TEMPLE OF THE GRAIL - a Novel

by Adriana Koulias

  Cold whispers circulated round the chapter house and were stilled by the raising of a hand. Satisfied, he continued, ‘Further signs that alert us to the supporters of heresy are as follows: those who declare the unjust condemnation of heretics,’ as he said this he glanced at my master, ‘those who look away and allow heresy to bloom and take hold. Those who venerate, one, the bones of burnt heretics, and two, relics belonging to heretics, or books written by them! Therefore we cannot find otherwise! This abbey is guilty! Guilty on all accounts!’ There was a commotion, the abbot stood and the archers, sensing panic, readied at the doors, ‘For I know,’ he continued, ‘that below us in the hellish bowels of this monastery there are books hidden that have been deemed heretical by the church, whose infernal substance aims to bring about the downfall of Christendom! Therefore it is the finding of this tribunal that these crimes cannot, nay they should not, be attributed solely to the two men just taken away, though they may indeed be devils, for like a father who is responsible for the actions of his children, so too is an abbot responsible for the actions of his monks. In this case, responsible for the corruption of the souls placed in his care. I therefore pronounce, as rare and distressing as it is to utter these words, that the abbot is to be taken along with the other two to Paris, where together they shall be delivered to the secular authorities for purification by fire.’

  There was great agitation. Monks stood, some cried out, ‘No!’, others made the sign of the cross, still others shook their heads in their hands, in lamentation.

  ‘This monastery is to be closed,’ Rainiero continued. ‘Satan has lived here too long, too patiently, for it to be restored as a place of worship. Its displaced community of monks may find harbour in other institutions if any will take them. They will perform a penance by wearing yellow crosses on their clothing, so that all may know they have been tainted with heresy. Finally, all properties are to be turned over to the church and secular powers.’

  Now there was a stunned silence, as the abbot was led off his dais and removed.

  They found the bishop in the lavatory shortly after vespers, in one of the cubicles. It was a gruesome sight.

  Because of his size he was still perched on the seat with his great buttocks wedged tight against either wall, keeping him from falling into the channel of water beneath. His face was bloated and running down his chin the familiar substance, which we now knew to be the thick honey content of the wine. His obscene cross was gone.

  ‘Just as I thought, our missing wine,’ Andre said to me. ‘The stupid wretch must have run out of it in his own room and proceeded to the larder where he found the poisoned flask.’ He picked up the jug with the crooked handle and then he inspected the man’s shoes – no mud.

  The inquisitor, seizing the moment, ordered an immediate execution of the three men held responsible for the other crimes, saying that the Devil would not cease his work until his instruments were purified by fire. At once he ordered the building of three pyres inside the compound, saying that the service of compline would be carried out as usual in an effort to stay the hand of the enemies of Christ, but that immediately after, the abbey would be cleansed of evil.

  In the confusion that ensued we crept away and I followed my master in the direction of the church. Outside the inquisitor’s men were already making preparations for the terrible event. Monks gathered around aimlessly, for there was little use returning to any other work when the future of the monastery lay in ruins. I frowned, pushing my head down further into my cowl as we made our approach to the church.

  ‘Will they not notice that we have gone, master?’

  ‘Perhaps, but we cannot waste any more time. Soon there will be three pyres burning two innocent men, and tomorrow this place will be a carcass whose bones will have been picked by the pope’s greedy captains. We must get into the catacombs soon!’ he said.

  ‘So who is responsible for these crimes? You said two innocent men would die on the pyre, that means one is guilty.’

  ‘A fine deduction,’ he mocked me. ‘Perhaps soon you will see, Christian, why Aristotle was right when he said that evidence under torture is not trustworthy because under its compulsion men tell lies quite as often as they tell the truth. I fear there are a number of guilty persons. Perhaps in one way or another we are all guilty.’

  ‘Who then, master?’ I pressed. ‘I know you know something.’

  ‘One of them it is certain is a monk with small feet,’ he answered as we entered the church. ‘This morning after the discovery of Daniel’s body, when you were sleeping off your gluttony in the larder, I visited his room again. Something bothered me, and I realised it was the size of the footprint on the floor. Before going there, however, I took the liberty of procuring a sandal that belonged to Daniel from the infirmary. I took it to his room and found that its size was inconsistent with the size of the print whose traces could still be seen – because blood that has congealed is not always easy to remove in haste. The print was not our departed brother’s, but belonged rather to someone else, someone with very small feet. Do you remember how I said that the one who hit me on the head that morning also had small feet?’

  ‘Yes . . . That means that we have finally found the evidence that we need to connect the author of our notes with the killer!’

  ‘Yes, but only with Daniel’s killer.’

  ‘Then whoever it is must have killed Setubar, too?’

  ‘That is what we are going to find out.’

  ‘I thought we were going to the church?’

  ‘Later. Anyone who saw us leave would naturally think so, and that is precisely what I intend them to think. We are really going elsewhere . . . to the infirmarian’s cell.’

  Once through the church we made our way up the night stairs and to the dormitorium. Andre led me to a room identical to all the others, and here he began searching about, inside a small desk, under the pallet, rummaging in the straw very carefully, until, after a moment, he exclaimed, ‘Aha!’ He had retrieved a short metal bar that he placed in the repository within the folds of his vestments.

  ‘What is it, master?’

  ‘The murder weapon,’ he answered, and it was as plain as day Asa was the killer.

  He looked at me with a satisfied look. ‘It is as I suspected. Now we shall return to the church and await the service. We must not give the inquisitor reason to believe we know more than he thinks we know, must we?’

  ‘If Asa is the killer, master, why did he demand to endure the ordeal?’

  ‘Asa is a man of science, I believe he took a chance, he was doomed anyway and he knew it.’

  ‘But master, come to think of it, Asa is not small.’

  ‘No. See this note?’ My master handed it to me. ‘I found it in my room earlier.’

  I read it, and found it was written in the same identifiable hand and blue ink.

  Physician heal thyself – Basmallah.

  ‘What is that word?’

  ‘It is Arabic, a Koranic formula which translates to: in the name of God the compassionate, the merciful.’

  ‘But what does it mean?’

  ‘Numerically it is profoundly significant, Christian, for it connotes the seven planets and the twelve zodiacal signs. We are told that he who desires immunity against the nineteen henchmen of hell needs to recite the Basmallah.’

  I gasped, trembling all over, ‘Oh! He threatens your life, master, he knew you would understand it.’

  ‘Hush now, Christian, soon all will be revealed.’

  22

  Capitulum

  ‘And he dreamed, and behold a ladder set up on the earth, and the top of it reached to heaven.’

  Genesis xxviii 12

  Christian,’ the man said, ‘you have come finally. I have been waiting.’ ‘Who are you?’ I asked, for he looked peculiar, like an Arab in his dress, and yet not like an Arab at all.

  ‘My name is not important, only the words. Listen.’ He looked about him at the nothingness. ‘Listen to the key, f
or with it one can open the rings of knowledge.’

  ‘The rings?’

  Suddenly I heard it, like the duration of eternity, or a moment of liquid purity; pinnacles of resonance, columns of exuberance, the spinning vibrations of space that is circumiectus then internus. Oh, raised cusps of praise! Singing, sighing neptunian notes in aeolian and dorian scales of concordance. Miracle of being, oh majesty! Oh dissolving, diffusing, dispersing notes of joy, fear, pain, tears, wails! Limb-limbering, movement-inspiring, howling, weeping, laughing, telluric and celestial vocalisms and melismas! And as my heart was dazzled by the articulate eloquence of an origin indiscernible and unanimous, multifarious and exposed, I heard myself say in wonderment:

  ‘What is this I hear?’

  ‘The spinning of the rings of wisdom .’

  ‘But I do not understand.’

  ‘Do you think that bodies so great do not produce sound with their motion?’ He pointed to the inky mantle pierced by light. ‘Even bodies on the earth do so. You must remember that the stars and planets move about the universe at a tremendous speed and their sound is concordant.’

  ‘But I have never heard it before.’

  ‘You have heard it always, and so you do not hear it, for sound is only perceived when there is silence.’

  ‘The pause!’ I said.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘The psalms reflect the tones whose rings are pure, the voice resonates forth and brings about creation. One day man will speak forth man. Even now his breath is filled with the promise of tomorrow.’

  ‘And the key?’

  ‘It has been hidden in the words . . . hear the words and the rings will sound.’

  Then . . .

  ‘Whosoever discovers the interpretation of these sayings will not taste death. Those who seek should not stop seeking until they find. When they find, they will be disturbed. When they are disturbed, they will marvel, and will reign over all. When you make two into one, and when you make the inner like the outer and the outer like the inner and the upper like the lower, and when you make male and female into a single one, so that the male will not be male nor the female be female, then you will enter the father’s domain…Remember that is how a god became man, and a man became a god!

  ‘Who are you?’ I asked.

  ‘I am the one who doubted. My eye were crossed but now I see!’

  ‘Thomas Didymus?’ I gasped.

  ‘You have heard the message. Now listen to the rings.’

  23

  Capitulum

  Shortly after the service of Compline

  Christian!’ I heard once again, but this time it was not St Thomas, it was my master, and I knew that I had dreamt. ‘Master, where am I, what time . . .?’ I sat up rubbing my eyes. ‘You slept through the service, dear boy . . . Anselmo was missing.’ ‘Anselmo?’ I said in a foggy way. ‘Oh! He must be dead!’ I saw that the brothers were leaving in a single file through the north transept, led by the inquisitor and the prelates. ‘Where are they going?’ I asked, disorientated. ‘To the pyres.’ I blanched. ‘Now?’ My master sighed. He seemed infinitely tired. ‘The prisoners await their fate outside.’

  He helped me up, and soon we were tagging on the end of the line, following the solemn procession into the snowy cemetery grounds, where three stakes were erected atop a pile of faggots and straw. I realised that it must have snowed heavily while we were celebrating the holy service, for now the mud made by hail was covered with a soft powdery white that the wind (growing angrier with each moment) scattered about us like little phantoms. It was dark, but the area around the pyres was well lit by torches, for tonight all must bear witness to God’s justice.

  We waited in anxious silence. I admonished myself for being fooled by my affection for Asa and my dislike of Anselmo who, no doubt, either lay in a pool of blood or was poisoned. I recognised that my master had indeed been right when he had told me to deliberate without emotion.

  Finally the prisoners were brought before the inquisitor and my heart sank as I watched Asa climb the ladder to the top of the pyre. Though I knew now that he must be guilty, I felt for him, his face so thin and gaunt, his eyes resolute. Were they the eyes of a killer? I asked myself. They did not seem so. And yet, if I had learnt anything these last terrible days, it was that the Devil was cunning indeed.

  The wind whistled ever louder in our ears, and it began to snow as the abbot passed us, holding his head high. In his eyes, however, I noted that he was already dead. A little way off, as he was about to ascend the pyre, a loyal monk ran to him and sank to his knees embracing his paternity desperately, whimpering and crying out in his own vernacular something I did not understand.

  The poor cook had to be half-carried to the pyre by two burly guards, tears making clear byways down his dirty face. He missed a step here and there as he ascended the ladder, nearly falling to the ground below at one point, but was helped by an archer, who had been designated the unenviable position of executioner. Later when the fire had consumed the bodies it would be his job to separate what was left of the carcasses, breaking up the bones, and throwing the viscera on a fresh fire of logs. I closed my eyes and said an ave that this nightmare might soon end, for surely I was dreaming!

  Once they were all tied firmly to the stake, firstly at the ankles, below the knees, above the knees, at the groin, the waist, and under the arms, a heavy chain was secured about their necks. Their sentences were then read out by the inquisitor, who bellowed his strong voice over a gust which made his habit flap around him like black and white flames.

  ‘In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. We, Brother Rainiero Sacconi, of the Order of Dominican Friars, inquisitor appointed to investigate heresy in the Kingdom of France and Italy, being the representative of Apostolic Authority; we, Brother Andre – Preceptor of Douzens having special licence from the King of France; and we, Friar Bertrand de Narbonne of the Order of Friars Preachers emissary from the Priory of Pruille; and Father Bernard Fontaine of the Order of Cistercians at Citeaux, by divine authority of the pope have found and had it proved before us that you . . . In nomine Domini amen ...’

  I did not hear the rest, my mind became strangely numb, and it was only when the executioner covered the accused under faggots and straw up to their waists that I regained my senses in time to hear my master murmur.

  ‘We must go.’

  I looked at him with hot tears running down my cold face, ‘But we have to help them!’

  ‘They are dead men, Christian,’ he said abruptly and I was filled with anger. Now I am wiser, and I know that my master could do nothing. He simply wished to spare me the terrible sight that no one but God could now prevent. But at that moment I must say that I thought him a coward, and further, a coward whose sole preoccupation was in solving his puzzle.

  As we sank to the back of the crowd, I saw the young maiden Trencavel and her father. They did not look at us as we passed. I wondered if the boy was still alive and said a prayer for Eisik as we headed for the church and the executioner lit more faggots and threw them into the pyres.

  Once inside, Andre ran to the organ, pulling at his beard nervously and mumbling.

  ‘What are we doing master?’

  ‘We are going to try and salvage something from out of all this mess,’ he said. ‘What do these strange numerals mean, for the love of God . . . If they are a clue to diverting the water channel, how is it to be read? By Saladin . . .! Now, if you were to leave a coded message, titled Cantus Pastoralis ...’

  We heard the screams, faint, pitiful, then there was silence and the smell of burning hair. I looked at my master and, for a moment, I believe I knew him not at all. He was a man taken utterly by his obsession, a man drunk with curiosity. Could he have forgotten his mission? Could he have forgotten that men were burning, that the monastery was condemned, and that our lives were in peril?

  ‘Master,’ I was out of breath, ‘we have failed in our duty! We have failed the king, we have failed to save
the Trencavel boy, we have failed our order and those who are missing or dying on the pyre though they are innocent! It is all in ruins, and yet here you stand reflecting, as if . . . as if you were deliberating a chess move, as if you had all the time in the world and not a care! I believe you are no better than the inquisitor! There, I have said it! Both of you are proud and stubborn and obsessed and I begin to see the line that distinguishes you only faintly,’ I blurted out. ‘One hates knowledge beyond mercy, beyond humanity, and the other loves it beyond compassion, beyond human reasoning. Knowledge is knowledge, master, but what happens to those who gain it if they have no heart? Why must you try to decipher that Godforsaken code now? We must find Eisik, we must . . . we must forget the code. Who cares about shepherd’s songs, who cares also about the tunnels and the silent ones and codices and gospels? We should be praying for forgiveness!’ Tears streamed down my face unheeded but my master did not notice, instead his face lit up like a candle.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said I do not care about shepherd’s songs! I said that we should be praying, not preparing to go into tunnels. I do not want to go into the tunnels again, I want to leave this place! Since our arrival all I do is dream strange dreams about saints and psalms . . .’

  ‘The psalms! Of course! Aspectus illuminatus! The songs of the shepherd . . . brilliant! Brilliant, my boy!’ he grabbed me by the shoulders and shoved me toward the pulpit. ‘Quickly, go to the great book of hours and when I read out the numerals you must look up the corresponding psalm and verse. Come, come, we don’t have much time, the dog is at this moment falling on our scent.’

  My master closed his eyes and attempted, I assumed, to tame the agitation that he felt. When he deemed himself calmer he read out the first numerals, namely, CL: IV, psalm one-hundred-and-fifty, verse four. I read it out, for I could not disobey him. ‘Praise him with the timbrel and dance: praise him with stringed instruments and organs.’

  My master nodded his head and rubbed his hands in anticipation. ‘It is telling us that we are on the right path, namely, the organ.’