The Wolves of Solomon (Wolves of Solomon Book One)

by R. L. Blackhurst

  ****

  “Are you absolutely sure?” Bertrand asked; his face was ashen. Galeren folded his arms; he was loath to tell his old master the disturbing truth that he had uncovered and the premonition he felt that this was a sign of trouble for the Temple.

  “As inconceivable as it sounds I am.” Galeren said solemnly. Bertrand sighed and sunk back down into his chair.

  “Esquin de Floyran…after all these years? Could it really be?” Galeren could tell that Bertrand was reluctant to believe. He would himself have been willing to disbelieve it, if it were not for the devil’s cursed scent upon the innocent he had attacked.

  “There can be no mistaking his scent.” Galeren said.

  “But you killed him?” Bertrand said exasperated.

  “Believe me, I thought I did.” Galeren said with regret.

  “If it is him why would he turn up now, after all these years? Could you be mistaken Galeren, think about it.” Bertrand looked at him earnestly.

  Galeren pondered for a moment but it was for Bertrand’s benefit. He had no doubt; the whoreson’s scent was engrained into his memory. It made him sick to think of it. His mind turned to Catherine and he thought of her in the bastard’s grasp. Bertrand looked at Galeren’s expression as it darkened.

  “Galeren, what is it?”

  Galeren came back to his senses. “There can be no doubt Bertrand, ’tis him.”

  “Has he come for you?”

  “Perhaps; he has reason aplenty. It was my actions, remember, that had him expelled from the Order and then I went to kill him.”

  “’Twas approved by the council. He was rightly expelled and condemned for his atrocities.”

  “Aye, but do you think he sees it that way?”

  “But why is he prowling about attacking novices near Temple Bruer. He would not think to look for you here.”

  “Not unless he followed me here from Paris.”

  “From Paris? What, now he has been watching the movements of the Grand Master?” he said incredulously. “Coincidence, brother, surely?”

  Galeren shrugged, “I think not. Methinks he has come for us all.” Galeren said prophetically.

  “Ridiculous!” Bertrand cried. “Your search for signs of our downfall clouds your judgement. If he is here for a reason then that reason is more than likely to be you.”

  “I do not search for signs, Bertrand, they present themselves. De Floyran has reason enough to hate the Temple, not just me. I sense something sinister and farther reaching than a simple act of revenge.”

  “But why come to England?”

  “Perhaps he has come here with a message and he wishes it delivered to me.” Sighing with frustration Bertrand shook his head. “You make matters more complex than they need to be. He may well have come with a message for you, but I very much doubt that it concerns the Temple. Don’t let your guard down Galeren, looking for some sign of our impending doom. Watch your own back.”

  Galeren nodded, “I have never been afraid of De Floyran. He preys on the weak and helpless. If any revenge needs to be mete out, then it is still mine.”

  “And the novice? She will have to be dealt with.”

  “I plan to remove her from the convent and take her to a cottage I know safe from here. De Floyran will likely seek her out to finish what he started. ’Tis his way, he lets none who have crossed his path escape him.”

  “You’ll use her as bait?”

  “No!” Galeren said shaking his head furiously, “she needs both protection and guidance now.”

  “She has been marked, Galeren.” Bertrand sighed wearily almost expecting this result. Galeren shrugged at what he viewed to be an irrelevant comment but he knew what Bertrand meant and folded his arms defiantly.

  “You know the Temple’s creed on those marked. She should be put out of her misery.” Bertrand continued seeing Galeren’s face glower; he knew that his words were not welcome.

  “’Tis regrettable but think on it. It is the best thing to do. Don’t condemn her to a life not of her choosing. You know in the past that those marked have had trouble adjusting and that has caused problems for us.”

  “I care not for the past. I will not see her destroyed, not for that bastard. Besides, you know I do not agree with the creed. I don't know why you waste your time telling me what you know I will not abide by. She is my responsibility; I will guide her through the change.”

  Bertrand knew well the history between Galeren and Esquin de Floyran and this novice was another innocent lamb for him to save. But those who were marked in this way could be dangerous to the Order. Bertrand tried another course.

  “You are not to blame for what happened, you could not foresee –”

  “My decision is final!” Galeren snapped, his emotion erupting to the surface.

  “’Tis not yours to take!” Bertrand stood up. Their eyes became locked, a battle of wills ensuing. Bertrand knew that Galeren would not give in but he would not be overthrown by his subordinate. Galeren knew it too but refusing to look away said, “Then I leave.”

  “What?” Bertrand blinked breaking the deadlock.

  “You heard. I am sick of the Temple’s archaic rules and rituals. You are not interested in sense and we will fail because of it. But be that on your head. I will not sacrifice her.” Bertrand noted something in Galeren’s cool blue eyes and wondered if there was another reason for his response. He breathed deeply and tried to search for the scent of it. Galeren frowned, “What are you doing?” he asked irritably. Bertrand ignored him momentarily and then satisfied with the trail he smiled.

  “There is something else.”

  “What?” Galeren said sharply, placing his hands on his hips.

  “This isn’t just about the innocence of a novice. You perceive a bond between you.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.” Galeren said indifferently and refolded his arms.

  “Something you can’t explain? I had the same, the day I met my wife.”

  “Don’t twist my intentions. I have never agreed with Temple policy on those who have been marked. You think I am a lust driven fool?”

  “I think you are a man like the rest of us.”

  “This has nothing to do with that! She is just an innocent who’s been marked by . . .” he paused barely able to suppress his anger. He swallowed it down and finished, “by him of all people.” Bertrand took Galeren’s response as confirmation of what he already sensed. “I understand.” He said.

  Galeren shook his head, unsure of Bertrand’s meaning. “My judgement is clear and so are my intentions.” He stressed. “If Esquin de Floyran has come to deal with me then I warrant it will be the last thing he ever does. I will not make the same mistake twice.”

  “Be careful Galeren. I have not seen you this emotive since –”

  “Acre?” Galeren finished for him. “Perhaps young Parsifal is right. Suppression of emotion may be a folly.”

  “Then it is not yours. You may have controlled it well but every one of your undertakings or ideas has been driven by passion and emotion. I know that much. So is this, but this is a different emotion, perhaps the most powerful. Be aware of your vulnerability.”

  “Spare the lecture, you are wrong. It is De Floyran who has raised my hackles; the girl is just an unfortunate casualty.”

  “As you will.” Bertrand sighed indicating his resignation. “Do what needs to be done but keep me informed about De Floyran. Do whatever is necessary where he is concerned. Know that you have the backing of the Temple.”

  “I don’t need it.” Galeren said almost with contempt as he turned and marched out of the room.

  Galeren found Parsifal in the stables tending to his old destrier, Red, which he still preferred to ride over the lighter palfreys that many of his brethren used in these quiet times. Red was astute and in tune with his master’s whims and temperament. Galeren valued the trust between horse and master and was reluctant to give up that which had developed between them over th
e years.

  Parsifal looked up enthusiastically at his master hoping that he would finally find out what had passed earlier between him and the novice. Yet one look into his master’s eyes told him that, as ever, hope springs eternal. Whatever had riled Galeren at the convent was still firmly with him and certainly hadn’t been cooled by his meeting with the preceptor. In fact, he looked even more antagonised.

  Knowing that he had tested his master’s patience to breaking point already, Parsifal decided that another barrage of questions would be ill advised. Instead he patted the rusty brown stallion he’d been grooming and stood to attention waiting for his master’s instruction, when none was forthcoming he said:

  “Red is a fine horse, master.” It was a true but pointless statement. However, it was better than asking a question which he was desperately trying to avoid doing. Galeren stared at him but his eyes were full of distraction.

  “Aye, he is despite his age. We have a lot of history.” He said but his mind was in another place.

  “Is there aught else I can do for you, master?” Parsifal asked. It was a question but one he was not likely to get an ear bashing for.

  “Yes.” Galeren said suddenly coming back to himself. “I have a job for you.”

  “Yes, master?” Parsifal said, walking towards him. Galeren looked at him seriously. “Remember the cottage we rested at on the way down to London?”

  “Yes, master, just north-east of here in Ashby.”

  “Ashby de la Laund, yes. I need you to go there and prepare it for me, make it presentable, get lots of fresh linen and supplies.”

  Parsifal nodded as Galeren handed him a bag of coin. “’Tis to do with the novice, isn’t it?” Parsifal asked biting the inside of his mouth in frustration at his inability to keep from prying. Galeren shook his head in disbelief.

  “’Tis always questions with you. Do you ever wait for anyone to volunteer information willingly?”

  “I cannot apologise enough to you master for my incessant curiosity, but it’s just . . .” he broke off and turned away, “I’ll do as you say, master, no more questions.”

  “Just what?” Galeren snapped, sick of the half finished statements he was getting from everyone today. Though he often felt guilt at being curt with his sergeant, right now he didn’t have the time to mess with detail. Parsifal turned to him red faced and said:

  “My mother died at my birth and my father at your side in Acre, since then I have been your charge and you are the closest thing I have to a father,” he paused noting the furrow appear between Galeren’s eyebrows, “an older brother even.” He corrected and then continued when Galeren failed to change his expression. “Yet I know almost nothing of you ’cept what I have gleaned over the years from whispers and gossip. It,” he paused and swallowed as if the words were difficult, “wounds me to think that you have no trust in me.”

  Galeren felt the wound and was mortified to find Parsifal felt such a way, “I do trust you!” Galeren moved towards him. “More than most. It is why I ask you to do this for me. Would I ask De Gosbeck or another here?”

  Parsifal shrugged a little embarrassed by his admission, once again showing the lack of control he had on his emotions, but Galeren did not seem bothered by it.

  “It is about the novice. I haven’t spoken of it because I have been deeply troubled and I have been trying to work things out in my own mind. She was attacked and bitten by a man who I have a history with, bad history Parsifal.” Galeren said gravely.

  “He killed the tanner.”

  “Yes, and he may be here to kill me or have another decadent purpose. But, for whatever reason he is here it is not for the good of any of us. To me this is a bad omen, it comes at the same time as . . .” At this point he broke off and Parsifal nodded at him impatiently. Galeren sighed, “There is much you do not know young sergeant.”

  “I only wait for you to tell me.” Parsifal said not bothering to hide his frustration. Galeren looked at him for a moment and then nodded.

  “Fine. When we were in Paris, the Grand Master told me in confidence that the Temple has come under attack.”

  “Attack?”

  “Yes, albeit in the form of criticism and rumour but . . .” he let out a long breath, “though we are no stranger to criticism, never before has it been so vicious or base.”

  “What has been said?”

  “Ah, mostly lies about secret rituals, sacrilege, sodomy and other nonsense. But it is dangerous nonsense.”

  “What did the Grand Master say?”

  “He is lax in his caution as he is always and instead chooses to make matters worse in his quarrel with the King over the affair with the treasurer.”

  Galeren sighed. Jean du Tour, treasurer of the Temple of Paris, had lent Philip IV of France a vast sum of money and had neither informed nor asked the permission of the Grand Master before doing so. Jacques de Molay was incensed by the insult and so had promptly expelled Du Tour from the Order, much to Philip’s antagonism. Now a battle of words was underway between the King, Pope and Grand Master over the reinstatement of the errant treasurer. The King’s nose had been firmly put out of joint as Du Tour was also his treasurer and he was infuriated by the Grand Master’s reaction to the matter and stubborn refusal to reconsider. Now it was the King who felt insulted and the Pope’s opinion had been ignored. It was just what the Order didn’t need with a vicious rumour mill at work.

  “But what Du Tour did was illegal.” Parsifal interjected.

  “I agree, but neither the pride of the Grand Master nor that of the Temple is, at present, worth antagonising the King and the Pope. Christ knows we need them both. A little flexibility on De Molay’s part would have been preferable.”

  “But what has this to do with this stranger’s attack?” Parsifal asked a little confused. Galeren’s shoulders slumped and he again gave a heavy sigh.

  “In truth, I don’t know. It is just a feeling. Esquin de Floyran has much reason to hate the Temple, not just me. His arrival after so many years can’t be a coincidence.”

  “And where has he been all this time?”

  “The devil only knows! Dead I had hoped.” Galeren shrugged and then offered explanation, “I had him expelled from the Order and then errr…well I thought I killed him, in Acre, by the way case you hadn’t guessed it.”

  Parsifal’s face showed just how much he delighted in being in his master’s confidence, making Galeren realise just how reticent he had been with his young sergeant. Parsifal looked like a boy on Christmas morning with a sack full of gifts to unwrap.

  “What had he done?”

  “Later, sergeant. We waste time. I must get to Catherine before he does.” He said seriously.

  “Of course,” Parsifal agreed, “I will see to your request.”

  “Yes, get the horses ready and gather your things we must leave at once.” Galeren said his look becoming distracted, “I’ll see you in Ashby, wait for me at the cottage.”

  “Yes, master,” Parsifal said and then added as Galeren began to walk back to the preceptory’s entrance, “she was lovely sir, didn’t you think?”

  Galeren paused and turned back to his sergeant with a frown on his face, “I did not notice. She’s just a girl in trouble. It is our duty to protect her, do you understand?”

  “Of course,” Parsifal said and gave his master a dutiful bow.

  It was dark by the time Galeren reached the convent. The waxing moon offered a half light and he surveyed the shadows and smelled the air, almost expecting De Floyran to materialise before his eyes. Though he was sure that it was De Floyran that had attacked Catherine, he would not fully believe it until he saw the villain for himself. He had, after all, put the man down and driven his sword through him, but what did that prove? How many Templars had been dragged from battle fields with wounds thought to be mortal yet made a full recovery? It was part of their renown. He had been an overconfident and careless fool! It was not a mistake he would make again.

 
; He looked at the convent and it seemed deathly quiet. He thought of Catherine, alone in the prison that he was about to release her from only to put her in another. Perhaps, Bertrand was right but he quickly dispelled the doubt. He shook his head; though he may have been born of it, he had had no more choice in the matter than she. He would not be doing this if he didn’t think she could cope with it. Moreover, he knew that he would not risk her being at the mercy of De Floyran should he seek her out and Galeren was sure he would. Vowing to protect her from all ill, he leapt over the wall into the convent gardens.

  Catherine had taken a long time to finally fall into a restless sleep. After a punishing interrogation from the Abbess about her meeting with the Templar she had happily been led back to her cell of internment and even eagerly ate down the stale bread she had been offered as sustenance. She sensed that her life, disastrous in its measure, may have reached a pinnacle on that terrible night from which there was no return. She was yet to fathom what that may be and whether it was a good or bad thing. All she knew was that she could not bear life in the convent and there was little for her beyond its confinement. Nun or whore was the choice present to her and neither could she stomach.

  However, now there was a sickness that turned in the pit of her stomach and it was that of anticipation. A dizzying excitement, intermingled with a sense of danger, made her feel more alive than ever before. She could feel it itching in her bones and every one of her senses felt about to burst.

  She was changed and knew it was to do with the stranger’s attack. It was also linked to the Templar who had visited her. She thought about Galeren, the strange knight, his manner, his look and even his words. Everything about him was opposed to her idea of a Templar. He should have been rigid and cold like the Abbess with harsh judgement, but he was not. He was deeply mysterious but something made her want to trust him completely. He was her salvation. She finally drifted off to sleep with a faint smile on her lips.

  She awoke with a jolt, in what seemed like only moments later and froze in panic as she felt the pressure of a hand clasped firmly across her mouth. Her shocked grey eyes stared into the cool calm blue ones of the Templar and he smiled.

  “Promise not to scream?” he said and Catherine blinked slowly in agreement. He removed his hand from her mouth and took her face gently with it. She pursed her lips and tasted the tang of salt from his skin, evidence of the effort of his break in.

  “I am supposed to break your neck.” He said calmly.

  “Why?” Catherine asked, not really believing he was going to do so.

  “I cannot tell you.” He shrugged.

  “What harm can there be in telling me the reason I must die when I’ll be taking your secret to the grave?”

  “Sshhhhhh.” He said looking around, and then fixed his gaze back on her with intense scrutiny. Her large grey eyes blinked up at him. God, let Bertrand be wrong. Her now uncovered black hair, which was a little longer than he had expected, was fine and shone blue in the pale moonlit room; he fought the urge to touch it. He had been surprised at his reaction to her when they first met and had with great effort ignored it. It was in his nature to resist such and with good reason. He had only just met Catherine and part of her had already been taken, taken by Esquin de Floyran. He clenched his jaw and tried to concentrate on the mission in hand.

  “I cannot tell you just yet as I do not plan to break your neck. I may tell you another time if…” he paused.

  “If?” Catherine said breathlessly, trying to compose herself.

  “If you come with me, willingly, without struggle or fuss.”

  “Where?” Catherine asked, the skin crinkling between her eyes as she frowned.

  “That you may not know.” Galeren answered.

  “Why?” her frown increased.

  “That you may not ask.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  The knight shrugged. “Then you can stay here, if you want.” He knew she did not.

  “I do not want.” She said resolutely. He nodded his understanding.

  “So you must trust me. I do not intend to harm you or let harm come to you. You must make a decision now.”

  “You know the man who attacked me?” she asked.

  “Not here.” Galeren said. “I have answers for you but you have to come with me.” He knew she would and there was no doubt in her mind either that she would go with him. He offered her a chance of escape and she would take it; salvation or damnation, she did not care. Her life had changed and all paths were now linked with this Templar.

  “Let’s go then.” Catherine said and Galeren helped her up off of the pallet. She wore only a delicate undershift and Galeren swiftly removed his black cloak and threw it about her shoulders.

  “Thank you.” She said grabbing a linen cap and placing it over her head. She tucked her hair within it and looked around frowning when she saw no evidence of forced entry.

  “How did you get in?”

  “Magic,” he said and winked.

  “And do we get out the same way?” Catherine asked, folding her arms. Galeren put on his mail gloves, unsheathed his sword and drove the hilt of it, along with his fist, into the glass pane of the only window in the room.

  “No,” he smiled as the glass shattered, “you have to escape. You have to disappear.”

  “Never to return?” she asked with a little smile.

  “Never.” He said smiling back.

  Chapter Four