‘May I at least attempt to . . .’
‘Brother . . . brother, please!’ he pleaded. ‘There you will only find rats, but you will not, I assure you, find murderers. In any event, let us not frighten this poor child with talk of old bones, and tunnels. Many monasteries have catacombs and ossuaries below their abbeys. These passages are old, and I fear for your safety.’
‘However, your grace,’ my master insisted, ‘I know of no monasteries where a murderer roams its hallowed halls, committing unspeakable acts against its community of monks.’
Suddenly the abbot turned to me, without answering my master. ‘Do you like gems, my young and handsome scribe?’
I admitted that I did.
‘Here then, you must have this as a gift.’ He handed me a most curious rock, warmed by his touch, obviously a favourite. ‘Have you not seen one before? It is a tiger’s eye, a most exquisite specimen from the alpine mountains. The sword of St Michael.’
‘The sword of St Michael?’ I asked, holding the stone in the palm of my hand, appreciating its smooth texture.
‘Yes, dear boy.’ The abbot bestowed his smile on me from his great height. ‘The yellow colour comes from the content of iron in the stone. The iron sword of St Michael that will one day vanquish the Devil, and banish him to the bowels of the earth!’
I became so thoroughly shaken that I dropped the gemstone to the ground. Why I should have felt this way I cannot say. My master gave me a bewildered look, and scooping it up in his large, powerful hand, returned it to me.
‘Yes, by heavens!’ The abbot laughed. ‘It has startled you. Hold it tightly, for there is a power that lies hidden within, concealed until the day it can be revealed. But we must not forget that nature intends this to be so. Her secrets are not be divulged without a great effort. God commands that in order to see the heavenly, one must acquire heavenly eyes. And so it is the foundation of our life that we speak only when necessary, and like nature, remain prudently silent about those things not yet to be revealed. Like a stone by the wayside.’ He smiled warmly at me. ‘You will not divulge our conversation to the members of the legation, will you?’
I shook my head.
‘I assure you that my squire is loyal.’
‘Ahh, but the young are filled with great enthusiasm for noble deeds, preceptor, and this means that sometimes they are not discriminating. Dissimulation is a virtue taught at the school of experience; why should a young man have acquired it when he is only too eager to trust anyone because he has not himself been deceived by others? But I am not saying that we must be deceitful, no. Only that we must draw an honest veil over things meant for the ears of gods and not for the ears of those who would distort their essence. As a Templar you appreciate my position. Your order guards its secrets zealously. Also, having survived the ill-fated battle of Mansourah, the consequences of which have seen your order under some suspicion, you must know how easily things can be distorted. Such things can only result in nothing less than tragedy.’
‘And as a Templar,’ my master said, ‘I give you my word that I will see to it that this is a fair inquiry, your grace.’
‘Come now, preceptor, the purpose of an ecclesiastical trial is not to establish the objective truth, we both know that it only exists to obtain a confession and to mete out punishment.’
Was there truth in his words? I sensed that my master felt there was. ‘Lord abbot, you ask for my help, but if I am to help you, I must know everything, I must have access to the entire monastery.’
‘Impossible! I have told you all I can. I believe you are a capable man, and what you know should be enough. Do not ask me any more questions. There is a seal over my lips no earthly man may break. You must remember that without death one cannot rejoice in the living, without the one perfect work, one cannot reach the final conclusion. This is our main concern, dear brother, all the rest is meaningless.’ There was a momentary flash of defiance in his eyes and he turned, headed for the church, a grey figure in the vast greyness of the compound.
After this conversation, we followed in the abbot’s footsteps but only as far as the graveyard. Here, my master became seized by a demon of motion. He paced between the crosses with his short legs, making little gestures with his hands, nodding now and then. I had seen him like this before and I knew he was in turmoil, caught in the chaos of opposing winds, so I waited for this mood to pass, watching him from the steps that led to the graves. It was very cold and I drew my cowl low over my face, huddling, shivering in my draughty attire. To keep from freezing, I drew my chin inside the collar of my scapular and blew warm air into my vestments, but this almost immediately turned to ice. I placed my hands deep into the wide sleeves, hugging my arms, but the wind had picked up and found its way to my bones through any unguarded opening. I considered a casual comment about the state of the weather, but thought better of it. Indeed, I feared my master’s icy glare more than the icicles collecting on my nose. I looked up instead, at the sky’s milky grey, only a patch here and there of very faint blue. It smelt like snow, I could almost taste it. Soon my feet would turn purple, indeed they were very numb. Oh, misery, I thought while I waited. Why couldn’t my master think equally well in the warmth of the kitchen with a hot glass of milk in his hands? Further off, in the direction of the stables, I noticed the inquisitor shadowed by the bishop. They were going about the monastery asking questions of the monks. They stole glances in our direction and I wished that they were not seeing my master pacing up and down among the graves like a madman, for I believe they grinned, both shaking their heads as they walked off. A moment later Andre paused, remaining very still, and then walked resolutely in my direction.