Knights Templar - Temple And The Crown Part 21

Meanwhile, le Cercle took measures to protect the Temple's more esoteric interests, though they were hampered by the delays in establishing Robert Bruce in a secure Celtic monarchy. Gaspar des Macquelines, in his capacity as an a.s.sistant treasurer of the Paris Temple, had begun late in the summer to divert consignments of the Temple's wealth to safer havens-and since only le Cercle knew the true extent of what the Temple held in the way of less conventional treasure, he was able to send many of these out of the country.

By the end of September, he had persuaded certain senior of?cers to consider a more of?cial removal of Templar treasure beyond the reach of the French crown, for it was believed that King Philip was developing an active but thus far secret plan to appropriate the Temple's wealth in much the way that he had seized the wealth of the Jews.

Meanwhile, le Cercle continued putting out its intelligence feelers, and prayed for a favorable turn in the fortunes of Robert Bruce. For Arnault, the waiting grew more and more intolerable, for he longed to be at Bruce's side. Yet he knew that, for now, le Cercle needed him where he was- and knew that, if disaster came, he was obliged to ?ee Paris at once, abandoning his fellow knights-and ?y straightaway to Bruce, in hopes that, in time, another change of fortune might make it possible, after all, to establish that vital Fifth Temple in another land.

And the others would have their tasks as well. For hidden deep in the bowels of this physical Temple was a carefully h.o.a.rded collection of mystical artifacts ama.s.sed by the long-ago founders of the Temple and their spiritual successors, of diverse origins, that were bridges between the earthly and heavenly Temples: precious hallows that the Inner Temple guarded, sacred to many faiths.

One of them, the High Priest's Breastplate, Arnault knew well-and was, in fact, more skilled than any other in le Cercle at focusing its virtues in the service of the Light. There were others that he had never actually seen-and one, most precious, by far-so sacred that its name was never spoken save in the matrix of a ritual of initiation, when oaths were sworn upon it. Sometimes, during those tight-wound days of late summer, helpless to make any meaningful impact on what was brewing for the Order at large, Arnault retreated to the secret chapel where it resided, known only to the Temple's inner order, to take comfort from merely being in its presence.

That hallow was in Christoph's charge; and often Arnault found him there before him, kneeling in rapture before the altar where it lay. The long, shallow box that housed it was clad in gold and studded with gems along its edge; but what lay inside, behind a golden grille, was the true Treasure- the image of a face imprinted on a yellowed cloth.

Arnault did not know whether it really was the sacred Shroud, folded to show the face of the cruci?ed Christ; but Christoph believed that it was; and Arnault had no doubt that the ancient relic was imbued with a powerful imprint of the Holy-so he was content to accept that it was what Christoph believed. If the time came when it must be removed to safety, Christoph had asked for Jauffre to accompany him-though Jauffre did not yet know this. Arnault feared for his young cousin, if that came to pa.s.s; but he knew that Jauffre would not shrink from this charge, whatever the cost might be.

But as the days pa.s.sed, and neither king nor pope made any move, Arnault began to hope that their fears had been exaggerated. He kept calling in his sources of information, in conjunction with Oliver and Gaspar and the others, and shared their frustration that no further details were forthcoming.

Early October brought with it the ?rst lessening of the summer's heat-and also the death of the king's sister-in-law, who was married to Charles of Valois. The funerals of the highborn always occasioned great interest in the capital, and never more than when the deceased was royal. The impending obsequies of the Princess Catherine became an occasion for signi?cant preparations, focusing the attention of all the court on the spectacle of the coming state funeral. The date selected was the twelfth of October.

As was traditional, the place appointed for her entombment was the Abbey of St. Denis, where the kings and queens of France, together with the members of their families, had been laid to rest for centuries.

Accordingly, the cof?ned body of the Princess Catherine was duly conveyed to the abbey church, there to lie in state while a host of great lords and prelates a.s.sembled from near and far to pay their ?nal respects.

Among those worthies invited to serve as pallbearers was the Grand Master of the Temple, Fr?re Jacques de Molay. It was a signal honor, which he eagerly accepted as a right and proper tribute to the Order's importance and high prestige; but those of le Cercle viewed the gesture with rather more suspicion, and wondered what ulterior motive might have prompted the king's apparent generosity of spirit.

The day of the funeral dawned fair, though with more than a hint of frost in the October air. As the morning light broadened, a ?otilla of state barges festooned in funereal black embarked from the quays along the Ile de la Cit to head downriver toward the abbey. The vessel bearing de Molay and the senior of?cers of the Paris Temple occupied a place of eminence toward the front of the procession. Many of the preceptors from other Templar provinces were also present, some of them having lingered after the summer's General Chapter.

At the recommendation of Oliver de Penne, who stood with Hugues de Paraud in the Grand Master's immediate entourage, Arnault de Saint Clair had been included among the dozen knights of the Grand Master's personal guard of honor-one of several components of the team placed by le Cercle in hope of gleaning some inkling of the king's true intentions. Also in the Grand Master's party, and for similar reasons, were Fr?re Christoph and Father Anselmo-and, as its most junior member, Arnault's cousin Jauffre.

But for the duration of the journey downriver, until they were actually in the king's proximity, Arnault had little to do save to take his turn attending on the Grand Master-a matter of standing solemnly behind de Molay's chair, in full habit and mantle, and looking inscrutable. His thoughts, however, were fully occupied. The vistas along the river were scarcely altered since his arrival in Paris almost a year ago, but beneath the seemingly innocuous ebb and ?ow of ordinary city life, even subdued by the day's funereal atmosphere, he sensed the imminence of some great upheaval.

Though the sun shone brightly, welcome warmth against the autumn chill, the day itself seemed haunted by intimations of darkness. Every landing stage along the riverfront, like every barge in the procession, was decked out with black mourning draperies.

As the vessels approached the last bend in the river, however, with the spires of St. Denis looming against the skyline a little back from the river, a brisker breeze out of the north s.n.a.t.c.hed at the funeral banners and set them ?apping like great black wings. In that instant, it occurred to Arnault that, with their high prows and rounded bows, the barges looked like nothing so much as a ?ock of black swans aglide on the water.

Even as the comparison suggested itself, Arnault became aware of an uneasy p.r.i.c.kling at the base of his skull. Instinctively he turned to cast an appraising glance around him, singling out the procession of royal barges approaching up-river from the direction of Versailles-and at once found himself scanning the vessel carrying the king and his brother, with a cl.u.s.ter of attendants. Immediately conspicuous in the midst of the latter-though bedecked in black like all the rest, yet somehow apart from them all-stood Guillaume de Nogaret, the king's chief minister.

By no means that he could specify, Arnault knew at once that this was the likely source of his uneasiness.

Nogaret was standing by the starboard railing, head lifted to contemplate the approaching landing stage at St. Denis, but the merest hint of a smile played about his thin lips, as if in response to some inner contentment. The man's pale gaze held a disturbing glitter as he, in turn, cast his glance over the Templar barge now b.u.mping against the landing stage. He seemed coolly interested in de Molay and the other senior of?cers rather than Arnault and the other ordinary knights, but he looked-too much for Arnault's peace of mind-like a man privately antic.i.p.ating a moment of triumph.

Recalled to his duty as the Templar party made ready to disembark, Arnault fell into formation and followed them ash.o.r.e. The Abbot of St. Denis and a gathering of canons gave perfunctory greeting to the Templars, one of the latter leading them on toward the abbey church as the abbot turned his attention to the royal barge taking the place of the one the Templars had just vacated. Disembarking in their turn, the king and his brother were met by the waiting prelates to join the solemn procession into the church, preceded by a choir of monks chanting the entrance antiphon.

Inside, the brightness of the long nave belied the solemnity of the day, ?ooded with jewel-hued sunlight from the wide expanse of gla.s.s at the end of either transept. The wash of light-and the white mantles of the Templars-made the funereal dressing of the great church all the more a contrast as Arnault moved down the center aisle with his brother knights.

The cof?n containing the body of the dead princess lay before the high altar on a bier draped with sumptuous black brocade, the pall likewise of a stygian richness. The double line of knights paused to bow by pairs before pa.s.sing into the place reserved for them in the north transept, with a clear view of the sanctuary. Ma.s.sive silver candlesticks stood three to either side along the bier, each with a lit candle as thick as a man's arm, ornamented with placards bearing the coat of arms of the House of Valois.

To the hauntingly beautiful chanting of the choir monks, the mourners shuf?ed into their places, the king and his brother joining other members of the royal family gathered to one side. Kneeling brie?y in prayer with his brother knights, as the presiding clergy took their places, Arnault spared a moment's admiration and thanksgiving for the long-dead Abb Suger, whose vision had shaped every aspect of the building to be a Bible in stone. Each detail, from the intricate wealth of carvings to the interplay of light slanting through the stained-gla.s.s windows, was designed to enlighten the hearts of all who entered. But for once, as Arnault brought his formal prayers to a close, his spirit remained earthbound, unable to cast off its burden of apprehension.

With the commencement of the Ma.s.s, he tried once again to lose himself in prayer, but neither the sweet savor of incense nor the ascendant voices of the choristers could lift him out of himself. At the Consecration, even gazing upon the beauty of Abbot Suger's own chalice could not impinge upon his mood. The vessel was no less exquisite than its setting-a cup wrought from sardonyx set in gold, so thin as to be almost translucent, and adorned with ?ligree, pearls, and precious gems-yet Arnault was acutely aware that this whole church and all it contained, however rich and rare, could not rival the inestimable value of even one of the Treasures in the keeping of le Cercle.

Brie?y contemplating those Treasures, Arnault knew that it was only a matter of time before he and his companions would be compelled to risk all, and move the rest of the Treasures to safer quarters. Plans had been ?xed for that ?nal dispersal, but no amount of preparation could wholly eliminate the risks.

Watching the king and his family and ministers receive Communion-without Nogaret, who still lay under formal excommunication, and had remained outside the church-Arnault fancied he could feel an enormous weight pressing upon the Temple, smothering and heavy like a funeral pall.

After Communion, eight burly knights took up the actual weight of the princess's cof?n to conduct it to its ?nal resting place. The Grand Master joined the other worthies chosen as honorary pallbearers, each of them taking up one of the silk cords forming a symbolic cradle beneath the cof?n as the little procession made its silent way to the open grave in the church ambulatory. There the Bishop of Paris offered up the ?nal prayers.

A choral amen brought the funeral to a close, after which the Grand Master rejoined his fellow Templars for their recessional from the church. Arnault dutifully followed as part of the rear guard, glad to be leaving the place, thinking of nothing much at all, only vaguely watching on ahead. But then, as de Molay and the others neared the western doors, a sudden blaze of sun glare seemed to billow upward like an eruption of ?ame, blinding-bright against snow-white mantles-or was it merely a re?ection from the polished bra.s.s-work on the heavy church doors?

The same ?ery radiance spilled hungrily down the ranks of the rest of the Grand Master's train, including young Jauffre but not quite reaching Arnault. For a terrible instant, every one of them appeared to be engulfed in consuming ?re.

The illusion so startled Arnault that, without thinking, he reached out to seize a handful of young Jauffre's mantle and drag him back a step, out of the sun-?re-which immediately subsided to mere sunlight.

Jauffre, himself startled, ?ashed his elder cousin a look of blank inquiry as Arnault recovered himself and let go of the mantle, though he had the wit to keep his expression neutral and to continue walking, watching his kinsman sidelong.

But an overmastering dread sealed Arnault's lips. And as he, too, emerged into the light, it was merely that: sunlight. Between one step and the next, the terrible glory had evaporated, the vision ended, leaving him feeling weak at the knees, as if in the aftermath of a griping pain.

"It's all right," he managed to murmur to Jauffre, smiling faintly. "The sunlight dazzled my eyes, and then I misstepped."

Satis?ed, Jauffre moved on. A moment later they descended the abbey steps, now in more normal sunlight, and Arnault drew a deep breath, glad to be out in the free air. He put the incident ?rmly from mind as he made his way down to the landing where the Templar barge stood waiting.

Later that night, however, he received another prompting, this time in his dreams, and even more insistent than the ?rst. The dream commenced with a knocking at the gate. He knew he was in his bed in the Paris Temple, but somehow he could hear the knocking all the way at the outer ward.

The knocking went unanswered until Arnault rose up in his dream to answer the summons. Standing on the other side of the threshold, separated from him by the iron grid, stood a shadowy ?gure in bloodstained garments. As the ?gure set its hands on the bars of the gate, Arnault took a closer look and recognized the elderly Jew who had died in his arms over a year ago. Leaning closer, the old man addressed him with ?erce intensity.

The h.e.l.l-hounds are set to slip their chains! he warned. The hunt begins at morning light. Save the Treasures! Get you gone!

Arnault woke abruptly, in a cold sweat. The whole preceptory was quiet as the grave, but he knew he dared not ignore the warning. Throwing on his outer garments, he hastened next door to rouse Gaspar, who was already up and dressing as well.

"I gather you had a dream, too," Gaspar whispered, ?inging his mantle around his shoulders.

Arnault nodded. "Aye. It's time to go."

They set out at once for the arranged meeting place-and met Father Anselmo and Hugues de Curzon on the way, both with dreams to relate. Christoph and Oliver were already waiting in Gaspar's office above the treasury; Father Bertrand arrived shortly thereafter.

"We dare not regard these dreams as anything but a warning sent by G.o.d," Christoph said quietly, when he had polled them all. "And He has spoken to each of us. If daybreak ?nds us still here, under this roof, we are all dead men-and the Order is dead, as well."

The rest of them exchanged sober glances, bleak concurrence in every pair of eyes.

"He's right," Gaspar agreed. "We dare not question the authority or the validity of these warnings. Faith has ever been our guiding force-and never more than now. We've come too far along this road to let doubt turn us back. If faith cannot lead us home, then nothing can."

Resigned nods of agreement supported this declaration.

"You all have your orders, then," Christoph said briskly. "You know what is at stake. Our ?rst priority is to get the Treasures to safety-and, if we can, to save ourselves to continue the ?ght in another time and place. Summon the men you've chosen to accompany you, and gather at once at the appointed place."

Only Arnault went directly to the designated vault in the heart of the Temple, where clothes and other necessities for a journey had been stored in readiness. He had already changed his Templar habit for the well-worn tunic and leather jack of a common mercenary by the time Oliver and then Father Bertrand joined him.

More of them arrived as Arnault buckled on his sword and then threw on a somewhat threadbare mantle of faded tartan, legacy of his years with Bruce. While the others dressed in silence, he moved among them with a word of farewell for each man, his hand brie?y lingering on young Jauffre's shoulder before moving on to where Gaspar was distributing pouches prepared for each of them, each with money and travel doc.u.ments appropriate to the man's a.s.sumed guise. Arnault received a pilgrim's scrip and a very well worn saddlebag, with a hefty weight to it.

"There's gold there, for Bruce's cause," Gaspar whispered, as the two brie?y embraced. "I've also given you King Solomon's Seal. It was the smallest and lightest of the Treasures that need taking to safety.

"Go now, and G.o.dspeed. Guard Bruce, and build the Fifth Temple. G.o.d willing, some of us will join you in a few weeks' time. Go!" he repeated, as Arnault hesitated. "Go. Your horse is waiting."

Chapter Twenty-two.

October 13, 1307 IN THOSE SMALL HOURS BEFORE DAWN, IN A PRIVATE SUITE in the bowels of the palace of the Louvre, the senior Knights of the Black Swan resident in Paris were also astir.

"The men you've selected for your own escort are all a.s.sembled in the outer court," Valentin de Vesey reported to Nogaret. "We're ready to ride at your command."

Sitting before the ?re, Nogaret lifted a cup of wine to gaze into its depths, where the ?relight re?ected from the polished inside of the vessel. The wine was a hearty claret, the color of blood.

"Excellent," he said, looking up. "We are on the brink of an historic moment, gentlemen. Sit, Valentin, and have some wine. In only a few hours, the Templars will have ceased to be an obstacle in our path."

These remarks were addressed to several other members of the Decuria, seconded to join the party Nogaret would lead personally to make arrests at the Paris Temple. Only Count Rodolphe dared to voice uncertainty.

"Much could still go wrong."

"What could possibly go wrong?" said Peret Auvergnais. "Nothing has been left to chance. The orders are in place, there's been no leak, and men are standing ready to execute them. By nightfall, every Templar in France will be in royal custody-and the keys to all their treasuries will be in our hands."

He raised his cup to salute their coming endeavor-and their leader's role in conceiving it-and the others followed suit, with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Nogaret, a.s.sessing their mood, set about soothing any lingering misgivings with small talk, though the preparations appeared to be ?awless. He was holding his cup for a re?ll when his inner composure was jarred by a silent shriek, and then the urgent alarm of the demon Ialdabaeoth.

Ma.s.sster! Ma.s.sster! the demon shrilled anxiously. Templarsss have come to the trea.s.ssury! They are opening the vault of Ssssecretsss!

Nogaret started up from his chair, almost spilling his cup.

"What is it?" Baudoin demanded.

Gesturing sharply for silence, Nogaret put down his cup and closed his eyes, setting ?ngertips to his temples. After a moment's concentration, his perceptions merged with those of his demon familiar and images took shape before him, accompanied by murmuring voices.

He could not make out words, but through Ialdabaeoth's eyes he beheld a handful of men in the guise of common mercenaries gathering before the vault beside the one the demon guarded-Templars, all, and a few of them even known to Nogaret by name, from his sojourn in the Temple with the king. As one of them opened the door, glory blazed forth with an intensity that caused Ialdabaeoth to recoil in howling anguish. Only Nogaret's strength of will compelled the demon to stand its ground.

But as the men entered and closed the door, Nogaret knew that at last he had discovered the hiding place of the Temple's choicest Treasures, for which he was prepared to gamble so much. Nothing else could account for the holiness the place exuded-and far more than could be explained if it were merely a chapel where the Sacrament resided.

Furthermore, the fact that these Templars had put aside their habits suggested that they were about to bolt-that they somehow had gotten wind of the orders, now only hours from execution, that would have netted all the Temple's treasures-and were preparing to take away the ones Nogaret most wanted.

Releasing the demon to its sentinel duties, Nogaret broke contact, already getting to his feet as he opened his eyes.

"Something has alerted the Templars' Inner Circle," he said, reaching for his cloak. "Some of them are preparing to ?ee the Paris Temple, dressed as ordinary soldiers-and I have no doubt that they will take the choicest Treasures with them. We must stop them!"

The sound of the cavalcade clattering through the streets of Paris brought fearful citizens to windows and doors, only to shrink back in fear. It was still dark as the company converged on the Temple gates, where Nogaret himself leaned down to hammer on the outer port.

"Open at once, in the name of the king!" he demanded.

A porter's face appeared at the wicket gate, but immediately turned to confer with a companion, clearly uncertain what to do.

"Open up, I say, or it will be in?nitely the worse for you!" Nogaret repeated.

"A moment, my lord," came a hesitant response. "We have standing orders never to open the gate before dawn, save on higher authority."

"I am higher authority!" Nogaret retorted. "Open at once!"

The gate did not open, but after a brief interval the Grand Master himself appeared at the wicket, looking sleepy and affronted. Nogaret heard him give the order to unbar the gate, and signaled his own men to be ready. When the port swung open, the riders surged inside and promptly occupied the courtyard beyond.

Most of them rode with drawn swords, and a few braced c.o.c.ked crossbows at their hips.

"What is the meaning of this?" de Molay demanded furiously, from the midst of a growing contingent of his of?cers and serjeants, though few of them were armed at this hour of the night, and most were at least twice the age of any man in Nogaret's armed escort.

"This Order's evil heresy has come to light at last," Nogaret proclaimed coldly, for the bene?t of the uninitiated-his own men and those of the Temple. "You are being called to book for your crimes." He pulled from his belt a folded doc.u.ment heavy with pendant seals. "I have here a warrant under the king's own authority, ordering the arrest of every occupant of this place."

"The king has no authority over us, save by leave of the Holy Father," de Molay said boldly. "Your order has no force."

"My order," Nogaret said, thrusting the doc.u.ment under the Grand Master's nose, "bears the king's own seal. If you are innocent, will you force us to shed your innocent blood to enforce the lawful order of our sovereign liege? You may not be bound by the king's command, but we are."

De Molay opened and closed his mouth several times, clearly at a loss for words, then turned to murmur something inaudible to one of his subordinates. Nogaret only nodded toward two of his sergeants with a faint, cold smile.

"Take these men into custody," he said mildly, "along with every other man in this place."

De Molay recoiled, spluttering with outrage, but neither he nor any of his of?cers made any serious resistance- though it could not be said that any went willingly into captivity. Leaving the royal troops to make a sweep through the compound, rounding up the other Templars in residence, Nogaret dismounted and made his way swiftly down to the treasury level, trailed by the four other members of the Decuria.

The vault where he had left his ring was empty, as were the chambers adjacent to it; the one from which Ialdabaeoth had recoiled appeared to be but an ordinary chapel, though further investigation might prove otherwise.

Sending the others to check the rest of the vaults, Nogaret hung back to retrieve his ring from its hiding place. As he closed it in his hand, he reengaged the connection with the demon that resided therein.

"Ialdabaeoth," he called softly.

Yesss, Ma.s.ster?

"Where have they gone?"

Ialdabaeoth doesss not know, Ma.s.sster.

"Did they take the Treasures?" Nogaret asked.

Yesss, Ma.s.sster. Many Ssssecretsss.

"Show me," Nogaret ordered, closing his eyes.

At once, images began to pa.s.s before his vision: the disguised Templars slipping from the chapel vault by ones and twos, most with an accompanying aura of formidable power benignly contained-surely, the esoteric Treasures of the Temple.

All sources of such power were potentially of interest, of course, for the ways their potency could be corrupted to his use, but suddenly Nogaret's attention was sharply diverted to one of the older knights, among the last to leave the vault, who was drawing his robe closed over what appeared to be bandages closely wrapped around his chest. The taste of power that emanated from the man-or what he carried- was of a subtle difference from the others, and might well be the very item Nogaret most sought.

What is it he carries? Nogaret demanded of the demon.