TEMPLE OF THE GRAIL - a Novel

by Adriana Koulias

  He browsed through another manuscript, like a starved man who eats a little of this and a little of that, not able to eat everything in sight but desiring to nonetheless. ‘Notket Balbulus together with Odo, Abbot of Cluny, used the Greek device of naming notes using the first seven capitals of the Latin alphabet for the first octave of a scale.’ He closed the book.

  Eisik spoke from his position at the table. ‘Now it is I who have found something interesting . . .’

  ‘What?’ my master looked up from his various meditations.

  ‘There is a manuscript here,’ he held the vellum close to his face. ‘The last date entered was today, they have even included the hour, which is nones . . .’ He read to himself for a moment, and continued aloud, ‘It looks to be a commentary on a Gospel…written by Thomas Didymus!’ He looked up, his face full of amazement.

  ‘The Doubter!’ my master said.

  He began reading,‘When finally the solution is taken out of the Terrestriaet, and is strengthened by long digestion, it is set free from the Crudae Materiae, and is prepared and reborn in the most subtle form . . .’

  My master walked over, shining the light on the Jew’s pale funereal face. The two men seemed to know what these things meant. I sensed that some fascinating secret had been discovered and I wanted to ask many questions, but something in their demeanour told me it would be best not to interrupt them.

  My master took the manuscript from Eisik’s hands and read aloud, ‘The raw material or crudae materiae, cometh from the astris and constellation of the heavens into its earthly kingdom, from which is then drawn the universal spirit or the spiritus universi secretur . . . amazing!’ My master was now in a frenzy. ‘Look, come here . . . come here.’ He waited for me to bring the lamp to him before proceeding to read,

  ‘He lies hidden in the grave

  The spirit stands near

  And the mind comes again from heaven

  Take care at all times

  That the mind is elevated,

  And again return from above

  To that which is below.

  Thus it unites the friendly powers of heaven and of earth:

  And with its rich gifts

  It will bring the body to life again.’

  ‘What is it master? Some terrible magic?’

  ‘I do not know exactly,’ he answered, perhaps as perplexed as I was. ‘It could be that our monks are . . . Look here,’ he said, pointing to a date on another page.

  ‘But master, this date must be wrong, it reads two days away.’

  ‘Yes . . .’ he said, reading the entry under this date.

  ‘In our heavens stand

  Two beautiful lights:

  They indicate the great light

  Of the great heaven.

  Unite them both

  As if woman were led to a man:

  So that the marital status be induced . . .’

  The blood drained from my limbs. With all the excitement of entering the library, I must confess to having forgotten my sin, and I must have swayed, for my master steadied me, at the same time, shouting, ‘Christian! What has got into you today? Pay attention, boy!

  ‘The sun and moon

  Are husband and wife

  And they too,

  Multiply their kind.

  Ex deo nascimur,

  In Christos morimur,

  Per Spiritum Sanctum reviviscimus.

  In God we are born, in Christ we die In the Holy Spirit we are reborn

  He will rise on the fourth day.’

  ‘I had a dream, master!’ I cried suddenly, tears welled up and were set free, and I recounted the dream, omitting nothing.

  ‘Calm . . . calm . . .’ my master stroked my head lightly, ‘so that is why I found you saying paternosters . . . Don’t be alarmed, no matter, no matter.’ Seeing that I was in need of more comfort, he added, ‘Christian, I do not believe as others do that such things are evil, at least no more evil than . . . say . . . the desire to eat when you are hungry or to drink when you are thirsty. We are monks, and so we abstain from many things. However, it is never easy. A man who fasts can no more deny his hunger than a man who shuns physical love can deny his desire for it. And as far as that goes I cannot help reflecting that as God, in his wisdom, is continually replenishing this gift to . . . procreate, that he might also find ways for any excess to be . . . dissipated . . . for instance, an overabundance of matter within the earth erupts in volcanic . . . no that’s not it . . . like a dam that is overfull bursts . . . Ahh!’ He sighed. ‘Christian, one cannot help it at times.’ His voice faded and he seemed at a loss. Perhaps he had embarrassed himself. ‘It is more the case that those who enjoy deprivation derive a certain pleasure from pain and humility and the adoration they engender. One must work on one’s soul slowly; this is also true, though you must try not to do it again . . . I absolve you. And before you say anything, these are special circumstances,’ he said, putting a hand on my forehead, making the sign of the cross, ‘But you must ask for the Lord’s confirmation.’

  No sooner was he finished than Eisik grabbed me by the shoulders excitedly. ‘If you will forgive an old Jew, my son, but you have dreamed of the marriage . . . the marriage!’

  ‘The marriage?’

  ‘In the secret tradition of my forefathers the mystery is called ‘Shekinah’. The mystery of man and God, and the relation between things above and things below, of the intercourse of earth and spirit.’ He looked upwards in a heavenly direction, his features taking on a peaceful expression, and at this moment I saw that when he was not contemplating disaster, he was indeed younger than he appeared. ‘But this is a celestial union,’ he continued, ‘not a physical one, my son.’

  ‘Of course!’ my master vociferated.

  ‘The great work of the alchemists,’ Eisik continued. ‘She is one time the daughter of the king, another time she is described as the betrothed as in the Song of Solomon, the bride and also the mother, or the sister. She is the beloved who ascends towards the heavenly spouse. This is called the final work!’

  ‘This is precisely what Asa said the two brothers were discussing at the chapel, before Samuel died . . . the final conclusion . . .’ my master added, his eyebrows working furiously.

  ‘But why did I have such a dream?’ I asked because now it seemed that my dream had become more important than my sin.

  ‘I will tell you that you have had a vision,’ Eisik beamed proudly. ‘A vision . . . and why? We are told that when one is worthy one receives Ruach as a gift of grace. This is the crown of Nephesh, and leads to illumination of the spirit by the light from superior regions. This allows one to discern the laws of the secret king.’

  ‘There have been other dreams,’ I said, almost in a whisper.

  ‘Others?’ Eisik queried.

  ‘We have no time for dreams now, Christian,’ my master said in an annoyed fashion because I knew he preferred to ignore the illogical direction our conversation had taken.

  He perused things on the table and paused before a large manuscript on an elaborate lectern. Feeling better now for having unburdened my sin, I accompanied him, and seeing the intrigued look on his face, moved closer to get a better look. Inside I saw the most curious symbols. A triangle apex down, a triangle apex up, circles with crosses, crosses with circles. Also a beautiful vignette depicting, what we now came to expect, a cross with a circlet of roses at its centre, and the words Dat Rosa Mel Apibus or the Rose Gives the Bees Honey. To the right side of the cross a bee, its wings dipped in gold, and four beehives. To the left two spider webs within a wooden frame.

  ‘Wisdom and industry,’ Eisik said, moving closer, ‘it is also a marriage. The union of calm waters of wisdom with the fire of industry. The union of soul and spirit.’

  ‘We see this cross with roses everywhere,’ my master said. ‘It is on the east door of the church, on a window and on the cover of the book of life in the chapter room,’ he remarked, picking up the thick manuscript and turning over its
fragile pages to reveal beautiful illuminations. Strange animals became transformed, or rather fused into the flourishes, hairlines, and hooks of gigantic letters. The margins, too, were filled with mysterious necromantic images and biblical quotes.

  ‘Tabula Hermedis!’ my master read.

  Eisik blanched, and his eyes seemed to enlarge, while his mouth gaped open.

  My master continued, ‘In profundo Mercurii est Sulphur, quod tandem vincit frigitatem ...’

  ‘No!’ cried Eisik, placing both hands over his ears. When my master paused Eisik tore the book from my master’s hands, and opening it himself read with tears in his eyes, ‘What further miracles do they have stored here?’

  But it was I who, having found a some parchments showed them to my master and caused by way of it, the greatest commotion.

  ‘In the fine airs of heaven, was written the Eternal Gospel, and the Gospel was with God and Gospel was God. All things were written therein and without it there was not a thing written that was written. It speaks of the life, the life that is the light of men. This light that shines into darkness and is not understood by men is Christ, the true light, which enlightens every man. Christ came into the world and Christ is the Gospel and the Gospel was made by Him. But the world has understood it not.’

  My master looked at me, ‘This is written in Langue’doc . . .’

  ‘The language of the Cathars, the heretics?’ I said aghast.

  My master was then overtaken by an intellectual ecstasy. ‘This is extraordinary! This is remarkable!’ He seized me by the shoulders. ‘Do you know what you have found my little goose? You have found the eternal gospel!’

  ‘Eternal gospel?’ I said, half laughing, happy to have achieved something of note, in his eyes.

  ‘Epiphanius,’ Andre explained excitedly, ‘has listed a number of works, not apocryphal works, but works written shortly after the crucifixion that were on the church black list, like the gospel of the Hebrews, the gospel of the Egyptians, Ebionites, the gospel of the Nazarenes . . . the secret Gospel of Matthew! These have all disappeared, sequestered behind locked doors by a few pious, or if you like, impious, keepers of knowledge. However there has long been a rumour of an eternal Gospel, a pure gospel, so holy, it had to be kept from profane eyes. Some call it the fifth Gospel because it reconciles all four canonical gospels! Some believe that it was written by the Sophia, and kept safe by the Cathars who moved it to a safe place before the siege of Montsegur. This is the first time I have seen any proof of its existence.’

  Eisik huffed, ‘Proofs! I suppose that next you will be wanting God to prove Himself!’

  ‘That would be most beneficial,’ Andre said. Then, because he was thinking of the gospel, he remarked.‘This must have been translated from Coptic or Greek, and so there must be an original…where could it be?’

  At this point he began to make a feverish search among the parchments and Eisik, seeing my frown, took pity on me and explained,

  ‘Egyptian Coptic is the Egyptian language written in Greek.’

  Time, however, was against my master’s search and when no trace of the original was found he resolved that we had better get back, before the bell tolled the vigil of matins, if it had not already done so.

  He rolled up the Gospel parchments and secured them in the belt that held together his mantle and we began to look for our way out. I was about to say that I thought this somehow impious, when our, or rather my, grave mistake erased any concerns for impropriety from my mind. It was now evident that the panel through which we had entered the library had closed behind us in the now all-too-familiar fashion, meaning that we would not be able to open it from inside. In my state of intellectual abandon I had, as it were, imprisoned us.

  ‘Confounded secret doors! Damn the Count of Artois!’ My master shouted, and with an access of emotion kicked the panel quite hard with his foot. I believe the pain sobered him because calmer now he walked to the far wall opposite to the way we came in and said, ‘The monks of this abbey have been exceedingly cunning, and we must be equally so. What direction is this wall?’

  I consulted the compass. It lay in an easterly direction.

  ‘Easterly, you say?’ He looked puzzled. ‘But we seemed to . . . am I losing the order in my head? I could have sworn we changed direction, very gradually, but even so . . . very well, that means that the infirmary must not be far off, though I surmise that we are still too deep in the ground for it to be directly beyond this wall. There is no doubt a secret exit. Now we must search the room for clues.’ He began by tapping the stone, anticipating a hollow sound, but there was none.

  I could hear my heart in my ears. We were trapped like that poor monk Jerome! ‘What if there is no other opening, master?’

  ‘Then we shall die exceedingly erudite,’ he answered.

  Eisik inspected the shelves, and I the floor, but neither of us had any luck. I leant dejectedly against the wall where a sturdy oak frame was fixed. I noticed that it contained a large map of distant lands and oceans, perhaps the fons paradisi of which many books tell, so large as to be the height of a man and the breadth of two. It was illustrated with terrible sea monsters, sirens, and ships. One ship in particular was portrayed beached atop a large fish which the sailors in their ignorance, due to its gigantic proportions, mistook for an island. It felt familiar to me, where had I seen this map before? I asked myself. Beneath it were the words: From the end of the earth will I cry unto thee, when my heart is overwhelmed: Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.

  I said these last words aloud, without really thinking about their significance, but my master heard me and moved quickly to where I was standing.

  ‘What did you say?’ His eyebrows were raised very high as he came toward me. I thought I had committed some terrible sin, and so I was unable to speak. I pointed to the map and the words below it. It was then that he slapped me so hard on the nape of my neck that it nearly sent me reeling in the direction of some unknown sea.

  ‘By God! There is our clue!’ he cried jubilantly. ‘The rock that is higher than I? Higher than the map, I’ll wager!’ He reached up with difficulty (for his height was not much greater than mine) and with a reddened face from his efforts, pressed a stone panel, which he noticed seemed to be of different hue to the others surrounding it. This moved in an inward direction, unlocking a device that made a loud snapping sound, and the entire segment of the wall, map included, pivoted open.

  It was through this door that we entered another tunnel rank with the smell of mould and rotten vegetation, and a flight of steps ascended to another door that this time my master opened with ease. We did not, however, come out as we thought in the infirmary. We came out in the scriptorium! Our bearings utterly confounded, we entered through an identical map to the one through which we had left the library moments ago.

  My master shook his head, taking the compass from my hands. ‘By the curse of Saladin, boy! How long has the needle been stuck on east?’

  I lowered my head, and said all that I could say; that I did not know, but that I had dropped it in the dark in the last tunnel before the library.

  The door that led out of the cloister was locked, so we made our way stealthily to the church. As we were about to enter the south transept, however, I noted that my sandals were soiled with a reddish mud, so I cleaned them on the stone flags before entering – lest I leave tell-tale footprints on the church floor. My master viewed this with a pensive frown, saying that interestingly his shoes and also Eisik’s left no marks because their soles were smooth. Mine were sandals given to me by the hospitaller, and were indeed the same as all other monks in the abbey. They were patterned, and therefore less slippery, but they also allowed much dirt to gather in the grooves. He said nothing further, only continued to frown as we said goodbye to Eisik, who scurried into the darkness of the north transept, his robes flapping like the wings of a bird. The hour was near, so we waited in the church for the intoning of the bells, and this gave my master further o
pportunity to inspect the organ.

  The instrument was surmounted by no fewer than twenty pipes, and it was through these that one heard melody when the organ was played. On the upper level there were ten pipes in the centre with the rest flanking either side a level lower. The entire wooden structure was supported by little columns, with a console of keys equally divided on two separate levels. A beautifully carved seat was placed before it, and some papers with musical notation resided on a little rest made of wood, directly above the keys.

  ‘If, as Sacar says, this organ runs on the water channelled beneath the abbey, it may have some connection to the tunnels. A switch of some kind must divert the water to the pump that drives it, as our brother intimated. The question is what to look for?’

  I watched him for a time, a slow feeling of tiredness overtaking me, and to keep awake, I asked him if he believed there was something magical about this ‘Final Work’. Perhaps, I ventured, it was a relic endowed with special powers, a stone or a cup, as portrayed in the romances.

  ‘Romances fill your head with nonsense and are not recommended reading for monks. Relics, on the other hand, exist, that is quite natural, and the way of the world,’ he answered.

  ‘But it must be something of great significance, valuable, even holy, to be secreted in such a way, master, with so many tiresome puzzles and traps to protect it?’

  ‘Relics are usually highly venerated, but we must not speculate on what we are to find, nor on its efficacy,’ he said, looking up from his work. ‘You think too much, and too much thinking often leads to error.’

  ‘And so you do not believe in magic?’

  ‘I believe in the magic of science, mon fils, and in the magic of nature, but never in the magic of men. Very often the language of magic is merely a symbolic language for something else.’