Temple of the Grail(135)

The wind whistled ever louder in our ears, and it began to snow as the abbot passed us, holding his head high. In his eyes, however, I noted that he was already dead. A little way off, as he was about to ascend the pyre, a loyal monk ran to him and sank to his knees embracing his paternity desperately, whimpering and crying out in his own vernacular something I did not understand.

The poor cook had to be half-carried to the pyre by two burly guards, tears making clear byways down his dirty face. He missed a step here and there as he ascended the ladder, nearly falling to the ground below at one point, but was helped by an archer, who had been designated the unenviable position of executioner. Later when the fire had consumed the bodies it would be his job to separate what was left of the carcasses, breaking up the bones, and throwing the viscera on a fresh fire of logs. I closed my eyes and said an ave that this nightmare might soon end, for surely I was dreaming!

Once they were all tied firmly to the stake, firstly at the ankles, below the knees, above the knees, at the groin, the waist, and under the arms, a heavy chain was secured about their necks. Their sentences were then read out by the inquisitor, who bellowed his strong voice over a gust which made his habit flap around him like black and white flames.

‘In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. We, Brother Rainiero Sacconi, of the Order of Dominican Friars, inquisitor appointed to investigate heresy in the Kingdom of France and Italy, being the representative of Apostolic Authority; we, Brother Andre – Preceptor of Douzens having special licence from the King of France; and we, Friar Bertrand de Narbonne of the Order of Friars Preachers emissary from the Priory of Pruille; and Father Bernard Fontaine of the Order of Cistercians at Citeaux, by divine authority of the pope have found and had it proved before us that you . . . In nomine Domini amen ...’

I did not hear the rest, my mind became strangely numb, and it was only when the executioner covered the accused under faggots and straw up to their waists that I regained my senses in time to hear my master murmur.

‘We must go.’

I looked at him with hot tears running down my cold face, ‘But we have to help them!’

‘They are dead men, Christian,’ he said abruptly and I was filled with anger. Now I am wiser, and I know that my master could do nothing. He simply wished to spare me the terrible sight that no one but God could now prevent. But at that moment I must say that I thought him a coward, and further, a coward whose sole preoccupation was in solving his puzzle.

As we sank to the back of the crowd, I saw the young maiden Trencavel and her father. They did not look at us as we passed. I wondered if the boy was still alive and said a prayer for Eisik as we headed for the church and the executioner lit more faggots and threw them into the pyres.

Once inside, Andre ran to the organ, pulling at his beard nervously and mumbling.

‘What are we doing master?’

‘We are going to try and salvage something from out of all this mess,’ he said. ‘What do these strange numerals mean, for the love of God . . . If they are a clue to diverting the water channel, how is it to be read? By Saladin . . .! Now, if you were to leave a coded message, titled Cantus Pastoralis ...’

We heard the screams, faint, pitiful, then there was silence and the smell of burning hair. I looked at my master and, for a moment, I believe I knew him not at all. He was a man taken utterly by his obsession, a man drunk with curiosity. Could he have forgotten his mission? Could he have forgotten that men were burning, that the monastery was condemned, and that our lives were in peril?

‘Master,’ I was out of breath, ‘we have failed in our duty! We have failed the king, we have failed to save the Trencavel boy, we have failed our order and those who are missing or dying on the pyre though they are innocent! It is all in ruins, and yet here you stand reflecting, as if . . . as if you were deliberating a chess move, as if you had all the time in the world and not a care! I believe you are no better than the inquisitor! There, I have said it! Both of you are proud and stubborn and obsessed and I begin to see the line that distinguishes you only faintly,’ I blurted out. ‘One hates knowledge beyond mercy, beyond humanity, and the other loves it beyond compassion, beyond human reasoning. Knowledge is knowledge, master, but what happens to those who gain it if they have no heart? Why must you try to decipher that Godforsaken code now? We must find Eisik, we must . . . we must forget the code. Who cares about shepherd’s songs, who cares also about the tunnels and the silent ones and codices and gospels? We should be praying for forgiveness!’ Tears streamed down my face unheeded but my master did not notice, instead his face lit up like a candle.