Temple of the Grail(70)

I bent my neck in an awkward angle to the right, and found that I could just see the encampment below. I saw that the fire was still burning, for the smoke rose high in the stillness. If I went down to that spot, would I meet Thomas and Remigio? Had I really only dreamt that meeting? Had I dreamt my discourse with Plato and the battle between the eagle and the dragon? How could I have dreamt the answer to the code? At that moment I felt a presence behind me. I looked around and found the small figure of the singer Anselmo casting a strange shape at the door. His eyes, however, shone out of the darkness of his Grecian face, and we seemed to stand looking at each other a long time, neither of us wishing to be the first to speak, when finally he smiled or, rather, smirked.

‘Is it your horse?’ he pointed his chin in the direction of Gilgamesh.

‘No,’ I answered, wishing that I could lie a little.

‘I did not think so. He is too fine a horse to be a scribe’s mount.’ He reached into his pocket and brought out an apple cut diagonally. With his left hand he brought it to the steed. Immediately Gilgamesh deserted the oats that I had given him.

I tried to hide my annoyance, ‘Do you have a horse?’

‘No,’ he answered as though nothing mattered, ‘but the abbot sometimes lets me ride his . . .’ he pointed to a most beautiful stallion whose name I was told was Sidonius. ‘So, where is your mount or did you travel like a slave, on foot?’

‘I ride a mule.’

‘A mule? A fitting mount for the likes of you,’ he laughed, tossing another apple up and down in one hand, ‘but there are ways that a man can improve his circumstances, that is, there are men whose wisdom can turn even someone like you into a respected person.’ He threw the apple high and caught it standing on one leg. ‘Your master will marvel at your erudition, at your acumen and skill, and he will think you so indispensable, so necessary to him, that he will offer his own horse to you.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘It is simple, done with potions I believe, incantations and spells. I am told those who have mastered the art invoke the planets, and the zodiacs, the power of demons.’

I blanched. ‘How do you know this?’

‘Come now, a Templar must know of such things, surely?’ he continued. ‘Indeed, I have heard that your order is a brotherhood of sorcerers.’

‘No! You are wrong!’ I answered, losing my temper.

‘I am never wrong . . . Your master is an infidel, word gets around. Ask him, I will bet you a ride on Sidonius if he does not know of these things. In any case, I would not ride such a vile thing, if I knew the formula by which to make myself worthy of that other horse . . . he is beautiful.’ He lowered his eyes a little, and looked up at me from out of their narrowness. ‘Unfortunately, beauty is little appreciated in this abbey – erudition likewise – and yet, I find myself talking when I should be making my way to the chapter house. I wonder what sins the inquiry will uncover . . . Well, I shall see you there.’

He threw the apple at me and I lunged to catch it, almost losing my balance.

‘I would not let the inquisitor hear you say such things if I were you!’ I warned disdainfully. ‘Or else he might burn you at the stake!’ I was drowned out by his laughter, and then he was gone.

Almost at that moment Andre descended the narrow steps that led to Eisik’s cell. I wanted to tell him what had just taken place, but what should I say? That the novice with the beautiful voice was possessed of an ugly soul? Or rather that he had read mine, and perhaps knew more than he should? He would have thought that I was exaggerating, or worse still, that I was jealous. So I said nothing, and obediently followed him out into the sombre day. I covered my head, and we walked in the silence of disquietude, in the direction of the blacksmith’s building where he was to supervise the repair of his helmet.

He left me outside, and I sat down on a little bench opposite the garden, waiting for him. And it was here that I turned Anselmo’s words over in my mind with distinct uneasiness.

That morning the courtyard seemed a hive of activity. Monks were moving to and fro in agitated preparation for the forthcoming meeting. I saw the inquisitor walk toward the aperture, in deep conversation with the bishop. Following behind them, the friar and the Cistercian with evil looks conspired one with the other. Obviously a great schism had developed between the two groups since the torrid events of the last evening, and this even I knew could serve to complicate matters. I was no sooner absorbed by these matters than I caught sight of the cook, looking like a man who did not wish to be seen, scurrying around the church and across the courtyard to the infirmary. Moments later he and Asa, the infirmarian, were headed for the herbarium where Asa opened the lock and allowed the other man passage. The infirmarian looked about him anxiously until the cook emerged carrying some herbs in his hands, then they split up; the infirmarian entered the cloister through the aperture, and the cook made his way to the kitchen. I concluded that the cook had been in need of culinary herbs, and chastised myself for my suspicious nature. It seemed I was becoming distrustful of everything and everyone and yet I was not the only one, for distrust appeared to be on every face. Indeed, every eye no longer knew if it was cast on friend or on foe.