The Grail Murders

cement, using our knives and chisels, until it began to crumble and the bowl worked loose. The Templar mason had been very cunning. When we finally removed the bowl, we discovered the stone plinth was at least six inches thick but with a small hollow cavity in the centre. Benjamin pushed his hand in and drew out a stained, black leather bag bound at the neck. We both crouched as he cut the cord loose.
    The bag, which had begun to rot, fell away and, I tell you this – Benjamin and I knelt in reverence before the Holy Grail, the very chalice from which Christ had drunk at the Last Supper. I, Roger Shallot, have seen this cup. I have held it in my hands, the greatest relic in all Christendom!
    We did not hear any angels sing nor silver trumpets blast from heaven. All we saw was a simple wooden cup, shallow-bowled, with a crude stem and stand. The wood had been polished by the hands which had held it over the last one and a half thousand years and, when I smelt it, the cup gave off a resinous fragrance as if its guardian had smeared it with some substance as a protection against decay.
    We sat and looked at it. Benjamin held it, then passed it to me. Now, you know Old Shallot is a scoffer. I have seen so many pieces of the true cross that if you put them together you could build a fleet. I have seen feathers which are supposed to have fallen off Angel Gabriel's wings. I have been asked to kiss a piece of Jesus's swaddling clothes; a scrap of Mary's veil; St Joseph's hammer; not to mention a handkerchief used by Moses. I have always laughed out loud at such trickeries but the Grail was different.
    When I held it I felt warm, a sense of power and if I closed my eyes, I was no longer in that icy Templar church but in the warm, sweet-scented hills of Galilee. A truly mystical cup! No wonder Arthur searched for it, the Templars guarded it, and that fat bastard Henry VIII would have killed for it!
    We paid the Grail reverence, Benjamin wrapped it in his cloak and left, telling me to wait. My master returned with a mixture of cement and plaster and we restored the baptismal font so that, at least to the untrained eye, it would look as if it had never been tampered with. ‘What about the choir stall?' I asked.
    'Leave it’ Benjamin answered. 'Let the soldiers take the blame.'
    We returned to the manor house to pack our belongings. The next morning we saddled our horses and slipped away from Templecombe, that house of horrible murders. We reached Glastonbury later the same day for, though the countryside was still in winter's icy grip, no snow had fallen and at last the clouds were beginning to break. Benjamin and I had already agreed on what to do. We met Brother Eadred in the guest house. Benjamin quickly described what had happened at Templecombe. Though Eadred tried to hide his pain, Rachel's arrest, the flight of the Santerres and the destruction of the manor house obviously came as a body blow to him. He slumped on to a stool, wrapping his arms round his belly, bending forward almost as if he was in pain. 'Oh, poor Rachel!' he breathed. 'You are one of them, aren't you, Brother?' I asked. He looked up, dark eyes in an ashen face. 'You're a Templar?' I continued.
    He nodded his head. 'As are some others here,' he replied softly. 'We are guardians of a great shrine, keepers of mysteries and, yes, in a sense, avengers of those Templars who were seized, imprisoned and killed.' 'Does that give you the right to murder?'
    To protect the mysteries and secrets, yes. But Rachel went too far. She nourished a personal revenge, perhaps even a murderous madness, against the likes of Mandeville and her own family.' He took a deep breath and stood up. 'What will happen to Templecombe?' 'It will be stripped of everything.' I saw the fear in the monk's face.
    'They won't find anything,' Benjamin smiled. 'They will never discover Excalibur or the Grail.'
    Eadred shrugged. 'The relics were never at Templecombe.'
    'But you suspect they were? After all, succeeding abbots of Glastonbury have established that such relics do not exist here.' Eadred stared back.
    'Excalibur's gone,' Benjamin explained, 'but the Grail…'He loosened one of his saddle bags, plucked out his cloak and laid the small cedar cup on the table. The change in Eadred was incredible. He fell on his knees, hands joined, and stared fixedly at the holy chalice. 'You found it!' he murmured.
    'And brought it to its rightful home,' Benjamin concluded. He picked up his saddle