THE PENDRAGON PROPHECY
Chapter 1:
In the
cool stone chamber dug deep under the hillside of the guarded Italian monastery,
Brother Sincero stood hunched over a large oak table piled high with opened
ancient books, scrolls and manuscripts. In one hand he held a short-fused wax
candle. It dripped down the monk’s withered hand onto the ancient scripts. The
wax showed someone had been in these books, someone had read them, remembered
their words, and cared enough about history to peel back the pages.
The old
monk was numb to the hot wax but in his ancient eyes was an unpredictable
wildness. His breath wheezed from his thin chest that was prone to many ills
over the years. He was no longer the strong and erect tree of his youth but a
withered vine of a man now. Brother Sincero ignored the signs that his body was
dying. There were more important matters to attend to besides his certain
death. He was in a footrace against time.
Behind
him, standing eagerly in the shadows, the brown-robed novice fidgeted at his
assigned station. He wore a fresh tonsure cut of hair on his scalp administered
by the Abbot as a sign of new religious devotion and humility. How many hours
had he been waiting for the old man to say something, to even notice his presence
in the room? The young man’s eyes betrayed his anxiety. Standing in the
constant dim and humid room was an unbearable task to him. If only the old monk
would share his research, give him something to do as an aide. But Sincero
would not share his decades of scholarly ambition. The old monk was an explorer
lost in the fog of his mind behind those ancient eyes. When he died perhaps the
novice would have earned his right to an assignment higher up in the monastery;
outside where he could walk and work in the warmth of the Italian sun pruning
the grape vines with the other more privileged novitiates. The sun would burn
his skin and blend the many freckles of his face into that of a man.
Oh, how he
dreamed while he waited on the old man during the morning and evening lectio
divina, mass and vespers.
The monk
staggered back from the open pages of a curious small leather bound ledger in
his hand. The candle in his hand hovered above the open yellowed page, small
drips of wax collecting on the edges.
“Can this
be it?” the old man cried aloud. “Can this be it?” Brother Sincero pulled the ledger closer to
his face, smelling its open page as a man defining the aromatic essence of a
fine wine. His eyes read down the page, one hand-written line at a time. A face
that rarely smiled grew radiant again, the edges of his thin whiskered lips
turning upward, broken and yellowed teeth realizing a grin. “I found one at
last!”
The novice
found himself erect now, his legs braced for the collapse of the ecstatic old
monk. He dared to speak. “Are you alright, Brother Sincero?”
Sincero
slowly turned and saw the young man in the dim light. “I apologize. I forgot
they had assigned you to me. How long have you been standing there in the half
light?”
“Since
early morning, Brother. And yesterday and last week and the month before.”
The old
man smiled and nodded. “So you volunteered in good faith to be by my side.”
“I did not
volunteer, Brother Sincero. I was assigned by the Abbot.”
“To catch
me when I fall, I suppose.”
“Yes.”
The old man’s
wispy gray brows raised and he smiled to himself. “Of course you did not
volunteer. These vaults, these dusty, mildewed old books reek of old age like me.
I am sure the Abbot wants a witness when I pass, someone young and fit to
attack the many stairs above and announce my inevitable demise. But I am not
dead yet, my young friend. Not today! I have become young again with this!” He
held up the small ledger. “I hold in my hands the culmination of many years
work. Come close, so I may see you
clearly.”
The novice
stepped forward, his face illuminated by the firmly-held candle in the monk’s
hand.
“So
young,” said the monk. “So ready for life. Why have you chosen this weary life?”
“I am only
eighteen,” said the boy. “I came under my parents’ wishes. I was bad in school
– a troublemaker. For now I am but a postulant. I have not yet taken the
sovereign vows to dedicate my life to God and Christ and our Holy Spirit.”
The monk
smiled. “I can see the mischief still in your face. And today you will create a
new mischief. Much better than pulling the chair out from under a boy or
throwing rocks at birds. Behold!” The old man turned the open ledger to the
novice and raised it close to his face.
The novice
studied the ledger carefully and withered. “It is in a language I do not
understand, Brother Sincero. I have my Latin, but...”
The old
monk chortled with a kind laugh the novice had never heard from him before. “This
is written in English. Pardon my obfuscation. As will become apparent, your
diligent watch by my side has brought you into the history of this thing with
me. We - you and I - will be remembered from this day forward as the men of God
who tickled the belly of history and found an ancient truth with the power to
change human destiny.” The old monk wheezed and coughed after the elaborate and
highly excited speech.
The novice
rushed to a side table by the heavy oak door and poured the old man a crystal
glass of red wine. He returned it to Brother Sincero and raised the sweet
elixir to his lips. The old man stayed the wine away with a gesture of his
hand. “I cannot drink alone this day. Pour yourself a glass so that we may
celebrate together.”
The novice
smiled and returned to the side table to pour himself a half glass of wine. He
carefully carried it to be at the monk’s side.
The old
man raised his glass and offered a toast. “May the Pendragon Prophecy be true!”
“To the
Pendragon Prophecy,” said the novice.
Brother
Sincero tapped his drink to the boy’s and they sipped carefully. “It is good?”
asked the monk.
“Better
than anything I have tasted.”
Brother
Sincero smiled. “Do not make a habit of it. There is a devil hidden in the
bottom of a big glass.”
They
finished their wine and the novice returned the glasses to the side table.
Sincero set
the long fingers of his free hand on the novice’s shoulder. “You will declare
our find!”
“What
shall I say?” asked the novice.
“You must
cry out in your biggest voice, ‘Brother Sincero has found one’.”
The novice
nodded humbly. “Brother Sincero has found one.”
“Louder!”
insisted the monk.
The
younger man raised his voice. “Brother Sincero has found one!”
Brother
Sincero smiled. “Imagine yourself standing in the back of a large cathedral.
Imagine a bishop or a priest standing at the faraway pulpit addressing his
parishioners in the nave. Now direct your loud voice to him!”
“Brother
Sincero has found one!” the novice shouted.
Never had
such a voice echoed in the chamber of silent books and scrolls.
“That is
the voice you must use!” Brother Sincero insisted as he clutched the ledger to
his breast.
“One small
question, if I may be so bold,” the novice said in a near whisper.
“Yes?”
said the kindly monk.
“What have
we found? What is this Pendragon Prophecy?”
Brother
Sincero tossed his head back and laughed. “How forgetful of me! Fifty years and
a million pages have my eyes seen! And what have we discovered?”
The
novice’s eyes grew wide, waiting for the answer.
“We have
found a new king!”
