The Lady Agnes Mystery, Volume 1 (5 page)

‘Are we hoping that an intervention on our part might influence events?’

‘Hope? There is always hope, brother. Hope is our main strength. But hope is not enough in this instance. We must be certain that King Philip IV’s plan fails. If his counsellors succeed, as I fear they will, in electing a puppet pope to the Vatican, they will be free to attack those whom they cannot control as they would wish – that is to say, the Order of the Knights Templar and our own, since we are considered to be the Pope’s personal guard, a wealthy guard – and you know as well as I do of the King’s need for money.’

‘In which case the Templars are first in the line of fire,’ observed Leone. ‘Their extreme power has become their failing. The wealth that passes through their hands incites greed in others. Their system of depositing and transferring funds from one side of the world to the other has greatly facilitated this. Crusaders and pilgrims to the Holy Land need no longer live
in fear of being robbed. Additionally, they receive a stream of donations and alms from all over Christendom.’

‘We benefit from it as much as they, and I must remind you that we are almost certainly as wealthy,’ corrected Arnaud de Viancourt.

‘True, but the Templars are censured for their arrogance, their privileges, their wealth, even for being idle and uncharitable, whereas we are spared such criticism. There is no better way to fuel a fire than with jealousy and envy.’

‘That is no reason to think, or more precisely to make others think, that this money has yielded such profits that they are now sitting on a veritable fortune. Have you ever asked yourself, Francesco, why Philip the Fair withdrew the administration of the royal finances from the Paris Templars in 1295 and entrusted it to the Italian moneylenders?’

‘It was simpler for him to cancel his debt to the moneylenders by arresting them and confiscating their assets. The same strategy would have proved more risky if used against the Templars.’

‘Precisely. And yet strangely enough two years ago the King granted the same Templars the right to collect taxes. Is it not a contradiction?’

‘A measure which, when added to the rumours already circulating about the Templars, provoked the anger of the people.’ The scattered elements of the prior’s discourse had come together in Leone’s mind, and he continued, ‘So this is part of a long-term strategy thought up by the King in order to discredit the Templars permanently.’

‘Stoking the fire as you said just now.’

The prior’s words trailed off in a sigh. The prospect of the fate that awaited them had troubled him for so long now. Francesco de Leone finished his train of thought for him:

‘And so the fire is already blazing. A conflagration would suit the King of France’s purposes very well, and the other monarchs of Europe will not be displeased by the prospect of strengthening their power with regard to the Church. The defeat at Acre will only serve to kindle the flames. Their reasoning will be simple: why so much wealth and power for these military orders that lose us the Holy Land? In other words we cannot expect any help from outside. None will be forthcoming unless the other monarchs smell Philip the Fair’s possible defeat, in which case they would flock to the Pope’s side.’

‘What a curious monologue-for-two our discussion is turning out to be, brother,’ observed the prior. ‘Is it possible that we have foreseen the future since we refer to it in the same terms?’ A sudden sadness caused his pale features to stiffen. ‘I am old, Francesco. Every day I count the tasks I am no longer able to undertake. All the years of war, crusades, death and blood … All the years of obedience and self-denial. To what end?’

‘Do you doubt your commitment, the sincerity of our order, of our mission, or worse still of your faith?’

‘Nay, brother, certainly I do not doubt our order or my faith. I doubt only myself, my failing strength and ability. At times I feel like a frightened old woman whose only recourse is to tears.’

‘Self-doubt, when mastered, is a friend to all men except fools and simpletons. Self-doubt is the resounding proof that we are but an infinitesimal, troubled part of the divine understanding. We are aware of our failings, yet we progress.’

‘You are still young.’

‘Not so young any more. I shall be twenty-six this coming March.’

‘I am fifty-seven and nearing my end. It will be a glorious reward, I believe. I shall at last enter the Light. Until then my
task is to continue to fight with you as my magnificent warrior, Francesco. Our enemies will use any means, including ignoble ones. It is a secret war, but a merciless one. And it has already begun.’

Leone sensed the prior’s hesitation. What was he holding back? Knowing that a direct question would be awkward, he tried to curb his impatience.

‘Are we to prevent Benoît’s murder and the election of a pope favourable to Philip?’

Arnaud de Viancourt looked down, as though searching for the right words, before replying:

‘What you do not yet know, brother, is that the old idea advocated twelve years ago by Pope Nicholas IV in his encyclical Dura nimis, of uniting the military orders, primarily those of the Templars and Hospitallers, is still alive.’

‘Yet our relations with the Templars are … strained,’ Leone argued.

Viancourt hesitated before deciding to keep quiet about the pace of negotiations between their Grand-Master, the Pope and the King of France. The union would benefit the Hospitallers who would take control of the other orders. A confrontation with the Templars, who would not willingly give up their autonomy, was imminent, all the more so as Jacques de Molay, the Templars’ Grand-Master, was a traditionalist. An outstanding soldier and man of faith, he was weakened by his political naivety and blinkered by pride.

‘Strained … That is putting it mildly. Philip the Fair is a fervent advocate of this union.’

Leone raised his eyebrows.

‘His position is most surprising. A single order under the Pope’s authority would represent an even greater threat to him.’

‘That is true. However, the situation would be reversed if the union took place under his authority. Philip plans to name one of his sons Grand-Master of the newly constituted order.’

‘The Pope will never agree to it.’

‘The question is whether he will be in a position to refuse,’ the prior clarified.

‘And so we return to the problem of preventing the election of a pope favourable to Philip,’ murmured Leone.

‘Indeed. But do we have the right to influence the history of Christendom? The question plagues me.’

‘Do we have the choice?’ the Knight corrected gently.

‘I am afraid the coming years will provide us with little room for manoeuvre. Therefore, no, we do not have the choice.’

The prior became engrossed in the study of a tuft of wild grass that had pushed its roots between two large blocks of stone. He murmured softly:

‘The sheer tenacity of life. What a supreme miracle.’

He continued in a firmer voice:

‘How should I put this? A fortuitous and unwitting intermediary will … assist us against his will.’

The prior cleared his throat. Leone looked enquiringly at Arnaud de Viancourt, sensing that what he was about to say vexed him. He was not mistaken.

‘Good God, even his name is … difficult for me to pronounce.’ He sighed before confessing, ‘This intermediary is none other than Giotto Capella, one of the best-known Lombardy moneylenders of the Place de Paris.’

Leone grew faint and his eyes closed. He tried to protest but Viancourt interrupted:

‘No. There is nothing you can say that I do not already know. I also know that time cannot heal all wounds. I spent days
searching for another solution, in vain. Capella will never escape his tainted past. It is our trump card.’

Leone propped himself against the wall of broad, rough-hewn stones. He was overwhelmed by his emotions and struggling with his hatred. In truth he had been fighting it for so long now it had become like an unwanted companion he had learnt over the years to silence and control. And yet he knew if he freed himself, if he rid his soul of the loathing he felt for Capella, he would be one step closer to the Light. In a faltering voice he said:

‘Blackmail? What if Capella is a reformed man, what if he simply acted out of cowardice …? One needs to have experienced terrible fear in order to forgive a coward. I was so young then, but now …’

Arnaud de Viancourt replied in a despondent voice:

‘Brother, what purity of soul you possess. Many men would have been incapable …’ He stopped himself, deeming it unacceptable to add to the pain Leone was clearly already suffering. ‘Why should Capella help us in return for nothing when we have so little that interests him, and the King so much? I doubt it and it grieves me. Do men change unless they are compelled to? You may judge for yourself, brother. I know you to be a formidable judge of men’s souls. You will soon perceive how much he has changed, or simply how willing he is to oblige. I hope for our sake – and for his too – that you will deem the letter we have prepared for him superfluous. I sincerely hope you find the solace of forgiveness – forgetting is human, forgiving is divine. If such is the case, you may destroy the missive. Otherwise … I regret inflicting this ordeal on you but you must leave for France straight away. I have prepared letters of introduction as well as a leave of absence
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of unspecified duration. You will stay in our commanderies as and when required. You will find all the comfort
and spiritual succour you need there. Giotto Capella should enable you to come within reach of our most redoubtable enemy, Guillaume de Nogaret. If we are right and Nogaret is already looking for a replacement pope, he will need money, a great deal of money. We suspect that the French cardinals are among the candidates of the King’s Counsellor. They are licentious and extravagant and will not pass up this opportunity to fill their purses. To begin with your task will consist in identifying the most likely candidate, for there are already several lining up. At best a name, or at worst two, Francesco. It is our only chance of intervening before it is too late.’

So everything had long been decided. The prior’s uncertainty and regrets were doubtless sincere, but he and the Grand-Master had already woven their web.

A clamour of contrasting emotions raged inside Francesco de Leone. An incredible feeling of hope overlaid his hatred for Capella.

Arville-en-Perche, France, site of one of the Templars’ most important commanderies. The place where for months he had despaired of arriving, the place where another door, surely the decisive one, would open for him. His throat was dry, and he limited himself to a brief remark:

‘They say Guillaume de Nogaret is a dangerous man.’

‘He is. And all the more so as he possesses one of the most brilliant minds I have ever known. Remember, he is the worthy successor of Pierre Flote and, like him, a jurist and staunch advocate of the supremacy of the monarchy’s power over that of the French clergy. We must under no circumstances allow a schism to occur in the Church, or any part of it to break away from the authority of the Pope. If this religious and political
controversy were to assume greater proportions, the result would be catastrophic.’

‘For the monarchy’s power would become a divine right. Philip would rule directly through God, making him the highest authority in the realm.’

The prior nodded. He had spent entire nights devising strategies to defend against the coming avalanche, only at dawn to reject every last one as hopeless. The only remaining solution was to anticipate and prevent Philip from putting an end to the supreme authority of the Church over all the monarchs of Christendom.

Leone had regained some of his composure. He felt far away from the island sanctuary. He was already there, in the one place where his quest could continue.

‘What practical information can you provide that will help me to …’ he began, when Arnaud de Viancourt interrupted him:

‘We are groping in the dark, brother. Any conjecture on my part would be a dangerous imprudence.’

‘And my weapons, my powers?’

The prior appeared to hesitate and then, in a clipped tone that left the Knight unperturbed, he replied:

‘The choice is yours, provided they serve Christ, the Pope and … our order.’

Had he been in any doubt, this declaration would have made it clear. Like the other orders, the Knights Hospitaller were strictly hierarchical and individual initiatives were strongly discouraged. The free rein given him was easy to interpret: the order was facing the most ruinous crisis it had known since its formation almost two centuries earlier.

‘Will my mission be recorded?’

‘You are not afraid, are you, Francesco? I cannot believe it. No. You know how suspicious we are of written records. That is why we only recently felt the need to have one of our own, Guillaume de Saint-Estène, copy out our founding texts. Few written transcripts of our rules exist and they must never find their way outside the order or be copied, as you know. You are not afraid, are you?’ the prior repeated.

‘No,’ murmured Francesco de Leone and smiled. His first smile that early morning.

He knew that true fear would come later. What he felt now was an intense pressure crushing him, and he had to stop himself from slumping to his knees on the dust-covered ground to pray or perhaps even to cry out.

The last hours of daylight lingered in the west. Francesco de Leone had worked like a slave the whole day long, missing both meals as part of a private fast. He had helped care for ‘our lords the sick’ – one of the duties of the Order of the Hospitallers that distinguished it from the other military orders – as well as providing training in the use of arms for some of the recently admitted novices. The heat and physical exhaustion had offered him a vague respite.

Might Benoît die? Might everything fall into place now? After four long years of a quest that had been as discreet and unrelenting as it had been fruitless, might a political threat lead him to a doorway hitherto hidden? The reason for his journey was admittedly this difficult mission. And yet the coincidence seemed too great for it to be entirely accidental. A sign. He had waited so long for the Sign. He was going to France, to the country where the Ineffable Trace had re-emerged and with full powers granted to him by the prior and consequently by the
Grand-Master himself. He was going to discover there at last, perhaps, the meaning of the Light that had immersed him for a fleeting and divine moment at the heart of the Santa Costanza in Rome.