Temple of the Grail(52)

My master was intrigued. ‘What is it, brother?’

‘Before you arrived, preceptor, another monk . . . in fact,’ he lowered his eyes, ‘my predecessor, Brother Samuel, was found in the church. He had been . . .’ he swallowed hard, as though these words were bitter in his throat, and his eyes welled with tears, but my master, whose interest had increased ten-fold,

cared little for sensitivity.

‘He had been what, brother? Murdered, perhaps?’

The other man blanched and his eyes widened as though he had seen a devil. ‘You know?’

‘Tell me!’

‘He was in the church. He was found dead.’

‘Who found him?’

‘Brother Daniel of Albi, they were inseparable.’

‘Another old monk?’

‘Yes, he found my master lying at the foot of the virgin, near the entrance to . . . Go speak to Brother Daniel, you may ask him anything about the abbey, he knows it very well.’ He looked down for a moment. ‘I have to go now, God bless you and keep you safe.’

With these words the master of music left us, with many questions unanswered.

I asked my master how he had known that the young novice had been missing from dinner.

‘If you will remember, the hospitaller told us on our first day that the abbey had only two novices, and since I could see only one at dinner I assumed that was whom he meant. I simply made a hypothesis, assuming the English and not the Greek interpretation of the word.’

‘The English interpretation?’

‘The English understand a hypothesis to be something that may be true, but needs testing whereas the Greek say it is something assumed for the purpose of argument.’

‘I remember now. The hospitaller was very suspicious of the novices, saying they drank too much and ate too much.’

‘Yes, it is the curse of the old that they conveniently forget they were ever young.’

‘And the curse of the young, master, that they don’t always remember what they should,’ I said a little dejected.

‘Very good, Christian! We’ll make a philosopher out of you yet, even if it kills you.’





9


Capitulum


Before Nones

He searched the abbey, but it was not until later in the afternoon that we found Brother Daniel in the north transept chapel. A slight figure in grey, he was almost indistinguishable from the stone around him. He lay in profound meditation at the foot of the Virgin of our sorrows, and did not turn at the sound of our footsteps as we approached. It was only after we had been kneeling beside him for a very long time that he raised his head and cast a bewildered gaze upon us, like a man alighting on the shores of some distant and unfamiliar place.

‘She is purity and serenity,’ he said finally.

‘The countenance of virtue, brother,’ my master answered.

‘You have good eyes! One whose eyes look upon the virgin with love and adoration will want for naught else! I am glad of your presence, preceptor, it has been many years . . . How are things in the holy land? Have we lost Jerusalem? Oh, I am a senile fool! I remember now . . . yes, perhaps better than I remember what I ate this morning.’ He smiled warmly, and taking my master’s hand in his, stood with difficulty. ‘Youth is beautiful . . .’ he touched my head only slightly with warm, nervous fingers, ‘but this world grows old with ugliness! Poor brother, he was a man who could see. There are so many who see and yet are blind. Am I the last now, I wonder?’

‘How do you mean the last, brother?’ my master asked.

‘The others are . . . but that is another matter. What year is it? No, do not answer, it does not concern me.’ He began to pray, ‘Dominus illuminatio mea, et salus mea, quem timebo? – The lord is the source of my light and my safety, whom should I fear? – but what was I saying? Oh my feeble, feeble mind . . .’ He shook his head.

‘You were about to tell us, venerable Daniel, in what way you were the last.’

‘Was I? Should I tell you? I am old, and I therefore distrust everyone and everything. Perhaps that is why I am old?’ He laughed a little. ‘I am the last of the first, and yet, no, I am wrong, Brother Setubar was also one of us, though much younger . . . thank God for Setubar, the milk of human kindness runs through his veins . . . Did you know he was a fine physician once? He cured me of phlegm! In any case, that is all you need know . . . shhh!’ He looked around him. ‘I sense his presence. Somewhere in this abbey he waits!’

‘Who? Brother Setubar?’

He looked aghast. ‘No, the antichrist, of course! He is everywhere . . . he is stubborn, and so he is patient.’

My master nodded gravely. ‘Where have you seen him in particular?’