Chapter 40 - Passion or Poison?

 ..::An increasing number of settlers were crossing the Atlantic: New France, new fate, as long as one survived the perilous ocean journey. Fronting the harbor, Notre Dame du Bon Secours often became the first dry and steady step for newcomers in the country, who would go by the church to pray for their fortune.

As a thankful gesture for their safe trip, sailors commissioned boat models to be hung in the chapel as ex votos, an unusual display that soon attracted pilgrims and curious travelers. To emphasize the position of Notre Dame du Bon Secours as the patron church of sailors, Monseigneur Ignace Bourget, Bishop of Montreal, offered a Stella Maris, a statue of the Virgin Mary as the Star of the Sea. Placed on the roof of the Chapel, the Virgin Mary keeps welcoming travelers with open arms and her wise overlook on the port::..

...............

Was this the basis of Olier's double church concept? Was the San Sulpice offering the acceptable premise of
the Gnostic "church within a church" which is precisely how historian Alain Tallon refers to the Compagnie du San Sacrament? Was this the true basis of the Societe du Notre Dame de Montreal, designed specifically to establish a new Primitive Church in Ville Marie? Isn't this similar to the purported inner contemplative core of the Knights Templar organization, a secret group that was composed of pious monks? Everything points to this scenario.

Francine Bernier
The Templars' Legacy in Montreal, the New Jerusalem

                                                                         

..............

'Come.' Maurice took Emlyn's arm and escorted her and Alain from the pews. Em became rather skittish when she saw they were heading straight for the monks!
 -- and Daryl...

But Maurice steered them to the priest, Fr.Francis. Em saw that Daryl had begun filing out to the parish hall along with the rest of the brothers, although he couldn't stop himself from turning an afrightened and wondering eye upon Em.
   She really couldn't begin to imagine what all that was about.

She waited, herself wondering, whilst Maurice and Fr.Francis engaged in some Franglish banter that Em caught most of...something about 'Frere Daryl' and how he wasn't exactly a brother, but had come to the sanctuary for asylum.

Then they lowered their voices and spoke in Occitan; not much to Emlyn's understanding. Then Fr.Francis smiled at them and he followed the monks into the hall. Maurice was smiling as well.
   'Off to the hall, like le bon petit agneau that we are...' he was saying, herding them like 'little lambs?' Were we off to the sacrificial altar then? Emlyn's wonder did never cease.

When they arrived, they found the hall full of folk from all over...The monks, she saw, were busy at the kitchens and dining hall, dishing up luncheon. Yes, there was stew. It looked to be a thick hearty one.

Emlyn also noticed that they did indeed have their wares available, 'Donations Always Welcome.'
She was reminded again of Llew and his thoughtfulness to have brought a sheepskin and honey for her. She did donate however, and got a couple of fine sourdough loaves of bread from St.Blaise.

She wandered about, trying to find where Alain and Maurice had gone, she'd lost track of them somewhere...then she spied them engaged in a cabal in the corner with the Fathers from the monasteries.

As she approached, she noticed Maurice reach out an arm and bring her into the circle, claiming that Em could corroborate 'the story'...(whatever that was).
'What story?'

Alain, Maurice and Fr.Francis all began to speak at once, in at least three languages, but Em could follow enough to nod and answer oui, certainement, or non, ne sais pas...and then she closed her mouth and her eyes flew open wide to see Fr.Felix of St.Blaise's bring Daryl over from the stewpots to join them!
                                                                                 

But, somehow, eventually, it was all sorted...the entire myth-conception, as it were.

When everyone had explained their side of the story to the satisfaction of all, Daryl emerged vindicated, found not guilty of offering bribes to Fr.Michael and St.Williams; Fr.Michael apologized with intent and offered Daryl a place among them at St.Williams 'as a fellow brother together with us in the peace of le Bon Dieu.'

Emlyn regarded Daryl with alarm. Daryl shot her a quick glance, but smiled and shook his head. 'Non, merci,' it was to be, after all. He would like to visit, however, if he may. Mais, naturellement!

Daryl explained that he was enjoying life at St.Blaise, learning cooking and herbology under the finely honed tutelage and knife of Brother Julian. Fr.Felix made some apparently hilarious but good-natured remark, en Francaise, and everyone turned to look at the large man hovering about the kitchens, seemingly everywhere at once. Brother Julian, Em supposed.

Daryl excused himself, to 'return to my kitchen duties', and off he went, if not like a bon little lamb, at least as much less wolf than he'd been vilified for.

After half a minute, Emlyn followed.

'Can I help?' she inquired, taking a dishtowel from a pile and tying it about her waist.
  'Eh, ah...of course!' Daryl was rather flummoxed by her. 'Just, well, keep the bread coming, you can slice it, and keep the, ah, bowls filled...'
  'I have the idea,' she assured him, and went to work.

After hauling hot potatoes out to the tables and refilling water jugs, bringing baskets of fresh bread and butter, and of course, honey, things finally began to slow down somewhat and Emlyn, having kept Daryl in sight, took her apron off and him aside for an impromptu chat.

'Thank you for helping out,' he said, sighing as they took a seat along the wall, watching as folk began to exit at last and the parishioners helped the clean-up crew tidy the hall.

'Daryl,' she took his hand, 'you're welcome.' She smiled. As if to say, it's all right. Whatever it is.
'So! How did you come to be...here?'

He raised that one eyebrow she knew so well. 'Et tu, Josephine?'
They both had to laugh at that.
He looked down. He seemed rather different now, and it wasn't just the beard.
'You never did have much of a beard.' Em remembered.

'Ah. No.' He looked up, with the familiar lop-sided grin. 'Just...got tired of shaving. You know, all men about. Not real cosmopolitan at the monastery. Sheep and vegetables, work and chant...I find it peaceful.'

'So, you were caught in a storm?' Em still wondered about some things.

                                                                              

  'Quite the storm, yes...' He seemed to retreat inward. 'I thought I might die that night. Might have.' He glanced her way. 'But somehow, I found St.Williams.'
  '-- Providential,' Em declared.

Daryl said nothing. That was new. Yes, he did seem changed somewhat.

 Emlyn noticed then that eyes were upon her. -- Maurice. A look from across a crowded room. Oh yes, she felt it. She got to her feet and let go of Daryl's hand.
 'I should be going.'

Daryl stood and joined her. He also glanced at Maurice. His gaze narrowed: 'Is that Allyn?' He asked. Yes, and Maurice is his oncle. 'Ah.'

'I'm, I've been staying in Montreal with them.' Em noticed a slight stiffening in Daryl's shoulders. 'We've been trying to work out what to do about...things. St.John and Kidd.' She regarded him. 'Any ideas?'

Daryl didn't react, but then he slowly shook his head.    'I'm out of it, Em. It's just all so...' he looked away, off in the distance at something within. '...it just doesn't matter, any longer. I want nothing to do with the world anymore.' He regarded her with weary eyes.

'The world may have a way of intruding, even into the bois of St.Blaise,' Emlyn warned him.
   'If it does, then, I'll do what I must.' Daryl looked down at her, not unkindly. 'But only then.'

Emlyn was not amused. Leave it to Daryl to eject a sticky package on our doorstep and then exit when everyone else steps in it.

'Tell Llew hello from me.' So he was off. Again. 'I like him very much, Em. He's a good kid.' So, Daryl's last words before renouncing the world are for Llew? Well...
 Not quite.

He bent and kissed her, chastely. On the cheek. Like a Brother.

'Je t'aime...' he breathed. And was gone.

.............

They decided to walk home from church. That is, to Maurice's cottage in town.

'So...tell me about the wee boat.' Emlyn was truly interested.
  'Eh?'Alain looked puzzled.
  'She means the ex votos, on the church ceiling,' Maurice explained, smiling slightly.
  'Exactement,' Em confirmed

'This area here,' Maurice waved an arm out to sea, 'was where French emigres landed after the long voyage across the Atlantic.'
    'Bonsecours is the sailor's church,' Alain added, 'And that is how one can tell -- the boats are somewhere displayed in the church.'.
    'Oui,' Maurice took Emlyn's arm in his. 'Being a port city, Montreal deals in trade, always has. And sailors in harbor feel tres' intimate with their bon Dieu, after risking life and limb on the high seas...'

He stopped, turned about, and pointed with two fingers at the stature of Maris Stella with open arms on the rooftop of Bonsecours. 'There she is. She who is no stranger to tears and woes of the world. And they feel they are home here. And safe, once more, and grateful to be back.' He paused a moment, staring at the Madonna. 'They made a vow, to Mother Mary, and these boats are symbolic of that vow.'

                                                                               

Maurice sighed and turned for home. 'But, things are changing now. Lumber, fish, furs...Canada has these things in abundance. Now. But, with manufacturing taking over in the cities,' he shook his head, 'it can't last for too long. We require some imports, to aid in manufacture. Mining I worry about, some. And this is a huge change from coal and steam to oil...' He waved an arm over the city. 'Ah, the future of Canada is still a mystery. For now...'

He'd seemed to be talking to himself, Emlyn noticed, his voice low. Her own thoughts were spinning...she needed some space to organize things; seeing Daryl and finding out that they were all on their own here had thrown her somewhat.

'So, seeing Daryl there today was a surprise, non?' Alain inquired, reading her mind.
  'It was indeed a shock,' Emlyn agreed. 'I simply can not figure out what exactly happened.' She frowned. 'Or, is happening still...'
  'This Daryl, his experience with the kidnapping, it is worrying.' Maurice was frowning. 'It is certainly enough to drive a man to the cloisters. Well, it is probably the safest place for him.'

Emlyn knew that to be true. But meanwhile...
  'Meanwhile, what are we to do?' She was still feeling somewhat abandoned. 'I had hoped for some help from Daryl. But, he is in no condition for it.'

Alain and Maurice both looked at her.
  'We are here, and we can help,'Alain told her. 'Emmeline, you are not alone in all this! And Shannon will soon join us. She is still in Arcadia, oui, but I am expecting her any time now. She was to join us by the weekend.'

Maurice had stopped in his tracks.
  'Maurice?' Em turned to him.

He put up a hand, a puzzled look on his face. 'Wait. Alain, you...you said, "Emmeline", just now. Why?'
  'Oh, Maurice...' Em began, knew that she'd have to come out with it. Sighing, she admitted, 'Emmeline is my real name. I changed it to Emlyn recently. It seemed more...Welsh.'

Maurice turned to her, taking her hands in his.    'Emmeline. From Arcadia.' He stared down at her, half amused, half wondering.
   'Ah.' Alain stood, hands in pockets, smiling at them. 'Oncle has found himself a mythical heroine...'
   Now Em looked puzzled.

'You surely recall?' Maurice put her arm through his again, and resumed their walk. 'The Longfellow poem, the tale of Gabriel and Evangeline? Of old Arcady? The real name, of the real lady, was Emmeline. Of Arcadia.'

'And now, you have found her!' Alain grinned at them, teasing. 'Oncle, you've a living legend on your arm.'
  'So it would seem,' Maurice was also smiling.

Em found herself smiling as well...
                                                                                 

................

Suddenly, Maurice stopped.
  'La, see here.' he pointed to a small cafe. 'I have not been here in some time.' He turned to them. 'It was a favorite of mine, but I have not been here in a while.
-- Shall we? Un petit nosh, oui?'

Emlyn hadn't eaten much at the luncheon, she'd been busy waitressing and working the crowd, as it were.
'I could have a petit something,' she allowed.
'Oncle; me, I am always hungry you know,' Alain was up for it as well.

A petit bell sounded as they opened the door. Inside was small, but delectable scents from the kitchen promised wonders to come. A few tables were occupied, but there were also some open. Maurice steered them to a corner booth.
  'More, intimate,' he said. What he meant was they could have a more private conversation there.

They studied what was on offer and all agreed on de jour special: prawns in garlic and wine sauce, with linguine and Chanterelles, with salads. 

                                                                              

This proved to be a wise move, and as the crowd soon filled the cafe, it seemed that they were not the only ones to think so. The ambient noise was welcome, however, they could speak more freely amongst themselves.

'How did you like the church service, Emmeline? I know you are not Catholique,' Maurice said, studying her anew.
  'Non. I am not,' Em allowed Maurice to call her by her former appellation. With his French accent, it was spoken as: "Emmeleene" not the Anglo "Emm-a-LYNE" which had aggrieved Em enough to toss it out entirely.

 Honestly, she thought the English hated the French so much that they put the wrong 'english' or accent on things just to separate them from Francaise; they did not go to the bal-let' but to the BAL-ley. It was all so tiresome. And don't even get her started on Saskatchewan's "Re-GYNE-a".

'I enjoyed it very much, though,' Em assured Maurice. 'I sometimes attended Catholic services with friends at Mission Delores in San Francisco, but I have not been baptised.'

Alain and Maurice stopped eating. They looked at one another, then back at Em. 'Not at all?' Asked Alain. 'Not even as the Protestant?'

'Most assuredly, not as a Protestant,' Em forked a luscious prawn in her mouth. Heaven. Here and now.

Alain and Maurice traded looks again.
  'But, you did enjoy the Catholic service, non?' Maurice asked, pouring more wine all round.
  'Mais oui!' Em realised that she truly had. 'The church itself! C'est magnifique! I wish that we'd more time there...I would have liked to look at the art. It was like being surrounded by beauty.'

'"Beauty is Truth,"' quoted Maurice, passing her the rolls. 'So, you are a pagan still, Emmeline? But, you were close, no? -- with this Daryl, who was kidnapped.'

Em knew she would be best served by sticking to the truth. 'We were, engaged. Briefly.' She admitted, tearing her roll. She did not mention that they were also living together.

'Ah.' He nodded, as if he understood. 'So, things changed when Daryl left for the monastery. A monk is not the best of fiance's, non?'

'Non!' Em replied, flustered. 'That is, we had not been together for some time before all that! No, I had no idea that Daryl would wish to stay at St.Blaise. Or wherever.
   'Becoming a monk is the last thing I, or anyone else, would have thought Daryl would do. But, non...we have been apart for, oh, months now. Perhaps longer...' Em truly couldn't recall.

Studied looks passed betwixt Maurice and Alain as they resumed their repast. Emmeline ignored all that. Let them think what they would of her. She sighed. Just wait til Maurice gets a load of Shannon, she thought, the anti-Pope.

Her smile faltered, however, as she glanced up at whomever had entered, the bell on the cafe door ringing. Though he was wearing a tuque pulled down low, she could not mistake the fey: shining bright as a new copper penny, there stood Llew.

'Diosa...' she breathed, her hand crushing the roll to bits. She stood. 'Excuse me, un moment.'

She hurried over to Llew, and took him by the arm, back out onto the sidewalk. 'What? How--?' She began.
  'Emlyn,' Llew interrupted. 'It's Shannon. She is GONE, Em! Kidd and Jeanne have her, I saw them take her. They had found out that she has a mobile unit.'

'Where? Where is she?' Em doubted it not.
Llew shook his head. 'Don't know. I guess, assume, she is with them. Somewhere. Kidd's?'
'Not good. I have to find her.' Em frowned at him. 'How did you find me here?'
'Emlyn,' Llew was patient now. 'I am fey, and we are related.' This said it all, apparently.
'Yes, well, I am sorry, cheri, but you cannot stay...'
Em's gaze went to the table where Alain and Maurice were staring in wonder.
Llew merely smiled and walked beyond the windows. When he was past, he vanished into thin air.

Neat trick, that, thought Em.
  But, Shannon, now. Whatever next? Em looked at the cafe, and Maurice. She was out of ideas. Best to tell all and have done with it. These men here were the best she could have about her now.

'Was that really Llew?' Alain asked, somewhat fearful.
'I'm afraid so,' Em took her seat, regarding them both.
'He, he came to tell me news. It seems that...' she sighed, '...it seems, Kidd and Jeanne had discovered that Shannon has...well, something that they greatly desired. And so now, they have her. Kidd has kidnapped Shannon.'

Alain stood, nearly knocking over the table. 'We will go and get her, then!'
Maurice reached up, taking his arm. 'Non, non -- Alain, s'il vous plait? Sit.' He regarded them all.

'Now, we will think about this a bit, oui?' Maurice waved the waiter over for the cheque. 'So, back in Arcadia, these "friends" of yours have taken Shannon. But, you know not where, exactly. But you have a guess.'

'Oui, naturellement! They are at Kidd's maison.' Alain looked like a bull about to charge.
'Perhaps,' Maurice finished his wine, and paid the cheque. 'And, perhaps not. Perhaps they have taken Shannon, so that you and Emmeline will go after her. And then? Then they will have the entire package.'
He stood, and they followed.

Back out on the street, they resumed their walk, much faster now.
'We must do something, though, Oncle.' Alain was falling apart before their eyes.
'Think.' Maurice told him. 'Flying off into the blue without a plan, is just what they are expecting you to do.'

'They could be up to anything, though,' Em was catching Alain's paranoia. 'If St.John is involved, he could have them all up in Alaska...'

'Emmeline...non, non.' Maurice put an arm about her shoulders, then Alain's as well. 'I am sure she is fine. And, I am just as sure that neither of you should show yourselves to these people. What you need, is someone they do not know, to go and check things out and see how it all looks, and where exactly Shannon is first.'

'But whom?' Emlyn was wondering...
'Eh, well, I thought perhaps...myself?' Maurice asked, with an eyebrow flourish.

Alain and Em exchanged a glance. 'We should talk,' Em said, 'and think about things first. D'accord.'
Alain sighed, 'D'accord.'

'Inside,' Maurice had reached his door, and opening it with a large key, he ushered them within. 'Parlez.'

...............

'This Daryl was an alchemist?!' Maurice was desperate to understand.

They had been in parlez for some time now. Alain was growing antsy. 'Just let me go, s'il vous plait! I will be quick and quiet!'

Em was torn. She was afraid to let Alain go and perhaps become hostage #2. This was why she, herself would not be going anywhere.

'All right.' Em finally thought she saw a way.
'A compromise: Alain will go to the gatehouse, you know where that is, non?' He nodded. 'Bon. Talk to Athena and Wolf Star there. Tell them what has happened. Tell them that stealth is required. A quick and subtle recon at Kidd's, find Shannon, and fly back here, ASAP.' She glanced at Maurice. 'If that's agreeable with you.'

'Oui. Whatever you think.' He seemed to genuinely wish to help.
Em was relieved. 'Bon. I think this is safest. Kidd would not expect us here.' She had another thought: 'If you see Llew, he may also be of some help. He has...certain areas of expertise that may come in handy.'

'If you say so...' Alain wasn't so sure, but agreed.

'Very well. I will get you there, then I must return before they're onto my trace signature.' Emlyn stood, and took Alain with her to the other room. Maurice watched, of course, but she did feel rather more at ease not being in the same room with him.

Emlyn and Alain blinked out and only one blinked back in.

Maurice stood. 'We must talk.'
Em nodded. 'Yes.' She looked at him, a little weary now, and sighed. 'Oui. Daryl was somewhat of an alchemist.'
Maurice smiled slightly and took her into the conservatory. 'Let us have coffee and a good long parlez, oui?'
                                                                          

.................  

Finding Shannon had been the easiest of all.

Alain, Athena and Wolf Star were rather amazed to see her with Kidd and Jeanne behind the lodge where they had barbequed the night of the barn dance. Once more, they appeared to be preparing a feast.

Some distance from where Kidd sat, pouring cider and holding forth as usual, energy focused on running his mouth and not much else, was where a pit was dug and the carcass of a deer slowly roasting, tended by several of the local Indian men.

This gave Wolf Star an idea.

...............
                                                                              

'So...' Maurice poured the hot strong brew, refreshing their cups as he endeavored to comprehend this newest mode of travel. 'This Daryl had discovered the eh, avenue? Pathway?' Em nodded, encouraging. 'This time road, that travels to the past or future?'

'Essentially, oui.' Em wasn't sure herself about all the hows and wherefores. 'It was a magical working that he became caught up in. But, it was his nephew Jack, a physicist and inventor, who developed a means to control and regulate this...time stream'

'Ma foi...so, it is no small wonder that Daryl is ready to retire from the world!' Maurice slowly shook his head. Then he stared hard at Em. He got up and went to a wicker cabinet just within the cottage and returned with Armagnac.

A raised eyebrow in inquiry. Em sighed and nodded. A drop of Armagnac in the coffee would not go amiss at this point. But only a drop.

'Salud,' they toasted, but to what?
 
Maurice sighed again, 'Ah, ma cher Emmeline...' he shook his head again. 'This is, could be, tres' diabolique. That you actually are able to travel the avenues of time! I did not believe, before, but now that I have seen -- !'

'Now you know just what sort of a debacle can result from these plots of, well, international intrigue and, -- assassination, Maurice!' Em ran her hands through her hair and held her head as if to squeeze it free of chaos.

'Oui. Diabolique!' Maurice drank, pouring more coffee and Armagnac. 'Ah, Emmeline...strange and dangerous times we are living in, cher.'

Em was very sorry for that. 'I wish it weren't so.' She lifted her gaze to his. 'We are a long ways from that free and easy gallop yesterday through the fields...I am sorry to have involved you in all this.'

Maurice looked stunned. 'Eh? Non, non...' he leaned forward, taking her hands. 'Cheri, I, too am sorry we must deal with this nasty business, but it is what we must do! As good folk must, oui?' He poured a drop more brandy into her cup. 'I do not regret having met you, Emmeline of Arcadia.'

Em took a sip and smiled. 'Nor I you, Maurice of Mont Real.'
'Ha!' Maurice barked a laugh. 'That Long Fellow wrote no such verse!' He smiled then, dropping his head. 'You know, I have kept myself alone much these past few months. Alain, I have remained in touch with, but few others.' He raised his eyes to hers. 'I welcome your presence here, Emmeline.'

                                                                      

'I fear I just bring trouble to your door...' she began. '...the last thing I would wish.'
'Non. Never.' He sat back then, regarding her. 'You have inspired me. Non, it is so! I had not even felt like riding at all, in weeks...it is not fair to the horses, either.'

Em was staring off into nothingness, thinking. 'The thing is...' Her glance took in his. 'I wonder... except for the assassination, of course, I wonder if it might not be, you know, a possibility for a better reality, perhaps? That is, perhaps...they may be right?'

Maurice frowned at her, leaning on the table. 'You mean, if having Charles Edward Stuart made king of Scotland, and Great Britain, and Canada...as well as America?' He shook his head, leaning back far. 'Oh, non. It would be a disaster...for New France! For the French Canadians! We would become even more marginalized...'

His eyes were alight with fear. 'Such a great lot of resources and power all upon the shoulders of one man. That is something you do not wish to experience. Just think of Napoleon! The French know well about despots. C'est fou.'

                                                                              

 
'I know little of Canada's politics,' Em admitted.

'It has been rather rocky, you know, but with the election of Laurier as Prime Minister, it is getting somewhat better.' Maurice calmed down somewhat. 'But, I would not wish to rock that boat now, as they say.'

Maurice and Em sat silently a while, waiting, thinking. Trying not to think. Wondering about this "plan."

'You know,' he began, pouring the last of the coffee.
'The city of Montreal and surrounding area was created as a New Jerusalem.'

'I have heard something of this,' Em allowed, 'but none of the details. The early settlers had a new land with a new vision in mind.'

'Oui. Back in the 1600s. They were visionaries, exactemente! Far from France and the old, stagnant regulations and habits of the past. And Emmeline, the women were the leaders in this! C'est vrai; it was the women who started the hospitals and the schools, naturellement!' Maurice was smiling.

'In the 1600s? And the men went along with this?' Em was impressed.
'Oh oui. Everyone had to work together, non? The Indians were a concern they needed to band together to deal with here, to dialogue with them and try to know them... So, women and men, all got along together in building a new world here. They had to, they depended upon each other.'

Emmeline regarded him anew. Another man with a plan?

'It is still a dream that some here try to keep alive, ma cheri,' remarked Maurice, full of caffeine and ideas.

...............

Wolf Star saw his chance.

When he saw that Shannon was closest to him while the others were otherwise occupied, he made certain that she could view him.

He quietly hailed the Indian men who were tending the deer on the spit, and engaged them in parley. He and Shannon made eye contact and he motioned to where she should be positioned. Shannon moved nearer the hay wagon to the side of the yard, which was where Alain and Athena were hidden.

Wolf Star was demonstrating to the men a new type of knot with which to secure the leather straps holding the spit together with the poles on either side. His foot suddenly slipped and nearly knocked the spit, deer and all, over into the fire.
-- Chaos ensued.

While the men scrambled to grab the deer and not get burned, Shannon and Wolf Star ran behind the wagon, and Alain and Athena got them all out of there tout de suite via her mobile unit.

Possibly due to the Kidd's handy yet unfortunate habit, for them, of cider drinking before noon, added to the fact that, in the melee, neither Jeanne nor Alex had noticed Shannon's disappearance until it was too late.

No, they hadn't gotten their hands on her mobile unit. She hadn't brought it with her, or she'd have not been long in their clutches.

..............

'And, are you one of those men, Maurice?' Em asked, wondering where his interests lay...what fueled his obsession with the past?

Maurice ran a finger along his chin, as if stroking a non-existent beard. 'Possibly.' He stared about them at the plants, herbs and greenery surrounding them in the small glass conservatory...a petit fountain ran into a rock pool of water lilies and iris, making a pleasant silvery sound.

                                                                          

'It is true I escape often into the past, as much to find inspiration and drive, as rest and solace, as I do here, in this verdant place. A city oasis,' he admitted. 'And, yes, at one time, I and my confreres were committed to establishing a...a bastion; a combination library, society, school and sanctuary, that was outside the Church, yet dedicated to the real meaning of morality, charity and good works.'

'I wonder that you are Catholic, and yet a Freemason,' Em commented.

'Hm. Oui. The fault lies with the Revolution, non?' Maurice stood, and wandered about the circular glass enclosure about the lily pool. '"The Age of Reason" and Rousseau...' He shook his head slowly, as he strode, pinching off brown leaves here and there.

'Many Freemasons were involved in the planning of all that. And with only the best of intentions, which led to the road to hell, non?' Maurice took up a pair of pruning shears and cut the dead heads from dried plants. 'And heads did roll...'

'Alas. And so, best laid plans of those like David and Danton, eh? They were cast aside in a power grab fueled by blood lust. Marat, Robespierre...' He looked as if he wanted to spit, or worse. '...monsters, all. Too many monsters and too few true men. All the high minded ideals of Freemasonry cast aside in the passion which only poisons.'

'So, your Catholic dogmas do not conflict with the Masonic?' Em still couldn't get a direct subjective answer.

Maurice smiled, and cut a budding red rose, handing it to Em, who inhaled the rich crimson. 'But of course they do, cher.' He resumed his seat. 'You are not Catholique, so...' he waved a hand as if to say, and so it is something you'd not understand.

'There are many ways around the interpretations of the dogma, and then, there's the writings of the saints and desert fathers, not to mention the Popes and all their petit additions...it is a living thing, this.' Maurice attempted to explain, to his credit. 'And so it is with one's personal beliefs, and, yes, we adhere to tradition! That is our creed, the Apostolic succession; -- the church is closest to the original, primitive teachings of the apostles and of course, le Bon Dieu.' His eyes were locked with hers.
  'But, there is always room for, eh, interpretation, non?'

'I see,' Em said. But she did not. 'And this compaigne, a society of like-minded men? Are they Masons also?'

'Some.' Maurice was not so forthcoming on this, she sensed. 'We are not meeting as before, however. We have had to...regroup, somewhat. But, there is still that passion for reform on a grand scale, to carry forth the dream of a real spiritual rennaisance, here, in Montreal, and to make it the true Real Jerusalem!'

Suddenly Em and Maurice were galvanized by a loud banging on the front door. They both leapt up and hurried out.

Opening the door, they were astonished to see Alain and Shannon come falling inside the hallway.
  'She is back! She is safe!' Alain righted himself, with an arm about Shannon, pulling her upright as well.

Em started forward, taking Shannon by the hand. 'Cherie, are you all right?'

'Yes. Yes.' Shannon looked weary, but relieved. 'It is good to see you, Em.' Her gaze went to Maurice. 'Pleased to make your acquaintance, oncle!' She made un petit curtsy. 'Oh. I need to sit down...'

'More coffee, Maurice?' Em asked. He hustled off to the kitchen and Em and Alain took Shannon into the parlor.
She was seated upon the sofa and leaned into Alain, who put an arm protectively about her.

As Alain told of Wolf Star's deceptive ploy and their brilliant escape, Maurice entered with a tray of hot coffee and gingerbread. He poured, adding honey. 'Drink some, petit cherie, you need it,' he said, handing the cup to Shannon. 'The poor girl is in shock,' he murmured to Alain. He did not add that she also seemed rather inebriated.

'No, I'm fine, merci,' Shannon told them, sitting up.
'Some food would be welcome...I haven't had breakfast, only cider and an apple!'

Alain cut gingerbread and handed it to her. 'Ma pauvre cheri, she was taken away very early and then given strong drink with the promise of a very special presentation later...'

Between bites Shannon told them of some reportedly new and fabulous 'find' that Kidd had come upon, through the revelations and excavations of his good friend...

'Yes!' Shannon polished off her cake deftly and then dropped Le Bombe: 'I met with St.John! Who was, as promised, fabulous and special, indeed...' She finished her coffee, making a grimace. '...and also quite dangerous.'
                                                                           
...........

CLICK BELOW TO LISTEN! Jane Birkin et Serge Gainsbourg: Je T'aime .... Moi, Non Plus

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k3Fa4lOQfbA 

Chapter 39 - Merovingian Melody

 ..::A fascination with secret societies and a renewed interest in the esoteric -- both trends reached a peak in the Paris of the fin de siecle -- the milieu of Claude Debussy, Sion's alleged grand master when Berenger Sauniere, in 1891, discovered the mysterious parchments at Rennes le Chateau.

Debussy set a number of Victor Hugo's works to music. And there was also the the enigmatic magus of French symbolist poetry, Stephane Mallarme -- one of whose masterpieces, L'Apres-Midi d'un Faune, inspired the composer. There was the symbolist playwright Maurice Maeterlinck, whose Merovingian drama, Pelleas et Melisande, Debussy turned into a wold-famous opera::..

Baigent, Leigh and Lincoln
Holy Blood, Holy Grail

.............

"I know what. I'll tell you a better Grail story. I'll tell you about Arcadia.' It was Carreras. 'The Catalans came to Arcadia in the 1300s, led by a Catalan count. There is in the middle of the countryside an unexpected Gothic cathedral, supposedly built by Catalans. There was a substantial Crusader influence in the area. The Arcadian cult of 2000 BC mentions Zeus and his three daughters and, before them, a wolf cult...no one goes up to the site. It is said the animals have no shadow.
  There is also a well-preserved temple nearby. Also in the middle of nowhere. What is its purpose?' He looked at me. "It was once known as the home of the Grail."
                               
Patrice Chaplin
City of Secrets
                                                                       

+++++++++++++++


Emlyn, Alain and Oncle Maurice were now laying claim to yet another gatehouse; not as cosy as Athena's, it was rather larger. But welcoming nonetheless. It was somewhat austere, Maurice explained, few people came here, but it boasted a large stone fireplace, and a good sized parlor, dining area and kitchen all together in one room sans walls, which were all of knotty pine paneling.

Em chanced to have glimpsed in the distance le maison proper, although mostly hidden by trees; turrets and crenulated high walls were visible above the greenery.

Maurice had explained that the house had been tied up in a family dispute over the will for some years now, and who knew if or whenever it would again be occupied. But he knew the owners, his family had been old friends of their family, and he was free to make the gatehouse and stables his to use, whenever he wished.

'Boarding horses here for people helps keep the place up somewhat,' he had told her earlier. 'But it is falling into ruin, nonetheless.' He looked pained to mention it. 'At least the stables and gatehouse are fairly well maintained.'

Em had noticed that the stables looked every inch top notch. Fresh hay in the stalls, well-mucked out, with plenty of new hay stacked high. She had counted nearly a dozen occupied stalls and was pleased to have been given a neat black half-Arab mare to ride, Ayesha. Maurice rode a larger Arab gelding, also black, Saniib.

She had earlier changed for the ride into a sort of grey riding habit and boots of a style she'd never before seen. The tack was strange to her as well, the saddle an oddity although comfortable enough.

It had been some time since Emlyn had ridden a horse.
It was wonderfully freeing to be out where no one else could be seen, just flying though the scenery, devoid of all thought, feeling only sensation, and enjoying the gallop of the little mare, who was also young and loved to run.
 
They'd ridden through the hilly countryside until nearly dusk. Em had noted that here, the maples were all bright reds or mostly stripped of leaves already. Winter would visit Montreal before Massachusetts, she realised. And, it was getting late. She was decidedly ready to retire for the evening, it had been an exhilarating but long day.
                                                                     

                                                                        

At the gatehouse there were three bedrooms total, and  Alain had already turned in, occupying a bedroom at the end of the hall. Emlyn and Maurice were still up, studying some documents, old scrolls and books that he said he was 'taking a new interest in, since hearing your news...'

Emlyn decided she was weary of prevarication. 'Just what is this particular Holy Grail that St.John, et al, are seeking?' she asked, bold as brass.

Maurice stared at his books, saying nothing at first.
Then, 'Umm. Well, who knows what it could be this time? There is always some fine Quest or other ongoing, you know...'

'Such as?' Em questioned.
Oncle sighed. 'Eh...well, not so long ago, there was all that back in France with Peledan's new Order of the Grail...'
'Qu'est-ce que c'est?' Em queried, en Francaise.

Maurice smiled. 'Actually, it was the "Rose Croix Catholique et Esthethique, du Temple et du Graal" or "Catholic Rose-Cross and the Temple and the Grail"...left nothing out, Josephin Peledan. Oui.' He glanced up, catching Emlyn's eye. 'This was in 1890. So, a decade ago, at least.'

'And? What was the new Order of the Grail about?' And, oh do stay on track, Em silently hoped.

'Oh, posturing mostly. Palling about with Debussy, Emma Calva, possibly Saunier...poets, painters. A salon more than any esoteric 'order'.' He pushed the papers aside, and leaned back in his chair.
  'He formed his own theatre company, players. Debussy was behind all  this as well. One of the plays was "The Mystery of the Grail".
  'While your situation sounds as though they've more practical concerns, I usually find most such so-called occult sects to be more of the same innocuous folly. The Church did not even concern itself with them.'

                                                                     

   Emlyn worried about that, that their concern would not be taken seriously. 'Is there a Masonic library at your lodge?' Emlyn decided that half a day of playing nice had been long enough. She needed to steer this ship to port before it floundered.

'Eh?' Maurice had nearly noticed her. 'What's that, a library at the lodge?' He sat back and regarded Em. 'That may be a good idea...later' He frowned at the documents before him. 'I'm not having much luck here...what's tomorrow?'

                                                                                   

'This is Saturday evening.' Emlyn informed him. A very very long one, she did not add.
  'Yesss...' Oncle M. murmured to himself, staring into the fire now. 'Sunday. Not much open then. I think tomorrow...we should all go to church.'

Emlyn wasn't so sure about all that. 'Oh, I, I really hadn't brought any clothing at all suitable...' she began, when threatened by church, Em began hoping for a good excuse to pop back home and give up this wild grail chase...

Maurice stood, and tossed another log onto the fire. 'Plenty of clothes here...pas de problem.' He waved a Gaulic hand aside any concerns, leaning on the mantle and frowning at the flames before him. 'Pere Francis has a fine library that I often borrow from. I think there may be certain items there that could be pertinent to this...situation.'
 
Finally, Maurice seemed to be responsive to her reason for being there. It had only taken all bloody day...

Well! If going to church would shake loose some gem of knowledge that will help, Em felt she could bear it. It had only been, what...? She couldn't recall when she had last stepped within the hallowed doors of a real Christoforian chapel. She suddenly felt like laughing, just picturing what Daryl would think, or Jethro, to see her heading into a church! She wondered then if the service were en Francaise? Or perhaps Latin? Or both?

She felt she was being watched.

Maurice was studying her from his great height as though she were an alien species on his planet which had just appeared unannounced in the parlor and he was trying to figure out if she were animal, vegetable or otherwise edible...

'Franc for your thoughts, Monsieur?' Emlyn asked, taking a seat at the simple, rough wooden table. The entire cottage was furnished with a monk's sort of minimalism.

'I like this cottage,' she said. 'It is rustic, but comfortable. One can focus. A good place to...analyze one's thoughts.' Em picked up the papers Maurice had been studying...
  '"Legends of Old Arcady", Wolfram von Eschenbach, The Nag Hammadi Library...' Em murmured. These were all available at Daryl's library. Which was now Llew's loft. She wondered briefly how the lad was doing. And what he was doing, specifically.

                                                                          

'Yes, it is a good place to come alone to think.' Maurice moved away from the fire, looked over Emlyn's shoulder. '"Legends of Old Arcady" is tres' interessant.' He began to hum, and then to sing. Emlyn detected both French and Latin in the lyrics.

'That's a beautiful tune,' she said, when he had paused. 'I'm not sure I know it, but it sounds somehow familiar.'

'Yes.' Maurice glanced her way. 'It is the National Anthem of Acadians; Ave Maris Stella, Star of the Sea...

   '"Ave maris stella,
     Dei Mater alma,
     Atque semper Virgo,
     Felix caeli porta.

     En recevant cet ave
     De la bouche de Gabriel
     Et en changeant le nom d’Ève
     Établis-nous dans la paix"
                                                                      

 'The first verse is always sung in Latin. Then we sing en Francaise. You perhaps are familiar with the Longfellow poem of "Evangeline"?' Em nodded. 'The story of Gabriel and Emmeline.' He touched Em's shoulder, 'For that was her real name.' Emlyn blushed, almost tempted to admit it was her real name as well. She didn't wish M. to think of her as...deceitful, though.

She glanced up at Maurice. He was far from being the old dodderer she'd expected, Maurice. Rather a fine looking man, she had to admit, in fact. She was not altogether comfortable with that.

He sighed. 'It is late. My mind wanders...I'll show you to your room, Em.' He took her by the elbow and drew her arm through his.

Stopping at a door off the parlor, Maurice opened it with a key and waved her within. He went to a tall armoire of lovely red wood, cedar she decided; when he swung open the doors, the scent was unmistakable.  'There are night clothes in there. Please help yourself.'

                                                                

                           
While Emlyn looked through the armoire, Maurice bent to a small franklin stove and lighted a match. He added more wood and, taking a candle from the night stand, lighted that as well then closed the stove door. He turned to find Em now watching him, a bunch of folded white satin in her arms.

'Thank you, Maurice. For the lovely picnic, and the ride...' Em looked about her, 'all this...and taking the time to help --'

Maurice walked over to her, put a finger on her lips.   'Non, it is my honor to serve.' He affected a small bow, then handed her the candle. 'I am...pleased, that such matters are important to you. And Alain, as well, of course. A favorite nephew.' He smiled, tucking a tendril of cinnamon curls behind Emlyn's ear.

'I...' He took his hand away. Then nodded to Emlyn. 'It is a good idea, church, tomorrow...' He went to the door, turned. 'I...my room is just across the hallway there. Eh...good night, Emlyn. Bon soir. Sleep well.'

'Bon soir, Maurice,' Emlyn called after him. But he had already shut the door. Em smiled, wondering about M., as she thought of him to herself. An enigma. Who, what was the man behind the M.? Perhaps tomorrow, more would be forthcoming.
  At church. Of all things.

.................
 
Daryl was becoming quite used to his new routine. Up early, chanting, a frugal but filling breakfast, then work in the gardens, with which he was currently occupied.

Although he missed the Sisters of St.Agnes, and one in particular, he began to appreciate the certain charms of St.Blaise. It was, if possible, even more sequestered deep in forested lands than St.William. The views, especially from the towers and rooftops, were breathtaking. One felt one could see across Canada. One nearly could...once across the mountains, the plains rolled on without a bump for hundreds of miles...

                                                                         

Along with his duties in the gardens, Daryl spent much of his time in the kitchen with Brother Julian learning at the master's side. Yet another of St.Blaise's charms: Sourdough bread. For Julian had worked as a cook in a lumber camp. As well as chef at 4-star restaurants in New York and Montreal. Top to bottom, Julian had done it all.

                                                                    

'You don't miss the high life of New York, then?' Daryl asked, knowing the answer.
  'Pas de "high life"...' Julian waved a Gaulic arm and the insinuation aside. 'This, cher brother, is the life of the Most High.' His gaze flew heavenward, as if he dwelt amongst the cherubim in this very kitchen.

'Non. I do not miss all the lies, and back-stabbing, and power plays, oh yes! It is a ruthless business, holding on to one's position in a kitchen at a 4-star establishment! Everyone wants your job. And they are not above dirty tricks to get it!' Julian murmured a few choice French phrases, not asking for excuse.

'D'accord! You are absolutely right, Brother Julian.' Daryl concurred. 'I, too, am beginning to believe that this may be the best of all possible worlds,' he was quite surprised to hear himself say. 'I haven't felt so, so at peace, with myself and with the world, since...I can't recall.' Daryl realised he had indeed forgotten any moments of true peace.

'Well,' Julian slapped his sourdough upon the thick cutting board and began dusting it with flour. 'it is not all just singing praises and baking the pie here, you know. We also do much volunteer work in the community, at hospitals, and in prisons...the poor, you know, feeding the poor...it is more satisfying than stuffing the rich with yet more foie gras'

'-- Soup kitchens,'Daryl supplied.

'Ah, oui,' Julian agreed, cutting out biscuits.
'We donate our time, and produce. The Society of St.Vincent is very active in Quebec. Vincent was one of the most influential and instrumental men who helped to develop a Catholic presence in New France.  And do you know what that is, cher brother? Hospitals! Schools! Oui! Good works. We are known for our good works. Sola fide, sola scriptura, non non...that does not help people who are suffering from injury, pain and empty bellies.'

'Ramakrishna said that one cannot teach religion to people who are starving,' Daryl offered, stirring more flour into a new dough.

'Bon. Oui, he sounds like the Pope, eh?' Julian chuckled. 'You know, I have met and spoken with monks of all sorts...Eastern rite, the Buddhists, the Hindus...we get along as long as we feel we are all brothers and here to help! Do not get so involved in dogma and rhetoric! You can argue that until the sheep come home, non? What is of practical use? That is our focus.'

He paused, considering. 'You know...we are heading into Montreal tomorrow. It is Sunday. A couple of times a month we are invited to Notre Dame de Bonsecour. For the chanting, you see.' Julian waved his biscuit cutter. 'Also, we get to feed the people! In the parish hall, there they have the kitchen of the soup.' He motioned about him: 'These loaves of bread, that is where they are headed! Loaves and fishes, mon cher brother!' He threatened Daryl with the biscuit cutter. 'You must come!'

                                                                                

Daryl needed no encouragement from kitchen utensils.
'Brother Julian, it would be an honor,' he bowed to the Maestro. 'Although my Latin needs some work yet.'

'Non, non...' Julian popped his biscuit pan in the oven. 'Pas de problem! You can mumble your way along, some of us do!' He chuckled. 'The main thing we need is a strong arm to lift the soup kettles and ladle out the stew, non?'

'Oui,' Daryl replied, enthused. It would be interesting to see old Montreal again. He hadn't been since...diosa, he simply couldn't recall... 'I can't even remember when I was last in Montreal.'

'Eh. It is the city.' Julian dismissed such. 'I would not trade these gardens, fields and bois for all Montreal! But...Paris, now...' The chef began to whistle as he betook his ample self out into the herb garden. 'Just keep working on the biscuits. Ah, and be ready to meet me here, ready to leave early tomorrow! About 4 a.m.!'

Honor came early in these parts, Daryl told himself. Exceedingly early...

............

It was much too early, Emlyn decided, when she heard a rap upon her door. It was Alain.
  'Emlyn? Allez! We are leaving soon...'

What? No tea? Em awoke, feeling last evening's wine a bit. She must have tea... 'Coming!' she called. Followed by, '-- Is there tea?'

She heard the retreat of feet as she hurriedly poured water and washed then looked through the armoire. Plenty of clothes M. said...she grabbed what looked like a dress and ran her fingers through her hair...
-- this was going to be interesting...

She found Alain and Maurice having tea and toasting bread over the fire. Maurice tossed her an apple. 'Come! Have some tea. We are soon leaving.'

Em ventured out wrapped up with the grey cloak of yesterday's ride over her grey dress. It was a bit warmer in the parlor but still rather a grey and cool morning. 'A grey day,' she announced, pouring tea. Earl Grey. Hot.

Alain handed her a green wand with two pieces of bread threaded upon it. 'Good sourdough, Em. And  there is honey.'

'Is it from St.William's?' Emlyn asked, spooning honey into her tea.
   'Is what from St.Williams?' asked Maurice suddenly.
   'The honey,' Em replied. 'They've the most wonderful lavender honey from the monastery hives.'

'The Beekeepers of St.Williams...oui...' Oncle was drifting again, thought Alain. 'I have heard of them. And of their sister-convent, at St.Agnes.'

'Do you think they need warning, then?' Em inquired.
'Warning?' Maurice frowned, standing, stirring down the fire.
'Well, yes, about the Grail?' Emlyn wondered now what she was doing here. Was the man on track or had this train of thought completely derailed?
'We will see.' Maurice smiled.

'We will see,' Alain whispered to her. He also smiled.
Not for the first time, Em felt herself falling down that well-traveled rabbit hole.

...............                                                        

                                                             

Rather a good crowd that chilly morning at Notre Dame  de Bon Secours. The reason was soon evident:
   'The monks of St.William and St.Blaise are here with Gregorian Chant!' Alain was pleased to announce, as Emlyn and Maurice caught up with him at the church steps.

Maurice turned to Emlyn. 'This will be a rare treat! Sometimes one or the other order of monks will appear here, but not so often both.' He took her elbow and steered her to the side. 'After the service, there is a soup kitchen in the Parish Hall. Feeding the poor. Also, there will be the monastery's fruits on offer, for 'donation', oui? That honey you enjoy is one such. We best get inside, while there is room.'

In the narthex, candles were offered as well, Maurice got three for them, rather larger than the usual votive. These were to be lighted during the chanting, Alain told her.          

                                                                                 

Standing before the Church entrance proper, clutching her candle with great force, Emlyn was nervous as a cat in a thunderstorm. She'd not attended any church at all, much less Catholic...very rarely she might have gone with Rosa and Manuel to a special service, but, oh, that was ages ago...what to do? She decided to simply watch the others, and dove in.

Between the genuflecting and crossing herself and genuflecting again, Em felt like an orchestra leader waving a baton about, but at last, they were seated.
Em began to remove her hood then caught herself. Best leave that up, so to not tempt the angels.

She studied the crowd then, and crowd it was. People began to line up along the back of the church and some along the walls. Everyone seemed to be dressed in their finest for the occasion and Emlyn found herself enchanted by the handsomeness of the men in their black and white suits and boiled shirts and the loveliness of the women, old and young with children, some in their satins, velvets and lace mantillas, some in simple cottons and scarves. All looked like madonnas to Em. Did she look out of place, she wondered...she hoped she didn't look too protestant. Or heretical. 

Emlyn tried to relax and she shut her eyes. A subtle scent reached her. She remembered then: incense. That was what was missing from a protestant service. Em opened her eyes. Statues. And stained glass...it was like an art museum in here, she thought...and what was that odd little ship there hanging from the ceiling...?
                                                                    

              

All seemed to pass like a dream to Em, (admittedly, she hadn't much sleep the night before), but she caught most of the service, even remembered the proper responses occasionally, and her ears pricked up when the priest mentioned 'Melchizedek'; she'd always liked that mysterious man who spanned both Old and New Testaments...

After the rising and falling to knees and rise and fall again, Em was beginning to awaken with these welcome calisthenics! She found it greatly preferable to having to simply sit on a hard bench, as with most protestant churches. But she had remembered enough to cross her arms before her and not partake of communion.

Before she knew it, Alain had nudged her and was holding a lighted match for her. Deacons were snuffing out much of the church's wall sconces and had opened the doors of the building to allow the smoke out. They then made space between the altar and congregation. Em held her candle to the flame and waited.

Soon everyone quieted as they heard a sound; from without, the monks began their chanting as they seemed to flow in through the back of the church and processed forward and lined up before the congregation. Shortly after, another rise of chant was heard as monks also filed in from either side of the church and the monks of one monastery joined the other brothers there before them.

There, in the darkened sacred space, lighted only by the parishioners candles, the monks sang on with their voices echoing off the vaulted hall of the church. Emlyn relaxed into the droning, and soaring voices of the brothers, as she listened to the old hymns, some she even recognised, like the "Ave Maris Stella" Maurice had sung for her last evening.

Em chanced a glance up at Maurice, who had his eyes closed, and she could just catch his quiet voice, chanting along with the brothers. What an odd man he was, she thought, to have separated himself from the present day, and to have tried to create a space apart from the hustle and hurry of modern life.

                                                                       

The monks then began a hymn that Emlyn recognised, the Magnificat. She sat up and became more aware. As the monks launched into their sonorous Latin, Em studied them; at first seeming to look alike, she noticed that they were quite different upon notice. More older monks than younger, alas, she thought. Most seemed middle-aged, though. And that brother on the end with St.Blaise looked almost familiar...perhaps without the beard...

'Madonna!' Emlyn whispered, eliciting stares from Alain and Maurice and others. She couldn't help it...seeing Daryl here, now, had come as rather a shock.

'-- Daryl...?' She murmured, or thought she had, but no longer caring about what went on about her. How? What? What could he be doing here? Was he following her? And why was he costumed like a monk? This was all most discombobulating.

Just then, Daryl turned and stared directly at her. Oh, yes, it was him. And by the glaring alarm in Daryl's eyes, he hadn't expected to see her here, either.
  'C'est fou,' Emlyn whispered.
                                                                                 

CLICK BELOW TO LISTEN!

Ave Maris Stella -  Monastic Choir of the Abbey Notre Dame de Fontgombault

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DUcW5NmP2Qo 

Chapter 38 -- Vive la Compagnie

 Chapter 38 -- Viva la Compagnie

..::When Saunier embarked on a restoration of Rennes le Chateau, he removed the altar stone which rested on two archaic Visigoth columns. One of these was hollow. Inside, the cure' found four parchments preserved in sealed wooden tubes. Two of these are said to have comprised genealogies, one dating from 1244, the other from 1644.

Perhaps the most august and consequential visitor to Sauniere and Rennes le Chateau was the Archduke Johann von Hapsburg, a cousin of Franz Josef, emperor of Austria. Bank statements subsequently revealed that Sauniere and the archduke had opened consecutive accounts on the same day and that the latter had made substantial sums over to the former.

During the 19th century the Priure' de Sion, working through Freemasonry and the Hieron du Val d'Or, attempted to establish a 'revived' and 'updated' Holy Roman Empire -- a sort of theocratic United States of Europe, ruled simultaneously by the Hapsburgs and a radically reformed Church::.. 

                                                                

............

..::There are at least a dozen families in Britain and Europe today who are of Merovingian heritage. These include the houses of Hapsburg-Lorraine...Our researches have persuaded us that the mystery of  Rennes le Chateau does involve a serious attempt by influential people to establish a Merovingian monarchy in France, if indeed not the whole of Europe::...

Baigent, Leigh and Lincoln
Holy Blood, Holy Grail

+++++++++++++                                         

Local tradition in Guelph, Ontario, Canada, has it that in 1863 the short-lived emperor Maximilian von Hapsburg of Mexico, with the support of Scottish Rite Freemasons, began a colossal stone church on what is still known in Guelph as the Catholic Hilltop.
   It is said that foundations for a structure six times the size of the present day Church of Our Lady were set into the hilltop in anticipation of Guelph becoming the headquarters of a Holy Kingdom in the New World - a New Jerusalem.

William F. Mann
The Templar Meridians

..................

It was Eugene-Etienne Tache, Quebec Parliament's engineer who came up with the motto 'Je me souriens.'
Tache's own grand daughter, Helene Paquet, stated that the three-word motto was taken from a poem of which the first verse ends with "Je me souviens/Que nee nous les lis je crois sous la rose" -- "I remember/That born under the lilies I grow under the rose". There is one detail that is very significant that is the word rose, spelled in its singular form.

Francine Bernier
The Templars' Legacy in Montreal, the New Jerusalem

............
 
"There is the rose in which the divine word became flesh: here are the lilies whose perfume guides you in the right ways."

Beatrice to Dante  -  Paradiso                                                     

                                                                           
+++++++++++++++++


'You're here! At last.' Athena stood to welcome Wolf Star in after his long road. The two hugged tightly and nose-kissed, smiling, foreheads touching.

'I am. It is good to be here,' he said, sighing, as he slipped off his packs and then fell upon the sofa. 'It has been a long trail.'

Athena didn't wish to inform him just then that they were about to head straight back from whence he'd just returned. But she knew she would have to, soon.

She sat beside him, legs curled. 'Hungry? There's  chowder on the stove,' she offered.
  'Thank you, cher. Perhaps, soon. I am so weary now I don't know what I am.'
  'Lie down. Here.' Athena commanded. Wolf Star stretched across the sofa, groaning. Athena sat beside him and began to massage his head, neck and shoulders. 'After this, you should eat. Unless you're asleep.'
  Wolf Star merely groaned. 'This is good...'

After some time, he rolled over on his back. 'There was much of interest on this journey.' His eyes locked onto hers. 'Some things that perhaps you should know about this friend of yours, Daryl.'

'Indeed?' What could he have done now, was Athena's long-suffering aforethought. Could Daryl have met Wolf Star on the road?
  'Hm.' Wolf Star wondered where to begin. 'Did you know that he is an antiques collector?'
  'Of course. It is how he makes his living. Rather successful at it as well. Why?'

Wolf Star leaned up on an elbow. 'Did you also know that he had come to the Monastery of St.William before us?'

Athena was confused. 'No.'She wondered how that had come to be. 'What happened?'
  'He said,' Wolf Star began, looking as though anything Daryl said could hardly be trusted, 'that he'd gotten lost. In the storm. And had simply come upon the monastery in the dark. About 15 miles from where he'd disembarked from the coach stop.' He snorted.

Athena moved his legs over, and leaned back on the sofa. 'How strange.' She pondered it all. 'Was there a storm?'
  'Oh yes. Quite a wild one. Lightning and much rain. Llew and I had arrived at St.Agnes, and were glad to be inside for the night...'

Knowing what she now knew, Athena began to get a grasp on what was on Wolf Star's mind.
  'Ah. I see.' She got up and headed into the kitchen. 'I am making tea,' she announced.

Wolf Star merely lay, exhausted, eyes closed. He was awakened soon by Athena's return. 'Drink.' She held a steaming mug out to him. 'It's a restorative.'

His nose told him of sassafras and rosehips, strawberry and blackberry leaves. And honey. He sipped. 'It is good. I brought you lavender honey. Fresh from the monk's hives.'

'Thank you, cher.' She sipped her own tea. 'So. You became suspicious of Daryl because you figured he had known of your connection to the monastery, came there specifically when he knew you would be there, and all just to work some evil mojo on innocent monks and make off with some treasure out from under your nose. Oui?'

Wolf Star lay motionless. He drank some more tea.   'When you put it like that, it doesn't sound very logical.' He swirled the tea in his cup. 'But, no, that wasn't the entire de'sordre...'

'You're getting French with me again...' Athena warned.
  Wolf Star sat up. 'Non. Not yet.' He frowned. 'But it was obviously Daryl's intention to get very, very "French" with my sister, who is now become Sister Cecilia, at the convent of St.Agnes!'

Ah. There lies the rub. Athena knew now what the problem was: Daryl. Up to his old tricks, that old coyote. Trouble was, old coyotes didn't realise what they were, to others. Until after they'd put all four paws in it...

'Diosa, he didn't...' Athena muttered to herself. She had to admit, though, that taking on a nun was rather above and beyond Daryl's usual miscalculations. She slowly shook her head in utter amazement. Daryl had outdone himself in reaching for the moon. Always, always, the man wanted only that which was unavailable. C'est fou...                                                                    
 

                                                                 

                       

                             
'He didn't.' Wolf Star finished his tea, thumping his empty mug upon the table-chest. 'But only because I let him know that I knew what was in his evil heart and wicked mind!' He began to breathe harder.

Athena squeezed his shoulder. 'You really should eat.' She put up a hand. 'No. Nothing more, now. We can talk about things, later.'
   When your eyes aren't shooting sparks and steam isn't coming out your ears, she thought to herself.
 
Wolf Star stood, about to speak.
Athena gave him the hand:
'No. -- Later.'

................


'Oncle is both a Duquesne, of New France, and a McKinnon, of Nova Scotia,' Alain attempted this clarification for Emlyn. 'His blood is at war within himself. French vs. British, or Scottish, anyway.'

'The Marquise Duquesne? Of Fort Duquesne? That family?' Em inquired, having had about enough history lessons via chess moves, which had been ongoing since their arrival, over an hour ago. She hesitated, one finger hovering, then threatened Maurice's bishop with her knight.

'Fort Duquesne was lost, burnt down...your French and Indian War, the Revolution, the innumerable wars of Britain who couldn't decide if they wanted a ruler who didn't even speak English -- George, over that of a Catholic -- James, then Charlie, and  between the Jacobites and the Jacobins...' Oncle Maurice waved a hand about his head, before taking Em's knight, '...even I weary of history on such a mad scale. Where was I? Ah, yes, the not-so-divine Marquise. That Dusquene, oui.' He sat back and studied the board, then Em's face, judging her patience.

'So. That is my family's history here in New France. We were banished in the Deportation of 1755. New Orleans, briefly. Shirt-tail relatives were not given any special dispensation, and indeed, the name Dusquene was not a welcome one to British forces at the time. But, we returned, eventually, naturellement; "Un Canadien Errant..."' Maurice half-sang.

'So, Oncle,' Alain, once more, attempted to steer the discussion back to more timely topics. 'Had you heard of this new attempt to reinstate Charles Edward Stuart to the throne and then to the presidency of the US and then, in the Prime Minister's seat -- boom boom boom -- and so to the unification of all North America...?'

'...Under the Scottish banner? You think that it will be St.Andrew's flag and not that of St.George? Certainement not la fleur d'lis!' Oncle Maurice's hand swept the remaining pieces off the board. 'THAT is what would come of such an insane ploy! Utter chaos.'

Emlyn and Alain looked at each other. Wondering, what now?

                                                                                   

                                                                     

   Although having been tethered to the chessboard, as it were, Em had not been altogether idle; her gaze had taken in the many telling details all about them. Wall art, books on shelf, for example, told her that Oncle M. was not only Catholic, possibly practising, still, in spite of the blatant heresy of gnosticism wildly visible all about them...the Book of Enoch and Jubilees, the Zohar, Sepher Yetzirah, the Bhagavad Gita, and...what is this? -- Surely not! "The Sacred Book of Abraham the Jew, Prince, Priest, Levite, Astrologer and Philosopher to That Tribe of Jews who by the Wrath of God were Dispersed Amongst the Gauls" -- wherever, however did he lay hands on such a chimera? His Baudelaire seemed now quite conservative by comparison...

Meanwhile the more questionable works of the new romantics were proudly displayed by the old masters; she eyed Rosetti's Magdalene that was so beloved of Daryl -- and was that an Aubrey Beardsley? -- cheek by jowl with da Vinci! Scandaleux!

Maurice, she noticed suddenly, was staring hard at her. 'It's your move,' he said both low and slow, making it sound as though she held the fate of the world in her hands. She glanced at the chess pieces scattered about the Turkish carpet.

                                                                    

Sighing, Maurice stood, stretching. 'It is tiring, sitting for so long. I weary of the town, as well.' He strode to the window, peering out into the bright autumn day. 'Let us head into the country, shall we? Are you hungry yet?' Not waiting for a reply, he continued, 'Of course we are. A picnic and a fine gallop, what say?'                                                                               
                                                
Em had learned in that hour-plus, that any question was merely rhetorical and would be answered by the man himself. So. She merely smiled. Alain glanced  her way, as if to say, 'you see how he is.'

'That sounds lovely, Maurice,' she finally got in a word.
  Maurice smiled. Like the cat packing the canary for a picnic.

...........

It was the irresistable scent of pumpkin pie that finally awoke Wolf Star, who, after venting all his sister-protective-spleen, had at last given in to exhaustion and fell out on the sofa, leaving Athena to shake her head in astonishment and make pie.

'After dinner, cometh the pie.' Was her declaration.
And so, once the fish chowder, cornbread, and grape, apple, celery and walnut salad had been decimated, along with the pie, Athena bethought that it was time for a few words of enlightenment herself.

'Feeling a bit less vengeful yet?' She sat herself beside Wolf Star before the fire, where she warmed a pot of cider.

No answer was forthcoming, which she'd expected, and so continued: 'I had a visit from Emlyn and Shannon after you left. They were quite upset about something they assured me you and I should take action about immediately.'

Wolf Star looked at her, silent.

'Yes.' Athena poured the hot cider into their mugs.                                                                                 

'It seems that Emlyn's former fiance, Daryl, who had been kidnapped by an unscrupulous antiques dealer, St.John from Nova Scotia, then taken by Russian ship to Alaska, then by train to Toronto...where, wanting no part of this nefarious plan, of course, had managed to escape and find his way here to me.'

Still, Wolf Star sat, unresponsive. Then, 'Yes. I was here, you know, when he arrived.'

'And you left, directly after.' Athena reminded him.    'Emlyn and Shannon had discovered something later, after Daryl had left for town and parts beyond unknown...that along with this whole plot of St.John's, to remake the Americas...are you listening?' Athena asked, tilting her head about Wolf Star, to latch onto his gaze.

'Um.' He answered.
'Hm,' Athena continued, 'they then discovered that the whole coup to overtake Canada and the US was merely the foundation; part, if you will, of a larger, more insidious plan.'

'Which is?' Finally, some show of interest from Wolf Star.
'Which is, that St.John and Alex Kidd, who appear to be the ringleaders of this plot, also plan to implement some sort of spiritual coup as well.'

Wolf Star took up his mug and frowned into his cider. 'How so?'
  'We have now heard that the real treasure they are after is something they're calling The Holy Grail. Exactly what that is, to them, I'm not sure. But, they had information that it was being hidden in a monastery somewhere in the northeastern part of either Canada or New England.' She put a hand upon Wolf Star's knee. 'And, that was why they asked us both, to travel the time trail back to the monastery, to warn them that danger could soon be at their door.'

Athena slapped his knee and stood.
 'But, thanks to you, I can tell them that the man who was KIDNAPPED, DRUGGED and HELD PRISONER, while trying to escape those who had instigated this wicked plot -- the man who was taken across the country, chased by goons and thugs off into the night, then when he found refuge from a thunderstorm, by chance, in a monastery, HE has been "safely" sent away. And so now the poor monks won't have any trouble from HIM.
  '...The man I have known well like a brother for the past thirty years or so. Yes, the monastery is safe from HIM,' She repeated, tapping her foot. Not looking at the man smoldering on the couch, she ended her rant with: 'How very noble of you. Well, at least your sister is safe. From Daryl...that wicked wolf.'

Taking her cider upstairs to the loft, Athena left Wolf Star below. Alone. He sighed. 'Et tu, Brut?'

...............
'There is wine. In the cellar. Un moment!' Maurice disappeared down a stairway.

'Alain!' Emlyn hissed, when he was gone. 'I haven't had a chance to get a word in! Neither have you.'
  Alain sighed, nodding. 'C'est vrai. It is always this way, with him. But, he is simply trying us out, to find out how serious we are. You are doing grand, you will see. At some point, we will have dialogue.'

Emlyn sighed as well. 'Then, we're off to the  country, I guess.'

'Avanti! Tourjours!' Alain exclaimed.

'You forgot "storm the Bastille!"' Maurice's head reappeared coming up the stairs. 'We will pick up everything else, along with more cliche's, en route. Allons-y!' Maurice had changed into jodhpurs, and was now pulling on a leather jacket. And a cloak.

'I hardly have riding gear with me,' Em began.
'Not to worry.' Maurice herded them out the door. 'Everything is at the stables. Allez!'

Emlyn wondered: whatever next?

...........                                                             

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