Labyrinth

CHAPTER 74

“I want to know the truth,” Alice repeated. “I want to know how the labyrinth and the Grail are connected, if they are connected.”

The truth of the Grail,“ he said. He fixed her with a look. ”Tell me, Madomaisela, what do you know about the Grail?“

“The usual sort of stuff, I suppose,” she said, assuming he didn’t really want her to answer seriously.

“No, truly. I am interested to hear what you have discovered.”

Alice shifted awkwardly in her chair. “I suppose I held to the standard idea that it was a chalice which contained within it an elixir that gave the gift of everlasting life.”

Alice broke off and looked self-consciously at Baillard.

“A gift?” he asked, shaking his head. “No, not a gift.” He sighed. “And where do you think these stories come from in the first place?”

“The Bible, I suppose. Or possibly the Dead Sea Scrolls. Perhaps from some other early Christian writing, I’m not sure. I’ve never really thought about it in those terms before.”

Audric nodded. “It is a common misconception. In fact, the first versions of the story you talk about originate from the twelfth century, although there are obvious similarities with themes in classical and Celtic literature. And in medieval France in particular.”

The memory of the map she’d found at the library in Toulouse suddenly came into her mind.

“Like the labyrinth.”

He smiled, but said nothing. “In the last quarter of the twelfth century lived a poet called Chretien de Troyes. His first patron was Marie, one of daughters of Eleanor of Aquitaine, who was married to the Count of Champagne. After she died in 1181, one of Marie’s cousins, Philip of Alsacee, Count of Flanders, became his patron.

“Chretien was immensely popular in his day. He’d made his reputation translating classic stories from Latin and Greek, before he turned his skill to composing a sequence of chivalric stories about the knights you will know as Lancelot, Gawain and Perceval. These allegorical writings gave birth to a tide of stories of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table.” He paused. “The Perceval story- Li contes del graal- is the earliest extant narrative of the Holy Grail.”

“But…” Alice started to protest. She frowned. “Surely he can’t have made the story up? Not something like that. It can’t have appeared out of thin air.”

Again, the same half-smile appeared on Audric’s face.

“When challenged to name his source, Chretien claimed that he had acquired the story of the Grail from a book given to him by his patron, Philip. Indeed, it is to Philip that the story of the Grail is dedicated. Sadly, Philip died at the siege of Acre in 1191 during the Third Crusade. As a result, the poem was never finished.”

“What happened to Chretien?”

“There is no record of him after Philip’s death. He just disappeared.”

“Isn’t that odd, if he was so famous?”

“It is possible his death went unrecorded,” said Baillard slowly.

Alice looked sharply at him. “But you don’t think so?”

Audric did not answer. “Despite Chretien’s decision not to complete his story, all the same, the story of the Holy Grail took on a life of its own. There were direct adaptations from Old French into Middle Dutch and Old Welsh. A few years later, another poet, Wolfram von Eschenbach, wrote a rather burlesque version, Parzival, around the year 1200. He claimed he was not following Chretien’s version but another story by an unknown author.”

Alice was thinking hard. “How does Chretien actually describe the Grail?”

“He is vague. He presents it as some sort of dish, rather than a chalice, like the medieval Latin gradalis, from which comes the Old French gradal or graal. Eschenbach is more explicit. His Grail – gral – is a stone.”

“So where does the idea come from that the Holy Grail is the cup used by Christ at the Last Supper?”

Audric pressed his fingers together. “Another writer, a man called Robert de Boron. He wrote a verse poem, Joseph d’Arimathie, some time between Chretien’s Percevaland 1199. De Boron not only has the Grail as a vessel – the chalice of the Last Supper, which he refers to as the san greal – but he also fills it with the blood taken from the Cross. In modern French the sang real, the ”true“ or ”royal“ blood.”

He stopped and looked up at Alice.

“For the guardians of the Labyrinth Trilogy, this linguistic confusion san greal and sang real- was a convenient concealment.”

“But the Holy Grail is a myth,” she said stubbornly. “It cannot be true.”

The Holy Grail is a myth, certainly,“ he said, holding her gaze. ”An attractive fable. If you look closely, you will see that all these stories are embellishments of the same theme. The medieval Christian concept of sacrifice and quest, leading to redemption and salvation. The Holy Grail, in Christian terms, was spiritual, a symbolic representation of eternal life rather than something to be taken as a literal truth. That through the sacrifice of Christ and the grace of God, humankind would live forever.“ He smiled. ”But that such a thing as the Grail exists is beyond doubt. That is the truth contained within the pages of the Labyrinth Trilogy. It is this that the Grail guardians, the Noublesso de los Seres, gave their lives to keep secret.“

Alice was shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re saying that the Grail is not a Christian concept at all. That all these myths and legends are built on a… a misunderstanding.”

“A subterfuge rather than a misunderstanding.”

“But for two thousand years the debate has been about the existence of the Holy Grail. If now it is revealed not only that such a thing as the Grail legends are true but…” Alice broke off. She found it hard to believe what she was saying. “It is not a Christian relic at all, I can’t even begin to imagine…‘

The Grail is an elixir that has the power both to heal and significantly prolong life. But for a purpose. It was discovered some four thousand ago in Ancient Egypt. And those who developed it and became aware of its power realised that the secret had to be kept safe from those who would use it for their own benefit as opposed to the benefit of others. The sacred knowledge was recorded in hieroglyphs on three separate sheets of papyrus. One gave the precise layout of the Grail chamber, the labyrinth itself; one listed the ingredients required for the elixir to be prepared, the third the incantation to effect the transformation of the elixir into the Grail. They buried them in the caves outside the ancient Avaris.“

“Egypt,” she said quickly. “When I was doing some research, trying to understand what I had seen here, I noticed how often Egypt came up.”

Audric nodded. “The papyri are written in classical hieroglyphs – the word itself means ”God’s words“ or ”divine speech“. As the great civilization fell into dust and decay, the ability to read the hieroglyphs was lost. The knowledge contained in the papyri was preserved, handed guardian to guardian, over the generations. The ability to speak the incantation or summon the Grail was lost.

“This turn of events was without design, but it, in turn, added an additional layer of secrecy,” he continued. “In the ninth century of the Christian era, an Arab alchemist, Abu Bakr Ahmad Ibn Wahshiyah, decoded the secret of the hieroglyphs. Fortunately, Harif, the Navigataire, became aware of the danger and was able to confound his attempts to share his knowledge. In those days, centres of learning were few and communication between peoples slow and unreliable. After that, the papyri were smuggled to Jerusalem and concealed there within underground chambers on the Plains of Sepal.

“From the 800s to the 1800s, no one made significant progress in deciphering hieroglyphs. No one. Their meaning was only elucidated when Napoleon’s scientific and military expedition to North Africa in 1799 uncovered a detailed inscription in the sacred language of hieroglyphs, in everyday demotic Egyptian of the time and Ancient Greek. You have heard of the Rosetta Stone?”

Alice nodded.

“From that point, we feared it was only a matter of time. A Frenchman, Jean-Francois Champollion, became obsessed with breaking the code. In 1822, he succeeded. The wonders of the ancients, their magic, their spells, everything from funerary inscriptions to the Book of the Dead, all suddenly could be read.” He paused. “Now, the fact that two books of the Labyrinth Trilogy were in the hands of those who would misuse it became a cause for fear and concern.”

His words fell like a warning. Alice shivered. She suddenly realised the day had faded. Outside, the rays of the setting sun had painted the mountains red and gold and orange.

“If the knowledge was so devastating, if used for ill rather than good, then why did Alais or the other guardians not destroy the books when they had the chance?” she asked.

She felt Audric grow still. Alice realised she had hit to the heart of his experience, of the story he was telling, even though she didn’t understand how.

“If they had not been needed, then yes. Perhaps that might have been a solution.”

“Needed? Needed in what way?”

“That the Grail bestows life, the guardians have always known. You called it a gift and,” he caught his breath, “I understand that some might see it so. Others might see it with different eyes.” Audric stopped. He reached for his glass and took several mouthfuls of wine, before putting it back on the table with a heavy hand. “But it is life given for a purpose.”

What purpose?“ she said quickly, fearful he would stop.

“Many times in the past four thousand years, when the need to bear witness has been strong, the power of the Grail has been summoned. The great, long-lived patriarchs of the Christian Bible, the Talmud, the Koran are familiar to us. Adam, Jacob, Moses, Mohammad, Methuselah. Prophets whose work could not be accomplished in the usual span allotted to men. They each lived for hundreds of years.”

“But these are parables,” protested Alice. “Allegories.”

Audric shook his head. They survived for centuries precisely so that they could speak of what they had witnessed, bear testimony to the truth of their times. Harif, who persuaded Abu Bakr to conceal his work revealing the language of Ancient Egypt, lived to see the fall of Montsegur.“

“But that’s five hundred years.”

“They lived,” Audric repeated simply. “Think of the life of a butterfly, Alice. An entire existence, so brilliant, but lasting just one human day. An entire lifetime. Time has many meanings.”

Alice pushed her chair back and walked away from the table, no longer knowing what she felt, what she could believe.

She turned. “The labyrinth symbol I saw on the wall of the cave, on the ring you wear – this is the symbol of the true Grail?”

He nodded.

“And Alais? She knew this?”

“At first, like you, she was doubtful. She did not believe in the truth contained within the pages of the Trilogy, but she fought to protect them out of love for her father.”

“She believed Harif was more than five hundred years old?” she persisted, no longer trying to keep the scepticism out of her voice.

“Not at first, no,” he admitted. “But over time, she came to see the truth. And when her time came, she found she was able to speak the words, understand the words.”

Alice came back to the table and sat down. “But why France? Why were the papyri brought here at all? Why not leave them where they were?”

Audric smiled. “Harif took the papyri to the Holy City in the tenth century of the Christian era and had them hidden near the Plains of Sepal. For nearly a hundred years, they were safe, until the armies of Saladin advanced on Jerusalem. He chose one of the guardians, a young Christian chevalier called Bertrand Pelletier, to carry the papyri to France.”

Alais’ father.

Alice realised she was smiling, as if she had just heard news of an old friend.

“Harif realised two things,” Audric continued. “First, that the papyri would be safer kept within the pages of a book, less vulnerable. Second, that because rumours of the Grail were starting to circulate through the courts of Europe, how better to hide the truth than beneath a layer of myth and fable.”

“The stories of the Cathars possessing the Cup of Christ,” said Alice, suddenly understanding.

Baillard nodded. “The followers of Jesus the Nazarene did not expect him to die on the Cross, yet he did. His death and resurrection helped give birth to stories of a sacred cup or chalice, a grail that gave everlasting life. How these were interpreted at the time, I cannot say, but what is certain is that the crucifixion of the Nazarene gave birth to a wave of persecution. Many fled the Holy Land, including Joseph of Arimathea and Mary Magdalene, who sailed for France. They brought with them, it is said, knowledge of an ancient secret.”

“The Grail papyri?”

“Or treasure, jewels taken from the Temple of Solomon. Or the cup that Jesus the Nazarene had drunk from at the Last Supper in which his blood had been gathered as he hung upon the Cross. Or parchments, writings, evidence that Christ had not died crucified but yet lived, hidden in the mountains of the desert for a hundred years and more with a small elect band of believers.”

Alice stared dumbstruck at Audric, but his face was a closed book and she could read nothing in it.

“That Christ did not die on the Cross,” she repeated, hardly able to believe what she was saying.

“Or other stories,” he said slowly. “Some claimed that it was at Narbonne, rather than Marseilles, that Mary Magdalene and Joseph of Arimathea had landed. For centuries it has been common belief that something of great value was hidden somewhere in the Pyrenees.”

“So it was not the Cathars who possessed the secret of the Grail,” she said, putting the pieces together in her mind, “but Alais. They gave her sanctuary.”

A secret hidden behind a secret. Alice sat back in her chair, running back over the sequence of events in her mind.

“And now the labyrinth cave has been opened.”

“For the first time in nearly eight hundred years, the books can be brought together once more,” he said. “And although you, Alice, do not know if you should trust me or dismiss what I say as the delusional ramblings of an old man, there are others who do not doubt.”

Alais believed in the truth of the Grail.

Deep inside, beyond the limits of her conscious thought, Alice knew he spoke the truth. It was her rational self that found it hard to accept.

“Marie-Cecile,” she said heavily.

“Tonight, Madame de l’Oradore will go to the labyrinth cave and attempt to summon the Grail.”

Alice felt a wave of apprehension sweep over her.

“But she can’t,” she said quickly. “She doesn’t have the Book of Words. She doesn’t have the ring.”

“I fear she realises the Book of Words must still be within the chamber.”

“Is it?”

“I do not know for sure.”

“And the ring? She doesn’t have that either.” She dropped her eyes to his thin hands laid flat on the table.

“She knows I will come.”

“But, that’s crazy,” she exploded. “How can you even contemplate going anywhere near her?”

“Tonight she will attempt to summon the Grail,” he said in his low, level voice. “Because of that, they know I will come. I cannot let that happen.”

Alice banged her hands on the table. “What about Will? What about Shelagh? Don’t you care about them? It won’t help them if you are taken as well.”

“It is because I care about them – about you, Alice – that I will go. I believe Marie-Cecile intends to force them to participate in the ceremony. There must be five participants, the Navigataire and four others.”

“Marie-Cecile, her son, Will, Shelagh and Authie?”

“No, not Authie. Another.”

“Then who?”

He avoided the question. “I do not know where Shelagh or Will are now,” he said, as if thinking aloud, “but I believe we will find they are taken to the cave at nightfall.”

“Who, Audric?” Alice repeated, firmer this time.

Again he did not answer. He rose to his feet, walked to the window and closed the shutters, before turning to face her.

“We should go.”

Alice was frustrated, nervous, bewildered, and most of all frightened. And yet, at the same time, she felt she had no choice.

She thought of Alais’ name on the Family Tree, separated by eight hundred years from her own. She pictured the symbol of the labyrinth, connecting them across time and space.

Two stories woven into one.

Alice picked up her belongings and followed Audric out into the remains of the fading day.