Temple of the Grail(123)

‘Think, boy! Think! Do you not remember our sojourn to the tunnels? When we observed that the twelve ghosts were indeed as human as you or I? I knew then, as you or any novice except stupid ones should know, that they must somehow have access to food.’

‘But it could have been anyone.’

‘The only people who have access to the kitchen between the hours of compline and matins are those who hold the keys, namely, Brother Macabus or Rodrigo the cook.’

‘But from memory Brother Macabus said that the cook was to bring him the keys before the service of compline, and we saw him at the north transept chapel at about the eleventh hour, before the service of matins.’

‘Precisely and this he does every night. How many times since our arrival have you seen the cook, or anyone for that matter, deliver Brother Macabus the keys before compline begins? There must be times when he keeps the keys. This morning, for instance, Brother Macabus could not open the aperture for us because he did not have them. Sometimes, in order to escape suspicion, the cook or – in this case someone else – simply does not lock the kitchen, as we saw that first night when we found we could not leave through the aperture, and as we passed the kitchen I remarked that it was odd to see only the outer cookhouse door locked, and not also the inner door.’

‘Still, you had very little evidence, master, a few clues, nothing of substance, and yet when you spoke to the cook, you sounded so sure of everything.’

‘Yes,’ he reflected, ‘this particular situation – unlike the situation with the brother librarian – called for a more forthright manner.’

‘I see!’ I said, suddenly enlightened. ‘When one knows a great deal, one interrogates with prudence, pretending to know very little, so that the suspect will be unguarded and therefore make a slip of the tongue. On the other hand, when one knows very little, one pretends to know a great deal, thereby intimidating the subject into admitting things he would not have otherwise because he thinks that you already know everything!’

‘Yes . . . that is it, more or less.’

I was elated at this splendid insight into human nature. ‘Brother Setubar must be the killer! He killed all the brothers with the poisoned raisins and wine.’

‘And yet we still have our poor brothers Jerome and Samuel whose deaths remain unexplained . . . I am not convinced on either point. We must not be tempted to draw conclusions until we are satisfied that we have gathered all the relevant information available to us . . . on the other hand, what we see with our eyes is very often more reliable than what we hear with our ears,’ he said as we entered the larder, hurrying, for we could hear the service ending.

‘Master?’ I asked as we searched.

‘Yes.’

‘Do you think it odd that twelve men live underground? Surely they must come up sometime for air or confession? How must they survive?’

‘Life is stubborn, Christian, the more a man punishes the flesh in order to ignore it the more attention he gives it, and the more he abhors life and longs for death the longer he seems to live. These hermits must sleep in underground cells, and may even have a chapel in which to pray. That is not as uncommon as it may appear at first.’

‘I see. But who has been taking their food to the north transept while the cook has been detained?’

‘That is a good question.’

We failed to find the poisoned substances, however, and this sent my master into a frustrated rage.

‘By the curse of Saladin!’ he swore under his breath. ‘Someone has either removed it, or . . .’ He paused for a moment, frowning. ‘Of course!’ He slapped me on the nape. ‘Why did you not think of it? It stands to reason . . . he has already killed them all . . . that is, except himself!’

‘Why should I have thought of it when you did not think of it either until just now?’ I asked, a little hurt.

‘You are right. Let us go to the infirmary. Asa, the dutiful student must know where his master Setubar is, if he is not already dead by his own hand.’

Outside, the inquisitor’s men were still looking for Brother Setubar, the abbot, too, had sent monks in every direction. They called the old brother’s name into the wet nothingness, but there was no answer.

We made our way to the infirmary in haste. My master ordered the guard to stand aside, and this he did almost by reflex, and we entered, closing the door behind us.

We found Asa tending to the young boy whose leg had been so badly broken. He was bending over the young man’s face, looking into his eyes, checking his pulse. When he heard us enter, he turned around, a little startled. ‘Preceptor.’ In his hand a strange glass object, on the bed the velvet pouch that I had seen him replace hastily in the drawer the day that the cook had started the fire. ‘I hear agitation outside,’ he said, trying now to hide his implement, though he knew it was hopeless. We both had seen it.