Requiem: The Fall of the Templars (60 page)

Striding swiftly along a gallery that looked down over an inner courtyard, he heard faint chanting coming from the chapel, rising beyond the rooftops of the friars’ lodgings. Guessing it must be for the morning office, he halted to listen, the sun warming his face. His smile deepened and he wondered at the pleasure he felt at a sound that would usually grate on his nerves. After a moment, he realized that his satisfaction wasn’t at the friars’ prayers; it was at the fact that, for the first time, the Church had given him something other than torment. His smile was one of victory, long awaited.

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into the courtyard, the lines on his brow had settled into their well-worn furrows. He had mistakenly believed he had succeeded before in pursuit of his aim. That the pope had listened with mounting concern to Esquin de Floyran’s testimony when Nogaret had brought the former prior to him was one step. That Clement had then, with some persuasion, written the letter to the grand master of the Temple was another. Now the message was winging its way across France and Esquin de Floyran was safely hidden, all Nogaret could do was return to Paris, and wait to see if the next step was taken.

Crossing the cloisters and entering the building on the far side, he was making his way down a wide, sunlit passage when he saw three men coming toward him. They were some distance ahead and engrossed in conversation.

The first was a friar in a gray hooded robe. The other two wore riding cloaks.

Nogaret recognized one of them immediately. There was a second’s indecision, in which he almost called out. But something stopped him. Instead, he slipped in through one of the doors that lined the passage and entered an empty chamber filled with writing desks. Standing close to the door, grasping the handle, he listened intently as the men’s footsteps came closer. He caught a snatch of conversation.

“. . . but you are welcome to wait . . .”

The words faded into murmurs and the footsteps continued on. Nogaret eased open the door and saw the backs of the men moving away. His eyes lingered on the one in the center, before they turned a corner and were gone from sight. Deep in thought, Nogaret almost knocked into an acolyte hurrying in through the cloisters. It was the young man who had brought him the basket of provisions. He grabbed the acolyte’s arm. “The two men with one of the brothers,” he said, pointing in the direction the three had gone. “I want you to find out who they are and why they are here.”

“But—”

“Now,” demanded Nogaret. He held on for a second longer, his pinching fingers causing the acolyte to wince. “Do it with care. I don’t want either of them to know anyone was asking. Do you understand?”

The acolyte nodded quickly. “Yes, Minister.”

“I’ll be in the stables.”

As the young man moved off, rubbing his arm, Nogaret made for the yard.

His squire was there with their horses, the panniers filled with food and blankets, donations from the monastery. Curtly telling his squire to wait, Nogaret ducked into the shade of the stables. A couple of grooms were remov-the fall of the templars

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ing the saddles of two weary-looking horses. Nogaret knew the piebald stallion. The other was a powerful-looking destrier, with plain, but well-made trappings. He questioned the grooms on their riders, but neither boy knew anything. As the minutes crawled by, Nogaret’s impatience hardened into a tight knot. The sound of chanted prayers had ended and the monastery was bustling into life.

Finally, a door in the building across the yard opened and the acolyte hurried across.

“Well?” demanded Nogaret.

“I spoke with Brother Alain, Minister. He said the men were asking if Esquin de Floyran was here. When they were told he had left, they requested to speak to His Holiness.”

“Did you learn their names?”

“William Campbell and Sir Robert de Paris.”

“De Paris?”

“Yes. Did you want anything else before you . . . ? Minister?”

Nogaret was striding to his horse, not listening. He gestured to his squire and swung up into his saddle. “Do not tell them I asked,” he told the acolyte, turning his horse roughly. “That is a royal order.”

“Of course.”

As the young man hastened to open the gate, Nogaret glanced back at the monastery buildings. No doubt Campbell would soon discover he had been here, but that didn’t matter. By the time he did, Nogaret would be on the road to Paris. He expected the men would be delayed for some while. Clement had taken ill several days earlier and was refusing all visitors to his private chamber in the monastery.

The minister dug his heels into the sides of his horse and rode through the gate, relieved he had trusted his instincts and hadn’t called out to the Scot. He had initially thought the king must have sent Campbell, possibly with new instructions. But the second man, the one he didn’t recognize, had stopped him, that and his distrust of Campbell.

Now that distrust seemed more vindicated than ever. It blazed in his mind, fiery and righteous. Robert de Paris was the name of the Templar who freed Esquin de Floyran from Merlan. The way Campbell had worked himself so keenly into the king’s trust, the unexpected appearance of the knights protecting Boniface in Anagni, the escape of Clement’s child and the murder of the royal soldiers, these events were like arrows on a map all pointing toward the same place. Toward the Temple. Toward Campbell.

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“You have until Vespers.”

The friar shut the door behind Will and Robert, leaving them in the chamber, alone but for the ashen-skinned, emaciated man propped on a chair by the window.

The sight of him tempered some of Will’s impatience, burning hot within him for over a fortnight. The pope looked as though he were hovering on the threshold of life, his face so pale it was almost translucent. “I deeply regretted to hear of your illness, Your Holiness,” he said, realizing that he meant it.

Clement was his one true ally now.

“The worst has passed,” answered the pope, in a withered voice. He held a cloth pouch, which gave off a tart smell of herbs. “Praise be to God.” He made as if to rise, then sank back with a sigh. “Although I am still weak.” Lifting the pouch to his face, he took a sniff and grimaced. “The infirmarer tells me this is to help the sickness, but I fear it might actually be the cause of it.” His bloodshot eyes focused on Will. “The brothers told me you had come. I assume for the same reason as the king’s minister?”

Will went to him. “Where is Esquin de Floyran, Your Holiness? No one here would answer our questions.”

“Most of them know nothing of this matter. I spoke with de Floyran at length several weeks back, before the sickness gripped me. Nogaret took him after we were finished. He said he was moving him to a safe place, but did not trust me enough to tell me where, despite my insistence. Either it wasn’t far from here or he had men waiting nearby to convey de Floyran, because the minister returned the same day.”

“What did Esquin tell you?”

“That there were heretics within the Temple who murdered his nephew and locked him in prison.”

“Did you believe him?

“He told a convincing tale.” Clement paused. “But it was the testimony of one man alone, a man clearly fired by vengeance.”

“So you dismissed it? Sent Nogaret back to the king?”

Clement rose, using the chair to steady himself. “I had no choice but to act. It was a serious allegation.”

“You know why they have brought this to your attention,” Will pressed, the fall of the templars

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throwing a troubled look at Robert. “This is what the king and his minister have no doubt been longing for; some spurious claim by which means they can steer their plans for the Temple.”

“Spurious?” Clement’s voice sharpened. “You can tell me for certain what de Floyran said is false? You have proof?”

“Whether it is false or not is surely a matter for the Temple, Your Holiness?” interjected Robert. “The order has jurisdiction regarding the discipline of its members. This is an internal matter. It should be investigated as such.”

“Exactly,” responded the pope, “which is why I have sent a message to Cyprus summoning Jacques de Molay.”

“Did Nogaret demand this?” questioned Will.

“I made my own decision. In matters of heresy the final decision is always mine.”

The pope’s irascible tone told Will he had indeed been browbeaten by the king’s minister. Before he could think through the possible outcomes of this, Clement continued.

“Grand Master de Molay and his officials will be able to help me resolve this matter. Together, we will root out the truth or falsehood of de Floyran’s testimony and deal with it accordingly. The king and his minister may see this as a route to the Temple, but I promise you, unless I deem it necessary, the Temple will not be damaged in any way. Besides,” added Clement, “I dearly wish to speak to the grand master. It is long past time I received news from the East. I want to hear the plans for his Crusade and to see what I can do to support the order.” He smiled faintly. “Indeed, I consider this whole affair to be a blessing rather than a curse.”

Will said nothing, his unease merely heightened by the pope’s assurances.

He had always ignored Clement’s evident desire for a Crusade, choosing to hope that the reluctance of rulers such as Edward and Philippe to take the Cross, along with Jacques’s failures in the East, would render the pope’s wish nothing more substantial than a dream. But now it seemed, either way the tide turned, a meeting between the pope and the grand master had the potential to lead to something more ominous. He wondered about going himself to Cyprus to warn Jacques not to attend the meeting, but the two-week head start of the pope’s message was discouraging, and unless he told Jacques the truth, which in itself could damage the order, the grand master would have no choice but to answer the pope’s summons.

“Now, Campbell,” said Clement, his tone signaling the end of any further discussion. “I want to know what you have found out on Guillaume de 360 robyn

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Nogaret. Have you uncovered any evidence on his involvement in Benedict’s death?”

“I’m afraid not. Nogaret has cut himself off from me, and since the death of the queen the king has closed his inner circle to the point where even some of his closest advisors no longer have his ear.”

“You should try to find something soon,” responded Clement pensively.

“Left to his own devices I fear that snake has enough venom in him to poison us all.”

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Will was in his room when he heard a soft tapping sound. After a few moments it came again and he realized someone was knocking on his door, but so quietly it was as if they were hoping he wouldn’t hear. Crossing the chamber, he mentally rehearsed his lie about his recent trip to England, should the unexpected guest be Nogaret, and opened the door. “Rose,” he murmured, too surprised to say anything else. Never once, in all the years he had been a guest in the palace, had his daughter come to his chamber. He felt a rush of pleasure, but quickly quelled it, not daring to hope that this might signal some change in her feelings toward him.

Rose opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came. She tried again before a pained expression crossed her face and she turned and hastened away down the passage.

“Wait!” Will went after her and grasped her arm. “Please, Rose. Come inside.”

She faltered, then reluctantly let herself be led to his room.

Will closed the door behind her and went to his bed, where his traveling cloak and sword were lying. He picked them up and dumped them on a chest.

“I’ve only just returned,” he explained, standing back and shoving a hand through his hair.

She perched on the edge of the bed at his gesture, planting her hands to either side of her, dwarfed by a voluminous blue cloak. “I didn’t know where you were.”

Will was struck by the desolation in her tone. “I’m sorry.” He folded his arms and let out a rough sigh. “But, to be honest, it didn’t occur to me to tell you I was going away. I didn’t think you would care to know.”

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Rose looked at the floor and murmured something he didn’t catch. She glanced up when he didn’t respond. “I needed you.”

Will went and sat beside her, trying to hold back the emotion that threatened to engulf him at those words. Tentatively, he took her thin, scarred hand in his, which was callused and thickly veined. “I’m here now. Talk to me.”

“Philippe.”

She didn’t say anything else for a long moment and Will wondered if she was going to speak at all when finally she did, her words stumbling, uncertain.

“He and I, we have . . . We are . . . lovers,” she finished, looking at him with something of a challenge in her stare. When he said nothing, she continued.

“But he has changed in recent months. He has become cold.” Rose’s eyes flicked away. “Violent.”

Will’s hand tightened around hers. He felt something clawing its way up inside him, something feral and ferocious, but he kept quiet.

“I am worried about what he might do next. I’ve heard things he is planning, things he speaks of with Guillaume de Nogaret when they think I am not listening. Father, I know he is intent on taking the wealth of the Temple for himself.”

“It won’t happen.”

“You know of this?”

“For quite some time, yes. But he will not succeed. I will not let him.”

Rose shook her head. “You do not know what he’s capable of.” She bit her lip. “He has so much anger in him. It scares me.”

“Then why do you still go to him?”

Rose snatched her hand from his and stood. “How do I say no to a king?”

Will got to his feet, terrified she would run out of the door and out of his life yet again. “I am sorry, that was careless of me.” He gripped her shoulders.

“Listen to me, Rose. You are right to be scared of Philippe. He is a vengeful, hard-hearted man, who will crush anything that stands in the way of his ambitions. But I understand your”—he gritted his teeth around the word—“affair.