Clement sighed.
Lately he suffered from the terrible fevers that resulted always in copious sweats which left him drained and fatigued. He was gripped by bouts of dysentery alternating with terrible constipation, which his physicians tried to cure by bleeding him so utterly dry that he was surprised he could stand at all. They poked strange, foul smelling concoctions into his body, and made him drink odious mixtures of herbs and salts, which made him vomit.
To fight so worthy a foe with his health threatening, looming over him, was surely a foolish act. But what was there to do? Philip had threatened him openly, and Dubois, a royal lawyer with a talent for writing pamphlets, had begun a hateful program to erode his character. In these little communications circulated throughout France, Dubois had accused him of nepotism, and this simply because he employed relatives, as all popes before him had done. He called him corrupt because he had accepted the Templar dioceses as gifts – and why not? Various communications had done nothing. The King – he was now certain – would see him dead before conceding to his authority, and this had never been more clear since his arrival at Poitiers, unannounced and aswarm with men-at-arms.
Of course the King had prostrated himself before his holy person, and shown him every dignity and respect, but Clement knew the viper too well. No sooner had Philip’s dainty feet alighted on pontifical soil than he had begun to turn the screws, since even before his copious luggage was removed from his carriage he was calling for a public consistory into the royal case against the Templars. Clement might be ill and, he was the first to concede, a little less endowed with the moral attributes of his predecessors, but he was a practical man who knew well the intrigues of court and how to take advantage of advantageous situations. He knew that art when it was applied and Philip applied it liberally. He was calling in the favour, and Clement must needs comply. Come now, he reminded himself, that was after all how he had come by the keys of Peter. It was a fair trade, the Templars for his papacy.
His philosophy may not have seemed to others entirely pious, but Clement knew that piety made short days for popes. Was it not piety that had ended Boniface, then Benedict? With Boniface and Benedict gone the curia, fearing for its own existence, had elected a French pope. What man with sense would have refused such an appointment? True, he had duped himself into believing that he could be a champion of Christ, a bastion of justice . . . in exchange for some minor promises. How could he have known that he would find himself no more than a puppet, at the behest of all men who, under the shadow of God’s grace, wanted something from him? How could he have presaged that he would have to wage constant battle with his curia? That he would discover himself exiled from Rome where he was hated, and living in Avignon where he was treated with contempt, aware that his enemies were not far behind and preparing to send him to the Devil? This fell sourly on his face and the servant, noticing the frown, brought him rosewater. The pontiff pushed it away with a swollen hand. Soon, he thought with dismay, they would have to cut the jewels from his fingers.
He sighed and the familiar well of self-pity sprang up inside him. Indeed these had been hard things to face. So many enemies! I am a man who must walk barefoot through a field of thorns. He shifted uneasily under the weight of his regalia.
He did have one advantage – the astrologer Iterius. He was a counterfeit, of course, but even so, what he had told him concerning the secrets of the Order – which he had intimated to be various and dangerous – had confirmed his suspicions. What would Philip not do to have such a power over him? It was impossible for him to interrogate Jacques de Molay himself, since Philip had refused to bring the man to Poitiers, and Clement could not go to Paris for he feared that the moment he placed a pontifical foot upon French soil, Philip would find a way of slipping a halter around his neck. Even if Philip agreed to bring Jacques de Molay to him, Clement would not be able now to question him alone as he was ever watched by his cardinals and their spies. No, he had to content himself with having sent the little Egyptian heretic to be a fly on Philip’s walls. At worst the man could warn him should Philip discover anything of importance. At best he might make good his promise of uncovering what the Templars held so dear and delivering the secret into his waiting ears.
Clement squirmed in his seat and burped. The royal lawyer Guillaume de Plaisians was ascending the platform. That hateful man was Nogaret’s shadow; how else could Nogaret, Boniface’s murderer and an excommunicate, have his words heard without coming before a hostile and unforgiving curia? Clement eyed the thin, well-proportioned de Plaisians, who had at that moment begun his speech.
The man started by invoking Christ, calling Philip Christ’s minister on earth, a saviour king no less! Clement eyed his curia. The cardinals were listening but occasionally he felt a glance in his direction. He knew they were speculating as to how he would deal with the young fox.
‘. . . Even Jesus did not win against the enemies of his Church,’ the lawyer said impudently, ‘a single victory as admirable, as great, quick, useful and necessary as King Philip has recently won in our own time, by means of his ministers and delegates, in uncovering the affair of the perfidious Templars and their heretical depravity . . .’
What blasphemy . . . what lies! Clement yawned. To compare Philip to Jesus! Pretending that it broke that Capetian’s heart to have to arrest a rich Order whose gold could solve all his economic woes and, further, fund his wars with Flanders and Gascony. If only Philip knew that the Order’s fortune was pale in comparison to what other treasures they had hidden. Jacques de Molay should have listened to him that night at Poitiers . . . pride had got the better of him, stubborn ill-begotten pride. How quickly pride gave way under torture applied in the right way. The Grand Master had not heard his plain speech in the drawing room that night, and now the danger was clear: today, tomorrow or the next day could see Jacques de Molay confessing everything into the waiting ears of inquisitors whose souls belonged to the King of France!
What a legacy he had inherited from Boniface!
Indeed these days the man plagued him. He came to him in dreams with his peasant face torn and bloody, beaten in, threatening to haunt Clement until his death if he did not renounce the evil king and avenge his name.
He felt a spasm and clenched his buttocks, hoping that dysentery would not compel him to leave his seat in haste, thereby occasioning an odious circulation of rumours. He watched the lawyer, so eloquent on his dais.
‘All men can see that the King acts with a pure heart, and is not moved by greed as some evil men would say, as he has enough property already . . . more than any European prince. Therefore, he does not need the Templar property and has from the very beginning committed the goods to faithful persons and not his own officials. He wishes only to see justice served . . . Justice to God, and justice to His people. All that remains is for your Holiness to condemn the Order. On this matter the King urges you not to delay, but to act with the speed such an affair requires. It is our hope then that your Holiness will deem it suitable to begin by relaxing the suspension on the inquisitors so that they might proceed against individuals.
‘If the Lord Pope continues to delay matters, the King will be forced, because of his piety and his love for his people, to act, since he will not be able to restrain good Christians whose desire for justice may urge them to rise up against the Temple before a judgement can be made.’ He paused momentarily and raised his voice slightly in a crescendo. ‘Both Louis and Philip III died in the service of the Church, my lord, many French barons and countless citizens. Therefore, when the Kingdom asks for a quick expedition of this affair, Holy Father, it should please you to do as they bid at once! Otherwise it shall be necessary to speak another language to you!’
Clement heard the thinly veiled threat. There was a silence, thick and deceitful, even affable. The speaker had finished and the King smiled at Clement from across the way.
It was time for Clement to give his answer. His head suddenly cleared and although a gasp e
scaped his lips and there was a trickle of sweat over his brow, he found the strength to speak. He glanced about at the strong military presence in the room, said a silent Ave, and began.
‘It is necessary to hate evil... for the prophet Malachi tells us that we must tread down the wicked, for they shall be ashes under the soles of our feet. It is necessary to hate evil...for Amos tells us that all sinners shall die by the sword. It is necessary for all men to hate evil, but it is incumbent upon all prelates and especially the Vicar of Christ, the Lord’s advocate, to do so. However, it pleases God that it must be done justly, for we are also told we must love the good.’
He paused to wait for another spasm to pass. His hands trembled. His knees were melting like wax left out in the sun. He held his breath a moment. He could hear whispers. He could see faces, twisted in hatred and contempt. The King coughed, it echoed in the large hall. Then the Capetian leant to one side, whispering into the ear of his lawyer. Clement saw the other man smile. From out of the corner of his eye he saw his attendant, unforthcoming. The man never knew when he was needed.
The spasm passed and Clement swallowed hard. He could taste bile. He put a hand to his brow and found it now hot and dry. ‘Before my election as pope, I had known very little of the Templars, for there were few nobles of my native region who had entered the Order. Since my
appointment to the throne of Peter I have come to know many of them, valuing them as good men. However, let me make it clear to this assembly that if it is shown to me that the Order is guilty of such things as have been spoken of it, I and my cardinals will act quickly, though we shall not act precipitously, but honestly and steadfastly, as exemplified by our Lord when he was confronted by evil. It is true there were some discussions on the subject of the Templars in Lyons between the King and I, before the arrests, but then I had not believed the accusations and, to tell the truth, I could not even tell you what in particular was discussed. But in no way did I send letters authorising the King to arrest the Order.’
There was a general stir and he waited, hoping another spasm would not rack him before he finished.
‘As Pope I am head of the Church founded firstly on the blood of Christ and secondly on the blood of the martyrs, and despite my status, my precious robes, my sumptuous jewellery that make up the exterior aspects of my office, I bear a burden. I cannot sanction and take part in the destruction of an Order that has, up until recently, shed its blood freely and unselfishly for Christ, not without clear evidence and great deliberation.
‘I believe the King has acted out of piety, out of a desire to hunt down lasciviousness wherever it is found, and not out of greed, since – as was said by the King’s lawyer a moment ago – he does not intend to appropriate the Order’s goods, but that the goods be placed at the disposal of the Church in the matter of the Holy Land.’ He paused, looking directly into Philip’s fixed eyes, elated that he, by his own cunning, had turned the tables. ‘And as I see the urgency of this matter I will give a forty-day indulgence to whosoever will say five times per day one Pater Noster and seven times an Ave Maria, that God might grant me to proceed in such a way that it might be to His pleasing.’
He rose, encumbered by heavy robes, the apparel of which was worked in gold and embroidered with ornaments of stones, and continued out of the hall with difficulty, accompanied by his cardinals.
Once in his chambers he removed his pontifical robes and, ushering out his servants, sat upon his chamber-pot and discharged, in pain and difficulty, the contents of his bowels.
31
THE POPE AND CHARLES OF VALOIS
This is a slight unmeritable man, Meet to be sent on errands.
William Shakespeare, JULIUS CAESAR
Poitiers, June 1308
The evening was cool and pleasant, but Clement paced his apartment wearing a frown and fondling his rosary, recalling de Plaisians’ words during a second meeting of the public consistory. In a nutshell he had suggested that the Pope was to become another Anastasius – that pontiff struck down by God and repulsed by the clergy for condoning heresy – if he did not move on the Templars.
Clement longed to be away from Poitiers and the King’s long shadow. Soon he and a small number of cardinals would flee, firstly to Bordeaux and then hopefully to Avignon – a city bought by Pope Gregory for the use of the papacy. He was putting his tail between his legs and running, he knew that much, but he hoped the distance between France and his curia might ease the King’s hold on his testicles.
In Poitiers things had become intolerable: Philip had his troops everywhere and his influence on the French cardinals had caused them to despise Clement for not being loyal to the French Crown. On the other hand, the other cardinals, the Italians, the Germans, the Spaniards, hated him for the opposite.
He would have left long before, but there remained a piece of unfinished business he must attend to.
He gave a belch; his stomach was distended and there was a fullness between his legs. Eventually he would do what he had promised the King, he would exterminate that Order of prideful monks. But how to stall Philip long enough to give the astrologer time to find out where the spiritual treasures of the Order were hidden? The Order’s extinction and its goods were his currency. He would have to wave that in Philip’s face and hope for the best.
He shook his head, sighed sighs, and let loose a tempest of flatulence. At that moment an attendant announced a visitor. Immediately Clement assumed a stance that he hoped would affect a perception of power and magnanimity, of charity and generosity: one hand upon his pectoral cross and the other at his side, with his chin slightly raised and his plucked brows arched affably in inquiry.
A man entered the room incognito, followed by the King’s men disguised. Below a lowered cowl the man ordered them out and, taking off his robe, stood before the pontiff.
‘Charles of Valois,’ the Pope said the words sweetly but in his mind they came spitting out as if they were flies, ‘you have been on a long journey.’ He found his chair and sat down.
Charles of Valois went down upon the tessellated marble and kissed the golden cross embroidered over the Pope’s white chamois shoes, and then his pontifical ring. His balding head bent, awaiting permission to speak.
‘Welcome,’ said the Pope. He put a hand over the balding head and gave a fleeting blessing. ‘How is his Royal Highness, I hope he is well?’
Charles of Valois remained kneeling and spoke with his head bowed, ‘He is well, Holy Father, and pleasantly affected by your note. Like you, he seeks, at all costs, to come to a mutually satisfactory conclusion.’
Clement looked down on Charles. The man was overweight, upon his face there grew a large nose and there were blotches on his cheeks. Through that ill-fated marriage to Catherine of Courtenay, he was Emperor Pretender to Constantinople, and it was well known that he longed to become Emperor of Germany. With the King’s brother on one side as emperor and Philip on the other as king, Clement would be squeezed like a lemon. He smiled. ‘I am gladdened,’ he said, fingering his cross. ‘Now stand up . . . stand up.’
The man made to stand with difficulty, grasping at a nearby table with nervous fingers burdened with rings.
‘Tell me the purpose of your visit.’
The count was thoughtful a moment and then began. ‘The King is anxious to move swiftly on the matter of the Templars, your Holiness, as you know, though he realises the delicate situation in which you find yourself and wishes to assist you wherever possible. He realises that the magnitude of this matter requires your Holiness to hear with your own ears what has repulsed so many and so he proposes to bring to Poitiers seventy-two Templars, so that they may attest to the truth of their confessions before your person.’
‘Why has he not done so before this?’ asked the Pope, who already knew the answer. He moved from one buttock to the other, wondering why a cunning king would send such a man to him, a man whose intelligence was equal to that of an ass.
Charles of Valois found his r
eply as he spoke, ‘The King had not previously sent you the Templars . . . because there are so many scattered all over His Kingdom. Only now has it been possible to have them before your Holiness. The King is convinced that once you hear their declarations you will understand his righteous anger enough to see your way to sanctioning the inquiry – as the King knows you would have done, had it been possible to bring the Templars before you sooner.’ He paused, a little put out, his convoluted rhetoric falling thinly between them.
Clement shrugged and fell into a brown study, moving again from one buttock to the other. ‘I have heard that they have denied their affirmations, many speak of tortures, horrible, inhuman . . . Dominicans are by nature impatient creatures . . .’ He crossed his hands around his waist and constructed his face in a look of disgust.
‘Holy Father,’ the other man gave back nervously, ‘it is known that the Devil does not reveal his detestable practices easily. It was for this reason that Innocent himself sanctioned torture and inquisitors have used it ever since . . . The accused, we assure you, will confess their errors to your Eminence spontaneously and without coercion, they will humbly beg for absolution and reconciliation.’
‘Yes . . . yes . . .’ He waved a hand. ‘However, there are . . . details . . . The sacred college of cardinals, my dear Count, is not immune to influences . . . far be it for me to mention what is obvious and plain, namely, that the Temple has many powerful friends all over Europe, who assert, quite naturally, by means of one avenue or another, a degree of persuasion . . . The perplexities are manifold . . .’
‘Without doubt, your sublimity, without doubt!’ the count said. ‘However, the papacy is irrevocably committed before all Europe by the bull of November. Understandably your Holiness prevented the inquisitors from continuing with their work of interrogating the accused until you understood the matters at hand. Now that you are informed, your Holiness, there should be nothing to prevent you from restoring their powers, and it is simply, if I may say so, a question of the terms on which your Holiness will allow the entire affair to proceed.’
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