TEMPLE OF THE GRAIL - a Novel

by Adriana Koulias

  ‘It is my duty to believe whatever the pope would have me believe, your grace, as any good Christian.’

  ‘Yes, but what, dear brother, do you consider constitutes a good Christian?’

  Even I sensed the inquisitor was preparing a trap for the abbot and it did not escape my master either for he whispered in my ear that this was the standard line of questioning used on Waldensians who, he said, had been taught the correct ways of evading questions of this kind.

  ‘He who believes with fullness of heart in God, His son and the Holy Spirit, and the teachings of the holy church,’ answered

  Bendipur.

  ‘I would like to know what you mean by holy church?’

  The abbot paused, slightly confused. The inquisitor found this to his advantage, for he immediately launched into his attack.

  ‘Do you not know what is meant by the holy church?’ he asked, moving off the dais and walking around the centre of the room.

  ‘I believe that the holy church is the means through which God works his purposes on earth, the priesthood handed down to the apostle St Peter who was the regent of Christ.’

  ‘The holy Roman church over which the lord pope presides?’

  ‘If it upholds the laws of God, yes.’

  ‘If?’ He looked around incredulously, ‘Why do you say ‘if’? Do you not believe that it does?’

  ‘I believe.’

  ‘Please, abbot, I am confused. Do you believe that it does, or that it does not?’

  ‘I believe that men do what they can to interpret the will of God.’

  ‘But the pontiff is the reflection of God on earth, is he not?’

  ‘Should I not indeed believe this?’ he asked, and I noticed that his answer was formulated in such a way that the inquisitor could not affirm whether he did or did not believe it.

  ‘I ask not, my dear abbot, if you should . . . but if you do!’ the inquisitor cried impatiently.

  ‘My belief is the same as yours, the same as all men of the church.’

  ‘I pray, dear abbot, that you are answering my questions in this way because of your innocence and not, in fact, because of your guilt!’ He turned to the judges, ‘As our illustrious brother Alain of Lille has dictated in his treatise, Enchiridion Fontium Valdensium.’

  There were a number of communal nods of support from the legation, though they did not dare look at one another. They merely looked at the congregation with grim faces, bearing down their condescension.

  My master whispered to me that it did seem as though the abbot was well versed in the rules of interrogation, but I could not believe it. I liked the abbot.

  ‘In any case, my beliefs are not in question here,’ the inquisitor dismissed, ‘I will advise you to answer my questions simply and without dissimulation.’

  ‘In all ways possible.’

  ‘I sincerely hope so, Abbot Bendipur! Now, please, illuminate us on your healing methods.’

  ‘We pray over the sick, we use what we know about the healing properties of plants and minerals. We anoint with oil and holy water.’

  ‘Where do you do this work?’

  ‘In the infirmary. After a diagnosis and treatment with medicaments prescribed by our brother infirmarian, the patient is anointed and blessed.’

  ‘Where is the infirmarian?’ Rainiero Sacconi looked around the room. Asa rose slowly, head bowed. When he drew his cowl I thought his face looked thinner than before.

  ‘Abbot, you may sit down for the moment. Now, brother infirmarian, please inform us about the curative treatment of your patients.’

  ‘What information would please you?’ he asked meekly.

  ‘Generally speaking . . .’ he waved a pale hand in a suggestion of boredom.

  ‘There are no general rules, your grace, every patient must, and should be assessed for a specific treatment.’

  The inquisitor smiled, indicating his magnanimity and his remarkable patience. ‘Give me an example.’

  ‘Let me see . . .’ The monk frowned, ‘Would you like me to name various treatments for a specific disease, or one specific treatment for various diseases?’

  There was a puzzled silence. ‘Just tell me anything, anything at all.’

  He thought for a moment. ‘Well, in that case I shall start. We use hot mustard and borage compresses for consumption and ailments of the chest.’ He paused and the inquisitor waved him on. ‘A paste made of foxglove for conditions connected with the region of the heart, garlic poultices for stubborn wounds, valerian for calming the nerves. We also use the organs of animals. One may occasionally prescribe the powdered horn of deer, the bile of vipers, the semen of frogs and animal excrement, such as ass’ dung – which is very fine for promoting fertility. Though I have not had occasion to use it.’ He paused, and there was a faint humorous murmur around us. This did not please the inquisitor, for he waved the infirmarian on, this time with annoyance.

  ‘And of course, Theriacum . . . by far the most used drug in many infirmaries, a mixture composed of some fifty-seven substances of which the chief element is the flesh of poisonous snakes. Of course, there are also other methods such as purges, baths, cautery, surgery of which the Eastern infidels were masters. Is there anything in particular that you would like to know?’ he asked, squinting a little.

  Raising his arms in an exaggerated gesture of incredulity, the inquisitor said, ‘From whence does your inexhaustible knowledge spring? Have you studied medicine in Paris? Or are there other means of procuring such information?’

  There was a shy smile, ‘I have not had the good fortune to attend formal training, but as I showed a natural propensity in this field when I was a novice, I was encouraged to study under Brother Setubar, my predecessor. Also there are many treatises available on this subject, as you know.’

  ‘Brother Setubar?’

  ‘Yes, but he is now retired to a contemplative life, though he assists me at all times.’

  ‘I see. And did he too rely on these treatises you have just mentioned?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And from whence did you procure these manuscripts?’

  ‘Brother Macabus supplies us with what we need from our library, we need only to ask.’

  ‘I see . . . I see, and was brother Ezekiel, that is the brother who was brutally murdered, also a past librarian?’

  ‘He was a translator, although we have not established that he was murdered, your grace. He was old, like our Brother Samuel.’

  ‘Brother Samuel?’ the inquisitor paused. ‘Who is Brother Samuel?’

  There was a nervous pause. ‘He was the master of music.’

  ‘And where is he?’ the inquisitor glanced about the chapter house. There was an uncomfortable stillness. ‘Well?’ he pressed.

  ‘Brother Samuel died some days ago,’ Asa answered, after a momentary hesitation.

  Rainiero Sacconi turned once more towards the dais and said, ‘And how did he die?’

  The infirmarian became ashen-faced. ‘He was found in the church, gasping for air and he expired shortly after.’

  ‘What do you believe caused his death?’

  ‘I do not know.’

  ‘Could a poison have led to his untimely demise?’

  ‘Perhaps, some poisons leave no trace. It would be difficult to say.’

  ‘What poison could have caused his symptoms?’

  ‘There are poisons that have the effect of cutting off breathing by paralysing the muscles of the lungs.’

  ‘But what are these poisons?’

  ‘There are any number of poisons, your grace.’

  ‘And Brother Ezekiel? Could he have died as a result of being poisoned in the same way?’

  ‘It is possible, but I did not say brother Samuel was poisoned.’

  ‘No, all we need to know is that this is possible,’ the inquisitor appeared pleased, ‘and yet it is of no interest to this inquiry how either of the poor unfortunate brothers died, for we know the evil one works in manifold ways. What
does interest us, however, is the use of heretical texts for the purposes of extracting cures through sorcery and black magic! Perhaps someone at this abbey has invoked the Devil, and now does not know the formula by which to release him, and so he continues to wander about killing monks.’

  There was a loud murmur. I looked around and found a face in the crowd staring at me. It was Anselmo. I looked away, pretending that I had not seen him, certain that the singer was of evil disposition. Who else would smile during an inquiry?

  ‘Perhaps Brother Samuel was strangled by the Devil,’ the inquisitor said, ‘after all, he was found gasping for breath!’

  ‘I do not know. But I did not say that he was . . .’ The brother shook his head. ‘He was old . . . should the devil leave marks on his neck?’

  Rainiero raised his brows. ‘Are you saying that there were marks, or that there were no marks?’

  ‘No . . . no marks!’

  ‘Ahh, but it may not have been the Devil, but the Devil’s own who has committed these heinous crimes . . . perhaps our pious brothers found out what you were doing with these manuscripts of yours, and you put an end to them before they could take matters to the abbot?’

  ‘No, no!’ Asa exclaimed anxiously, for the first time realising his peril.

  ‘What manuscripts are these, then? Tell us and we shall judge if they be good or evil.’

  ‘Medical manuscripts, your lordship.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘There are many . . . let me see . . . the works of the Doctor Admirabilis, Avicenna and his canon of medicine, Averroes . . . many . . . many! Dozens of works of supreme importance in this field.’ He added, trying to convince the man before him of their significance. ‘Hippocrates’s Corpus Hippocraticum is a wealth of knowledge for any young aspiring physician, there is also the classic works of Roger Salerno and his Practica Chirurgiae. As well, the wonderful works of Galen of Pergamon, Aulus Cornelius Celsus, who wrote entire volumes, the physician Pedanius Dioscorides who became the first medical botanist – a man whom I humbly hold as a model – Rufus of Ephesus renowned for his investigations of the heart and eye . . . and there are many more.’

  ‘You see! All works of pagans, infidels, and heretics!’ he shouted in a sudden outburst that shook the congregation.

  ‘Your grace,’ Asa answered, wrenching his hands, ‘if that were so, then why are there copies to be found in the abbey of Monte Cassino where the good doctor Constantine has translated into Latin from Arabic many Greek classics. As did another by the name of Albertus Magnus. And if so impure and loathsome, why can they be so easily found at the medical school at Montpellier or the University of Paris?’

  ‘Do not seek to mask your guilt by quoting translations over which there have been grave misgivings. One day all these works will be branded heresy and condemned, along with those who found them exceedingly fruitful.’

  ‘But these are fine books, they have provided many with immeasurable and illuminated knowledge. I have always thought that one must distinguish a man’s faith from his wisdom.’

  ‘That is not possible, one is dependent on the other.’

  ‘Perhaps, but a man of science, your grace, must lay aside all other concerns, and work from natural laws.’

  ‘Another heretical statement! What can one expect from a man who reads the thoughts of devils and infidels. These natural laws of which you speak are nothing other than precepts for committing necromancy and witchcraft!’ There was a stir and the inquisitor, not one to miss an opportunity, seized his moment. ‘Yes, witchcraft! Do you not call forth all the chiefs of the infernal legions to assist you in these miraculous healings?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is that not why monks have been dying at this monastery? Because there have been monks practising abominable acts? Is that what you mean by ‘natural laws’?’

  ‘Natural laws are the eyes through which we see a divine will at work in the world around us,’ said Asa, ‘and can measure and calculate its existence. Knowledge is God and God is knowledge. In the words of the loving Brother Vincent of Beauvais, ‘The mind lifting itself from the dunghill of its affections, and rising, as it is able, into the light of speculation, sees as from a height the greatness of the universe containing in itself infinite places filled with the diverse orders of creatures’, and Ephesus tells us, ‘Gather together in one all things in Christ, both which are in heaven and which are on earth’, and again, ‘The spirit searcheth all things. Yea the deep things of God’. In Proverbs we are told to, ‘Take fast hold of instruction; let her not go: keep her for she is thy life’.’

  ‘I see you are also accomplished in ways to justify your heresy through your own diabolical rendering of holy words! Another impudent trait!’ He bounded with agility onto the dais and brought his fist down hard on the oak table before shouting. ‘Is it not true . . . that you read these heretical manuscripts so that you may practise the perverse rituals dictated therein? Is it not also true that these rituals call for the use of astrology and alchemy and other abominations such as the calling forth of devils and demons and the eating of mummified cadavers?’

  Brother Asa answered with a tremor in his voice ‘There is such a thing as you have described . . . Mumia, though it is very rare, and I am afraid I have never seen it, though I believe such a thing to be filled with the forces of destruction. We have not called on such procedures, as you have just now mentioned, your grace.’

  ‘Your impertinence would astound me, had I not been exposed many times in the past to the fox-like ways of the heretic! You evade my questions thus because you know there are so many diabolical procedures that I, a man who knows little about such things, cannot point to any one method in particular, and so it will go on and on, you will deny them all until I, by chance, name one you have used . . .’

  Brother Asa said nothing, and this fuelled the inquisitor’s anger.

  ‘Do you then swear that you have never learnt anything contrary to the faith which we say and believe to be true through such manuscripts?’

  ‘Willingly, your grace.’

  ‘Then do so.’

  ‘If I am commanded, all I can do is swear.’

  ‘I do not command you, but if you wish to do so I will listen,’ he said mildly.

  ‘Why may I swear, your grace, if I am not commanded to?’

  ‘Why . . .? To remove the suspicions that have been brought against you and your fellow monks that you are heretics, and as such, believe that all swearing of oaths is unlawful and sinful!’

  ‘I am innocent!’

  ‘Then you have nothing to lose by swearing,’ the inquisitor’s lips curled in a terrible smile.

  ‘I swear by the holy gospels that I have never learnt or believed anything contrary to those same gospels.’

  ‘And does that include what the holy Roman church believes and holds to be orthodox?’

  ‘Does the Roman church follow the holy precepts and laws as they have been given to us by the great fathers of the church, your grace?’ Asa asked humbly.

  ‘Of course!’

  ‘Then inasmuch as they do, I swear.’

  ‘You writhe like a snake, SWEAR!

  ‘I swear!’

  ‘And yet you may well swear a thousand oaths and I will not believe you, as I know heretics are told they may swear any number of times and it means nothing, inasmuch as they do not believe in the swearing of oaths!’

  And in this way the interrogation came to an end.

  We remained in the chapter house after the procession of solemn-faced monks left. Lingering in the shadows like thieves, we hoped to have a look in the great book of life.

  On a lectern facing the abbot’s throne was the large manuscript bound in goatskin over thin wooden boards. Once again, the rose cross adorned the central panel, stitched elaborately over a gilt parchment background.

  ‘It reminds me of coptic binding, Egyptian,’ my master said to himself.

  Inside the book was made of the most exquisite vellum, with
the perimeter of each page gilded in finest gold. All matters of importance were recorded in this book in endless rows of dates and names. I did not know what my master was seeking exactly, but he seemed to know because it did not take him long to make some remarkable discoveries. The first was that the commencement of the book was marked with the date 1187. This was interesting, my master said, because it coincided with the fall of Jerusalem. I did not understand the connection between the two, but he was convinced that there had to be more to the grand master’s interest in the abbey. Could it be, he argued, merely that our preceptory held the titles to the land? No, he was sure there were other reasons, and too, he reminded me of the Templar grave we saw in the cemetery. Merely a coincidence?

  So we continued looking through the old book searching for any more strange connections with our order that might lead to an elucidation of these things. When we finally arrived at the end, my master closed it and turned to me with a bewildered look.

  ‘There are four names added only recently,’ he said.

  ‘How recently, master?’

  ‘Only ten years ago.’

  ‘Then they must be novices, but how could they be when there are only two novices?’

  ‘There are four entries; Amiel, Hugo, Poitevin and I could not make out the other, the lettering is smudged . . . no other details are given. We should expect to see where they were from and their ages and so on . . .’

  ‘A clerical error?’

  ‘No. It is not likely. Everything else has been chronicled very precisely. Why omit the origins and ages of four monks? Besides, the names of the only two novices in the monastery are accounted for, Anselmo, and a certain Jerome.’

  ‘Come to think of it, I have not seen this other oblate.’

  ‘Very odd . . . it is a mystery,’ he said, I believe annoyed.

  We left the chapter house, looking about us a little anxiously, now knowing with a little more certainty that things were not as they appeared, and I was glad when we were out in the common grounds.