Temple of The Grail (7 page)

My master smiled. ‘Indeed. Is that
not a timeless question, brother?’

The pope’s legation was silent. The
only sound was that of men shifting in their seats with obvious bewilderment.

From my right there came a voice, ‘The
Greeks honoured the body more than the soul.’ It was Brother Setubar, the old
bent monk, speaking in slow deliberate words. ‘They were fools! Learning is
only good for the body, the soul nourishes itself with spiritual things. As a
physician I knew this, and so I learnt only what was necessary and no more. It
is only pride that moves a man to know more than he ought to know, and it is
pride which makes him think that he knows more than he should! We are born and
from that moment we are
depravati
. . . corrupt, a body that dies little
by little, that is all we need to know, everything else is dung!’ He ended,
muttering something in his own German vernacular.

‘And yet Peter tells us,’ my master
retorted, ‘that one must travel through the barren desert of doubt to find at
its end the green meadows of faith and comprehension. A faith that is enlightened
by knowledge. Peter denied Christ and was absolved.’

‘Peter was absolved, but Judas atones
in hell for his sins!’ the old man cried. ‘Man should seek to know God! He
should not seek knowledge of the world!’

It was at this point that I realised
my master had manipulated the entire conversation in order to investigate the
mysterious author of the note and I admonished myself for having thought ill of
his intentions.

‘God is knowledge, venerable brother,
by definition, and he did indeed create the world as we are told in Genesis,’
Andre said finally, almost a little heated now.

‘Yes, preceptor,’ Rainiero joined in,
‘but knowledge of God and knowledge of the world are not the same thing! One
must shun the world and its iniquity and live only for revelation, in
contemplation of holy scripture.’

My master smiled a terrible smile,
close to a leer. ‘Then, by God! you have much in common with my Jewish friend,
for he believes the same thing.’

We had come around full circle.

The inquisitor, full of malice, held
his breath until his lips were almost blue. ‘Jews are fomenters of dissent,
responsible for infecting Christian heresies – which are in any case
multifarious – with the devil of cabbala
.
And if that were not a
most heinous sin, they allow their adulterations to land in the curious hands
of Christians who eagerly consume their demonic formulas!’

‘Formulas?’ my master inquired,
raising a thick brow.

‘Everyone knows them, preceptor . . .
the mystical meanings of mystical acts; numbers that are diabolically
numerical; letters that are more meaningful than words, and words that have no
meaning unless read backwards. Points and strokes, ciphers, acrostics and the
unholy symbolic interpretation of biblical texts! Necromancia, astrologia,
alchemia!’

When he finished, there was a hush,
the other members of the legation looked down at their hands or their plates,
shifting in their seats in an embarrassed fashion.

‘Your erudition is remarkable,
Rainiero!’ my master remarked. ‘You must have spent many moments studying these
things!’

‘You know being a man of war,’ he
answered caustically, ‘that one cannot fight an unknown enemy. One must rather
study an adversary’s every move, every thought . . . even if doing so
constitutes a perpetual affront to one’s mildness and tranquillity of soul.’ He
then raised his face, and rolled his eyes in a heavenly direction. ‘Often I am
haunted! Haunted by those things that have come into my hands through the power
afforded me! The most terrible works! The most heinous depravities! And yet I
have forced myself to become familiar with the errors of the Devil, lest his
falsehoods be mistaken for truths. I say, blessed is the man who is ignorant,
blessed is he whose soul is protected from the weakness of his intellect!’
  

My master considered this for a
moment. ‘But your grace the evil one does not merely work, as you know, through
primary causes, that is, in a writer’s thoughts, but also through secondary
causes, namely, in the disposition of the reader.’

The bishop filled his mouth with
food, letting the juices run down the corners of his mouth. ‘That is also true,’
he confirmed and tore into the carcass of a bird.

The inquisitor huffed. ‘You Templars
are strange creatures. I have no liking for monks of your sort, I divine that
you are doomed to die on the pyre for your heretic sympathies, and that to lead
you to such an end would be a task most honoured!’

There followed a stunned silence at
this open threat. My master smiled so calmly that I felt a terrible sense of
foreboding, for I feared he might at any moment lose his temper.

‘We
all
live in a permanent
state of fragility, inquisitor, and the only immutable truth is that truth is
capricious, and perpetuity uncertain. One thing, however, has remained constant
throughout the eons of time, and I believe it shall continue to do so for many
more, the evil of which I speak is ignorance. I believe it to be the worst sin,
because it leads to all other sins . . . It was ignorance that nailed our
Saviour to the cross that fateful Friday, and it would be ignorance that would
burn him at the stake today if He were to threaten the power of the Church, in
the same way that He threatened the power of Caesar.’

Alas, my fears were realised. All
eyes enlarged and mouths gaped open in incredulity and I knew at once that my
master had made a terrible mistake.

But the moment was rescued by the
abbot, who invited us to be quiet and listen to the reading of the rule, which
he said had been specially requested by the inquisitor. It consisted of an
admonition to all spiritual fathers as to their teachings and the obedience of
their disciples. We were told that any lack of goodness found in his flock
would be accounted the shepherd’s fault at which point the reader’s voice broke
a little and he gazed up from the holy book in the direction of the abbot’s
table. The abbot gestured for the reader to continue, though a worried frown
graced his brow.

Later, after the customary
formalities, we departed in silence through the great doors that led to the
cloister and from there headed in the direction of the chapel in quiet
procession. More than once I thought I caught the evil eye of the inquisitor
and his men cast in our direction, and I prayed for God’s protection, though at
the time I did not know how much we would come to need it.

Completorium (Compline)

A
nd so it was that the last service of the day began in the
usual manner, after the sun had descended below the horizon. Firstly the abbot
gave the master of music the signal to intone, ‘
Tu autem, domine, miserere
nobis,
’ with our response, ‘
Deo Gratias
’, followed by the abbot’s
reply, ‘
Adjutorium nostrum in nomine Domini
,’ to which we replied in
chorus, ‘
Qui fecit caelum et terram
’.

This is the time of day when a good
monk prepares to place his soul into God’s hands. For sleep is a preparation
for death, in which the external world is extinguished, and the world of the
spirit is illuminated by the light of the soul. In this death, we are told,
there is the promise of life and so, sitting in the shadows of the stalls,
comforted by the warmth of many bodies, I was reminded that our life is not
without end, that in the same way the orb of the daystar sinks into the bosom
of the dark horizon, so too our bodies return to the earth. Yet it is from out
of this darkness where things seem most hopeless that the sun journeys back to
triumph. So too, we are told that man must triumph over death to find a new
horizon awaiting him in the cradle of divinity. At this moment I wanted to
believe that the world was good, that the captains and hallowed judges that
formed the body of the Holy Inquisition (surely a reflection of God’s infinite
justice and mercy?) were righteous and pure. Why then was I assailed by
sentiments so close to those I felt that day on the banks of the Nile? I looked
about me at the faces of the congregation, trying to dispel my fears by
reminding myself of my vows. Had I not yearned for a cloister? To be safely
sequestered from the vicissitudes of a vain and depraved world, where one feels
only an intense peace? Now I was realising that dangers lay not only in a
battlefield, and I shuddered. I turned my mind to the intoning of the opening
versicles and responses, ‘
Converte nos . . . Et averte . . .
’ and ‘
Deus
in adjutorium
’ which were now beginning and determined to think no more of
such things. Surely I was tired? Tomorrow a day would dawn anew and my fears
would dissipate along with the darkness, which now oppressed my soul. Was not
my master, who sat beside me, a bastion of strength, a fortress of wisdom?
Moreover, who could contest the authority of the king? I realized that perhaps
the inquisitor was right when he said that an ignorant man was a happy man. For
ignorant as I was, I began to feel a little better, joining the many masculine
voices merging respective tones and qualities into one. Entering that great
animal whose individual members are only as perfect as the sum of its totality;
the great body of the divine archetype, whose only purpose is the glorification
of God.

As my lips intoned those first words
,
‘
Hear me call, O God of my righteousness: thou hast enlarged me when I
was in distress
.’ I felt a calm sweetness. In humility there is constancy,
I concluded, and in obedience there is also peace. Perhaps if my master were
more obedient he would find calmness of spirit?

After the four prescribed psalms, the
abbot took his place at the pulpit. He began with a short, eloquent speech in
which he once again welcomed the pope’s envoy to the monastery, declaring the
innocence of the abbey, and further adding his unswerving belief in God’s
protection during the forthcoming inquiry. And because
Completorium
was a time for reflection, a time for the examination
of the conscience, as spiritual father, he also publicly forgave all those who
were responsible for bringing the terrible calamity upon them, and cautioned
the brothers of the order to take a moment to examine their hearts for any
feeling of ill will that may have taken root there. He then announced that, for
this reason, the reading would not be taken from Jeremiah, chapter 14, as was
customary, but from the Book of Revelation which, he stated, should serve to
remind us of our task against evil, of the battle that is waged in the soul
against pride, and envy, and vainglory. He announced that Brother Sacar of
Montelimar, the master of music, should give the lesson, and he stepped down.

I stifled a yawn as the monk climbed
into the pulpit and began his sermon. Despite his subject – horrifying
descriptions of hell and death – and despite his inspired phrasing
– the phrasing of one accustomed to melodic formulas – my eyes, God
forgive me, were growing heavy. The brother’s words seemed to escape from his
lips like phantoms whose natures were one with the spectres created by the
light from the great tripod, and I fancied I could see many hovering above,
tumbling and frolicking with the echoes of words deflected by the high vaults
of the church. Not only did I see words, but also thoughts meeting those words!
They danced along the arches of the temple, sliding down the columns like
little children and coming to rest above the many cowled heads in the choir.
Flames, each differing in colour and hue, rose from each brother. I saw pride
welling up from the secret corners of the heart, forming (or so I thought) the
shapes of animals. Before my eyes a lion entangled with a dragon, a serpent
curled hissing around the form of an eagle, here a lamb, there a cow!

Above the inquisitor, I imagined an
ugly little devil with two heads, clinging to his shoulders, each head
whispering into one of his large ears. Above the Cistercian emissary sat a
viper, on the friar a monkey . . . on the bishop a pig! Had I been awake (thank
the Lord God I was not) I would have laughed. However it was in a kind of
perfect dream-lucidity that I witnessed weakness, desire, and hatred, as a
painter sees colours laid out upon his palette. Incredulous, I contemplated the
likelihood of a young novice having such visions, but I remembered having heard
that devils were responsible for many things. One monk wrote that they made him
cough and sneeze in church, and that one troop of devils spent all their
efforts weighting his eyes and closing his eyelids, and others snored in front
of his nose, so that the brother next to him believed that it was he who was
snoring and not the devils. Indeed, devils are said to make monks sing badly,
for one tells of seeing a devil like a white-hot iron come out of the mouth of
a monk who had started a higher note by mistake. And so, I wondered with
detached calm if this monk speaking before me had created such spectres –
by the aid of some infernal magic – to confound the inquiry? Perhaps it
was a good thing that the inquisitor was here? Perhaps there was a terrible
power at work in this abbey? I was weary, my eyes sought the solace of that
moment of dark peace, and soon the world around me became drops in a pool, rippling,
embracing and diffused, until I could no longer distinguish or define anything.
I felt the flame pale to a comfortable glow, only to awake to a chorus of
gasps. I looked around sleepily to find that Brother Ezekiel was standing at
the end of the row of stalls. He uncovered his white skull with one translucent
hand, and turned his gaze to a point in the distance above all our heads,
perhaps to an imaginary landscape where his eyes saw an eternity of damnation .
. . on the other hand, he may have been seeing the same visions that I had seen
only moments before!

‘Heed ye sinners! The antichrist is
at hand!’ There was a sudden terrible silence. ‘And it was John,’ he continued,
‘the one whom Jesus loved, who beheld the beast coming up out of the earth with
two horns like a lamb, and he spake as a dragon; and he exerciseth all the
power of the first beast causing all to receive a mark on their right hand, or
on their foreheads that no man might buy or sell, save he that had the mark, or
the name of the beast, or the number of his name . . . Blessed is he who can
name the number of the beast for it is the number of a man!’

There was a great commotion. The
abbot stood, the inquisitor followed.

‘He is here,’ Ezekiel hissed. ‘He
comes to tear away your
anima
and drive you into the pit! You who have
been dragged down into sin because your body is material, and material because
it is sinful! You who have become food for the devil!’

Here he paused for breath, and the
abbot, perhaps seeing his chance, called out, ‘Brother Ezekiel! In the name of
God!’ he was trying to get past monks who had thrown themselves on the floor of
the stalls moaning, but the man continued despite the command.

‘It has been written . . . and so it
shall be! Heed the word my people –
Audi populos meos!
For the
seven letters have been sent! The seven communities have been warned! He will
come, it is certain, but now he hides,
furtivus!
But while he waits, he
feeds on cleverness! Fattening his belly with the beast of knowledge, waiting
for the
secundum millennium
, when he will try to overcome the sublime
Holiness! Then it will not suffice to turn your sorry countenances to the
heavens and say; save me because you are merciful!
Convertere Domine, et
eripe animam meam . . . salvum me fac propter misericordiam tuam!
For the
Scorpion will have already found the iniquitous,
omnes qui operamini
iniquitatem!
And all of you will be driven into that dark eternal flame of
hell, because the world will have fallen into lawlessness and men will be blown
hither and thither by the fetid breath whose magic will be blasphemy, whose
name will be treachery, whose legacy is darkness! I am old, but I see you! You
follow the beast! You are the fattened calf!’ He pointed in the direction of
the pope’s men. ‘You carry out his business, you believe the foulness of his
words. And the crown will join with the antipope, and like two snakes they
copulate, they entwine in an evil union! Deceit, hypocrisy, violence! You
search for him but you will not find the
cuniculus
. . . No, you will
not find it! You will not rob him of the sacred, little jewel.’ Ezekiel then
smiled hideously, for he had no teeth. ‘Ahh but the widow is wise!’

He grabbed at his throat then, in an
anguished gesture. All of us sat transfixed, so shocked were we to hear such
things. The abbot once again made a vain attempt to reach him, but there was
now a great commotion, a kind of hysteria had overtaken everyone, many had
taken to their knees, crying and pulling out their hair.

‘You feed the genius of the demon! The
genius of numbers! And the number is 666 the number of . . . SORATH!’

Monks wailed, covering up their ears
as though assailed by countless agonies. Some fainted, others, horrified,
crossed themselves, shaking their heads and thrashing their bodies about. ‘Salva
me!’ They cried and moaned, eyes upturned towards the vaults of the cathedral.

The old monk raised his voice once
again in a terrible shrillness, amid the horror and confusion. ‘Sorath!’ His
face was filled with a vision that only he could see. ‘I am flying! Have mercy
on me, Lord,
Miserere mei, Deus, rere mei
, for my soul trusteth in thee
. . . I FLY!’

These last words sounded hollow. He
choked and coughed in a terrible way, gasping for breath, and his eyes bulged
as he reached out one hand like a drowning man. Not long after, the life seemed
to drain from his body and he doubled over, his limbs still twitching
uncontrollably as he collapsed on the floor of the stall. Someone shouted. ‘There
is a fluid coming from his mouth!’

That was all I saw, for my master
told me to go outside and wait for him in the cloister, but later I was to see
that the old monk had died clasping the wooden cross around his neck so tightly
that the infirmarian could not prise his fingers away from it when he attempted
to wash him for burial.

I waited for my master as I had been
instructed, and presently, the abbot sent the brothers to their dormitories,
and I was left alone in the darkness. Thankfully it was only moments before
Andre returned from the church wearing a worried frown, and I hurried to meet
him, as simultaneously the inquisitor intercepted us, flanked by the other members
of the legation.

‘Preceptor,’ he said with gravity,
his eyes falling upon my master with slight irritation. ‘It is sadly worse than
we could have imagined. The evil one has visited us, and we cannot ignore his
diabolical signs. He has this night revealed his infernal face so that we may
bring about an expeditious and orderly resolution to this inquiry.’

‘How obliging of him,’ my master
said, his thick brows knitted. There was a pause.

‘Merely fortuitous,’ replied the
inquisitor.

‘But I find that almost always what
is fortuitous is only so for the sake of convenience, Rainiero.’

The Bishop of Toulouse moved forward
trembling, and in a whisper said to us, ‘God has revealed the Devil’s infernal
face to us, preceptor, we cannot ignore his message, surely?’

My master did not answer him. From
the folds of his habit he produced an apple and bit into it, chewing.

The party watched in disbelief, but
the friar was the only one to speak, in a voice that sounded scared and at the
same time bored, ‘Preceptor, why should we think anything else? You were there,
you saw the Devil take hold of that wretched man!’ He looked around at the
others. ‘We all saw it!’

There was a general agreement.

‘We must take care, dear brothers,’
Andre replied after a lengthy chew, ‘not to base our recriminations on the
confused and distorted words of one dying monk.’