Knights Templar - Temple And The Crown Part 33

Berhanu welcomed their return with s.h.i.+ning eyes. After they had barred the door of their hired chamber, Arnault divested himself of the Mirror of Makeda and gave it back into Iskander's keeping.

"Thank you for entrusting me with it," he said. "Without its guidance, I could not have survived."

"It was my privilege to be of service," Iskander replied. "In return, I give you something of a different nature, which you may take away with you."

With a soft word, he bade Berhanu fetch what appeared to be a small pillow of scarlet silk, as big as a man's hand.

In truth, the scarlet proved to be a casing for a folded wad of natural silk which, when shaken out and spread upon the ?oor, showed drawings of big-eyed saints and angels inked in red and black, interspersed with lines of writing in an odd, angular alphabet. All of this was contained within patterns of tracery that bore a close resemblance to some of the Celtic designs Arnault and Torquil had seen on Iona.

"Among my people," Iskander explained, "paintings such as these are known to have healing virtues.

Usually, they are made for a speci?c person and done on parchment sized to the height of that person. If one is being particularly faithful to tradition, the parchment is made from the skin of an animal sacri?ced as a subst.i.tute for the person, usually a lamb. This one, however, has been done on silk, as you can see, so that you may use it to wrap around the Shard to protect it- though it is still the length of a man. It is Berhanu's work," he added, with a smile at the mute servant.

Duly impressed, both Arnault and Torquil bent closer to study the work.

"Berhanu, you are very skilled," Arnault said, glancing up appreciatively. "Iskander, can you explain some of the symbolism?"

"Yes, this is Michael, our patron, whose wings enfold those who serve him, and these are the names of the three nails of the Cross that pierced our Lord's sacred ?esh," Iskander said, pointing out parts of the design. "This is Ch"-Danat, Ch"Rodas, and Ch"Adera. Their presence imparts powerful protection. And this heart, pierced by the Crown of Thorns, signi?es that you must ask from the heart, if ever you should need to invoke the cloth's healing powers, for G.o.d will heed such prayers."

Arnault accepted the gift with deep grat.i.tude, helping Iskander to refold it and return it to its carrying pouch, after which he brought out the Shard to lay it atop the pouch for Iskander's inspection. By daylight, it appeared to be of some bluish, faintly translucent material, deeply incised with the Hebrew letters of the ninth Commandment.

"Lo sa-aneh v'ray-achor," Iskander murmured, reading it aloud. "Thou shalt not bear false witness. Truly, an inspired choice. I shall pray it serves you well."

Arnault slipped it into the silken folds of the pouched talisman and tucked the pouch into the bosom of his robe.

"We are extremely grateful for your a.s.sistance, Brother Iskander," he said. "Please G.o.d, it will a.s.sist us in establis.h.i.+ng the Fifth Temple, but we still have a long road and many battles ahead of us. Will you not accompany us back to Scotland?"

The Ethiopian brother shook his head. "Regretfully, I cannot. Like you, I answer to superiors who are waiting to hear the outcome of this venture."

"Not, I hope, before we've rested and shared a ?nal meal, then," Torquil said.

A rare smile illumined Iskander's chiseled features. "Tomorrow will be soon enough for us to set out on our separate roads. Thereafter."

He paused and shrugged. "Only the great G.o.d knows whether we shall meet again in the body. But when you go up against your enemies, be a.s.sured that my brothers and I will be with you in spirit."

Chapter Thirty-three.

Spring, 1312 IT WAS THE SPRING OF 1312 BY THE TIME ARNAULT AND Torquil stood once again on French soil: a year and more of impatience, boredom, and growing anxiety punctuated by incidents of peril, but at least the dangers they faced were impersonal, unlike what they knew awaited them and what so many of their incarcerated brethren were enduring.

They had heard little news of the state of affairs in France or Scotland during their absence; and even what they learned in Alexandria, before taking s.h.i.+p for their return, was at least six months old. Once they landed at Ma.r.s.eilles, however- again attired in the long, coa.r.s.e robes and sheepskin mantles more usually affected by pilgrims-they found the port abuzz with gossip of Templar trials and tortures and burnings, and the expectation that the pope, presently resident at Vienne, at last was about to make a p.r.o.nouncement regarding the fate of the Order.

"I wonder if we ought to detour to Vienne," Torquil murmured aside to Arnault, as they sheltered from a spring hailstorm in the lee of a doorway, on their way out of the city.

Arnault shook his head, squinting under the wide brim of his leather pilgrim hat. In addition to the pilgrim badges they had started out with, both now displayed withered sprigs of Jericho palm, and c.o.c.klesh.e.l.ls dangled from their iron-shod pilgrim staves, betokening completed pilgrimages both to Jerusalem and to Santiago de Compostela-though, in truth, they had not delayed further to stop in Spain, and their Jerusalem pilgrimage had been far from conventional.

Their swords still were wrapped and bundled with their tent accoutrements, which Torquil carried slung across his back, but their dirks were nearer to hand, hidden beneath their robes as before. Arnault had shouldered a second pack with their foodstuffs; and of course, the Shard of the Law still resided next to his heart, wrapped in its Ethiopic silk, though carried now in a leather pouch he had st.i.tched early on the voyage home.

"I'll grant you, it's tempting to want to be present when the judgment is rendered," Arnault said, "but we can't afford the delay." He kept his voice low, even though the street was empty. "Better that we continue on to Paris, where we have a better chance of meeting up with friends. There's more risk there, perhaps, but we know the city, and we know the hiding places."

"There was that report of fugitive knights hiding in the woods outside Lyon," Torquil offered. "That's very close to Vienne."

"Yes, and I expect they're long gone by now. That was six months ago." Arnault squinted up at the hail, which was abating. "I don't know why we bothered to take shelter. After simmering in the desert for the past several years, you'd think we'd be glad of a chance for a soaking."

Torquil grinned, teeth ?as.h.i.+ng in a beard now gone more gray than red, though not nearly as gray as Arnault's. He had discovered, on the voyage back, that he no longer needed to drab its once-distinctive color.

"You're right. It was only a thought. Anyway, if the Holy Father is about to announce his decision, I'm sure we'll hear about it somewhere along our way."

They continued to piece together a chronology for the past several years, as they headed north out of Ma.r.s.eilles. Of affairs in Scotland or, indeed, any word of Bruce, they could gain not a jot of information this far south, but many of their fellow travelers had de?nite opinions about the Templars. Much was patently incorrect, simply reiterating the old rumors and innuendoes. But hints of a curious side intrigue emerged during conversation with a traveling friar, the day after their arrival, suggesting that the council currently meeting in Vienne to decide the fate of the Templars was the result of a deal made between king and pope.

"Personally, I don't think the Templars are guilty," the friar said, "but the king is determined to be rid of them. There was rumor last year that he threatened to revive the old charges against Pope Boniface VIII unless Clement agreed to condemn the Templars. Whether or not that's true, the king withdrew the charges, and the Holy Father has convened this new council. They say a verdict is expected very soon."

Arnault was shaking his head. "Well, I suppose it must be resolved eventually. Has there been no defense?"

The friar shrugged and had another pull at his ale. "I think the heart has gone out of them. Too many have died, and suffered unspeakable tortures. Certainly, no fair trial is possible."

In light of this appraisal, Arnault and Torquil did not regret their original decision to steer well clear of Vienne. Nor had their spirits been lifted by the accounts they heard of the tortures in?icted on many of their captive brethren-and the growing realization that upwards of a hundred of their fellow Templars already had been burned as relapsed heretics, for recanting confessions extracted under torture. In the worst incident, con?rmed by a fellow fugitive they met in Nevers-who was able to provide them with a pair of horses and a meal-more than ?fty men had perished at the stake, protesting their innocence to the last.

"Jauffre would have been one of those," Arnault had murmured, a little while after they had left Brother Pierre. And G.o.d alone knew how many more of the doomed men the pair of them had known personally.

At least with the horses, they made better time after that, though the beasts were nothing like the ?ne Templar mounts that once would have been their due. But the long-dreaded news from Vienne caught up with them in Orlans, on a ?ne day in April, that a verdict had been rendered, a papal bull promulgated.

That afternoon, they reluctantly joined a jostling, uneasy crowd gathered in the cathedral square to hear the verdict read, meekly dof?ng their hats like everyone else as papal guards escorted a bishop's chaplain to a place on a balcony near the cathedral.

"From this day forth," the chaplain declared, unfurling a parchment scroll with the papal seal dangling, "by the decree of His Holiness, the Order of the Temple is suppressed. All their rights are withdrawn and all their lands are forfeit. Following is the text of the papal bull, Vox in excelso."

He then began to read in Latin. Few present would understand the words, but all knew what the decree portended. The word had spread far and wide that the Templar Order was not simply to be purged; it was to be destroyed.

The ?rst part of the text set the stage, telling how the pope, at about the time of his election as Supreme Pontiff, had received secret intimations against the master, preceptors, and other brothers of the Order of the Temple and against the Order itself. Therefore, it was against the Lord Jesus Christ Himself that they fell into the sin of "impious apostasy, the abominable vice of idolatry, the deadly crime of the men of Sodom."

The decree went on to outline how the pope, like so many others, had not wished to believe the charges at ?rst. But what had changed his mind about the guilt of the Templars had been the revelations of a faithful son of the Church, ". which seemed to be proved by the many confessions, attestations, and depositions of the Visitor of France and of the many preceptors and brothers of the Order in the presence of many prelates and the inquisitor of heresy."

In addition, through "spontaneous" confessions, a number of individual members had been convicted of such heresies, crimes, and sins as to render the Order very suspect, the infamy and suspicion making it "detestable to the holy Church of G.o.d, to her prelates, to kings and others rulers, and to Catholics in general." It was also believed that from now on, there would be no good person who wished to enter the Order, and so it would be made useless to the Church of G.o.d and for service to the Holy Land, for which services the knights had been dedicated.

"Therefore, with a sad heart," the papal chaplain went on, "not by de?nitive sentence, but by apostolic provision or ordinance, we suppress, with the approval of the sacred council, the Order of Templars, and its rule, habit, and name, by an inviolable and perpetual decree."

From the corner of his eye, Arnault saw Torquil look down, swallowing with dif?culty, for this surely was the death knell of the Order.

"We entirely forbid that any from this time forward should enter the Order, or receive or wear its habit, or presume to behave as a Templar. If anyone acts otherwise he incurs automatic excommunication. In addition, we reserve the persons and the property of the Templars for our own disposition and the Apostolic See."

With a few more words, it was done. Utter silence followed this p.r.o.nouncement, such that even far across the cathedral square, the rustle of parchment could be heard as the papal chaplain rolled up his scroll, turning away to converse quietly with two waiting prelates as a belated murmur of conversation rippled through the crowd. To Torquil, it would have seemed more ?tting if such a condemnation had been marked by a clap of thunder or some other omen of doom. A few scattered cheers and catcalls rang out, but even these lacked force, as if most of the crowd had already consigned the Templar Order to oblivion.

In twos and threes, the people began to disperse, their talk at once returning to the business of their own daily affairs. For them life would go on as it had before, but for the two Templars unbeknownst in their midst, life would never again be the same. From henceforth they would forever be fugitives.

Neither Arnault nor Torquil said a word until they were well away from the square, retrieving their horses from the inn where they had left them.

"Clement actually did it," Torquil said softly, as the two of them tightened up their cinches and prepared to leave. "He threw us to the wolves."

"You actually thought he might have a last-minute attack of courage?" Arnault asked, securing the last strap on the pack behind his saddle.

Torquil sighed and shook his head, leaning brie?y on his horse's rump to gaze across at his companion.

He had known the words to expect, but he had not reckoned on their effect. That the Templars should have been thus disowned by the church they had fought to serve and protect made him feel desolate and orphaned, as if his own father had turned his back on him in his hour of need.

"I suppose I hoped that something would happen at the last minute, to change the inevitable. This is the work of King Philip, you know. And probably Nogaret."

"Oh, well do I know," Arnault replied.

His voice was wistful, his gaze ?icking momentarily into some dimension visible only to himself as one hand brushed the faint bulge of the pouch under his robe, where he carried the fragment they had retrieved from beneath the Temple Mount. In that instant, Torquil was struck by the irony that Arnault should be carrying one of the broken fragments of the ?rst Tablets of the Law, and wondered what law the Templars might have transgressed to merit their fate.

And how, now, was the Law to uphold them, as both Iskander and an aged Jew had promised? Was Arnault drawing comfort from the sights and images he had witnessed beneath the Temple Rock? Or was he beset by fear that, for all they had accomplished, they were returning home too late?

"What now, then?" Torquil asked quietly.

"Now we ride on to Paris," Arnault said, "and see what can still be salvaged. We have yet to learn how things fare in Scotland. After today, more than ever, that remains our only hope for a safe haven. Here in France, the past is a closed country to us now. We must hope that our Scottish brethren have been more successful."

With that, he turned to lead his horse out of the yard, Torquil following behind, both of them carrying their pilgrim staves in their free hands as they shouldered through the crowds, for it was market day. They had traversed the adjacent street and were headed toward a crossroads ahead when Torquil noticed the beggar trailing behind them with a purposeful air.

"I see him," Arnault murmured, before Torquil could speak.

Shoulders stooped beneath a grimy mantle of rags and patches, the beggar made an oblique approach, rag-bound feet deceptively nimble, for only belatedly did Torquil notice how quickly he-or she-was moving; for it was not even clear whether the ?gure was man or woman. A sackcloth hood shrouded the other's bent head, as if to conceal some hideous dis?gurement, and a bandaged hand was locked around a staff that was also a crutch. The other hand reached out of a ragged sleeve toward the Templars, grimy palm outspread in appeal.

"Alms, good pilgrims, for the love of G.o.d." a rasping voice whined.

Torquil was already fumbling in his scrip for a copper or two, intending to be rid of the stranger as quickly as possible, but the beggar's next words made him falter with his hand inside.

"The Circle remains yet unbroken."

In the same moment that those words were softly spoken, the mendicant tilted his head, allowing a glimpse of the face within the muf?ing hood. Beneath the smearing of dirt that formed part of his disguise, there was no mistaking Armand Breville.

"Affect not to know me," Breville whispered, even as he thrust his hand more emphatically under Torquil's nose, "but your pilgrim heart is moved to charity. Continue on. I'll ?nd you. And be wary of them."

Arnault was already turning away, face composed, immediately in character. Torquil, by now with a copper in hand, tossed it toward the "beggar's" outstretched hand and continued on; but both of them noted the direction of Breville's chin gesture as he cringed, fumbling and dropping the coin, then scrabbled among the horses' legs to retrieve it.

"There in the doorway," Torquil murmured.

"I see them," Arnault replied.

"Be sure you are not followed," Breville whispered urgently.

The two led their horses on, feigning to pay no further notice to Breville or the two city guards lounging in the distant doorway. At a square at the end of the next street, they paused at a fountain to water their horses. Arnault used the stop to pretend concern for one of his horse's front feet, calling for Torquil's consultation as he lifted the hoof and prodded at the frog.

"Any sign that we're being followed?" he whispered.

"No."

"All right, we'll linger for a few minutes, then move on."

When they had mounted up, they continued on along the street headed north, picking their way slowly through a modest market-day crowd. At the next intersection, the ties on a scrawny-looking pack pony had come asunder, and a large, amiable-looking man was scrambling to retrieve his belongings before a pack of urchins made off with anything.

"All right, you lot, get away!" he cried, s.n.a.t.c.hing a pot from under one young lad's nose. "You, drop that!"

As another boy darted in to seize a fallen sack, Torquil gigged his horse forward to grab the child by an upper arm and wrench him around, giving him a quick shake to make him drop the sack before releasing him. Arnault had crowded right behind him, and the arrival of two mounted men on the scene sent the remaining children scattering.

A smile creased the face of the big man as he retrieved the last of his belongings and glanced up at his rescuers.

"My thanks, good pilgrims," he declared-and ?icked a glance to one side, where Breville was motioning them from the opening of another street. "You'd best not linger," he added in a lower voice.

They took his advice, though they were careful not to appear too eager. Heading off the way in which Breville had disappeared, they followed him down a crooked alley that headed deeper into the winds.

When they rounded the next turning, Breville was holding open the door to a small stable shed. At his urgent gesture, they quickly dismounted and led their horses inside.

"Bring your baggage and say nothing," he whispered, as he barred the door behind them. "Jacques will delay pursuit, if you were followed."

In the next little while, Arnault and Torquil followed him through a winding maze of narrow streets and tenements, to skirt ?nally along the riverbank. There, casting off the mendicant's posture that was part of his disguise, Breville led them briskly behind a privy shed, where he ducked into what appeared to be the mouth of an ancient drain. Just inside, he bade Arnault and Torquil help him heave at a crack between two paving slabs.

One of the slabs s.h.i.+fted, exposing a dark cavity below. As they pushed it wider, a dank reek of weeds and river water ?ltered up from the gap. Wider still, and they could see a narrow stairway descending into the blackness below.

"Not the best of arrangements," Breville murmured, ?tting his lower body through the opening, "but it serves its purpose. Follow me."

As he disappeared into the darkness, Arnault and Torquil followed without hesitation. Pausing in an alcove half a ?ight down, Breville produced ?int and steel and set alight an oil-soaked torch left ready to hand, then motioned for his companions to close the hatch above them, by means of an iron ring set into the underside of the stone slab. Only once the pale square of daylight had been shut out and they were continuing down did Torquil venture a whispered question.

"What is this place?"

Breville showed teeth in a thin smile as they came to the level at the bottom of the stair. "The remains of a Roman sewer. Like the Christians of a former age, we have taken refuge underground in order to escape our oppressors."

He beckoned them off along an arched pa.s.sageway, its walls blotched with damp and algae. The ?ickering torchlight showed other pa.s.sages vanis.h.i.+ng into obscurity on either hand, but after a few turns they arrived at a decrepit-looking wooden door. When Breville gave two sharp knocks, followed by a third, the door swung open, revealing a cramped chamber beyond, lanternlit and nearly ?lled by three standing ?gures.

"Christoph!" Arnault breathed. "And Hugues, Father Anselmo! What on earth are you doing in Orlans?"

"Meeting up with you," Christoph said with a faint smile.

"But-how did you know we would come here?"

"In much the same way we feared our enemies might detect your presence," Father Anselmo said, motioning both of them into the little room. "We have con?rmed that Nogaret now possesses the Breastplate of the High Priests of Israel, which would have a powerful af?nity for the Tablets of the Law-or one of the Shards of the Law."

"Fortunately, he has no reason to suppose that anyone was trying to retrieve one of the Shards," Hugues said, "so there was no reason for him to look. Furthermore, we don't believe he has yet learned to harness the power of the Breastplate."

"But we couldn't be sure of that," Breville said, "and eventually, he may well discover how to bend it to his will. Hence, the need for caution.

"As for how we found you," he concluded, smiling faintly, "fortunately, we have another artifact with an af?nity for the Shards-and we know how to use it." He glanced back at Hughes, who held up a scarlet pouch the size of a man's two ?sts.