Fifth Gospel(144)

‘And what of Cassius?’

‘He never again said, all is dust and shadows, pairé. He never again saw life darkly for the scales had been torn from his eyes by that light, which illuminates memory to dispel the blindness of death.

The light of Christ which is the fount of eternal life.’





74


HOLY GRAIL




During those fourteen days we said our goodbyes and celebrated our love. Those who had chosen the pyre gave away their belongings: the other perfects gave Pierre-Roger a coverlet full of deniers, I gave him a small present of oil, some salt, and a piece of green cloth for his devotion, and the Marquésia de Lantar gave all her possessions to her grand-daughter Philippa who was Pierre-Roger’s wife. Others gave whatever they had, some small memento, a favourite hat, a purse, a little wax, even their shoes.

I gave the consolamentum to those of our people who desired it and even two knights and a great number from the garrison. These men could have walked away from death but they chose to die with us.

So began the days of preparation for our martyrdom.

In the meantime Matteu the troubadour arrived stealthily in the night. He spent some days with us telling stories and amusing the children and the adults alike. Soon he would leave us to take away the Gospel of John, the Book of Seven Seals, and that speechless child, the charge of the Marquésia. But we would only know if they had reached safety by the sign – a fire on the summit of Bidorta.

One day I came across Matteu while walking the courts. He was nearing fifty-four springs and yet he was hale and strong, his brow full of things seen and done and his eyes reflecting a youthful spirit.

He fell to his knees before me but I asked him to rise. I told him I was not worthy of his adoration.

‘But you are a parfait, my friend!’ he said.

‘Who in the world can call himself perfect?’ I said to him and took him aside to the gate now open to the expanse of the mountains. We both sat quietly together for a time, staring out, until I told him I wanted to speak to him about his songs.

He looked at me then with that intrepid eye, no doubt bracing himself for one of my invectives.

‘No…no,’ I said, with a laugh, ‘I am not going to rebuke you. I wanted to say that I have grown some sense of this song of the Grail that you sing.’

His face opened up in a smile, ‘You? What do you think it is then, a stone or a cup?’

I said that I thought it to mean many things. I said that it was Jesus who came to earth to be the vessel for the Lord, that it was the soul of every man, the soul full of faith in Christ, and also that it was the earth and all its creatures, for it had taken up the body and the blood of Christ.

Matteu fell silent and thoughtful with his face to the dying sun.

He said finally, ‘Do you know, old friend, I dream that it is a woman, a woman holding her dead son…sometimes I think I see it when the moon is only a sickle…sometimes it looks like that to me, like a vessel.’

I nodded with a smile to myself. ‘Yes that is a good likeness.’

‘You know,’ his voice changed, suddenly full of enthusiasm, ‘I think after this I shall sing a new song…I shall sing how once upon a time a castle of the Grail was threatened by the Devil’s armies and that at the time of the greatest danger a dove flew down from the heavens to split open the summit of Bidorta over there…with its beak. I will sing how Esclarmonde de Foix, the angel keeper of the Grail, threw the cup into the heart of that mountain to keep it safe. Do you think they will look for it a long time, thinking that it is in the mountains, pairé, because of my song?’

I smiled. ‘Yes, I think they will.’

‘They may burn all the pure ones, you know, but I will sing how Esclarmonde did not die, I will sing that she turned into a dove and flew off from the very top of the keep to the mountains of the land of Prester John, and that is why her grave will never be found!’

Prester John? There was something in that!

I looked at him. ‘But Esclarmonde has been dead many years.’

‘Yes of course,’ he said, ‘but just between you and me, Bertrand, I feel her presence every now and again, in the night. She whispers songs into my ears…she is so beautiful!’ He seemed to remember something then. ‘When you came out of that hiding spot in Beziers, with fire all around, you told me that a beautiful woman had woken you in the night and told you to hide in the woods, I just remembered it!’

I paused, struck by his words, for something was now making perfect sense to me. I clapped him on the back. ‘Yes, she saved my life and I don’t think I have ever properly thanked her for it!’