Temple of the Grail(31)

I determined to tell him of my nocturnal sojourn, though I knew my master gave little importance to such things, but I was interrupted by the good abbot, Bendipur, whose pursed lips and furrowed brows signalled his displeasure.

‘I have just spoken to the infirmarian,’ he said as he drew nearer. ‘He tells me that it is your opinion that our brother died in . . . unnatural circumstances, and I must tell you that this is simply not possible.’

My master nodded his head. ‘I see your point. But the facts remain as they are, abbot.’

The abbot looked disheartened and his usually ruddy cheeks paled. ‘But Asa tells me the examination was inconclusive, and revealed no evidence of foul play?’

‘And he was quite right, it was inconclusive.’

‘Then why do you . . .?’

‘There are only so many ways a person can die, your grace. Last night I was able to make an assumption on the basis of certain undeniable signs. Firstly, the nature of the old brother’s death was not from some violent external event, this is plain. Secondly, although he seems to have had an ailment for some time, his behaviour in the church – that is, the paralysis, the abdominal pain, and so on, point to other causes. It is my belief, having seen the effects of such things in the past, that he was poisoned and therefore murdered.’

The other man looked a little amazed. ‘But the infirmarian was unable to tell me what substance could have occasioned death, if indeed you are correct in your summation of events.’

‘That is because there are an untold number of poisons or even combinations of poisons that leave no trace whatever.’

‘Brother Setubar believes otherwise. Strange that you seem to be at variance on such a simple matter.’

‘Simple things are often surprising in their complexity, your grace, but at this point, my personal opinion differs from his and nothing more. Moreover, if I may, there are other concerns . . . of a delicate nature, which we must now broach.’

The abbot became tense, and a little vein over his eye bulged slightly. ‘Other concerns?’

‘I do not wish to cast a shadow of suspicion on the poor soul of the deceased, your grace, but these circumstances demand that I imagine the unimaginable, so I must ask the question, as painful as it is to utter the words, namely, had you any reason to doubt his faith?’

The abbot looked at my master for a long time, then answered his question with another question, ‘Why would you think such a thing?’

My master smiled a little, ‘It is never an easy thing, suspicion.’

‘What do you suspect, preceptor?’ he asked.

‘It is a delicate matter.’

The abbot shook his head. ‘Brother Ezekiel was a man of pious confession, a dedicated, holy man . . .’ He looked at me with narrow eyes. ‘Might I speak with you alone?’

‘Dear abbot, my scribe is bound to me by oath, he is like a son, there is nothing that he will divulge without my permission.’

The abbot huffed a begrudging assent, but I could see he was not convinced of my prudence.

‘Then I shall be frank with you,’ he continued quietly. ‘For some time now, it has become apparent, preceptor, that something sinister lurks in God’s house. And although I have not been able to discern its nature, I have been aware of its existence.’

‘The wisest thing then, your grace, might be to inform the inquisitor,’ my master answered.

‘You know what that could mean, preceptor. You are a man whose wisdom understands the delicate nature of our situation, and I seek your help, and your prudence, not only because it is your duty to place them at my disposal, but also because it is in your nature that you must do so.’

My master’s face hardened, but his voice remained warm and solicitous. ‘My duty is to remain equitable and unbiased, to see that the inquiry is carried out with fairness. That is all.’

‘And yet have you not questioned why the king has sent a Templar on such a mission? Come now, a man of your estimative capacities?’

‘As a knight I have an autonomous disposition.’

‘And who better to blame if things go wrong? Come now, we both know the tide is turning against your order. We are not the only ones in peril, preceptor, and so I beseech you, do not go to the inquisitor with your suspicions, at least not until you have verification of their exactitude.’

‘If this is your wish, I shall endeavour to follow it.’

The abbot led us out of the cloisters through the small aperture that opened out to the outer courtyard. The sky looked turbulent and grey now, and the sun could be discerned only vaguely, somewhere in the east.

‘It would be of benefit to all concerned if such things could be arrested before . . .’ he shook his head, ‘before . . . I dare not say it.’