Temple of The Grail (26 page)

‘I wanted to tell you, but . . .’

‘What did you want to tell me, Asa,’
he asked him, ‘about Brother Samuel’s death? That you saw him dying, but did
nothing?’

‘How do you mean?’ The infirmarian
became distressed.

‘At the inquiry you said Brother
Samuel was found in the church, gasping for air, but when we spoke to Brother
Daniel, he said that when he found the monk he was already dead. So logically
we must assume that you came across the poor man before Brother Daniel. Am I
right!’

The man fell to his knees, ‘No! I . .
. that is, I did not . . . you have to believe me!’ he cried.

‘That you did not kill the brother?
Or that you were the first to see him and did nothing to save his life?’

‘I will tell you . . .’ Asa sobbed
into one hand, but my master did not wait for him to regain his composure, and
pressed him to go on by helping him roughly to his feet.

‘I went to see Brother Ezekiel,’ he
pleaded, ‘on the matter of a book. Being the translator and possessing a very
good memory, Brother Macabus suggested that I see him. I was told that prior to
nones he was always to be found at the foot of the Virgin, so I went there, but
he was not alone. He was having a heated argument with Brother Samuel. Lord
forgive them, they were raising their voices in the Chapel of the Lady of our
sorrows. Not wishing to intrude, I waited in the ambulatory.’

‘What you mean to say is that you
waited in the shadows, hoping to hear their argument.’ The man was silent,
lowering his eyes, and my master waved him on.

‘For the most part I did not
understand their conversation,’ he continued, ‘then I heard something which
drew my interest.’

‘Yes?’

‘They were discussing something . . .
they called it a ‘final conclusion’. Brother Samuel said he must go down, and
see for himself, Brother Ezekiel disagreed vehemently, saying that it was not
the right time, he was not sure that any of them were pure enough . . . that it
would depend on the others . . . I do not know what he meant by this . . .’ he
shrugged his shoulders. ‘Brother Samuel then said that Daniel had given him the
formulas.’

‘What were they discussing? Tell me!’
my master cried, his eyes ablaze.

‘I don’t know, I swear to you!’

‘Now you swear!’ There was a pause. ‘What
is this place they should not visit? The tunnels, perhaps?’

‘I don’t know, but I do know it has
something to do with the boy.’

‘The boy?’

‘The novice, they
mentioned him.’

‘What novice, Anselmo or
Jerome?’

He looked surprised, even shocked.
His lips began to quiver and a faint perspiration appeared on his brow. ‘No,
not them, but another . . .’

We were both bewildered. ‘What other
. . .? Tell me about him.’

‘I cannot . . . I don’t know . . . no
one has seen him, not since he has fallen ill.’

‘Tell me who he is.’

‘He came to this monastery as an
oblate of no more than seven. But no one has ever seen him. They say he is down
with the ghosts, but no one goes there! No one! It is forbidden.’

‘In the tunnels? Come now, there are
rules that apply to monks, and others that apply to the abbot and his
obidientiaries.’

‘But it is not the abbot’s
regulation, preceptor, that prevents monks from venturing there . . .’

‘Whose then, Setubar’s?’

‘No,’ the man looked about him
circumspectly, ‘it is the admonition of the spirits!’

‘Come now, brother –’

‘There are spirits in the tunnels. It
is
their
admonition.’

‘And yet I have heard that someone
has broken the interdict,’ my master said, ‘did he return?’

The infirmarian shook his head, and
lowered his eyes once again, tears flowing down his face. ‘He disappeared a few
days ago, Jerome is his name, he has not yet been found. You see, preceptor? It
is infernal. Here above, we sing like the choirs of heaven, and yet down below
us, the maws of hell are open.’ The poor man trembled with fear.

My master looked puzzled. So there
were three novices!

‘Could Jerome not have absconded?’ my
master ventured, ‘this has been known to happen in monasteries.’

‘No, no. I do not believe it.
Absolutely not! He was my apprentice, a fine student,’ the man broke down in
sobs. ‘He and Anselmo were the only novices at our monastery apart from . . .
they were good friends, always together . . .’

‘I see . . . and what of this boy?
Were they friends with him?’

‘Oh, no . . . he was kept apart from
all the others. Treated with special care . . . please, brother!’ The man cried
suddenly stricken with emotion. ‘I am afraid . . . Brother Setubar will not be
pleased that I have spoken to you.’

‘It seems all are more fearful of
Brother Setubar than they are of the Devil?’

The man pulled his cowl over his
face, perhaps ashamed of his fear, perhaps so that we might not see, and therefore
judge, his expression.

‘Tell me what happened after the
argument,’ my master said, giving me a strange look.

‘Brother Ezekiel left, seeking his
way through the church, for he knew it well despite his bad eyes, walking
straight past me saying something about Setubar overhearing their conversation,
but he did not see me. I was about to follow him, but I was intrigued by
Brother Samuel’s behaviour. He took a candle from beneath the Virgin, and
disappeared behind the red curtains, but after a few moments I saw him return
struggling to gain his breath. He was convulsing and coughing, and that was
when I rushed to him, but there was nothing I could do!’

‘Why did you not raise the alarm? Why
did you walk away and leave someone else to find him?’

‘I was afraid . . .’ he pleaded, ‘but
I must tell you of something that did not immediately occur to me until the
night of Brother Ezekiel’s death. Before brother Samuel inspired his last
breath, he said . . .’

Alas, at that moment the door flew
open and a burst of frozen air and snow rushed in, violating the warmth of the
infirmary.

It was Regino of Naples who, in an
agitated state, hurried into the room pointing to the cloister buildings and
exclaiming

between gasps.

‘Fire! Fire in the cookhouse! The
cook! The cook is dead!’

I saw Brother Asa place the velvet pouch
in a drawer before leaving.

When we entered the cookhouse the
fire had already been put out by various monks with buckets. The cook lay
prostrate on the muddy floor, and there was a smell of burning oil and fish
that in my anxiety I mistook for burning flesh. Asa reached the man before us,
carried by his supple legs, and we found him kneeling over him. He inspected the
cook for burns or any other injury and produced from a pouch around his middle
a small vial. He removed the lid and passed the vessel beneath the cook’s nose
– later I was to learn from my master that it was fennel juice – in
any case, the man was instantly aroused. He opened his eyes, and with the face
of a little child – a look that contrasted sharply with his great size
– said from out of his moist mouth,
‘Madre mia! La Virgen! La Virgen!’

My master moved closer and the cook
wrenched at his habit hysterically. ‘I saw
la madre santa,
in the flames
. . . she was beautiful! She said Rodrigo! Yes . . . she said my name! She said
Rodrigo this is the sign!’

There was agitation in the crowd that
by now had gathered in the doorway to the refectory.

‘The sign!’ someone shouted, ‘for the
fire hath devoured the pastures of the wilderness, and the frame hath burnt all
the trees of the field!’

‘No! No!’ cried another.

There was confusion. Some were saying
anxiously that the age of advent had come and that Joachim of Calabria had been
right, even though, by his calculation, it should be the year 1260.

‘Brother cook, were you cooking fish?’
my master asked loudly, adding his voice of reason to the matter.

The man looked up at my master
incredulously. What did it matter if he was cooking fish, his eyes said, he had
seen the Virgin! My master repeated the question, and the cook said that yes,
he had been cooking fish. Andre then walked over to the great fireplace beside
the large oven. The fire had caused little damage because of the stone wall
that surrounded it, but when he looked down, he noticed, as I did, a lump of
charred hairy flesh, barely recognisable. ‘What is this?’ Andre asked, poking
at it with a stick.

The cook looked in the direction of
my master’s gaze. At first uncomprehending, he realised suddenly, and gave out
a loud, painful bellow. ‘Fernando!’ he cried, weeping into his hands. My heart
sank. It was the cat.

After inspecting the surrounds, my
master said, ‘Now everything is clear.’

He asked the cook if the cat
regularly rested in the alcove above the fire. Even I knew the answer to this
question, but the cook was weeping into his burly hands and saying in soft
whispers, ‘Fernando . . . Fernando.’

Others joined in until many were weeping
for the unfortunate cat.

It was then that Andre noticed
something else, a dry, brown bunch of burnt leaves, perhaps herbs, hanging from
a string above the fire. My master crumpled some of the charred remains in his
hand, and bringing it to his nose, sniffed lightly. He nodded, returning to
question the cook once more when, at that very moment, the abbot entered the
cookhouse, followed by the inquisitor and the other members of the legation.

Surveying the scene, the inquisitor
approached the giant on the floor who, in his present state of grief, did not
notice him.

Rainiero gave my master a disdainful
look and slapped the cook hard across the face. There was a collective gasp.
The man’s head turned from side to side, and he looked up wide-eyed as though
he did not comprehend what had just happened.

‘
Mi
poor Fernando,’ he said
shocked. ‘He, too, saw
la Virgen Santa!’

The inquisitor ignored this and
turned to the other cook for satisfaction, but before the man could speak, my
master broke in with his usual alacrity.

‘It is simple, Rainiero, the man
accidentally spilt oil over the fire while immersing fish for the meal. It
ignited the herbs drying above the fire. Understandably he stepped away from
the flames but, in so doing, he slipped on the floor, whereby he fell, knocking
his head. The unfortunate cat,’ he pointed to the burnt remains, ‘in his
surprise, leapt from its abode above the fire – a natural place for a
cat, as they are known to hate the cold. It should have escaped misfortune, as
we know cats land only on their feet. In this instance, however, it was its
undoing, for one of its legs caught the side of the cauldron and it landed in
the fire. Most unfortunate,’ he concluded, and finding a radish hanging from a
basket took a bite out of it.

Someone behind me said, ‘What a
marvel.’ Another whispered, ‘It is the Templar acumen.’

And as one might expect this did not
please the inquisitor who looked on at my master’s casual manner with
incredulity. ‘Very well!’ he exclaimed, enraged. ‘You seem to have things in
hand. However, as I am the inquisitor, and not you, preceptor, I demand that
you allow me to continue my investigations without interruption!’

‘By all means,’ said my
master, stepping aside as a sign of submission. Rainiero raised his chin and
looked down his nose at the cook. ‘Now then,’ he began, noting, however, that
my master had stolen his thunder. ‘Cook, what say you?’

‘It was
la Virgen!
’
answered the man beaming, ‘She came out of the fire to take me to heaven. I was
flying!
Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen!
–
Deliver us from evil. Amen!’

The inquisitor came forward until he
stood very close to the cook. ‘So, you saw the Virgin! The Virgin appeared to
you? I see . . . a greasy cook has a beatific vision? Should we venerate you as
a saint? Or perhaps as the devil that you are!’

‘
He visto a la Virgen.
I have
seen her . . .’ the cook said softly.

‘Or was it that perhaps you were
casting a diabolical spell on the fish with some poisonous herb with the
intention of harming this legation and those who seek the truth about this
abbey? Come now, we all know the body of Satan is comprised of several plants!
That his evil eye is henbane, his beard is the snapdragon, his claws the
orchid, bindweed is his gut, mandrake his testicles! You have conjured up the Devil
disguised as the sainted mother by sacrificing a cat. You see! All of you are
witnesses! All of you know that the cat is the embodiment of Satan, whose urine
is said to bring about the death of those who drink it. Whose ashes, when
ingested, secure a man’s soul! It is you that I suspect of being the killer of
two monks, whom you have poisoned at the bidding of the Devil! Guards! Seize
this man!’

There were confused cries of ‘No!’

My master then, thankfully, interjected.