This is a retelling of a legend that has been told for nearly a thousand years. The old monk and the young novice in this story are imagined, but the legend he tells, and the ring at its heart, are real.
It was the night before the great day, and Westminster Abbey was cold and dark. Only a few candles burned near the tomb of the old king, their flames leaning this way and that in the drafts.
A novice named Wulfric, barely sixteen, had been told to keep watch. He sat on the stone step with his knees pulled up, trying not to look at the shadows. Tomorrow, the tomb of King Edward would be opened. The king had been declared a saint, and his body was to be moved to a new and splendid shrine.
Footsteps shuffled behind him. It was Brother Aelred, the oldest monk in the abbey, so old that nobody could remember him young. He lowered himself onto the step with a groan and held his thin hands out to the candles.
"Can't sleep either?" the old man asked.
Wulfric shook his head. "Brother, they say the king will be buried with a ring. A sapphire. Is it true?"
The old monk smiled. "True? Child, that ring is the reason he is a saint at all. Shall I tell you about it?"
The Last Beggar on the Road
"King Edward was not like other kings," Brother Aelred began. "He did not love war. He loved God, and he loved the poor. Whenever he rode out, the beggars came running, because they knew he would never turn one away.
"One day he gave and gave until his purse was empty. And then, at the side of the road, there was one more. An old man in rags, with his hand held out. The king searched his robes. Nothing. The old man waited, and did not lower his hand."
"What did the king do?" Wulfric whispered.
"He looked down at his own finger. On it was a ring of gold with a blue sapphire, the color of the sky on a clear morning. And without a word, he took it off and gave it away."
Wulfric's mouth fell open. "His royal ring? To a beggar?"
"To a beggar," said the old monk. "Because he had nothing else to give, and he could not bear to give nothing."
The Stranger in the Hills
"Now," Brother Aelred went on, lowering his voice, "years passed. Far, far away, in the hills of the Holy Land, two English pilgrims had lost their way. Night was falling. They were hungry and frightened and a long way from home.
"Out of the dark came an old man with a lantern. He led them to shelter and gave them bread. And when they told him they were from England, he smiled and took something from his robe."
"The ring," breathed Wulfric.
"The ring. 'Take this back to your king,' the old man said. 'Tell him it is from the beggar on the road. Tell him I am John, the disciple of our Lord, and I have not forgotten his kindness. And tell him that in six months he will be with me in paradise.'"
A candle guttered. Wulfric shivered, and not from the cold.
The Ring Comes Home
"The pilgrims carried that ring across the sea," said the old monk. "Think of it, boy. Two ordinary men, with a king's sapphire and a message from heaven sewn into their clothes. When they stood before King Edward and opened their hands, he knew it at once.
"He did not weep. He did not rage. He simply thanked them, and began to make ready. He had spent years building this very church we sit in. It was blessed just after Christmas, but the king was already too ill to come. A few days later, in the first days of the new year, he died. And they buried him here, with his sapphire on his finger."
The two of them sat in silence for a long time, looking at the tomb.
"Brother," Wulfric said finally, "tomorrow, when they open it... will the ring still be there?"
The old man patted his knee and climbed slowly to his feet. "We shall see, child. We shall see."
The Morning
The next day the abbey was full of bishops and nobles, candles and incense and singing. Wulfric stood at the very back, on his toes. When the tomb was opened, a murmur went through the crowd.
And for one moment, between the shoulders of two tall men, Wulfric saw it: a flash of blue, deep and calm, like a small piece of morning sky.
He would tell the story for the rest of his life.
The Legend and the Truth
King Edward the Confessor ruled England until his death in January 1066, just days after his great abbey at Westminster was consecrated. He was declared a saint in 1161, and in 1163 his tomb was opened and his body moved to a new shrine. According to tradition, it was then that his sapphire ring was removed and kept as a precious relic.
The legend of the beggar who was really Saint John has been told since the Middle Ages. Historians cannot prove it, but the stone believed to come from Edward's ring survived the centuries. Known as St. Edward's Sapphire, it was likely recut over time, and Queen Victoria had it set in the cross at the very top of the Imperial State Crown. It is still there today, the highest stone on the crown, worn by British monarchs at their coronations.
A king who gave away his ring because he had nothing else to give. Perhaps that is why, of all the jewels in the crown, this small blue stone sits closest to heaven.
💡 Read more legends and true stories of sapphire in The Legends of Sapphire: The Stone of Heaven.
🛍️ A Sapphire With a Past
Every antique sapphire in our French Quarter shop has traveled a long way to find you.
