“You need to walk this through in the labyrinth, Tilda. Solvitur Ambulando.”
Matilda nodded. Solvitur ambulando meant “it is solved by walking,” and it was an integral part of their teachings from the labyrinth. For Matilda had been taught that the labyrinth was a perfectly constructed device. It was created through the combined wisdom of Solomon and Sheba, a sublime indication of how beloveds can manifest great miracles through shared spirit. It was given to man as a means of accessing God most directly through inner listening. Walking the labyrinth gave the prayerful person ears to hear, so that upon reaching the center, the messages of God could be heard and understood most clearly. It was a walking prayer, a dance of meditation that brought the mind, body, and spirit together in a singularly powerful understanding. It was through the labyrinth that Solomon gained his legendary wisdom.
Perhaps Matilda would find her strength in the morning, once she listened to God in the center of the labyrinth. It had never failed her before. The six-petaled flower at the center of this labyrinth was her favorite place on earth, the safest, sweetest location ever created. Tomorrow she would go there in search of herself, her future, and God’s otherwise indiscernible will.
The summer sunrise over the Arno was a sweet play of golden light. Matilda paused to take it in, breathing in the beauty of her beloved Tuscany and allowing the tears to slide down her face as she did so. The rivers of this region—the Arno, the Po, the Serchio—they truly did run through her veins. To be deprived of them for any period of time, much less the years she would no doubt be required to live in Lorraine, was a hellish sentence. Perhaps it was even worse than being forced to marry a hunchback. She could almost stand that particular horror if she could at least do so while living in Tuscany.
But that was not to be. For whatever divine reasons, God had decreed that Matilda would both marry the hunchback and be separated from her homeland. Now she would try to understand why and, within that understanding, surrender to that will.
Isobel was waiting for her at the gate that separated the Order’s property from the main road. A copse of trees further shielded the sacred space from prying eyes, and they walked through the path, which Matilda could traverse with her eyes closed, so well did she know it and so much did she love it. The path ended at a clearing, where the enormous labyrinth had been carefully constructed utilizing Solomon and Sheba’s principles, with brick and stone inlayed into the dirt to create the eleven circuitous pathways into the center. While Solomon’s original labyrinth contained a perfectly round center, this version had been carefully constructed to culminate in a six-petaled rose, the symbol of the Book of Love as designed by the messiah himself. The labyrinth was now a miraculous hybrid of the wisdom teachings of Solomon the Great combined with the central prayer of his descendant, Jesus Christ.
The Master was in the center upon Matilda’s arrival, on his knees and deep in prayer. Fra Patricio, the young Calabrian protégé, smiled at Matilda from the entrance. She greeted him quietly, not wanting to disturb the Master in his meditation but happy to see Patricio. They had been raised together in the secrets of the Order, sitting side by side at the foot of the Master. They had quizzed each other and studied together, played memorization games that allowed each of them to commit the Book of Love and the prophecies of the Libro Rosso to memory. Together they studied Solomon’s intricate and divinely inspired architectural drawings for creating temple spaces as they had been handed down for inclusion in the Book of Love. These were the most intense and difficult lessons, and studying this with a partner made processing the information easier. Both children proved so adept at the temple drawings that the Master commented on many occasions that either of these children could become most memorable architects.
They competed good-naturedly for the attention and praise of the Master, and sometimes not so good-naturedly as they learned to submerge their egos in the learning. Patricio had become the brother that Matilda had lost as an infant. The Master teased them that they were two halves of the same mind. Leaving Patricio would be wrenching to her soul.
The Master walked the eleven circuits out, bowing deeply to the labyrinth when he reached the exit-entrance. He walked the extra paces toward them, kneeling to touch the iron ring that was embedded in the dirt. With closed eyes, he thanked the Lady of the Labyrinth for her gifts and moved to embrace Matilda.
“Welcome, my daughter.” He kissed her on both cheeks. “This is indeed a glorious morning, for the will of God makes itself known to us. I shall reserve my understandings until you have first found your own. Solvitur ambulando, child. Go and speak to your Creator.” He gestured broadly to the labyrinth. Isobel, Patricio, and the Master stepped away from it at a discreet distance to allow Matilda sole use of the space. There were times when they all walked it together, when it was a beautiful dance of camaraderie and sharing. But this morning was for her alone. She thanked them all and then approached the iron ring in the ground. She got on her knees to give thanks to the Lady of the Labyrinth. Through time, the Lady had many guises, for she was the divine feminine, the essence of love and compassion, the female beloved who completes the male through their union of love and spirit, trust and consciousness. She was Ariadne, she was Sheba, she was Magdalena, she was Asherah.
In honor of Ariadne, Matilda plucked a long strand of copper hair out of her head and tied it in a bridal knot on the iron ring in imitation of the thread that saved Theseus.
As she approached the entrance of the great space, she remembered what the Master had said to her all those years ago when she first entered. “There is no right way to walk a labyrinth, and there is no wrong way. There is only your way. Go at the pace that your soul dictates, and stay true to your path.”
Taking several deep breaths to clear her mind, Matilda entered the labyrinth. She walked slowly today, deliberately, watching her feet as they traveled the circuits, willing herself to let go of all the noise that filled her brain from the waking, conscious world. For her, the kinesthetic aspects of the labyrinth were the greatest balm to her mind. She was not skilled at sitting still in prayer or meditation for long periods of contemplation; she was far too restless a spirit for such quietude. Most humans are. But in the labyrinth, she could move, and think and feel, all at the same time. It was the most glorious form of prayer imaginable.
Breathing, purging, walking, following the winding paths; letting go of all the dross, telling God that she wanted nothing more than to hear his voice clearly and know his will so that she could follow it. As she reached the sanctified center, the holy of holies, the place of the temple and tabernacle, she fell to her knees and asked God to speak to her. There were days when she came here to work through the Pater Noster and the six primary teachings of the Lord’s Prayer, in each of the petals. But this morning she did not do this. She had chosen to walk with a purpose, and that purpose was to understand her destiny.
God did not make her wait long. A vision awaited her in the center of the labyrinth.
Matilda was riding through a lush and verdant forest. In spite of herself, she had to acknowledge the beauty of the place. Patricio was by her side, had ridden out with her when she needed to get away from Verdun. They had ridden hard, as being on horseback was one of the few places where Matilda could find refuge here. And as there was no labyrinth, riding was her only means of escape, an opportunity to move and think at the same time.
They stopped when they came upon a small pond fed by a stream, so that they might water the horses and take some of the bread and cheese that Matilda had packed for their lunch. Patricio led the horses to the stream. Something compelled Matilda to walk on, toward what appeared to be a clearing up ahead. Something drew her that she could not explain at first. And then she heard it: the sound of a young girl’s voice. She couldn’t make out the words, but she knew it was a child. Was the child speaking to her? Calling out to her? She heard the girl giggle as she came closer to the clearing.
Beams of late afternoon sun glitter
ed through the trees, bouncing off what appeared to be a pool of water just ahead. Enticed, she moved toward it. It was a well, or a cistern, wide enough for several men to bathe in at once. Leaning over to gaze into the water, Matilda was struck by the feeling of fathomless depths, that this well was sacred and ran deep into the earth.
The water was quite still, and then the tiniest ripple broke the surface. A wave of golden light began to suffuse the well and the area surrounding it. As she looked into the water, an image began to take shape. The scene was a beautiful valley, lush and green with trees and flowers. She watched as if looking into a scrying mirror, as a rain of golden drops fell from the sky, gilding everything in the vision. Soon the valley was flowing with rivers of gold, and the trees were covered with it. Everything glittered all around her with the rich warm light of liquid ore.
In the distance she heard the girlish voice, the one that had brought her here.
“Welcome to the Vale of Gold.”
Matilda gasped. The Valley of Gold was mentioned in the prophecy. Her prophecy. And as if to assure her that she was correct, the childlike voice rang through the forest sweet and clear, reciting the words of their young prophetess, spoken a thousand years ago:
“The truth must be preserved, in stone and on parchment and built into a Valley of Gold. The new Shepherdess, The Expected One, shall see to its perfection and encase the Word of the Father and Mother and the legacy of their children within the sacred spaces. This becomes her legacy. This, and to know a very great love.”
Matilda rose from the center of the labyrinth, still reeling from the vision that she was certain had been given to her by the little prophetess herself. As she began to walk out the eleven circuits, she reviewed the vision and its images. There was no doubt in her mind that the Valley of Gold was in Lorraine. This is why God was sending her there, because she was to build a shrine to the Way of Love in that region. What form that would take she was unsure of, but she was also certain that the Master would know exactly what to do. Had he not said that God had made his will known this morning?
But the true joy came from the vision of Patricio in the labyrinth. God wanted her to have a friend in Lorraine, a friend who would truly understand her in a world of foreign ways and an unwanted husband. Perhaps she would find the strength to endure this with grace after all.
Thy will be done, she repeated to herself several times as she walked her way out of the sacred pathways. When she reached the exit, she bent her knee in benediction at the iron ring and said her thanks to the Lady of the Labyrinth, this time in the guise of Sarah-Tamar.
The Master had not seen Matilda’s vision. That was for her alone, a gift from the prophetess so that she would not lose faith. But he had seen a vision of her building a great structure in Lorraine, one that would become the repository of not only all their teachings but the history of their people and the holy families. Matilda was being charged to build a library and a school to preserve all that was sacred to the Order of the Holy Sepulcher, and she would do so in the guise of a monastery. Once the location was found, this Valley of Gold that she had seen in the vision, she would work with Patricio to begin the building. The Master would select monks from Calabria who had proven themselves in their dedication as historians and scribes to begin the task of building the library. Patricio would become their abbot.
This task would be the greatest of honors for both Matilda and Patricio. For the Master had seen one more very important element in his vision. He had seen the Libro Rosso travel across the Alps in its gilded ark, carried carefully by Patricio on a cart pulled by oxen, just as the Volto Santo had been three centuries prior. Matilda must take the Libro Rosso with her, so that the contents could be copied exactly and installed with great honor into the new monastery in this Valley of Gold. Once the task was finished, they would return the Libro Rosso to Tuscany, where it was destined to reside in perpetuity.
The teachings of the Way of Love were going to find a new home in Lorraine, restored to the land of Charlemagne. It was Matilda’s destiny to see that this happened. In spite of her trepidations about her pending nuptials, this promise gave her a great task to focus on, something positive in her future that was of tremendous importance. She would carry out this duty with honor and with grace.
She would fulfill her destiny and obligation as The Expected One and try very hard not to complain about marrying a hunchback and living in a palace.
And so it was that the beautiful Nazarene girl who was given the name Berenice at her birth was later to become known as Veronica. She was a friend of Madonna Magdalena as a child and a student of the Way, and was educated as a priestess at the feet of our Lord in the same way as her Nazarene sisters. Veronica was younger, and at the time of our Lord’s passion, she was not yet a Mary. She did not yet wear the red veil. Her own was white.
It is told of the lovely Veronica’s act of courage on the Day of Sorrows that when the Savior carried his burden to the hill on the Black Day of the Skull, his vision was obscured with the blood and grime that ran into his eyes from the wounds inflicted by his crown of thorns. Veronica moved bravely through the crowd that surrounded her master and pulled the white veil from her head. She brought it to him that he might wipe his face and find some comfort in his vision.
Later, it would be seen that the image of our Lord’s face was impressed upon the white silk for all eternity.
Veronica attended Magdalena and the other Marys at the foot of the cross, a sister in love and grief. Here they were protected by the blue-eyed Roman soldier, called Praetorus, who had been in the private service of Pontius Pilate. This centurion had been healed of a broken hand by our Lord, and he was finding the light of conversion during the Holy Week when things of such terrible greatness transpired.
Praetorus would evolve into a different kind of soldier following our Lord’s passion. He was destined to become a warrior for the Way, one of the earliest converts to our community, and certainly one of the most dedicated.
On the day of our Lord’s resurrection, Praetorus ran to the sepulcher after hearing of the miracle. It was there that he first spoke with our Nazarene sister, Veronica. She told him of our Lord’s great teachings, of the Way of Love, and how these would change the world if we would only allow their truth into our hearts.
From that holy Easter day, Veronica and Praetorus were never separated. Such a love that was found in the shadow of the Holy Sepulcher could only be blessed by God throughout eternity. Veronica began to guide him through the Nazarene teachings. And when our Lady came to Gaul to begin her mission, they followed her and continued their training, under her guidance, directly from the Book of Love as written by our Lord.
Thus they became the very first couple to teach the sacred union of beloveds on European soil and those traditions flourished as a tribute to the sanctity of their love and coupling. Where these teachings are held, there can be no darkness.
Love Conquers All.
As the time returns, Veronica and Praetorus will find each other and teach again. For it is their eternal destiny, and the model for countless others who have made the same promise from the dawn of time, to find each other and to live and teach the Way of Love. Together.
For those with ears to hear, let them hear it.
THE LEGEND OF VERONICA AND PRAETORUS
AND THE TEACHINGS OF LOVE AND SACRED UNION,
AS PRESERVED IN THE LIBRO ROSSO
Rome
present day
FATHER PETER HEALY paced the floor of his office, palms sweating. This was highly unexpected and somewhat awkward, but there was no escaping it. Bérenger Sinclair was on his way up to see him. Maggie had gone down to help him navigate Vatican security. It gave Peter just a few minutes to gather his thoughts, but there was little he could do to prepare. It would all depend on what Sinclair’s purpose was for coming, and what approach he took. Peter was truly at a loss to guess, as Maureen refused to speak to him about any of her friends at Blue Apples. She merely a
voided the subject completely, which could mean anything.
The door opened and Maggie ushered Bérenger Sinclair into Peter’s office, looking somewhat put out when the aristocratic Scot refused any kind of refreshment. Bérenger waited until the housekeeper had closed the door before approaching Peter with his hand out.
“Father Healy. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
Peter took the proffered hand, relieved that the initial approach seemed cordial.
“Of course, Lord Sinclair. My pleasure. What brings you to Rome?”
Peter gestured to the armchair across the desk from his own. Sinclair sat as he replied, very simply, “Maureen.”
Peter nodded. “I suspected as much. Does she know you’re here?”
“Yes, but I haven’t seen her yet. I wanted to see you first.”
“Why?”
Sinclair settled, shifting his large frame in the chair. “Because I know she is concerned about how it will make you feel. So I was hoping to take care of that first, so it is one less thing that she has to worry about.”
Peter remained quiet, cautious. There had been no personal contact between him and Bérenger Sinclair after he left the château that night with the Arques Gospel, but he had heard enough about how Sinclair felt about him and his actions.
“Peter, I have had a lot of time to think about the events of the past two years, and I need to tell you that I realize I have been unfair and harsh with you. I want you to know that I bear you no ill will for what happened that night. And I mean that. I understand what you did and why you did it. And on some strange metaphysical level that I cannot claim to understand quite yet, I think you did exactly what you had to do. You fulfilled your role in this great drama that we all find ourselves in.”
Peter’s response was wry. “Like Judas?”
Sinclair shrugged. “Perhaps. But as you are well aware, the Arques Gospel says that Judas was noble and loyal. He didn’t betray Jesus, rather he obeyed him. He did what was necessary in order for all of them to fulfill their destiny. So in that regard, yes. I’d say that the similarities are great and remind you that our Magdalene referred to Judas as the one she mourned above all others, except one.”