The mystic rose

'I did, abbess,' answered Cait.

'What did you see?'

Cait lowered her eyes. The vision was so perfect, so beautiful, she did not want to spoil it by putting inferior words to it.

'The truth now,' demanded the abbess. 'What did you see?'

'Tell her, Cait,' urged Alethea. 'Abbess A

Cait shook her head. 'If I hesitate it is not for fear of punishment. It is because I do not trust myself to speak of wonders beyond my understanding.'

At these words, the abbess softened. 'Tell me. Perhaps I can help you.'

'I had a vision,' Cait began. 'I have never known anything like it, for it seemed as if everything was happening all around me and I was there.'

'Where were you?' asked the abbess.

'I was in the upper room with Jesu and his disciples. It was the night of the Passover feast.'

At this revelation the abbess's face blanched pale. Both Thea and Cait saw the blood drain from her features. 'Abbess?' said Thea, rising to offer her seat on the edge of the bed. 'Are you well?'

'Sit you down, Abbess,' said Besa, moving to her superior's aid. She took her elbow. 'Rest a little, and I will fetch you some water.'

A

Cait and Alethea stared at the abbess, but said nothing. A long moment passed. A

Cait stretched out her hands. The abbess took them and turned them over, pushing up the sleeves. To Cait's amazement there appeared deep red welts on both wrists. She stared in disbelief at the blood-red marks.

'Holy Jesu be praised,' gasped Sister Besa, turning wide eyes to the abbess. She made the sign of the cross, and folded her hands beneath her chin and began to pray.

Bending down, the abbess lifted Cait's gown away from her feet. 'Remove your shoes,' she said.

Cait did as she was told, withdrawing first one foot and then the other. Each instep was marked by welts similar to those on her wrists. Rising, the abbess said, 'Now your mantle.'

Cait hesitated.

'There will be another mark on your side,' A

Untying the laces at her neck, Cait removed her cloak and loosened the top of her mantle; she pulled her arms from the sleeves, and pushed the mantle down over her breasts to her waist. She glanced down her torso, hardly daring to look.

There below her ribs on the right side was another ugly blood-red welt, larger than the others; shaped like a ragged gash, it did appear as if she had been stabbed and the blade had left a thin oblong slash in her flesh. She touched it gingerly, but though the skin was raised she felt no discomfort, only the slightest tenderness.

'There is no mistake,' concluded the abbess.

'Oh, Cait,' whispered Alethea, 'what have you done?'

'Nothing.' A quiver of astonishment touched her voice.

'Does it hurt?'

'Not in the least,' answered Cait in a daze of wonder. 'I feel nothing.' She pulled her mantle up over her shoulders once more. 'What has happened to me?' she asked, retying the laces.

'They are the Stigmata of Christ,' the abbess told her. 'See here,' she held out her arm and drew the long sleeve of her robe away from her wrists. The blotches were faded to a pale pink hue, and looked like scars from old wounds. 'Behold,' she said, 'the Mark of the Rose.'

It was true, the marks did look something like miniature roses-especially compared to Cait's, which looked like fresh lacerations. Cait shook her head in disbelief. 'What does it mean?'

The elderly abbess traced the marks lightly with a thin fingertip. 'It means, dear child,' she replied, lifting a hand to Cait's face, 'that you are to be the next Guardian of the Chalice.'

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

'Chosen,' the abbess was saying. Her voice seemed to come from very far away and Cait was having difficulty making herself understand the words. 'You have been chosen, Caitriona.' She paused, regarding the young woman before her with sympathy. 'And now you have a choice.'

'You must decide whether to answer the call,' volunteered Sister Besa.

'Do you understand?' asked the abbess.

Cait stared at the livid marks of the stigmata on her wrists and shook her head. 'No.'

'In this way the succession is ensured,' Abbess A

'Will you help me, Abbess A

'Of course, my dear, I will help you in any way I can.'

'Oh, Cait, this is wonderful,' said Thea, putting her arms around her sister's neck. 'God has marked you for his own. Think of it!'

Cait smiled doubtfully; already she could feel the unwieldy bulk of responsibility begi

'Do you want me to tell the sisters?' asked Besa.

'Not yet,' replied the abbess. 'I think it would be best for Caitriona to have a little time to herself just now. I will call a special chapter meeting tonight and we can tell the others then.'

She turned towards the door. 'Now we will eat, and then you can have the remainder of the day to pray and ponder how you will answer.' To Thea, she said, 'I know you are anxious to be with your sister, and there is much you have to tell one another; but, in the circumstances, I wonder if that could wait a little while. I think Caitriona would like to be alone for a time, and you have new duties to perform.'

'Of course,' replied Alethea somewhat reluctantly. 'I understand.'

'Thank you, Thea.'

'We will talk later.' She kissed Cait on the cheek and went out. Besa followed, closing the door behind her.

'Will you stay with me?' asked Cait. 'I have so many questions and I would rather not be alone with them just now.'

'If that is what you wish,' replied A

'That,' said Cait, 'is what I want to hear.'

'Come, let us walk. The day is bright and the cold will clear your head.'

They passed through the busy refectory. A few of the nuns raised their heads from their meals as they passed; both Besa and Thea glanced up briefly, and then looked away again lest either by expression or sign, they should draw attention to her. For that, Cait was grateful.

The abbess led Cait out into the yard, then along the path leading to the barns and outbuildings. They walked in silence; Cait took deep breaths of the cold mountain air and found it helped banish the fevered thoughts from her mind.

At the first barn they stopped to put some fodder into the crib for the animals. The barn was warm, and heavy with the sharp smell of sheep and their oily wool. The abbess left the door open to allow the fresh air inside. Several of the ewes were already round-bellied with lambs, including one poor old ewe which appeared ready to burst. 'We call that one Sara,' the abbess told her. 'She was barren once, but no more. Every year she has triplets or twins.' She reached out and stroked the animal's woolly head. 'But this lambing will be her last. Sara is getting too old. Like me.' She looked at Cait. 'It is time for someone younger to take my place.'