Temple of the Grail(43)

‘Oh,’ I said, absolutely perplexed.

‘Sometimes we must look, as I have told you, not only for things of substance that add weight to our hypothesis, but also for things that, on the surface at least, may seem unimportant, so prosaic that they incite suspicion. Only a good physician hunts down the less evident symptom . . . that peculiar movement of the hand, that little tremble of the lip. All such things also apply to our investigations, because it is often the small, undetectable things, that point to deeper truths.

The sun seemed higher now, but one could neither see it, nor feel it. We walked past the church, and in the daylight I realised that it rose far higher than I had previously thought, reaching dizzying heights, as though its architect had in his design attempted to echo the awesome elevations that surrounded it.

All around us work carried on as usual, for even on Sundays a monk’s duty had to be performed. The animals had to be fed, there was bread to be cooked and ale to be brewed. Those whose tasks lay in less manual work engaged in fruitful intercourse. Some read the scriptures, while others prepared for mass. Still others sat in contemplation, meditating on the lives of the saints.

We headed in the direction of the stables where our animals resided. Here, where the garden separated it from the kitchen, life was manifest in all its peculiar forms, in all its diverse movements, sounds, and smells: A young monk brought sour-smelling scraps from the cookhouse and threw them out to waiting chickens. Another set out from the great gates to collect kindling. We could hear the brother blacksmith straightening a horseshoe on the anvil. I rejoiced. There is nothing more wonderful! Nothing holier than devotion to work that sustains a community. Nothing more blessed than the study of the divine word through the daily ritual of life. Even under such difficult circumstances men went about their business as if it were any other day, and not the day in which the inquisitor had made his intentions clear. As we reached the garden, I reflected on the idea of the paradox, on inconsistencies and disparities, infinite universes of differences and similarities, that were at once distinct and yet the same, and in a state of confusion, I could not refrain from questioning my master further on the subject of heresy.

‘Master, I am confounded.’

‘That does not surprise me,’ he said, pausing to observe the sky above us. ‘Life is complex and confusing and yet if it were a simple matter, we would all be gods, for our life must be a simple matter to Him. What confuses you?’

‘Our enemies confuse me, master.’

‘Ah, I see. So, you are confused because here in France our foe is not who he seems to be,’ he said winking. ‘But our foe is seldom who we think he is.’

‘But an inquisitor, once a heretic, now burns those who follow the doctrines that he himself once believed? It sounds . . .’

‘Contradictory?’

‘Yes. Contradictory.’

‘And that is where one relies on one’s powers of good judgement.’

‘If that is the case, then I must surely have none,’ I said, ‘for I do not know whom I should fear!’

‘My good Christian,’ he said patiently, ‘you should fear all those whom you cannot like. This is always a good rule. Because it is likely that they do not like you.’

‘But what if you are faced with having to fear even those whom you should like . . . Why must there be so many contradictions?’

‘Contradictions are the way of the world! Listen to me. In the course of your life you will hear many things and occasions may arise when you will be tempted to allow your foolish heart to hold sway over your head, as you are now doing, and I tell you that you must never do it. Never decide even the most insignificant of things without first undertaking a fully reasoned deliberation.’

‘Is that what you do, master? Do you never feel a thing passionately?’ I asked.

‘It is better to say that I choose to be dispassionate. Because a man who wants to live to a full age, to gain the respect of his equals, and the envy of his enemies, must never allow sympathy and antipathy to rule his reasoning. My advice to you is to remain unhampered by the trifles and trivialities of an emotional disposition and you will be a happy man. Rational thinking is the key.’

So says a man, I thought, whose temper is often foul. ‘I’m sorry, master,’ I said aloud, ‘but heresy does not afford occasion for rational thinking.’

‘Everything in life, my impertinent young rogue, affords one with occasion for rational thinking. Life is not simple, life is perplexing and convoluted, as is the question of heresy.’ He paused in deep reflection and I knew he was thinking a great many things. ‘In the East, you knew the enemy because the differences between you were more obvious, am I right?’