The Silver Cup Read Online Free PDF Page B

even of Thomas, scrubbed to a shine and as sweet as any young boy.
    The nave was cold and dusky, but the chancel glowed with sunlight from long, unglazed windows at its sides. The candlelit altar shimmered against the dimness in which the congregation stood. A full size carving of the dying Christ hung on a wooden crucifix that was suspended from the broad crossbeam over the altar.
    The church had no seating, and the milling congregation parted at the entrance of the procession. Two young boys entered, the first bearing a large polished bronze cross atop a long wooden staff. The second boy followed waving a censer of burning precious cedar wood, wafting the sweetness as he proceeded. Lukas and the elderly priest, Father Rupert, followed. The four sang for the length of the church, chanting in unison in one clear, beautiful, Latin voice. Anna shuddered as a puff of the fragrant incense momentarily replaced the stench of sour wet wool and greasy hair. The pure notes filled her to her spine, and then faded. The singers marched forward, and their song grew distant and echoed as they advanced from the crowded dark into the distant holy light.
    After a service in Latin with his back to the flock, Father Rupert turned to the congregation, each of whom he could call by name, and in the language of the people, he began to tell the story of Saint Elisabeth.
    â€œIn the olden days, before the birth of our dear Lord, there was a woman born in Judea to the line of Aaron, an ancient line of Jewish priests, and a cousin of our blessed Virgin. Now this was before that despicable race became accursed, before they murdered our Lord. But that is another story for another time.”
    Martin poked Anna, and she thought of the silversmith and the pretty girl who had smiled.
    â€œIn the Hebrew of that now dreaded race, Elisabeth meant ‘worshiper of god,’ and true to her name, Elisabeth, like her husband Zachary lived a blameless life. But though they were the best of people, their prayers for a child went unanswered and Elisabeth remained barren. Then, one day, long after he had given up hope, Zachary was in his synagogue, and the Archangel Gabriel appeared in his blinding glory.
    â€˜Go, old man. Your prayers are answered. Elisabeth bears your son,’ said the angel.
    But Zachary did not believe the angel, and he was struck dumb.”
    Here the old priest clapped his hand hard against his mouth, and Anna gulped. He continued.
    â€œIndeed Gabriel had spoken the truth, for though Elisabeth’s hair was white, she was with child. When her holy cousin Mary came to visit, Elisabeth’s unborn babe leapt for joy in her womb, for Elisabeth’s babe would be John the—”
    Suddenly the priest stopped, interrupted by gushing, the sound of water hitting the stone floor, echoing throughout the church. In the priest’s silence, the congregation inhaled, and in the void, there was only a trickling sound from Thomas who had wet himself, soaking his leather britches and his stockings. Agnes grabbed her child and dragged him from the church. Thomas began to wail. Some neighbors laughed, and some murmured in sympathy or disapproval.
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Anna hurried to catch Martin who quickly left church as soon as the service ended. She overheard his friend Dieter and another boy call to him. Martin turned, and as he walked toward his friends, a third boy put out his foot and tripped him. Dieter and the two boys pounced on Martin.
    â€œHold still Martin! We’re just checking your britches,” said Dieter with a laugh.
    The boy who had tripped Martin added, “Let’s see if you’re wet like your brother.”
    Martin squirmed and rolled and shook off his tormentors. Dusting himself off, he walked silently toward home. Anna held back and worried. Poor Thomas. If Agnes doesn’t beat him, Martin will. It was a sad and terrible turn of what should have been a merry day for the family.
    The feast of Saint