LITMIR.BIZ

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family had been rewarded with land in Cheshire, Collimore went on, and if they were heretics they did not show it, but lived like any other noble family. Their downfall, he said, had come at the beginning of the present reign when the young King’s mother, aided by the Mortimer family, had tried to keep her son from taking power. The Vexilles had sided with the Queen and when she lost they had fled back to the continent. ‘All of them except one son,’ Brother Collimore said, ‘the eldest son, and that was Ralph, of course. Poor Ralph.’

      ‘But if his family had fled back to France, why did you treat him?’ de Taillebourg asked, puzzlement marring the face that had blood scabs on the abrasions where he had beaten himself against the stone that morning. ‘Why not just execute him as a traitor?’

      ‘He had taken holy orders,’ Collimore protested, ‘he could not be executed! Besides, it was known he hated his father and he had declared himself for the King.’

      ‘So he was not all mad,’ de Taillebourg put in drily.

      ‘He also possessed money,’ Collimore went on, ‘he was noble and he claimed to know the secret of the Vexilles.’

      ‘The Cathar treasures?’

      ‘But the demon was in him even then! He declared himself a bishop and preached wild sermons in the London streets. He said he would lead a new crusade to drive the infidel from Jerusalem and promised that the Grail would ensure success.’

      ‘So you locked him up?’

      ‘He was sent to me,’ Brother Collimore said reprovingly, ‘because it was known that I could defeat the demons.’ He paused, remembering. ‘In my time I scourged hundreds of them! Hundreds!’

      ‘But you did not fully cure Ralph Vexille?’

      The monk shook his head. ‘He was like a man spurred and whipped by God so that he wept and screamed and beat himself till the blood ran.’ Brother Collimore, unaware that he could have been describing de Taillebourg, shuddered. ‘And he was haunted by women too. I think we never cured him of that, but if we did not drive the demons clean out of him we did manage to make them hide so deep that they rarely dared show themselves.’

      ‘Was the Grail a dream given to him by demons?’ the Dominican asked.

      ‘That was what we wanted to know,’ Brother Collimore replied.

      ‘And what answer did you find?’

      ‘I told my masters that Father Ralph lied. That he had invented the Grail. That there was no truth in his madness. And then, when his demons no longer made him a nuisance, he was sent to a parish in the far south where he could preach to the gulls and to the seals. He no longer called himself a lord, he was simply Father Ralph, and we sent him away to be forgotten.’

      ‘To be forgotten?’ de Taillebourg repeated. ‘Yet you had news of him. You discovered he had a son.’

      The old monk nodded. ‘We had a brother house near Dorchester and they sent me news. They told me that Father Ralph had found himself a woman, a housekeeper, but what country priest doesn’t? And he had a son and he hung an old spear in his church and said it was St George’s lance.’

      De Taillebourg peered at the western hill for the noise had become much louder. It looked as though the English, who were by far the smaller army, were advancing and that meant they would lose the battle and that meant Father de Taillebourg had to be out of this monastery, indeed out of this city, before Sir William Douglas arrived seeking vengeance. ‘You told your masters that Father Ralph lied. Did he?’

      The old monk paused and to de Taillebourg it seemed as if the firmament itself held its breath. ‘I don’t think he lied,’ Collimore whispered.

      ‘So why did you tell them he did?’

      ‘Because I liked him,’ Brother Collimore said, ‘and I did not think we could whip the truth out of him, or starve it from him, or pull it out by trying to drown him in cold water. I thought he was harmless and should be left to God.’

      De Taillebourg gazed through the window. The Grail, he thought, the Grail. The hounds of God were on the scent. He would find it! ‘One of the family came back from France,’ the Dominican said, ‘and stole the lance and killed Father Ralph.’

      ‘I heard.’

      ‘But they did not find the Grail.’

      ‘God be thanked for that,’ Brother Collimore said faintly.

      De Taillebourg heard a movement and saw that his servant, who had been listening intently, was now watching the courtyard. The servant must have heard someone approaching and de Taillebourg, leaning closer to Brother Collimore, lowered his voice so he would not be overheard. ‘How many people know of Father Ralph and the Grail?’

      Brother Collimore thought for a few heartbeats. ‘No one has spoken of it for years,’ he said, ‘until the new bishop came. He must have heard rumours for he asked me about it. I told him that Ralph Vexille was mad.’

      ‘He believed you?’

      ‘He was disappointed. He wanted the Grail for the cathedral.’

      Of course he did, de Taillebourg thought, for any cathedral that possessed the Grail would become the richest church in Christendom. Even Genoa, which had its gaudy piece of green glass that they claimed was the Grail, took money from thousands of pilgrims. But put the real Grail in a church and folk would come to it in their hundreds of thousands and they would bring coins and jewels by the wagonload. Kings, queens, princes and dukes would throng the aisle and compete to offer their wealth.

      The servant had vanished, slipping soundlessly behind one of the piles of building stone, and de Taillebourg waited, watching the door and wondering what trouble would show there. Then, instead of trouble, a young priest appeared. He wore a rough cloth gown, had unruly hair and a broad, guileless, sunburned face. A young woman, pale and frail, was with him. She seemed nervous, but the priest greeted de Taillebourg cheerfully. ‘A good day to you, father.’

      ‘And to you, father,’ de Taillebourg responded politely. His servant had reappeared behind the strangers, preventing them from leaving unless de Taillebourg gave his permission. ‘I am taking Brother Collimore’s confession,’ de Taillebourg said.

      ‘A good one, I hope,’ Father Hobbe said, then smiled. ‘You don’t sound English, father?’

      ‘I am French,’ de Taillebourg said.

      ‘As am I,’ Eleanor said in that language, ‘and we have come to talk with Brother Collimore.’

      ‘Talk with him?’ de Taillebourg asked pleasantly.

      ‘The bishop sent us,’ Eleanor said proudly, ‘and the King did too.’

      ‘Which King, child?’

      ‘Edouard d’Angleterre,’ Eleanor boasted. Father Hobbe, who spoke no French, was looking from Eleanor to the Dominican.

      ‘Why would Edward send you?’ de Taillebourg asked and, when Eleanor looked flustered, he repeated the question. ‘Why would Edward send you?’

      ‘I don’t know, father,’ Eleanor said.

      ‘I think you do, my child, I think you do.’ He stood and Father Hobbe, sensing trouble, took Eleanor’s wrist and tried to pull her from the room, but de Taillebourg nodded at his servant and gestured towards Father Hobbe and the English priest was still trying to understand why he was suspicious of the Dominican when the knife slid between his ribs. He made a choking noise, then coughed and the breath rattled in his throat as he slid down to the flagstones. Eleanor tried to run, but she was not nearly fast enough and de Taillebourg caught her by the wrist and jerked her roughly back. She screamed and the Dominican silenced her by clapping a hand over her mouth.

      ‘What’s happening?’ Brother Collimore asked.

      ‘We are doing God’s work,’ de Taillebourg said soothingly, ‘God’s work.’

      And

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