****
“What is it?” Catherine propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at Galeren. She pressed her thumb against the deep furrow that had appeared between his eyebrows.
“All is well my love.” He answered.
“Liar!” she said half teasing, half scolding.
“I am a liar,” he said, “I only seek to protect you.”
“I don’t want you to lie to me. There will never be good reason. If you have a burden then I must share it. I cannot dwell in a false world where I believe all is well while you are laden with worry. What good is a union like that?” she reproached.
“Alright, you’ve made your point.” He raised his hands in submission. They lay together on a comfortable straw pallet in a tavern just outside Scopwick. It was still raining hard but they had found shelter before it had become too uncomfortable and had made short work of a tasty mutton stew along with several large cups of sweet wine.
Warmed by the fire and relaxed by the wine they had retired to their small room. The pleasure of the night had been intense but Catherine had felt the tension in Galeren, his body never lied and though he was gentle and passionate there was also desperation as he held her. He gripped her even as they lay afterward as if afraid to let go, lest he lose her, and she had only now been able to wriggle free of his grasp and look upon his stricken face.
“There is an ill wind that blows.”
“De Floyran,” she said.
“Yes.” Galeren said, “I killed him, you know,” he paused and shook his head as if in disbelief, “and he has come back to haunt me.”
Catherine’s heart tightened as she was struck with a notion and she aired it immediately, “I don’t want you to be haunted because of me. Don’t be with me through pity or conscience.”
Galeren sat up. “What do you mean?”
Catherine sighed. “Would you be with me if he hadn’t bitten me?”
“Expel that notion from your head.” He said scowling. “If I’d passed you on a lane or laid eyes upon you at a market I would have given my soul to be with you. I sensed our bond before I sensed De Floyran’s mark. That is the very pain of it, finding you and –”
“And what?”
“It matters not, what matters is that I love you.”
“His bite has violated me in your eyes,” she said, suddenly understanding it, “just as if he had –”
“Don’t say that!” Galeren cried cutting her off but knowing well her meaning. He averted his eyes.
“It has, hasn’t it? You smell him on me. I am marked by his scent, you can’t escape it. Tell me Galeren! Is it so?”
“Yes!” he screamed, “’tis so.”
“Oh God, is it to torment you forever?” she asked afraid of his answer. She covered her mouth with her hands but he quickly took them and pressed them to his lips.
“But it matters not. I would rather this than to never have found you.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “And if you kill him will I be free of his mark?”
Galeren shook his head. Catherine closed her eyes and the tears streamed down her cheeks.
“But you will forget it, like a bad dream. I am not the first werewolf to be bonded to one marked by another.”
“But your enemy.”
“It hurts Catherine, I will not lie to you but it is nothing compared to not being with you. And I tell myself that if he hadn’t bitten you then I may never have passed you on a lane or seen you at a market.” He pulled her into his arms.
“But you fear to lose me.” Catherine said pulling back and looking into his eyes. “I feel it when we are together, each time is like it may be the last.”
“Aye,” he said and ran his fingers through his hair, “I will not deny it though I do not mean for it to manifest itself in such a way. I feel the heat of his breath upon my neck but also on the Temple’s.”
“What do you mean?” Catherine asked, wiping the tears from her face.
“He has reason enough to hate me, but the Temple expelled him and ordered that he be destroyed and I was given the task. Until now I had no idea that I had failed. I think the Temple may be in danger. It has enemies aplenty and De Floyran only need take advantage of that.”
“Then we must not leave. I cannot be the reason that you abandon your brethren when they may need you.”
“My brethren have done little to heed my warnings over the years.”
“But if they need you?”
“We’ll see.” Galeren said distantly. He pulled her close and kissed her. “You are the most important thing to me. I have waited a long time to have a future of my own making.”
13th October 1307, The Paris Temple
Jacques de Molay was awake when he heard the rapping on his chamber doors. He quickly slipped the covers off and pulled a cloak over his half dressed body.
“Come.” He said with calm resonance in his voice. It was not yet dawn but he sensed that every Templar residence in the Kingdom of France had synonymously heard the heavy rap of Philip’s hand upon their door. Paul, one of the servants, rushed into the room panicked and breathless.
“There are armed men at the Temple gates demanding entrance. They say they have orders to arrest you and brother knights!”
“I see,” the Grand Master said resignedly then muttered, “not without time.”
“I’m sorry, Master?” Paul asked confused.
“No matter.” Jacques said. “See them into the main reception hall. I will join them when I am dressed decently.”
“There are many, Master, will I emit all of them.”
“If they so desire. Now go to, I imagine they are in no mood to wait.”
De Molay dressed quickly and, as his pride demanded, dressed in full Templar regalia. It now seemed to him that his ambitions for the Temple may lay in ruin. Change had been forced upon them and even though he had spoken confidently to the council that he believed they would emerge from this episode unscathed, his instinct told him that De Villiers’ fears were substantiated. They would not be able to remain the same and would be exterminated if they tried.
He sighed woefully as he realised the reality of it. He had been fighting to keep the Temple in its position of privilege and esteem, being above suspicion so their race could be left alone and unhindered to live their lives free from persecution and destruction. Since the loss of Acre and the disaster of Ruad, the absence of a notable Christian presence in the Holy Land meant that many thought any hope of the recapture of Jerusalem was futile. But a new and successful crusade was possible. It was not that he desired for the Order to participate in the slaughter of more Moslems but rather for it to continue being protected within the shroud of its former purpose, until more enlightened times. That involved the protection of Christians in the Holy Land and of Christendom’s most sacred sites.
Within that premise they could work on greater aims. They had much to learn from the East and had had good relations with their Moslem brethren. His vision of a new crusade had nothing to do with conquering and genocide, though at the outset battles may ensue, this crusade was about sharing. They had seen much of what that was like in Acre before the end.
He saw the Temple as having a purpose in the Holy Land once more, but as unifiers rather than conquerors. Of course, such a vision was shared amongst the Temple brethren, but it needed to be introduced to the leaders of the West gradually and through example. Rousing the armies of the West to march upon Syria with gusto anew would have to come first and in addition the Mamluk’s position had to be taken into account too; they had had enough of Western influence and so would rise against the new invasion. But the possibility to build bridges was there.
The Temple had successfully united their race which had brought them stability and kinship. It had also provided the opportunity for them to thrive and use their gift to progress instead of hiding in the shadows. Their brethren in the East, conversely, were divided, surviving as individuals or within small groups lacking a
ny coherent or purposeful unity. Those that met and knew the Temple longed for a union of their own brethren and so therein lay the foundations of bridges.
Jacques de Molay desired change for the Temple, but unlike Gerard de Villiers, Galeren de Massard and others, he did not want the Temple to disappear into obscurity, to be re-born in another place under another guise. He wanted the Temple to prevail, to reach through future centuries and one day through their endeavours and accumulated respect, be revealed to the rest of humanity and accepted.
Though he knew such a desire far surpassed the span of his lifetime, he wished to set in motion the process that would take decades, if not centuries to achieve. But now that seemed little more than a dream. He wondered if they could yet escape the snares of Philip’s trap and surface with renewed support. They could if Philip’s hegemonic desires and cruel ambitions were revealed. He would need Clement’s support and importantly be able to handle the next few hours, days, and weeks with temperance and deference.
Guillaume de Nogaret looked around the hall of the Paris Temple to which he and his men had been led to. Sixty armed men had accompanied him into the Temple and there were double their number outside the Temple gates. It was not the first time he had been inside the Paris Temple. In fact, it had been little over a year since he was here last, and that had been with the King. Having come to visit the treasury they found themselves in a precarious and somewhat embarrassing situation. They were prevented from leaving the Temple by the gathering of an angry mob. The riotous horde had surrounded the Temple, blocking its exits in retaliation for the debasing of the currency which Philip had orchestrated in an attempt to raise funds for his dwindling treasury.
Despite the drama of that visit he remembered how in awe he had been of the place. It was immaculate and possessed an imposing and regimented ambience, yet one that was anything but cold. The Temple had oozed a feeling of brotherhood, belonging and power that had been subtle but for that all the more discerning. He recalled how the knights had stridden through the passageways with an air of dominance and complete security that was unparalleled, their close-knit unity evident in every room, hall and corner they graced. How envious he had been of them then. Now he knew where those characteristics, which he had solely identified with Templar Knights, came from.
However, as he looked about himself it all seemed very different now. He knew that it was the small hours of the morning, and that dawn had yet to crack, but gone was the previous sentiment he had perceived. The place was a void, a chasm filled with nothing of its former ambience and it seemed cold. De Nogaret wondered if he was just sensitive to the unpleasant matter at hand. It was often at such times when a piece of his work came to the hour of its fruition that he would recognise the cruelty in it and perhaps perceive a little guilt. But that in itself proved intoxicating and he would soon be revelling in his task. He felt his heartbeat quicken in anticipation of De Molay’s arrival. He had admired the Templars, even envied them but now he would be instrumental in their downfall and yet he had never been closer to becoming like them.
He straightened up and composed himself as he saw the heavy oak doors open and the Grand Master enter. He looked at Robard Beaumanoir who stood on his right and couldn’t help but say, a touch conceitedly, “watch and learn.”
“Gentlemen,” De Molay said serenely as he entered the reception hall despite battling to keep his surprise in check upon noticing the force that had been sent to apprehend him. A dark, squat toad of a man stepped forward clutching a roll of parchments and held them up to the Grand Master to behold.
“I am Guillaume de Nogaret, chief councillor to Philip IV, King of France –”
“I know who you are.” De Molay said deliberately cutting him off.
De Nogaret snorted at the interruption and continued with his introductory oration. “It is by royal decree of King Philip IV of France that you, Jacques de Molay, Grand Master of the Order of the Poor Knights of the Temple of Solomon, and your brethren knights be taken into the custody of the King’s guard until such time that your crimes are fairly judged and your guilt or innocence proven. It is the King’s wishes that you acquiesce quickly and peacefully without resistance.” De Nogaret finished and then lowered the parchments and looked at De Molay to gauge his reaction. The Grand Master scratched his chin thoughtfully and appeared un-alarmed.
“And what am I, and the Temple Knights accused of?” he said arching his eyebrows.
De Nogaret’s face twitched nervously. Despite the presence of his armed guard, his position of authority was as yet still uncertain. He was well aware that he now faced a man who was powerful, wily and in the command of knights who, if ordered, could crush the retinue of men that accompanied him. It was a humbling consideration that he was here to assume control over the leader of, not only a powerful military institution but also a brotherhood of werewolves. Nevertheless De Nogaret stood his ground.
“I hold in my hand an indictment containing no less than one hundred and four articles pertaining to acts of crude idolatry, heinous initiation ceremonies, secrecy, sodomy and heresy.”
“And yet you act without the authority of the Pope.” De Molay said casually.
De Nogaret felt the sweat bead between his thick brows, De Molay was no fool. He knew that without direction from the Pope this action had no legality.
“I act under the authority of the King of France and the seriousness of the crimes that you and your brethren are accused of is justification for this action. The Pope is in any case prepared for an inquiry into the Temple and will likely thank the King for his swift action to detain an order of heretics.”
“Unproven,” De Molay said curtly, “and your King is likely to be excommunicated for his illegal strike.”
De Nogaret was unwilling to look away from the Master’s eyes as they bore into him, challenging him to look away and show his weakness. He could see the beast that dwelled within the Grand Master and he fought the urge to concede, instead he rebuked:
“Not when you are revealed to be the monsters that you truly are.” There was a hint of smugness in the smile that De Nogaret felt form on his face. He knew that he was courting danger by uttering such wisdom. The Templars were meant to be under a false sense of security that a few matters of secrecy and rumour would be laid to rest by the Pope and his inquiry. Suggesting that the Templars truth was known could ignite a bloody resistance and the King would not thank him for that.
De Molay froze for a moment as he considered the meaning of De Nogaret’s words. Was it a turn of phrase or did it hold some deeper meaning? De Villiers had suggested that the Templar nature could be denounced by mortal enemies such as Esquin de Floyran whose name had been seen on the indictment. This was what De Molay feared the most. He took in the scent of the room, filtering out all the smells he knew well in order to concentrate on that of the invaders.
The sweat on the skin of the guards told him that they were fearful. The Templars’ reputation was still strong and they were still not sure how things would evolve. In that moment, with the smell of their fear within his nostrils, De Molay suddenly wished that he hadn’t opted for the passive response. Instead he wished he could order his knights to tear their heads off. He turned his attention to the man that stood on De Nogaret’s right, a man he didn’t know. He sensed caution in him and uncertainty as if the situation did not sit well with him. He would have spared the man’s life for that, had things been different.
De Molay finally concentrated on De Nogaret, hoping to sense some fear, there might have been some but he was instead overwhelmed with the scent of the man’s malevolence laced with a jealous reason. He was, otherwise, a guarded man and appeared in control of his feelings, keeping them suppressed. It was a feat De Molay deemed admirable in the presence of a werewolf’s nose. De Molay was unable to sense whether he knew the Templars’ secret or not. He hoped then that it was paranoia on his part, and suppressing his pride and urge for violence he made sure that his visage r
emained composed.
De Nogaret watched the Grand Master carefully and considered adding something to pervert the true meaning of his words. Sense swayed him against it; he did not want to alert De Molay to the peril and decided that the less said now, the better.
Instead he said, “I urge you to assent peacefully and let King and Pope settle the matter for the good of all.”
“And where do you mean to take me?” De Molay asked staidly.
“I mean to take you nowhere. As Grand Master of the Order you will remain here under arrest for the time being. How many knights are here?”
“Forty.” De Molay said flatly. They were knights who had chosen to stay and weather the storm that they believed would pass.
“So few?” De Nogaret said suspiciously, thinking of his earlier feeling.
“Templar matters are far reaching,” De Molay said, "and business cannot be neglected. The King’s other bailiffs will have, no doubt, apprehended others. I imagine your early visit was not the sole privilege of the Paris Temple.”
De Nogaret’s eyes narrowed and he wondered if the Grand Master had known about the arrests or whether he was just unbelievably arrogant. Templars were renowned for it and it was what made them so despised. The fool believed that when Clement caught wind of the King’s exploits the matter would be settled quickly and in the Temple’s favour. He reasoned that if the Templars had had prior knowledge of the arrests, they would at least have gotten the Grand Master out of the country.
“Are my men to stay here?” De Molay asked.
“No,” De Nogaret said sharply, “they are to be taken to undisclosed premises to be questioned away from your watchful eye and influence.”
“Am I to be questioned?”
“All in good time.” De Nogaret replied evasively.
“I want word sent to the Pope and I want to see the King.” De Molay demanded.
“Word has been sent this very morning. We will soon be aware of Pope Clement’s sentiment. The King will see you in his own time. For now you will remain here with your servants under the watch of the Royal Guard.”
“And what of my servants? Are they under arrest too? Or is it just to be my knights that are subject to incarceration?”
“It is the practices of the knights that are in question. ’Tis the core of the Temple that is rotten.”
“There may indeed be rot but it’s not within the Temple.” De Molay said coolly.
De Nogaret nodded respectfully if not a little smugly. “We will see. Have your knights brought to me and my men will conduct a search.”
“Do as you will. I am sure you will find what Philip is looking for in the Temple’s treasury,” De Molay said scathingly, “I will return to my private chambers if I may?”
“Please do, I will see you again Grand Master.” De Nogaret said with purpose.
De Molay nodded curtly and turned on his heel eager to be away from the swarthy councillor lest he lose control. Yet even as he gained distance he felt Philip’s hold tighten around him as he was escorted back to his chambers, flanked by no less than fifteen Royal guards.
Chapter Thirteen
The Wolves of Solomon (Wolves of Solomon Book One) Page 21