‘I’m so pleased you are coming with us,’ I told my plump neighbour, who had helped himself to an enormous piece of succulent shoulder meat from the common dish and spooning about a pint of the garlic sauce over the top. With his mouth bulging with mutton, the grease running down his chin, Tuck told me that Robin had engaged a troop of the Queen’s Gascon men-at-arms to act as his Countess’s temporary protectors over the next few weeks while Tuck took leave of his mistress and joined the Companions in their quest. Tuck, it seemed, had been fascinated by the Grail ever since Robin had mentioned it to him some years ago in Yorkshire. And he had been making his own researches in his idle hours at Eleanor’s court while it travelled about in her southern lands. Indeed, it was he who had confirmed to Robin that Amanieu d’Albret, Nur’s brutal Templar, was in residence at the Jealous Castle. But that was not all he had to contribute to our fellowship.
‘I have seen it, Alan,’ he said to me with quiet but simmering excitement and a small belch. ‘I have seen the Grail.’
His words jolted me. I knew, of course, that this wondrous object did truly exist in a physical form in the world – I had seen the Master carrying the very wooden box that contained it, and the purple cushion the box was set to rest upon, but I had never seen the Grail itself – and his words gave the holy vessel a reality that was in some way rather shocking.
‘Have you truly laid your eyes on the cup of Christ?’ I said, searching Tuck’s face for the truth.
‘Speak up, Tuck,’ said Robin from the head of the table. ‘I think we would all like to hear about this.’
An expectant hush fell over the company, as Tuck began his tale: ‘It was not quite a year ago, a few weeks after the death of King Richard – may his soul swiftly find its way to Heaven – and Queen Eleanor asked me to undertake a discreet diplomatic mission on her son King John’s behalf to Pedro, the King of Aragon, who was at that time holding his court at Barcelona. Ramon of Erill, a nobleman of ancient lineage and a vassal of the Spanish King, who had been visiting Eleanor in Aquitaine, was to accompany me with his knights from Bordeaux to Barcelona – as his family held a good deal of land in the Pyrenees. It was a long, cold, exhausting journey over the mountains that took many weeks – and the mission was ultimately fruitless – but as I was preparing to return to Queen Eleanor and the Countess of Locksley, the Lord of Erill invited me to break my return journey in his castle in the Valley of Boí, that I might admire the extraordinary adornments of the little Church of St Clement in the village of Taüll.
‘I was reluctant – for I wished to return to my mistress as soon as possible – but Ramon of Erill was insistent. And he told a strange tale to entice me. Hundreds of years ago, Ramon said, an old man had come to the Roman city of Barcino, as Barcelona was then known. He was sick, ancient and a Jew, but also a gentleman who came from Arimathea in Judea. His name, he said, was Joseph. He was sheltered, fed and nursed on his arrival in the city by an ancestor of the Lord of Erill, a knight called Perillus. Every morning while the old Jew lay on his sickbed, Perillus would come to visit him, and they would talk. During these hours, the old man revealed he had travelled to the ends of the world, from England to Ethiopia, in his long life. He had seen wonders and miracles, and met monsters and saints. He claimed that he had known Our Saviour in person – indeed, he claimed he had been present at the Last Supper – and at the Crucifixion. He even said that it had been in his own family tomb that Our Lord had lain for three days. And he claimed to possess two wondrous objects, two items so holy and precious that they almost surpassed belief.’
Tuck speared a large chunk of garlicky mutton with his knife, popped it in his mouth and grinned at all of us as he chewed, deliberately letting the anticipation build. For five heartbeats he said nothing. Then he took pity on the silent table, swallowed his mouthful, chased it with a gulp of wine, and continued: ‘These objects were the very lance wielded by a Roman centurion that had pierced Christ’s side while he suffered on the Cross … and the Grail – the vessel used to mix the wine at the Last Supper and which he, Joseph, had later used to collect the blood of Our Lord after the Roman lance had wounded him. These two objects, both blessed by the touch of the sacred blood of Jesus Christ, had miraculous qualities, old Joseph insisted. The lance had the power to confer the gift of entry into the Kingdom of Heaven on anyone who was killed by it … but the blessed cup, the Holy Grail, as it became known, this wondrous object was by far the more precious of the two. The Grail could hold back Death itself, and cure any ill or hurt. All a man had to do was to fill the Grail with water, invoke the name of Our Lord over it and drink – and his life would be extended and his illness washed away.’
My right hand crept surreptitiously over my neck and I stroked the wooden handle of the lance-dagger in its leather sheath between my shoulder blades. It gave me a secret feeling of great warmth and joy to imagine that I might possess the very blade that had pierced the body of Our Lord. If this tale were true.
‘When Joseph died, after calling out the name of Our Saviour in a loud voice, Perillus carried his body with great ceremony to his own private tomb and sealed the old Jew in it – for this man, he believed, had given up his own eternal resting place for Jesus Christ himself and so this was surely no more than his due.’
‘And the Grail, Father, what happened to the Grail?’ Sir Nicholas broke in – his lean face under his cropped grey hair was flushed with excitement, and he was thrusting his upper body forward over the table towards Tuck. I saw that the monks of the refectory were clearing the adjoining table of crusts of bread and scraps of food. And a few of the holy brothers were glancing disapprovingly over at the huddle of folk who lingered at our table where the meal was clearly done.
‘Before his death, Joseph of Arimathea made a gift of the Holy Grail and the Holy Lance to the knight Perillus in gratitude for his care in his final days,’ said Tuck. ‘They remained in the knight’s family for many, many generations.
‘For centuries, while the family grew in power and became the lords of Erill, their possession of the Grail was kept a closely guarded secret. But my friend Ramon’s grandfather, who held the Valley of Boí nearly a hundred years ago, felt differently. He was arrogant, very proud that his family were the guardians of the cup of Christ. Instead of keeping the Grail hidden from human eyes, this Lord of Erill decided to put it on display in the heart of his territory, in the new church that he was building, to be dedicated to St Clement, in the high village of Taüll. This proud lord ordered a local craftsman to construct a tableau of seven carved wooden statues, gilded, beautifully painted in rich colours and depicting the Descent of Our Lord from the Cross. In the background of this setting, affixed to their smaller crosses, were the wooden figures of the two thieves who were executed at the same time as Our Saviour; and the statues of St John and St Nicodemus looking on. In the centre, the figure of Joseph of Arimathea stood directly at the foot of the Cross; and he was shown as helping the dead body of Our Lord down from that dreadful Tree. The figure of Jesus himself, his thin body descending into Joseph’s arms, had a long trailing arm, draped over Joseph’s head and right shoulder. Below Christ’s dangling arm stood the statue of the Virgin – the finest work of the whole set of figures, her right hand raised, pale palm facing outwards, her left hand held palm up and covered by her rich blue mantle. Here, in her covered left hand, the lord of Erill affixed the actual Grail, placed there as if to catch the drips of Our Lord’s sacred blood as they trickled from his dead fingertips.
‘This holy group of statues, by all accounts as beautiful as a perfect rose in bloom, was placed in the sun-lit northern nave of the church of St Clement of Taüll, and guarded by a stout, waist-high wooden paling to keep the figures from the common touch of the people. And I have no doubt that this sacred tableau caused all who saw it to shiver with a profound awe. Indeed, as the fame of the holy statues spread, men and women from all over the mountains came to view it, and they prayed before the tableau and made offerings – a sil
ver penny, a sack of milled grain, a piece of dried fish or even as little as an egg or two – at the church for the good of their souls. But none were permitted to soil the Grail with the touch of their hands, even as the mere likeness of the Virgin had her hand protected from the Grail by the cloth of her mantle.’
Tuck paused for a moment and looked around the table. Not a soul moved or spoke; all imagining the magnificent scene that the priest had just described. ‘But, for the proud Lord of Erill, even this was not adornment rich enough for his new church, for he also commanded the master artists of Taüll to create a painting in the curve of the apse, behind the altar, a masterpiece depicting Christ in Majesty, surrounded by apostles, saints and angels. And in a small panel below the image of Our Saviour, he caused an image of the Virgin to be made, holding in her left, her mantle-covered hand, the Grail – in a pose that was a deliberate copy of her stance in the group of wooden statues a dozen paces away – and it was said to be even more awe-inspiring than the tableau of the Descent from the Cross.
‘It was this image of the Grail that I was fortunate enough to see with my own eyes, less than a year ago, in Taüll. This little panel, this wonderful representation of a wondrous object, still blazes forth to this day beneath the image of Our Lord Jesus Christ in that little church, high in the snowy passes of the Pyrenees. And I will never forget its breath-stealing beauty.’
The Almoner was standing beside our table, and as Tuck paused, he said sternly, ‘Good sirs, I must ask you to rise from this table, we need to clean the refectory before it is closed for the night, and anyway, it is high time that you made your way to the dormitories.’
There were groans of complaint from all around the table – as each of the Companions had been entranced by Tuck’s tale and wished for him to continue in its telling.
Robin spoke: ‘We shall have the rest of the story tomorrow – on the road. For I have decided that we must leave Bordeaux first thing in the morning.’
‘Why such a sudden a departure?’ asked Sir Nicholas.
Robin looked directly at me, his face devoid of expression, as he answered the former Hospitaller’s question. ‘It seems that one of Queen Eleanor’s officers has been murdered on the road to Rouillac a few miles outside the city. The dead man was a mercenary, quite a well-known ruffian named Mercadier, and he was killed, so the rumours have it, by two men-at-arms in the service of a rival mercenary captain called Brandin. If you can believe the gossip, these two reckless, mutton-headed idiots waylaid him and his friends on the road and killed four of them this morning – but then, these clumsy fools, these blundering, halfwitted morons, allowed one of Mercadier’s men to escape. And the man who escaped, mark you, will soon be helping the Queen’s provosts identify the miscreants. Although, of course, it clearly has nothing to do with us, I think it best if we leave Bordeaux forthwith. All armed strangers will be suspect. So we leave tomorrow at dawn.’
My lord finished his speech and turned his head to the left to stare casually at Roland’s wounded leg.
‘Rumours often prove to be true,’ I said, blushing and hating the weakness of my own body for this tell-tale flow of heat. ‘Brandin’s men are said to be a murderous, unruly lot, to be sure,’ I stumbled on. ‘And Brandin and Mercadier have long hated each other…’ I stopped, embarrassed by myself. But a part of me was blessing Bernard and his skill at spreading plausible scuttlebutt. Spending all day, as he did, in a variety of low taverns, he traded gossip with large numbers of drinkers almost every hour. But I was still surprised at how swiftly this false rumour he and I had confected a few hours ago had spread about the city.
I also knew that Robin was not so very angry with us for killing Mercadier – he understood the urge for revenge better than any man – but I think he was irritated that we had not consulted him first; and, of course, he was concerned that the man whom we had foolishly allowed to escape might identify us. I was quite content to quit Bordeaux, anyway, not just to avoid the Queen’s provosts – but also because Tuck’s tale had sparked a keen desire in my heart, like a vast hunger, to see the Holy Grail, and perhaps even to hold in my hand an object that might once have cradled Our Saviour’s precious blood.
‘We leave at dawn,’ Robin repeated, standing up. And as we left the refectory, I heard him asking Roland with a voice dripping with false sympathy, just how he had hurt his poor little leg.
Roland, limping alongside Robin, offered up some fatuous excuse about sharpening a dagger on his lap and slipping. Nur was beside him, and he had his arm draped over her narrow shoulders as she mutely supported him through the low door of the eating hall.
‘There is an important lesson to be learned here,’ said Robin, standing in the threshold and once more looking directly at me while he ostensibly addressed another. ‘We all need to be more careful in future. Carelessness with weapons can be very, very dangerous. It can quite often get you killed.’
Before the sun was a finger’s breadth above the eastern horizon, we were on the road and heading south-east. Nine riders and three packhorses, following the north bank of the River Garonne as it meandered slowly towards Toulouse. Robin had purchased the twelve horses from a stables in Bordeaux the previous afternoon – and, to be honest, they were not the finest beasts in Christendom, indeed they were barely better than farmers’ hacks. It occurred to me belatedly that Robin must have been obliged to dig deep into his coffers to pay for this expedition to Aquitaine, and he might well be nearing the end of his resources. He was no longer a mighty Earl with land and revenues at his command and the ear of the King. He was an outlaw, I remembered, and the silver that he spent on us came from a diminishing store. On the first evening after we left, when we stopped for the night at the village of Langon, perhaps twenty-five miles out of Bordeaux, I approached him when he was alone with the horses, talking to the stable boy about their feed and proper care while the rest of the Companions were already in the common room of the tavern, and ordering up jugs of wine, loaves of barley bread and the spicy grilled local sausages.
‘This is for you,’ I said, holding out a fat, black leather purse filled with silver pennies, which I had discovered in the saddlebags of Mercadier’s warhorse.
‘That is kind of you, Alan, but this is not how it works,’ said Robin. ‘As we agreed in London, I will cover all the expenses of the quest, and the Grail, if we ever find it, will rightfully belong to me. That is the agreement. Any loot that we gain along the way is to be shared equally. That looks a lot like loot, to me. It looks very much like the purse of a dead mercenary. I’ll not say any more about how you got it, but according to our agreement that purse should be shared between the Companions, even Nur and Tuck.’
‘I just want to help, Robin,’ I said. ‘I know that the cost of this expedition must be a heavy burden for you.’
‘I’m not normally one for turning down gifts of cash, Alan,’ said my lord, with a smile. ‘But on this occasion, I will say no. If you don’t want to share it with the others, keep it, I won’t say anything and, who knows, one day we may be grateful for it.’
So I tucked the purse back under my belt inside my tunic, and made to rejoin the other Companions. But Robin stopped me, as I turned to go. ‘I’m touched that you should worry about me, Alan,’ he said, ‘but do not be too concerned. Remember the robbery at Welbeck Abbey, and the hoard of golden altar furniture we took there? Well, I have brought some of those pieces with us – I paid for these horses here with just that little pyx. That little golden pot was worth the price of these twelve nags. Do not be concerned, Alan, we shall not be in want for a good while yet. Maybe never – once I have the Grail, I shall charge passers-by a shilling a go to drink from it!’
And he laughed, that carefree laugh that I knew of old.
I assumed he was joking about charging all and sundry to drink from the Grail – and hoping merely to shock me with his impiety – but with Robin, you never quite knew.
That night in the village of Langon, by the fire in the com
mon room of the tavern, Tuck continued his tale.
‘Word of the little church of St Clement and the wonders it contained spread far and wide in the mountains, and folk began to come to see these beautiful statues of Jesus, and Joseph of Arimathea and of Mary, the Mother of God, and the wondrous, magical vessel she bore in her hand. For fifty years, that little church was a place of pilgrimage – and scores of miracles were reported to have occurred there. Many folk claimed that the Virgin came to them in a vision as they prayed before her statue, and that the Grail cured them of their illnesses. The lame walked, the sick were healed, the blind were restored to sight, or so it was said. And Ramon’s grandfather, the Lord of Erill, grew even more puffed up with pride, convinced that it was the awesome power of the Grail that lay behind these miracles. And he also enjoyed the revenues that the village of Taüll accrued from the flow of pilgrims.
‘Ramon’s grandfather filled the Grail with water from the font and allowed the pilgrims, for the price of a silver penny, to dip a finger in it and anoint themselves with its power. For another penny they were allowed to kiss the cold, dark metal of the Holy Lance, which was also on display in the church in a golden box in the southern nave. The miracles became common – indeed fantastical tales began to circulate about the power of the Grail of Taüll. Maimed men claimed that limbs lopped in war had actually grown back; a dead man brought over the mountain passes to this remote village was resurrected by the power of the holy water from the Grail. Many who prayed before the statue, and who kissed the lance, often heard the voice of the Holy Mother giving them wise advice and promising help. The trickle of pilgrims became a flood. The Lord of Erill became richer and more powerful from the avalanche of silver pennies that the pilgrims brought to his church.
Grail Knight: Number 5 in series (Outlaw Chronicles) Page 18
