But the Grail, I am told, cannot be broken. You could put it in one of those guns that amused everyone at Caen and it would not break even if you dashed it against a castle wall. And when you place the bread and wine, the blood and flesh, of the Mass in that common piece of clay, Thomas, it turns to gold. Pure, shining gold. That is the Grail and, God help me, it does exist.” “So you would have me wander the earth looking for a peasant’s dish?” Thomas asked. “God would,” Father Hobbe said, “and for good reason.” He looked saddened. “There is heresy everywhere, Thomas. The Church is besieged.
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