‘Christian!’ He stopped with gaping mouth, ‘You are a genius! I am truly sorry for all the times I have called you stupid! It is I who is the stupid one! Why did I not think of it? Perhaps I am getting too old for these things. That’s it! That’s it! Each brother held one secret that together made up the mystery of the cunniculus – the tunnel . . . yes, it makes perfect sense.’
‘But what poison kills so instantly?’ asked Eisik.
‘Pharaoh’s serpent or as some call it, serpent de pharaon,’ Andre answered casually, ‘can be mixed with candle wax and as it burns it gives off a vapour that kills, but not so instantly, though if mixed with other compounds its effectiveness may be greatly accentuated so that in close confines it may lead to a sudden death.’
‘But, master, we know that Brother Ezekiel did not die in the same way because we had dinner with him, and then we all headed immediately to the church. He was nowhere near the tunnels in all that time,’ I pointed out.
‘No, you are right, of course,’ Andre said a little dejected, ‘and yet we know that he did indeed enter the tunnels, because he had mud on his sandals.’
‘Perhaps it is that he was there earlier, my sons . . . Ahh! We chase our tails, for nothing explains his death.’
‘Because . . .’ began my master, thinking as he spoke, ‘he did not come in contact with the poisonous substance. In the same way that we did not come by it when we ventured there. But why not?’ he asked loudly, losing his temper and pulling at his beard with vexation. ‘What do all those who survive a sojourn in the tunnels do in common that enables them to escape death . . .? And why do some die instantly, while others die slowly . . . Perhaps there are two different poisons!’
I looked about the compound thoughtfully. We strolled under the vigilant eye of the inquisitor’s men. Archers and soldiers stood guarding every entrance to and from the cloister buildings. Perched on the stone walls of the abbey they looked down on us, observing Eisik, like cats observe a fat bird.
‘Alas, my friends,’ Eisik said, almost in a whisper, looking about him with fear, ‘the sounds of the trumpet awake Judah no more and I who am despised more than the despised must remain vigilant, for methinks those men await the roasting of my carcass.’
‘And we, my friend,’ answered Andre jubilantly, ‘we shall be proud to keep you company.’
And my master was right, for even our own men had succumbed to the power of the inquisitor, and I did not fail to grasp the paradox of our situation, for the same walls that were indeed built to safeguard those inside from an outward devil, were the very enclosures used to imprison us by an inward one.
‘Most importantly,’ my master said finally, ‘we must find brother Setubar before the inquisitor can ask him more questions, and this we must do now.’ He pulled me in the direction of the aperture, telling an archer in a brusque way to step aside. He eyed Eisik suspiciously, but such was the respect and veneration shown to a knight of the Temple in those days that the man conceded to my master’s request.
We searched the cloisters in vain. Brother Setubar could not be found, no one had seen him. This made my master exceedingly irritated. We did find Brother Sacar the master of music, however, on his way to the scriptorium. This afforded us an opportunity to question him, so when he said he was in search of a book, and asked us to follow him, that in a few moments he would give us his attention, we did so humbly.
There were monks at work in their carrels, as usual, but Brother Macabus could not be seen. My master brought this to my notice as we waited for Sacar to search through a large cupboard whose shelves were stocked with many psalters, hymnals and ordo missals.
‘One must be vigilant, preceptor,’ Brother Sacar brought down a book from the topmost shelf, ‘to follow the rules of the liturgical year. Sometimes I confess that I am confounded and I need to consult my Brevarium as I am doing today,’ he said, leafing through the enormous book that must have weighed a great deal, for my master had to help him hold it up. ‘You see . . .’ he continued, and we prepared ourselves for an involved discourse (for we were learning that it was his custom to expand on every subject, and fortunately my master tolerated this with a great deal of patience, for we shall see how illuminating and advantageous his words would prove to be), ‘it is a crucial time. One must be extremely careful, for as you know the services do not follow in a similar way per totum annum, throughout the year, but with a multitude of variations, according to the kalendar that dictates our liturgical year. I, in my singular duty, have to choose not only the proper and customary hymns and psalms according to the temporale or yearly round of services, but also the sanctorale, or services for the saints that, as we have noted, number so many.’ He paused in reflection. ‘This season is always a little difficult because as we near Lent, there is not only the strict omission of the angelic hymns, but also variations on the usual responsories, antiphons, canticles, and versicles. We must also prepare in the forthcoming days for the Adorations, the Aspersions, Blessings, Consecrations, the Deposition and the Improperia . . . the processions, the washing of the altars, the Mandatum . . .’ he lingered with a sigh of delight. ‘I believe that Jews have similar rituals, though of course they are not concerned with weeping over the wounds of our Lord . . .’ he trailed off, perhaps desiring to include Eisik in the discussion, but ending miserably, fearing he had occasioned an insult.