The air was turbulent and hugged the walls of the abbey, rushing past us in whistles and whines. I felt small looking to the pines that arched upwards forming a moving vault that was cathedral-like, and I was glad when at last we neared the gatehouse.
To the right of the great gates, I noticed that someone had started a small fire, and had constructed a crude shelter of dead branches that had as its support the stone wall. Some moments later, I saw the shape of a man gathering kindling not far from the encampment. I asked my master why this pilgrim or beggar had not been received at the abbey, thinking also how brave he was to be alone in the unwelcome shadow of the battlements with the elements raging around him.
‘I do not know, Christian,’ he replied and the wind stole it. ‘He does not seem to be a pilgrim, perhaps he is an aspirant novice who must, as is the custom, wait for some days outside the walls of the monastery before he is welcomed. The Apostle has said, ‘one must try the spirits, whether they are of God.’’
I shivered, it was indeed a harsh test.
We arrived at the monastery gates as the service of nones echoed from the chapel. The captain of the archers alighted, knocked hard on the doors of the great gates, and after some moments a pair of elderly eyes appeared from behind a small opening. The monk peered at us myopically and shouted, ‘Welcome in the name of the Lord God.’
An instant later the doors yielded, revealing the compound, indistinct beneath wind-stirred dust that made our animals irritable and nervous. And they were not the only ones, for as we crossed the stone flags of the threshold, a black raven perched on the arch let out three cries and I trembled, praying silently, trying to hide the fear that must surely have been evident on my face.
The abbot was at the gateway, the ascetic grey habit of his order flapping about him. He was a man of large proportions, and I am glad to say, possessed (for I was coming to expect the worst) of a pleasant face. He blessed each of us quickly in the customary fashion, said a short prayer to frustrate the wiles of the Devil and told us to follow him. ‘Storm!’ he shouted, pointing upwards at a blackened sky.
We headed with rapid steps for the main courtyard that led to the abbatial church. Here the compound was shaped in the form of a crescent, following the curve of the mountain. To the left of the church and facing south-east stood the cloister building, an imposing rectangular structure surmounted by a series of square battlements of austere stone. In it were housed the abbot’s rooms, cloisters and other facilities with the dormitories above. Further along I surveyed the stables rounding the curve of the compound’s perimeter, and a little ahead of this, nestled on the southerly side, sheltered from the northern squalls, was a patch of ground that I later learnt was the garden. To the north of the church, and spanning to the point where the mountain met the north-eastern wall, I observed the graveyard, appropriately in shadow for most of the year, and situated, wisely, near a building that could only be the infirmary.
The abbot led us through an aperture in the main building and we found ourselves in the cloisters where, away from the wind, he welcomed our party by quoting the words,
‘We have received, O Lord, in the midst of your temple.’
He made the sign of the cross, smiled and embraced us, and each man kissed the other, albeit timidly, in peace, he then accepted the pontiff’s letter, sealed with the papal seal, from Rainiero Sacconi.
He signalled his assistant to bring forth the jug and bowl and proceeded to wash the inquisitor’s hands and dry them carefully. ‘Your fame, my lord, has reached even as far our modest abbey, and we are honoured to have you as our guest.’
To which the inquisitor from the folds of his cowl replied, ‘We come in peace, in search of truth, for it is great and it prevails – Magna est veritas, et praevalet.’
The abbot turned to my master and sprinkled water over his hands. With a warm smile, as though meeting an old friend, he said almost in a whisper, ‘May the brotherhood dwell in you, preceptor,’ and in a louder voice, ‘I am always elated at seeing a member of the Templar Order, especially one whose skill in the medicinal arts precedes him. Our infirmarian will be delighted. No doubt many erudite conversations will ensue in the coming days. Also, I am bound to ask you if the king is well? I hear his health has been compromised by the infidel?’
‘To the contrary,’ my master answered jovially, ‘he seems to be in good spirits and appears to be enjoying fine health, your grace.’
‘Oh! How I am gladdened!’ the abbot exclaimed with genuine warmth. ‘He is a good man and a fine knight . . . Even in our seclusion we hear things of importance . . . You are welcome to remain with us as long as is your wish.’