Warlord(83)

‘After I left you the other week, Sir Alan,’ Master Fulk began, ‘I started to think hard about your father’s story and the goods that were stolen from Bishop Heribert all those years ago. And I remembered something, which I think may be significant. You recall the magical object – the wondrous relic that defeats disease and holds back death – that Heribert was rumoured to possess?’



I said that I did.

‘Now, let me ask you another question: have you heard of a trouvère known as Christian of Troyes, who used to serve Philip, Count of Flanders? He died a few years ago.’

I nodded. ‘I read one of his poems called “Erec and Enide” and I was impressed. He was good, very good, some of his poetry was truly lovely.’

‘And have you read “Le Conte du Graal”?’

I sat up straighter on my stool. ‘No,’ I said, ‘but I have heard other trouvères speak of this bizarre story. Indeed, they speak of it with something approaching awe.’

‘It is the tale of a young knight called Perceval and his adventures. I have a copy here: will you allow me to read you a little from it?’ Master Fulk pulled a small, fat book bound in brown leather from the sleeve of his robe. He muttered to himself as he leafed through the vellum pages until he found the passage he wanted.

‘Perceval has been invited to dine in the castle of a mysterious fisherman king,’ Fulk said, ‘they are sitting together on a great bed in the hall. Listen to this!’ And he began to read:

‘While they talked of this and that, a young attendant entered the room, holding a shining lance by the middle of the shaft. He passed between the fire and those seated on the bed, and all present saw the shining lance with its shining head. A drop of blood fell from the tip of the lance, and that crimson drop ran all the way down to the attendant’s hand. The youth who had come there that night beheld this marvel – he means Perceval,’ Fulk said, interrupting himself before continuing – ‘and refrained from asking how this could be. He remembered the warning of the man who had made him a knight, he who had instructed and taught him to guard against speaking too much. The youth feared that if he asked a question, he would be taken for a peasant. He therefore said nothing.

‘Two more attendants then entered, bearing in their hands candelabra of fine gold inlaid with niello. Handsome indeed were the attendants carrying the candelabra. On each candelabrum ten candles, at the very least, were burning. Accompanying the attendants was a beautiful, gracious, and elegantly attired young lady holding between her hands a graal. When she entered holding this graal, such brilliant illumination appeared that the candles lost their brightness just as the stars and the moon do with the appearance of the sun. Following her was another young lady holding a silver carving platter. The graal, which came first, was of fine pure gold, adorned with many kinds of precious jewels, the richest and most costly found on sea or land – those on the graal undoubtedly more valuable than any others. Exactly as the lance had done, the graal and the platter passed in front of the bed and went from one room into another.’

Fulk paused and looked at me meaningfully. I looked back at him, not entirely sure how I was supposed to react.

‘What exactly is a graal?’ I asked. Like the knight in the story, I was concerned that in my ignorance I would be taken for a peasant.

‘Normally, it’s a serving dish, about so big,’ Fulk replied holding his hands a foot apart. ‘It is the kind of serving dish that you might use to bring a large cooked fish to the table. The word is a southern one, an Occitan word – we would call it a “grail” in French.’

He was beginning to exhibit a little excitement: ‘But that is not important: in this story the graal, or grail is a wondrous object that can bestow eternal youth, defeat disease and grant immortality. Does this not strike you as significant, in the light of what you know about the theft of the goods from Bishop Heribert?’

‘Well, it is a rather odd story …’ I began.

But Master Fulk had become fully animated, his eyes were shining with excitement and he brusquely interrupted me, speaking to me as if I were one of his slower pupils: ‘The candlesticks, the silver carving platter … come on, Sir Alan, come on …’

‘You think that Bishop Heribert had somehow gained possession of these marvellous objects from a poet’s fairy story – you believe that they actually exist? – and that they were subsequently stolen from him in Paris?’

‘Exactly so, and only the candlesticks and the carving platter were recovered – the least valuable, the least miraculous items were planted in Henri d’Alle’s cell to throw the blame on him. They were sacrificed so that the Grail – the most holy and wondrous of all of these objects – and perhaps the lance, too, might be retained by the thief.’