TEMPLE OF THE GRAIL - a Novel

by Adriana Koulias

  ‘Yes,’ Macabus said through tightened lips, ‘a young man who shows great promise. He has not been with us long, but his father was widely travelled and the child knows many languages. A boy of many talents.’

  ‘Are there any others who speak Greek apart from this boy and yourself?’

  ‘Oh, yes, a library must have several, but none know it so well as the two of us,’ Macabus answered.

  ‘May I see the translator’s desk?’

  The man hesitated a moment, then, covering his initial reluctance with a smile, showed us to an immaculately kept table near a good source of light.

  ‘He is presently working on various projects.’

  ‘Does brother Anselmo presume to better Gerard of Cremona’s translation of Aristotle?’ my master asked, picking up a manuscript from the table, the half-eaten apple still in his hand. ‘He must be exceptional!’

  I saw the librarian gasp, observing the proximity of the moist fruit to the manuscript. ‘He is, certainly, but his finest work to date was the entire works of Galen.’

  ‘The entire works? Mashallah!’ he exclaimed, I suspect intellectually overcome.

  I saw Leonard and his superior exchange a meaningful glance.

  ‘Is that Arabic?’ Macabus asked looking down his nose at Andre.

  ‘Why yes, do you know it?’

  ‘A little. You speak it like a native.’

  ‘Well, that is because I am a native.’

  A disbelieving quiet descended over us.

  My master smiled, pleased to have occasioned embarrassment. ‘On another matter, how are the writing implements cleaned, brother librarian?’

  Macabus narrowed his eyes. ‘Various substances are used whose efficacy is well known.’

  ‘Might I ask where you store such substances?’ My master held the apple core out, and I reached for it, but instead of giving it to me, he handed it to Brother Leonard who looked at the article with distaste and handed it to a lesser brother nearby. He, in turn, held it with just the tips of his fingers and passed it on to another, perhaps lower in rank than he, and this man left us holding it before him, for the cloister.

  ‘Along with gold, silver, lead and mercury used for the making of amalgams, locked away in a repository.’ Brother Macabus fumbled in the pocket of his habit and brought out a large bunch of keys. Singling one out from the rest, he directed us to a spot away from the carrels, or library stalls, near a great map of the north seas. Here, set inside the stone wall, behind a large tapestry, there was a heavy iron panel no bigger than two hands across and three high. He opened the lock with the key, looking about him. Inside, the aperture revealed vials, ampoules, and a large glass flask containing a powdery substance.

  Andre peered in. ‘This powder does not appear to be labelled.’

  ‘I believe it is a salt, somehow strangely related to mercury. We have no use for it though we know little about it and so we keep it locked away. It has been in the repository a long time, in fact, since before I arrived here. I simply do not know its name.’

  ‘Thank you, brother. One more thing. Do you ever leave your keys in someone else’s charge?’

  The man thought for a moment. ‘It is my duty to lock the scriptorium and the aperture to the cloisters each night, but I also hold the keys to the kitchen and the cellar. However, there is always some necessary work to be done in the kitchen after the supper and so the cook locks those rooms and brings me the keys after he is finished, usually before compline.’

  ‘And no one else?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I am a curious man, brother.’

  ‘Are we not warned, preceptor, not to be curious in unnecessary matters?’

  ‘Yes, but as Syrus has said: necessity gives the law without itself acknowledging one. However, I would not quote the Apocrypha again, brother, not in earshot of the inquisitor. Now, as to my question . . .’

  The librarian was visibly shaken – perhaps realising that peril awaited him at every turn – and answered promptly, ‘Sometimes the hospitaller needs to replenish the wine in the abbot’s rooms and I allow him the use of it.’

  ‘Does either the cook or the hospitaller have any idea that on that ring of keys resides the key that opens this stronghold?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so, but why is that important?’

  ‘You are quite right, it is of no importance at all, and I have been wasting your time. I humbly apologise. You see, you were right; the Devil of curiosity is a cunning one, for he leads us to contemplate marginalia. I thank you for your patience,’ my master said, bowing politely and after the brother had locked the repository once more, we bade him our leave.

  ‘That man is either very careless, or he is not very astute.’ my master mumbled as we headed in the direction of the chapter house.

  I was too caught up in my own thoughts – feeling that I now knew the identity of the killer – to answer him. ‘The boy is the author of our note!’ I said resolutely and unequivocally. ‘He knows Greek!’

  ‘No, I do not believe so, Christian.’

  ‘But, master . . .’

  ‘If the young boy is the best translator of Greek this abbey has, why should he make the obvious mistake we found in the note? And even if he were the author, you are assuming that this connects him immediately to the crime. This is not necessarily the case. In any event, he is right-handed.’

  ‘But how do you know that, master?’

  ‘It is very simple . . . a left-handed copyist, is more likely to leave smudges on the left side of a page than a right-handed one, because his hand in its labour travels over freshly written words. A right-handed copyist’s hand travels ahead of the word. Moreover, left-handed copyists have a peculiar angle to their lettering.’

  ‘Always?’

  ‘No, not always, but mostly.’

  ‘So the boy is right-handed. What about the author of our note?’

  ‘It was written by a left-handed person.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, suddenly excited, ‘and as there are not so many left-handed persons it should be easy to find our note writer.’

  ‘That is true,’ he conceded, ‘in fact there are not many left-handed people in the world. Perhaps because some believe it is an infernal trait. You will remember that Christian mythology tells us Lucifer sat at the left hand of God.’

  ‘And is it an infernal trait?’

  My master gave me an annoyed look. ‘It is utter nonsense, of course!’

  ‘What about the poisons?’ I pressed. ‘The lead and mercury, and the cleaning agent used on the instruments? Do you think one of them killed the old brother?’

  ‘Perhaps, and for this reason I shall have to consult some books on the topic of poisons, but for now, it is only a possibility. Despite what Macabus says I don’t believe that the repository of these substances is a great secret. After all, it is a small monastery . . . no . . .’ he trailed off. ‘But the powder . . . the salt could be a compound known as serpent de pharaon.’

  ‘Is that a poison?’

  ‘A very potent one.’

  ‘Then Brother Macabus is our best suspect,’ I said, changing my mind like the wind changes direction. ‘For he not only speaks Greek, but he also has unlimited access to the repository.’

  ‘Let us not forget,’ Andre added with caution, ‘how many others speak Greek and have also handled the keys.’

  Just then the bells tolled, announcing the opening of the inquiry, and with these considerations weighing heavily on our souls we entered the chapter house, my head feeling even lighter than before.

  7

  Capitulum

  Some time after Terce

  Beloved brothers of the monastery of Saint Lazarus,’ the inquisitor Rainiero Sacconi’s words echoed in the chapter house. ‘My colleagues and I have journeyed here at the pope’s request, having come a great distance, as you know, to substantiate accusations of heresy which have been directed at this community of monks.

  ‘Dear brothers, it
is the duty of the holy inquisition to seek out even the smallest or indeed insignificant speck of evil. To root out the Devil wherever he is evidenced or, on the other hand, to bless and sanction those who walk according to God’s laws. Do not, then, be afraid, my children, for the wrath of God is tempered by a powerful and fraternal love for his people. He seeks not to punish the innocent, but to vanquish the guilty. As a shepherd seeks to nurture his flock and keep it from harm, so it is for your good that we are here.’ He motioned to the bishop and the other prelates of his legation who sat flanking him. ‘Is it not better to die repentant than to live a life of sin?’ He stood motionless. ‘As you know, this legation is not bound by the precepts of ordinary law, and is exempt from all common jurisdiction. And although it is customary for those found guilty of crimes against God to be turned over to the secular arm, let it now be known that, because of this abbey’s seclusion, I have been given a special dispensation from our lord pope to carry out all sentences in order to save the souls of innocent people, should this investigation lead to inquisition.’

  ‘The scoundrel,’ my master said to me in a whisper.

  ‘Let it also be known that all those who recant, through fear of death, will be thrust into prison for life, there to perform penance until their last days. All communal property will be confiscated. Those who defend the errors of a heretic are to be treated as conspirators to heresy and will, therefore, suffer the same punishment!’

  A low murmur went through the assembly.

  ‘And as we punish ordinary people whose ignorance is no excuse for committing sin against the holy laws of the church, how much greater indeed should be the punishment of a monk who – having known the eternal light of heavenly laws – still chooses to offend the rules of his church. And so I call this inquiry to order, so that all matters called into question may be thoroughly investigated and I therefore summon all those who know of any matters of interest to this inquiry to come forward without fear, for we are the ears and eyes of God, and will listen with fraternal love, devoid of prejudice. Those of you who choose to come forward and confess their sinful heresy will be treated with leniency. Those who do not will suffer to the letter of the lateran canons.’ He paused, and in his eyes there was an intentional hostility. He wanted all to know this: you are in my power, and you had best act accordingly. Then he smiled, ‘Friar Bertrand de Narbonne has kindly travelled from the priory of Prouille to assist in these inquiries. He is, as you may know, an esteemed theologian.’

  The friar stifled a yawn and nodded without standing.

  ‘He will act as judge, along with father Bernard Fontaine, our emissary from Citeaux, whose wisdom is renowned.’

  Bernard looked unblinkingly at the gathering, his square chin tilted up a little in a gesture of disdain.

  ‘And finally, as there must always be two inquisitors at any trial, the Bishop of Toulouse shall aid me in this grave and yet necessary duty.’

  The bishop stood. Looking like a bright ball in his purple robe lined with fur, he fondled a jewelled pectoral cross with short fat fingers and delayed a moment, holding out the other hand in an ecclesiastic gesture of pomp before sitting down with a heavy sound upon his seat.

  ‘As it is the day of our Lord we will obey his decree by delaying the commencement of proceedings until tomorrow. On this holy day, however, may we search our hearts and meditate carefully, and may the Lord guide your consciences into the everlasting light of truthfulness.’

  The abbot rose from his own ornate chair on its own dais to the right of the group. Pulling away his cowl, he spoke with the strength and dignity befitting an abbot whose duty now lay in sustaining his community.

  ‘Brother Rainiero Sacconi, esteemed members of the legation, my community. It troubles a father’s soul to know that a shadow has cast its evil greyness over the conduct of his children. A father’s eye sees only good, never evil. Only righteousness, never iniquity. And yet, it is as a father that I must seek to illuminate this shadow with the light of truth, to renounce all evil words uttered against my children, and replace them with words of praise and love. This I know is God’s will, as it is the will of the church to see justice done in His name. It is then my fervent wish that our community may assist this inquiry in every way necessary to this end. The preceptor of Douzens,’ he said, surprising my master, ‘whose skill in the medicinal arts is well known, will shed equal objective light on our methods of healing, and so we should grant him every convenience.’

  I saw the inquisitor’s eyes glisten with adversarial hatred.

  ‘Remaining your modest servants,’ the abbot bowed to the legates, ‘may God grant the holy inquisition the wisdom to see these things to be true. In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.’

  The abbot then pronounced the benediction, and the legation left with grave and solemn ceremony.

  That was when my head felt suddenly very light . . .

  Once we were outside in the broad daylight of midmorning I felt a little better, warmed by the sun, and my master’s company.

  We walked around the compound, my master lost in thought and I in the misery of my shame.

  ‘I am sorry, master, but I seem to be so light-headed lately,’ I said lamely.

  ‘Oh, it was only the heat in the chapter house . . . and that infernal man!’ he snarled. ‘Saladin was right when he said that he never saw a bad Saracen become a good Christian. That wolf in sheep’s clothing may well have outwitted the king . . . and in this case us too, but we are obliged to see it through.’

  ‘But how? It seems to me that he has taken matters out of our hands. If he has the sanction to mete out punishment here, then there is little we can do.’ I shook my head, trying to dispel the strange sensation.

  ‘Firstly we must decide what is of greater importance. Our orders from the grand master, or those from the king.’

  I had not thought of it before. ‘Are they not equally important?’

  ‘Yes and no.’

  ‘How do you mean yes and no, master?’

  ‘What do you mean, how do I mean? It is perfectly obvious to anyone except stupid squires that, as an illness dictates a particular treatment, so too will circumstances dictate our actions. This is the only wise thing to do.’

  ‘So what is our next step?’ I asked, a little humiliated. ‘Do you know yet?’

  ‘No, but I’m sure it will come to me.’ I believe he was then sorry, for his voice became gentler and he said, ‘Now calm down, I did not say that we will not attempt to do those things asked of us. What I am saying is that we may not be in a position to do so and this begs a question that must at once be asked. Why were we chosen to accompany the legation? The abbot brought up a good point. Let us see what we can gather from what we know. Here we have a monastery whose land belongs to the Templar order, but whose monks are Cistercians. This, in the first instance, is strange indeed. Second, it has been largely unknown for many years. No one has so much as given it a cursory thought, until a bright star in the sky of the inquisition is sent here in the middle of some very stormy times in Italy. This sword does not fit its scabbard. Why not use a French inquisitor? Why not Bernard de Caux? It seems to me that there are far too many parties interested in so small a prize, and that leads me to suspect that perhaps it is not so small after all. Then third, we are asked to accompany the legation, though it is miles from our jurisdiction.’

  ‘But we hold the titles, master.’

  ‘Yes, so they say, but it is more likely that we were sent because we are expendable. Languedoc, my son, is a strange location of diverse alliances. Alphonse of Poitiers, the king’s brother, who now possesses the sceptre of the south is an avaricious man, deeply political and (unlike our poor vacillating Count Raymond before him) staunchly against heresy. One might say his zeal is in direct proportion to, let us say, the profitable confiscations received by his province from inquisitorial persecution.’

  ‘You mean that he is only interested in the money and lands he might receive fr
om confiscations by inquisitors?’

  ‘That is my opinion.’

  ‘So he welcomes the pope’s legation in Languedoc, but his brother the king is suspicious of it?’

  ‘Alphonse may be hoping to receive something but the king knows that he has not paid his taxes, and he knows that the pope can confiscate and keep the property of a condemned heretic. Did you not hear the inquisitor mention this fact? You must see to your ears, boy.’

  ‘But monks are poor, master, they do not own property.’

  ‘Individually they do not, my good Christian, but communally, communally they may be very wealthy. Many monasteries are richer than whole kingdoms.’

  ‘What about the grand master? Why is he interested in the monastery?’

  ‘Perhaps it is the case that the Cistercians, our order, the Romans, the king, and his brother are all vying for the same thing.’

  ‘What thing?’

  ‘That is what we must find out.’

  ‘And if we do, whom shall we turn to, master? The king or the grand master?’

  ‘Perhaps neither, perhaps both,’ he answered, ‘and if things go wrong we must not expect a legion of knights to come to our defence.’

  ‘You mean our order will desert us?’ I cried in disbelief.

  Andre brought a finger to his lips. I had not noticed that I had been speaking loudly. ‘Calm down. All I am saying is that there must be something here in this abbey which is of great value, but also in some way incriminating. The question is, what are Cistercians doing on Templar ground? Then also, why do we find a rose cross on the door, and furthermore, a black virgin holding a rose and a cross on the window in the church? These things are physical signs that may help us solve our puzzle but to be sure of more things we must somehow get a look at the great book in the chapter house, the one which catalogues dates of deaths, admittances and so on. This may help us to find out where these monks came from, and perhaps why they are here.’

  ‘Why do you not simply ask the abbot, master?’

  ‘He will not tell us, his lips are sealed, as he told us. Perhaps there is a vow that he cannot break? Or he has learned something in the confessional. No, I am afraid we must find out for ourselves.’