Requiem: The Fall of the Templars (59 page)

Will didn’t say anything for a time. “I wish you had come to me as soon as Simon alerted you to the sergeant’s story.”

Robert shot him a defensive glance. “I thought you would be occupied with other things.”

“Other things?” Will’s face hardened. “I’ve been trying to save my country and my daughter.” When the knight looked away, Will stood. “You act as though I’m somehow to blame here. How could I have known any of this if you don’t inform me?”

Robert faced him. “The moment we returned to Paris after rescuing Clement’s son, you disappeared back into the palace. You say you’re still a part of the Anima Templi, but I’ve hardly seen hide nor hair of you this past year.”

“Pope Clement charged me with finding evidence that Nogaret murdered 350 robyn

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Benedict. If I do that he will continue to put pressure on Edward as well as safeguard the Temple from Philippe.” Will’s voice was rigid. “I am doing everything in my power to make these things happen. I have already persuaded Clement to send papal letters to England, demanding Edward cease his war against Scotland. After Wallace’s execution this was my country’s—my
family’s
—

best chance of survival. Can you blame me for taking it?” He didn’t wait for Robert to answer. “But I find myself on thinner and thinner ice. Since their plan for the Temple was halted, Philippe and Nogaret no longer need me in their circle and it has been all I can do to remain a guest in the palace, let alone keep close enough to them to uncover any evidence for the pope.”

“Do you actually believe you will be able to find proof of Nogaret’s involvement in Benedict’s death?”

Will was silent. He had known from the moment the pope charged him with this task how challenging it would be. It wasn’t as if Nogaret would have left any kind of written evidence anywhere. “I have to try,” he said, as much to himself as to Robert. “I have to do what I can to keep the pope on our side.

The king, however, is becoming ever more untrusting of me.” He let out a rough breath. “I believe the main reason I haven’t been evicted is because the bastard is bedding my daughter.”

Robert stared at him in disbelief. “What?”

Will waved his hand and strode down to the water. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said grimly when Robert followed. “Just believe me when I say I am trying to salvage what I can of the Anima Templi’s aims by remaining in Philippe’s company, even though it is taking every ounce of strength I have left not to strangle the cur in his sleep.”

“Can you not take her out of Paris?” Robert asked quietly.

“And lose my last foothold?” demanded Will, the sunlight glinting in his eyes. Bending, he dug a stone out of the mud and flung it into the river. “If I remove Rose from the palace against her wishes I think she will be lost to me for good. This way, I get to stay close to her and the king. Perhaps I am a fool, but I still believe my daughter might need me. I want to be there if that day ever comes.”

“What about Robert Bruce?” Robert ventured. “Now Scotland has a new king, surely there is hope for your homeland at least?”

“The last I heard, Bruce and his followers had gone on the run. They had a victory at first, but it is rumored Edward is gathering a vast army to send north, despite Clement’s objections. If he has his way, Scotland’s new king will be staring out across the Thames from a pike by the autumn.”

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Robert watched the two boys chasing each other across the mud fl ats, birds wheeling up in white clouds before them. “I suppose it was naïve, but I thought when we returned from the Holy Land things would be simpler. Do you think we will ever see peace in our lifetime? Is it even possible?”

“More and more I think not. But then I remember Everard and my father and Kalawun, and all those men who believed it was, believed so completely they gave up everything they had for it. I have to hope that . . .” Will trailed off, shaking his head. “What I hope isn’t important right now. Whatever any of us wants will not matter if King Philippe has his way. Have you spoken to Hugues?”

“No. He is still in England.”

“Do you believe he had anything to do with de Floyran’s imprisonment?”

“I cannot imagine he is involved in any of this,” replied Robert.

“But the order to keep de Floyran in isolation bore the visitor’s seal?”

“I think I proved that using Hugues’s seal without his knowledge is possible.”

“That may be so, but we cannot ignore the fact that Esquin’s charges bear a striking similarity to practices and tenets within the Anima Templi. Secret initiations. Drinking the blood of fellow knights. Spitting on the cross. All these things were detailed in the Book of the Grail.”

“Drinking blood?”

“The Book of the Grail was written on the orders of former Grand Master Armand de Périgord, who was also a member of the Brethren. According to Everard, the grand master had an obsession with the tales of Perceval and King Arthur and wanted a special ceremony for initiates into the Anima Templi that was different to the rituals of induction into the Temple. Everard wrote the Book to be Armand’s new code.”

“I know this,” Robert cut across him.

Will ignored the interruption. “Like other Grail romances the Book was filled with unusual, even profane imagery, but unlike a simple story, it contained within its pages the aims and beliefs of the Brethren, which as we both know are as unorthodox as the Book itself. When Armand died in a Mamluk prison, the Book became obsolete and was never used, but some of the phi-losophies evoked within remained at our core. Remember how Everard always called Acre our Camelot,” Will added, when Robert frowned in question. “It was all just allegory of course. No one was supposed to drink anyone’s blood; that just symbolized brotherhood. But the Book wasn’t some delicate romance for ladies at court. It was dangerous, blatantly heretical in many of its themes, and what is more, it was evidence of our existence. This is why the Hospi-352 robyn

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tallers stole it, hoping to expose us and, in so doing, bring down the Temple.

It is also why Edward wanted it. With the Book in his possession, he could have used the threat of exposure to gain access to our funds. Everard always regretted not destroying it after Armand’s death.”

“But who else would know this? You told me Everard burned the Book when you retrieved it. The priest has been dead for decades, and since your desertion the Brethren have been reduced to a handful.”

“There are one or two,” said Will, watching as Robert moved away. “One specifi cally.”

Robert turned back abruptly. “I’ve known Hugues since I was a boy. As have you.”

“I sent him Everard’s writings before the fall of Acre. He could have gleaned things from those pages.”

“I cannot believe you would think him capable of murdering an innocent man and locking away another.” When Will didn’t respond, Robert let out a sharp breath. “You didn’t see Merlan, Will. The man we know would never do that.”

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Hugues de Pairaud followed as the page led him into the chamber. It was dark, the painted shutters closed over the windows, and it took the visitor a few moments to see the figure propped up in the large bed, illuminated by the fl ames that billowed in a hearth. At the figure’s nod, the page backed out of the door, closing it quietly behind him.

“My lord king,” Hugues said in greeting, bowing to Edward, whose face was feverish in the firelight. He was stunned by how old the king appeared.

How old and frail. In the years since Hugues had seen him last, Edward’s white hair had become thin and wispy on his crown, the bald patches creased and mottled. His cheeks were hollow and gaunt, his eyes sunk in their sockets, and he looked far beyond his sixty-seven years.

“Closer,” demanded Edward, his voice, although faint, still commanding enough to make Hugues step forward promptly.

“I am sorry to hear that you have been ill, my lord.”

“A fever, Visitor de Pairaud,” responded Edward tersely, “nothing more. So, you received my summons eventually?” The criticism was plain.

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Hugues inclined his head. “I apologize that it took me so long to respond, but I have been occupied visiting the Temple’s holdings in Britain.” He went nearer, feeling the ferocious heat of the fire. “But I was glad to get your message, my lord, as I did wish to speak to you before I returned to Paris.”

Edward stared at him from out of the puckered folds of his pale eyes.

“Oh?”

“These past years have laid heavy burdens on us both, my lord: your struggle against the rebels in Scotland; my attempts to secure a base for the Temple.

I know, when we first agreed to aid one another in our respective endeavors, that neither of us would have imagined we would be in the same position after all this time. However, I would remind your graciousness that I have kept up my side of our agreement. The Temple fought for you in two campaigns, during which we lost one of our most dedicated masters.” Hugues’s voice tightened. “Grand Master de Molay is still encamped on Cyprus and despite my repeated requests that he return to administer to the order’s growing needs in the West, he is adamant he will remain there until support for a new holy war is forthcoming.” He went closer to the fire, holding out his hands to the flames. “I recently received word that Pope Clement has endorsed the Hospitallers’ planned conquest of the island of Rhodes that they might secure a permanent base for themselves. Their grand master has pledged to embark on a Crusade once the island is under their control.”

“I fail to see what any of this has to do with me,” said Edward, his voice dispassionate.

Hugues gritted his teeth, angered that Edward seemed inclined to make this as diffi cult as possible. “I had hoped, my lord, we could discuss the terms of our earlier agreement and your promise to aid the Temple in establishing a suitable headquarters.”

“I lie here on my sickbed with my coffers draining and my men spilling their blood on battlefields as we speak and you have the temerity to ask this of me?” Edward sat forward, his face strained. “Who do you think you are talking to, de Pairaud?”

Hugues stood his ground. “We made an agreement, my lord.”

“Bah!” Edward sank back against the pillows, his labored breaths rattling in his throat. “That agreement was made before my kingdom was blighted by that whoreson Wallace and his bastard followers. Now, with Robert Bruce arrayed against me, I have neither the time nor the inclination to aid you.” His eyes narrowed as he stared into the fire. “I will have the Scots on their knees 354 robyn

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before me if it is the last thing I do in this life. My wife and most of my children have died around me during this campaign. I am left with a son whose arm is as feeble as his wit. Who will wield the Hammer I have forged against the insurgent north when I am dead? I can leave the task to no one. I must finish it. I have not wasted eighteen years of my reign on this endeavor for nothing.”

“Are you saying you will not help me, my lord?”

The king was silent. A log shifted in the hearth and a burst of sparks crackled into the air. “I am saying I cannot. Not now.” He paused. “But if I crush Bruce and his supporters, I will give you what you want.”

“Territory?” asked Hugues quickly.

“I would be willing to discuss the offer of a small area of Scotland as a benefice to the Temple, should this campaign prove successful. But I have a condition. It is, in fact, the reason I summoned you.”

Hugues waited.

“If I am to win through in Scotland I will need all the help I can muster from my subjects. I require the support of the barons to mount an effective campaign, the approval of my people whose taxes will pay for it and the endorsement of the Church from which I intend to levy further funds. This last requirement is proving to be difficult. William Wallace had the backing of Pope Boniface, who was my staunchest detractor in earlier campaigns. This past year his successor, Clement, has begun to take on a similar role. When I sent messengers to His Holiness, replying to his letters of protest, my men discovered something very interesting. The pope, it seems, has formed an alliance with an old enemy of mine. The details of their acquaintance elude me, but the whys and wherefores are not important. What
is
important is that it is ended. That is where I require your help.”

“You want this enemy destroyed?” said Hugues, frowning.

“No. I want him captured and brought to me.”

“My lord, I am sure someone with your capabilities could find and detain this man quite easily without the need for my—”

“He is currently in Paris as a guest of King Philippe, where he has no doubt stirred up other trouble for me.” Edward’s eyes bored into Hugues. “The man is William Campbell.” When the Visitor didn’t respond, the king nodded. “I can see by your face that this comes as a surprise to you. I had wondered if you knew.”

“I thought him dead,” murmured Hugues.

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“I had him in my custody in Stirling years ago, but he escaped. In the past Campbell has been little more than a wasp, an irritation. Now, his sting is starting to wound me. I want him destroyed. But by me, you understand?”

Edward pointed a bony finger at Hugues. “Bring me Campbell and you can have your piece of land, Templar.”

34

Franciscan Monastery, Poitiers

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Guillaume de Nogaret smoothed back his thinning hair in the mirror and pulled on his coif. He paused for a moment, staring at his pallid reflection with a small, satisfied smile, before shrugging on his freshly laundered traveling cloak. There was a knock at the door. When Nogaret opened it, he saw an acolyte outside holding a basket covered with a cloth, through which drifted a strong smell of cheese.

“His Holiness said you required provisions for your journey back to Paris, Minister.” The acolyte held out the basket expectantly.

“Give it to my squire.” As the man nodded and turned to leave, Nogaret called to him. “And while you’re at it, make sure he has my horse saddled and ready. I wish to leave right away.” Having closed the door, the minister fi nished packing his few belongings into a leather bag. When he was done, he made his way out.