Requiem: The Fall of the Templars (54 page)

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him off balance. As Will was thrown sideways, Gilles brought his sword up to ram the pommel into Will’s face.

As his nose broke and tears blinded him, Will felt a faint rush of wind. He clenched in anticipation of the blow that would end him. He heard steel splinter against mail, the chink of rings snapping apart, a high gasping sound, then a thud. For a moment, he thought the pain in his nose was so intense it must have eclipsed the agony of the blade punching into him. But as he swiped the water from his eyes and staggered away, he saw Gilles on his knees before him, Robert’s sword embedded in his back. Robert yanked the blade free and the captain sank into the straw.

Staring around him through his bleary vision, Will saw all the royal guards were down, although one of the Templars was leaning against the side of the barn, his face white, one hand clamped to his shoulder. “With me, the rest of you. There are still two guards left.” Will nodded to Robert as they moved out into the yard. “Thanks.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to let you leave me with all the hard work.”

“Good point,” grunted Will, pressing his finger to one nostril to snort blood through the other. “We’d all be doomed.”

They tensed as the door of the house burst open. But along with the candlelight that spilled into the yard came Jean, sword out before him. The Templar was followed by Marie, hugging a terrifi ed-looking boy.

“Did you get the guards?” Will asked, crossing to the knight.

“Guards?” Jean shook his head. “There was only one. He came after the boy.”

They turned, hearing pounding footsteps. A large woman, wielding a carving knife, appeared around the side of the house. She was panting hard.

“Thank the Lord! Thank the Lord you came!” Her eyes went to the barn. “Are they . . . ?” When Will nodded, the woman bent forward, trying to catch her breath. “I tried to stop the other one, but he took his horse and fl ed.”

Robert came over. “One got away?” He looked worriedly at Will. “Would he have seen us?”

“I don’t think so. But still.” Will cursed beneath his breath and sheathed his sword with a stab. “I hoped to have more time to cover our tracks.”

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lyons cathedral, the holy roman empire,

november 30, 1305 ad

Philippe strode into the chamber, tugging off his gloves. “You may leave,” he said tersely to the attendants hovering by the door. He stared at the fi gure sitting hunched on the window seat. His jaw twitched in anger, but he waited until the door clicked shut before speaking. “You keep me waiting for two weeks and this is how you greet me? Not a bow or a welcome? Why have you denied my requests for an audience?” When the figure didn’t turn, Philippe moved toward him. “The cardinals tell me you have been ill and unable to accept visitors. But I see no sign of fever on you.” Still, the figure didn’t look around. “Answer me, de Got! Why have you denied me?”

The figure rose slowly, back-lit by the fiery sunset. He raised his head to meet the king’s gaze. “I am no longer Bertrand de Got. I am pope and you will address me with respect.” The king’s eyes flashed with fury, but the pope spoke on. “The cardinals told the truth. I have been ill. I apologize if this has dis-rupted your plans.”

Philippe faltered, thrown off balance by the pope’s manner. It was as though he were speaking to a different person. This was not the feeble little man who had been led, terrifi ed and cowed, to his tent outside Bordeaux, the man who had broken down at the news his bastard son was being held captive and would be killed should he refuse their demands. The man before him was apprehensive, certainly; that much was visible in the way he held himself, erect, but stiff, hands clutched at his sides. But despite his obvious tension, Bertrand de Got appeared stronger and more resolute than Philippe had ever seen him. It made him nervous. Did accession to the papal throne imbue these men with some sort of direct connection to God through the line of St. Peter? Some holy power channeled through them, suffusing them with divine strength?

He cleared his throat and moved away, all at once fearful of looking into those dark, unblinking eyes, lest he see something greater and infi nitely more terrible looking out at him. He now cursed himself for sending Nogaret back to Paris after the ceremony, but unrest over his recent taxes had erupted into violence in the city and he had wanted the minister there to help quell the situation. “I accept your apology,” he said tautly. “But now you are well, I want you to begin implementing the obligations you promised to fulfill upon your election.” Philippe paused to recall the advice Nogaret had given him. “First, 318 robyn

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and most importantly, you will recall Grand Master Jacques de Molay from Cyprus. We will need the head of the order if we are to bring down the rest of it. Upon de Molay’s arrival in the West, we will hold a council in Paris, attended by the three estates, who will all have been briefed prior to the assembly. You will announce that the Temple has outlived its usefulness and that it has overburdened the people and the papacy in its futile attempts to reclaim the Holy Land. You will point out that the vast sums of money within the Temple would be better spent on creating peace in the West than on foreign shores, that the people of France will benefit greatly, that taxes will be lowered and our borders strengthened. You will then, as is your God-given right, dissolve the order of the Knights Templar, transferring all its assets, possessions and funds to the French crown.”

Silence followed his words. Philippe frowned and went to speak, wondering if Clement had even heard him. But the pope spoke up, before he could ask.

“Are you finished, my lord?”

Philippe’s frown deepened at that stilted tone. “Yes, I am fi nished, but—”

“That is good, my lord, because I too am finished. I am finished being tormented by you and that poisonous serpent, Guillaume de Nogaret, fi nished being coerced and compelled, finished being threatened. I am pope, vicar of Christ and God’s voice upon this earth, and I will be your pawn no longer. I will not meet your obligations and I protest against the validity of your agreement, which was signed under duress.” Clement’s tone was rising, growing bolder. “I will, under no circumstances, recall Jacques de Molay, when he and his knights are the only men fighting to uphold the dream of a Christian Holy Land. Did your sainted grandfather fight and die on those foreign sands for nothing? Will we surrender that dream so easily?” The pope shook his head. “I will make it my mission to give as much aid, spiritual and financial, as possible to the Templars in Cyprus in order that they can continue this holy struggle.”

Philippe stared at him, stunned. “You are gravely,
gravely
mistaken, if you think I will not do what has been threatened.” His hand jerked to the pommel of his broadsword. “Do you forget, Clement? I have your son! I swear by God, I will kill him if you refuse me in this!”

“You will not,” breathed Clement, his eyes on the sword at Philippe’s hip.

“My son is no longer in your custody. I received word this morning that he has been taken to safety. You will never fi nd him and if you try I will do what my predecessor, Boniface, had no chance to and excommunicate you.” He crossed to the king, seeming to grow with every step, until Philippe was forced to back the fall of the templars

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away. “You can say he existed to try to ruin me, but I will deny it and your word is not enough these days, my lord. The people,
your
people are growing dissatisfied with your rule and your liaisons with that murderer, Nogaret. Already they are turning against you. Do you imagine the men and women of Guienne have so quickly forgotten your brutality? The arrests of the nobles and theft of their property? I know you have not the money or the support to quell another uprising there, my lord. If you attack me, you will regret it.”

Philippe was shaking his head, but he couldn’t speak. He felt his back come up against the wall. Those dark flashing eyes of the pope’s were boring into him, fi lled with accusation and wrath. Filled with God’s displeasure. It was all he could do not to put his hands over his face to shield himself from that righteous glare.

“You have been infected by those around you. You have become as faithless as that heretic minister of yours! You who have attacked two vicars of Christ!”

“No,” Philippe groaned. “No. I was doing your bidding!” He slumped to his knees, holding up his hands and clasping them together in supplication. “I was doing it for you! For your people!”

Clement faltered at this answer. “For me?”

But Philippe wasn’t listening. He had closed his eyes, his hands upraised.

“Lord, forgive me! Forgive me my sins!”

lyons cathedral, the holy roman empire,

december 1, 1305 ad

“It is done.”

“Do you believe the king will accept it?” Will watched as the pope crossed to the window seat. The man looked exhausted and seemed to have aged rapidly in the time since Will had last seen him in Bordeaux. His red silk robes dwarfed his small frame as he sat, folding his hands in his lap.

“I do not see that he has much choice. If I refuse to dissolve the Temple, he cannot fulfill his ambition.” The pope looked up suddenly. “My son was unharmed?”

Will nodded impatiently. Clement had already questioned him rigorously on the boy yesterday morning. “My men took him south to the village as you instructed, with Yolande and Marie. Philippe will not be able to find any of them.”

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“Good.” Clement gave a tentative smile. “My sister will take care of them.”

“So it is over? We have done what we need to secure the Temple?”

Clement glanced up, his brow furrowing. “No. It isn’t over. Not while Minister de Nogaret continues to poison the king’s mind, turning him against the Church.”

“The king knows what he is doing, Your Holiness. Yes, Nogaret may be the one with the vision, but Philippe isn’t a fool or a man of weak will.”

“Perhaps, perhaps,” said Clement, waving his hand as if this were unimportant, “but nonetheless, I believe the king will be much less aggressive without that snake’s influence.” He rose. “I cannot touch Philippe, even my powers do not extend that far, not without causing terrible conflict in this kingdom.

But Guillaume de Nogaret is a different matter. I could bring him to justice for his crimes against my predecessors, but rumors will not be enough. I need evidence.”

“I know for a fact that the king and Nogaret conspired to murder Pope Boniface. The king admitted it in a conversation with me, where he confessed his intention to bring down the Temple.”

Clement’s face remained grave, but he shook his head. “Your word isn’t enough, not against these men. A Templar turned mercenary? The king has surrounded himself with men of the law, men of cunning. We will need more than the word of a deserter to confront them with.” He was pacing now. “Besides, it is evidence of the truth behind Pope Benedict’s death that I am more interested in finding. However despicable the act against him, Boniface made many enemies in the Sacred College; enemies who perhaps wouldn’t be overly concerned to know he was murdered. Remember, half my college is made up of French cardinals who support Philippe. Benedict is another matter. He was liked by many and the rumors surrounding his untimely death are fi lled with anger and calls for justice.” Clement looked up at Will. “Find me unequivocal evidence that Guillaume de Nogaret murdered Pope Benedict and I will move against him. With his removal from Philippe’s circle, I believe we will all be safer.”

“I will have to be careful. As I told you, one of the royal guards escaped from the house.”

“You said he didn’t see you?”

“I don’t believe so, but this is a dangerous game. Nogaret has never trusted me. But I will do what I can to give him to you, if Your Holiness will continue to safeguard the Temple.”

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“You have my word.” Clement crossed to a table where a jug of wine and two goblets had been placed. “Now, let us talk of the order. You said you were using Templars to help protect my son. Did any of them mention the grand master? His plans for a new campaign in the Holy Land?”

Will shook his head. “The last we heard was that Jacques de Molay was trying to secure funding and support for a new Crusade, but that he hadn’t met with much success.”

Clement looked disappointed as he poured the wine. “Well, perhaps we might yet hear better news.”

“Yes,” murmured Will, “perhaps.”

31

The Royal Palace, Paris

december 21, 1305 ad

Icannot imagine how this happened, my lord.” Nogaret followed as the

“ king pushed open a low door, half-hidden by trailing ivy. Ducking through, the minister found himself in an unfamiliar place. They were on the very tip of the Ile de la Cité, the wall surrounding the royal gardens towering behind them. Ahead, the muddy riverbanks tumbled away to disappear beneath the Seine, swollen and gray after the winter storms. Three small islands rose out of the water, one after the other, like the humped back of some enormous beast submerged in the middle of the river. There was an old wooden footbridge that spanned the choppy water to the nearest island. Nogaret had seen the structure from the right and left banks, but hadn’t known about the door in the palace wall.

“My father had it built,” said Philippe at his side, his eyes on the bridge.

He pointed to the nearest island. Its yellow hump was windswept and bare, except for a few scraggly trees and a couple of river birds wading near the water’s edge. “He planned to fish from the Ile des Juifs.”

“My lord,” ventured Nogaret, trying to steer the king back to the matter at hand.

“I don’t believe he ever did. The struggles of his reign prevented him. He 322 robyn

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was a feeble man, my father, led this way and that by the men he surrounded himself with and by his family, never thinking for himself, never doing what he wanted. He is hardly remembered at all by the people of this kingdom. All they recall is that his father was a saint.” Philippe turned to Nogaret. The cold wind lifted his hair. “Is that what they will think of me when I die? That I foolishly and weakly let my ministers govern me? That I never did anything of consequence? Will I simply be the grandson of a great man?”