The Pegasus Secret (9 page)

It was then I observed the circlet of silver encompassing what I had first perceived as four triangles. It was only later he explained to me the triangles described the equal arms of the Templar cross, symbolizing the Holy Rood with the equality of all the Poor Brothers of the Temple of Solomon. It was the only adornment the Order allowed its members.

He also noticed my interest in his scar, for after the last prayer, he touched the discolored skin and said, “Only the low-born kill at a distance, young brother. Knights look into the souls of their enemies.”

“Souls?” I said, curious. “The heathen, the accursed of the true God, have souls?”

At this he laughed, drawing the attention of Brother Larenzo, a devout man and prior of the abbey. “He is human, young brother. And do not forget, those figures you use in your calculations instead of Roman letters come from the infidel as do your calculations of the seasons. He is a worthy foe. And, at least for now, he holds all the Outremer,
⁸
having ousted the best Christendom could muster.”

Brother Larenzo was making no effort to conceal that he
was listening to the conversation. I was already the subject of his ire since silence and meditation after Vespers is the rule. I had had more than one beating at his hands for sacrilege, so I replied, “But surely Christ’s Church will ultimately prevail.”

Guillaume laughed again, to the prior’s great annoyance. Laughter was as rare inside these walls as the wealth we had all foresworn. “The trouble is not with Christ’s Church, it is with Christ’s kings and princes. They fight among themselves instead of uniting against the nonbelievers. They are wont to worry more about the power of rival sovereigns than domination of the very home of Jesus by heathens.” Here he moved his hand in a rough estimation of crossing himself. “Many such kings even fear us, the Poor Knights of the Temple.”

Would that I had listened with a sharper ear to this last! Had I heeded it and all it implied, I would not now be facing the fate that awaits me, a stake surrounded by brush to be lit.

I confess again to the sin of pride when this brave knight who had so valiantly served the cause of Christ chose to accompany me, rather than the abbot, to the refectory for the evening meal. I could feel all eyes upon me as I genuflected before the crucifix behind the abbot’s table to give thanks.

Once seated, our guest gave his bowl of porridge a look of disgust. “No meat?” he asked, interrupting the reading from the lectern.
⁹

The entire room went silent, so shocked were we that anyone less than a nobleman would expect to find meat, even more so in a weekday supper.

The abbot was an elderly brother, his voice little more than a wheeze across toothless gums. He coughed, making an effort to be heard from the dais where he shared a table with the elder and governing brothers.

“Good brother,” he said, “Christ’s last meal was only bread and wine. How much more nourishing is this? Be thankful, for there are many who have not even this simple repast.”

Once again Guillaume gave that laugh as he raised his clay
cup of watered wine. “You are right, good abbot. I am thankful for this meal and for the hospitality you afford a poor knight returning from the service of Christ.”

Satisfied, the old abbot continued to gum the mush of cereals that was our lot more often than not.

Without lifting his eyes from his bowl and spoon, Guillaume muttered to me, “I did not expect the killing of the fatted calf but even the laziest of men can snare a hare and I have seen countless roe in the forest hereabouts.”

Fascinated by words that would have earned me a beating for impertinence if not sacrilege, I asked, “And you Templars have hare or roe with weekday suppers?”

“And with the noon meal also. Or beef or pork. Mush like this does not sustain a man’s body.”

“It does keep his soul, however,” a brother on the other side whispered.

Guillaume shoved his bowl away hardly touched. It is a rich man who passes up food. Or a foolish one. “Souls do not fight the Saracen, bodies do.”

After the meal, the order’s rules required a retreat to the chapel for confession and then to individual cells for private prayer before Compline.
¹⁰
I had been given a dispensation to work in the order’s small counting room. The olives were near harvest and it was necessary I calculate how many
boissel
¹¹
the order would have to press into oil for sale. I was completing my initial figures on a slate and preparing to transfer them to the permanence of sheep parchment when I became aware of Guillaume.

He gave me a smile filled with perfect teeth and entered to look over my shoulder. “These figures of the infidel, you understand them?”

I nodded. “You do not?”

He looked at them from one angle, then another, frowning. “A knight does not trouble with figures or letters. They are for priests and monks.”

“But you are a member of a monastic order.”

Again the laugh. “This is true, but a special order. You note I do not wear sackcloth that stinks and crawls with vermin, and that, dusty from travel, I bathe. The Knights of the Temple do not live like other monks.”

“You certainly are not reputed to accept Our Lord’s command to turn the other cheek, either,” I said with unaccustomed boldness.

“Nor do I believe the meek shall inherit the earth. I do not believe our Lord ever said such a thing. It is cant, false dogma to keep serfs and vassals subservient.”

Such talk made me uneasy, for it bordered on heresy. Yet he was a knight whose neck bore physical witness of his willingness to die for Church and pope.

“Obedience,” I said, “is one of the basic vows of our order.”

“And without it, chaos would result,” he said. “An army marching to more than one set of orders cannot survive the enemy. It is meekness I deplore, not obedience.”

This made me feel more comfortable.

“Besides figures, you also can understand written language?”

“If it is in Latin or Frankish and written boldly,” I said modestly.

He seemed to withdraw within himself for a moment before he spoke again. “You have not taken your final vows here?”

I had no idea why he asked but I answered truthfully, “I have not.”

“My order needs men such as yourself.”

I was astonished. “But, I am not noble-born, know nothing of arms such as you bear.”

“You do not understand. For every knight, there must be provisioners. For every temple, there must be those who can count money and goods, scribes who can read and write languages. It is this post you can most surely fill. Come with me to Burgundy.”

He might as well have suggested I visit the moon. I had never been more than a day’s travel by foot from where I now sat.

“I cannot,” I said. “These are my brothers who need me to do God’s work.”

A smile, not entirely devout, tugged at his lips. “I have learned that God usually gets what He wants, no matter the efforts of man. I am offering you three meals a day, two of which have meat. You will never go hungry. You will sleep on a clean bed, wear washed clothes that are not a nation of lice, fleas and ticks. You will do calculations of figures the likes of which you have never dreamed. Or you may remain here, as mean, dirty and hungry as any beast. Either way you will serve God, of that I am certain.”

God nearly struck me dumb. I could not answer. Had I prayed, sought His guidance as I should have, I would have realized He was trying to tell me to remain. But, like many young men, the idea of such luxury turned my head.

“I leave right after Prime,”
¹²
Guillaume de Poitiers said, “before washing myself and before light, please God. You may share my esquire’s ass. Or you may remain here, serving God in a lesser manner and a great deal more squalor.”

The next morning, I left the only home I could remember, a cell only large enough for a straw mattress, with a ceiling so low I could not stand in it.
¹³
Since poverty is one of the vows of the Benedictines, I took with me no possessions other than the rude sackcloth gown I wore. And the things that infested it. Would I had chosen to endure the vile life to which I had become accustomed.

Translator’s notes:

1
. All dates have been converted to the Gregorian calendar for the convenience of the reader.

2
. 1290.

3
. Actually, this directive came from St. Cassian. St. Benedict
(ca. 526) founded the first order of monks who lived in a community rather than alone.

4
. The monk in charge of provisions for the monastery.

5
. The word used by Pietro is Middle Latin,
noviciatus
, which means the place where novices are trained. It is doubtful a rural monastery would have such a luxury.

6
. A tunic of chain mail. The full battle dress of a Templar knight is described by surviving copies of the French
Rule
. In addition to what Pietro describes, it would have included: helmet (
heaume
), armour protecting shoulders and feet (
jupeau d’armes, espalliers, souliers d’armes
).

7
. The City of Jerusalem fell to the Sultan of the Baybars in 1243. It is doubtful Guillaume or any of his contemporaries had ever even seen the Holy City, although it was the avowed goal of the Templars until their dissolution in 1307.

8
. The name both crusaders and Templars gave to the Holy Land, which they viewed as simply another country under the reign of the Pope.

9
. The Bible was read at all meals.

10
. The last mass of the day, usually said right before bed.

11
. It is assumed this Frankish word is the origin of the English bushel. The exact quantity denoted is lost to antiquity.

12
. An early morning mass, usually around five A.M. The first masses of the day, Matins and Lauds, were said shortly after midnight. After Prime came Terce, then Nones, Sext, Vespers, etc., for a total of six a day.

13
. Many monastic cells were intentionally constructed so the occupant was always bowed when in it, thereby enforcing the virtue of humility.

Dallas, Texas
The next day

Lang hated flying. He felt helpless and out of control belted into an airline seat.

Gloomily, he sat in the waiting area for gate twenty-two of the American Airlines terminal at the Dallas–Fort Worth Airport and watched the man with the little boy.

The guy, midforties, mousey gray hair retreating from front and top, slightly paunchy, was the sort who would be the last to be noticed in a room full of people, just the sort of person Lang had been trained to watch first. The child was blond, four or five, and didn’t look enough like the man to be related. Having the kid along, though, was good cover. Somebody had been clever.

Lang had paid them minimal attention when the man had puffed his way to the Delta counter in Atlanta and
bought the tickets, explaining he
had
to make the flight, a family emergency.

An emergency where?

Lang had booked the ticket to Dallas, paid by credit card, gone to the American counter and used cash and a false, if expired, passport from his past as ID to buy a seat from Dallas to Fort Lauderdale. He planned to cab from Lauderdale to Miami International, then catch a plane to Rome via JFK. The circuitous routing had paid off in shaking the tail out of the crowd of travelers.

In Atlanta, there had been no reason to consider the pair to be anything other than what they seemed. When they had gotten on the same tram in Dallas to go from the Delta terminal to the American terminal, Lang became suspicious. They had not had time to collect the single bag they had checked in Atlanta, although the boy had the same bright yellow backpack he had carried on board. Seeing them at the gate for the flight to Lauderdale got Lang’s attention.

Even with the airlines’ price wars, Atlanta–Lauderdale via Dallas was a bit unusual.

Lang watched the guy go to the bank of pay phones, no doubt to alert someone to be on standby in Florida. The fact that he chose a land line rather than a cellular denoted that he was either one of the few people in America without a mobile unit or wanted security for his call. Lang pretended interest in the view of the tarmac from a window next to the pay phones, a position from which he could hear every word. The man glared and hung up without saying good-bye.

When the man took the little boy to the men’s room, Lang went to a newsstand and bought a
USA Today
. He browsed the candy, selecting three foil-wrapped Peppermint Patties. Then he followed the guy into the toilet and shut himself into a stall. From the outside, it would look as
though Lang was reading the paper as he did his business.

Lang only needed a little luck for the guy not to have time to make another call before he got back.

Returning to the waiting area, Lang glanced around as though trying to find a seat. He selected one next to the kid, who was engrossed in a Game Boy. Moving the child’s backpack slightly with his foot, Lang sat so that the little boy was between Lang and the boy’s companion. Lang swiveled in the seat so that the yellow pack was partially obscured by his legs.