And then Helena said something which seem to have no relevance. ‘Where is the cross, anyway?’
‘What cross, my dear?’ [said Pope Sylvester.]
‘The only one. The real one.’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think anyone knows. I don’t think anyone has ever asked before.’
‘It must be somewhere. Wood doesn’t just melt like snow. It’s not 300 years old. The temples here are full of beams and paneling twice that age. It stands to reason God would take more care of the cross then of them.’
‘Nothing “stands to reason” with God. If He had wanted us to have it, no doubt He would have given it to us. But He hasn’t chosen to. He gives us enough.’
‘But how do you know He doesn’t want to say have it — the cross, I mean. I bet He’s just waiting for one of us to go and find it — Just at this moment when it’s most needed. Just at this moment when everyone is forgetting it and chattering about that hypostatic union, there’s a solid chunk of wood waiting for them to have their silly heads knocked against. I’m going off to find it,’ said Helena.