Temple of the Grail(15)
‘How am I to meditate on heavenly things that I can never know, my good and loyal friend, when there are so many things here on earth that may instruct my ignorance!’ my master said, patting his stomach.
Eisik smiled sadly, for I knew he loved my master. ‘I should pray twice the number of prayers for you if I weren’t so tired after our long journey which has left me too weary to speak . . . too weary indeed and in any event . . . we arrive at our destination, though my legs would lead me in another direction, preferably its opposite.’
Without my noticing, we had indeed come to be standing before the great doors to the refectory. And so, we washed our hands as was the custom, in the crisp cold waters of the little fountain, and my master declared, ‘Something bothers me about the note . . .’
‘Of course it bothers you,’ answered his friend, ‘it is an admonition . . . those who want to know too much die knowing very little . . . or perhaps it is that those who know very little die wanting to know a great deal? However, my senses tell me, and they are never wrong, never, that tonight someone will meet his death! It is written . . . of that I am certain.’
Andre must have seen my eyes widen with fear, for he said in a very jolly manner, ‘Then let us enjoy life while we can, Eisik, for there is nothing to excite one’s appetite better than the smell of a mystery!’
Only now do I know how right he truly was!
3
Capitulum
Rainiero Sacconi da Piacenza, as he was formally addressed, entered the refectory like a man conditioned to power. His thin frame, unusually tall, was moderated by square shoulders whose proportions carried the black and white habit of his order well. Moving with strength and agility, as I had seen him do during our travels, he showed little sign of fatigue. Indeed this night he appeared particularly tireless, having – as we heard during various conversations at the table – found suitable housing for prisoners, and another site for the questioning of suspects. In this he was not unlike my master whose own energy seemed to far surpass my own.
What I knew of the inquisitor I had heard through terrible stories whose accuracy I cannot attest to. Nevertheless, he was portrayed as a zealot, ambitious and ruthless, with both eyes focused keenly on the position of supreme inquisitor. Gruesome tales denoted a sadistic nature that delighted in the smell of burning flesh, and so no one can blame an impressionable youth for holding his breath just a little as the man reached the great table and prepared to draw his cowl for the first time. What can I say, dear reader? That I expected to see the face of a devil? That is, pock-marked and creased, perhaps even biliously yellow? Instead, I was surprised to find that he was, after all, no hideous demon. He was a man whose countenance possessed a kind of comeliness appropriate to a man of his years, but when he lifted his eyes to look upon the congregation, making a long calculated sweep of the room, I saw within their paleness a cold cruelty, a mark of his strong and tested will. For a moment they fell upon me, telling me of devils subdued and men brought to judgement. They said, ‘Come, I am ready to challenge any opposition to my wishes.’ They revealed his indifference to the opinion of others and at the same time conveyed that guilt – which he knew to be inherent in all men – would be sought out, condemned, and punished, albeit with fraternal understanding . . . all in one brief glance.
The abbot showed the inquisitor to a place beside him at the great table, raised above the others on a dais at the end of the rectangular hall. The table was covered with a grey linen cloth and set with crude but practical implements for our use; wooden bowls replaced silver, and iron candlesticks, not golden ones, provided a soft and pleasant light.
The abbot occupied a central position proper to his station, to his right the inquisitor, my master, and I. To his left, the bishop and the Friar de Narbonne and the esteemed Cistercian brother, with the obidientiaries or more senior brothers of the order flanking us on both sides. Beside me, Brother Ezekiel of Padua made strange noises, perhaps preparing for his forthcoming mastication. He was standing alongside Setubar whose place was beside another brother named Daniel. The rest sat on tables below us, placed at right angles to the dais.
Rainiero noticed Eisik at once, for he was dressed in a plain russet cloak covering a tunic of forest green which contrasted in an explosion of colour amid the toneless grey. He had a place – because of the abbot’s generosity – among the monks of lesser station on the tables below, and this made the inquisitor frown in a tempest of disdain. He fixed the Jew with a hard look, muttering some remonstration against the devil under his breath, and blessed himself with ceremonial hatred. Below, the monks stood in silence, cowls drawn, awaiting the intonation of the ‘Edent paupers’ and after the benediction was granted, all withdrew their cowls and we gratefully sat down.