I STAGGERED to my feet, cradling the precious relic in my hands. Emilie rushed up first and threw her arms around my neck. The battle had ended and we had won. Georges, Odo, and Father Leo came running toward me.

Other people approached, cheering, dancing with joy, but I could not take my eyes from the lance. My staff... I was barely able to speak. All along, it was the holy lance.

Everyone stopped, converged. A hush fell over the crowd.

The holy lance... ? someone repeated. A ring formed around us. Murmurs of exclamation and joy. All eyes fell on the rusted blade, the tip slightly broken.

Mother of God. Georges stepped forward, his tunic splattered with blood. Hugh has the holy lance.

Finally everyone knelt, myself included.

Father Leo examined the lance without touching it, fixing on the old, hardened blood upon the blade. God's grace. He shook his head with a look of wonderment in his eyes. He recited scripture from memory: But one of ............