The Grail Murders

Mouldwarp, The Dark Prince prophesied by the Templar magicians themselves as The Great Destroyer. And let us say that members of his secret Templar organisation, men such as Buckingham and Hopkins, defied the order of their Grand Master and began to search out relics which were best left hidden.'
    Agrippa paused and chewed his lip. 'And let us also say, for sake of argument, that the Grand Master allowed these Templars to be punished by the due process of law. Perhaps the matter would have ended there but other Templars, desirous of revenge, muddied the waters even further. And so we come to Rachel Santerre. She had no right to execute Warnham and Calcraft or carry out her own private war against the likes of Mandeville and Southgate. She was ordered to cease this but made matters worse by attacking men like you, friends of the Grand Master. Ah, well.' He rolled the cup in his hands. 'Where is the real Grail?' 'In safe hands, as you will discover!'
    Agrippa sighed, picked up the cup and walked to the door. Then let's hope it remains so.' He turned, one hand on the latch. 'Rachel Santerre would never have lived to be questioned. I would have killed her as a disobedient servant as I did Buckingham and Hopkins.' He played with the cup. 'But I thank you for what you did. Believe me, the King and the Lord Cardinal will receive the most glowing reports!'
    The magus slipped out of the room. Benjamin went across and locked the door behind him.
    That's what you told Rachel to make her confess, wasn't it?' I asked.
    'Yes, I told her the Grand Master would not be pleased with her and that her continued obduracy might threaten other Templars. I even lied and told her that the Grand Master had given me her name before we left London.' 'And she believed you?' 'Yes, I think she did.' ‘And the cup?'
    'Agrippa is right. It's from the treasures of Glastonbury Abbey. Eadred gave it to me. I believe it once belonged to the Emperor Constantine's father who served as a general here.' 'Will the King suspect?'
    'In time, when the cup does not release its magic, he will.' Benjamin gripped me by the shoulders. 'But we know the truth, Roger, and we must keep it a secret. If the King suspects, even for a second, we will go the same way as Buckingham. Now, come, before Uncle can think of any more tasks, let us pack, brave the weather and return to Ipswich.'
    Oh, we did, to the most joyous Yuletide ever, leaving behind The Great Killer to sup wine from what he thought was the Grail. The Lord Cardinal sent us letters of the most fulsome praise and heavy purses of gold, but Henry never forgot and neither did the Templars. Sir Edmund Mandeville mysteriously died the following spring after attending a banquet at Sheen. I believe Agrippa was in attendance at the time. Southgate never recovered from his wounds and, although moved to the care of the nuns at Syon, died shortly afterwards. I am not too sure about the details but, the previous afternoon, Doctor Agrippa had come to enquire about his health. The Santerres waited a year and applied for a pardon, offering gold by the cupful, but strangely enough Henry refused to be bribed and I believe they died mysteriously in foreign parts.
    Templecombe was seized and stripped of all its possessions, turned into a veritable ruin, but the King found nothing there. Years later, when he launched his great attack on the abbeys and monasteries, Glastonbury was singled out for special attention. Abbot Bere died in 1524 and was succeeded by Richard Whitting. Fat Henry sent special agents to seize Glastonbury's most precious treasures but Whitting was cunning and spirited these away and, for that, paid the supreme penalty. He was brought to London and tortured but would say nothing. Accordingly, he was taken back to Somerset and, after a mock trial, he and two of his monks, one of them being the scholarly Eadred, were dragged through Glastonbury on hurdles and then hanged on the summit of the Tor in November 1539. The secrets of Glastonbury died with them and only the good Lord knows the whereabouts of the Grail.
    So this bloody tale is done. I stare through the window and watch the moon's silver light bathing the hard-packed snow in a shimmering light. All have gone. Sometimes I dream of Rachel, cool and serene in her cellar prison; Mandeville and Southgate, arrogant in their power, and those two sombre mutes, Cosmas and Damien, who served them so well and suffered so barbarously. The circle is complete.