Temple of The Grail (20 page)

‘How may I help you, your grace?’ my master asked when
it seemed that the bishop would not begin.

‘I wish to speak to you about the proceedings.’ The
Benedictine paused for a moment, I believe unsure of how to broach the matter,
he then placed his plump palms together in the manner of prayer and slowly,
with deliberate wording, began, ‘I am deeply concerned, brother Templar, that
you may not be aware of the difficulties faced by the church in these very
difficult times. Indeed, the entire continent, of which France is but one small
part, has been a hotbed of intrigue and I fear you may not understand the
importance of our duty to the pope, in the matter of . . . in the matter of,
the abbey.’

‘My lord, I am always conscious of my duty.’

‘Yes, no doubt,’ he cleared his throat, ‘but while you
were away – fighting valiantly on behalf of all good Christians –
many things have changed.’

‘Perhaps you should enlighten me, your grace.’

‘I shall. Firstly, as you may know, the church has
been occupied with the unholy works of the
guedes
here in France
,
whose
character is not unlike the
Ghibellines
of my own country, and whom
everyone knows, seek only to fatten their coffers with the blood of Christ. They
are supporters of imperialists. Helped by Louis and his brother, they collude
to weaken the power of the papacy by reducing the privileges of the church and
refusing to pay taxes! We must watch the fox and the wolf with diligence, lest
we lose the vineyard!’ He moved his vastness in the direction of the large
arches overlooking the central court, and fixed my master with a pained
expression that on his face looked absurd. ‘I fear the king supports those
responsible for the death of one pope – God rest his soul – and the
dismemberment of Italy.’

‘I think you are confused, we are not speaking of
Ghibellines
,
only merchant guilds, craft guilds.’

‘Ahh . . . but the king supports them, like Manfred
supports the
Ghibellines
, because he wants power . . . Louis grows
stronger by the day.’

‘But it was the pope, your grace, who handed Languedoc
over to him, knowing him well enough. In return the church was promised the end
of heresy. But our lord pope was wise for another reason, for he allied himself
to a powerful throne, a champion, in the event that his power was once more
threatened. It is after all Louis’ brother, Charles of Anjou, who stands at the
ready, waiting to ensnare Frederick’s son, Manfred, before he can take up his
father’s sword against the church! The pope seems to ally himself with whomever
it pleases him, dear bishop. Has he not at this moment the
Ghibelline
Ottaviano
governing northern Italy because this man’s family is very powerful in Bologna,
whose geographical position is highly strategic?’

The bishop gave a grunt, perhaps because he hated
Ghibellines
,
or perhaps because he thought that he should have been given this position.
Nevertheless he defended his pontiff. ‘The pope’s designs are the concern of
God, how am I to question his wisdom? However, you must concede that his
supreme authority must remain flawless. How can we perform our duties when the
king and the consuls continually erode our power? It is no wonder that we must
find intricate and devious ways to exercise our jurisdiction . . .’ he trailed
off as if to leave much to the imagination.

‘But is it not also the inquisitors that threaten your
power, your grace? The Dominicans who presume to know more than the wise
Benedictines.’ My master knew the antagonism that existed between the orders on
this matter, and I believe he was using it as a divisive tactic.

The other man narrowed his puffy eyes, ‘Yes, there are
men who unknowingly function as the enemy’s tool, but we must keep in mind our
duty to the faithful. That is what is most important. For instability always
leads, as is well known, to heresy. Look at Languedoc! You must remember, so
many here, even those whom the church had trusted, were ‘questionable’. The
battle is difficult, but all of us must fight the holy war together, even if
sometimes we do not always agree as to the methods applied!’

‘No war is holy, your grace,’ my master said sadly, ‘it
is only war.’

‘But you are a man of war! Do you say that the wars
you have fought have not been for a holy cause?’

‘I am a Templar, a knight, but also a doctor. What I
have seen has not pleased my soul.’

The bishop assessed the meaning of my master’s words
and chose, for the moment, to ignore the entire matter, ‘In any case, with a new
pope we may see things return to normal, we might forget the stink of the false
emperor!’

‘A false emperor that was crowned by the pope.’

‘But what choice did he have? Tell me! Philip of
Swabia was dead, Otto of Brunswick was an underhanded mercenary.

Frederick was his only choice. Besides, there were
agreements, promises . . . He sought to lie like the Devil until crowned, and
once emperor he began his campaign to establish complete imperial authority! Do
not confound the truth with lies, preceptor, he was excommunicated at the
council of Lyons because of his treason and you, a Templar, should have no
reason to side with the likes of that fox! Did he not retain Templar property
in Italy? Did he not shame your order by forming an alliance with the Saracens,
managing to secure the Holy Land single-handedly, where your order and others
were disastrously unsuccessful? We have seen your incompetence in your terrible
defeat at Mansourah.’

My master blanched. ‘Frederick may have secured the
Holy Land,’ he said with vehemence, ‘but such a bargain was procured at the
expense of papal interests, as well as the interests of other European states.
However, peace is peace, and I believe one has to measure the success of his
diplomacy on those terms.’

‘Many have been deceived by that snake’s artful ways.
Many still believe the false emperor to have walked according to truth, but it
is plain to anyone that he was a devil, pretending to be a pillar of God in
order to disguise his devious plans. It is common knowledge that he embarked on
his crusade merely to elevate himself in the eyes of those around him. Once in
Outremer, however, his zeal for sacrifice became tempered by a desire, nay, an
obsession to serve his own interests and not the interests of the Holy See! He
became infected because when you lie belly to belly with pigs you smell like
pig, because sin begets sin . . . that also is common knowledge.’ Wagging a
finger at my master agitatedly, as though he had forgotten something of great
importance, which he was now about to impart, he said, ‘Rumours abound that
your men at Acre were influenced by Cabbala and Islam, the seed of heresy!
There are many who believe that your order has for too long walked a path that
is not so straight.’ He moved closer in a conspiratorial way, ‘Even your dear
Louis made your grand master kiss the hem of his tunic as penance for his
arrogance. And then there are the rumours, which connect your order with
necromancy, sorcery, and all manner of foulness, which I dare not repeat, for
doing so would distress my quiescent senses. These rumours may be the result of
malicious conspiracy,’ he added. ‘Nevertheless, we live in delicate times,
preceptor, the memory of heresies and bloody massacres is still fresh. Do we
not remember Avignonet? So much bloodshed! The new pope knows that you defended
the heretics of this region, that you harboured Cathar nobles and their
families, aiding murderers and adopting their doctrines . . .’

‘If you speak of women and children,’ my master said
with polite hostility, ‘imperilled by blood-thirsty animals, if you mean the
elderly and the infirm, then those rumours are true. We have always maintained
that the only true Crusade is the one against the infidel. Must we recall the
terrible crime that saw women and children massacred in the churches?’

The bishop smiled with malice. ‘The antichrist makes
no distinction between sex, nor age. That is well known. And neither should
those, whose place – in the divine order of things

– is to root out such loathsomeness. Kill them all!
God will recognise his own!’

‘God forgive the bishop of Citeaux, I believe he did
not know what he was saying when he uttered those words,’ my master said bitterly.

The bishop looked at him curiously, as though this
reply was beyond his understanding. ‘The bishop of Citeaux was a practical man,
as I am. Even now there still exists a stink about the place. We must stamp out
any seedlings before they resurface, and we can do no better than to start with
these monasteries whose influence and wealth surpasses that of any secular
organisation, whose abbots feel themselves autonomous and unconstrained. These
false clerics, we know, side with emperors and kings against Rome. They call
secular rulers their masters, quoting our beloved St Ambrose and St Augustine
and using their divine words to further their own selfish aims at independence!
Praise God that the pope has commanded a review of all monastic practices in
this area! It is time we root out all those who stray from the regulations of
the Apostolic See.’ He then proceeded in a fraternal way, ‘Take care that your
order is not next!’

‘We are sanctioned by the pope, your grace.’

‘I confess, you have been useful,’ he answered as we
rounded the south walk and the scriptorium, now empty and silent. ‘But do not
make the mistake of thinking that we will look the other way if your
brotherhood
transgresses the teachings of Christ. Consider this . . .’ He moved closer,
‘There are many who, from the start, have had misgivings about your order’s
duplicity. I, for one, and many others like me, are watching you and your kind
with the utmost care. St Bernard may have been your most devout advocate, but I
feel sure that he looks down from the blissful non-existence of divinity, in
rebuke. His valiant knights, behaving like Jews!’

‘I would hope that in heaven there is less distinction
between race and creed than we find here among sinful mortals. However, if St
Bernard gazes down upon our brotherhood, it is with love and approval, for it
is not the Templar order that should be closely scrutinised, your grace, but
all the small parishes which are in the hands of dubious priests, and perhaps
the larger diocese, run by greedy bishops.’

The other man’s face matched the colour of his
amethyst ring.

‘Even in his life,’ my master continued, ‘St Bernard
could see avarice blooming like weeds in the hierarchies of the church.’

‘Master Templar! How dare you say such things!’

‘I am merely saying that even the faithful dog must be
closely watched by the shepherd.’

There was an awkward silence. The bishop spoke then,
with restrained anger. ‘The Synod of Toulouse is quite clear! And it is my duty
to uphold it! It is the responsibility of all citizens to search out heretics,
to root out lasciviousness and its followers, patrons or protectors. No one is
exempt, as you say. Not even the Militia of Christ!’ He stared at my master, a
look pregnant with unspoken hostilities, and it was then that I knew that we
were being openly threatened.

‘Not even the pope himself, one hopes.’

There was another terrible pause. Incredulity did
battle with dislike for supremacy on the bishop’s face. ‘The time will come,
preceptor, when your order will have outgrown its usefulness. What will become
of fighting monks who have lost their
raison d’être?
Will you continue
to barter and trade, staining your hands with money and blood when it is
meekness and mildness in the service of God that you should seek! Your order is
no better than these irreverent monasteries. No better than this Manfred devil,
for you have become a law unto yourselves. It is your own empire that you seek,
autonomous, independent, owing allegiance to none other, least of all the pope.
In effect, you take for yourselves a power that not even the emperor dare
claim! Even kings are in awe of you! Be careful, you have made yourselves
indispensable, that may be true, but you are also hated, for it is no secret
that you are the bankers for every throne in Europe . . . and kings with empty
coffers have very short memories!’ In an attempt to calm himself, he wiped his
brow with a handkerchief and continued, ‘Remember usury is an abomination in
the eyes of God and the church.’

‘Yes, usury has many names. When bishops borrow from
the city consuls they call it a
dono.
’

‘I will not have you say such things! What impudence!
Donations are necessary for the life of the church! How else could we maintain
our place in the world?’

‘But our Lord, your grace, died on the cross, naked.’

The bishop’s eyes widened, irritated and bloodshot. ‘Jews
and merchants line their purses with the sufferings of others. The church, on
the other hand, provides fraternal service to its children! For charity, not
poverty, is the basis for the perfect life. No,’ he continued, out of breath, ‘we
do not pretend to be paupers, nor do we live a sybaritic life! And although
there is pride in wealth, preceptor, there is also pride in poverty! A
hypocrite stands before me preaching the value of poverty when it is no secret
that your Paris preceptory holds treasures beyond comprehension!’

‘What we have accumulated for services beneficent to
the countries we inhabit is used to maintain our militia, so that we may best
serve the pope, and so, naturally, God. And if you speak of charity, no other
order has such strict charitable obligations as the Templar order, my lord.’