Temple of The Grail Read Online Free PDF

level, that
is, somewhere just off the cloisters and close to the refectory, for old monks
have weakened bladders . . . now where is the aperture? Here we are . . .’
    We emerged from the same arched
doorway through which we had earlier entered the cloisters with the abbot,
situated on the left side of the church, just after a small architectural
projection. In the dimly lit east walk, a monk with a taper was lighting the
great torches that here and there provided some relief from gloom.
    ‘ Benedicamus Domino ,’ the
brother intoned as we passed.
    My master answered, ‘ Deo gratias .’
    The cloisters, usually a hive of
activity, were deserted. With the exception of the brother – who we later
learnt was the master of music – we seemed to be alone. We made our way
around the central garth or courtyard whose low walls were surmounted by
arches. It had snowed only a little these last days, and here and there one
could see a patch of dead ground around the fountain which, as was customary,
marked the garth’s central point.
    We walked hastily past the
scriptorium and the numerous carrels housed in the northern cloister alley, and
at the apex, where the west aisle met the south walk, we found the rere dorter,
just where my master had said it would be. Here we entered into a long central
passage with individual cabinets on one of its sides for privacy. The other
side housed the baths. Both led to a great fire whose warmth was a comfort to
my cold bones. And as he relieved himself my master told me that cleanliness
was very important to Cistercians. They always built near a good source of
water, he said, which they redirected to suit their purposes in much the same
way as the Romans. As was the custom, the stream or body of water was diverted
to run beneath the cookhouse or kitchen, and downstream it would flow beneath
the rere dorter, carrying the refuse out of the monastery into the great
unknown. I thought this an exceedingly wise plan, until my master also added. ‘But
you don’t want to be a cook when the wind changes, my boy!’
    My master also noted that in this
abbey the monks must have made use of an underground stream fed by snows from
the towering mountains. And as we re-entered the cloisters, he concluded in a
whisper, ‘Now we know there is a web of tunnels and channels running beneath
the abbey, because if the rere dorter is situated here, in the south-west, and
the kitchen . . .’ he pointed in the direction of delicious smells, ‘is
situated there in the south-east and, of course, downstream . . . it stands to
reason that there must be more than one channel with more than one exit out of
the abbey. Otherwise you would have a stream running uphill.’
    ‘And what significance do you apply
to this?’ I asked.
    ‘Where there is smoke there is a
pyre. Or more importantly, where there are channels there must also be tunnels
. . . naturally. Come . . . next we must inspect the church.’
    Still trying to understand the
relevance of his statement I found myself leaving the cloisters and entering
the church through the south transept door. Immediately, the sweet pungent
smell of incense assailed my nostrils and, God forgive me, I sneezed.
    Inside a young acolyte was attending
to the sacred vessels and church ornaments, in preparation for the forthcoming
service. He turned, searching for the source of the disruption, and upon seeing
us, returned to his work, but not before giving us a look of disdain. We were,
after all, part of a legation sent here to condemn their community. I would no
doubt feel the same if I were he.
    We walked past the high altar,
crossing ourselves devoutly, and paused for a moment before the rose window as
a beautiful shaft of afternoon light pierced the gloom. It illuminated infinite
indissoluble particles that, aroused by the daystar’s caress, swirled around us
in a dance of joy and gladness. For light we know not only chases away darkness
but also death, and so I felt a little