply tell her the truth? That she was trustworthy Em had no doubt. Alright then:
'When Daryl and I were back West, we visited a Portuguese village south of the City. There I ran into an old friend...someone I never thought I would see again.'
'Sounds intriguing,' Athena allowed. 'Who is this friend?'
Emlyn smiled ruefully, 'Well, at the moment he is Raimundo. But I knew him as Alejandro. He is from Brazil. And, he is the last link I have to other, very dear friends of mine, who had left for South America, for their own safety, and had to remain in hiding there.'
Athena's eyes widened and she sat back against the couch, arms spread along the back. 'Sounds serious, Em. Is there any danger we should know about?'
'I don't believe so.' Emlyn thought this true; she did trust Alejandro.
'I trust this person, now Raimundo.' The Village itself, was rather a cipher, however.
'The...atmosphere surrounding the place, though, can be rather...confusing. It's the fog, in part. I do not wish to go alone. But not because I don't trust my friend. I don't believe that we would be in any danger, no.' Her mind flashed back to scenes of their 'Initiation' in the pub. 'Although, odd things do happen there...'
'I see.' Athena pondered all this...'I take it, you don't need Daryl around, even near, this trip, right?'
Em nodded.
'Well, if he has eyes only for his maps, you can bet he has something up those magic sleeves of his.' She grinned at Emlyn. 'A magician always does! And Daryl, I fear, more than most. And, like most men, he won't be too interested in anything other than his own concerns. He may wonder about us later, but we will be long gone by then.'
'So you will come?' Emlyn was relieved, excited, a little apprehensive.
'I'm so glad! You will enjoy it; it's actually a fun little town, lots of old shops and tasty restaurants. I know the local chocolatier...her truffles are a delight.' For Athena, Em would even brave Madame.
'Well...why not, then? But, I cannot leave immediately...' Athena stood, however, and gathered empty mugs. 'Tonight, perhaps?'
Emlyn was thrilled they could leave so soon. 'Perfect! I'll have Daryl sorted by then...we'll stay the night in the City and leave for the Village in the morning.'
Athena opened the door for her, smiling, her eyes dancing. 'Until tonight, then.'
. . . .
It was nearing sunset as Emlyn trudged back to the estate from the
gatehouse. She hadn't realized she had been at Athena's so long.
She glanced up at the sky, now a slate grey roof above her. More snow, it seemed. Off in the west by the lake showed streaks of fuchsia, orange and crimson still. Perhaps it was merely dark, not late.
As she gained the portico, she thought she could hear music...heading up the stairs, she was certain of it. She stopped at the door, put her ear to it and listened...piano. Daryl. Had to be.
Softly she opened the door, then turned to shut out the night and cold. She could almost feel the reverberations of Daryl's grand ringing out through the hallways like the bells of Quasimodo.
Slowly she crept toward the sound. She knew this piece...it was
altogether too familiar to her; although it would not be written by
Rachmaninoff until 1934, it had been burned forever into her being when Jack had played it for her, here, at Daryl's estate, long before she had even met Daryl. Indeed, Jack and Aleister, all who had known of Daryl, had believed him to be dead. Hence, Jack's ownership of the estate. And the grand...
Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini, Op 43, it was to be called. Emlyn moved quietly, softly, conflicted; although she loved the music, and adored Paganini, (aka Old Nick, she recalled), she was drawn to it and wounded by it at once.
Here, in this place, it all came back to her: that night with Alice, when they had climbed upon the huge mantle piece to access the grand mirror behind, and Alice had taken them both through it, back to the other side and San Francisco, straight through the art nouveau frosted designwork and all...
She had insisted that Alice use the locket that Frank, her husband had given her, with the fleur-de-lis design upon it; to send them both back home, away from Jack and Al, and this haunted estate. And the designs upon the mirror, she now realized, matched that of Alice's locket with the timewalking tech.
She paused as she reached the parlor entrance. This was just like that night so long ago, with Jack... Em bit her lip as she realized, too, that here she was heading back to the City, away from Jack's Uncle Daryl, only in cahoots with Athena this time. Still, on the sly... She sighed. Why did things have to be so complicated?
Magicians were, perforce, complicated creatures.
Em gathered herself together and entered the room.
. . . .
Daryl was putting boot to pedal as Em slunk over to him from behind. He flicked a glance her way and smiled down at the ebony and ivory as he continued in a softer tone.
'You know...the god of the Kelts, Hu, not only led the Cymry into
Wales, but also taught the use of a plough, brought wine and mead, and music.' Daryl added an impromptu arpeggio to emphasize...
'Hu and Cerridwen,' he blithely continued, 'were the creator god and goddess...so you see, Em, there is your Keltic archetype for our red king and white queen.'
Em said nothing, merely sat next to Daryl on the bench. He noodled about on the keys, taking great wild liberties with Rachmaninoff and Paganini both.
'How is Athena?'
His question jolted Em out of her reverie. 'She is just fine...Daryl; would you mind if we were to head back to the City, just for a couple of days?'
'Now? Truly, Em?' Daryl's fingers faltered. 'I, hm...I hadn't planned on...'
'Athena, and I, that is,' Emlyn clarified. 'Just we two. So you see, you needn't come, really. It's just a...spur of the moment impulse. Would you mind?'
Daryl picked up the tempo. 'No!' Too good to be true, he thought. What are those two up to? 'Not at all. If you're certain, you don't mind my staying here?' Whatever it is, at least it frees me to take care of some sub rosa business...
'We don't mind at all, querido,' Em put lips against his cheek.
'That's why we all get on so well, no?' She kissed him lightly.
'Umm,' was Daryl's compact answer. 'You will be only two days then?'
'Less, actually, we leave tonight,' Emlyn was up and heading off. 'Athena will be here for dinner, is that alright?' Em couldn't help but cast a glance toward the mirror on the mantle...still there.
'Of course,' Daryl couldn't believe his luck. A bit too convenient? He wondered...
Time...would tell.
LISTEN! Click below:
Rachmaninoff's "Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini"
. . . .
