Temple of The Grail (14 page)

‘Yes,’ Macabus said through tightened
lips, ‘a young man who shows great promise. He has not been with us long, but
his father was widely travelled and the child knows many languages. A boy of
many talents.’

‘Are there any others who speak Greek
apart from this boy and yourself?’

‘Oh, yes, a library must have
several, but none know it so well as the two of us,’ Macabus answered.

‘May I see the translator’s desk?’

The man hesitated a moment, then,
covering his initial reluctance with a smile, showed us to an immaculately kept
table near a good source of light.

‘He is presently working on various
projects.’

‘Does brother Anselmo presume to
better Gerard of Cremona’s translation of Aristotle?’ my master asked, picking
up a manuscript from the table, the half-eaten apple still in his hand. ‘He
must be exceptional!’

I saw the librarian gasp, observing
the proximity of the moist fruit to the manuscript. ‘He is, certainly, but his
finest work to date was the entire works of Galen.’

‘The entire works?
Mashallah!
’
he exclaimed, I suspect intellectually overcome.

I saw Leonard and his superior
exchange a meaningful glance.

‘Is that Arabic?’ Macabus asked looking
down his nose at Andre.

‘Why yes, do you know it?’

‘A little. You speak it
like a native.’

‘Well, that is because I
am a native.’

A disbelieving quiet descended over
us.

My master smiled, pleased to have
occasioned embarrassment. ‘On another matter, how are the writing implements
cleaned, brother librarian?’

Macabus narrowed his eyes. ‘Various
substances are used whose efficacy is well known.’

‘Might I ask where you store such
substances?’ My master held the apple core out, and I reached for it, but
instead of giving it to me, he handed it to Brother Leonard who looked at the
article with distaste and handed it to a lesser brother nearby. He, in turn,
held it with just the tips of his fingers and passed it on to another, perhaps
lower in rank than he, and this man left us holding it before him, for the
cloister.

‘Along with gold, silver, lead and
mercury used for the making of amalgams, locked away in a repository.’ Brother
Macabus fumbled in the pocket of his habit and brought out a large bunch of
keys. Singling one out from the rest, he directed us to a spot away from the
carrels, or library stalls, near a great map of the north seas. Here, set inside
the stone wall, behind a large tapestry, there was a heavy iron panel no bigger
than two hands across and three high. He opened the lock with the key, looking
about him. Inside, the aperture revealed vials, ampoules, and a large glass
flask containing a powdery substance.

Andre peered in. ‘This powder does
not appear to be labelled.’

‘I believe it is a salt, somehow
strangely related to mercury. We have no use for it though we know little about
it and so we keep it locked away. It has been in the repository a long time, in
fact, since before I arrived here. I simply do not know its name.’

‘Thank you, brother. One more thing.
Do you ever leave your keys in someone else’s charge?’

The man thought for a moment. ‘It is
my duty to lock the scriptorium and the aperture to the cloisters each night,
but I also hold the keys to the kitchen and the cellar. However, there is
always some necessary work to be done in the kitchen after the supper and so
the cook locks those rooms and brings me the keys after he is finished, usually
before compline.’

‘And no one else?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘I am a curious man, brother.’

‘Are we not warned, preceptor, not to
be curious in unnecessary matters?’

‘Yes, but as Syrus has said:
necessity gives the law without itself acknowledging one. However, I would not
quote the Apocrypha again, brother, not in earshot of the inquisitor. Now, as
to my question . . .’

The librarian was visibly shaken
– perhaps realising that peril awaited him at every turn – and
answered promptly, ‘Sometimes the hospitaller needs to replenish the wine in
the abbot’s rooms and I allow him the use of it.’

‘Does either the cook or the
hospitaller have any idea that on that ring of keys resides the key that opens
this stronghold?’

‘No, I don’t think so, but why is
that important?’

‘You are quite right, it is of no
importance at all, and I have been wasting your time. I humbly apologise. You
see, you were right; the Devil of curiosity is a cunning one, for he leads us
to contemplate marginalia. I thank you for your patience,’ my master said,
bowing politely and after the brother had locked the repository once more, we
bade him our leave.

‘That man is either very careless, or
he is not very astute.’ my master mumbled as we headed in the direction of the
chapter house.

I was too caught up in my own
thoughts – feeling that I now knew the identity of the killer – to
answer him. ‘The boy is the author of our note!’ I said resolutely and
unequivocally. ‘He knows Greek!’

‘No, I do not believe so, Christian.’

‘But, master . . .’

‘If the young boy is the best
translator of Greek this abbey has, why should he make the obvious mistake we
found in the note? And even if he were the author, you are assuming that this
connects him immediately to the crime. This is not necessarily the case. In any
event, he is right-handed.’

‘But how do you know that, master?’

‘It is very simple . . . a
left-handed copyist, is more likely to leave smudges on the left side of a page
than a right-handed one, because his hand in its labour travels over freshly
written words. A right-handed copyist’s hand travels ahead of the word.
Moreover, left-handed copyists have a peculiar angle to their lettering.’

‘Always?’

‘No, not always, but mostly.’

‘So the boy is right-handed. What
about the author of our note?’

‘It was written by a left-handed
person.’

‘Oh,’ I said, suddenly excited, ‘and
as there are not so many left-handed persons it should be easy to find our note
writer.’

‘That is true,’ he conceded, ‘in fact
there are not many left-handed people in the world. Perhaps because some
believe it is an infernal trait. You will remember that Christian mythology
tells us Lucifer sat at the left hand of God.’

‘And is it an infernal trait?’

My master gave me an annoyed look. ‘It
is utter nonsense, of course!’

‘What about the poisons?’ I pressed. ‘The
lead and mercury, and the cleaning agent used on the instruments? Do you think
one of them killed the old brother?’

‘Perhaps, and for this reason I shall
have to consult some books on the topic of poisons, but for now, it is only a
possibility. Despite what Macabus says I don’t believe that the repository of
these substances is a great secret. After all, it is a small monastery . . . no
. . .’ he trailed off. ‘But the powder . . . the salt could be a compound known
as serpent de pharaon.’

‘Is that a poison?’

‘A very potent one.’

‘Then Brother Macabus is our best
suspect,’ I said, changing my mind like the wind changes direction. ‘For he not
only speaks Greek, but he also has unlimited access to the repository.’

‘Let us not forget,’ Andre added with
caution, ‘how many others speak Greek and have also handled the keys.’

Just then the bells tolled,
announcing the opening of the inquiry, and with these considerations weighing
heavily on our souls we entered the chapter house, my head feeling even lighter
than before.

B
eloved brothers of the monastery of Saint Lazarus,’ the
inquisitor Rainiero Sacconi’s words echoed in the chapter house. ‘My colleagues
and I have journeyed here at the pope’s request, having come a great distance,
as you know, to substantiate accusations of heresy which have been directed at
this community of monks.

‘Dear brothers, it is the duty of the
holy inquisition to seek out even the smallest or indeed insignificant speck of
evil. To root out the Devil wherever he is evidenced or, on the other hand, to
bless and sanction those who walk according to God’s laws. Do not, then, be
afraid, my children, for the wrath of God is tempered by a powerful and
fraternal love for his people. He seeks not to punish the innocent, but to
vanquish the guilty. As a shepherd seeks to nurture his flock and keep it from
harm, so it is for your good that we are here.’ He motioned to the bishop and
the other prelates of his legation who sat flanking him. ‘Is it not better to
die repentant than to live a life of sin?’ He stood motionless. ‘As you know,
this legation is not bound by the precepts of ordinary law, and is exempt from
all common jurisdiction. And although it is customary for those found guilty of
crimes against God to be turned over to the secular arm, let it now be known
that, because of this abbey’s seclusion, I have been given a special
dispensation from our lord pope to carry out all sentences in order to save the
souls of innocent people, should this investigation lead to inquisition.’

‘The scoundrel,’ my master said to me
in a whisper.

‘Let it also be known that all those
who recant, through fear of death, will be thrust into prison for life, there
to perform penance until their last days. All communal property will be
confiscated. Those who defend the errors of a heretic are to be treated as
conspirators to heresy and will, therefore, suffer the same punishment!’

A low murmur went through the
assembly.

‘And as we punish ordinary people
whose ignorance is no excuse for committing sin against the holy laws of the
church, how much greater indeed should be the punishment of a monk who –
having known the eternal light of heavenly laws – still chooses to offend
the rules of his church. And so I call this inquiry to order, so that all
matters called into question may be thoroughly investigated and I therefore
summon all those who know of any matters of interest to this inquiry to come
forward without fear, for we are the ears and eyes of God, and will listen with
fraternal love, devoid of prejudice. Those of you who choose to come forward
and confess their sinful heresy will be treated with leniency. Those who do not
will suffer to the letter of the lateran canons.’ He paused, and in his eyes
there was an intentional hostility. He wanted all to know this: you are in my
power, and you had best act accordingly. Then he smiled, ‘Friar Bertrand de
Narbonne has kindly travelled from the priory of Prouille to assist in these
inquiries. He is, as you may know, an esteemed theologian.’

The friar stifled a yawn and nodded
without standing.

‘He will act as judge, along with
father Bernard Fontaine, our emissary from Citeaux, whose wisdom is renowned.’

Bernard looked unblinkingly at the
gathering, his square chin tilted up a little in a gesture of disdain.

‘And finally, as there must always be
two inquisitors at any trial, the Bishop of Toulouse shall aid me in this grave
and yet necessary duty.’

The bishop stood. Looking like a
bright ball in his purple robe lined with fur, he fondled a jewelled pectoral
cross with short fat fingers and delayed a moment, holding out the other hand
in an ecclesiastic gesture of pomp before sitting down with a heavy sound upon
his seat.

‘As it is the day of our Lord we will
obey his decree by delaying the commencement of proceedings until tomorrow. On
this holy day, however, may we search our hearts and meditate carefully, and
may the Lord guide your consciences into the everlasting light of truthfulness.’

The abbot rose from his own ornate
chair on its own dais to the right of the group. Pulling away his cowl, he
spoke with the strength and dignity befitting an abbot whose duty now lay in
sustaining his community.

‘Brother Rainiero Sacconi, esteemed
members of the legation, my community. It troubles a father’s soul to know that
a shadow has cast its evil greyness over the conduct of his children. A
father’s eye sees only good, never evil. Only righteousness, never iniquity.
And yet, it is as a father that I must seek to illuminate this shadow with the
light of truth, to renounce all evil words uttered against my children, and
replace them with words of praise and love. This I know is God’s will, as it is
the will of the church to see justice done in His name. It is then my fervent
wish that our community may assist this inquiry in every way necessary to this
end. The preceptor of Douzens,’ he said, surprising my master, ‘whose skill in
the medicinal arts is well known, will shed equal objective light on our
methods of healing, and so we should grant him every convenience.’

I saw the inquisitor’s eyes glisten
with adversarial hatred.

‘Remaining your modest servants,’ the
abbot bowed to the legates, ‘may God grant the holy inquisition the wisdom to
see these things to be true. In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.’

The abbot then pronounced the
benediction, and the legation left with grave and solemn ceremony.

That was when my head felt suddenly
very light . . .

Once we were outside in the broad
daylight of midmorning I felt a little better, warmed by the sun, and my
master’s company.

We walked around the compound, my
master lost in thought and I in the misery of my shame.

‘I am sorry, master, but I seem to be
so light-headed lately,’ I said lamely.

‘Oh, it was only the heat in the
chapter house . . . and that infernal man!’ he snarled. ‘Saladin was right when
he said that he never saw a bad Saracen become a good Christian. That wolf in
sheep’s clothing may well have outwitted the king . . . and in this case us
too, but we are obliged to see it through.’

‘But how? It seems to me that he has
taken matters out of our hands. If he has the sanction to mete out punishment
here, then there is little we can do.’ I shook my head, trying to dispel the
strange sensation.

‘Firstly we must decide what is of
greater importance. Our orders from the grand master, or those from the king.’

I had not thought of it before. ‘Are
they not equally important?’

‘Yes and no.’

‘How do you mean yes and no, master?’

‘What do you mean, how do I mean? It
is perfectly obvious to anyone except stupid squires that, as an illness
dictates a particular treatment, so too will circumstances dictate our actions.
This is the only wise thing to do.’

‘So what is our next step?’ I asked,
a little humiliated. ‘Do you know yet?’

‘No, but I’m sure it will come to me.’
I believe he was then sorry, for his voice became gentler and he said, ‘Now
calm down, I did not say that we will not attempt to do those things asked of
us. What I am saying is that we may not be in a position to do so and this begs
a question that must at once be asked. Why were we chosen to accompany the
legation? The abbot brought up a good point. Let us see what we can gather from
what we know. Here we have a monastery whose land belongs to the Templar order,
but whose monks are Cistercians. This, in the first instance, is strange
indeed. Second, it has been largely unknown for many years. No one has so much
as given it a cursory thought, until a bright star in the sky of the
inquisition is sent here in the middle of some very stormy times in Italy. This
sword does not fit its scabbard. Why not use a French inquisitor? Why not
Bernard de Caux? It seems to me that there are far too many parties interested
in so small a prize, and that leads me to suspect that perhaps it is not so
small after all. Then third, we are asked to accompany the legation, though it
is miles from our jurisdiction.’

‘But we hold the titles, master.’

‘Yes, so they say, but it is more
likely that we were sent because we are expendable. Languedoc, my son, is a
strange location of diverse alliances. Alphonse of Poitiers, the king’s
brother, who now possesses the sceptre of the south is an avaricious man,
deeply political and (unlike our poor vacillating Count Raymond before him)
staunchly against heresy. One might say his zeal is in direct proportion to,
let us say, the profitable confiscations received by his province from
inquisitorial persecution.’

‘You mean that he is only interested
in the money and lands he might receive from confiscations by inquisitors?’

‘That is my opinion.’

‘So he welcomes the pope’s legation
in Languedoc, but his brother the king is suspicious of it?’

‘Alphonse may be hoping to receive
something but the king knows that he has not paid his taxes, and he knows that
the pope can confiscate and keep the property of a condemned heretic. Did you
not hear the inquisitor mention this fact? You must see to your ears, boy.’

‘But monks are poor, master, they do
not own property.’

‘Individually they do not, my good
Christian, but communally, communally they may be very wealthy. Many
monasteries are richer than whole kingdoms.’

‘What about the grand master? Why is
he interested in the monastery?’

‘Perhaps it is the case that the
Cistercians, our order, the Romans, the king, and his brother are all vying for
the same thing.’

‘What thing?’

‘That is what we must find out.’

‘And if we do, whom shall we turn to,
master? The king or the grand master?’

‘Perhaps neither, perhaps both,’ he
answered, ‘and if things go wrong we must not expect a legion of knights to
come to our defence.’

‘You mean our order will desert us?’
I cried in disbelief.

Andre brought a finger to his lips. I
had not noticed that I had been speaking loudly. ‘Calm down. All I am saying is
that there must be something here in this abbey which is of great value, but
also in some way incriminating. The question is, what are Cistercians doing on
Templar ground? Then also, why do we find a rose cross on the door, and
furthermore, a black virgin holding a rose and a cross on the window in the
church? These things are physical signs that may help us solve our puzzle but
to be sure of more things we must somehow get a look at the great book in the
chapter house, the one which catalogues dates of deaths, admittances and so on.
This may help us to find out where these monks came from, and perhaps why they
are here.’

‘Why do you not simply ask the abbot,
master?’

‘He will not tell us, his lips are
sealed, as he told us. Perhaps there is a vow that he cannot break? Or he has
learned something in the confessional. No, I am afraid we must find out for
ourselves.’

‘But what obliges you to go poking
around in the abbey’s business, master? Are we not here simply to see that no
injustice is done by the inquisition?’

‘The abbot has done what he could by
asking me to seek the ‘evil roaming the abbey’, whose words echo those of
Ezekiel that day before his death, if you will remember, and yet, in the end,
nothing obliges us to do anything we will not do willingly, out of a desire to
know
,
am I right?’

‘So our next move is?’

‘I would say that at this point, with
all that has happened, our first priority may be to prevent the inquisitor from
using our bones as faggots – but you will be glad to know that, among all
these questions, we do know something, and that is, that there is a tunnel
beneath the abbey that no one wants to mention and that the abbot seems anxious
to safeguard. There have been two deaths, not one, and under similar suspicious
circumstances. I don’t yet know what one thing has to do with the other –
perhaps nothing, perhaps everything. But we must remember that if we know these
things it is only a matter of time before the inquisitor also learns of them,
that is, of course unless he has known about them all along . . . in which case
this abbey is doomed.’

Having said these things my master
lapsed into a pensive silence and it was some moments before I had occasion to
tell him of my conversation with the cook. He listened quietly and then rubbed
his hands together, very pleased, ‘Good,’ he seemed cheered, ‘he may be of
great help to us.’

‘Really? I don’t see how a cook can
be of any help, master, after all, how much could such an ignorant man know?’

‘Why, you are a stupid boy!’ he
looked surprised. ‘A living dog is better than a dead lion! We must not
confound learning with intelligence for here is another who says those with
garrulous tongues die in this abbey, and we had better start listening.’

‘And what shall we hear?

‘Something that will point to where
we must investigate. I shall question him later . . .’ saying almost to
himself, ‘but for now, we must look about us, and as Peter has said, we must be
sober, we must be vigilant.’