Temple of The Grail (8 page)

‘Yes, words,’ the bishop stifled a
belch, ‘heretical and heinous, spoken by a Cathar!’

‘In any event,’ the inquisitor
dismissed, ‘at this moment guards search his cell for proofs of his dissent and
if we find this abbey has been protecting and harbouring apostates – as
we shall soon know – it may also be guilty of other more terrible crimes.
‘Let the ungodly fall into their own nets together . . . that they may not
escape!’

My master raised his chin slightly
and I saw adversarial fire in his eyes. ‘Proverbs tells us that we must not
boast of tomorrow; for we do not know what a day may bring forth.’

The inquisitor stared at my master in
the way wild creatures stare before devouring their prey. ‘Must I remind you of
your position here? Think not that your authority surpasses . . .’

‘Rainiero,’ my master forestalled his
next remark with a gesture of his hand, ‘I am only advising a little patience.
After all we have heard these ravings before. There are many who still await
the prophesies of that poor abbot of Fiora. Indeed, there is far too much study
of the apocalypse . . . and yet, this is not a crime, surely.’

‘You say this, Preceptor,’ the
inquisitor said patiently, as though explaining some trifle to a child, ‘because
you have not seen the patient work of the Devil as it unfolds in all its
subtlety before one’s eyes . . . He spoke of the antipope, and he aimed his
words at the legation . . .’

‘But the man was nearly blind,
Rainiero,’ my master replied, ‘he could have been aiming his countenance in any
direction!’

‘Even more diabolical!’ the
Cistercian gasped, his unblinking eyes even wider than usual. The others
crossed themselves in anticipated horror. ‘A blind man sees through the eyes of
the Devil,’ he continued, ‘who then consumes his instrument and seizes his
immortal soul!’

All around there were disconsolate
gasps, and with a hint of satisfaction the inquisitor raised his voice, ‘This
abbey is cursed! This I know!’

‘Then it should be a simple matter to
prove it,’ my master said, using a tone, which implied that his part in the
conversation was over. ‘And since this is your task I will bid you a good
night. Come, Christian, one prayer before bed.’ He pulled me away from the
legation, and I was glad, for I was a little overcome.

‘I did not think Templars had much
time for prayer,’ the inquisitor retorted after us, ‘only for killing and
pillaging . . . one only wonders at the wisdom of a king who places so much
faith in renegade warriors.’

‘We are all warriors, Rainiero,’ my
master answered, turning around. ‘Some of us, however, battle against the true
enemies of the faith, while others battle . . . elusive ones.’

At this point there occurred a
strange thing between the two men. I saw their dislike for one another turn
into a terrible rivalry that raised its head like a beast between them. ‘I will
admonish you to stay
en garde
! Whatever you may believe, preceptor. For
it is beyond speculation that in this place Satan’s minions roam.’ He paused,
giving me his attention. ‘Do you hear the moans of the succubus, my beautiful
one?’ I thought for one horrible moment that I could indeed hear them. ‘They
course through the abbey looking for their next victim . . .’ He reached out
his hand to caress my face. ‘One may not be safe even in God’s house.’

I felt a wave of nausea overcome me
as he paused moments before touching my cheek. With a slight look of longing in
his cold eyes, he withdrew his hand, but slowly, so that I seemed to hold my
breath for a long time. ‘Narrow indeed is the way that leadeth unto life,’ he
concluded.

‘Thank you for your concern, your
grace,’ my master interjected. ‘You need not worry, we shall be vigilant.’

The inquisitor’s teeth glistened like
diamonds between thin lips, and he drew his cowl over his face turning to the
others in silence, and they left us, melting into the darkness of the
cloisters.

We walked to the south transept door
and I must have looked disturbed, for my master said soothingly, ‘Your mind
must not linger too long on other men’s aberrations. As incredible as it may
seem, it is known that there are those whose sentiments run to unnatural
desires. Of all sins it is one of the most abominable, but there’s no sense in
crying over it. Come with me and think no more on it.’ I could see his strong
silhouette in the darkness, and I thanked God for his wisdom.

We made our way to the choir stalls
in the shadow of the great tripod at the altar. I paused for a moment before
it, and said a short prayer to keep the Devil at bay.

‘You see, Rainiero has managed to
accomplish much this evening,’ my master said, annoyed.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked after I
had crossed myself.

‘It is the job of an inquisitor to
instil fear into the hearts of men, and I must say Rainiero does it well. He
has you and the others fearful of your own shadows, believing in untold evils,
exactly as he intended.’

‘I’m not afraid, master . . .’

‘Christian,’ he sighed,’ you should
never show a mad dog that you are fearful, for the moment he senses it he will
attack without mercy . . . beware of the dog –
cave canem
–
Domini
canes
.’

I frowned at his play of words. ‘So
what should one do, then?’

‘You must hold his gaze, never swerve
for a moment, and run like an infidel!’ He laughed then, but I was not
surprised, for I had observed this peculiarity before in men of eastern race;
that they laughed at strange things, and so I changed the subject lest his
impious comparison of the inquisitor to a dog result in some terrible heavenly
retribution.

‘What about the old monk?’

‘He is dead, that must be obvious
even to you, but the cause will not become apparent until we have had time to
examine the evidence, namely the body. At this moment the infirmarian, our
eager brother Asa, waits for me so that together we can execute a concurrent
examination. Until that time I’m afraid we shall have to reserve our
judgements, lest we desire to look like fools later . . .’ He searched my face,
‘Oh for heaven’s sake, boy, one would think you had never seen a man die! He
was old, how many have you seen die in the flower of youth, run through with a
lance or a blade? To live beyond a certain age may seem a gift from God, but to
many it is a curse from his infernal adversary. Though I will grant you it is
far preferable to die sleeping, quietly and without fuss . . .’

‘Actually, I have been wondering
about the name the old monk kept calling out . . . the name . . .’

‘Sorath?’

‘A strange name. I’ve never heard it
before, but it seemed to inspire such fear.’

‘Of course you’ve heard it! The man
himself told us as much; he is the sun demon.’

‘So he is like a devil?’

‘His name comes from the Greek
vernacular, and so he is a pagan devil more wretched than Satan or Lucifer, we
are told.’

‘But I thought there was
only one evil one?’

‘Evil wears many faces, dear boy,
like a body with many limbs through which works the one infernal intelligence.’
My master smiled and I was afraid for his immortal soul.

‘Don’t look at me that way . . . I
smile because here we have found another piece to our puzzle, like a hilt to a
sword, it fits perfectly, that is all!’

‘Another piece?’

‘Sorath is a Gnostic devil, this is
well

known.’

And so it did not surprise me that I
did not know it, for very often what he mistook for common knowledge was simply
not so.

‘And how do you know about him,
master?’ I ventured, perhaps a little impudently.

‘I make it my business to know many
things!’ he fired at me. ‘Now, stop asking me stupid questions, for you are
interrupting the flow of my thoughts . . .’ He cupped his beard in one hand and
supported his arm with the other. For all his bad mood, he appeared to be well
pleased. But I, dear reader, was miserable, because I could not forget the look
on the old monk’s face in that final moment; a face filled with so much pain
that it seemed close to immense pleasure.

‘Also,’ he broke through my
meditations, ‘did you not hear what he said?’

‘What he said?’

‘By the sword of Saladin, boy, where
are your wits?’ he cried and his voice reverberated in the holy room, ‘Did you
not hear these words, ‘They will not find the one . . .’?’

‘But the who one, master?’

‘Well, how should I know?’ He seemed
at the point of exasperation. ‘It is not significant that we know whom, for
that will come when we have discovered where and when, and this where could
quite possibly be the cuniculus . . .’ Seeing my blank face, he said, ‘Come boy
. . . the tunnel . . .’

‘What tunnel?’

‘If you had been asleep you might
have a plausible excuse – though it would still be a poor one – for
this lapse in observation. But as you were awake I must conclude that you were
stupefied.’

‘I’m sorry, master, but it all
happened so suddenly and even if I had heard what he said, I would still not
have understood it. What tunnel?’

‘Precisely. That is what we must find
out. It is again as I thought. There are tunnels under this abbey . . .’ he
muttered, ‘tunnels . . .’

I nodded, feeling ashamed at not having
come to the same conclusion.

Andre added, ‘He also said something
about a widow being wise . . .’ ‘But what has a widow to do with a monastery?’ ‘It
points to a sect called the Manicheans.’ ‘The who?’

‘A sect led by Manes, known in the
early centuries as the ‘son of a widow’. Cathars, my boy, believe in Manichean
ideals – in other words, heresy. The inquisitor was right about one
thing, our dead brother spoke like a heretic.’ ‘So we know then, master, that
there are heretics here, and that there are also tunnels in which, perhaps,
some are hidden?’ ‘You have made up for your lack of wits! Yes, that’s it . . .
for now that is what we know.’ I nodded a little pleased, though, to be honest,
I remained confused.

We made our way through the stalls to
that which had previously been occupied by the dead brother. Here, on the
ground where the poor man fell, there remained a little pool of brownish fluid.

‘And the note?’ I asked, looking
away, trying not to imagine what it was like to die such an agonising death, ‘Do
you think it has anything to do with the brother’s death?’

My master seemed to ignore me, and
began his inspection by picking up a small something, which I could not quite
see. ‘Raisins.’ He sniffed it. ‘Old men are always eating raisins, it helps to
restore the saliva . . . Now to answer your question: all things are possible
in the beginning. Let us progress through our chain of causes, we shall then be
in a better position to say many more things with confidence. If the poor monk
was murdered, the question we must ask ourselves is why? The note read that he
who seeks the light of knowledge dies in ignorance. What could this mean? Let
us ruminate. Could it mean that our Brother Ezekiel was a seeker of knowledge?
Or did he merely die in ignorance? Perhaps he sought the light of knowledge
because he was going blind, or he may have been in possession of a knowledge
that someone wants to keep in the dark? Only the abbot knew that we were about
to ask him questions.’

‘So the abbot is a suspect, then?’

‘Right now, it is as though we were a
good distance away from a friend, and in our eagerness we run to him and call
out his name…’

‘Only to find that he is not our
friend at all, but one who bears a likeness to him.. .’

‘So you remember Plato, well done! We
will have deceived ourselves, because we were looking only at the general
things, which, from a distance, are only ill defined; his height, his weight,
the colour of his hair, so on. And not at the particulars which, on closer
inspection, reveal his nose, eyes, the peculiar turn of his mouth. You see,
from a distance, he could be anyone. And that is how we must think, until we
come closer. We will then see with clarity, that is, one step at a time.
Sometimes, however, one can see better from a distance, and at other times it
is preferable if the object of our attention comes to us. Remember to follow
outward signs is to be like the captive in a cave who believes the shadows cast
by a fire to be the real world and not what lies above and outside the cave.
So, as captives we must allow the nature of things to tell us their secrets.
That means that we must listen carefully, and reserve our judgements for a
later time. At any rate, at this stage all we see is a man who is not a man but
a eunuch, throwing a stone that is not a stone, but a pumice-stone, at a bird
that is not a bird, but a bat, sitting on a twig that is not a twig, but a
reed!’

‘You mean nothing is what it seems?’

‘Precisely.’ He bent over and
retrieved something from the ground beneath the seat. He inspected it, ‘Another
raisin . . .’

‘Do you think it was the inquisitor,
then?’

‘Hm?’ My master looked up from his
kneeling position. ‘The inquisitor? The inquisitor what? What are you saying
now?’ He bellowed.