Requiem: The Fall of the Templars
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Authors: Robyn Young
;
the fall
of the
templars
ROBYN YOU NG
D u t t o n
The Fall
of the
Templars
A l so by Roby n You ng
Brethren
Crusade
;
the fall
of the
templars
ROBYN YOU NG
D u t t o n
DUTTON
Published by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.); Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England; Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd); Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd); Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India; Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd); Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offi ces: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England First published in the United Kingdom by Hodder & Stoughton under the title
Requiem
Published by Dutton, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
Copyright © 2009 by Robyn Young
All rights reserved
REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA has been applied for.
ISBN: 1-4406-8569-X
Map © Sandra Oakins
Set in Adobe Garamond
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This book is a work of fi ction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Acknowledgments
By the time this book is published, the Brethren trilogy will have been almost a decade in the making. It has taken not only time to create, but also a great deal of support from family and friends, and from experts who have willingly shared their knowledge along the way. This is a small token of my gratitude to those people.
Thank you to Deborah Druba and all at Univers Poche for the warm welcome to Paris and for introducing me to Joffrey Seguin, who showed me the city’s hidden medieval past. Thanks also to Alison Weir for generously sharing her research notes on Philippe IV and to Christine Tomkins for the translation of the French texts.
Many thanks to all those who took the time to talk to me so informatively and passionately about the history of the sites I visited in Scotland, particularly Allan Kennedy at the Bannockburn Heritage Centre, David Frame at Stirling Castle and Sarah at the Berwick-upon-Tweed tourist information cen-tre for help finding a useful history of the town.
My gratitude to Steven Charlton for the unforgettable experiences with his birds of prey. Thanks to Wayne de Strete, Jeff Baker, Karl Alexander, Mark Griffin and Seán George at Stunt Action Specialists for the invasion of Canter-bury and for teaching me the best methods of doing away with one’s enemies.
Thanks also to Mark for the reading suggestions and for checking over the battles.
Much appreciation is due to the Third Monday Club for their editorial support and many thanks go to Dr. Mark Philpott at the Centre for Medieval
& Renaissance Studies and Keble College, Oxford, for checking over the man-uscripts.
A huge thank you goes to my agent, Rupert Heath, for believing in the trilogy from the start and for many laughs along the way. Thanks also to Dan Conaway at Writers House.
viii acknowledgments
I am indebted to everyone at Hodder & Stoughton for the enthusiasm they have brought to the trilogy and for making every step such an enjoyable one. In particular I would like to thank my editor, Nick Sayers, but also Anne, Emma, Tara, Kelly, Laurence, Lucy, Richard, Aslan, Melissa, Laura, Helen and all the Hodder reps. Special thanks go to Toni, Charlotte and Emma for organizing the fantastic launch, and last, but not least, I want to thank Alasdair Oliver and Larry Rostant for the breathtaking artwork.
Many thanks go to the team at Dutton for their commitment to the trilogy, with much gratitude to my American editor, Julie Doughty. Indeed, I would like to thank all my editors and publishing teams for their hard work.
Lastly, my heartfelt thanks go to my family and friends for allowing me to share with them the highs and lows of this often incredible, frequently challenging, sometimes terrifying, always rewarding process. Most of all, my love to Lee: collaborator, critic, research assistant, fellow celebrator and so very much more.
Requiem aeternam dona eis, domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis.
(“Eternal rest give them, O Lord, and let everlasting light shine upon them.”)
—Introit to the Mass for the Dead
The Fall
of the
Templars
Prologue
As the young man knelt, the iron cold of the floor seeped through the thin material of his hose. He felt the stone, hard and unyielding, bruising him, but the discomfort was reassuring; the fl agstones beneath him were the only thing in the chamber that felt solid. A fog of incense hung in shifting layers, stinging his eyes. It was a bitter smell that reminded him of burning leaves. He didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t the serene frankincense that always welcomed him into church. Around him, shadows stole across the walls, nebulous and unfamiliar, as figures passed by candles that sputtered in holders on the ground, placed so far apart that the quivering points of fire cast little real light and served only to blind and disorient him further. A few yards away to his left the floor was spattered with a substance that gleamed wetly. Here, in this dimness, it looked almost black, but in daylight the young man knew it would be a bright, shocking red. He could still smell its sharp, metallic odor, even over the pungent incense, and he swallowed tightly, a plug of nausea clogging his throat.
This wasn’t what he had expected. Part of him was glad of that; he might not have gone through with it had he known what would be asked of him this night. The only things that kept him here, doing as he was bid, were the presence of the men in the shadows and the fear of what would happen if he refused. But he didn’t want to show weakness. He wanted to do this right, despite his trepidation, and so he stared straight ahead, his chest, bare and pale, thrust forward, hands, slick with sweat, clasped tightly behind his back.
Now the men had stopped moving and the chamber had fallen silent again, he could hear faint birdsong coming through the high windows, all covered with heavy black cloth. It must be almost dawn.
There was movement to his left. He saw a figure approaching and his stomach churned with apprehension. It was a man dressed in a shimmering cloak sewn from hundreds of overlapping circles of silk, all different shades of blue xvi prologue
and pink: cobalt, sapphire, rose, violet. Here and there the material was shot through with silver thread that glistened whenever the candlelight caught it and created the impression that he was clad in the scales of a fi sh. The young man knew the fi gure was male, for he had spoken often during the ceremony, guiding him, commanding him, but so far his face had been concealed by a cowl, fashioned from the same material as the cloak, which hung down almost to his chest. It was surprising he could even see to walk. Under the cowl, his head appeared oddly misshapen and his voice, when he spoke, came out muffled and deep.
“You have chosen the path and it was wisely chosen. You have sworn the oaths and stood fast in the face of temptation and dread. Now is the fi nal test and the most perilous. But obey me as you have pledged and all will be well.”
