by Simon Acland
Hasan was busy adding ingredients to the cauldron, watched with fearful respect by four white-robed attendants. He turned and I saw malice and great excitement contained in his yellow-ringed hooded eyes.
“So do you have any questions to ask about the procedure, Crusader monk?”
I had many questions but my tongue was tied by fear, and by fear of showing fear.
“First we must make room in your veins for Medea’s potion, by bleeding you dry into this golden dish. I believe that your blood’s reaction with the metal is important, for then we add it to this cauldron. When mixed, we plunge you in the cauldron itself. We hope your heart still beats enough to suck the potion through your veins. So very simple. But the mixing of the potion is less easy; if the quantities are wrong, or of insufficient strength, it seems that the liquid will not pass into your veins, or brings death, not life. That is why I want to try it out on you.”
Now the full horror of what was about to pass broke over me, and I struggled briefly, muttering desperate prayers as the robe was stripped from my back. Naked before the table I found bizarre pleasure in the fire’s warmth, the heat and fear mixing to stir my loins. Both my arms were firmly gripped by Hasan’s assistants and held out above the grail dish. Hasan pulled a dagger from his belt. It was so sharp that I scarcely felt the deep incision made in either wrist, but I could not stifle the cry in my throat as my lifeblood pumped into the dish. The red and gold began to spin as the strength ebbed from me. Had I not been pinioned in that firm grasp I must have fallen to the floor. My glazing-over eyes saw the pumping flow of my blood become a trickle. The grail was taken and its contents emptied into the brew. Too weak to fight, swooning, I felt myself being lifted up and two more cuts made in my ankles. Then they folded my knees and plunged me into the cauldron up to my neck.
Never before had I felt such pain. The liquid in the cauldron was hot but the heat that I felt upon my skin was as nothing to the flames inside my veins. A long way off I seemed to hear a ghastly scream and somehow recognised it as my own. My head hammered like a tightened drum and my whole body pulsed as if about to burst. The room span so that Hasan seemed to rush round me, his arms pointing wildly to the sky.
“Now!” he cried.
Lifted from that deadly pot, I felt a stabbing pain in my side and saw a whitened spear piercing through my ribs. Suddenly the pressure faded, the pain erased, and mercifully all went black.
SAINT LAZARUS’ COLLEGE
“No, no, no. I really must protest.” Nobody could remember having seen the Classics Fellow so angry before. “You cannot take Ovid’s wonderful legend of Medea and pollute it with all that grail nonsense. It is a sacrilege. I bet there was nothing about Ovid in Hugh’s original manuscript.”
After two stiff gin and tonics, the Modern Languages Tutor’s memories of his difficulties had been numbed enough to eliminate his diffidence. A bilious sense of bad temper remained at the injustices of life. Now he exploded, his wizened jowls shaking with irritation, and his eyes blazing behind their thick glasses.
“It is completely the other way round. Completely. You are talking utter nonsense. This is Chrétien’s description of the grail castle to a ‘T’ – it is unmistakable – the white lances, the ivory ebony-legged table, the candelabra…it is all there. That is what has been polluted by Ovid, not the other way round.”
The Professor of English, delighted to see his two colleagues at each other’s throats, begged to differ.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen. Calm down for heaven’s sake. Actually, you are both completely missing the point. This is the most interesting part so far. You see, all these legends have the same roots. Medea’s restoration of Aeson is just one fertility legend which then re-emerges with the Fisher King in the Grail stories. A central element of Eliot’s genius was to understand all that – helped a little by James Frazer and then Jessie Weston, of course – and to blend it all together in The Waste Land. That is how the poem achieves its universality, how Tiresias can be the central bisexual figure representing all humanity.”
The Best-Selling Author laughed as freely as his neck brace would allow.
“I would not read too much into it if I were you. I just think it makes a jolly good yarn. At least we have got to the grail bit, and I have worked the Assassins into the mix; I think that more than makes up for the lack of Templars.”
But the Master, ever-demanding, was not wholly satisfied.
“I do not pretend to know your audience as well as you do, but surely we need some more love interest?”
The Best-Selling Author smiled knowingly.
CHAPTER TWELVE
STAY WITH ME
Often I have looked back and asked myself whether it all really happened, or whether it was a dream. Perhaps I am still in the dream, perhaps I will wake soon and find release. Or perhaps I do not want to wake from it.
I woke in Paradise. I lay in a room of glowing white, softly pillowed in a smooth-linened bed. Light flowed through two pinch-arched doors from a garden beyond. And beside my bed sat a white-robed angel. In my surprise at seeing Blanche beside my bed I tried to raise myself but fell feebly back on my pillow. Now I knew that I had died and gone to heaven, but the sweet music of her voice seemed to tell me another story.
“What a sleep you have had, so long and deep. For days and nights you have scarcely stirred. At times I thought perhaps you would never stir again.”
The Blanche-angel spooned me some warm gruel. Confused, bewildered and weak, I sank back into my cushioned sleep, clear only about one thing – my hope that if I woke again the angel would still be there and would still be Blanche.
I slept, I woke. And whenever I woke I did see that the angel sat there still. She gave me more to drink. Each time I slept again I knew more surely that the angel would still be there when next I woke. Each time I woke my strength had grown a little more. Soon I could sit up though it tired me fast, and I began to stay awake for longer. I saw that the angel’s long hair of gold did truly belong to Blanche and I smiled in wonder. I could also see that her blue eyes now held far in their depths all the sorrows of the world.
I said her name – feeling foolish for so doing. She smiled gently. “Yes, yes, I really am the Blanche you knew.” Behind her smile I saw a sadness I did not understand. I smiled shyly back and sank again to sleep. When I woke I was stronger still. With Blanche’s help I stood. Now I noticed the bandages binding my wrists, ankles and side. Resting on her shoulder I walked slowly round the room and out through the arches to the garden. The sky was pale, the sunlight thin, the air cool. In the garden one yellow jasmine bloomed, one white, and softly scented the breeze. I knew it must be spring. Then I was drained again and Blanche led me back to bed.
When I next walked in the garden I saw small green shoots. Some hyacinths flowered. Hesitantly, I asked Blanche to tell her story. Pain crossed her face and she turned away from my gaze. I wished I had not asked. Still looking away, unable to hold my gaze, she began to talk.
“I had little love for Walter de Boissy. He was not of my blood. But you know that. I was a cousin somehow of his wife …quite distant. I felt sorry for Mathilde but had little cause to love her either. They took me in, when my parents died, that’s true, but for my inheritance. Then they treated me no better than a servant.” She sighed. “But neither of them deserved to die like that. I did not see him fall, but I heard that his horse came down pierced by more arrows than could be counted. And then…. Well, you are a soldier, you know better than I what happens to knights laid low on the field of battle. Mathilde…she died in my arms. The men were all slaughtered, their throats cut like goats. We thought that we might die the same way, after…” Blanche shuddered. “But we two women of better birth were taken, I suppose for the ransom we might command. Mathilde was too weak. She could not cope with the journey…and the usage she received.”
Blanche now raised her eyes to mine, with a surprising look of defiance, and hurried on with her story before I could interrupt
. “It was the day after she died that my captors were attacked in their turn. They were taken by surprise, but they had far greater numbers and were still no match for these people here. These ones seem to have no fear. Their ferocity, their fanaticism…” She shivered again. “It was almost as if they seek out death. I could not understand why one set of infidels wanted to attack another. But since then I’ve learnt that these people are very different – almost like monks. Except they showed no mercy – again blood was everywhere. Then we rode for weeks and came here. I suppose they wanted me for ransom too. Little do they know that I have nobody to pay for me.”
I heard something close to bitterness in the harsh laugh she gave and moved towards her, wanting to provide comfort, but she started and stepped back.
“And their leader, the one with the ringed eyes…” she shuddered again and looked momentarily terrified. “They took me to him briefly when they brought me here. I knew him at once as a man to fear, a man to obey. He has such power. Be careful of him. He speaks in Latin to me when occasionally I am summoned to…to receive his orders.”
Then her soft smile returned.
“He told me you are very important to him. My orders are to take great care of you, to nurse you carefully back to health and strength. I am so glad it was you and not some other.”
I filled with joy at her words. There was much more that I wanted to ask but now she turned in firm silence to her duty, leading me back into the room. She removed my bandages and gently traced the scars where I had been cut.
As little white flowers pushed through the ground and opened in our garden, my strength returned. Soon I could walk unaided, although I still pretended that I needed Blanche’s help so that I could put my arm around her waist and lean on her. Then Blanche slipped gently into bed beside me. She stroked my hair, my beard; I stroked her downy cheek and touched her lips with my fingertips.
We kissed, softly at first, then with hunger and greed as passion rose. I felt her form through her robe, and she felt mine. I touched her hard budded breasts through the cotton and she murmured quietly. My cock’s stalk grew tall and stiff, and I lifted her robe and pushed her onto her back. I entered her as gently as my greedy passion allowed, and she gasped, gripping me between her thighs. I thrust harder, faster, deep inside her. Her gasps came faster too and turned to little mewing cries. Her hands were on my back, her eyes were closed. Mine closed too as I erupted as never before and lay spent inside her.
We slept, mine now at last a healthy sleep, in each other’s arms, and woke together. Now we stripped off our robes and felt each other skin to skin. Her skin was so soft, like the finest velvet, as I stroked her back, and she laughed as the twists of hair on my chest tickled her nostrils. My cock rose hard again, and again I entered her, now so slippery from my seed. This time she pushed over and straddled me, her hair hanging like a fine curtain as she took her pleasure. Her nipples brushed my chest and I cupped her breasts, now hanging softly down, and took the point of one between my lips. Again she gasped and moaned, while I gripped her buttocks and pumped out a second time. She lay on top, my arms around her, and again we slept.
So now I knew I was not in Paradise, except a paradise of an earthly sort. I quietly said to Blanche that I loved her. She put her finger to my lips to still them and said she loved me too. I felt so happy, proud at last to be a proper man. I realised how lonely I had felt, how empty, and now I felt whole and full. Puppy-like I wanted to play. Blanche laughed and rolled away, demure no longer in her nakedness. Then turning sad, she told me not to be such a boy, saying that I should dress against the cold before I fell ill again, and donned her own robe. We walked out into our little garden, a small walled world all our own, keeping out the others and closing us in. I said, “We must marry”, and Blanche asked “What are you thinking of?” and began to weep. A knock came at the door, which opened. Food and drink was passed in. I heard a whispered conversation. Now famished, we ate and drank. I feared the next knock at the door, lest it spell the end of my paradise. And then I heard it. The door swung wide and my white-speared guards stood there to take me to their master.
“Stay with me,” Blanche said, “My nerves are bad. Stay with me.” But I could not. I was led back through the castle’s twisting corridors to its master’s lair.
Hasan-i Sabbah stood at his window as before, gazing out over the sharp snow-dusted peaks in the distance. I passed through the narrow opening to the room into the wide womb of the oval library. With relief I saw this time that no apparatus awaited. The cauldron, the white black-legged table, and the great golden grail dish had been long since cleared away. Hasan turned and looked at me through his eagle’s eyes with sharp interest.
“Well, a bit gaunt as one might expect for one who has slept for forty days and forty nights, but otherwise no great outward sign of change. You look no younger, as Ovid would have us believe Aeson did. But perhaps you look more a man. That is just what I would have expected from the Colchean witch’s treatise.”
A look of sardonic amusement passed over his face.
“I trust that the lovely Blanche tended you well.”
I felt the blood rising in my face, part blush of embarrassment, part flush of anger at the slur I perceived on Blanche’s honour. I remembered her ominous fear of this man’s power.
“We will be married,” I said, raising my head proudly.
“Married?” Hasan raised an eyebrow. “By what rite?”
“We have the right if we love each other,” I said hotly.
Hasan laughed harshly. “By what priest, you fool? You seem to forget that you are my prisoners. You are wholly in my power. Unless I permit, you will never see your Blanche again.”
Boiling then with hatred, I watched him stroke his beard pensively in the characteristic gesture that I now knew spelled menace. Hasan seemed to read my passion with deep satisfaction.
“Perhaps if you perform a small service faithfully for me…perhaps then I could permit you to have Blanche. Perhaps then I could set you free and you might take her with you as wife…”
Watching me closely under his hooded eyes, he continued, “I have heard of another book I want. It is a gnostic gospel, known as that of Lazarus. They say it is hidden in Antioch, in the ancient Cave Church of your Saint Peter. I cannot send my own men. In these times of siege and turmoil they would have no chance of penetrating the city, let alone coming away again. And besides, to identify the book I need one who can read Greek.”
“That I can do,” I said with rising eagerness.
“Yes. So you will return to your Crusader army. According to my da’is it is still encamped around the walls of Antioch. The city is surely fated to fall. When it does, you will go to the Cave Church, find the book, and bring it back to me. Do you understand?”
I heard with distant excitement the news that my comrades had reached their next objective, but felt a little disappointed that it was not yet in their hands. Most of all, though, my reaction was of uneasy curiosity. Hasan was not a man who acted from whim or without purpose.
“What does this book contain? Why is it so important to you? Where in the church can I find it? And how do you know it is still there?”
“If I knew its contents for sure, you young fool, I would not need the book. I have just heard rumours of ancient truths. I want the book to satisfy my curiosity of them. And how do I know exactly where it is hidden? Pray to your god and perhaps you will find it. Now go and get ready. You will leave immediately.”
I felt as if he had struck me and I wanted to strike back.
“No, old man, before I run your errand for you, before I fetch your precious book, you must grant me one last night with Blanche. I will not leave without bidding her a proper farewell.”
“How dare you gainsay Hasan-i Sabbah?” His eyes blazed.
“I dare because you have no hold on me, old man.” I suddenly felt strong, tall, vigorous. “You need me to go. You say yourself that you have no-one else. If you kill me you w
ill have no book. If you harm Blanche I will not go. You have no choice. You must grant my wish.”
I saw anger, desiring my doom, and greed, longing for the book, battling each other across Hasan’s harsh face. I realised that never since he became master of Alamut had he been challenged thus. I determined to press home my advantage and continued.
“I once believed that the service of God was the whole point of my life. But now I have seen Him allow too many atrocious crimes in His name. Either He is cruel, or He is weak. Either way, He deserves little praise from me. Now I have felt the elemental force of love. I do not know what vile substance you have put in my veins. But whatever my heart now pumps, it can feel love as it never could before. Perhaps I should be grateful to you for that. I doubt it was the outcome you intended.”
“You may have learnt one good lesson,” Hasan flashed back, “if you have begun to question your so-called god. But not for love. Love could not matter less. Knowledge is all that counts, for the power that it brings. Your god threw humankind out of the Garden of Eden because Adam and Eve ate fruit from his forbidden tree of knowledge. He feared that knowledge would make them gods too. He feared that knowledge would make them able to challenge his authority. Allah, my god, dictated knowledge to His prophet Mohammed to be written in the Holy Koran. But He only dictated such knowledge as He wished to share. Much is not written there. I will find all the knowledge that is not written in the Holy Book,” with both arms wide he gestured wildly round the room at his shelves, “and then I can be as great as Allah.”
His arms fell back and he shrugged his shoulders. The crazy fire in his eyes went out, leaving only ashes of dark malice.
“Go then. Have your night with the woman. You will learn soon enough that love is not all it seems. You will leave tomorrow at dawn. My son Mohammed will lead your escort.”
