Requiem: The Fall of the Templars (7 page)

Nogaret’s brow furrowed. “I do not see how. Edward cannot command them. The Temple answers only to the pope.”

“Exactly,” said Philippe, rising suddenly. “Which is surely why Bertrand de Got, as Boniface’s representative, will be in attendance? My forces can hold against the English at present, but against the full might of the Temple?” He shook his head grimly.

“Even if the English Templars joined forces with Edward, the French would not, neither would those in the Maritime States, or Germany, or Portugal.

They rely on kings and princes across the West for donations and privileges.

They wouldn’t want to jeopardize that.”

“I have to agree with Nogaret,” interjected Flote.

“What purpose do the knights have now the Crusades have ended?” demanded Philippe. “What are they if not an army looking for a war? As a unified force they could take Guienne in a matter of weeks.”

“They aren’t a unifi ed force,” responded Flote. “Half their order is camped out on Cyprus, the other half dispersed throughout Christendom. Since the 32 robyn

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fall of Acre, they have spent most of their energy increasing their monopoly over the wool trade, and from what we know, Jacques de Molay has come seeking support for a Crusade, not to fight someone else’s war.”

“Nonetheless, I would know for certain that I have nothing to be concerned about. Perhaps the Temple would not fight a war for Edward, but he might persuade them to support him financially. I know he is struggling to maintain a strong presence in Gascony and the revolt in Wales must have taxed him heavily.”

“And if they do support him?” ventured Nogaret.

“Then I will have to find the money for my fleet from somewhere. I may have to bring my plans for an invasion of England forward.” Philippe turned to Nogaret. “You will go to London. I will arrange for you to leave as soon as possible in order that you are there ahead of Jacques de Molay. You will discover the purpose of the meeting.”

“Surely, my lord, one of our usual sources would be better equipped for such a task,” said Nogaret, affronted by the idea that he, king’s lawyer and a former professor of one of the finest universities in France, would be trailing about London like some common sneak. He looked at Flote, wondering if he had suggested this. But the chancellor didn’t meet his gaze.

“No,” said Philippe. “I want this information quickly. When you arrive go directly to the royal palace at Westminster. Say you are there to visit my mother-in-law, that you have an urgent message from her daughter. This should allow you to avoid the formalities of an official visit, although I doubt anyone will know who you are and become suspicious in any case. Have her find out whatever she can.”

“With King Edward’s brother leading the English in Bayonne, that could be difficult. The queen mother may not know anything.”

“She is a woman in a royal court, Nogaret. Her husband will not be her only source of information, certainly.”

Before Nogaret could answer, there was a knock at the door. A clerk appeared. “The Scottish envoys are preparing to leave, my lord.”

“I will be there shortly.”

“Scottish envoys?” questioned Nogaret, as the clerk closed the door.

“They arrived while you were away, seeking an alliance against Edward for his continuing interference in their realm. Two months ago I signed a treaty agreeing to aid them.”

“The Scots are a nation of barbarians,” said Nogaret derisively. “Still living in mud huts and warring with one another over who will be chief.”

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“That they may be, but they are enemies of Edward and that makes them allies of mine. They will keep him occupied on the borders of his kingdom, while I continue to beat back his forces here. With his army divided in such a way, I expect he will not be able to hold out much longer in Gascony. Edward will almost certainly have learned of this alliance by now, which may be precisely why he has requested this meeting with the Templars, and which is why this matter now takes precedence over your task in Bordeaux.” Philippe drew a breath. “Now leave me, both of you. I wish to change before bidding our barbarian friends farewell.”

When the ministers had gone, Philippe crossed the chamber to a full-length silver mirror. He removed the gold circlet from his head and placed it on the desk. Next, slowly, deliberately, he unfastened the belt embossed with silver that pulled in the wine-colored robe at his waist. Drawing the folds of the robe over his muscled torso, he took it off and draped it on the arm of the couch.

All the while, he kept his eyes on the dazzling surface of the mirror, watching himself with cool detachment, as if he were observing someone else. Beneath the robe, Philippe wore a hair shirt. The tight-fitting garment was fashioned from coarse goat hair and gave off a repugnant odor, which worsened when he sweated. He noticed the weave was looking a little flat and reminded himself to have his tailor make a new one. He wore it most days, and the stiff hairs tended to lose some of their abrasiveness over time, smoothed by the movements of his body and the constant rubbing against his skin. As he unlaced the leather thongs, the garment loosened, coming away from his chest with a feeling of such intense relief that it took all his effort not to tear the thing away.

Undoing the rest of the ties, he removed the hair shirt and laid it carefully beside his robe. In the mirror, Philippe examined the results of the day’s penance.

His skin was irritated a feverish red. As he turned to one side, a fresh line of welts showed where he had been bitten by the lice that tended to breed in the garment. On his back, scars made patterns of his skin. Some were old and silvery white, others were newer, scabbing wherever the flagellum had drawn blood. The mortifications were vivid in the daylight, running down to disappear beneath the line of his hose and up as far as his shoulder blades. There they stopped. From the neck up, Philippe’s skin was pale and smooth, all the way to his unblemished face. The contrast was startling. It was as if the face and the body belonged to two different people.

For a moment, he allowed himself to stand bare-chested in the window, the cold air numbing his flesh. His gaze wandered over the gardens, where men were working. It gave him a sense of satisfaction, watching them. Ascending 34 robyn

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the throne at seventeen, Philippe had worried that the household staff wouldn’t obey him as readily as they had his father or stalwart grandfather, and even though he had been king for ten years he still sometimes wondered if they respected him enough. It was one of the reasons he had surrounded himself with ministers like Nogaret, men nearer his own age. With them, he felt superior.

Movement directly below caught his eye. A woman was heading through the yard, toward the servants’ gate in the palace wall. She was walking quickly, her skirts bunched in one hand to keep them from trailing. Something about the way she kept looking back over her shoulder focused his attention. As Philippe watched, intrigued, the woman slipped through the gate and was gone. She vanished for a minute, hidden by the high outer wall, then reappeared on the riverbank beyond. She had removed her coif and her tawny hair hung loose around her shoulders. Philippe frowned as he saw a man waiting on the narrow bank that tumbled down to the water. The man approached the serving girl and they embraced. As she pulled away, glancing back at the palace, Philippe’s keen eyes picked out the features of her face. Turning from the window, he locked them in his mind. He would speak to the steward, have the woman expelled for improper behavior. A servant who flouted the rules was an infection, sowing seeds of disobedience throughout the household. It was something his father had told him. Philippe hadn’t taken to heart much of what his father, a weak, directionless man, had said, but that piece of advice had stuck in his mind. The royal household was an extension of himself.

Whatever his staff did reflected on him and he would allow no one to tarnish his reputation. He was the grandson of Louis IX. His subjects would know only his greatness. Going to the couch, Philippe picked up the hair shirt. He drew it back on, ignoring the stinging discomfort as he pulled the thongs tight.

the banks of the seine, paris, december 21, 1295 ad

Over an hour had passed since he had crossed the Grand Pont onto the banks of the Ile, and Will was beginning to wonder if the servant had delivered the message. The palace walls loomed over him, sheer and impassive. Dramatic changes had occurred within them. There were two new towers a short distance upriver from the bridge, flanking an impressive gateway. Beyond the walls, along with the gray steeples of the royal apartments and administrative buildings that he recognized, a tight jumble of structures had sprung up, the the fall of the templars

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sharp angles of rooftops carving the spaces between soaring turrets, adorned with colorful flags. On the far side of the complex rose the majestic Sainte-Chapelle. The chapel, built by Louis IX to enclose a fragment of Christ’s crown of thorns, lent beauty to a place that, to Will, appeared more imposing and fortresslike than it ever had before.

He looked around, and saw a girl heading down the muddy banks toward him. Will’s breath caught as she came closer and he saw his mistake, for she was no longer a girl, but a woman. The white tunic she wore over a linen gown was drawn in at her waist, accentuating her height and the slimness of her figure. Her gold hair whipped about her in the breeze coming off the water and she pushed it back in a swift, impatient movement. Her face was pallid and a little gaunt, prominent cheekbones emphasizing a strong chin. The sight of that face hurt him; both in its strangeness and familiarity, it hurt him somewhere vital.

“Rose.”

She stopped short, but he went the rest of the way and drew her to him.

Her hair was soft and smelled of woodsmoke. It was two years since he’d held her, but it felt much longer.

“I was starting to wonder if you were coming.”

“I have duties,” she replied, pulling away with a glance at the palace.

Will drew in a slow breath. He shouldn’t have expected her to come rushing to meet him; their parting had not been easy and in the time he’d spent on the road since he’d had no chance to contact her. “How are you?” He tried to sound bright, but regretted the question immediately. It was so formal, so in-sipid.

Rose gave a tight shrug.

“Because Andreas assured me you would be given a good position here. In his letter he said he had written to the queen, asking if something suitable could be found for you.” Will stared at the muddy ground, unable to look at her rigid face. “He promised me you would be taken care of, that he had the influence to make certain of this.”

“Then I suppose it must be fine,” she retorted.

The wind lifted her hair and she pushed it back again. As she did so, Will saw the scars on her hand, where she had been burned. Her skin was raw-looking and shriveled. She caught him looking at it and folded her arms. “I want to know that you’re happy,” Will said, aware of how helpless he sounded.

She made a sharp, scornful noise. “So you don’t have to think about me 36 robyn

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anymore.” Her dark blue eyes were cloudy with anger. “So you don’t have to feel guilty for sending me away.”

Her words stung him, filled with venom and truth. He put his hands on her shoulders. She had grown tall. How old was she now? Seventeen? No, she would have turned eighteen last month. “I know these past few years must have been difficult for you, but . . .”

“Diffi cult? You have no idea! As soon as we landed on Cyprus you left me.

I hardly saw you for months.”

“What else could I do?” said Will quietly. “On the ship from Acre people just assumed you were another orphan rescued from the city, but when we reached Cyprus I had no choice but to leave you.” He stared out across the green Seine flowing silently beside them. “I would have been expelled if the others had found out about you, if they knew I had a daughter. You know that.” He looked back at her. “But I made sure you would be cared for.”

She scoffed again.

Will’s expression hardened. “I did the best I could. You had a good life with Elias.”

“Yes! And then you forced me to come to Paris!”

“Elias had told me he was planning to come here and Grand Master de Molay began preparing his progress through Christendom as soon as he was elected. I couldn’t abandon you in Limassol knowing we would all be leaving.

Paris offered you the best chance. I knew Andreas would be able to use his contacts with the royal family to help you find decent work.” Will shook his head. “Other children who survived Acre weren’t so fortunate, Rose. They lost both their parents and were forced to beg on the streets. Or worse.”

“I know how they feel. I lost my parents too.”

Will felt as though she’d just slapped him. He was silent, staring as she half turned away, unable to meet his gaze, her cheeks flushing pink. He tried not to say it, but couldn’t help himself. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” murmured Rose.

“I want to know what you meant by that.” He didn’t. Yet, still, he asked the question again.

Rose turned on him. “It means my parents died at Acre. Both of them!”

For a moment, Will saw someone else looking back at him out of those stormy sea eyes, mocking him, and right then he wanted to strike her. The wall inside him cracked apart and his hand squeezed into a fist, all his rage and pain and impotence flooding into it. He wanted to push it into her, into the the fall of the templars

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woman in front of him who shouldn’t even be a woman, who had grown up without him into this perfect picture of her mother; his hurt made manifest, standing here before him, reminding him of that great betrayal, those dark blue eyes not his, not her mother’s, but someone else’s. A name he couldn’t even say.

As Rose began to walk away, Will took a step forward, reaching out as if to grasp her. Then he faltered, his hand falling, as the distance between them grew too great. He waited, but she didn’t look back. Entering the servants’ passage, she disappeared. Will lifted his head and stared into the sky, until the sunlight blinded him.