Arnau nodded. ‘That is kind. Thank you. And we are the poor knights of Christ, after all.’
They moved around a corner and made for an end room. As Montcada approached, he handed the drinks to Arnau and withdrew a key, unlocking the door. The man paused, momentarily, listening at the doors of the rooms opposite and adjacent and, satisfied that they were empty and silent, retrieved the drinks and entered the room. Arnau followed, turning and locking the door after them. He was surprised to see that this was a ten-bed bunk room, which meant that the lord intended to sleep alongside his men. Once again his strangely indolent manner came into question.
Montcada placed his burden on the table and crossed to the window, pushing the shutters ajar to look down outside. Satisfied once more that no one was eavesdropping, he closed them once more and sank into a seat, pouring two glasses of wine.
‘Tell me everything.’
Despite the fact that Arnau had been dreading revisiting the conversation, he found that he wanted to, now. He sank into a seat, sighed and leaned back.
‘The rot that sources our foe goes deeper than anyone could imagine.’
‘Who?’
‘The Templars of Monzón were waiting for us. A senior brother who looks to be the next master of Barbera, Bernard de Comminges, expected me. He is, needless to say, part of this whole benighted conspiracy.’
Montcada’s eyes narrowed. ‘I know de Comminges of old. He is a brutal man, and a dangerous one. It always surprised me that he joined your order, for I had him pegged as a Cathar like my brother.’
Arnau sighed. ‘Despite everything, I now fear that the two are not mutually exclusive. De Comminges pulled me aside as soon as I arrived and explained everything to me. I told him that he could not stop me approaching the king, unless he intended to have me murdered, which would not be easy. The man actually nodded. He told me that he would not stop me, but he urged me not to try.’
‘A foolish notion. Surely you brushed it aside?’
‘Not when he explained why. It’s the king, Montcada.’
‘What?’
‘The king himself is the root of all this evil. His treasury is empty. Our great King Pedro the Catholic, has all but bankrupted Aragon. Between his extraordinary coronation in Rome, his regular largess, and then this expensive crusade, he has drained the treasury almost to naught. He cannot pay his debts, and has even sold the honours, some seven hundred knights’ fees. Yet though he cannot afford it, he is preparing for war once more, even while scratching for a few paltry dinero, readying to support Cathar heretics against the Pope’s crusade. I am aghast in so many ways. That the king would be so reckless with his care, that he would support heresy against the Church, and most of all that it looks like our own Order will aid him in this.’
‘So the king is taking your lands? Why Rourell?’
Arnau let out an explosive breath and then supped his entire glass of wine in one mouthful. ‘Rourell is not alone. The King has tasked several senior nobles and churchmen with refilling his treasury. He needs the money and, if de Comminges is to be believed, and I am inclined to do so in this, the king has given his vultures free rein in how they do so. He cares not where the money comes from, as long as he can fight to protect his heretic kinsmen across the mountains. It is all a disgusting web of conceit and villainy. Among the men he tasked with finding such monies were La Selva and the Archbishop Rocaberti. Together the two men have scoured the region for any seemingly easy target.’
‘And Rourell fits that bill.’
‘Very much so. Since our fortunes changed a decade ago, Rourell has been growing in strength and value, yet with the preceptrix in charge it remains unpopular with many sectors. Unpopular and rich makes the perfect target, and other institutions are suffering similar fates. La Selva and the archbishop offered to grant any lord half the profit of any claim successful against the preceptory. Lords get some of their land back with the blessing of the church, and the remaining lands go to the Church and the king, who will undoubtedly sell them back to their former owners to help fill his treasury.’
‘And de Comminges’s part in this?’
‘I fear he intends to take good brothers of the Temple and join the king in defending heretics and defying the Pope. He and many senior Templars consider Rourell and its preceptrix an embarrassment and would be more than happy to close down and sell off the monastery, getting rid of the preceptrix for good. Their support would have been extremely easy to secure in this.’
Montcada nodded. ‘As I said once, when we first met, the brothers of the Temple are not universally saintly men. There is a rot in your Order that runs deep and grows with time.’
Arnau sighed, sagging slightly, and poured himself a second glass of wine.
‘One cup,’ he said in a faraway voice, turning the glass back and forth in his fingers.
‘Sorry?’
‘It is in the Rule. One cup of wine, after Compline and before retiring. What does it say, that I am unrepentant in pouring a second?’
‘It says that you are a knight of the Temple, but first and foremost you are a human being.’
Arnau sighed again and took a sip. ‘Anyway, de Comminges laid it all out for me. We talked for some time, he destroying every argument I raised with consummate ease. By the end of an hour, I knew that we had lost. There was no point in going to the king, for he is behind it all, and nothing would change anyway, even with a royal audience. They are a gathering of fools and criminals, all of them, hiding behind crowns and crosses and mitres. De Comminges finally asked me, quietly, not to see the king. He pointed out that in the circumstances nothing would change, yet pressing the matter would bring embarrassment to the Crown, the Order and everyone involved. There would only be further damage, and yet no victory for us.’
The two men sat in silence, absorbing this bleak information.
After a time, there came a knock on the door, and Montcada opened it to find Tristán standing outside in the corridor. He admitted the squire and then closed and locked the door once more.
‘You’ve explained everything, Brother?’ Tristán asked.
‘He has,’ Montcada confirmed.
‘I do not know where to take a stand,’ the squire spat. ‘I would defy the archbishop, but I am a child of the Lord, and I cannot defy the Church of which he is a part. I would defy de Comminges and his ilk, but that would mean defying my own Order. I would defy the king…’ he paused. ‘Perhaps I will defy the king.’
The other two men turned concerned frowns on the squire, who shrugged. ‘I am not Aragonese, my lords. I hail from Navarre, and my king is the hero of Las Navas, a great man. Perhaps the time has come to abandon my mantle, knowing that it has become corrupt, shun Aragon entirely as the land of a heretical king, and return to San Sebastiano.’
Arnau nodded. ‘And no one would blame you. But you would be walking away from the preceptrix, from Ramon and Balthesar, and from all those innocent folk who are going to suffer. I know you, Tristán. Your conscience would not allow that any more than mine would. If I thought for a moment that it would not do harm, I might drop my own mantle to the dust after all I have seen.’
‘Then what is there left? We have explored every avenue, and they have all been closed to us. We are at the end, having gone as high as we can. The only possibilities now are the Pope and the Grand Master, both weeks away across the sea, and this whole thing is about to come to a head. You heard de Comminges – all these cases, and any other poor bastards the archbishop is squeezing, have to be concluded now, for the king demands the money. We haven’t time to go to the only remaining powers. So I ask again, what can we do?’
Arnau sighed. The truth was that he didn’t know, either. Silence descended once more, each man looking inward, absorbed in his own thoughts.
Suddenly, Montcada sat forward, slamming his hands on the table. ‘The answer is before your very eyes. Indeed, it slipped from your very mouth.’
The two Templars frowned. ‘What?’
>
‘Tell me again what de Comminges said about not approaching the king. In his words if you can.’
Arnau paused and thought back over the past hour.
‘“Your quest has failed” was what he said. “To seek the king’s aid would bring shame and humiliation to all concerned and would avail you naught in the end. There would be no victory, only many defeats…”’
Montcada gave them a wicked smile. ‘Perfect. Extortion is now your friend, good Brothers.’
‘What?’
The nobleman slapped the table again. ‘You hold evidence that can damage them all. Everyone from the archbishop and the paborda up through senior men in your own order and right to the king himself. Yes, de Comminges was right that revealing all this in public would not save the preceptrix or your monastery, but it would irreparably and very publically damage the reputations of all involved. The archbishop is already unpopular, and his position is always sought by others. He cannot afford any more scandal. La Selva is powerful, but if all those lesser lords that have gone with him on this and put in claims are dragged down with him, his influence will plummet. De Comminges seeks senior office, you said. He wants to be the next master of Barbera? He likely has his eyes set on being the master in all of Aragon and Provence, and perhaps even Grand Master, but this would scuttle his attempts. Most of all, the king himself teeters right now. He cannot abandon his Cathar lords to the crusade yet he baulks, and rightly so, at defying the Pope. Rumour from Rome is that the Pope is ready to excommunicate the pious King of Aragon should he make any move to support the Cathars, so the king can hardly afford any humiliation at this moment. All your enemies stand to fall if your information becomes public. You can use that to secure your victory.’
Arnau shook his head, though with a new thoughtful look. ‘Despite all of that, they will never leave us alone. Not now. Now that we have pushed it this far, they will need Rourell to fall.’
Montcada shrugged. ‘Then ask yourself what is truly important, Vallbona, and bargain for whatever that is. You have something to bargain with, so use it. Better to save something than nothing.’
Tristán leaned forward now. ‘They might be willing to drop all sentencing against the preceptrix and let her walk away. Let us all walk away, even. Rourell could fall, but the brothers and sisters could be saved. Is that not what is important?’
Arnau nodded slowly. ‘True. But there would need to be more. If we walk away, that means leaving the Order. Abandoning our mantles and returning to the secular world. We would need support. We would have to ask that all our donatives be returned, so that we have somewhere to return to.’
Montcada nodded. ‘And the common folk. Those Jews and converts who work Rourell’s lands and who will face disaster at the hands of the Order and the archbishop. You will have to save them.’
Arnau smiled. ‘Your wife was already engaged in saving them, moving them onto Castellvell estates. That would suffice. Do you really think this can be done?’
The nobleman shrugged. ‘I am a man of weak morals and low cunning, and yet even I would worry about what your evidence would do to my remaining tattered reputation. Imagine how a master, an archbishop, a lord or a king might feel.’
Arnau smiled maliciously. ‘I wish there were a worse thing we could do to them all, in truth. It is not a good Christian thought, but these men have conspired to commit murder, larceny and so much more for pure personal gain. The Lord should demand vengeance from them all. That they should also walk away unharmed for their crimes makes me angry.’
Montcada shrugged. ‘There is always time later for scores to be settled. For now, surely it is about saving what you can?’
Arnau and Tristán shared a look, their eyes confirming their agreement.
‘You’re right, Montcada. I can only thank the good Lord that you came with us. Not content with saving our lives, you may have saved us all.’
The nobleman gave a dark chuckle. ‘Let us hope that when I stand before Saint Peter, these deeds weigh well against the ledger of my life.’
Rourell, 9th October 1212
The journey had been uneventful. With Montcada and his men beside them, they had ridden the direct route back to the preceptory. It seemed unlikely now that they would encounter any trouble passing through Barbera’s lands, with de Comminges at Monzón and believing them powerless anyway. And La Selva? Well, perhaps he had now learned his lesson having had his fingers burned repeatedly in small scuffles in Tarragona, at Rourell and at Fraga.
That Montcada had decided to see them through to the end rather than return to his wife at Mora d’Ebre was a boon, and a welcome one. Arnau wasn’t sure he could do this without help, and Montcada was proving himself a good man time and again.
They turned off the main road and made for the preceptory, though as they came close, they skirted around it and rode for the ruined mill instead. As they approached, once more a small group of armed figures emerged from the trees, and the riders slowed as they approached. Arnau was relieved to see that none of them held crossbows, though there was always the worrying possibility that such archers were present, just out of sight among the trees as they had been at Fraga. Trying not to look into every shadow, he took the lead, approaching La Selva’s men and sliding from his horse.
‘We are going to enter the mill,’ he said in a commanding tone. ‘Whatever your orders, I advise you to stand aside. We are in no mood to consider clemency.’
The leader stepped forward to meet him.
‘You are too late, sir knight. In your absence the matter has been concluded. Brother de Mont has found your witch guilty on all counts. She remains in the mill, alongside her harpy assistant, but this is no longer a dormitory. This is a prison cell for the condemned. I have no intention of preventing you joining your friends, but know that when you do, you shall not leave but to the gallows.’
Arnau stepped uncomfortably close to the leader, so that his breath washed over the captain as he spoke. ‘You do not frighten me, little man, and neither does your grasping lord or your band of petty criminals. I have faced down kings and masters of the Temple now, and if you even move to harm me or mine, your men will have to carry you back to your lord in a sack. A waterproof one,’ he added in a menacing voice. ‘Get out of my way.’
Startled, the captain found himself stepping wildly backwards before he had a chance to recover his composure. Arnau turned to the others. ‘Are you coming?’
Montcada shook his head. ‘You do not need us, and I think it might be better if we wait here to make sure this man doesn’t do anything he might regret.’
Tristán gave the most feral smile Arnau had ever seen on that face and placed his hand on his sword hilt. ‘I think I might stay too. I’d hate to miss out on any fun.’
Arnau noted the nervous ripple that made its way through the watchers as he turned and marched to the mill door. Before he could knock it was pulled open, and he stepped into the dark to see a much changed interior. The smell of stagnant urine and faeces filled the place. There was no light, and as he gagged and his eyes adjusted, he could see that there were fewer here. Only Balthesar and Ramon, the preceptrix and Sister Titborga. He stepped further inside, breathing as shallowly as he could, and Balthesar closed the door behind him.
‘What has happened?’ Arnau asked.
‘Just after you left, Brother Jaume arrived with news that the cases had been concluded and that the preceptrix was to be found guilty, along with any brother or sister who refused to leave her side. We decided – Ramon and I – that we have had long enough lives now, and it is better to end them righteously here than to slink away and live as cowards.’
‘They torture us,’ Titborga cut in, ‘they no longer bring food or water, and will not take away the waste. They will not allow us light or heat.’
Ermengarda shushed the sister with lowered hands. ‘They treat us as prisoners, for prisoners we are, and condemned ones at that. I have tried with all my heart to persuade these good people to l
eave, Brother Arnau, for I have no wish to spend eternity with their lives weighing on my conscience. They will not listen to me, stubbornly insisting on supporting me to the last. Perhaps you can persuade them now, for I see by the look on your face that the king has not provided the answer you sought.’
Arnau nodded slightly. ‘The king cannot help us in this, for the king is as tied up in all this heresy, crime and sin as any of them. I have had my loyalties as a nobleman of Catalunya, as a brother in the Order, and even as a son of the Church shaken by the discovery that good men seem to have disappeared in Aragon. Only wickedness remains.’
He sighed and moved across to one of the small apertures in the wall, allowing the waft of fresher air to help alleviate the stench. There he stood and relayed everything, from the visit at Mora d’Ebre to the fight with La Selva’s men, and finally the interview with de Comminges at Monzón. When he was done, he could see the last shreds of hope leaving his friends’ faces, though the preceptrix seemed as calm and resigned as always. Titborga was clearly furious.
Taking in their expressions, Arnau straightened.
‘There is still a lesser solution.’
‘Oh?’
‘Montcada showed me the way. Our information – the evidence I control – can irreparably damage them all. Every one of them. We can use that as leverage to secure the release of all here, and the dropping of all charges. We will demand our inheritances returned. We cannot save Rourell. The lands will still be stripped to pay for a heretic king to march against the Church, but we can save ourselves. And in doing so we can give ourselves the opportunity thereafter to put things right.’
The preceptrix shook her head. ‘Extortion is a sin in itself, Brother Arnau. Only a wicked man uses sin to defeat sin. And then you speak of the future as a time of revenge, which I cannot condone.’
The Last Crusade Page 18