The Fall of the Templars

by Robyn Young

  Together, they hoisted up the thick wooden bar that secured the entrance. Two others hastened to help and, between them, they pulled back the gates.

  Outside, an army was waiting. Over two hundred royal guards were there, most of them mounted, along with a great number of officials and the city provosts. The soldiers at the ram, preparing for another strike, hung back at a shout from their captain. Others moved closer, crossbows trained on the grand master.

  Jacques steeled his jaw and went forward, drawing strength from the knights gathering protectively at his back. Beyond the host of soldiers he could see a straggle of onlookers lining the road, watching with avid curiosity. They reminded him of crows, waiting at the edge of a battlefield. Movement to his left caught his eye and Jacques watched as a man in a black robe, trimmed with scarlet, trotted his horse out of the throng.

  “Jacques de Molay?” the man called, looking down on the grand master from the height of his mount. He held up a scroll when Jacques gave a curt nod. “By order of the king of France, you and your men are to be seized and your preceptory held in royal custody until a trial into the crimes you have been accused of has been conducted and a verdict reached. Lay down your weapons and tell your men to do the same.”

  “Who are you to command this?” asked Jacques.

  “My name is Guillaume de Nogaret,” replied the man, swinging his leg over his saddle and jumping down. “I am keeper of the seals and first lawyer of the realm. You can read the order if you wish,” he added, holding out the scroll to Jacques.

  The grand master’s face hardened.

  When he didn’t take it, Nogaret gave a small smile. “But of course, I forgot most Templars cannot read, can they? Well, then, I will have someone read it to you.” He snapped his fingers at an official.

  As the man came forward, Jacques held up his hand angrily. “Enough! I wish to parley with King Philippe.”

  “His lordship does not parley with heretics.”

  “Neither you nor the king have the authority to detain us or seize our property,” said Geoffroi de Charney, coming to stand at Jacques’s side. His flint eyes regarded Nogaret with notable umbrage. “Your royal order, whatever it may say, is invalid.”

  Nogaret motioned behind him to a tall, gray-faced man dressed in the black robe of a Dominican. “Friar Guillaume de Paris, as head of the Dominican college in the city, has the authority to arrest anyone suspected of heresy. This authority was given to the friars in their role as inquisitors by Pope Gregory IX, more than seventy years ago.”

  “For laypeople, yes,” countered de Charney, “but for a religious order the pope must give his consent.”

  “To my mind he has already given it,” responded Nogaret, “by initiating an inquiry into the charges of heresy.”

  “Inquiry?” demanded Jacques. “It was little more than a conversation between myself and Pope Clement. His Holiness is concerned to lay this matter to rest, certainly, but he does not truly believe Esquin de Floyran’s accusations. He has told me himself what a grudge this man has against the Temple.”

  “If this is so, you have nothing to fear from a trial. Your innocence will be proven.”

  “We both know the task of the inquisitors is to prove guilt, not innocence.”

  Nogaret met Jacques’s gaze steadily. “Stand down. My soldiers have been authorized to use force.” When Jacques didn’t move, Nogaret gestured impatiently to the soldiers with the crossbows. “Lay down your sword, or my men will shoot you!”

  Jacques looked around, sensing his knights moving in at the threat against him. He went to call them to halt. But before he could get the words out, Nogaret dropped his hand and two of the soldiers with the crossbows let fire. One of the missiles slammed into the chest of a young knight, just behind the grand master. Jacques saw the man fly backward and sprawl to the ground, sword clattering from his hand. Another went down, blood spurting around the bolt that caught him in the throat. There was a rush of motion as his men went to challenge the attackers. For a moment, Jacques stood rooted, his gaze on the two dead knights, mind filled with disbelief. It was a crime to insult a Templar and an offense punishable by excommunication to wound one. The sight of his knights advancing and Nogaret’s men raising more weapons focused him. He would not allow this to become a massacre. “Halt! ” roared the grand master, stopping them to a man. “Lay down your weapons,” he bellowed at his knights. “Do it! ”

  One by one, the Templars placed their swords on the ground. As they did so, Nogaret smiled and motioned for the royal guards to enter the compound.

  The soldiers were rough, pinning hands cruelly behind backs, kicking the knights to their knees or doubling them over with punches. Grooms, cooks and priests were treated in the same harsh way, and cries of pain rose as the soldiers swarmed into the Chapter House and grand buildings of the officials, the tower of the donjon and the quiet chapel. They moved quickly, excitedly. For years, these men had grown up listening to whispers of the secret ceremonies of the proud, untouchable knights in their sinless white mantles, their prowess in battle and great deeds overseas, their immeasurable wealth. Now the legends were bowed before them, humbled at last, leaving them free to pick through those treasures and secrets.

  While the knights and sergeants were hauled away to rooms in the preceptory, now their prison, Jacques de Molay and Geoffroi de Charney were relieved of their mantles and bound to a cart, destined for the Louvre, the royal fortress on the banks of the Seine. Dawn had broken, clear and cold, but for the first time in almost two centuries the Matins bell did not ring out its call to prayer.

  THE LATIN QUARTER, PARIS, OCTOBER 27, 1307 AD

  Will studied the buildings as he walked the winding street. Stores and workshops were crammed close together, the structures bowing over the muddy thoroughfare, ribbed with beams and painted in faded pinks and drab whites. In the distance, the dome of a church crowned the chaos of rooftops. Beyond, the sky was leaden, streaked with thin plumes of smoke. The air was chill and the people on the street were moving swiftly, swaddled in robes and mantles, breath misting before them. Most were scholars and priests from the many colleges that formed the focus of the Latin Quarter. Will was aware of how out of place he looked, his leather cloak shabby and stained, his hair and beard unkempt, his boots caked with dirt. The horse itself was conspicuous, a jet-black destrier Simon had saddled for him when he left the preceptory, and he sensed the curiosity of passersby, where people tried to match the disheveled man with the noble beast. He supposed, if anyone questioned him, he could try to pass himself off as a squire, though his age went against him. Forcing thoughts of excuses aside, he concentrated on the buildings. He didn’t plan to linger long enough for people to challenge him. He just needed to find what he wanted and then he could go.

  The journey to Poitiers had taken longer than he’d anticipated, the autumn storms slowing him down. Once in the town, he had kept off the main routes, knowing he couldn’t afford to be spotted. Hugues de Pairaud thought he was dead, but Will had no doubt the visitor would finish the job if he were caught. On making contact with a friar he knew from earlier visits, he discovered that he had missed Jacques de Molay by two days. The grand master had gone to Paris, leaving the visitor and the remaining officials at the town’s preceptory until he returned. Clement was seriously ill and despite Will’s frustrated appeals to the friars, he wasn’t allowed to see the pope until the day before the arrests were due to take place.

  He had barely an hour’s audience with the pope, who, exhausted by his sickness, was in little position to offer him comfort or aid. He remained at the priory, hoping Clement would recover enough to make a decision as to how to counter the king’s plans, and it was there that he learned the Temple’s preceptory in Poitiers had fallen in a fierce dawn assault led by a heavy contingent of royal guards. All the knights had been rounded up, Hugues and the other officials taken into royal custody and conveyed to Paris. The threat within the scroll confirmed and not knowing whether his dau
ghter, Simon and Robert had managed to leave on the ship, Will implored Clement to write to the king condemning his actions and demanding the immediate release of the knights and their property. The pope agreed to meet the king as soon as he was well, but, frustrated by his lack of urgency, Will decided to return to Paris. He hoped, if he could bring something concrete to Clement, perhaps reports of the king’s brutality or confirmation that he was taking the Temple’s wealth for himself, that he might be able to rouse him to more immediate action.

  When he reached Paris, he went straight to the preceptory, but finding the place crawling with royal guards, he didn’t dare get close. The city was buzzing with news of the Temple’s fall. There was something ugly in people’s interest. Some talked about justice, about the knights getting their comeuppance for losing the Holy Land. Others spoke of the charges, nodding knowingly to the butcher as they swapped money for meat, saying how they’d always thought the knights were up to no good. It was through this gossip Will learned that not all the men in the preceptory had been seized that day. People spoke of knights and sergeants fleeing through the streets during the initial chaos of the arrests. It was these fugitives Will had spent the past few days trying to find, which was why he was here in the Latin Quarter, staring at these buildings, looking for a sign.

  Finally, he found it: a black door with a peeling golden cross painted on it. The shutters were closed over the ground-floor windows as it was still early. Leading his horse through the arched passageway in the side of the building, Will headed into a poky courtyard, with a stable block wedged against the back wall. A boy was out there, sweeping the yard. He glanced up seeing Will and his eyes widened as he looked the horse up and down.

  “Where can I find the innkeeper?” Will asked, handing him the reins.

  “In the kitchen,” replied the boy, turning the massive horse expertly and leading it toward the stables.

  “Keep him saddled,” Will called, heading for the back door, “I won’t be here long.”

  Two men inside the kitchen looked around, frowning quizzically as he entered.

  One held a knife poised over a fish he was gutting. “What do you want?”

  “I’m looking for the innkeeper.”

  “He’s in front,” replied the man, slamming the knife down and taking off the fish’s head. He jerked his thumb toward a door behind him. “But there’re no rooms if that’s what you’re after.”

  Will moved past him into a dark, musty-smelling room where a scrawny man with carroty hair was maneuvering a barrel across the uneven flagstones. He cursed as it caught on one of the benches that lined the room.

  “Here, let me.” Will went over and took the other side.

  The man looked surprised, but allowed Will to help him move the barrel over to where several others were stacked. He straightened. “Are you here for a room? Because we’re—”

  “No,” Will cut across him. “I’m looking for a couple of men I believe are guests of yours.”

  “Oh?”

  The man’s tone was light, but Will caught an edge of tension in it. “I think you know who I mean.”

  The man gave a nervous laugh. “How would I know if you don’t give their names?”

  “They’re Templars.”

  The man held up his hands, shaking his head. “Sorry.” He was inching away from Will, toward the kitchens.

  “I’m not here to turn them in,” said Will quickly. “I only want to speak to them. Please. It’s very important.”

  The man started as he came up against a bench. “Look, I’m just letting them stay here,” he said, his face in the gloom pale and frightened, “just until they can escape the city. I’ve done business with the preceptory and the knights always treated me well. I felt I owed them when they came for sanctuary.”

  Will nodded reassuringly. “And when this is over you can be sure you’ll be rewarded for your aid.”

  The man faltered, then nodded to the stairs. “There are four of them. Three knights and a sergeant. I’ve given them the top room.”

  “Thank you,” said Will, heading for the stairs. The boards groaned as he made his way up past several landings, until he reached a door on the fourth floor, where the stairs ended. He knocked. There was movement in the room beyond, hushed voices. The door opened a crack and a face appeared.

  “Yes?”

  “My name is William Campbell. I am a friend of Robert de Paris and Simon Tanner. I need to speak to you.”

  “I’m sorry,” said the voice, “I don’t know them.”

  “Wait, Gui,” came another voice beyond, “let him in.”

  The door closed and Will heard a muted exchange. Finally, it opened fully, allowing him to step into the room. As he did so, a sword came up to his throat and he froze.

  “Remove his weapon, Albert,” said the man behind him, kicking the door closed.

  A young man with a broad, ruddy face unsheathed Will’s sword. As he did so, Will glanced at the two other men in the room, both armed and ready to move against him if necessary. They had all shaved their beards, but there was a telltale white patch on each of their chins, where the sun hadn’t browned them in years. Their clothes were coarse and ill-fitting, too long or short, and all of them had the watchful, wary look of the hunted.

  “What do you want?” demanded the man called Gui, who still had his sword pressed against Will’s throat.

  “Information.”

  “How did you find us?” asked Albert worriedly.

  “A servant from the preceptory who made it out told me.”

  Gui muttered a curse. “I told you we shouldn’t stay. If he could find us, that means the royal guards could. We need to get out of Paris.”

  “How can we?” answered one of the other knights. “We’ve no money and we’re known in this city.” He tugged at his robe. “Without a decent disguise we’ll not make it past the watchmen on the gates. You heard what Martin said. They’re questioning everyone trying to leave.”

  “What information did you want?” Gui asked Will.

  “Last month, do you know if a group of Templars left the preceptory? Robert de Paris and Simon Tanner would have been among them. They were supposed to be leaving on a ship.”

  Gui said nothing for a few moments. Slowly he lowered the weapon, but kept the blade trained on Will. “Yes. No one knew what was happening, or why they left, but later I heard it said they had taken the treasury. It was thought the visitor must have ordered it.”

  Will let out a breath. “What about the day of the arrests? Can you tell me what happened? Has the king begun any kind of trial? Are the knights just being detained or are they being questioned?”

  Albert shook his head. “We don’t know. The four of us were in the infirmary when the arrests began. When we saw the guards come in and kill several knights, we decided to run. We thought we should try to get to another preceptory to tell them what was happening.”

  “It wouldn’t have done you any good,” replied Will. “This wasn’t confined to Paris.”

  Gui was frowning intently. “Who are you? How do you know all this?”

  “Someone who doesn’t want to see the king get his prize,” replied Will. “But in order to do that I need proof that the king is acting unlawfully in the arrests to take back to the pope.”

  “The pope?” voiced Albert hopefully.

  A low rumble of hoofbeats came to them, mingled with shouts of alarm. Will and Gui went to the window. A troop of royal guards was riding down the street toward the inn, people scattering out of their way. Will swore as they came to a halt outside, horses wheeling and stamping.

  “Did you lead them here?” snarled Gui, turning on him.

  “No.”

  Words drifted to them. “Open up, in the name of the king!”

  “Shit!” Gui wrenched open the door.

  Will followed the men, pounding down the stairs.

  “The back!” Gui was bellowing as they reached the next landing. “We’ll get out the back
!”

  “No!” shouted Will. “They’ll have it covered. The windows! We might be able to climb onto the roof.”

  But the knights ignored him and followed Gui headlong down the rickety stairs. Doors all along the hallway were opening, guests roused from their beds.

  “What the hell is happening?” demanded one man, stepping out. He shrank back as Will came at him.

  Pushing past him, Will entered the room and ran to the window. He cursed, seeing nothing but a long drop into the courtyard below. There were scores of soldiers down there, pouring into the back door. He heard shouting somewhere below as he sprinted from the room, down the hall. He tried one door and found it locked, tried another and shouldered his way in. A man leapt at him as he entered, swinging a bed pot. Will ducked and lunged, kneeing him in the stomach. The man doubled over and a scream tore through the air as a woman vaulted from a crumpled bed. She was naked, her mouth peeling back in another scream. Stamping footsteps were coming up the stairs. Ignoring the woman, Will went to the window and thrust open the shutters. There was a ledge outside. If he stood on it, he might be able to reach the next building. He swung his leg up and over the sill, grabbing hold of the frame to support himself, just as three royal guards came running into the room. The woman’s screams intensified as one of them caught Will by the hood of his cloak. He was hauled back into the room and crashed to the floor. One of the guards kicked him in the face and blood flooded the back of his throat. Dazed and choking, Will was dragged out of the room.

  Spitting blood between his teeth as they lugged him into the street, Will saw the other men had been apprehended. Gui was on the floor, his face twisted with pain. A crowd had gathered, people spilling from shops and inns to watch the excitement. Someone cheered as Albert, who was struggling, was punched in the side and dropped to his knees.