Temple of the Grail(10)

‘Poor abbot Odilo of Cluny . . .’ the abbot continued with good humour. ‘He built a beautiful fortress of gold-mounted reliquaries, more admired for its beauty than venerated for its

sanctity . . . Here we only have a door.’

‘A most beautiful door, your grace,’ my master bowed.

‘Perhaps a little indulgent . . . In any event, I would like you to meet our infirmarian, brother Asa.’

The other monk removed his cowl to reveal a very thin face, darkened by the sun. The bluster swung the thin, lank hair about his tonsure but his brown eyes showed a keenness, as though little fires burnt behind them. I liked him instantly.

‘Our dear brother,’ the abbot continued, shouting slightly, ‘was very excited to learn that you have graced our abbey. And he is most anxious to discuss with you many things of a medicinal nature.’

Brother Asa nodded his head, a broad smile lighting up his features, but he seemed tongue-tied, and it was some moments before he spoke with timidity.

‘I would be most grateful for any exchange of knowledge, preceptor. We are very removed from worldly things here, and I have not had occasion to hear of any advancement in the medicinal arts.’

‘I am always happy to converse on this most holy of topics.’

‘Thank you, preceptor. Perhaps tomorrow then?’ he asked no one in particular, and drew his cowl leaving us with the abbot.

The abbot watched his monk walk away with paternal affection. ‘He is a very fine physician,’ he said with pride. ‘I believe one of the best this abbey has known, though our brother Setubar taught him everything that he knows. He has never attended a university . . . all his learning comes from books.’

‘Yes . . .’ my master said in an offhand way that signalled his deep interest. ‘We met Brother Setubar inside the church, with Brother Ezekiel. You say he learned everything from books?

Your abbey must have a very fine medical library then, your holiness?’

The abbot became serious, ‘It is adequate, though not in the same league, perhaps, as others you’ve seen in your travels. Now then, you must let me know, preceptor, if you are in need of anything. Your accommodation is suitable?’

‘In every aspect, your holiness.’

‘Good! That is good. And so I must take my leave, and prepare for the holy service. You will, of course, join us in the choir?’

‘Of course.’

As the abbot was about to enter the church, my master added, ‘May I have your permission, your grace, to make some inquiries?’

The abbot turned, a wary smile dawning over his singular features. ‘I thought this was the duty of the inquisitor, preceptor?’

‘Yes, of course,’ my master conceded very quickly. ‘However, two men, your holiness, not working together, and bound by different natures, will inevitably see things differently as Augustine tells us. In other words,’ my master continued, marking every word, ‘one eye may see something that the other does not, or on the other hand, one eye may choose . . . not to see, by virtue of its faithful – or indeed unfaithful – service. And as this inquiry delves into the medical practices of your abbey, it may be in your favour to have a physician overseeing . . . matters . . .’ he trailed off.

The abbot raised both eyebrows in an unspoken question. I too wondered at my master’s meaning. As if to instruct us further then, which had been my master’s intention all along, he proceeded. ‘It is the king’s wish that I observe the conduct of this inquiry with the utmost care, and this means that I must hear what the inquisitor hears, and I must also see what he sees, or perhaps even what he does not hear and see. In this capacity, I will need your permission to question the brothers.’

I felt the abbot’s uncertainty. ‘There has been so much disturbance . . .’

‘I will remain mindful of the delicate nature of these matters, your holiness.’

‘And what does the inquisitor say to this?’

‘My authority comes directly from the king, and as we are these days on French soil . . .’

‘Yes, but the inquisitor has his authority directly from the pope! And so, I believe, we are to be caught like a fish between two rocks. Between the pope and King Louis, as we have been in the past between the King of Aragon and the Count of Toulouse?’

‘And yet it is indeed in such a spot that a fish can best elude the wiles of the fisherman, your holiness, as you perhaps already know.’

‘Yes . . .’ He smiled a little but it did not reach his eyes, ‘but who, in this case, is the fisherman, preceptor?’

‘Ahhh . . .’ my master nodded his head, but said nothing more.