The Bishop accordingly left for Avignon in the company of a few servants, armed for the hazards of the journey.
The Abbess once more retired to the privacy of the octagonal tower and pursued her studies. The routine of the convent resumed a more peaceful atmosphere, and the excited condition of the sisters seemed to abate enough for them to go about their duties clothed and in their right minds.
As confessor of the convent I felt my duty obliged me to impose certain penances on the nuns for their orgiastic behaviour during the sojourn of the Bishop. I even suggested to the Abbess herself a slight penance, consisting of three rosaries a week and the present of a few candles to the Blessed Virgin. However she laughed so much when I suggested this that I was obliged to retire pained and somewhat abashed.
During her lifetime this woman always managed to impose herself so much on other ordinary mortals that they accepted her superiority without question. No matter how my conscience assured me that she was a manifest profanity to the dogmas of the holy Catholic faith I nevertheless found myself weak and supple under her iron will.
At that period we received visits from different prelates, among which was a cardinal from the Vatican. The convent underwent a rapid revision under the acute observation of the Abbess. She installed herself in an ordinary cell in the West Wing and by the time the cardinal arrived she had put all the statues of the saints right side up and caused the goats’ horns to be removed from the top of the Holy Tabernacle. Whenever the cardinal happened to be in the vicinity of her cell the Abbess beat her straw mattress with a whip to give the illusion that she indulged in daily flagellation. She occasionally allowed the cardinal to see her bathed in the pale blue aura of Musc de Madelaine, although without the intimate collaboration of a gentleman levitation was not possible. The cardinal, convinced of the saintly nature of the Abbess, returned to Rome with glowing reports of the convent of Santa Barbara de Tartarus. Later these reports must have influenced the Pope favourably towards Rosalinda’s canonization.
Sunt enim plerique libri adeo obscure scripte, ut a solis auctoribus suis percipiantur. If this quotation referred to the human soul instead of books I feel it would apply very nicely to the Abbess of Santa Barbara. To this day I doubt very much if it would be possible for an ordinary human being to penetrate the labyrinth of Doña Rosalinda’s heart.
Summer and winter passed before we received news from the Bishop. It was during the ides of March when the first dispatch arrived from Avignon. Doña Rosalinda had been uncommonly restless since early January and had been taking numerous nocturnal rides in the mountains under her usual disguise, a gentleman of nobility with a short reddish beard. I had sought to discourage these excursions on the grounds that some wandering peasant might one day see her enter the portals of the convent. My admonitions were of no avail however. She would careen into the night mounted on her black stallion, Homunculus. The fiery steed would return to his stable staggering with fatigue and lathered from head to rump after these extravagant rides. Some secret torment seemed to drive the Abbess far into the night, where she tried in vain to quiet her inner turbulence by riding Homunculus unmercifully enough to break his stout heart. Whether she reached this degree of inner agitation because of a lack of progress in her esoteric studies, or whether it was merely due to boredom was impossible for me to know.
A small incident at that time had caused murmuring amongst the peasants. Some stray dogs had dug up the corpse of Prince Zosimos and had run into the hamlet carrying different portions of his already decomposed body. The morsels of bone and flesh were however still recognizably human and the local magistrate had shown some interest in the original identity of the corpse. It is possible that the Abbess used this embryo scandal as an excuse for her ensuing journey although I think the real reason concerned her own interior unrest and of course the missive from the Bishop which ran as follows:
Gracious Rosalinda, Flos Aeris Aureus, or should I say Esteemed Abbess?
You are no doubt expecting news of my death and burial since so many moons have passed since my departure and I have neither written nor sent verbal messages. My days and even nights have been spent in such continual and strenuous activity that I must pray you to find pardon in your heart for omitting to send news.
Upon my departure I had not intended such a long sojourn in Avignon. As you know I merely intended to recuperate my health and spirits in the bracing air of Provence and stimulate the soul with angelic music from young throats. My immediate proposition was thereupon a speedy return to Santa Barbara de Tartarus in order to continue to strive towards our mutual goal. The fact that I have remained so long is entirely due to events here which have taken such an extraordinary turn. Our triumph in the Art may indeed depend upon our success here in Avignon.
You will no doubt remember that the minstrel who first brought news from Provence made indirect allusions to the Order of the Knights Templar and actually went so far as to insinuate their presence in this city. Certain Nordic choirboys under their tuition being the veil, so to speak, for a possible Templar Centre in France.
We all know the uncanny power of minstrels to derive news from any place they pass, so the idea that the fellow in question was in possession of such facts will not unduly surprise you. Let me return to the first few weeks of my arrival in Avignon. After an exceptionally tedious journey I spent a few days of retreat in the Palace at Trève les Frêles. These days were passed prostrate in my own downy bed, which was a paradise indeed after the jolting coach. You know how very tender my posterior region becomes after long exposure to a hard seat. Berthe Louise attended my delicate condition with her usual tender care and concocted a marvellous aromatic oil with which she massaged this almost paralysed region of my body. I was obliged to lie on my face for forty-eight hours before I felt the possibility of reclining on cushions to take refreshment. Game being plentiful this season, I was luckily able to stimulate my failing strength with roast partridges, wild pig cooked in excellent local wine, young venison and stuffed woodcock.
Finally I felt strong enough to negotiate a few leagues, as far as Avignon, in order to refresh my soul with artistic enjoyment in the form of elevated music. As you know, song is the food of the soul, and I was impatient to get to the cathedral to hear the Nordic choirboys sing Mass.
I will not enter into a lengthy ecstatic description of those gentle singers. Let me say simply that if they indeed resemble angels then let me enter paradise and frolic amongst the cherubim. Such delicate fair skins and innocent blue eyes! Their pure trilling song transformed the Mass into an experience of pure delight. This, My Dear Rosalinda, is something I feel sure you have never experienced.
After a few superficial difficulties and slight trials such as dining with the Archbishop, I was soon able to get an introduction to the singers, and therefore, I opened my small palace in Avignon, where I took up my abode. On various occasions I entertained the whole choir, who were willing to give short recitals of Gothic chant for the edification of the other guests, people of quality from local properties. I was of course obliged to give them some remuneration, and this took a rather heavy toll on the gold I obtained in the East. The expense, however, was not long in bringing its reward, in the form of what I may describe without exaggeration as a celestial friendship. One of the elder boys discovered the usual adolescent impediment in his vocal chords and was thus unable to take part in the choir. I therefore undertook his spiritual instruction and gave him a permanent apartment in the palace.
This boy, I may say, is not only exceptionally beautiful and formed like young Adonis, but is also a gifted poet. The Irish people, I am told, are often favoured with a gift for verse. The boy, Angus, comes from simple stock and is of such a naturally fine nature that one would expect him to have emerged from a Grecian temple rather than the wilds of Ireland. I passed many an evening of fragrant charm in the company of the vivacious youth. We would discuss all subjects, from Egyptian
Magic to Chinese Music, certain frivolities amongst the ancient Greeks, hunting with Irish deerhounds, and the effect of certain herbs. Angus often surprised me with his acute judgment and knowledge of many abstruse subjects. In one of such simple heritage this was as delightful as it was mysterious.
Although I occasionally wondered at the boy’s unusual culture I did not pursue the subject too far, for, as you know Rosalinda, happiness is a wraith that never did bear too much meddlesome questioning. I bathed, so to speak, in golden light, unthinking as a soaring bird.
This pleasant state of affairs lasted for about a month, until the arrival of a certain person from England by the name of Sir Hermatrod Siras. This individual must have learnt of the presence of Angus in the palace from his colleagues, the Knights Templar, and his information as to our relationship was unpleasantly accurate. I had forgotten up to the meeting with Sir Hermatrod that the boys were the supposed disciples of the Order. The information of the Minstrel, therefore, was all entirely correct.
Although belonging to the notoriously pig-headed race of Britain, Sir Hermatrod proved himself open to negotiation. I learnt that the Templars were indeed setting up a nucleus of their order in Provence and that they needed sustenance like everybody else.
With the promise of gifts including gold, precious stones and rare perfumes, I was finally able to persuade Sir Hermatrod to leave the boy Angus under my spiritual tuition, at least for the present.
My tactful persuasion gave fruits, and I learnt a certain amount about the mysterious brotherhood from my protégé. It appeared that since the persecution began a number of Knights Templar had fled under cover, and part of their number had found hospitality in Ireland. An ancient fortress on the west coast had been put at their disposition and was sponsored by the family descendants of King Malcolm, the Moorheads. Now this family, as their name implies, took a prominent role in the crusades, but had quarrelled with the clergy over the distribution of booty acquired in the East. They were therefore inclined towards friendly relations with the Knights Templar when these fell from the favour of the Church. Secretly the Order flourished and grew in Ireland. Initiates were accepted from noble families, and occasionally from commoners showing a favourable disposition towards the exigencies of the Templars.
For some generations Irish soil proved fruitful for their activities. With time however, the necessity of sowing new centres in other countries became apparent and now, for some fifty years, they had been secretly organizing groups over the continent.
Now, My Dear Flos Acris Aureus, we come to the culmination of my missive. One evening the boy Angus, having partaken of more wine than was prudent for one of such tender years, confided to me the Grand Arcanum of the Order, or rather the living symbol of such. He let me understand that the Knights Templar in Ireland were in possession of the Grail. This wonderful cup, as you know, was said to be the original chalice which held the elixir of life and belonged to the Goddess Venus. She is said to have quaffed the magic liquid when she was impregnated with Cupid, whereupon he leapt in the womb and, absorbing the Pneuma, became a God. The story follows that Venus, in her birth pangs, dropped the cup and it came hurtling to earth, where it was buried in a deep cavern, abode of Epona the Horse Goddess.
For some thousands of years the cup was safely in the keeping of the subterranean Goddess, who was known to be bearded and a hermaphrodite. Her name was Barbarus.
It is possible that you have heard the legend before. I must say I found the name most striking, through obvious associations.
The Goddess Barbara was worshipped as the life giver or womb, and her priests were generally supposed to be chosen hermaphrodites.
Seth, the son of Noah, was supposed to be the first to march upon the sanctuary of this Goddess. The priests were murdered and the Grail was stolen, the sanctuary desecrated; according to the legend the Grail lay in the hands of the tribe of Seth and was stolen in turn by the Knights Templar during the crusade.
Later stories sprang up around the Grail, and its magic was erroneously attributed to Christian sources.
Whatever the truth may be concerning the great antiquity of the Grail its wonderful power is beyond any doubt, and certain precise indications make me believe that what Angus told is true.
Chère Mutus Rosarium, you will at once appreciate the necessity to at least see the wonderful cup and if possible to restore it to the Goddess Barbarus, or should I give her a more recent title? Who knows that this might be a means of eventually returning stolen property to the original owner, Venus?
I advise you to place a deputy abbess at the head of the convent and set out soon for Avignon. I can promise you a comfortable suite in the palace and a cuisine which will, at least, rival that of the convent. We may be obliged afterwards to travel to the Knights Templar’s fortress in Ireland, so bring ample provision for the journey. Although the Grail may already be in France, I doubt if it would be moved before they are living under settled conditions.
Take care to provide yourself with plenty of cushions for the journey, unless you want to sleep on your face for a week after you arrive. The roads are truly execrable.
Ever your Tender Admirer and Soul Brother in all that mutually binds us together.
Fernand, Bishop of Trève les Frêles.
Before her departure the Abbess hid the flasks of Musc de Madelaine. Although I searched the whole convent later on I never could find the remaining flasks of ointment. Now I know that she must have hidden them in the crypt under the church where she was eventually buried. At that time it did not occur to me that the tombs of past abbesses of the convent could be the hiding place. Also a certain terror of the sinister vault kept me, no doubt, from considering that place as a possibility.
So after careful preparation the Abbess donned her disguise and left in the silver coach drawn by the two white mares. An outrider, mounted on Homunculus the black stallion, accompanied the coach.
Sister Teresa Gastélum de Xavier was appointed deputy Abbess. This nun was the personal attendant of Doña Rosalinda, and entirely devoted to the eccentric Abbess.
Teresa Gastélum de Xavier probably came from Moorish stock and had a dark complexion and morose secretive ways; she installed herself in the octagonal tower and it was extremely difficult to gain access into the Abbess’s apartments without her knowledge.
With a certain amount of diligence I did succeed on various occasions to get in and look through Doña Rosalinda’s personal effects, and in this manner came to be in possession of certain written documents and letters which helped to give insight into the character of the Abbess. As the convent confessor I considered it my duty to keep informed as far as possible of the happenings concerning Santa Barbara de Tartarus. Doña Rosalinda was naturally the main focal point of my interest. Vulgar curiosity in no way stimulated me; I was merely performing my duty as the Spiritual Director of the Community.
Mystery surrounds the journey of the Abbess, who was absent for almost two years. She must have spent more than half this time in the West of Ireland near the fortress of the Knights Templar, if not within the stronghold itself. Knowing the diabolically astute nature of Doña Rosalinda I am inclined to believe that she did indeed manage to spend a considerable time inside the fortress, although how this difficult feat was performed it is impossible to say. Probably no one but the Bishop of Trève les Frêles suspected that the bearded cavalier was really the Abbess, at least not for some time; and whoever did eventually discover her female identity kept the secret, otherwise Doña Rosalinda would never have left Ireland alive.
The condition of the Abbess when she did finally return to Santa Barbara de Tartarus left no doubt whatever that one person at least knew her to be a woman. I say a “Person,” although considering the incredible events around the death of the Abbess I sometimes recoil with a nameless doubt.
After the Abbess was dead I did happen to come into possession of a scroll wh
ich was written in Hebrew and which I was finally able to translate with the help of a Jew who traded spices in Madrid.
This scroll was accompanied by another document in Latin which evidently referred to the sojourn of Doña Rosalinda in Ireland and most likely to her stay in the fortress of the Knights Templar. Here I give both documents, the first being the translation from the Hebrew.
He [the Sinner] shall not be absolved by expiations nor by the lustral waters of sea and river. He called Set of the tribe out of Egypt shall be called Unclean throughout the ages until the Cup of Pneuma shall return unto the Daughters called Ariouth of Tartarean;
That all His [Set] iniquities shall be atoned for by the submission of his soul to the [female] Foreign Stranger [otherwise translated as Bar-bar-a] Who shall once more replenish the Cup with Holy Pneuma by [a] ritual joining to the yellow [or golden] Horned God, Keeper of the Most Holy Vessel.
At the beginning the two spirits which are known as Twins are the one Female and the Other Male. They established at the beginning Life, the Pneuma and the Holy Cup to hold the Pneuma.
And when these two Spirits Met such was the manner of the birth of the Winged One [or the Feathered Hermaphrodite, Sephirá].
For since the Cup has not rendered fruit. The sterile gaolers of the cup having banished Her from Her Most Rightful Realm in the Caverns of Her Most Secret Mysteries
Epona, Barbarus, Hekate.
And the children of the Planet will forget and not find the path of the Years and will forget the new moons and the seasons and they will go wrong as to all the order of time and of the running bodies in the Heavens. They will thus perpetrate abominations, for the cup lies empty and sterile under the rule of Set who is Yehowá the Revenger.
And when the three moons rise together and obscure the light of the sun there will be lamentations and gnashing of bones for they have forgotten their origin and no longer know the roots of the Tree.
The Hearing Trumpet Page 10
