Temple of The Grail (38 page)

‘Perfected from the flesh of
marigolds!’ Eisik remarked, forgetting that all eyes were upon him.

‘A fine mixture,’ my master
concurred, ‘we have used a similar paste on wounds in the Holy Land, have we
not, Eisik? Very fine for preventing fermentation of the skin.’

Asa’s brown eyes sparkled, ‘Yes . . .
yes . . . I believe caused through the infiltration of imperceptible particles.’

However far and distant the changing
aspects of that time appear to my frail mind, dear reader, one thing has
remained; that little room, aglow with the fire of enthusiasm and industry,
where three men, divided by race and philosophy, existed for the barest moment
in total harmony and concord, in a universal and divine communion, mindless of
past and future, living only in the present.

Then I noticed the maiden, she had
made not a sound. I would have expected that she would cry out, or leave as all
the others. Instead, she stood motionless, her hood over her face, with only
her father’s arm for comfort. This intrigued me. Who indeed were these people?

Moments later Asa held the leg firmly
in place while my master, with Eisik’s help, used the two straight lengths of
wood to splint it. ‘He shall have a bad limp, if he lives . . .’ He indicated
that he was done by the wave of a hand, and several monks lifted the patient,
still wrapped in blankets, carefully into the bath that had been prepared to my
master’s orders.

‘You must immerse his head too, but
not his leg,’ Eisik hastily added.

They proceeded as instructed,
allowing the man’s head to sink below the surface, pulling him back up after a
short space, but it was some moments before we could see colour return to his
cheeks, and this was a sign that he should be taken out of the bath, dried, and
placed in a bed in the empty dormitory.

The inquisitor had remained at the
back of the group, watching with creased face, dark and impassive. Now he moved
forward with a gesture of great condescension. ‘If the three of you are done
congratulating yourselves,’ he said contemptuously, ‘this cannot in any way
delay our investigations, we will proceed as planned!’

My master turned to him, and they
exchanged a look of mutual dislike.

Moments passed, the shadows changed
and the two men held their stare. My master was the first to speak, ‘As is your
will, Rainiero.’

‘Yes, as is
my
will,’ said the
other through his teeth.

Then the two walked away from each
other and I breathed a sigh of gratitude that the heavens did not open up and strike
them for their arrogance.

I told myself, ‘How fragile is the
human spirit . . .’

S
now continued to fall in a thick blanket, and one could see
no sun, only a greyness surrounding the monastery like a silent enemy. I
shivered a little as I followed Eisik and my master into the bleakness. Moments
before we had emerged from the infirmary, leaving Asa (under guard) attending
to the young man. And as we walked the compound, I told them firstly of my
conversation with Setubar in the stables, and that he had mud on his shoes,
second of my conversation with Anselmo, and third what I had overheard in the
kitchen

‘Excellent!’ Andre exclaimed,
happily.

‘Oyhh!’ Eisik glared at him. ‘Now the
poor child finds pleasure in your games . . . You use all of this to further
your own vanity, Andre.’

‘He has done well!’ retorted my
master in a good mood, ‘and at the same time atoned for worrying me. So, it is
as I suspected.’

‘What did you suspect, master?’ I
asked, when it seemed he was not about to expand on his thoughts.

‘That Rainiero has not come here to
find heresy, but rather to use heresy as a pretext for finding something else,
in this case, the murderers of the martyr. You see, now it all makes a little
more sense . . . Only the killers of his beloved master, Piero, could have
brought him here despite pressing matters that we know await him in Milan.’

‘Who is this Piero?’ I asked.

‘The inquisitor’s predecessor,’ my
master answered, ‘murdered by a number of assassins. They ambushed him and his
aide on a quiet country road and it is said that it was a violent and bloody
mess. Two culprits were caught, but the others eluded the authorities. One of
those who escaped was a certain Giacopo de la Chiusa. We are told he also tried
to assassinate Rainiero, but that he did not succeed.’

‘I see now why he is so anxious to
find this man.’

‘It does not look good to have the
murderers of inquisitors go unpunished . . . however, in his seeking he has
uncovered what the king and the grand master wanted kept from him.’

‘The Gospel you have tucked away in
your mantle?’

‘It sounds like that might be part of
it, and something else…he said Rainerio had to stop it before it was
consummated…some form of initiation…perhaps…

‘What could the gospel do, master, if
they were found?

Andre pulled absently at his beard
that, these days, looked a little greyer. ‘It could undo the faith of many…I
have not had time to read it, only in part…but believe me there is a reason it
has been kept secret so long.’

Eisik muttered unintelligible things
bitterly, and I was quiet for a moment thinking things through.

‘So Setubar was the traitor,’ I said.

‘Our dear old brother has led the
inquisitor here using the murderer of Piero da Verona as bait, knowing the
inquisitor’s obsession . . . hoping that he might stop whatever is happening in
the catacombs. Something we know that all four brothers were party to, or at
least knew of.’

‘But how does this tie in with the
murders?’ I asked.

‘Let us go through what we know once
again . . . Now, at least one of them, Brother Samuel, was curious enough to
try to enter the tunnels . . . though he had been duly warned not to go.
Ezekiel, we know, was the only one with authority to visit the library, but
that does not mean that he ever entered the Sanctum Sanctorum. We must also
remember his sight was poor. Daniel, on the other hand, knew the orienting
formulas through the chambers, because he may have frequented the tunnels, or because
he was given the formulas for safekeeping without ever going there. He told
Samuel the formulas.’ He reflected. ‘There was some red dirt in his room, and
yet that may have been another’s print we saw. I believe someone, very likely
Setubar – who perhaps does not know the orienting formulas – may
have been trying to draw this information from Daniel, but when he refused to
disclose it, Setubar killed him, or perhaps he disclosed it and he was killed
anyway . . .’

‘But my sons, my sons!’ Eisik threw in
gloomily. ‘All this does not explain why some enter the tunnels and live whilst
others die.

‘Yes, you are quite right. Yes, why
is it that when Samuel entered the first chamber as we did he was overcome by
something almost immediately or very shortly after, where others, we, for
instance, were not?’

‘Perhaps it works in this way,
master, perhaps each brother knew one secret, Brother Daniel knew the
orientation, Brother Ezekiel the library, Brother Samuel the organ, and Brother
Setubar something else, and it is this something else that is perhaps the
secret to staying alive in the tunnels,’ I said, astounded at my own acumen.

‘Christian!’ He stopped with gaping
mouth, ‘You are a genius! I am truly sorry for all the times I have called you
stupid! It is I who is the stupid one! Why did I not think of it? Perhaps I am
getting too old for these things. That’s it! That’s it! Each brother held one
secret that together made up the mystery of the cunniculus – the tunnel .
. . yes, it makes perfect sense.’

‘But what poison kills so instantly?’
asked Eisik.

‘Pharaoh’s serpent or as some call
it, serpent de pharaon,’ Andre answered casually, ‘can be mixed with candle wax
and as it burns it gives off a vapour that kills, but not so instantly, though
if mixed with other compounds its effectiveness may be greatly accentuated so
that in close confines it may lead to a sudden death.’

‘But, master, we know that Brother
Ezekiel did not die in the same way because we had dinner with him, and then we
all headed immediately to the church. He was nowhere near the tunnels in all
that time,’ I pointed out.

‘No, you are right, of course,’ Andre
said a little dejected, ‘and yet we know that he did indeed enter the tunnels,
because he had mud on his sandals.’

‘Perhaps it is that he was there
earlier, my sons . . . Ahh! We chase our tails, for nothing explains his death.’

‘Because . . .’ began my master,
thinking as he spoke, ‘he did not come in contact with the poisonous substance.
In the same way that we did not come by it when we ventured there. But why not?’
he asked loudly, losing his temper and pulling at his beard with vexation. ‘What
do all those who survive a sojourn in the tunnels do in common that enables
them to escape death . . .? And why do some die instantly, while others die
slowly . . . Perhaps there are two different poisons!’

I looked about the compound
thoughtfully. We strolled under the vigilant eye of the inquisitor’s men.
Archers and soldiers stood guarding every entrance to and from the cloister
buildings. Perched on the stone walls of the abbey they looked down on us,
observing Eisik, like cats observe a fat bird.

‘Alas, my friends,’ Eisik said,
almost in a whisper, looking about him with fear, ‘the sounds of the trumpet
awake Judah no more and I who am despised more than the despised must remain
vigilant, for methinks those men await the roasting of my carcass.’

‘And we, my friend,’ answered Andre
jubilantly, ‘we shall be proud to keep you company.’

And my master was right, for even our
own men had succumbed to the power of the inquisitor, and I did not fail to
grasp the paradox of our situation, for the same walls that were indeed built
to safeguard those inside from an outward devil, were the very enclosures used
to imprison us by an inward one.

‘Most importantly,’ my master said
finally, ‘we must find brother Setubar before the inquisitor can ask him more
questions, and this we must do now.’ He pulled me in the direction of the
aperture, telling an archer in a brusque way to step aside. He eyed Eisik
suspiciously, but such was the respect and veneration shown to a knight of the
Temple in those days that the man conceded to my master’s request.

We searched the cloisters in vain.
Brother Setubar could not be found, no one had seen him. This made my master
exceedingly irritated. We did find Brother Sacar the master of music, however,
on his way to the scriptorium. This afforded us an opportunity to question him,
so when he said he was in search of a book, and asked us to follow him, that in
a few moments he would give us his attention, we did so humbly.

There were monks at work in their
carrels, as usual, but Brother Macabus could not be seen. My master brought
this to my notice as we waited for Sacar to search through a large cupboard
whose shelves were stocked with many psalters, hymnals and ordo missals.

‘One must be vigilant, preceptor,’
Brother Sacar brought down a book from the topmost shelf, ‘to follow the rules
of the liturgical year. Sometimes I confess that I am confounded and I need to
consult my
Brevarium
as I am doing today,’ he said, leafing through the
enormous book that must have weighed a great deal, for my master had to help
him hold it up. ‘You see . . .’ he continued, and we prepared ourselves for an
involved discourse (for we were learning that it was his custom to expand on
every subject, and fortunately my master tolerated this with a great deal of
patience, for we shall see how illuminating and advantageous his words would
prove to be), ‘it is a crucial time. One must be extremely careful, for as you
know the services do not follow in a similar way
per totum annum
,
throughout the year, but with a multitude of variations, according to the
kalendar
that dictates our liturgical year. I, in my singular duty, have to choose
not only the
proper
and
customary
hymns and psalms according to
the
temporale
or yearly round of services, but also the
sanctorale
,
or services for the saints that, as we have noted, number so many.’ He paused
in reflection. ‘This season is always a little difficult because as we near
Lent, there is not only the strict omission of the angelic hymns, but also
variations on the usual responsories, antiphons, canticles, and versicles. We
must also prepare in the forthcoming days for the Adorations, the Aspersions,
Blessings, Consecrations, the Deposition and the
Improperia
. . . the
processions, the washing of the altars, the
Mandatum . . .
’ he lingered
with a sigh of delight. ‘I believe that Jews have similar rituals, though of
course they are not concerned with weeping over the wounds of our Lord . . .’
he trailed off, perhaps desiring to include Eisik in the discussion, but ending
miserably, fearing he had occasioned an insult.

‘Nevertheless,’ Eisik said, ‘your
Christ was a Jew whose life was guided by Jewish tradition.’

‘Oh yes,’ Sacar blushed, ‘you are
quite right, one so easily forgets.’

‘If our Lord were alive,’ added my
master, ‘I am afraid such a program would afford him little time for sermons on
the mount or for the healing of the sick.’

Sacar smiled. ‘And yet we, his humble
servants, can only remember his works in our
oratio Dei
, in the
cantus
pastoralis
.’

‘The shepherd’s songs?’

‘Why, the psalms, of course,’ he
admonished in good humour.

‘Of course!’ My master then cleared
his throat by way of indicating that he was ready to discuss other things, and
that the master of music should finish his work that he may do so.

Sacar nodded his understanding and
gathered all the necessary information, writing out a little list of items down
on a rough parchment. A moment later he closed the book carefully and with
Andre’s help, replaced it in its repository. And as we emerged from the
scriptorium and walked in the direction of the church he turned his attention
to us as promised.

‘I am looking for Brother Setubar,
perhaps you have seen him?’ my master asked.

‘No, he was missing from the services
this morning, perhaps he is grieving as we all are for our dear departed
brother . . . However, in light of recent events it is a little worrying.’ His
face then changed, it filled with torment, ‘Oh, preceptor! What is happening to
us?’

‘It is unfortunate, brother . . .’ my
master said, and not waiting for a reply continued, ‘I was unable to express my
deepest sympathy before for your sad loss . . . Brother Samuel’s death must
have been very distressing.’

Sacar raised a hand in the air as if
to stay my master’s apology, ‘I thank you, preceptor. I imagine him singing in
the angelic choirs of heaven and this gives me peace.’

‘Indeed, a great loss after so many
years together?’

‘The short years we knew one another
were indeed precious ones,’ he sighed, closing his eyes.

‘So you have only come to the
monastery recently?’

‘Oh, no, I have been here since I was
only a young man, no older than your scribe . . . ahh, those days were so
–’

My master interrupted him by clearing
his throat, ‘So it was brother Samuel who had only been here for a short time?’

‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘he and the
others were from a monastery whose population was diminished and so forced to
close its doors.’

‘When you say the other brothers you
mean Setubar, Ezekiel, and Brother Daniel?’

‘Yes, that is correct.’

There was a pause, my master’s
eyebrows worked furiously. ‘So around the year forty-four the four of them came
here?’