“Drink,” De Floyran said and handed Catherine a cup filled with wine. It was laced with a concoction that Catherine recognized as a poppy and mandragora dwale. Despite her promise to acquiesce peacefully and travel without fuss, De Floyran and his men had obviously thought she was still too much trouble to leave conscious and so had drugged her more or less constantly since they had stolen her from Galeren.
Or perhaps there was another reason. In whichever case, her head felt heavy and she fought to retain her senses as she woke from each druggy slumber, often disorientated and without memory. But then De Floyran would appear with a new dose and she would remember all too painfully her quandary. She was vaguely aware that they had crossed the narrow sea. She had scraps of memories which returned to her every time she woke; like having felt the pitch and roll of a ship and smelt the saltiness of the sea. She also sensed Galeren at times but he seemed faint and she feared that it was due to De Floyran’s influence. All she knew now was that she was in a dark room somewhere in France.
She pushed the cup away. “Why do you drug me?” she said hoping to prevent the next dose.
“For peace,” he smiled, “and to deaden Galeren’s contact with you.”
She looked at him dolefully.
“Mostly however, it is to prevent you from distracting me.” He added and Catherine averted her gaze from him. Galeren had said that she distracted him; in fact it had been their last conversation. She wondered if De Floyran meant it in the same way.
“Surely you don’t think I’ve been performing obscene acts on you while you are unawares?” he said, smiling wickedly. Catherine’s eyes widened as she looked at him aghast, but she knew he was merely mocking her.
“Don’t worry,” he chuckled, “it’s not my style. I’d prefer you to be conscious and that is why I’m keeping you drugged. It is to keep me off you, at least until I have you where I want you.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked miserably.
“Revenge. It really is as simple as that. Your lover tried to kill me, thought he had in fact. Ran me through like a pig and left me to bleed in the dirt while a battle raged around me. I had position within the Templar ranks and I enjoyed my privileges. Galeren took that from me and my men, some of which he killed.”
“But you did something terrible,” Catherine accused. De Floyran’s eyes narrowed at this and he looked at her charily.
“Did he tell you what?” he asked slowly. Catherine blinked several times, her head pounded and the truth was she didn’t exactly know. All she had was her own experience of him and the knowledge that he was Galeren’s enemy.
“No.” She said a little defeated.
“Really?” De Floyran’s face lit up, “then how do you know what I did was so bad?”
“You forget our night in the woods.” Catherine said contemptuously.
“I do not.” De Floyran answered menacingly. “In fact I have thought of nothing else.” He moved closer to her and she froze.
“I’ve never marked anyone before and let them live.” He smiled.
“But you didn’t let me live. An honourable man sacrificed himself so I could escape. Had he not intervened I would not have lived.” She challenged.
“But you live now and only because I choose it.” He took her face gently in his hand. “I praise God for the intervention of that peasant. Now drink, forget.” He picked up the cup again and thrust it toward her.
“Where am I?” she asked, reluctantly drinking the potion.
“A place of refuge, for now, but you will soon find yourself amongst imprisoned Templars, in a dungeon awaiting Galeren.”
“You won’t succeed.” She said bravely.
“Oh I will, little flower,” he said stroking her face, “I will.”
He waited a time until the potion took effect and watched her for a while, as he always did, while she breathed deep in her induced sleep. It was true that he kept her in this drugged state to prevent him from finishing what he’d started with her. De Floyran yearned to have her, but for some reason he held off. He would never take her while she was unconscious so keeping her thus preserved her for him, for a later date. It was somehow too soon to have her now. When she was conscious, he found it took every bit of will power he possessed not to leap upon her. He was not used to denying himself what he wanted. It was an oddity to him that he would have brutalized her without a moment’s hesitation that night in the woods, but now it was different.
He still imagined her struggling beneath him, her breath frantic and her eyes wide with anguish. Yet sometimes he envisaged another scene; one of her reaching up to him, her eyes filled with the same look he’d seen her give to Galeren. It was a scenario that he had never before imagined with any woman and it disturbed him. He could smell his scent upon her skin and knew that he was bonded to her. The thought suddenly angered him and he cast the sentiment away, he was no more bonded to her than a father was to an unwanted bastard.
He stood up abruptly and walked to the door. She was just another bitch and her reason for living was merely to augment Galeren’s agony and nothing more. She would suffer the same fate as all the others. He opened the door to leave but turned once more to look at her before he did.
24th October 1307, The Paris Temple
Guillaume de Nogaret eyed the Grand Master suspiciously as he directed him to sit opposite him in the main hall of the Paris Temple. With De Nogaret were Guillaume de Plaisians, Robard Beaumanoir, two inquisitors, two scribes and twenty of the Royal guards. De Molay had been bound at the wrists and his eyes were bleary and red, indicative of a lack of sleep. However, there was also a dark intensity about them which allowed De Nogaret a glimpse into the deeper depths of the Templar’s psyche. As he looked within he saw the man’s strength and resilience.
De Molay looked around those at the table and spoke, “I am honoured that Philip sends so many fine young men to deal with one old one. Is there so much to fuss over?”
“Oh yes indeed,” De Nogaret answered. “No less than one hundred and thirty eight confessions by your brethren which substantiates the accusations laid forth in my . . . the indictment brought against you.”
De Molay slammed his bound fists onto the table which made everyone jump and stood up abruptly, “Liar!” he screamed as he was forced back into his seat by two of the guards.
“I urge you to remain calm, or I will have you bound properly.” De Nogaret warned with a cruel smile. De Molay noted it and spread his hands to show that he acquiesced.
“I do not believe they would confess to such without some form of coercion.” De Molay said through gritted teeth. “How were the confessions extracted?”
“With relevant questioning.” De Nogaret said dismissively.
“Were they tortured?” De Molay asked more purposefully.
“Some required more persuasion than others but it didn’t take much for the torturers to have them singing like songbirds, they know well how to ply their trade.” He said brutally.
“Christ save you, you are enjoying this you malevolent swine!” De Molay cried, “but God sees your blood stained hands and black heart.”
“You forget I do this for God and for the protection of the Church and its flock.” De Nogaret said passionately and then leaned in towards the Grand Master so that only he could hear, “I know what you are,” he whispered.
De Nogaret sat back and locked eyes with De Molay and only when he was sure that the Templar had taken his meaning did he say, “I need a moment alone with the Grand Master.”
“I think not,” De Plaisians said immediately, “we are all on the King’s business and as such must all be present at proceedings.”
De Nogaret turned to him and fixed him with a venomous look, “I am afraid you are mistaken, my learned friend. I have special dispensation from the King to speak to the Grand Master alone if I so choose.”
“Since when De Nogaret?” De Plaisians said with contempt.
“Since this morning.” The Captain of Royal gua
rd said, stepping forward. “I bore witness to it and swore to uphold the King’s wishes. You gentlemen must go without and remain there until called to return.”
“You see?” De Nogaret said conceitedly.
“This is horseshit!” De Plaisians protested angrily, as he and the others were ushered outside. When they were alone De Nogaret turned to De Molay and smiled triumphantly.
“This vile victory of yours will be short lived.” De Molay spat. “At least I see that your contemporaries view you as I do; a spineless cruel little toad.”
De Nogaret laughed. “Such scathing may have bothered me once, but not anymore. It may be true but my contemporaries do not view you in the same way as I do, nor do they know you as I do . . . werewolf master.”
De Molay blinked in shock at this revelation as if he had misheard what he had said. “What did you say?” his question was barely a whisper.
“You heard,” De Nogaret said inspecting his finger nails, “they do not know.” He motioned to the others who had been sent out.
Beaumanoir and De Plaisians did know the truth but De Nogaret had pressed Philip to keep them out of dealings with the Grand Master, on points of the savage nature of the Templars, until they had seen proof as he had. At least that was his excuse. In truth, De Nogaret wanted to have autonomy on proceedings while he still could, before all of Philip’s minions stole a piece of the pie that had been of his making.
“The King knows but lacks the proof. I have seen with my own eyes the true nature of the Templars, so do not think to deny it.”
“And where did you witness this nature, while they were being tortured?” De Molay said with disgust. He knew that the instinct to change under stress or pain would be difficult to contain under torture, he could only imagine the methods that were used.
“No,” De Nogaret said thoughtfully. “One of your own showed me willingly. Esquin de Floyran, I am sure you have heard of him.”
De Molay grimaced, “Yes, I have. He is a vicious killer and now a traitor but I am sure you find him fine company.”
“I do as it goes.” De Nogaret agreed. “He is on his way back from England and as I understand will provide proof for the King in spectacular fashion.”
“England?” De Molay said his heart tightening. He knew his son was there and that De Floyran had a blood feud with him.
“Yes, he spoke of unfinished business there. But don’t let that concern you. What you should be concerned about is the fate of your heretical brothers. They have confessed to crimes most heinous.”
“All made up by an unworthy King and his greedy council.” De Molay said but his mind was still on his son.
“You should heed your respect for the King, for your life and that of your diabolical brotherhood is in his hands.”
“For what good? If you believe what you think of us then surely we are already condemned.”
“Not necessarily,” De Nogaret smiled, “in fact it is why I wanted to speak to you alone. The others need not know of the deeper meaning of this inquiry, you would agree that the less who know the better.”
De Molay nodded though he was loath to agree with the snake.
“Good.” De Nogaret said. “It would be foolish to allow such knowledge to be loosed in the public domain. Imagine the panic; the Church would have a battle on its hands. It is easy to strike down innocent potion makers as witches and dispose of them to resounding public support. But a pack such as yours may weaken the foundations of the Church. These are difficult times De Molay, especially without the Holy Land, the people may be quick to lose their faith. We don’t want to make you a cult of heroes.”
De Nogaret drummed his finger against his face lazily. “But deposed as heretics, losers, not defenders of the Holy Land, betrayers of the Church and our Lord Jesus Christ, sodomites, practitioners of Jewish and Islamist magic and whatever else we can think of, then the Templars would be damned by all and sent into the fires of hell. Confessions are pouring in as we speak; it is looking grim for you and your kind.”
De Molay’s lip curled but he was not about to give De Nogaret the satisfaction of another emotional reaction. He was smarter than that, instead he just shrugged, “I suppose you are building up to the point of this little conversation,” he said derisively.
De Nogaret looked at the Grand Master, still aware of what he was and what he could only yearn to be. He hoped that this would change when De Floyran returned from his business in England.
“I am,” De Nogaret said, “so you’d better listen carefully. The confessions we have received so far are enough to have those Templars burnt at the stake.”
“Not without the Pope’s authority. I doubt Clement even knows about the confessions. This inquiry should be directed by Clement V, we should be questioned by bishops not tortured by inquisitors.”
De Nogaret’s left eye twitched but he remained composed even though he knew of what the Grand Master spoke to be true.
“It matters not, for Clement will be firmly in Philip’s camp when he sees the monstrosity that is your true nature.”
“You will take it that far?”
“The Pope must know the truth, that he has given special dispensations to a horde of monsters.”
“You speak of us as monsters and yet you know nothing about us. There are more monsters in the Vatican than in the Temple be that assured, only they have but one face and it is human.”
“Regardless of whether what you say is true, the fact is that the Temple is the institution on trial and Clement will support the King’s actions and will know you.” He scratched his head. “You are right though, the King is greedy and so am I. Philip wants the Temple dissolved by the Pope and wants the Temple’s treasures and all its estates and assets in his possession. That is all. You and your brethren can be saved from the stake, in return for your confession Jacques de Molay, Grand Master of the Temple of Solomon.”
De Molay looked at him in bewilderment, “You expect me to believe that would be the case. You would set free a brotherhood of werewolves but for their name, their wealth and their property?”
“Not exactly free.” De Nogaret smiled. “The hierarchy of the Temple is seen to be the evil influence and therefore should be punished; for example, you, your dignitaries and all your werewolf knights. You will have to remain in prison. You are too dangerous to have roaming around the countryside. I understand that the Temple servants are not of the werewolf brethren, so they would not share your fate. They would instead do penance in monasteries throughout the Kingdom, under the watchful eye of Dominican monks.”
“So all still prisoners, in one way or another.” De Molay said flatly.
De Nogaret rolled his eyes, “If you wish to see it as thus. But at least you won’t be burnt at the stake.” He shrugged nonchalantly.
De Molay didn’t believe him and even if he did speak the truth, prison was as cruel a fate for a werewolf. The wolf could not be caged for long before its spirit broke; death was preferable but not at the stake. However, De Molay knew that he needed to play the game, this was his fate. He knew he would not taste the sweetness of freedom again but he would need to ensure that some of his brothers would, so he would do the King’s bidding for now and watch the tide.
De Molay sighed and nodded compliantly, “I imagine you will need the others to return now to hear my confession.”
De Nogaret smiled smugly, “Oh yes,” he beamed, “it is an historic moment.”
“You won’t get what you want from him.” De Molay said as De Nogaret rose to his feet.
“What?” De Nogaret said shaking his head in puzzlement.
“De Floyran.” De Molay said casually.
He could have meant anything, information, proof, but De Nogaret knew exactly what the wily Grand Master was referring to and so he tried to deny it.
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” De Nogaret said and started to turn way.
“De Floyran may be many things but he is not a fool. He would neve
r initiate a snivelling bastard like you.”
De Nogaret turned back, his face twisted with spite. “You know nothing old master. He has denounced you all and craves your destruction!”
“Maybe, but he will never give you our mark.”
Now sensing De Nogaret’s weakness and desperation De Molay felt empowered. De Nogaret made his way to the door unwilling to look the Templar master in the eye, lest he sense his disquiet. De Molay didn’t need to see De Nogaret’s eyes, now knowing his weakness he concentrated his mind and struck. De Nogaret stumbled as he reached the door drawing his breath in sharply. He raised his hand to his head.
“Headache?” De Molay said with false sentiment.
“’Tis nothing.” De Nogaret answered shakily and pinching the bridge of his nose he reached for the door and opened it.
The Wolves of Solomon (Wolves of Solomon Book One) Page 25