Temple of the Grail(12)

Andre had urged a retreat, the king had agreed, but it was too late for many. The Comte d’Artois, on whose command we had proceeded to Mansourah though we were short in numbers, who laughed at those who had advised caution, the same man who disobeyed the king’s orders by pressing ahead to battle, had, in his ignorance and vainglory, led hundreds to their deaths at the hands of thousands.

All I recall of the night we left was that it was filled with cries. A confusion of arrows tipped with Greek fire, star-like, falling around us in conflagration as we escaped. My master was wounded by two Saracen arrows, one in the knee and the other in the chest, as he helped men onto our little boat overflowing with terror, sickness and dying. Damietta seemed a lifetime away.

Why did these recollections return at that moment to torment me? I can only say, now that I am far removed from those days, and so, able to see them all the more clearly, that in my heart I perceived an equivocal peril in the monastery. A peril whose dissimilar similitude may have appeared all too vague, because in my spiritual illiteracy I could only ascertain the letters and not the words (as yet unknown to me) whose nature reveals truths gradually. So that I saw only the signs, or sign of signs (alas!) illegible, and yet unmistakable; our capital tells us that a Templar must not walk according to his proper will, and to honour this rule is the duty of every faithful knight, but my master, like the Comte d’Artois, had a will of his own, and although devoted to his faith, I believed some part of him (perhaps the infidel part) sought to be as free as those eagles one sees soaring above all things, and I feared for him. I feared that his disregard for the rules of obedience, driven as I knew it was by his love of logic and freedom – so similar and yet dissimilar to that other, whose nature was driven by pride and ignorance – might lead us all into the pit.

At last, in the grip of such sensations I said a prayer, letting it rest in the bosom of those higher beings of whom it is said that they are wisdom personified. Deciding that all learning and reason is for naught, when one is bound by other laws, laws that bind a monk to his superior, and he to his conscience, and then finally to God . . .

The bell tolled the hour as we crossed the compound on our way to the refectory for the great dinner. With the relief afforded by prayer I found that I welcomed the idea of going to the table, even though in my heart I continued to feel a profound dread.

My master accompanied me to the cloister buildings, dressed in formal dress: the usual padded undercoat beneath the surcoat of the order, which was long and came to the ground at a severe angle. It was made of burel cloth, or coarse linen bleached white bearing the well-known red cross of the order. It had no lining of lambskin, or wool, so it did little to protect one from the cold. My master, not one to savour the vanities that others found essential, never complained, even on such a night, for although the storm had not come as predicted and the wind had died down, the cold air penetrated to the bone. When I asked my master if he was cold he reminded me that habits of coarse wool such as the one given me by the abbey, although warmer, also harboured fleas and lice. A lifetime of itching, he told me, was often responsible for turning away many an aspirant novice from the ideal of monastic life. I scratched, certain that my body was already food for some unseen, but no doubt hideous, vermin.

Thus we continued, seeing little beyond a few paces as the evening fog descended. Half way across the main courtyard, my master handed me a parchment. I held it to my face, and as we neared the lighted cloister door I could barely make out a message, written in Greek,

Those who inquire the light of knowledge, die in blind ignorance.

‘But that does not make sense,’ I remarked.

‘I suspect that what he meant to say was . . .’ my master instructed, ‘those who seek the light of knowledge die in blind ignorance. An incautious translator such as yourself may very easily confuse the words seek and inquiry. The Greek vernacular, like Latin, Christian, is fraught with traps for the unsuspecting.’ He proceeded to tell me that someone had left the parchment in his cell while we were out investigating the abbey.

I was about to ask many questions when I realised that we were almost upon Eisik whose figure stood just inside the east door. He looked like a man unable to decide his next movements, taking one step forward, and then shaking his head, taking two steps back. All the while he muttered lengthy lines of dialogue in Hebrew below his breath, which, in the cold, created billowy clouds around his form.

‘Holy fathers!’ he exclaimed, turning around and staring at us with his big eyes as though he were looking at the Devil himself. ‘You startle me! Feel my heart, for the love of Abraham! It pounds like that of a hare!’ then, ‘You’re late, late I tell you! And now what misery . . .! All eyes will be upon me. I think I shall return to the stables to eat in peace!’ He turned to leave, but my master stopped him.