Temple of The Grail (43 page)

‘Your grace, what was the child’s
ailment?’ the infirmarian asked, meekly.

‘What difference is there in what
ailment?’ he scowled. ‘Here it states that the child suffered from hellish
seizures.’

‘Ahh! That often accompanies many
childhood ailments, especially if there is a fever . . . I would have given the
mother a compound of sage leaves which is a very good medicament for many
ailments. The convulsions would have abated naturally as the child’s condition
improved.’

‘Rainiero,’ my master interjected. ‘The
treatment prescribed is one that is not only well known, but is also used by
many doctors.’

‘Yes, we know of your enthusiasm for
such things. We know, preceptor, that it was your own use of such questionable
treatments that led to your expulsion from the University of Paris!’

My master blanched.

‘You also treated a man with a
substance whose origins were questionable.’

‘A plant that when crushed aids the
beating of the heart. No more, no less,’ my master retorted. ‘It saved his
life.’

‘I would expect an infidel to say as
much but not a knight of Christ!’ he said, turning on my master, and all in the
room knew he was alluding to his Eastern blood, ‘for infidels are not only
renowned for their medical knowledge but also for knowledge of all things
diabolical. You speak of an instant cure! Without the aid of prayer, without
the anointing of oil! You see how the Devil may ensnare even the worthy to do his
bidding. Even a man such as yourself – a man who has devoted his life to
fighting the enemies of Christ –’ he said this with a cold smile, ‘is a
perfect example of how persuasive the ways of darkness can be! How seemingly
innocent and yet how abominable!’

Now I understood better my master’s
numerous sermons on prudence, and also the inquisitor’s cunning in summoning
him to the dais, for if my master was to contest the inquisitor’s decision, he
would be judged a protector of heretics, and his past would do little to help
him.

‘I heal in the name of our Lord, your
grace!’ cried Asa, diverting all attention back to him.

‘Peace, necromancer! I wish to hear
no more plausible arguments, I wish only to hear a confession to the crimes
that have been committed in this abbey!’

‘How am I to confess, your grace? I
have committed no sin.’

‘I see . . . and what of the strange
words used over the child? What of those?’

The infirmarian looked in the abbot’s
direction, but remained silent.

‘Answer me! What are these words you
use to occasion your hellish cures? Perhaps an innocent peasant who has never
heard a man command the chiefs of infernal legions would think such words
strange! Perhaps an uncorrupted soul may never have heard the names of the
fallen angels Armaros, Barakel, Azazel, Batraal, Ananel, Amazarak, Zazel!’

The room became alive with the cries
of anguished monks making the sign of the cross and reciting formulas against
the evil eye.

‘Are these the captains of hell whom
you call on to aid you in your fiendish work?’ he asked.

The infirmarian’s eye was steady as
he answered, ‘No.’

‘Please enlighten us . . .’ He took
in the entire congregation with his right arm, ‘We are waiting.’

‘We use words of comfort . . . holy
words.’

‘Holy words, I see . . .’ he smiled
malevolently. ‘Holy words, but to whom are they deemed holy, to God or to the Devil!’

The infirmarian did not answer.

‘Well then,’ the inquisitor resumed, ‘if
you will not answer us, we shall have to accept this as a sign of your guilt.’

‘How shall I continue, your grace,
for if I say ‘holy’ you ask to whom? If I say ‘good’ you say this good is bad
because I say it! It has always been my understanding that holy meant holy and
not otherwise!’

‘There are many heresies whose
infernal doctrines are considered holy by their adherents! I only wish to know
what these strange and magical words are,’ he ended mildly.

The infirmarian changed weight from
one foot to another uncomfortably, ‘It is sacred, it cannot be openly
discussed. I have taken an oath not to divulge it to anyone, on pain of death,’
he said.

‘So!’ Rainiero smiled, satisfied. ‘You
are prepared to face death, rather than divulge your Catharan practices! You
forget that I was once one of you. I know one gives the
consolamentum
just
prior to death, this no doubt you gave the child, thinking it was going to die
. . . but it lived! And alas you have been discovered. We need no further
mention of these unlawful secrets for fear of staining our souls with their
depravity, for it is enough that you will not divulge them. That is sufficient
testament to your guilt!’ he thundered. It was at that moment that my master
interjected.

‘Rainiero, I am ignorant in these
matters and so I pray you will indulge me; I fail to see that there is much
that associates the infirmarian, or indeed the cook, with the crimes of which
they have been accused. There is no poison, no weapon, and as far as
accusations are concerned, in many instances, as you know, they are falsely
given. Heretics have been known to come forward and accuse pious men of heresy
in order to confound the inquisition.’

The inquisitor turned his countenance
in my master’s direction, a benevolent, patient smile on his angular features. ‘Firstly,
brother Templar,’ he said very slowly, ‘we have heard that the cook has a
history of heresy, we have heard that his soul became the seed bed of sin when
he conspired with those whose intentions were to overthrow the church and the
pope in favour of the emperor, by killing bishops and priests and defiling
churches, and destroying the holy vessels! If this sin weren’t enough, we then
hear how he bathed this abbey with the blood of three men! This he freely
confesses!’

On this point my master could not
argue further and he sat down. Rainiero, satisfied that he had won, continued, ‘Furthermore,
it becomes obvious from his intimations that the infirmarian has aided him in
this crime by supplying him with the poisoned herb! It is my belief that there
is ample proof! Sorcerers often disguise themselves in the garb of physicians,’
he glanced at my master significantly, ‘because they can command the forces of
evil without incurring suspicion! Because with their infernal cures they hope
to secure the souls of their patients!’

‘And yet, your grace,’ Asa responded,
‘we are told that a physician should be honoured for his works . . .’

‘Only a heretic would be so well
acquainted with Apocryphal writings!’ he cried sharply, showing all how well he
knew them, ‘but should we honour sorcerers and whore-mongers, and murderers,
and idolaters? Should we venerate whosoever loveth and maketh a lie? I say no!
For I have further proof that you have been dabbling in the pot of Mammon!’ He
produced from the folds of his habit a small jar. ‘You see what one finds when
one searches the infirmary of an infidel? One finds jars on which strange
Arabic, and therefore diabolical, letters have been inscribed.’

‘This was given to the abbey many
years ago by a brother who had just returned from the East where he came upon
this most wonderful cure for ulcerations,’ Asa explained.

‘The benefits of this infernal
medicine are not my concern! It is better for a devout man to die than to be
healed through the labours of the sons of mischief. And this!’ He held up the
strange instrument that Asa had used a short time ago on the young Trencavel to
measure his fever. ‘This is the tool of Satan.’

All faces were aghast. Many nodded
their heads, perhaps because it was easier to believe the inquisitor and escape
his justice than to remain loyal to a man who was already burnt flesh.

‘It is becoming clear now that we are
not dealing with a simple physician who works through orthodox prayer, using
his simple hands to care for the infirm. NO! Answer me, oh, irreverent villain!
Did you, or did you not, supply the herb by which three good men were killed at
the hands of the cook?’

The man was silent. Oh dear reader,
what a terrible silence it was! A sign of guilt?

‘Perhaps . . .’ Asa answered. ‘There
are many instances in which herbs and compounds of various kinds are used in a
monastery . . . I could have given it to him unwittingly.

‘Nothing done by the followers of
Satan is done unwittingly, but willingly and gladly! Now answer me, do you or
do you not conduct heretical practices on patients whose simple souls you seek
to put to fiendish use?’ he shouted, moving off the dais and onto the floor.

‘I heal the sick when it is possible
to do so, that is my job.’

‘And you will tell us that your
conduct has been authorised, nay, condoned by your abbot and master?’

Now Asa looked visibly unsure,
oppressed by the weight of a thousand divergent thoughts.

‘Answer me, by God!’

‘I alone am responsible for the
infirmary.’

‘That is not what I asked you!’

He looked to the abbot, who, on his
elevated seat, gave his monk a stern look.

‘I am a physician!’

‘Answer me!’

Asa was defiantly silent. The
inquisitor’s eyes narrowed and he moved around the infirmarian as does a cat,
about to pounce on a mouse. ‘If you do not answer me, I shall have to resort to
measures which are odious and do no less than revolt the soul of the most
hardened man. For the law is clear, God’s justice must prevail, as it has since
the beginning of time.’ He raised one hand. ‘Show this devil the instruments by
which the truth shall be extracted and then take him to a place of confinement.
Let his arms and legs be bound with irons. Let guilt ferment in his soul, for a
time let him reflect on the evil which he has perpetrated. By degrees, for we
will not be inspired by haste, we shall see how long his lips remain sealed!’

‘I invoke the bier right!
Jus
feretri, jus cruentationis!
‘ Asa cried and the congregation was startled,
the abbot stood as did my master and the other members of the legation.

Rainiero gestured to his archers. ‘Bring
in the body and we shall see it if bleeds at the touch of the murderer!’ and
the men responded immediately.

There was confusion. I did not know
what a ‘bier right’ was, or what it meant to ‘bleed at the touch of the
murderer’ and I wished more than ever that I had my master at my side to
enlighten me.

Moments later three men carried in
the body of the dead Brother Daniel, blue and lifeless, his head now black with
congealed blood. Around me monks were praying, holding up their crucifixes as
the archers set the body down rather carelessly and stood aside. The inquisitor
moved forward and began the prayer:

‘Oh God, just judge, firm and
patient, who art the author of peace and judgest truly, determine what is
right, oh Lord, and make known Thy righteous judgement. We humbly beseech Thee
that iniquity may not overcome justice, but that falsehood may be subjected to
truth. Let this man come forth and touch the corpse, and if he be the murderer,
oh Lord, let the corpse bleed from the nose or the mouth or any wound, so that
Thy grace may detect diabolical and human fallacies, to confute the inventions
and arguments of the enemy, and to overcome their multiform arts. May the
guilty be justly condemned through Thine begotten Son, our Lord Jesus Christ
who dwelleth with Thee. Amen.’

The inquisitor then gestured for Asa
to come to the body. There was silence. ‘Touch with two fingers the mouth, the
navel and the wounds,’ he said.

Asa stood over the dead bundle on the
stone floor of the chapter house, perhaps saying a silent prayer. I could see
him tremble a little as he leant forward and did as he had been commanded;
firstly he touched the mouth, then the area of the navel and the man’s
disfigured head.

There was a pregnant pause and then a
sudden gasp. I could see nothing, for monks had left their seats and were
standing as a great agitation took hold of everyone. I heard voices crying out,
‘It is true! It is true!’ and again, ‘The murderer!’

‘Lo, behold! The cry of blood from
the earth against the murderer!’ the inquisitor exclaimed.

I did not see it, but I was to learn
later that blood had oozed from the mouth of the carcass.

The judges and my master stepped down
from the dais to have a better look. I could only see the tops of their heads.

‘But the body has been moved,’ I
heard my master argue, ‘when it should have been left out in the open air
without movement for some hours, with breast and stomach bare to ensure a
thorough coagulation of the blood!’

There was a loud murmur. I heard
voices disputing whether the bleeding was occasioned by antipathy or sympathy,
by the remains of the soul in the body, or by the wandering spirit of the dead
man.

The inquisitor ordered quiet, saying,
‘The causes are sometimes natural and sometimes supernatural. In this case it
matters little, the blood is there, it is a sign that this man is lying in the
name of the Devil!’

At about this time the cook began to
laugh hysterically (having been aroused from his previous stupor by the great
commotion). Incredulity filled the room, even the inquisitor was startled. I
pushed my way to the front in order to see.