The Wild Baron (Baron 1)

“Bishops,” Susannah said. “The society must be primarily bishops. Since Tibolt is a member, not all of them are, but evidently those who aren’t bishops when they’re made members are destined to become bishops or to go even higher in the church.”

“To become Archbishop of Canterbury,” Rohan said, “has always been Tibolt’s goal.”

“And they wear the ring to identify each other.”

“I wonder if they ever meet,” Rohan said. He turned to watch his wife pacing back and forth from the fireplace to the windows. He said slowly, “We have a problem here that we must face. We must make a decision. Do we destroy this small book and this half of the map?”

Susannah stopped dead in her tracks. “Destroy? Oh, no.”

“Rohan has a point,” Phillip said. “The Devil’s Vessel, whatever it is, poses a threat to mankind—at least that’s what many people evidently believed for many hundred years. What these men still believe. If Bishop Roundtree hadn’t believed it, surely he wouldn’t have given George half of the map to protect its hiding place. He could just as easily have destroyed the gold key, the map, and the book himself.”

“But he didn’t,” Susannah said. “There must have been a very good reason why.”

Rohan said, “Who’s to say that Bishop Roundtree was the only member of this bishops’ society to have a copy of the map? Surely there must be at least one other copy of both the map and the book. What if Tibolt becomes the leader of this society? What if it is the leader who is one of the protectors of the map and the book?”

Phillip was shaking his head. “Listen to me. You actually believe that this vessel—whatever that means—actually can confer power to the one who has it in his possession? It can actually make a man as a god? Give him ultimate domination? Surely that is taking this supposed magic to ludicrous heights.”

“I agree with Rohan,” Susannah said. “I don’t think we should take the chance of Tibolt’s finding this Devil’s Vessel.” She drew a deep breath. “Perhaps in the future there will be another greedy person who breaks faith and wants the vessel. No, I think we should find it and hide it in a new place. Then we will be certain that whatever danger is inherent in this vessel will be lost for eternity.”

“So you believe that it is magic? That it is a threat to mankind?”

“Don’t raise that supercilious eyebrow, Phillip,” Rohan said. “It was Hamlet who said, ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio / Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ I cannot discount it. There is too much in life that simply occurs—” He broke off, somewhat embarrassed.

“Things,” Phillip said quietly, “for which there is no logical explanation, no framework to assuage the intellect.”

Susannah turned the last page of the book. “Ah, here it is. I wondered where this vessel was hidden in the Dunkeld cathedral. It isn’t written in Latin, so it must have been added later. She stared hard at the faded spidery words. She read slowly,

“Beneath the abbot’s resting stone

Down the rotted stairs.

Reach inside the wall that screams

The Devil’s Vessel lies in-between.”

Rohan whistled. “It won’t win any prizes for poetic merit, but I fancy that once we find the church in Dunkeld, we’ll find the reliquary and this mysterious vessel inside it.”

He looked first at his wife, then at his friend. He smiled faintly. “I imagine that we are going to Scotland?”

They said not a word, merely nodded.

Phillip walked to a bookshelf and pulled out a book of maps. It didn’t take him long to find Dunkeld. “It’s only about fourteen miles north of Perth.” Then he walked to the far wall and perused his books. Finally, he selected one and thumbed through it. “Ah, here it is. Dunkeld has a cathedral, a very big, important cathedral. This is where we’ll find this bishop buried. This is where we’ll find the reliquary. If we can find that screaming wall.”

“Look, Rohan,” Susannah said suddenly, tugging on his sleeve in her excitement. “Look at what’s written in these spidery black letters underneath the inside back cover. The paper came up and I could see there was some writing.”

“The Bishops’ Society,” Rohan repeated. “Exactly as we suspected. Just imagine, a society of men who have devoted themselves to protecting this Devil’s Vessel and keeping it hidden. It bespeaks a great respect, perhaps even fear, for the power of this thing.”

“I would have liked to have been a member,” Susannah said. “Just imagine them meeting in a private room somewhere, with curtains drawn. Do you think they still meet upon occasion?”

“Doubtless,” Rohan said. “And we’ll never discover who they are.”

“Except Tibolt.”

“Yes, except Tibolt,” Rohan agreed. “Our reason for finding this ancient magic.”

“A club,” said Phillip. “A secret organization that’s lasted probably a goodly number of years. But I do wonder how it could have lasted from the eleventh century until now. The map is old, but not eight hundred years old, nor is the book. Not more than a hundred years, if that.”

“You’re right,” Rohan said, running his fingers lightly over the binding. “It must have been lost, then rediscovered.”