Temple of the Grail(109)

In such instances the mind is an enemy, for it recalls best what it fears most, and so I remembered with remarkable vividness a story where a sorceress killed in a most violent manner an unwilling lover, though she was leagues away in another village. Another tale told of a man who lured devils to his aid by the use of one single word, ordering them to scour the countryside for children whom they would kill and bring back to him. I sat transfixed. There might be beauty and goodness, angels, in the world, but there were also demons and devils. And I imagined hell, as it is given to us by the church fathers, where Satan is said to be bound to a burning gridiron by red-hot chains, his hands free to reach out and seize the damned, whom he is said to crush like grapes with his teeth. At the same time his assistant demons with hooks of iron, we are told, plunge the bodies of the damned first into the fire, then into ice and afterwards hang them by the tongue, or slice through their viscera with a saw, or boil them so that their flesh may be strained through a cloth! And here I was naked, with the boiling water only steps away!

Long moments passed, or perhaps it was only a short interval – for time stands still when one is so terrified – where I was certain that at any moment I would meet my fate. Brother Setubar need not move from his seat in the stables, his demons would do his bidding, and an hour from now, someone coming in to wash his hands would find me dead, drowned in my own blood! Or boiled, or skewered over the fire! I could hear my master’s voice saying, ‘But there are no identifying marks?’

At that moment, I heard a sound coming from the door to the cloisters, a piercing cry whose shrillness echoed down the hallway and into the lavatory. I stood up, preparing to jump out of the bath for my clothes, when the singer Anselmo came in, dragging a large bag of firewood. The sound I had heard was merely a branch that, poking through a hole in the sack, scratched the stone floor as it was dragged over it. Heaving a great sigh of relief, I barely realised that I was naked. It was only his amused expression that gave rise to my awareness, and I immediately sat down.

Anselmo said nothing, he dragged the bag behind him until he reached the fire, and then proceeded to replenish it with some larger logs. I climbed out while his back was turned, and dressed quickly. When I had finished, he turned to me with a sardonic grin.

‘You must be very brave, bathing on your own this day. The Devil himself has been seen lurking in the corridors. Soon he will have killed everyone who knows . . .’

‘Who knows what?’ I asked.

‘But how can I tell you? Would you like to die, too?’

‘So you know something?’

He ignored my question. ‘You will soon find him. Your master is a capable man.’

‘Find who?’

‘The murderer, of course . . . but I suspect that it is he who will find you, and when he does, you had best recognise him first,’ he laughed.

‘Come, Anselmo, tell me what you know.’

He moved closer, conspiratorially, saying in perfect Greek, ‘I know that someone else has broken the interdict, and whoever it was, is responsible for Daniel’s death . . .’

‘Maybe it was you?’ I ventured.

His eyes creased and he laughed out loud. ‘Me? Your bath has softened your brain. There are far bigger fish in this pond, my friend. Bigger and tastier . . . I will not insult your intelligence by naming names, no doubt you have your own suspicions . . . but I will give you one clue . . . the infirmary chapel.’

‘Why are you not at lauds?’ I asked as he turned to walk away.

‘It is bathing day, and on those days it is my duty to see to everything, the blades for the leaching, water etc. What about you? Should you not be at your master’s side? If you ask me, one cannot wash off one’s sin with water . . .’ He moved away from me and at that moment I dropped my waist rope and glanced at his shoes.

Both sandals clean. Perhaps they were too clean.

I came out of the lavatory in a state of excited agitation just as the brothers were filing out of the church. Lauds was over, soon it would be prime. I searched the sea of faces, but Andre was nowhere in sight. I went to his cell. Nothing. In fact I did not see him again until a little later that day when so many questions would be answered, and others raised, but I must hush my garrulous tongue lest I divulge too much too soon. I will continue instead by saying that having found myself alone, and feeling the comfort that only daylight brings, I resolved to find some sustenance, for the mind works best when the body is fed.

It was snowing again. The north wind sweeping through the deep gorges was as wild as the winds off the coast near Bayonne where I had lived as a young child. I remembered only turbulent seas, grey and frigidly cold, whipped up and churned by the icy currents from the north. I learnt to swim in those chilly waters. Now, as I neared the entrance to the cloisters, my ears aching, a gust nearly swept me off my feet, and I was greatly relieved to enter the relative shelter of the cloisters. I passed the scriptorium, observing the monks from below my cowl. Today, even the illuminators worked with gloves, pausing every now and then to slap their hands across their middle and stamp their feet to encourage the circulation. From the vicinity of the cookhouse delicious aromas hung in the air and the noise of industry filled me with cheer.