The Parchment (31 page)

As he was staring at the woman, a French patrol came galloping down the street, scattering pedestrians in every direction. Beneton
jumped into a doorway, barely escaping injury. A merchant shared the space.

“Cesspools — that is what these streets have become. The worst plagues are the rats.”

The clock in the bell tower began to toll noon. The merchant took a piece of hard bread out of his pocket and threw it in the street. “Watch! It will be gone before the bell tower sounds the twelfth stroke.”

The bread had hardly hit the ground when rats darted out from gutters and clumps of sewage that had been thrown in the street. As Beneton watched in disbelief, the piece of bread was devoured in an instant. Then as if nothing had happened, the sidewalk was empty again.

The merchant walked away shaking his head in disgust. “I thought purgatory came after death, not before.”

When Beneton went through the door of L'Auberge Carrée, Madame Therese greeted him warmly.

“Ah, Père Beneton, we have not seen you here for weeks. Marie still asks after you.”

Tall and buxom with pockmarks on her skin caused by several bouts of venereal disease, Madame Therese presented a commanding figure, leaving little doubt that she was the proprietor of L'Auberge Carrée.

“Therese, I am looking for someone — Etienne de Saone.”

“He is not here. Come back tonight.”

“His uncle wishes to see him.”

Madame Therese shrugged her shoulders. “Wait a minute....”

Several minutes later an angry Etienne de Saone stormed down the corridor of the bordello, tucking a linen shirt into his pants. “Damn it, Beneton....”

“The pope is dead. Your uncle needs you immediately.”

Although Etienne seldom tolerated interruptions in his pleasures, he sensed that the matter was serious. In any case, he could
always return. As the two men left the bordello, Madame Therese walked over to where a merchant sat drinking absinthe.

“One of the men who just left was Etienne de Saone, the nephew of the camerlengo. His uncle wants to see him immediately. It has something to do with the pope's death.”

The merchant handed the woman a gold coin. “Thank you, Therese.” Finishing his absinthe, the merchant arose and left the bordello, heading for the post of the commander of the king's guard.

As Père Beneton and Etienne walked quickly toward the Papal Palace, they slipped into a quiet alley. “Throw this monk's cassock over your uniform, Etienne. You must not be recognized. Too many questions will be asked.”

When they reached Cardinal de Saone's quarters, Etienne could see that his uncle was upset. The cardinal's hands trembled as he paced up and down in his study.

“Etienne, I have a mission for you. Go to the Cistercian abbey of Valmagne and bring Abbot Ricard here as quickly as possible. He is my confessor.”

“Now, Uncle?”

“Yes, Etienne. Go down to the harbor and find a barge stopping at the village of Dupais. The abbey is a four-hour walk from there. God willing, you can be at the abbey by noon tomorrow.”

“As you wish, Uncle.”

“Take this gold pectoral cross. It was a gift from the abbot. If you are refused entry to Valmagne, have this taken to Ricard. He will see you.”

There was a loud knock on the door of the camerlengo's apartment. De Saone and Beneton looked apprehensively at each other. The cardinal pointed to a door at the far end of the room. “Etienne, hurry—hide in my chapel. You cannot be seen here.”

As Etienne entered the chapel, the camerlengo motioned Beneton to open the door. Two armed soldiers stood outside.

“King Philip wishes the camerlengo to attend him. He has sent a carriage.”

“I will inform His Eminence.”

The cardinal overheard what the soldiers had said. “One dares not keep the king waiting. Beneton, bring me my cloak.”

When the cardinal had left, Etienne came out of the chapel.

“Be careful, Etienne, French soldiers are everywhere.”

“They will not stop me.”

“It will be cold on the river tonight. Take this.” Père Beneton handed Etienne a goatskin bag.

“Good wine will help.”

As Cardinal de Saone alighted from his carriage, King Philip stood waiting in the courtyard of the Templar commanderie to greet him. “I hope your trip from Avignon was comfortable.”

“As comfortable as could be expected, Majesty. Your soldiers did not tell me the purpose of this meeting.”

“Come have some wine.”

The old cardinal followed Philip into the hall of the castle.

“With Clement dead, you administer the Church.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“And you are responsible for convening the next papal conclave.”

“This is common knowledge, Sire.”

“Then let me make my wishes clear. The conclave will be held in Avignon, and the new pontiff will be French.”

“The Italians may vote to return the conclave to Rome.”

“Remind their Eminences of the Templars' fate. No one leaves Avignon until a French pope is elected.”

“You cannot select the next Vicar of Christ, Philip. That choice belongs to the Holy Spirit.”

“Don't talk to me of fairytales, de Saone.”

“The will of God is not a fairytale.”

“Tell your fellow cardinals that I have caged the Holy Spirit. He acts through me.”

As the king turned to leave the room, he stopped. An uneasy look crossed his face.

“Do you believe in de Molay's curse, de Saone? The people say he came for Clement's soul.”

“He said that he would come for our souls as well—yours and mine.”

“Certainly, you do not believe in such things.”

“I believe in the resurrection of the body, Your Majesty. Such things can happen.”

“De Molay's curse is merely another fairytale, de Saone.”

Etienne walked along the busy quais of Avignon. At a wharf just north of St. Bénézet Bridge, several stacks of Toledo armor lay on the deck of a barge. One sword in particular caught Etienne's attention. Walking over to the barge, he picked up the weapon to feel its weight. Never had he felt such perfect balance. He ran his hand over the finely worked blade. The engraving depicted the legendary knight Roland. Ambushed by a Saracen army in the Pyrenees, Roland lifts his horn to recall Charlemagne and his men to help drive off the Muslim attack. Absorbed by the beauty of the sword, Etienne did not see a man approaching from the rear.

“It would take the treasuries of fifty abbeys to buy that sword, monk. Put it down or by the Blood of our Savior, you will see the devil before nightfall.” Still wearing the cassock of a monk, Etienne spun around and saw the captain of the barge standing directly behind him. From his girth, Etienne could see that the captain was a man who enjoyed his wine and venison. Despite his menacing tone, however, there was something about the man that Etienne instinctively liked.

“I intended no harm. The sun reflected off the blade like....”

“Move on, priest. We sail up river tonight.”

“Do you stop in Dupais?”

“Dupais ? Now there's a destination for you. The rats are plentiful there. When we stop there tomorrow, the dock may be gone — the rats eat quickly.”

“Is there room for one more passenger?”

“There's always room for someone who pays his carriage. But prayers are no substitute for money.”

“What is the cost to Dupais?”

“Ten copper coins.”

“Five.”

“Your mother must have never taught you to count. Eight it will be and not one coin less.”

“Six and half my wine.”

“Let me taste it.”

Etienne gave the captain Père Beneton's goatskin of wine.

“Where did you get this, monk? If priests drink this well, I might even return to the church. Six it is and half the wine.”

At eight o'clock in the evening, the barge left Avignon, and the captain steered the boat out through some sandbars close to the shore. When it was safely in the main channel of the river, the captain fastened two torches to the front of the barge to avoid nighttime collisions. “That should prevent us from getting rammed. Now for some of your wine.”

At four o'clock in the morning, the barge docked at the village of Dupais. Before he stepped off the barge, the captain tested the strength of the dock.

“The rats must be eating more slowly. The planks have survived another night.”

“When do you return to Dupais?”

“Late tomorrow afternoon.”

“Do you have space for two passengers?”

“Yes, but it will cost twelve copper coins and more good wine.”

Etienne followed the forest path west from Dupais. When the sun began to rise, he stopped to eat some blackberries that grew along the path. Two young fawns darted out of the woods and stood blinking in the light. Etienne moved slowly toward them holding out some of the berries. The fauns looked at him as if puzzled by his offer of food. Etienne heard a sound behind him. Turning, he saw a large stag walk out onto the forest path. The stag pawed the ground and shook his antlers menacingly. Etienne backed away. An
owl had observed the confrontation and hooted a comment on the wisdom of Etienne's strategic retreat.

Continuing along the path, Etienne heard the sound of far-off bells. The path wound steeply upward until the land fell off abruptly, exposing a large valley. In the center of the valley stood the Abbey of Valmagne. The early morning light made the travertine walls of the monastery glow with the softness of gold. Everywhere he looked, Etienne saw meticulously tended fields, bounded by stands of orange and lemon trees. Far off in the distance was the abbey's vineyard. The vines, neatly spaced in rows, reminded him of the stripes on a tiger's back.

The monks were already at work in the fields, harvesting a crop of barley. Etienne laughed at a flock of crows, hungry for scraps and cawing impatiently as they waited for the monks to leave the field. Off in the distance a rather portly monk chased a duck that had escaped from its coop.

When he reached the gate to the abbey, Etienne knocked loudly on the wooden door. There was no answer. He knocked again. Finally an old servant opened a small slide in the door. “It's too early for visitors. Come back later.”

“I have come to see Abbot Ricard.”

“If it is the abbot you wish to see, then come back tomorrow. He will be busy the whole of today.”

“Cardinal de Saone sent me.” Etienne showed the gold pectoral cross to the gatekeeper.

Unlatching the metal bolt from within, the old man opened the door. “I recognize the cross. Come with me. The abbot has been in the chapter room for two days trying to resolve a dispute between the Bishop of Autun and the villagers of Lemeux.”

“What is the dispute?”

“Another problem inherited from the Templars. When King Philip confiscated the Templar lands and their wealth, he gave the vineyards on both sides of the Durand River to the Count of Provence. The count gave the vineyards north of the river to the Bishop of Autun and those south of the river to the town of Lemeux. It did not take long before the bishop and the town began feuding over how much water each party could take from the
river. Tempers ran high. The Count of Provence asked the abbot to settle the dispute.”

“Murderer!”

“You dare call a bishop of the Church a murderer?” The Bishop of Autun hoisted himself from his seat and glared at his accuser.

An old man stood pointing a bony finger at the corpulent bishop wrapped in yards of purple cloth. “That and more. You are a liar and a fornicator as well.”

“Old man, for those sinful words, you will be denied the sacraments. No absolution, no communion, no....”

Abbot Ricard stepped between the bishop and the old man. “Lord Bishop, people say many things in the heat of passion. Please take your seat.”

Etienne looked carefully at Abbot Ricard. He was a tall handsome man with a wide and pleasant face. The abbot had been born into a wealthy mercantile family in the Auvergne in south-central France. It is said that the people of the Auvergne believe that their beloved mountains, their Catholic faith, and their families are somehow mystically bound together, each a part of the other two. Ricard's own parents held tenaciously to this belief.

Ricard had shown exceptional intelligence as a child. He was sent to study law at the University of Lyons. While at university, his parents betrothed him to Genevieve de Fereine, the youngest daughter of the mayor of the neighboring village of Cresson. After three years of marriage, the couple conceived a child. While in the fifth month of her pregnancy, Genevieve went to Cresson to visit her father. On the way home, her carriage was ambushed by a band of highwaymen. When the driver tried to escape, the carriage plunged down the side of a cliff, killing Genevieve and the baby. Inconsolable, Ricard entered the monastery at Valmagne. Five years later, his fellow monks elected him abbot.

Now Abbot Ricard stood up from his chair and bowed to the Count of Provence who sat archly at the front of the chapter room. Ricard stood for a moment until there was absolute silence in the room.

“This dispute is not about water, my friends. It is about money to feed wives and children.”

At the mention of children, the bishop of Autun squirmed in his seat. Despite his promise of celibacy, he had fathered three children.

The abbot continued. “God created the mountains and the valleys. He created the rivers to bring water from the mountains to the valleys below. I cannot improve on that. But people created money and can distribute it as they please.”

“What do you mean, Abbot?”

“My Lord Bishop, when a priest begins to say Mass, he kisses the altar stone. Why?”

“Because it contains holy relics.”

“Precisely. My Lord Count, you have many relics in your treasury, including the bones of St. James, the brother of Jesus.”

“What do the bones of St. James have to do with this water dispute?”

“Relics should be venerated by the faithful, My Lord, not kept in a dark vault. If you loan the bishop the relics of St. James, he could place them in his cathedral. Many pilgrims would come to pray before them.”

“Ah, now I am beginning to see your point.” The count smiled at Ricard. “The monies from the pilgrim trade will make the bishop rich in exchange for pulling up his vines!”