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 clo
ister, 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.’
‘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 . . .’
TEMPLE OF THE GRAIL - a Novel Page 7
