The silversmith took his anger out on the cup. He knew it wasn’t the cup’s fault. His anger was towards the ruling authority of his country. Ever since the Romans took over, he rarely worked silver, only base metals. The cup he worked on was made of tin, lead, and several other metals that had a silver tone. He was glad that the Rabbi that ordered the set of cups understood – at least someone did.
In a small forge on the edge of the Holy city of Jerusalem, a small cup is made. Through fire and a skilled hammer, the metal is bent into shape. Thus the cup begins its journey into history. This small item will become one of the most sought after artifacts in the world. Of course, this journey will eventually lead to… The Event Horizon.
The man held the cup spoke a few words and shared the contents with his closest friends. Less than twenty-four hours later, the man’s mother collected blood that flowed from his execution. The cup was given to the youngest of the man’s followers. In his old age, the follower now exiled to the island of Patmos, held the cup filled with the dried blood and dreamed dreams and saw visions of the future. The cup became known as “The Holy Grail.”
Several centuries later, a knock at the door in the middle of the night startled a poor farmer. He opened the door to find a drenched Knight’s Templar standing in the pouring rain.
“Jacques Benoit, I need your help,” the knight whispered.
The farmer allowed the knight into the house.
“How do you know me?” the farmer whispered. The farmer’s family slept together in the one room house.
“You are well-known to us, Jacques Benoit. We need your help,” the knight nearly pleaded.
“What can a poor farmer do for the Knights Templar?” the farmer asked.
“Our time is nearing an end, we must act quickly. We need you to shelter an item for a while. If the trouble passes, I will be back for it.”
“Where is this item?”
The knight reached into a sack and pulled the cup from it. The cup was worn, dents and dings covered it. He handed it to Jacques.
The farmer examined the cup, wondered about the discoloration and asked, “What is this, Sir Knight?”
“It is best that you not know. The less you know the better, Jacques. Hide this and forget about it until I return.”
Jacques placed the cup on one of the beams in the wall. “I will cover his in the morning, when the family is awake.”
The knight clasped the farmer’s shoulder. “Fare well, my friend. I hope to see you soon. If not tell your descendants the story of this night. It may be that some future generation will seek this cup.”
The farmer did as the knight asked. The cup was built into the wall. When each son grew old enough the story was told, with a promise of secrecy and to only tell the heir of the farm.
The story passed until one day in 1917, when father and son were both killed in the horrific Battle of Ardennes in the “War to End all Wars.”
Henri Benoit returned to Sabille. The war ended, and he was eventually released from the Nazi prison camp. As an officer in the French army, he was treated with some respect by the Germans. Yet since he fought well, he angered the camp commandant. He was wounded two days before France surrendered to the Germans and was captured while he lay in the hospital.
After his release, he was delivered to Paris where he received medals for heroism and then he went to his ancestral home near the village of Sabille. He was able to ride into the village with a ride that was arranged by General DeGaulle himself.
He saw that the village was not as ravaged as most he saw on his way from Paris. He thanked the driver and made his way to the village pub.
He hadn’t taken three steps from the truck before he was recognized. He was escorted to the café and a makeshift celebration ensued. It was there he learned that his mother passed away, one of his sisters was injured, and his other sisters were fine and lived nearby. It wasn’t until he held them that he knew he was home.
He returned to the vineyard. He was told all was destroyed, but he planned on rebuilding. Ever since his father and older brother were killed in World War I, the running of the vineyard fell on Henri’s mother. He learned about growing wine from the farm’s manager. It was up to him to rebuild on take the vineyard into the future. The vineyard was a one of the major employers in the village. His father and then his manager built the vineyard into a world-class producer of the finest wine.
Henri surveyed the lands, other than a few knocked down vines. The mansion, however, seemed destroyed. It was at this house that Rommel had his headquarters during the allied invasion. The house looked as if it were bombed.
Henri entered the mansion and assessed the damage. There was a big hole in the roof and a crater in the main foyer. Other than that, the building seemed sound. He checked on the walls. Near one wall he found all the medallions his family won in international wine competitions. In the center of all the medals lay a curious cup. He held the cup to the light.
The cup was worn, and aged. Henri wondered how old the cup was. Probably, my grandfather’s, he thought. He carried to cup to a hole in the wall. The hole looked as if the blast came from within the wall and not part of the blast from the bomb. He saw a beam that held the wall. It was dusty, except for a small circular pattern. He placed the cup, it fit exactly.
He put the medallions and the cup in a box. The barn where the winepress was stored was in good shape. He prepared a bed. He knew where wine was hidden and hoped the Germans didn’t find it. He found a bottle and opened it. He had a loaf of bread from the villagers and several candles. He drank from the bottle while he ate bread and examined the cup in the candle light.
He fell asleep holding the cup. He dreamed dreams of the future.
Eight months later he moved into the restored mansion. The vines were doing well. This year would be a good crop. He nailed the medallions above his desk on the upper floor. He looked in his box and saw the cup. He knew it was important to someone in his family. He placed the cup on his desk and wondered what to do with.
With a smile, he filled it with pencils.
Henri Benoit family served as guardians of the Holy Grail for countless generations. His ignorance of the Grail’s history is immaterial for his duty to preserve his family’s heritage. Often, histories are forgotten, myths are misremembered and legends are lost. These are the signposts to…The Event Horizon.