Requiem: The Fall of the Templars (37 page)

Bertrand looked on, aghast, as the soldiers were drawn haltingly into the air by their necks, the mob heaving on the ropes.

“Your Grace,” panted Gaillard, hauling his horse to a stop alongside him.

“I tried, but they . . .” He shook his head, looking back across the cornfi eld.

“There was nothing I could do.”

Bertrand said nothing, his gaze transfixed by the jerking soldiers.

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“They say there is an uprising against King Philippe’s occupation,”

said Gaillard, “that they do not accept the truce Edward of England has made with him. They said they will drive out the royal forces themselves, like the Flemish have done in Bruges. They say others are doing the same, all over the duchy.”

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“Lord Philippe is aware of your situation, but as you are one of the principal moneylenders in Paris, he cannot help but be surprised by your ineffi ciency in paying this year’s tribute.”

“What more can I do, my lord?” implored the elderly Jew, stepping past the royal treasurer and holding out his hands to Philippe, who was seated in a high-backed chair behind a table covered with rolls of parchment. “I have done everything in my power to collect the monies owed to me, but there are still many debts outstanding. As you can see.” He unfurled several of the rolls and pointed to the lists of numbers. “If I could have more time?”

“You have had five months already,” said Philippe, before the treasurer could speak. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I am disappointed, Samuel. Steps may have to be taken.”

“My lord, the laws imposed upon my people by your grandfather, King Louis, have made it increasingly difficult for us to collect unpaid sums from Christian debtors. There is no real incentive for them to pay their debts. They cannot even be imprisoned if they refuse!”

“I would be very careful,” said Philippe ominously, “about disparaging
Saint
Louis in any way.”

“My lord, I am certain Samuel meant no offense.”

Philippe glanced up at the whispery voice. He stared at the frail, white-haired Jew with the foreign accent. “I still do not see your part in this. Why are you here?”

“Rabbi Elias is here to vouch for me,” interjected Samuel. “He has agreed to act as my guarantor in this matter.”

“I can assure you, my lord,” said Elias, calmly meeting the king’s hostile gaze, “Samuel will pay his tribute to you as soon as—” He broke off at a rapping on the chamber door.

Philippe looked around. “I said I wasn’t to be disturbed.”

“I will deal with it,” responded Nogaret, pushing himself from the wall, the fall of the templars

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where he had been watching the dispute in silence. He moved past the treasurer and pulled open the door.

Philippe frowned, hearing a muttered exchange. “Who is it, Nogaret?”

“A messenger and an official from the palace, my lord. They say it is urgent.”

“Be quick,” Philippe ordered testily, as the two men entered the chamber.

“I have enough business to get through today without interruptions.”

“I bring news from Flanders, my lord.” The messenger said nothing more, but handed Philippe a scroll.

The king unrolled it. As he read, his expression changed from one of impatience to one of disbelief. When he came to the end, his hand fell to his side.

The parchment slipped from his fingers to curl into a roll on the fl agstones.

“My lord?” questioned Nogaret. When the king didn’t answer, Nogaret crossed to the scroll and swiped it up.

“When our forces arrived at Courtrai, we found the Flemish laying siege to the castle,” the messenger said into the hush. “Their army was composed of infantry alone, but they outnumbered us. They were led by guild heads and the sons of Guy de Dampierre.” Nogaret was still reading. Philippe had fl attened his palm on the table, crumpling one of the parchments Samuel had set out. “Our knights led a charge, but were hampered by the marshy terrain and by Flemish archers. Those who managed to get close enough to their lines were beaten from their horses by the enemies’ clubs.”

“Destroyed?” muttered Nogaret, his eyes still moving over the scroll.

“We estimate more than one thousand knights were slain. A full list of ca-sualties will be delivered shortly, but I was asked to inform you directly of two deaths. Count Robert d’Artois was surrounded on the field. I’m afraid our soldiers couldn’t reach him. The other . . .” The messenger bowed his head, not meeting Philippe’s stare. “The other was Chancellor Flote. He was found with his throat cut, some way from the center of the battle.” Now the messenger did look at Philippe, his eyes bright with anger. “They took the spurs of our dead knights as trophies, my lord. It is rumored they hung them in a church in Courtrai.”

Still, Philippe said nothing. Elias and Samuel were looking uncertainly at the treasurer, who was wringing his hands.

“I’m afraid these are not the only black tidings, my lord,” said the royal official, stepping forward. “Just this past hour the palace has received a report of a rebellion against royal forces in the Guienne region. It isn’t clear as yet how widespread the insurrection is, but we know some soldiers have been murdered and—”

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“Leave.” Philippe rose, his hands planted on the table.

“My lord?”

“Leave!” Philippe thrust a hand toward the door. “All of you. Get out!”

“Please,” began Samuel hesitantly, “I—”

“
Get out!
”

As the messenger and the official left, Nogaret steered the two Jews and the treasurer toward the door and hustled them out. He grasped the handle to close it, but halted at a sharp summons from the king.

“Not you, Nogaret.”

Leaving the door ajar, the minister moved back into the chamber. He inhaled and folded his arms across his thin chest. “My lord, this is dire news, I cannot pretend otherwise, but we can repair this damage. We just need time to gather more forces.”

“Time?” murmured Philippe. “Time I have. Funds I do not. How can this be repaired? And now Flote is gone?” He swept a hand carelessly across the table, sending parchments scattering. “You heard what the treasurer had to say.

The royal coffers are all but empty. How do I fight a war on two fronts, put down these rebellions, avenge our noble dead, when I cannot afford to put an army in the field?” Philippe rose and began to pace. “And yet I must. Somehow I must. If I do not take action, my people will think me feeble. The power I gained in the assembly of the estates is slipping. When word of this gets out and I sit here and do nothing, I will lose it altogether. Who knows, Nogaret, how many other enemies are out there, waiting to attack me while I am weak. Dukes? Counts? Bishops?” He turned to the minister. “My grandfather never would have let this happen. He would have found the funds any way he could; sent a host to subdue Flanders and avenge Courtrai, strung these Gascon rebels from the gibbet. I am defeated.” Philippe shivered and clutched at the collar of his black cloak. “There is no salvation.”

“My lord, there is one . . .”

“I must think, Nogaret.” Philippe thrust his hands into his hair. “I cannot tax the clergy. It will take too long and I mustn’t give Pope Boniface any more chances to build support for his case against me.”

Nogaret took a step forward, trying to distract Philippe’s feverish concentration.

“The Jews!” Philippe snatched a parchment from the fl oor and brandished it at Nogaret. “My grandfather did this when he needed funds.”

“What, my lord?”

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“He exiled the Jews. Confiscated their money and their property, drove them from the kingdom.” Philippe’s eyes grew distant. “I can remember my father speaking of it; wagons of treasure being drawn into the palace yard, gold coins spilling from the sides. This is what we do, Nogaret. We will send royal guards to evict them, then sell their homes and possessions at auction.

The gold and any treasure I will keep. We will contact their debtors about any outstanding loans.” Philippe held up the parchment. “And
we
will make certain they repay them.”

Nogaret had been nodding thoughtfully. “The plan has merit and it will generate a large income quickly, enough I would wager to mount a campaign in Flanders. But it is,” he went on carefully, “only a short-term measure. The funds would dry up quickly and we would have to forsake the yearly tribute the Jews pay us. In the end, we may end up losing more than we gain. Execute this plan by all means, my lord, but concern yourself with longer-term strategies. The Jews are rich, certainly, but they are a relatively small group. How do you obtain enough wealth to sustain the royal domains you have already secured, as well as expand your territories in the coming years?” Nogaret smiled when Philippe shook his head. “The Templars.” Philippe frowned, but Nogaret continued swiftly. “The Church aside, the Temple is the largest, most affl uent organization in Christendom. The order owns property throughout Europe, hundreds of manors and estates, many of which generate their own income through farming. They even govern several small towns.” Nogaret was pacing now, animated. “They own mills and bakehouses, shops and vineyards.

They are moneylenders, given special dispensation from the pope to collect interest, as the Jews do, on those debts. Your fleet was never completed, my lord? Well, then, take theirs!”

“Nogaret,” murmured Philippe.

The minister spoke on, not hearing. “They have great influence in the wool trade, charge for passage on their ships and act as protectors for merchants. No doubt they possess vaults full of treasures and holy relics which could create revenue from pilgrims. My lord, they keep the treasuries of kings!”

“Nogaret!” repeated Philippe roughly. “This is fruitless. I cannot touch the Temple. The Jews, yes, for no one in the kingdom will mourn their expulsion.

But the warriors of Christ?” He shook his head. “There would be uproar.”

“Would there?” questioned Nogaret doggedly. “You know how many people blamed the knights for the loss of the Holy Land when we first learned of Acre’s fall.”

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“Be that as it may, the grand master is the only one in Christendom endeavoring to recapture that territory.”

“And we know, once again, that the knights are failing in that task. My lord, the people do not care for Crusading anymore, nor do they care for knights and their holy quests. They care for business and money, power and land. They care that their kingdom is strong and safe from attack.”

“You are right.” As Philippe said this, Nogaret halted, a keen look on his face, but his triumph soon faded as the king continued. “The Temple is a powerful, affluent organization. Why? Because in the two centuries since their creation the knights have had no interference. They stand outside the infl uence of kings. Indeed, it is the knights who have controlled monarchs over the years. The pope is the only power on this earth who has any authority over them.”

Nogaret nodded and moved away from the king. “I am aware of that.” He glanced at Philippe. “But with a man of our own mind on the papal throne, that might not be an issue.”

Philippe grew still, staring at the minister.

“We could deal with two problems at once,” said Nogaret. “Our dwindling fortunes. And Boniface.”

“I cannot think about this.” Philippe turned from him. “It isn’t even possible.”

“Anything is possible, my lord. He is just a man and a corrupt one at that.

You’ve seen how he abuses his office. We could make sure that a better man took his place. You would be saving Christendom by such an action, not harming it.” Nogaret went to the king. “I have thought about this long and hard. Taking the wealth of the order will provide you with enough funds to continue your expansion and maintain the security of your kingdom. The pope will be our axe. One swing in the right place at the right time and the Temple shall fall.”

Elias made his way quickly across the courtyard of the royal fortress to where Samuel stood waiting. The elderly Jew hailed him with a question, but the rabbi was so deep in thought he didn’t hear what it was. “I am sorry, Samuel,”

he murmured distractedly, as he approached. “What did you say?”

Samuel’s face was troubled as he scanned Elias’s empty hands. “I said, would he not give them to you? My accounts,” he pressed, when Elias didn’t answer.

“Did he refuse to return them?” He started to move past the rabbi. “Then I will ask him myself. I need those rolls!”

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Roused from his preoccupation, Elias caught the old man’s arm. “I did not have the chance to ask him, Samuel. Come,” he said hastily, as the man protested, “we will talk to the treasurer. I am sure he will be able to retrieve them. The king was in a meeting with one of his ministers. I did not want to interrupt.”

21

The Royal Palace, Paris

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Will slowed his horse as a figure stepped out in front of him. “Simon?” he called in surprise, his voice barely audible over the rain that poured down, pummeling the ground and turning the street into a river. A mist rose from rooftops, baking in midday sun only an hour earlier. The groom wasn’t wearing a cloak and his thinning hair was plastered to his head. Swinging his leg over the saddle, Will dismounted, stiff from the morning’s ride. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been waiting for you. A servant at the palace said you were due to return today.” Simon glanced at the bags strapped to Will’s saddle. “Where have you been?”

“Delivering a message for the king.” Will frowned at Simon’s grim expression. “What is it? What has happened?” His eyes moved to the palace, the towers of which dominated the way ahead. “Rose?”

“It’s your friend the rabbi.”

“Elias?”

“He’s been trying to find you. He was—well, troubled isn’t the word. When I told him you were most likely off on business for the king if you weren’t at the palace, he demanded to speak to Sir Robert, but he’s been out with the visitor this past week. The rabbi made me swear I’d come and see you as soon as you returned, give you a message.”