The Wolves of Solomon (Wolves of Solomon Book One)
Page 19
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“Is everything prepared Gerard?” De Molay asked. The council sat in silence supping on the finest wine that could be found in the Temple’s cellar.
“Yes, Master. Pierre D’Aumont left Marseilles two days ago with six galleys. They contain our brethren and most treasured possessions, there are four galleys that remain in Marseilles.” He looked at De Charney who grimaced openly at his words.
“I leave tonight for La Rochelle,” De Villiers continued, “where fourteen busses are being loaded with horses, weaponry, money, our possessions and many more brethren, mostly women and children. Some of our men join them, mostly the young. Some have gone to Cyprus and others have chosen to cross the border to watch events from close by. They plan to return if our fears are unfounded. Many of the older ones have chosen to stay behind and weather the storm, but have sent their families away for safety.”
“And what is the word from Galeren and Le Roux? Are they making preparations for your arrival?”
De Villiers nodded assuredly. He was not about to tell the Grand Master of the news he had received from Le Roux. Galeren had broken faith with the Temple and was on the road with a young woman whom he was convinced had been bitten by Esquin de Floyran.
It seemed to be an uncanny coincidence, but De Villiers knew Galeren well enough to know that he was not wont to make a mistake, besides he himself had seen De Floyran’s name on the indictment. However, until now there could be no certainty that the man was indeed alive when he should have been long in his grave. Galeren had an acute instinct and sharp senses, if he’d smelt De Floyran’s scent then the man was surely alive.
Though De Villiers was sure that the Temple was in jeopardy, this news had reinforced his conviction. He knew that Galeren was loyal to the Temple and not one to turn his back on his brothers, however he also knew that he was tired of the Order and its refusal to take hold of its own future. He hoped he would be able to find him quickly when he landed in England and convince him to return, for he would need him. In the meantime, he had written to Le Roux asking that he seek him out and tell him the news. De Villiers was sure that if Galeren knew what was happening in France, then he would be back at Temple Bruer by the time he arrived.
“Some of us will land at Dunwich,” De Villiers continued, “others at Rye. Le Roux and Galeren prepare for our arrival and for any backlash from France. They are, for now, leaving what ships they have in Bristol and Dover. There is only a handful but they will move them if they need to. We think to eventually continue up the coast to Scotland but wait for instruction from our English brethren.”
“Scotland?” De Charney said. “There are hardly any of us in Scotland and our reputation isn’t exactly sweet amongst the Scots!”
“It is true that our preceptories in Scotland lack healthy occupancy but that makes room for migrants. De Jay’s misdeeds in Scotland were known to be against the Temple’s rule and time has healed the mistrust.”
Brian De Jay had been Master of Scotland from 1291 until his death at the battle of Falkirk in 1298 where he’d taken up arms against the Scots. He had been another Templar who’d thought himself above the rule and being in the wilds of Scotland had been difficult to keep in check. He had sworn allegiance to Edward I, thereby making him his overlord which was, by the Rule, the province of the Pope alone. De Jay had then committed cruel and murderous deeds in order to secure property within the domain of the Temple.
De Villiers continued, “I am sure the French King will rally the leaders of Europe to follow suit when he feels he is in a strong position, his vanity ensures that he would not want to lose face or indeed show his true one. We need to find a temporary refuge that is readily accessible and on Europe’s doorstep.
Our presence in Scotland may be welcomed if we turn it to our advantage. Scotland is committed to its independence from England; the Bruce is likely to give sanctuary to a formidable army that would in return be at his disposal.”
“And you think English Templars will be willing to murder their countrymen for Scottish independence?” De Charney said disdainfully.
“Have we, in our recent past, ever been willing to kill?” De Villiers pointed out. “Our talent at it is unfortunately a fact, one that has kept the outside world at bay. Needs must De Charney.”
“Indeed,” De Molay said, “none of this is choice gentlemen, it is survival.”
“Templars outside of France have a little breathing space, but must still prepare for the worst and watch France with a sharp eye.” De Villiers added.
“So the rest of us can only wait for the storm to envelope us,” Hugues De Pairaud said resignedly.
“I would pray that nothing comes of the indictment or Philip’s vendetta but –”
“You are sure something terrible will,” Hugues De Pairaud finished for him.
“Resolute.” De Villiers said without hesitation.
“We seem well prepared for it when it comes,” De Molay said evenly, “but we will not take this lying down. We will defend our honour and show the French King for the greedy and cruel coward that he is and without a single drop of blood spilt. I still have faith that we could emerge from this unscathed.”
The others muttered their agreement but Gerard de Villiers merely bowed his head out of respect for the Grand Master, for he was certain of the opposite. They had become useless without the Holy Land to protect and maintain and people had tired of their wealth and dominance. They were hated as landlords and their special status with the Church was resented. They would not survive another decade let alone another century. However, he did hope they would surface anew without the Temple and without a single drop of blood spilt.
“In the meantime,” the Grand Master continued, “our thoughts go with those who seek to take our brethren to safety. They are our hope and future if things go awry. Good luck Gerard.” The council echoed the Grand Master’s words and De Villiers once again bowed his head respectfully.
“Send word to me when you arrive, and thereafter of developments.”
De Villiers nodded and joining the others in a toast, he prayed for God speed.
10th October 1307, Temple Bruer, Lincolnshire
“Do you think he will still be at Ashby?” Bertrand le Roux asked frowning. Parsifal scratched his chin slowly and looked down as if thinking on the question. His aching body begged him that if there was a chance to escape Richard de Gosbeck’s gruelling training regime then to take it.
“He did not tell me of his immediate plans, but I do not believe he was in a hurry to leave the cottage at Ashby. In truth I don’t believe he knew himself what his next move would be, only to stay by Catherine’s side.”
“Told you then that he loved her?” Bertrand pried. Galeren’s letter had been unforthcoming and there had been no mention of the novice he’d sworn to protect the last time he had spoken to him.
“Not in so many words but it was obvious to me, ’twas the look in his eye. Yet he was tormented by the fact that she had been marked by De Floyran, as if she had been soiled by him.”
“Well she has,” Bertrand said, “De Floyran bit her, made her one of us. His scent will be upon her like a deed of ownership and Galeren suffers that. ’Tis like a terrible scar that will ensure that he will never forget it, nor be able to do anything about it.”
“But he loves her,” Parsifal said.
“Then he will find a way to live with it. But in the meantime, I need you to find him and give him this.” He handed him De Villiers’ letter.
“But if he doesn’t care . . .” Parsifal said instantly regretting it when he saw Bertrand’s face curl up angrily.
“Where would you get an idea like that? And do not say from Galeren himself for I will know it is a lie and have you flogged!”
“No!” Parsifal said. “Not from Galeren. Forgive me, sir but it is my own observation.”
“Explain it then!” Bertrand snapped.
“He never speaks of the past. He avoids speaking of
Acre, though I have heard his actions there were heroic. He speaks nothing of the Holy Land as if he cares less for it and baulks at the very idea of a new crusade. He seems disinterested in the future of the Temple and now has demonstrated this by leaving. I tell you these things but with the utmost reverence for my former Master.”
A deep bellowing laugh came from the back of the room and Parsifal turned to see his new master, Richard de Gosbeck, striding towards him. He had not heard him enter the room.
“Worship of a fallen hero.” He continued laughing.
“Not fallen,” Le Roux pointed out, “we have all misplaced Galeren’s faith.”
Parsifal looked at both men quizzically. “What is your meaning, sir?”
“Galeren is loyal to our brethren but for a long time has seen a different future for it. The Temple has become set in its ways and stuck in its foundations. Now it seems that he was right. He has encouraged change for years but his ideas have been scorned and ignored. However, now it seems to have been forced upon us. Galeren is modest but do not mistake this for indifference.”
Parsifal’s shoulders slumped and he pulled a face remembering his accusation outside the convent, “I said something to him once . . .”
“I would not dwell on it. Galeren would never lead the Temple as it was but he would surely lead us now.”
“I will find him.” Parsifal said purposefully.
“And Richard will help you.” Le Roux said encouragingly but Parsifal felt his heart sink even as he felt the clap of De Gosbeck’s hand across his sore shoulders. Still, if Galeren was to return he would surely have his old master back.
“And what of the Lady Catherine?” Parsifal enquired.
“She is welcome here. She is one of us now, no matter how it came to be. Now go make haste and bring our brother back to us.”
Parsifal bowed respectfully and followed De Gosbeck out of the room filled with even more curiosity for his reticent former master.
Chapter Twelve