Destiny

SEVENTY-NINE

Marcus and Alicia drank dark coffee and ate warm beignets with apple fillings in a small café near the narrow Eure River. The spires of Chartres Cathedral rose high above the town of Chartres, which was trimmed in landmarks from the Middle Ages. They finished eating and walked across an ancient stone bridge over the Eure. The river flowed quietly through limestone medieval arches that vanished beneath the dark water.

They walked through the town, the scent of baking bread in the air when they passed through an alley by a bakery. Chartres Cathedral stood before them. Alicia stopped and simply stared at the enormous cathedral. “What a breathtaking church! I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“The word spectacular doesn’t seem to convey what we’re seeing. Let’s walk around the exterior before we go inside.”

As they came closer to Chartres Cathedral, two tourists’ buses pulled into the cobblestone parking lot, doors swinging open and pilgrims from all over the world descending, similar to sports teams anxious to play on a new court. Marcus and Alicia passed by the chattering hordes. Nearby, street vendors hocked religious trinkets.

The cathedral wore a coat of ancient history over the massive spires, flying buttresses and portals carved by hands of master sculptors. The statues and stone effigies inset at the entrances spoke with a universal body language that needed no interpreter: biblical icons carved in stone. The closer Marcus came to the cathedral, the more his heart raced. He looked at how the morning sun fell across the building, poking light into dark crevices, warming granite faces of angels and biblical figures that had witnessed a thousand years of mornings and sunsets clinging to the mortar of the cathedral.

Marcus used the GPS feature on his phone while he studied the engraved history. “Each portal, each entrance, tells a story.”

“What stories?” Alicia asked.

“From Adam and Eve to the great flood, through the time of Christ and the Book of Revelation.”

“It’s the Bible set in stone.” She smiled and touched his arm.

“Apparently, a lot of it’s here, either on the exterior or inside. The stained-glass windows are said to be some of the best remaining on earth. We’re looking at the eastern portals. Let’s move around and see the southern and western entrances.”

Alicia followed Marcus. He walked beneath a weeping willow tree, its leaves pumpkin orange. He stopped and wrote numbers on a pad of paper. “When are you going to tell me what we’re looking for?” she asked.

“I told you that already.”

“I understand — it’s the Spear of Destiny. But this cathedral is the size of Mt. Rushmore. We don’t even have a clue where to begin looking.”

“Maybe we do. If we can figure out a few things, possibly the clues will be more visible…and if the spear is hidden inside, we might have a chance of finding it.”

Marcus wandered slowly around the exterior. He watched a worker using a high-pressure water hose to clean mildew from an exterior wall. The worker stepped down from a painter’s ladder, leaned it against a portico and returned to the pressure washer rattling on the lawn. He shut it off and wound up the hose.

“My apologies for the noise.”

Startled, Marcus and Alicia turned around to face a man who stood on the paved walk with a dozen fresh-cut roses in his hands. He grinned and said, “The upkeep of Chartres is constant. But she wears her years well. I’m Father Davon.”

Marcus guessed that the priest, who spoke with a slight British accent, was in his late sixties. He had a dark beard streaked with white hair, the pattern and contrast looked amusingly as if ice cream had dripped through his whiskers. His blue eyes sparkled in the light. “You’re from America, I assume.”

“How can you tell?” Marcus asked.

“After working as a guide here for thirty years, I can usually tell. Most pilgrims enter through the western portal. I was trimming the late-bloomers in the garden and saw you and the lovely lady wandering about like two lost sheep.” He extended a rose to Alicia. “The bouquet is for the altar. However, this one’s for the lady.”

She reached for the rose. “Thank you! That’s very sweet.” She sniffed the bud. “It smells lovely, and there are no thorns on the stem.”

“It happens, rarely, but it happens.”

Marcus studied the priest for a second. “I suppose a rose without thorns blooms under a new sun…even this late in the season.”

Father Davon nodded, his beard parting in a grin. “Yes, indeed. I’ve heard that. May I ask your names?”

“I’m Paul Marcus. This is my friend, Alicia Quincy.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintances. My old British bones tell me that you two aren’t typical tourists making a religious pilgrimage to Chartres. A million people come here each year. Very few would know the significance of what you just said: a rose without thorns blooms under a new sun. The rose is a metaphor for Mary, and the new sun is Christ. I’m curious. What is it you are seeking?”

“We’re seeking some answers. We’re hoping they might be found at Chartres.”

Father Davon smiled, the breeze tickling his beard, birdsong coming from the trees. “What are the questions?”

“What sacred artifacts are here?”

Father Davenport grinned. “All of Chartres is a sacred artifact. The cathedral was built on high ground, land believed to have magnetic connections with the heavens. I would be honored to show you around Chartres and answer your questions.”

Marcus looked at Alicia for a moment. She smiled and nodded. “Okay,” Marcus said. “A place this large requires a compass or a good guide.”

Father Davon motioned for them to follow him. “Indeed, this is the place that will stay with you long after you return to your homes. No one knows who the architect was — the person who actually drew the plans for Chartres. In the days when Chartres was built, it wasn’t about making a name, a personal statement, as is often the case with builders. It was about making an earthly home for the spirit — the mother of Jesus, Mary. That was reason enough for the sweat equity and ingenuity that went into this magnificent cathedral. Many believe the Knights Templar was the driving force behind the construction.” The priest pointed to the western portal where hundreds of stone carvings above the entrance told stories. “Up there is the story of The Last Judgment. You can see Christ’s ascension into heaven. There is no indication of the wound on his side, the gash he received from the spear of the Roman soldier, Longinus. Perhaps this indicates a second coming and ascension.”

Marcus touched his chest, feeling for the scar beneath his shirt. “What is that?” he asked, pointing to a carved image of an old man hunched over a portable desk on his lap, his hands writing across a stone ledger.

Father Davon chuckled. “That statue is a depiction of the Philosopher’s Stone, a man seeking pure enlightenment. Such was the School of Chartres, which existed in this cathedral for almost two centuries.”

Marcus scanned the wall of statues, faces, figurines, gargoyles, full-length depictions of saints, kings and queens. The sheer number of images in stone was blurring. His eyes stopped on one group of four statues, each standing on elongated pedestals. One statue was of a longhaired man with a spear in his hands.

“Who is that?” Marcus pointed toward the statue.

“It’s believed to be Saint Theodore. No one knows for sure.”

“What are you thinking, Paul?” asked Alicia.

“I’m not sure what to think.”

Father Davon smiled. “You asked about sacred artifacts here. Let’s walk to the north portal, and I’ll show you something that may keep you up at nights.”

As they walked around the cathedral, Marcus snapped pictures with his phone and punched in equations. “I’m betting this cathedral is about as close to any building on earth to matching the size of Solomon’s Temple.”

Father Davon stopped for a moment. He seemed to search for the right words. “Both were built using the sacred geometry, the cubits measured by the dimension of the human body and the spirit of God. Sort of like Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man, a blend of art, architecture, science, nature and spirit all in a proportion that can be replicated and manifested into stone.”

“How does that translate to this cathedral?” Alicia asked.

“Here at Chartres, the builders used measurements and design codes derived from the circle, square and the triangle. I believe the same system was used in the building of Solomon’s Temple, a mix of the sacred cubit and the golden ratio. Not unlike some Greek or Egyptian architecture.” The priest pointed to engravings on the north portal. “Speaking of Solomon’s Temple, that image depicts the Ark of the Covenant being transported from Jerusalem to right here at Chartres.”

Marcus looked closely at the carving into the pillars of the north portal of the church. The images portrayed the Ark of the Covenant pulled by an ox cart.

Father Davon said, “The story links the cathedral as a commemoration of the transportation of the Ark. Many believe the Ark was stored here in the crypt for two centuries until it was taken away.”

“Taken where?” Marcus asked. “Who took it?”

“No one alive knows. Perhaps removed from Jerusalem by the Knights Templar, and maybe returned there by the same group. Or taken someplace else.”

Marcus touched the inscription at the base of the pillars. “Hic Amititur Archa Cederis,” he said. “It’s Latin and means…through the Ark thou shall work.”

“Impressive,” mused Father Davon.

“What does it really mean?” Alicia asked. “Through the Ark thou shall work.”

Father Davon shrugged. “I suppose it’s up to one’s personal interpretation. Perhaps not unlike much of what John left behind in the Book of Revelation. The words often are more than words — they are symbols and metaphors that can keep our inner compass pointed in the right direction. Gravity grips the human body. Chartes grips the soul.”

Marcus said, “When you pointed to the ascension of Christ on the other side of the cathedral, you mentioned the spear that Longinus had used to prove Christ had died. Is that spear here…is it here at Chartres?”

Alicia held her breath for a moment, looking from Marcus to the priest. Father Davon stared at the Ark carved in stone, his thoughts as mysterious as the inscription on the pillar. “Perhaps you and Alicia can return to Chartres at night. This is a remarkable structure anytime, but at night it transforms itself. If the Spear of Destiny is here…I’ve never seen it. However, a thousand years ago, in their curriculum, the teachers at the School of Chartres spoke of the spear. Rather than tell you about it…come back tomorrow night, the night of a full moon, and I will show you something.”