Temple of The Grail Read Free Page A

perfectly content in his misery. Only the Bishop of
Toulouse, whose size made it exceedingly uncomfortable, attempted to relieve
his distress by accompanying us upon his mule. I must confess to not being fond
of him, for he was a man of volatile temper and boring conversation whose
disposition was entirely dependent on the quantity of wine he consumed.
Therefore, I cannot say that I was perturbed (God forgive me) when Brutus
searched out the rump of his mule each time he neared us, going as far as
giving it chase and consequently occasioning the bishop to topple off his
saddle. I need not tell what commotion ensued, nor what terrible tempest of
articulation was unleashed on all and sundry, whose only consolation was that
it was followed (alas!) by the bishop’s return to the carriage, once and for
all.
    The hours passed slowly. Indeed I
longed for the company of my friend the venerable Eisik, whom the bishop had
authorised to accompany us by a special dispensation, now following behind the
company because he was a Jew.
    Observing him sitting atop his
animal, stooping slightly as was his custom, his long grey beard and thinning
hair blowing in the wind, one would have thought him of venerable age, but if
one looked closer, one saw a much younger man in his brown, angled face, though
it was indeed a face moulded by hardships endured, and years of persecution. I
waved to him, but he did not see me, for between us numerous servants,
notaries, scribes, and archers made up the entourage. They tagged along,
talking among themselves in their vulgar tongues, laughing and jesting, making
sure to keep well away from the Jew, united in their hatred.
    This particular day had dawned crisp
and clear after a bitterly cold night spent in a little priory at the foot of
the mountains. The previous evening, after a sparse meal, the prior had told us
the monastery of St Lazarus was troublesome to find. The road leading to it, he
said in his dull slur, veered sharply through a tangled forest, and was
impenetrable in the depths of winter due to the heavy falls of snow and
subsequent avalanches. Similarly, in summer, the abundant rainfall, caused the
access to become perilous; mud slides and other horrors were regular
occurrences.
    ‘Who knows,’ whispered the drunken
prior, ‘what heresies abound in the womb of secrecy? One dare not contemplate
what abominations lurk behind its heinous walls.’ He directed a malevolent
smile at me, pregnant with meaning, ‘Heresy!’
    I slept little that night.
    Early the following morning the
inquisitor had made an announcement to the townspeople, seeking those with any
information about the monastery and its practices to come forth on the date set
for the inquiry. And so it was then, after all the arrangements had been made,
that we set off for our long journey over the steep roads to the abbey.
    We followed a lonely track, observing
how ash, chestnut and beech trees were succeeded by oaks. Soon the strong scent
of pines announced that we were approaching our destination. Above us,
snow-covered peaks were lost in cloud, and not long before the sun had reached
its highest point, a mist gathered around us, blocking out the thrilling blue
of sky. Here and there patches of snow grew into a thick groundcover and
presently we came to a junction dividing the road into four smaller roads that
led in various directions.
    The cavalcade came to a halt, with my
master and others alighting from their horses for a better look around. Above
and beyond, a milky haze obstructed our view. Of the four roads the middle road
seemed the straightest, but what we could see looked thick with undergrowth
covered by a deep layer of snow. To the right, another coursed its way
perilously down the slope and disappeared below us. The left road was very
steep and rocky. The last was no more than a track and headed directly up the
incline.
    There was terrible confusion among
the various navigators (for there are always so many). The captain