Requiem: The Fall of the Templars (6 page)

“That depends on the grand master.”

Elias nursed his drink thoughtfully. “I suppose as your visitor is one of the Brethren it will not matter where you are. You will have someone looking after your interests here in the West.” When Will said nothing, Elias leaned 26 robyn

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forward. “And what of this talk I hear about your grand master preparing for another Crusade?”

“It is why he has come: to gather support.”

“What do you plan to do about it?”

“Do?”

“Yes, William,” said Elias sternly, “as head of the Anima Templi, what are you going to do to stop this?” He sighed heavily. “Admittedly, expulsion from Acre at the hands of the Mamluks wasn’t what we wanted. None of us who wished for the years of war to end sought such a bloody, tragic finish to two centuries of conflict between East and West. But you cannot deny the fact that now the Christian forces have been compelled to withdraw from the Holy Land, you have a chance to continue the Brethren’s work unhindered. Do you not feel the Anima Templi could establish a far stronger relationship with the Muslims than they could have while the Western armies were camped out in Palestine?” Elias’s eyes were intense. “Could the Brethren now be in the best position to establish that hoped-for reconciliation between the three great faiths of the world? Shared knowledge to enlighten us, trade to enrich us, peace to fulfi ll us? Everard taught us that Muslims, Christians and Jews are all children of one God, even though we give Him different names. In hurting our brothers, he always said, we hurt ourselves.” Elias didn’t wait for an answer. “I imagine the dust has settled enough for an envoy to be sent to the Mamluk sultan. You should open a dialogue at least.” He shook his head. “Of course, if your grand master has his way, we will be plunged right back into war. You have to stop this from happening.”

“The Temple alone doesn’t have the men or resources to mount an effective campaign in the East,” said Will flatly, unmoved by Elias’s impassioned speech.

How many times had he heard Everard say those things? They now seemed like an old man’s foolish dreams, burned up in the fires and chaos of Acre’s fall.

It was over one hundred years since the Anima Templi had been created by a former grand master of the Temple, but although the Brethren had been instrumental in averting many conflicts in that time, working in secret behind thrones and battle lines, they had never managed to stop the ongoing war between Christians and Muslims. “From what I’ve heard, the leaders of the West are too involved in their own disputes to give Jacques what he wants.”

“Then what are your plans for the Anima Templi? Do you agree with me—

should an envoy be sent east?”

“In truth, Elias, I haven’t had much time to think about it.” Will made a the fall of the templars

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fist on the table. “I’ve had other things on my mind.” He saw a face, poised and cold, flint-gray eyes mocking him. In the past two days, since the meeting at the Temple, King Edward had been occupying all his thoughts. His face, his name were dark clouds building inside him, obscuring everything else.

Elias’s eyes narrowed. “I would have thought time was the one thing you have had. But too much of something can be bad, can it not?” he murmured, half to himself.

“What can I do?” demanded Will. “More than half the Brethren were killed at Acre and the handful of us left have been scattered across the West. The Temple has had three grand masters in the space of four years, all of whom have pulled the order in different directions, the current one being so bent on a Crusade he has traveled the length and breadth of Christendom looking for anyone who will help him start one. How can the Anima Templi continue in this way? We have no base in the East, we lost all contact with the Muslims when Kalawun died. It is over.”

“If the Temple exists then so does its Soul. How Everard must be writhing in his grave to hear his successor speak in this way! How can the work be over when East and West still glare at one another, waiting for the moment to strike back, avenge their dead, spread their messages of destruction and hatred?”

Elias threw a hand toward the door. “Tell me how it is over when my own people have to wear that badge like a brand upon their backs? If the Anima Templi was formed to bring about reconciliation between our faiths, why do these things still happen?” His voice quieted. “It was a heavy burden Everard placed upon you, and one that has only increased in the years since his death.

But it is essential, as leader of the Brethren, that you now continue the work he and others before him started. Our people must find new ways of living together in this changing world. Peace between nations is as important as peace between faiths, and that is something we need here and now with France and England at war, and Scotland poised to join the confl ict.”

Will looked up sharply. “Scotland?”

Elias nodded. “A delegation from Edinburgh has been in Paris in talks with King Philippe. It is said the two kingdoms will join sides against England.

Your work is far from over. Indeed, I would say it is only beginning.” He sat back with a long exhalation and finished off his drink. “But you have just arrived. You must settle in, come to see how the land lies yourself. I can help you with that. Anything you want, as ever, you need only ask.” Elias seemed to relax. “And how is Rose?”

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Will scratched at a mark on the table, preoccupied by the news of his homeland’s involvement in the conflict. There was so much he didn’t understand about what had been happening here. All he knew was fragments; scraps of news that filtered through to them back in Acre and conflicting and incomplete information received on the road. He realized how foolish it was now, but he had imagined everything would have remained much the same in his absence. When he was out in the deserts of Palestine and Syria, rocked by war and political convulsions, the thought that he could one day return to solid ground had kept him strong for years. It was disconcerting to fi nd it wasn’t so solid after all. He realized Elias was waiting for a response. “I haven’t seen Rose yet. I was planning to go to her after I visited you.”

“Then I will not keep you from that reunion.” Elias got to his feet. He held out his hand. As Will took it, Elias placed his other hand fi rmly over Will’s.

“Do not forget the things that are important to you, William. Do not forget who you are, what you are capable of.”

the royal palace, paris, december 21, 1295 ad

The grass in the royal gardens was brittle with frost. It crunched under Guillaume de Nogaret’s riding boots as he crossed the lawns, past fruit trees and clipped yew hedges. Two men were sweeping dead leaves from the pathways.

They stopped to let him pass as he headed for an arched opening in a high wall. Moving through, he entered a quadrangle, which formed the end of the palace complex at the very tip of the Ile de la Cité. Several buildings bordered the yard, but most of the space was taken up by a row of wooden huts, fashioned to look like miniature houses, with painted shutters fixed to the front of each. A fence ran around them forming a pen and outside each hut was a perch, occupied by a bird.

Dozens of tiny, glinting eyes followed him as he passed down their line.

There were goshawks and sparrow hawks on bow-shaped perches, merlins, a hobby and a pair of lanners. The huts became more ornate as he reached the gyrfalcons. There were twelve in total, perched on wooden blocks padded with linen. One, her speckled feathers brilliant white in the sunlight, bated suddenly, darting toward him, the silver bells attached to her legs chiming madly.

Nogaret stepped back. She strained at her leash, wings beating the air, then settled back gracefully onto her perch, talons sinking into the linen. As he the fall of the templars

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moved on, the gyr gave a shriek that sounded like scornful laughter. Nogaret picked up his pace, his gaze on a group of men ahead. A young man with light brown hair, who stood head and shoulders above the others, turned at his approach. On his wrist, poised on a leather glove, was a peregrine, her powdery gray wings folded back behind her. As Nogaret halted and bowed, two pairs of eyes, one black and ringed with gold above a steel-sharp beak, the other ice blue, set wide and deep in a striking face, fixed on him.

“What has taken you so long?”

“I apologize, my lord, the roads were treacherous with snow.”

King Philippe paused, as if considering the worthiness of the excuse. The other men had fallen silent. One, dressed in the same well-tailored black robe Nogaret himself wore under his traveling cloak, regarded him cagily, lips pursed. Ignoring the disapproving stare of Pierre Flote, king’s chancellor and keeper of the seals, Nogaret waited.

After a moment, Philippe smiled slightly and the tension dispersed.

“Maiden broke a feather, but it has been mended perfectly.” He raised his fi st, causing the peregrine to cry and unfurl her wings in expectation of fl ight.

“You can scarcely see the join where the new feather was imped. Come now, Nogaret, you’ll have to get closer than that. She won’t bite. Will she, Flote?”

Philippe laughed and the chancellor joined in.

Nogaret tried not to scowl. He still had the scar on his neck where Maiden had plunged that razor beak into his flesh. Philippe had given her a treat, pleased with her fi erceness.

“Sir Henri has outdone himself,” said the king, glancing at the man next to him, who wore a spray of dove feathers in his cap.

Sir Henri, the Master Falconer, smiled. “We’ll fly her well this week, my lord, get her strength up.”

“I want her ready for the hunt after the Christ Mass,” said Philippe briskly, passing the bird to Henri, who lifted her expertly onto his glove, grasping the jesses. Sliding off his gauntlet and passing it to one of the squires, Philippe gestured to Nogaret and Flote. “Come, both of you, we will talk in my chambers.”

The king led the way out of the enclosure and back through the gardens.

The walkways through the lawns were narrow, with room for only two abreast.

To Flote’s visible irritation, Nogaret maneuvered himself so he could walk at Philippe’s side. “Your brother sends his regards from Bordeaux, my lord. He will shortly be delivering the funds we have secured thus far.”

“How has our plan worked?” inquired Philippe, his long-legged stride 30 robyn

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causing Nogaret, who was several inches shorter, to quicken his footsteps.

“How much have we acquired through the arrests?”

“By our estimates, enough to keep soldiers in Guienne until late spring next year.”

Philippe halted abruptly and faced him. “That is all?”

“Much of the wealth in the region is bound up in the estates themselves: properties, vineyards, townships. Monies from these fixed assets will obviously take us longer to garner.”

Philippe set off again. “I was hoping for better news from you, Nogaret. I need more than this if I am to dislodge that contumacious old crow from my kingdom. There have been signifi cant problems with the building of the fl eet.

The shipwrights are asking for more funds to complete their work.” As Nogaret started to speak, Philippe raised a hand. “No, I need to think.” He scowled as he climbed the steps to the royal apartments. The guards at the top pushed open the doors to let him through. “This is not what I wanted to hear.”

“We could cut back in other areas, my lord,” suggested Flote, moving in to walk at Philippe’s left as they marched down a wide passage.

“Are you offering up your own salary?” asked Philippe sourly, heading up the winding flight of stairs that led to his private solar.

“We need to think of ways in which to replenish the royal coffers, not how to limit or, worse, damage the good works we have already started,” said Nogaret, with a glance at Flote. “Expansion cannot continue without adequate funds, and without expansion, without a forceful exertion of royal power in this kingdom, our lord will be as impeded by willful vassals, bishops and princes as his predecessors before him.” As they reached Philippe’s solar, Nogaret went forward to open the doors.

Philippe was nodding as he entered the sunlit chamber. “Nogaret is right.

Expansion is paramount. Under my father the Capetian dynasty lost its potency. In order to regain the authority wielded by my grandfather, I must continue to exert myself.”

“With all due respect, my lord,” said Flote, “King Louis didn’t attain his authority through the purchase of townships and bishoprics. It was through Crusading that he earned his people’s respect.”

Nogaret smiled inwardly as Philippe turned to stare at the older minister.

“People say lawyers talk too much. Be careful, Flote, that you do not prove them right, or it will not be your salary that is cut.”

“I am sorry, my lord. I meant no offense.”

Passing a desk that was carefully arranged with parchments, quills and ink the fall of the templars

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pots, none of which looked used, Philippe shrugged off his winter cloak, edged with cloud-soft ermine, and handed it to Flote. Sitting back on a couch that overlooked the gardens, he crossed his long legs. “While I wish to discuss the matter of Bordeaux further, I have received some disturbing news that requires my immediate attention.” Philippe’s blue eyes fixed on Nogaret. “The grand master of the Temple arrived in the city two days ago. Shortly before this, we discovered he has been requested to attend a meeting at the London preceptory with King Edward and a representative of Pope Boniface, a man named Bertrand de Got.”

“The bishop?”

“You know him?”

“In a manner of speaking. I met him in Bordeaux.” Nogaret told the king how the bishop had interfered with one of the arrests. “He could make things difficult for us, especially if he elicits the support of the archbishop, as he threatened.”

“Bertrand doesn’t worry me. I’ve had dealings with him before. All that interests him is filling Church offices with members of his family. The man is an avaricious little leech who has spent most of the past year since his appointment trying to worm his way into the pope’s favor. I doubt he will cause us any real trouble, but if needs be, a well-placed bishopric for one of his nephews will keep him pliant. No, it is the reason for this meeting that concerns me. I fear Edward may try to use the Templars against me.”