‘Brother cook, were you cooking fish?’ my master asked loudly, adding his voice of reason to the matter.
The man looked up at my master incredulously. What did it matter if he was cooking fish, his eyes said, he had seen the Virgin! My master repeated the question, and the cook said that yes, he had been cooking fish. Andre then walked over to the great fireplace beside the large oven. The fire had caused little damage because of the stone wall that surrounded it, but when he looked down, he noticed, as I did, a lump of charred hairy flesh, barely recognisable. ‘What is this?’ Andre asked, poking at it with a stick.
The cook looked in the direction of my master’s gaze. At first uncomprehending, he realised suddenly, and gave out a loud, painful bellow. ‘Fernando!’ he cried, weeping into his hands. My heart sank. It was the cat.
After inspecting the surrounds, my master said, ‘Now everything is clear.’
He asked the cook if the cat regularly rested in the alcove above the fire. Even I knew the answer to this question, but the cook was weeping into his burly hands and saying in soft whispers, ‘Fernando . . . Fernando.’
Others joined in until many were weeping for the unfortunate cat.
It was then that Andre noticed something else, a dry, brown bunch of burnt leaves, perhaps herbs, hanging from a string above the fire. My master crumpled some of the charred remains in his hand, and bringing it to his nose, sniffed lightly. He nodded, returning to question the cook once more when, at that very moment, the abbot entered the cookhouse, followed by the inquisitor and the other members of the legation.
Surveying the scene, the inquisitor approached the giant on the floor who, in his present state of grief, did not notice him.
Rainiero gave my master a disdainful look and slapped the cook hard across the face. There was a collective gasp. The man’s head turned from side to side, and he looked up wide-eyed as though he did not comprehend what had just happened.
‘Mi poor Fernando,’ he said shocked. ‘He, too, saw la Virgen Santa!’
The inquisitor ignored this and turned to the other cook for satisfaction, but before the man could speak, my master broke in with his usual alacrity.
‘It is simple, Rainiero, the man accidentally spilt oil over the fire while immersing fish for the meal. It ignited the herbs drying above the fire. Understandably he stepped away from the flames but, in so doing, he slipped on the floor, whereby he fell, knocking his head. The unfortunate cat,’ he pointed to the burnt remains, ‘in his surprise, leapt from its abode above the fire – a natural place for a cat, as they are known to hate the cold. It should have escaped misfortune, as we know cats land only on their feet. In this instance, however, it was its undoing, for one of its legs caught the side of the cauldron and it landed in the fire. Most unfortunate,’ he concluded, and finding a radish hanging from a basket took a bite out of it.
Someone behind me said, ‘What a marvel.’ Another whispered, ‘It is the Templar acumen.’
And as one might expect this did not please the inquisitor who looked on at my master’s casual manner with incredulity. ‘Very well!’ he exclaimed, enraged. ‘You seem to have things in hand. However, as I am the inquisitor, and not you, preceptor, I demand that you allow me to continue my investigations without interruption!’
‘By all means,’ said my master, stepping aside as a sign of submission. Rainiero raised his chin and looked down his nose at the cook. ‘Now then,’ he began, noting, however, that my master had stolen his thunder. ‘Cook, what say you?’
‘It was la Virgen!’ answered the man beaming, ‘She came out of the fire to take me to heaven. I was flying! Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen! – Deliver us from evil. Amen!’
The inquisitor came forward until he stood very close to the cook. ‘So, you saw the Virgin! The Virgin appeared to you? I see . . . a greasy cook has a beatific vision? Should we venerate you as a saint? Or perhaps as the devil that you are!’
‘He visto a la Virgen. I have seen her . . .’ the cook said softly.
‘Or was it that perhaps you were casting a diabolical spell on the fish with some poisonous herb with the intention of harming this legation and those who seek the truth about this abbey? Come now, we all know the body of Satan is comprised of several plants! That his evil eye is henbane, his beard is the snapdragon, his claws the orchid, bindweed is his gut, mandrake his testicles! You have conjured up the Devil disguised as the sainted mother by sacrificing a cat. You see! All of you are witnesses! All of you know that the cat is the embodiment of Satan, whose urine is said to bring about the death of those who drink it. Whose ashes, when ingested, secure a man’s soul! It is you that I suspect of being the killer of two monks, whom you have poisoned at the bidding of the Devil! Guards! Seize this man!’