Temple of The Grail (21 page)

The bishop laughed, ‘You make an excellent diplomat,
preceptor, I can see why the king holds you in such high esteem. Your tongue is
smooth and obviously illuminated by learning. I hear Alexandria, where you were
born, preceptor, is the centre of heretical learning. I am told it is a hotbed
of gnostic wisdom, cabbala, sufism and all manner of sin.’

‘It is a great place of learning, your grace, as you
have said. As a matter of fact, the Christians of Alexandria were foremost in
interpreting the ascetic teachings of the early fathers, the founders of the
monastic life.’

‘So you say, because you are half infidel, preceptor,
and I begin to wonder which half of you takes precedence.’

‘The half that counts, your grace.’

The other man looked at him blankly, ‘Yes, and yet,
was it the Christian half or the infidel half that was compelled to leave the
university of Paris? Perhaps you thought you could hide your past from us? Your
strange methods were not considered . . . shall I speak delicately? Your
methods were not considered pious. Today you might be burnt at the stake for
such transgressions. In any event,’ he paused, savouring his words, ‘after so
many years you do not seem to have learnt the error of your ways. Remember the
maxim?
Chil paist, chil prie, et chil deffent.
’

‘This man labours, this prays and that defends . . .’

‘Precisely . . . Listen to me, this is not your war,
return to your preceptory, leave the work of rooting out the disembodied
enemies of the faith to the inquisitor!’

‘I cannot do that, your grace.’

The man sat down on a stone bench facing the central
garth and sighed, suddenly tired. ‘What has happened to the world? All over
Europe Christians struggle with Christians, heresy sprouts up to poison the
calm waters of wisdom . . . In truth, politics do not interest me, it is not my
concern if the classes struggle one with the other, that is the king’s
business. Only when it affects the morals of my community, only then does it
come under my authority. In such cases, mark my words well, I would use all the
power afforded me to see to it that the laws of the church are upheld whatever
the cost! I will not allow patricians, nor indeed these defiant monasteries,
nor even the privileged classes, to cause the ruination of the faith of my
community.’

‘But what is faith to a man who does not make
distinctions between right and wrong, but simply between living and dying?’

The bishop shook his head stubbornly. ‘I do not
profess to know the solutions to all things, preceptor. I am a simple man,
unlike you . . . however, even you must not fall prey to pity. You must rather
see through the disguise of poverty and obedience to what lies secret, and
obscure. Namely, greed and wealth!’

The bell tolled and my master helped the bishop to his
feet.

‘Tell me, how is your friend Jean de Joinville on his
return from the Holy Land? I believe he has become quite the hero fighting
alongside the king.’

‘I believe he is well, recuperating after some four
years at the hands of the infidel,’ my master replied.

‘Hmm . . . the battle of Mansourah, a terrible thing.
So many men captured, so many dead . . . but you and your squire escaped?’

‘Yes.’

‘How fortuitous. Some would say too fortuitous for a
half infidel,’ he said, watching my master closely. Seeing no sign of anger on
Andre’s face, he continued a little disappointed, ‘The life of a Templar knight
in the East is certainly a dangerous one. But the life of a knight in France is
also fraught with hazards. I hope you will take some advice from an old man who
has seen many things in his life: there are two certainties in all this, one is
that the mouth of an inquisitor speaks with the pope’s tongue, and the other is
that his jurisdiction is absolute. Do your duty, see to it that justice is
done! These are days of strange affiliations, preceptor, and we must stand
together as men of God, despite our differences.
Oportet inquisitores
veritatis non esse inimicos!
’ That is to say, there should be no enmity
among seekers after truth.’

The bishop left with a swirl of his robes, but it
would not be long before he would do disservice to his parting words . . .

It was later, during supper, as the weather grew more
and more turbulent outside the refectory, that a discussion broke out which
ignored the observance of silence, and resulted in a debate among the legation
which, because of the anxiety felt by all, assumed a confused and distressed
character. I would lie if I did not say, dear reader, that I was a sad witness
to a tempest of tongues inappropriate to grave and responsible persons whose
composure should mirror the qualities of still waters. My master sat back
strangely amused, having started the entire incident with a careless remark
that I shall now recount to you, by way of illustrating further the enmity that
existed in those dark days among men of God. It seemed to speak to me, that
moment almost comical if not also at the same time terrible, of the vanity and
pride of men. That even the noble and the holy are apt to debase themselves to
the level of peasants at the slightest provocation.

It began when my master observed that the exquisite
cross hanging from the bishop’s neck was dangling a little in his soup. The
bishop answered by removing it and cleaning it with a moistened napkin. Andre
then remarked that it was a beautiful work of art, marked by intricate gold
filigree and studded with the most precious stones surrounding one great ruby
whose dimensions were that of a small walnut.

The bishop smiled, holding it timorously in his hands
and as he brought it to his moist lips he said, ‘What better way to express
one’s veneration, preceptor, than by using nature’s gifts. The ruby, as we
know, suggests the countenance of the archangels, the gold is the sublime
reflection of Christ whose radiance is only implied by its splendour. See the
amethysts? See the diamonds? It is true . . .’ he said, lost in reverie. ‘They
echo the marvels of the universe! Indeed, all the powers of the heavens are
vested in the miracle of the stone in whose depths hide many levels of
knowledge. In truth I feel a holy communion every time I hold it to my lips,
subjugated by its secrets.’ He seemed to be speaking a little like the abbot
when he had told me about the tiger’s eye, and yet differently.

At this point, the Friar de Narbonne rolled his eyes
in irritation and mumbled loudly, ‘How can one stand to hear our Lord’s cross
depicted in this vulgar manner! Next you will say that his manger was stuffed
with gold thread and not straw!’

The bishop turned his vastness then, in the friar’s
direction. ‘I do not expect a mendicant friar to understand these things, for
they require a little erudition and subtlety of education. However your founder
was not so simple-minded, for he knew how to seduce the pope to his bidding.’

‘Your grace!’ broke in the Cistercian by way of
defusing the problem. ‘Surely you do not suggest . . .? Francis was a holy man!
On this all agree.’

‘No doubt his nuns attested to his manhood!’

‘You irreverent snake!’ cried the friar, aghast,
lifting himself a little out of his chair and banging both fists on the table. ‘How
can you say such a thing against a most venerated saint of your own country?
And his nuns! Those sainted women are as virginal as the holy mother!’

The bishop smiled, ‘They are all virgins, you fool,
until they become nuns.’

‘Brothers, please!’ The abbot moved in, but it was too
late, each man was now at the other with escalating hatred.

Below the dais all stopped eating, their mouths gaped
open at the spectacle before their eyes, for now the friar, his face a deep
crimson, shook his hand menacingly in the bishop’s face.

‘You vessel of greed! You filthy swine! You simonious
thief! Whose wealth is gained by imposing penances that you overlook for a
small fee!’

‘Shut up! Innocent should have listened more
attentively to Cardinal Albano,’ the bishop spat, at the apex of anger, ‘who
advised him to keep the mendicants down below the feet of the lowest priest!’

‘Yes, and the same day he died of a broken neck!’ the
Franciscan cried.

‘Therein lies your guilt!’ the bishop shouted. ‘You
murderers . . . you steal the food from the mouths of the poor because you are
not only as dumb as asses, but as lazy! Because for all your talk of poverty
and austerity you smell of money, along with your wealthy Cistercian brothers
whose preference for sheep is well known and has made them rich!’

‘And your order, Otto,’ the Cistercian stood, his face
purple and his body shaking with rage, ‘recalls a fat pig lolling about in its
own excreta, opening its mouth to whatever is thrown to it!’

‘Is that so? You patron of depravity!’ the Bishop of
Toulouse shouted. ‘Defender of Fransciscan dung! Have you forgotten that
William St Amour said they are beggars, flatterers, liars, and detractors,
thieves, and avoiders of justice! How should I allow myself to be insulted by a
smelly old goat who knows nothing of the greatness of the Benedictines! If you
could read you would know that our divine order was established when your
founder’s grandfather was not even a seed in his mother’s belly. We were here
before you and we will exceed you in wisdom, years, and numbers.’

‘Perhaps, but only because you receive your own
bastard sons as oblates to plump up your diminishing population!’ cried the
Franciscan triumphantly. ‘How many nephews do you have, bishop? You are, of
course yourself, a nephew . . .’

‘You profane devil!’ The bishop lunged forward, trying
to grasp the friar by the scapular.

‘Brothers! Brothers!’ cried the abbot, standing
between the two men, avoiding a volley aimed at the bishop who, snarling,
prepared to land a punch squarely on the friar’s weak chin.

‘May the Devil take you!’ yelled the Franciscan from
behind the abbot, his animated face contrary to his nature. ‘It is no wonder
there is so much unrest in Italy! I begin to sympathise with the Ghibellines of
Umbria!’

This struck the bishop better than a blow. ‘Traitor!’
he vociferated, breathing heavily and waving his fat fists about. ‘I can see
why even the heretic Frederick would not allow your kind into Sicily, for you
give off the odour of a woman!’

‘I would rather give off the odour of a woman than to
be the son of a whore!’

‘And I would rather be a good son, even to a whore,
than to slip into your lice-infested habit each miserable day!’

‘Mind your tongue, you desecrator of saints!’ broke in
the Cistercian, waving his knife at the bishop. ‘You Benedictines are a bunch
of idolaters who build your grand churches stuffed with gold and silver so that
you can seek your own greedy reflections on every surface!’

‘And your order’s bare walls are only a reflection of
St Bernard’s buttocks; pale and exceedingly dull!’

My master cast a look of victory at the inquisitor,
and again I noted that the Devil of rivalry that existed between the two men
was almost at the point of embodiment. I began to wonder if the bishop had been
right – if the infidel in my master’s blood was stronger than the
Christian, since it seemed that he took pleasure in division and confusion as
much as the inquisitor took pleasure in fear and pain. At that moment, it
appeared that they had much in common.

‘Venerable brothers!’ the inquisitor shouted, raising
his arms in an effort to stop the blows and cries. ‘Peace! Peace!’ He frowned
at those responsible, and continued only after he was certain that they had
each calmed down, ‘I pray that we might sit down and collect ourselves before
it is too late. Might I remind you of our sensitive mission here, and of the
great peril that faces us? Surely this is the work of the Devil who seeks to
divide us, so that we may not come to a judgement, for if I have ever seen him,
I have seen him tonight, snarling from out of the mouths of pious men the most
odious and disdainful words! Let us be filled with contrition, let us pray for
guidance and also for forgiveness. The enemy is among us and we feed him with
our dissension and our hatred of one another.’

He sat down and silence reigned once more but, in
truth, it was an unhappy silence, because once a word is spoken it has the
ability to alter things, create things, even destroy them.

Now, only the wind outside could be heard
beating itself against stone, making the candles flicker about, casting ominous
shadows on the walls of the refectory. I wondered as I looked at all the now
solemn and frightened faces around me if any here was without sin.