Requiem: The Fall of the Templars (5 page)

Jacques breathed sharply through his nostrils. “Indeed. You mentioned this in the last message I received on Cyprus, but it was difficult to obtain adequate information after we left for Rome. I would welcome a full report.”

“Certainly, my lord. But shall we retire to more comfortable quarters? I will 20 robyn

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have the servants prepare your private chambers, but until they are ready we may use my solar.”

“My officers will join us. It will save either of us from repeating ourselves.

Have the rest of the men shown to lodgings.”

Hugues nodded to two of the knights beside him, who ushered the group of weary men across the courtyard.

Jacques gestured to the six officials gathered around him. “And you, Campbell,” he said, looking over at Will. “I’ll need a commander to relay any information necessary to the others.”

Leaving Robert to join the knights and Simon to head off with the sergeants, leading the horses that had traveled with them on the ship, Will fell into step behind the offi cials.

“It was a sore blow indeed when we received word of the passing of Grand Master Gaudin so shortly after his election,” Hugues was saying, “and that tragedy coming so soon after Guillaume de Beaujeu’s death at Acre. But we all rejoiced, my lord,” he added swiftly, “in your rapid promotion.”

Jacques glanced at him. “I will be the first to admit my election to this office was a surprise, Visitor de Pairaud. I am a military commander, not a diplomat, as some of my recent predecessors have been.”

“Well, you have certainly had a longer service in the order than most.

You were, I believe, initiated by my uncle, Humbert, when he was master of England?”

“I was.”

When Jacques didn’t elaborate, Hugues changed the subject. “Your journey from Italy was without incident?”

“Yes. We sailed from Genoa to Montpellier as recommended, although I dearly wished to visit our preceptory at Collioure.”

“It is for the best that you took the eastern route. Since the English forces took possession of Bayonne and Blaye, the royal troops stationed in Guienne under Charles de Valois have become more heavy-handed. There have been reports of increasing violence, especially against inhabitants in and around Gascony. It is rumored King Philippe has ordered the seizure of property belonging to any nobles connected with the king of England, but since most of the nobility paid homage to Lord Edward when he controlled the duchy, this means almost every landed man south of the Garonne River is being arrested.”

Jacques ducked his head as Hugues motioned him through the doors of the the fall of the templars

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officials’ building. “As I am aware this whole situation began with the sinking of a few merchant ships. Surely it could have been resolved?”

“It is unfortunately more complicated than that, my lord,” responded Hugues, leading the way up a flight of polished wooden stairs to a passage lit by torches. Knights and clerks were working up here, all of whom moved to one side to allow the grand master and his entourage to pass. Their gazes lingered on Jacques as he swept by, the gold stitching bordering the red cross on his mantle seeming to glow in the torchlight. “It is over thirty years since King Louis signed the Treaty of Paris with Henry III of England, promising to cede Guienne to him and his heirs. In the south of the duchy lies Gascony, one of the wealthiest regions in France. Our king does not like to share power, and to have another monarch ruling a part of his kingdom, especially such a rich area, has been an uncomfortable cross to bear. Edward may only be a vassal, but he wields a formidable might. King Philippe has been reluctant even to acknowledge the Treaty of Paris, employing every method, legal and otherwise, to keep Edward from gaining full control.” Hugues pushed open a set of double doors and entered a large chamber. A table piled with scrolls and charts stood near the window, with a high-backed chair behind. The Temple’s banner hung over a hearth, but other than the desk and an enormous armoire pushed up against one wall, the chamber was virtually empty.

Jacques gave the room a cursory inspection and, seemingly satisfied by its austerity, turned back to Hugues. “You speak as though the war is all Philippe’s doing, Pairaud, yet I heard it was English vessels that attacked French merchants and sank their ships.”

A flicker of annoyance passed across Hugues’s face at the bluntness of Jacques’s address. “It was and, as you say, that attack should have been settled with the usual reparations. Philippe, however, used it as an excuse to take control of the duchy.”

Will moved closer to the hearth, listening intently, one name in their conversation drawing all his attention.

“Early last year,” Hugues continued, “Philippe ordered King Edward to come to Paris to answer for the attack. Edward sent his brother, who eventually agreed to the temporary surrender of several towns and the proposition that a small number of French troops would be posted in Bordeaux. As a gesture of peace, Philippe offered Edward the hand of his sister in marriage and promised to continue to cede the duchy if Edward consented to these terms.

Edward did and the towns were surrendered, but Philippe’s suggestion of a 22 robyn

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small number of troops was vastly understated. He poured an army into Guienne and, when Edward protested, he confiscated the duchy.”

“So Edward declared war.”

“It was the only thing he could do to regain his French territories.”

Jacques moved to the window.

“And how goes the war?” one of the officials asked Hugues in the silence.

“The two sides are in stalemate. The English have recaptured several towns, but Bordeaux and the outlying areas of Guienne remain in French hands.

There has been little movement from either camp for some time, although the arrests of the local nobility by royal troops are a recent development.” Hugues looked at Jacques, who was staring out over the enclosure’s walls, where wisps of fog drifted across the fields. The cawing of crows formed a harsh chorus in the trees outside. “But these are matters that can be discussed in greater detail when you are rested. I am eager to know your news, my lord. You were in Rome for the inauguration of the new pontiff?”

Jacques turned. “Pope Boniface will be a staunch leader in these troubled times, I feel.”

“And your mission to gain support for the order in the West? It has gone well?”

Will detected a note of wariness in the visitor’s tone.

“There has been interest in my proposals. Indeed, I believe this is why the council of thirteen chose to elect me on Gaudin’s death. It is not diplomacy we need now. It is strength. In order to return to the Holy Land and reclaim our territory from the Mamluks we must concentrate our efforts on bolstering military and financial support from our leaders here. Without that support any new Crusade will fail. We must act in one unified movement. To this end, I am beseeching the kings of the West to join me in raising men and arms for the continuation of our struggle.” Jacques drew his massive frame upright.

“Then let the people of these kingdoms see that the Knights of the Temple of Solomon have lost neither their nerve nor their purpose. I intend to seek the aid of Philippe and Edward. I take it, despite the troubles, that a meeting with both can be arranged?”

Hugues’s expression was unreadable. He paused, seeming reluctant to answer. “As it happens, you will be able to speak to Edward shortly.”

“He is coming here?”

Will’s heart thudded faster in anticipation of Hugues’s answer.

“No, my lord, but it would seem he too received word of your planned visit to Paris, for last month a royal summons was delivered, asking that the fall of the templars

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upon your arrival you travel to England to attend a meeting at the London Temple.”

“A meeting? About what?”

“We do not know, my lord. The message simply said a discussion was needed on a matter of urgency and that the meeting would be attended by a representative of the pope and by King Edward himself.”

One of the officials spoke up, asking if Hugues had any speculations as to the nature of the unusual summons. Engrossed in conversation, no one noticed Will’s hand falling to his side to curl around the hilt of his falchion, the skin stretching taut over his bruised knuckles.

3

The Jewish Quarter, Paris

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Will made his way through the labyrinthine alleys of the Ville to a crowded quarter packed close to the walls on the east side of the city. It was early morning and the strip of sky above the street was a startling shade of blue. His breath pluming before him as he walked, he paused now and again to check the crumpled parchment, then scanned the buildings. Finally, after several wrong turns, he found it. The house, which was painted a burned orange, was nestled between two booksellers. As he approached, he saw that the door was ajar. Faint voices could be heard inside.

Will was wondering whether to knock or to head straight through, when two dark-haired children, a boy and a girl, came racing out. He stepped back as they barreled past, the girl shouting victoriously as she hoisted a leather ball out of the boy’s reach. Will called to them. “Is this the rabbi’s house?”

The girl glanced at him. “Yes. Too slow!” she crowed, dancing away as the boy grasped for the ball.

Leaving them to their game, Will entered.

The warm color of the house’s exterior was continued inside. A dark red rug lined the hallway and vivid tapestries decorated the walls. Faint smells of incense and spices lingered in the air and, for a moment, if not for the bitter 24 robyn

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chill outside and the dusting of frost on his boots, he could have been back in Acre. A few openings led into shadowy rooms, but light and the voices were coming through a door at the end of the passage.

Beyond, in a small kitchen, three men were in animated discussion. The room was hot, a well-stacked fire roaring in the hearth. Two of the men were red-faced and sweaty. They were so intent in their debate that it was a few moments before the third figure, seated at a table near the fire, noticed Will standing in the doorway.

“Quiet,” he said in a whispery, ancient voice that although insubstantial as smoke was enough to silence the two younger men immediately. He rose slowly from his stool. His hair was white and his face as brown and wrinkled as a dried fig. “William.” A smile lit up his watery eyes.

“Rabbi Elias,” said one of the men, looking from the old man to Will, whom he eyed with suspicion. “This matter isn’t resolved.”

“It would be if you would admit you are wrong,” countered the other man.

“Enough, Isaac,” said Elias forcefully. “Come back tomorrow when your tempers have cooled.” He frowned as a crash and a shout echoed in the hallway. “And please remove your children before they bring down my entire house.”

Both men inclined their heads grudgingly, though respectfully. As they passed, Will saw that each had a wheel shape cut from garish red cloth pinned to the back of his tunic, the mark King Louis IX had decreed all Jews wear to distinguish them from the rest of the population.

“There is always something to put right in this world, isn’t there?” Elias crossed to him. “I heard your new grand master was making his progress through Christendom. I was hoping you would be with him.”

As they embraced, Will felt little more than bone beneath the old man’s robe. “You look tired, Elias,” he said, switching into Arabic. The chanting words were strange yet pleasant in his mouth, like a food he used to enjoy but hadn’t tasted in a long time.

“Not tired, busy. This place is more crowded than the synagogue some days.” Elias chuckled. “I cannot complain. When I left Cyprus I had little more than the cloth on my back. I came to this city with nothing and so I am happy to repay, in any way I can, the generosity of friends and neighbors. I have a decent life, helping to train the younger men in the synagogue. But how are you?” The creases in his forehead deepened. “You look troubled.”

“It is just strange to be back.” Will took off the plain woolen cloak he wore the fall of the templars

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over his surcoat and sat as Elias gestured to an empty stool. “What about bookselling?”

“I shut myself away too long in Acre, got too comfortable in my little shop.” Elias returned to his place by the fire. “I lost sight of my duties. It is my task . . . no, my
wish
, to be with my people, teaching them, watching them grow.” He raised a wry eyebrow. “Mediating in their disputes.” He peered at the passage, hearing the front door shut. “I don’t suppose you even recognized Isaac.”

“Should I?”

“He was one of the men you saved on the harbor at Acre, along with his wife and daughter, the one outside, terrorizing my neighborhood.” Elias sobered. “You saved a lot of people that day, William. I hope you realize that.”

“I cannot recall it. Any of it.”

Elias frowned as he looked away. “You don’t remember? The battle? Our escape?”

“No,” said Will, forcing himself to meet Elias’s gaze. It sounded true when he said it. He didn’t understand why Elias was looking at him with that disbelieving expression. It was something he had heard other men say, many others.

They spoke, puzzled, of how hours, whole days even of the siege of Acre and the final battle were missing from their minds. Will envied them. For more than four years, those last days had been at the forefront of his thoughts. He could remember every hour, every second with a clarity that was devastating.

He was standing on the crumbled eastern mole of the outer harbor, the dark, hungry sea churning beside him. Behind him, the city was in fl ames. His sword was in his hands, wet and red. A body tumbled away from him into the water and was swallowed.

“William?”

Will looked up. Elias was standing by the hearth, where an iron pot hung.

“I asked if you wanted something to drink?”

Will shook his head distractedly. “I cannot linger. I just wanted to let you know I was in the city.”

Elias unhooked the pot, clamping a rag over the handle, and poured into a bowl a steaming liquid that smelled of cinnamon and cloves. “Are you planning to stay?” he asked, sitting with a wince.