Temple of the Grail(136)
‘What did you say?’
‘I said I do not care about shepherd’s songs! I said that we should be praying, not preparing to go into tunnels. I do not want to go into the tunnels again, I want to leave this place! Since our arrival all I do is dream strange dreams about saints and psalms . . .’
‘The psalms! Of course! Aspectus illuminatus! The songs of the shepherd . . . brilliant! Brilliant, my boy!’ he grabbed me by the shoulders and shoved me toward the pulpit. ‘Quickly, go to the great book of hours and when I read out the numerals you must look up the corresponding psalm and verse. Come, come, we don’t have much time, the dog is at this moment falling on our scent.’
My master closed his eyes and attempted, I assumed, to tame the agitation that he felt. When he deemed himself calmer he read out the first numerals, namely, CL: IV, psalm one-hundred-and-fifty, verse four. I read it out, for I could not disobey him. ‘Praise him with the timbrel and dance: praise him with stringed instruments and organs.’
My master nodded his head and rubbed his hands in anticipation. ‘It is telling us that we are on the right path, namely, the organ.’
He stood, facing the great instrument, as he called out the next numerals, CIII: XIX, Psalm one-hundred-and-three, verse nineteen. It read, ‘The lord hath prepared his throne . . .’
My master sat upon the stool in front of the keys as if he were being commanded.
CXLII: IV, Psalm one-hundred-and-forty-two, verse four, I looked on my right . . .’ He did so.
CXLIII: VI, Psalm one-hundred-and-forty-three, verse six, ‘I stretch forth my hands unto thee . . .’ ‘Aha! It is telling us that it is a musical note, a key,’ Andre concluded. I was a little sceptical, but said nothing.
The next numerals were XC: XII, Psalm ninety, verse twelve, ‘So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.’
‘It is a number of notes, or perhaps one note in a numerical sequence.’
CXLIV: IX, Psalm one-hundred-and-forty-four, verse nine, ‘I will sing a new song unto thee, O God: upon a psaltery and an instrument of ten strings will I sing praises unto thee.’
My master narrowed his eyes. ‘The number ten.’
But it was the next – CVII: XXXIII, Psalm one-hundredand-seven, verse thirty-three – that showed me how little I knew, and once again bore witness to the extent of my master’s vast wisdom and acumen. ‘He turneth rivers into a wilderness, and the watersprings into dry ground.’
I looked at my master as I said this and my eyes must have been very wide because he smiled and said a little immodestly, ‘Why so surprised? I am rarely wrong . . . Now we know that the organ is the lock, and the key is a number, or rather, a musical note . . . the number ten is the only number mentioned. Therefore we must surmise that ten notes to the right of the middle note of Ut, as we learnt in the library the other day.’
‘In any case, how will we know if we are right?’
‘If the organ works we will know that the water has been diverted. At least that is one hypothesis in a million.’
‘But how do we know it is diverted from the channel in question?’
He fixed me with an icy stare and whispered so harshly that it echoed in the vastness of the church, ‘Do not confound me with logic now, boy! We shall cross that stream when we come to it! Now, let me see…’ He counted ten notes from Ut or as it is known middle C and pressed his index finger down on the note F or Fa, but nothing happened. He frowned, thinking for a moment. ‘Daniel admonished us to ‘Let the hymn baptise us with the nine resonances of water’. Perhaps it is not the tenth note from the middle Ut, by God’s bonnet! But the ninth which when one includes Ut is actually the tenth!’
I was confused and angry with him, but some part of me was proud also.
However, just as my master was to press the ninth note or rather the tenth including the middle Ut that was E or Mi, we heard someone behind us.
‘I thought if I waited you would have worked out everything for me!’ the inquisitor cried, flanked by two of his biggest men.
My master turned to him calmly, ‘Rainiero, how fortunate, I was about to play the requiem.’ He placed his hands on the keys as though he were about to depress the note.
‘Stop!’ the inquisitor cried.
‘Why? What bothers you? Is it your conscience?’
‘I have no time for folly . . . You know well enough what I am after. The old Cathar has disappeared without telling me the combination. I know that you are familiar with the access, and so together we shall go to the catacombs and you, who are most experienced, will guide the way.’