Temple of the Grail(126)
21
Capitulum
After Nones
The tribunal occupied the dais as before, but this time archers were posted at every exit, and men at arms flanked the legation. This was now inquisitio.
We walked in late, under the stare of Rainiero who, at that moment, stood and drew his cowl back as a signal that the proceedings should begin. I thought I could almost see a smile of self-gratification. After all, he was about to perform a part that he not only enjoyed, but for which his temperament was eminently suited.
A psalm chosen by him commenced the affair, and I could hear his voice above all other voices, intoning with profound concentration the words, ‘Blessed is the man who walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful . . . therefore the ungodly shall not stand in the judgement, nor sinner in the congregation of the righteous. For the lord knoweth the way of the righteous; but the way of the ungodly shall perish!’
The solemn sound of so many masculine voices rising and falling in deep, prolonged notes would have been pleasing if it did not, at the same time, convey the singular sadness and resolution of men reconciled to their fate.
When there was silence once more, the man glanced his eye about the assembly, and after pronouncing the various opening formulas, ordered the archers to bring in the cook.
The giant entered the room flanked by two archers and though he seemed to have halved his size, the air vibrated around him. His vestments were covered in blood and excreta and his face showed his subjugation. He came to a halt before Rainiero, who shuffled some papers and straightened his habit. All expected him to begin. Yet, he remained silent. Long, anxious moments passed. The congregation held its breath. Still he made no move to start. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he turned his back on the congregation, raising his arms so that his body made the shape of a cross. For some time he remained as though lost in the contemplation of prayer. The cold air hung colder, the stillness became audible.
The cook looked as though he would soon collapse, when finally the inquisitor turned and with solemn tone ordered the interrogation of the cook to begin.
‘These have been difficult days,’ he paused, surveying the congregation of shaven heads and upturned faces. ‘We have been witness to disturbing events that have seen the grievous loss of three lives, perhaps four, to the powers of darkness. Here in the house of God, we have heard the Devil. His voice communicated to us through his instruments, through his bloody deeds. Unfortunately we are not all strong. Not all of us are suitably constituted in mind and body to battle with demons. These are matters that threaten the quiescence of our souls, the very fibre of our beings, and so our beloved colleague the Bishop of Toulouse is found to be . . . feeling unwell. A condition that, although not a serious one, is such that will not allow him to accompany me in this odious task as inquisitor.’ I thought I saw the slightest, almost imperceptible smile dawn over the faces of the Franciscan and the Cistercian.
My master whispered into my ear, ‘What is this? He was present during lauds, and did not look any worse than usual.’
‘I saw him leave the cookhouse, while I was waiting outside the blacksmith’s, he was carrying something inside his vestments,’ I whispered back.
‘By God’s bonnet!’ Andre hissed, and seemed to be on the verge of further elucidating this, when he was interrupted by the inquisitor.
‘And so it is that we must appoint another to take his place,’ his eyes fell on my master, ‘as set out by the learned doctors of the church who, in their wisdom, saw the need for two minds to work together against the evil of Sathanus, whose minions are many. And so it is that I shall ask the Preceptor of Douzens, our esteemed and valiant Templar knight brother to take his place on the dais to perform this sad and gruesome task. So stand, dear brother, whose warlike achievements are well known, champion of the holy sepulchre. This day your God commands that you fight another battle, perhaps less fatiguing to the body, but infinitely more lamentable to the spirit.’
My master whispered in my ear, ‘Remember the organ and the catacombs. If something should happen . . .’ He looked pointedly at me. ‘You can escape!’ With firm voice and steady eye he stood and answered with remarkable calmness, ‘I am deeply honoured, your grace, by your request, but I am not an expert on the finer points of theology as are those whose life is dedicated to this calling. And so, I fear that I am sorely qualified to a position that requires many years of serious devotion to canon law and scriptural interpretation. Perhaps this assembly should adjourn until a suitable candidate can be found.’