by Jack Whyte
Again she allowed the silence to linger, then added, “Once, my lords. She had once wished it. But she no longer cared.”
Sir William stirred, as though preparing to speak, but Jessie waved him to silence almost unconsciously.
“I know you are thinking that I am a mere woman and have no right to speak up here like this, addressing you on men’s affairs. Well, sirs, I know whereof I speak. This King knows no curb to his wishes—never has and never will. He will not be withstood, in anything to which he sets his mind. He rules, in his own eyes, by divine right, and considers himself answerable to God alone. Philip Capet, this monarch without a soul, a King without a conscience, slew my husband merely because he was displeased with him. Philip the Fair …” She looked around at her listeners once again, her eyes moving slowly, knowing no one of them would interrupt her now. “I have set eyes on him but once, but he is fair. Fairer by far to look at than my late husband was. Fair as a statue of the finest marble.”
Now she stood up and moved to the front of the fire, and as she did so St. Valéry stepped away and sat down again. She acknowledged the courtesy with a brief nod, but she was far from finished speaking.
“A statue, my lords. That is the extent of this King’s humanity. A statue rules in France—beautiful to look at, perhaps, but stone cold and lacking any vestige of the compassion we expect in mankind. Aloof in all respects, completely unapproachable and unknowable, devoid of human traits or weaknesses. This man surrounds himself with coldness and with silence. He never smiles, never invites or shares a confidence, never permits a casual approach to his presence. No one knows what he thinks, or what he believes, other than that he sees himself as a divinely ordained King of the Capet dynasty, as God’s own regent on earth, superior to the Pope and the Church and any other human power.
“And of the few human attributes we do know he possesses, none are admirable, none commendable. He is capricious, grasping, cunning, and ambitious. The lives of other people mean nothing to him. And he surrounds himself with creatures who will do his bidding, no matter what that bidding be.
“William de Nogaret reigns over all of those, the King’s favored minion. De Nogaret, who will stop at nothing to carry out the King’s wishes. Four years ago, you may remember, he rode with a band of men from Paris to Rome, eight hundred miles, to abduct a reigning pope, Boniface IV, on the eve of a pronouncement of excommunication for the whole of France. It was the most blatant crime against the papacy ever carried out, and he did it with impunity.
“The Pope, as we all know, died within the month, too old at eighty to survive abduction and outrage. And when his successor, Pope Benedict, dared to condemn de Nogaret publicly, and through de Nogaret the crowned King of France, he too died, of excruciating belly pains, and also within a month. He was poisoned, my lords. We all know that, but no one speaks of it because no one dare speak out and no one can prove anything. In the aftermath, though, thanks to his minion’s work, Philip had eighteen months to arrange the election of a French pope of his own, this Clement.
“And thus de Nogaret proved his daring, his brilliance, and his loyalty to Philip. And his reward was to be appointed the King’s chief lawyer. A man of brilliant mind and abilities—none will deny him that. But a thief, a murderer, a blasphemer, and an abductor of popes … The chief lawyer of France.”
“The Jews.”
The voice, dull and strangely lacking in resonance, was de Berenger’s, and all eyes swung to him.
“The Jews,” he said again, more strongly this time. “Last year, last July. It’s true, what Master de Molay says about tomorrow.”
St. Valéry sucked in his breath. “What about the Jews, man? What are you talking about?”
De Berenger shrugged. “Unannounced plots, my lord. Last year, on the morning of the twenty-first of July and without warning of any kind, every single Jew in France was arrested and imprisoned, then expelled from the country within the month, their holdings and possessions confiscated by the Crown for the good of the realm. I had forgotten it until now, and few people paid any attention at the time, for those arrested were Jews, after all, and our empty Christian coffers needed their Jewish money. But think you, my lord Admiral, that there might have been as many Jews in France that day as there are Templars now?” He looked at Jessica Randolph before his eyes moved on from man to man, engaging each of them in turn as he continued speaking.
“The planning and the execution of that coup against the Jews, with all the secrecy and coordination that was involved, was the sole responsibility of William de Nogaret. The same William de Nogaret, I must now remind you, whose parents are reputed to have burned at the stake in Toulouse as Cathar heretics, under the scrutinizing eyes of the Knights Templar, when we presided there as invigilators for a time, at the behest of the Dominican Inquisitors.”
“Mary, Mother of God!” No one so much as glanced at St. Valéry when he breathed the words.
De Berenger made a face. “It makes perfect sense now, even though it didn’t seem to make much at the time … I believe now that the Jewish arrests last year were a rehearsal for what is to take place tomorrow. There is not the slightest doubt of it in my mind.” He nodded his head slowly and deliberately. “The Grand Master’s warning is genuine, and he does not exaggerate the peril in which we stand. This thing has been long in the planning, but it has been done before. I think tomorrow will be a day of much terror and upheaval for our Order.”
He sat up straighter. “I am not suggesting that we will see slaughter in the streets, nor am I accepting that this will be or even could be the end of us. We are a military and religious order, when all is said and done, not a scattering of disconnected and defenseless Jews, so we will survive this travesty with more success than they were able to achieve. Besides, we have numbers on our side—not overwhelmingly so, but perhaps adequately—and we have our history of service, which is exemplary. Interference and interruption of our affairs may come out of tomorrow’s doings, but I seriously doubt there can be any chance of the total dissolution of our Order. Not even Pope Clement, weak vessel though he be, would countenance such a barefaced travesty.”
The Baroness spoke again, her voice cold. “Pope Clement will countenance whatever he is told to countenance. He is every bit as much Philip’s creature as is de Nogaret, but he is worse, weaker and even more dangerous, because he fears for his own position. Therefore you must look for no help from him. Before Philip himself elevated him to the papacy, Clement was plain Bernard de Bot, an obscure nonentity who had somehow managed to have himself appointed Archbishop of Bordeaux. Philip found him there and promoted him because de Bot was known even then to be a greedy weakling, much given to vanity and flattery, and easily manipulated. He was greatly over-fond of worldly honors and recognition, and was notorious for his procrastination, so timorous and spineless that he would rather crawl a hundred miles on his belly than make a firm decision. He will offer you neither assistance nor hope, believe me, for he lives in terror of being un-poped by Philip.”
De Berenger shook his head. “Even were we to believe that implicitly, my lady, it would matter little in the long term. And the long term is what we must look to here. It may take months or even years for this matter to go through whatever kind of arbitration may be arranged, and in the meantime it may hit our coffers hard, but our holy Order will survive. It would be insanity to think otherwise. There will be—must be—some kind of resolution eventually, some form of reparation, and when—”
“Reparation? Spare me your arrogant and silly male certainty, sir!” Jessie’s face flushed with sudden, flaring anger, and de Berenger sat back, as open-mouthed as the others, none of whom had ever witnessed such behavior from a woman.
“Have you not listened to a word I’ve said? In God’s holy name, when will you people learn that you are not dealing with men hidebound by the concept of honor like yourselves? You call yourselves men of goodwill, and believe all others must be just like you. Men of honor and goodwill!
Pah! This King believes himself ordained by God. He believes himself God’s Anointed, incapable of being wrong or doing wrong. He has no honor, as you think of it, and no goodwill or any need of it. God save us all from the blindness of men of honor!
“The man is desperate, see you! He is consumed and driven by the need for money. It is all he ever thinks of and all he ever strives for. He is mired in debt and his treasury is a bottomless pit. He will tax, take, steal, snatch, and tear funds from the hands of anyone and everyone he suspects of having money or of hiding it. His greed and his needs are insatiable, and he believes that God understands his needs completely and has given him carte blanche to satisfy those needs according to whatever remedies occur to him.”
“You sound as though you know the King passing well, Baroness, for one who has met him but once.” The voice was Montrichard’s, and it emerged as a condescending drawl.
She rounded on him like a lioness, her eyes seeming to spit fire. “I said I saw him once, sir knight. I never met him, so spare me your disdain. My husband was for years the King’s agent at the Court of England, laboring endlessly and thanklessly to generate funds in any way he could to throw into the Capet’s treasury. The result was not sufficient to please Capet, and so he had my husband killed. Rely upon it, sir, I speak not out of ignorance.”
De Montrichard appeared undaunted, but he was flushing, and his voice was less certain as he responded, “Your husband discussed the King’s affairs with you, madam?”
“My husband trusted me, monsieur. Far more so than his exalted monarch trusted him. The King received reports that the Baron had funds of his own and set de Nogaret to hunt them down. He failed, but Philip the Fair killed my husband in the searching.” She turned away as if to walk from the room, but then spun back again, her skirts swirling, her eyes flashing, and her hand chopping at the air in exasperation before coming back up to point straight at de Berenger.
“And he will kill all of you, if he sees need, to lay his greedy hands on your Order’s wealth. Do you truly think there will be reparations made in the future? Reparations for what? The royal confiscation of your wealth by divine right? Do you really think Philip Capet will give back what he takes, or settle for taking less than everything, once the die is cast? If you do, sir, you are a fool, vice-admiral or not. I am merely amazed that he has not taken action against you before now.”
Since the woman first began to speak, Sinclair had been sitting entranced, slack mouthed and unaware that he was staring at her openly. She was a superb woman, wide hipped and broad shouldered, with a narrow waist, long, clean-lined legs, and high, proud breasts that were emphasized by what she wore. He had never seen anything like her and was hypnotized and fascinated by the way she looked and moved, her bosom heaving, eyes scintillating, and her cheeks flushed a hectic red, but far less red than her wide and mobile mouth.
It was only when she called the vice-admiral a fool that he regained his composure, snapping his mouth shut and sitting up straighter in his chair, flushing again at the awareness of what he had been watching and thinking about. But her last words were still ringing in his ears, and he suddenly found himself speaking.
“I am not,” he said.
It was the first time he had spoken since belittling his sister, and he felt all their eyes come upon him at once, but now he was in command of himself. The Baroness had thrust herself into a discussion among men, and had demonstrated her superiority to all of them, but here, among his peers, Sinclair’s voice was supreme. As a woman, Lady Jessica Randolph unsettled him. As a Baroness, however, she had intruded upon his domain and could be summarily dealt with like any other subordinate.
“Not what, Sir William?” St. Valéry asked.
“I am not surprised, Admiral. The Baroness said she is amazed the King has not moved against us until now. It came to me then that I am not at all amazed. It has taken him until now to arrange a suitable reaction.”
There was a long pause before St. Valéry responded. “A suitable reaction to what? Forgive me, Sir William, but your meaning escapes me.”
“Aye, and so it should.” Sinclair sat back in his chair, gripping its arms and pushing his shoulders against the wood at his back, his face twisted into a grimace as he debated whether to explain, but then he realized how ludicrous it was, under the present circumstances, to worry about the confidential nature of what he had to say. “King Philip made application to join our Order, a year and a half ago, after the death of his wife, Queen Jeanne.”
St. Valéry’s eyebrows rose. “He did? I knew nothing of that.”
“Few did, Sir Charles. It was not common knowledge. Being the King he is, he could hardly take the common path, and so he approached the Governing Council directly.”
“And? What happened?”
“We considered his application, in accordance with our laws and customs, and the matter went to secret ballot.”
The admiral nodded. “Common practice, even at the Inner Circle level, I suppose.”
“Aye, but Philip was blackballed.”
St. Valéry and the other knights gasped.
“Blackballed!” the admiral repeated. “Someone voted him the black ball?”
Sinclair shook his head. “No, Admiral. Eleven of us voted that day. There were eight black balls.”
“What does this mean, this talk of black balls?” The Baroness was standing over them, frowning.
St. Valéry looked up at her. “We use two balls in voting on important questions within our Order. One is black, one white. Each man places one of the two, unseen, inside a bag that passes from hand to hand in secret ballot. The white ball means yea, the black, nay. In the overall vote, a single black ball holds the veto, the denial.”
Now it was the Baroness who appeared nonplussed. She blinked at Sinclair. “You are a member of the Inner Circle?”
He dipped his head. “The Governing Council. I am.”
“And you refused the King admission to your ranks? You denied Philip Capet?”
Sinclair nodded again. “Aye, we did. Eight of our Council members that day believed, as had been discussed in our preliminary hearing, that the King was seeking to join us for the wrong reasons: not to serve our brotherhood but to avail himself of the opportunity to assess and gain access to the Order’s wealth.”
Oh, you honest, self-deluding fool. You have no idea of what you did, do you? “You turned away the King of France and yet you did not foresee this day?” She shook her head, keeping her face expressionless. “Well, you were correct, both in your assessment and in your honorable behavior thereafter, but your insult was a fatal one. The Order of the Temple was destroyed that day by eight black balls. It ceased to exist the moment Philip Capet found out you had rejected him. It has merely taken all the time from then until now for the word to reach you.”
Sinclair nodded mutely, accepting the truth of what she had said, and she turned then to St. Valéry.
“So what will you do now, my lord?”
The admiral smiled at her, although his face was tired and drawn. “God bless you, my dear sister. How typical it is that you should have no thought of yourself, with de Nogaret approaching our doors.” He shrugged his shoulders and looked from her to the other men before continuing. “We will do much, have done much already. The fleet has been provisioning for sea these past five hours and more, allegedly preparing for an exercise tomorrow morning. Your funds are safe, tallied and loaded already on my galley. You will sail with me and we will see you and your gold delivered safe to Scotland. Go you now and find your women, if you will. Tam will go with you and see the three of you set safe aboard. You will not find your quarters wide or spacious, for our galleys are built for war, with little thought of comfort, but they will be sound and safe, and warmer than any of de Nogaret’s dungeons. Once aboard, you should try to sleep, although that may prove difficult, with all the comings and goings tonight. We will set sail on the morning tide, and later, if weather, time, and chance permit, we may transfer yo
u to one of the larger cargo vessels, depending upon how fully they are laden. Tam, will you take Lady Jessica to her women?”
THREE
“I was surprised to find Sir William in agreement with me.” Jessie Randolph spoke in Scots, and Tam Sinclair, walking ahead of her, was taken by surprise at her unexpected words and looked back over his shoulder at her.
“How so, my lady?”
“How so? Because he obviously does not like me. Is he like that with all women? Ill mannered and surly?”
Tam stopped walking and turned back to stare at her for a moment, and she stopped, too, waiting for his answer. Then his mouth crinkled into a wry grin and he bobbed his head once. “Aye, you could say that. In every conversation I have heard him have with a woman in the last twenty years, he has been exactly like that. Ill mannered and surly soundin’.”
“Is he a woman hater, then? I would not have thought so before speaking with him.”
Tam’s grin grew wider. “No, Lady Jessica, Will’s no woman hater.”
“What’s wrong with him, then? You said he is like that with all women.”
“He’s just rusty, my lady. Very rusty. What I said is he has been like that with every woman I’ve heard him speak wi’ in twenty years. But you’re the first and the last of them.”
“The fir—? In twenty years? That is impossible.” “Aye, so you might think, but it’s far frae impossible, lass. It’s both possible and true. The last woman I heard Will Sinclair talk to was his mother, Lady Ellen, and that was on the day he left home for good, dreaming even then of joining the Order … thirty years ago, that was. Will avoids women. Always has. He’s fanatical in that, and his life as a Templar monk makes it easy to do. It’s an extension of his vow o’ chastity, no more than that. And he’s very conscientious.”
They were still standing in the long passageway outside the Day Room, and now Jessie looked both ways along the empty hall, for no other reason than to give herself time to adapt to this staggering piece of information. Tam began walking again, and she followed.