Requiem: The Fall of the Templars (46 page)

Martin sank onto the floor, the bundle slipping off his shoulder to sag in his lap.

Esquin drew a breath and knelt beside him. “Martin, please. You must tell me what is wrong. Is . . . ?” He steeled himself, part of him not wanting his worst fears confirmed. He had heard this went on in some preceptories: masters abusing their positions in the most despicable ways, and dreaded this was the cause of his nephew’s despair. “Is a master treating you badly? Or doing anything . . . improper?”

Martin’s eyes that flicked to him, full of fear, seemed to verify this. Esquin felt queasy. He wasn’t sure what to say next, but before he could find the words, his nephew began to speak.

“I never wanted to do it. I swear. But I thought . . . I thought it was what happened at initiations. I thought everyone must do it and that you and Father had done it too. But I wanted to know for sure and so I began asking some of the knights who were friends of mine.” Martin’s face was slack and gray. “They said they never did that.”

“What?” pressed Esquin, when the young knight paused. “Never did what?”

“They told me I would be part of something great, something that would change the order. They said it was . .
good
.” Martin’s voice grew fi erce. “But how can it be good? They made me drink blood and choose a path, and I thought they just wanted to make me frightened, to test my strength and my nerve, but then . . .” He hung his head, in his mind’s eye seeing it happening again. “Then they made me spit on the cross.”

Esquin stared at his nephew, unable to believe what he was hearing. These men he was talking about were Templars, warriors of Christ.
Christians
. But he saw no lie in the youth’s eyes, just desperate fear. “Who made you do this?

Who initiated you? Which master was it?”

“He wore a skull,” said Martin in a hoarse voice, his hands wrapping 268 robyn

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around the bundle. “A mask of a skull. It had other faces too.” He looked at his uncle suddenly. “They all wore masks. When we initiated more knights I wore one too. I cannot stop seeing the ceremonies.” He pressed his knuckles to his eyes. “I dream of it. I hear God’s voice telling me I am damned. Telling me my soul is lost to Satan, that I have allied myself with worshippers of evil, pledged myself to them, drunk their blood!” He took his hands away and clutched his uncle’s arm. “Please, Uncle. Tell me what to do.”

Esquin grasped his shoulders. “Who did this, Martin? Answer me. Who are these men?”

“Can I help?”

Esquin looked around to see the priest heading over. “Thank you. We just need a moment of peace.”

A rush of wind made the candles by the altar shiver. The priest frowned at the door. Esquin, still looking up at him, saw his face change.

The priest’s jaw slackened and his hand rose to the wooden cross around his neck. “Dear Lord.”

Esquin turned in the direction of his gaze and saw men, twenty or more, funneling into the church. All wore masks, painted red with a white stag’s head on each, and a plain white mantle. As the last entered, pulling his mask down and shutting the door, Esquin glimpsed part of a face: a square of jaw, a clipped black beard. Then his attention was drawn to those at the front, who had unsheathed their swords.

Martin had leapt to his feet and was backed up against the pillar. “Please, no,” he was whispering. “No.”

Esquin didn’t look around as footsteps slapped away behind him. The priest had fled. He reached for his own sword and drew it, planting himself in front of his nephew. “Stay back,” he warned the front row of men, advancing.

“Stay back!”

“Our master feared you would betray us, Martin,” said one at the front.

“But I thought better of you. I thought you would honor the oaths you swore.”

“Honor?” growled Esquin. “How dare you speak of honor! I know what you made him do. What perversions you had him commit, endangering his soul! What has our order come to that men like you infect it? You should be thrown into Merlan. All of you!”

“You do not understand,” answered the man, his words fl at, muffl ed through the mask. “But you will.” He pointed his sword at Martin. “Seize him.”

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“Run, Martin!” shouted Esquin, shoving his nephew away and meeting the ringleader. He gritted his teeth as he clashed with the masked man, who fl icked his blade aside easily.

“Don’t be a fool, de Floyran. Put down your weapon.”

Esquin lunged. The man ducked to the left, grabbed his arm and, pulling his sword arm wide, brought his knee up into Esquin’s stomach. Esquin dropped the blade and sank to his knees, wheezing. Through smarting eyes, he saw men coming toward him. One held a black hood.

“Don’t hurt him,” the ringleader warned. “Our master will want to question him. The traitor you can kill.”

Martin entered the sacristy and banged the door shut behind him, jamming the bolt home. Gasping with fear, he dragged a chest in front of it, then stared around wildly. Behind a clothes perch, from which hung several robes, he saw a small black door, the wood scarred with age. It looked as if it hadn’t been opened in years. Faintly, he heard his uncle cry out, then heavy footsteps approaching fast. As the door began to rattle in its frame, Martin threw the clothes perch aside. The exit was locked and there was no key to be seen. He started as a crash sounded behind him, then slammed his shoulder into the wood. The door shuddered, but held. Gritting his teeth, he tried again, shouting in desperation. The crashing was loud and steady. It sounded as though the knights had picked up a bench and were ramming their way through. He took several steps back, then launched himself at the black door. The wood, brittle and rotten, burst apart. Martin fell into the alleyway outside, just as the bolt on the sacristy door tore away from the frame. He threw himself forward, his hands sliding in mud and decaying rubbish, rats scurrying away before him. Pushing himself to his feet, he began to run.

Martin made it halfway down the alley before he saw torch fl ames appear ahead. The knights had come around the side of the church to cut off his escape. He turned to run back, then skidded to a halt as he saw men piling out of the sacristy behind him. He sank to his knees, his will leaving him, as they came toward him. Raising his head to heaven, he saw, in the blue slice of evening sky far above, a single star, burning bright. Martin clasped his hands together. “Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee,” he breathed, closing his eyes as the swords swung in.

25

The Royal Palace, Paris

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You never should have involved Colonna.”

“

“I see that now,” answered Nogaret, watching Philippe’s face as they walked through the royal gardens. Servants were sweeping dead leaves into piles, and two bonfires had been lit, the spiraling fl ames pushing back the evening. The North Star glinted coldly and the air was bitter with smoke and frost. The minister gave a shrug. “But in the end, my lord, everything went as planned. Boniface was charged with heresy and died of shock, at least to all concerned. His body was taken to Rome, where his crimes were listed by the cardinals who support us, and the Sacred College elected Niccolo Boccassino.”

“I would have preferred to choose the candidate myself,” said Philippe, as they continued across the lawn toward the mews.

“That was impossible. The Sacred College understandably wanted to move quickly to replace Boniface. There was simply no way of halting that process long enough for me to return here to advise you.”

“How can we be certain this new pope will do as we wish?” Philippe halted, turning to the minister. “This has been a trial for me, Nogaret. I want things to go back to the way they were. I want a good relationship with Rome again.”

He started walking. “But we can heal these wounds, yes?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but plowed on, lacing his hands as if about to pray. “It was an ugly business, but necessary for the future of the kingdom.”

“Benedict XI, as he named himself, is weak and ailing. Our allies in the Sacred College felt, of all the possible candidates, he would be the most easily manipulated. As it is, he has already bowed to the pressure of lifting the order of excommunication placed on you by Boniface. France is safe.”

“But he refused to lift the orders placed on you and Sciarra Colonna.”

Nogaret’s mouth curled. “Unfortunately, Boccassino was one of the cardi-the fall of the templars

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nals who remained in Anagni during the riot. He holds Colonna and me responsible for the damage done that day. But,” he added stiffly, “I am certain he can be mollified in time.”

“And Campbell?” ventured Philippe, ducking through the archway in the garden wall and entering the enclosure. “How did he fare?”

Nogaret’s brow tightened as he walked with the king down the line of mews houses. Most of the birds were inside, the perches empty. There were torches burning at the far end, outside the lodgings of Sir Henri and his staff. “He did as he was told, if that is what you mean, but I do not trust him.”

“The Templars?”

“I cannot help thinking it very coincidental. We arrive to arrest the pope and he is surrounded by knights.”

“If Boniface suspected an attack the Templars or the Hospitallers would have been the most likely choice for military protection. Was there any proof Campbell was involved in their arrival? Anything else that made you suspect him?”

“No,” Nogaret admitted.

“So he did as he was bid? Fought alongside you against the knights?”

“My lord, whatever use you feel he would be to our plan for the Temple is surely outweighed by the question of whether we can trust him or not. It is an unnecessary risk. I would advise you to send him back to Scotland, him and that daughter of his. I spoke to the queen before I left for Italy. The girl is clearly enamored of you and by all accounts has been for some time. The queen seemed troubled and—”

“Answer my question.”

“Yes,” said the minister finally. “He fought with us, but even so, I . . .” He stopped as Sir Henri came out to meet them.

“I want you to bring Campbell to me,” said Philippe.

“Now?”

“Yes, now, Nogaret. Sir Henri!” Philippe called, his tone becoming lighter.

“Is Maiden still awake?”

“Yes, my lord. Shall I fetch her food?”

“No need,” replied Philippe, holding up a cloth parcel. “I had the palace cooks put some meat aside for her tirings.”

Nogaret hesitated, wanting to put Philippe off his decision, but the king was already following the falconer to Maiden’s mews and his orders were clear.

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;

Will stood outside the dormitory door, his hand curled in a fist, poised to knock. He lifted it, then stopped as two servants came hurrying down the passage. He waited until they passed, then raised his hand again. Still, he paused.

Finally, angered by his hesitation, he went to strike the wood, but was stopped by a sharp voice. Looking around, he saw Guillaume de Nogaret in the shadows at the end of the passage.

“The king wants to see you.”

With a last glance at Rose’s door, Will headed to the minister, all at once alert. They had arrived in Paris that afternoon and he had expected the king to question them on the assignment, but something in Nogaret’s tone and expression told him this was more than a simple report.

He followed the minister through the palace, out into the royal gardens, where the wind was whipping the flames of the groundsmen’s fires high into the darkness. Philippe was in the mews enclosure, Maiden perched on his gloved hand, tearing feathers and flesh from a chicken leg. The king glanced up as Will and Nogaret entered the ruddy pool of torchlight.

“My lord.” Will bowed.

Philippe didn’t acknowledge him for a moment, but watched Maiden rip apart the meat. Will could feel the tension coming off Nogaret, standing stock-still at his side.

“I imagine you must have questions about the events in Italy, Campbell,”

said the king fi nally. “Questions, perhaps, over the morality of what was done and the reasons for it?”

“I have a few, my lord,” responded Will slowly.

“Do you believe that the end justifies the means?” inquired Philippe, frowning pensively, as if wondering about the answer himself. “That sometimes we may be forced to do unthinkable things that many may benefi t?”

“I would say that would depend on the circumstances, but having fought in the Crusades I am well aware that sacrifices must sometimes be made for the greater good.”

Philippe nodded. The silence was filled with cracking sounds as Maiden dug her beak into the bone to get at the marrow. “Boniface was a dangerous man, disturbed even. He was intent on ruining my reputation and, with it, destroying France. That was in part why you were sent to arrest him, although as you must now be aware, his arrest was a cover for his death.” He let out a breath and stared into the sky. “I did not want it to come to this, but he gave the fall of the templars

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me no choice. Boniface’s sacrifice was for the good of France, which in turn will be good for the rest of Christendom. Your homeland included,” he added, looking back at Will. “You may not have heard, but King Edward is advancing north on another campaign. The victories won by Sir William Wallace and his men are being eroded by his continuing war. Edward calls himself Hammer of the Scots.”

Will clenched his jaw, feeling more removed than ever from his homeland and its fight to survive, further still from his old enemy and his ability to fi nd justice.

“I can help your kingdom, but only if I have the power to do so. Power these days is governed not by the Church, as it once was, but by money and territory. Any king in Christendom will tell you the same. By helping your country, by warring against Edward and his allies in Flanders, I have severely limited my ability to preserve either funds or land. Despite recent victories over my enemies and the confiscation of the Jews’ property, my coffers remain diminished. They must be filled or my capacity to give aid to Scotland and, indeed, my own people will suffer. Now that there is, we hope, a more reasonable man upon the papal throne,” continued Philippe, “I plan to set in motion something myself and Nogaret decided upon some months ago.” He paused, as Maiden tossed back her head to swallow down the bones and feathers. “I plan to bring down the Temple and to take its wealth. In doing this I will secure the future of France and make this kingdom great again. As great as it was in the days of Saint Louis.”