Temple of the Grail(19)

The inquisitor huffed. ‘You Templars are strange creatures. I have no liking for monks of your sort, I divine that you are doomed to die on the pyre for your heretic sympathies, and that to lead you to such an end would be a task most honoured!’

There followed a stunned silence at this open threat. My master smiled so calmly that I felt a terrible sense of foreboding, for I feared he might at any moment lose his temper.

‘We all live in a permanent state of fragility, inquisitor, and the only immutable truth is that truth is capricious, and perpetuity uncertain. One thing, however, has remained constant throughout the eons of time, and I believe it shall continue to do so for many more, the evil of which I speak is ignorance. I believe it to be the worst sin, because it leads to all other sins . . . It was ignorance that nailed our Saviour to the cross that fateful Friday, and it would be ignorance that would burn him at the stake today if He were to threaten the power of the Church, in the same way that He threatened the power of Caesar.’

Alas, my fears were realised. All eyes enlarged and mouths gaped open in incredulity and I knew at once that my master had made a terrible mistake.

But the moment was rescued by the abbot, who invited us to be quiet and listen to the reading of the rule, which he said had been specially requested by the inquisitor. It consisted of an admonition to all spiritual fathers as to their teachings and the obedience of their disciples. We were told that any lack of goodness found in his flock would be accounted the shepherd’s fault at which point the reader’s voice broke a little and he gazed up from the holy book in the direction of the abbot’s table. The abbot gestured for the reader to continue, though a worried frown graced his brow.

Later, after the customary formalities, we departed in silence through the great doors that led to the cloister and from there headed in the direction of the chapel in quiet procession. More than once I thought I caught the evil eye of the inquisitor and his men cast in our direction, and I prayed for God’s protection, though at the time I did not know how much we would come to need it.



4

Capitulum

Completorium (Compline)

And so it was that the last service of the day began in the usual manner, after the sun had descended below the horizon. Firstly the abbot gave the master of music the signal to intone, ‘Tu autem, domine, miserere nobis,’ with our response, ‘Deo Gratias’, followed by the abbot’s reply, ‘Adjutorium nostrum in nomine Domini,’ to which we replied in chorus, ‘Qui fecit caelum et terram’.

This is the time of day when a good monk prepares to place his soul into God’s hands. For sleep is a preparation for death, in which the external world is extinguished, and the world of the spirit is illuminated by the light of the soul. In this death, we are told, there is the promise of life and so, sitting in the shadows of the stalls, comforted by the warmth of many bodies, I was reminded that our life is not without end, that in the same way the orb of the daystar sinks into the bosom of the dark horizon, so too our bodies return to the earth. Yet it is from out of this darkness where things seem most hopeless that the sun journeys back to triumph. So too, we are told that man must triumph over death to find a new horizon awaiting him in the cradle of divinity. At this moment I wanted to believe that the world was good, that the captains and hallowed judges that formed the body of the Holy Inquisition (surely a reflection of God’s infinite justice and mercy?) were righteous and pure. Why then was I assailed by sentiments so close to those I felt that day on the banks of the Nile? I looked about me at the faces of the congregation, trying to dispel my fears by reminding myself of my vows. Had I not yearned for a cloister? To be safely sequestered from the vicissitudes of a vain and depraved world, where one feels only an intense peace? Now I was realising that dangers lay not only in a battlefield, and I shuddered. I turned my mind to the intoning of the opening versicles and responses, ‘Converte nos . . . Et averte . . .’ and ‘Deus in adjutorium’ which were now beginning and determined to think no more of such things. Surely I was tired? Tomorrow a day would dawn anew and my fears would dissipate along with the darkness, which now oppressed my soul. Was not my master, who sat beside me, a bastion of strength, a fortress of wisdom? Moreover, who could contest the authority of the king? I realized that perhaps the inquisitor was right when he said that an ignorant man was a happy man. For ignorant as I was, I began to feel a little better, joining the many masculine voices merging respective tones and qualities into one. Entering that great animal whose individual members are only as perfect as the sum of its totality; the great body of the divine archetype, whose only purpose is the glorification of God.