The Wolves of Solomon (Wolves of Solomon Book One)

by R. L. Blackhurst

  ****

  Philip looked at the signed confession with gleaming eyes and smiled.

  “I am impressed.” He said placing the document upon the table and reaching for a cup of wine. “He believed you then?” Philip said sounding surprised.

  “No,” De Nogaret replied, “De Molay is a clever old fox. He is simply buying time for his brethren. Perhaps he believes Clement will still come to their rescue.”

  “Well at least you didn’t have to bring in the torturers, Clement may have baulked at that.”

  “Indeed though I cannot say the same for the others questioned.”

  Philip turned and frowned at him. De Nogaret shrugged. “They proved to be a resilient group. I had no choice but to introduce some unsavory methods. As history has shown us time and again Templars are hard to break and believe me they have an incredibly high threshold for pain.”

  De Nogaret’s eyes glazed over with memory of it. “It was interesting if not a little disconcerting.” He smiled slightly and then returned to the present. “Anyway, De Molay knew there had been torture and his confession arose from his desire to prevent further suffering.”

  “To his own detriment. His confession will send him to the stake, and such a death is not one to look forward to.”

  De Nogaret nodded in agreement and then shrugged again. “As I said perhaps he believes he is buying time."

  “Perhaps,” the King agreed, “whatever the case, this is excellent, excellent work.” He raised the cup to De Nogaret who nodded modestly.

  “Of course, De Plaisians is raging.”

  De Nogaret tilted his head, “Personal egos are not important here,” he said knowing that his was the exception, “but rather making sure that the job is done properly.”

  “I agree,” Philip said draining his cup, “but perhaps you can allow him more involvement now.”'

  “No.” De Nogaret said a little too sharply. Philip looked at him askance. “At least not yet. There will be a time for that, and better when he can see the proof with his own eyes. I do not have the patience for his derision. He has doubt in what I have told you, for now the less involved he is the better.”

  “Enjoying the privilege?” Philip said astutely. De Nogaret made to protest but Philip raised his hand to quiet him,

  “And so you should. Your work has been critical to this undertaking and I am sure to this end we would not have had such success without you.”

  De Nogaret smiled, “I thank you sire but my work is not yet complete. Only when the Temple is dissolved and these devils are all but ashes will I feel my task fully accomplished.”

  “Such dedication! You will be rewarded well.” Philip said and then a dark look crossed his face. “I only wish I could fill your coffers from the Temple treasury!”

  De Nogaret knew that the treasury at the Paris Temple had been severely deficient in the riches that Philip had expected. Though not empty, it was a paltry sum compared to what they had seen within it only one year before.

  “I have arranged a public session at the Paris Temple tomorrow.” De Nogaret said quickly changing the subject. “De Molay’s confession will be repeated in front of a pick of clergy and select members of the University of Paris. Our success here will urge our European counterpart to follow suit.”

  “Clement is sure to fall in line now that we have De Molay’s confession.”

  “With the confessions I have obtained from all the Templar dignitaries, he can do nothing else and do not forget that we still have De Floyran’s contribution to convince him.”

  “De Floyran is conspicuous by his absence.” Philip snapped, “I trust you De Nogaret but not this Templar. I would think he would have been here to see the judgement as it unfolds, seeing as this is supposed to be his, long desired for, revenge.”

  “There is no reason to think he has abandoned his purpose as he has yet to gain his reward. I expect him any day now.” De Nogaret said assuredly, though he was growing impatient himself and De Molay’s words came back to haunt him. He had been shocked by the Grand Master’s intuition but was sure that his comments were merely to spite him. De Floyran liked him, of that he was sure. They were similar, sharing the same dark thread as if brothers separated at birth. He was sure that his brother would not let him down.

  25th October 1307, The Paris Temple

  They were assembled in the main hall of the Temple. At the far end of the hall sat on the long table, usually the province of Templar Knights, were De Nogaret, De Plaisians, Robard Beaumanoir and several others from Philip’s council. Guillaume de France, the Inquisitor of France, and several of his inquisitors were also present and sat with the King’s councillors. The table was flanked by Royal guards and set along the sides of the hall were seats forming a public gallery. These were filled with members of the clergy, lawyers and theologians from the University of Paris as well as scribes to document the proceedings.

  In the middle of the hall sat Jacques de Molay, he was not bound but instead had two royal guards stood either side of him. He looked about the room repressing his inner rage at his Temple being polluted by the worst kind of humans. He could smell their sentiment in the air, each and every one savouring their moment to watch the once powerful fall. It mattered not for what reason.

  It was the severest of all human traits; the desire to see failure. The fall of others satisfied the inadequate, the jealous and the weak. He expected that they all thought that it was no more than the Temple deserved, for all their arrogance and superiority over the decades. But still they were cowards all, staring at him with their over zealous eyes, pitiless and ready to cast judgement over what they did not know. The Temple may have been over zealous at times and ferocious in its actions but they had never been cruel. He knew that he was now in the domain of the truly merciless.

  “I ask the prisoner first to verify his identity,” Guillaume de Plaisians said, “please confirm that you are Jacques de Molay, Grand Master of the Order of the Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ, Knights of the Temple of Solomon.”

  “I am.” De Molay replied unemotionally.

  De Plaisians turned to those that were seated and addressed them. “I hereby declare this public session open. On the 25th of October in the year of our Lord 1307, Jacques de Molay did confess to crimes brought against the Order of the Temple. The trial of the Order of the Temple is a matter for public witness and it is the wish of this council, representing Philip IV, the King of France, that the confession be repeated so that it be known to the King’s people and thereby judged by them.”

  He then turned his attention back to De Molay who watched him bitterly. “I will ask again the questions put to you yesterday and ask that you answer them honestly and with a pure heart.”

  De Plaisians looked down at De Nogaret who nodded his approval. De Nogaret smiled to himself. He was happy to let De Plaisians run the proceedings, he was not a selfish man besides he had favour with the King and it was De Plaisians who now looked to him for direction.

  “Have you in any way been forced in your confession?” De Plaisians asked.

  “No,” De Molay answered, feeling the bile rise in his throat, “I answer as befits my conscience and as a witness before God.”

  “Good,” De Plaisians said, “you have confessed that at the time of your reception into the Order in Beaune in the year of our Lord 1265 that you denied Christ, albeit unwillingly, and were forced to spit on the cross, although you spat to the side of it in order to miss it. Is this truthful?”

  “It is the truth.” De Molay said biting down on his tongue.

  There was a collective gasp of horror from the public gallery which seemed grossly exaggerated and only heightened De Molay’s misery.

  “Did you conduct admissions into the Temple thus?”

  De Molay swallowed slowly to contain his antipathy and then said, “I have a few, yes and believe that this was and has been the way of the reception as laid down by my predecessors.” He could hear disapproving mumbles amon
g some in the public audience.

  “Have you ever participated in the act of sodomy?” De Plaisians said sternly. The hall was suddenly silent with bated anticipation.

  “No.” The Grand Master answered firmly.

  “When you were received into the Order were you advised that it was permissible to have carnal relations with your brothers should your blood become heated?”

  “No, I was never advised this nor gave out this advice, nor am I aware that this advice was ever given out to brothers.” De Molay answered neutrally.

  “Thank you.” De Plaisians said genuinely. “You have answered within the realms of your knowledge and as your conscience directed you. Your confession corroborates those obtain by your brother knights and confirms the Temple’s guilt in acts of heresy. The people of France have heard. This session is thereby closed.”

  It was brief in its brutality, De Molay thought as he was pulled to his feet and led from the room. They could have forced more humiliation on him, having him confess to a salvo of other heinous lies which were contained within the leaves of De Nogaret’s vicious indictment. But the repudiation of Christ and spitting upon the cross was heresy and what else did the Church need to condemn them? He thought of De Villiers and wished that there was a way to reach him, he longed for news from England and wanted to find out where his son was and what he was doing.

  Later, De Nogaret visited him in his private chambers. The councillor smiled as he entered the Grand Master’s sanctuary.

  “You did well today De Molay. I know what you did wasn’t easy but your brethren will be grateful for it in the end.”

  “Do you think?” he answered sardonically.

  “I do. But there is one more thing you can do for them.”

  “And what pray is that?” De Molay asked.

  “I have several letters here which will, in a few minutes, bear the seal of the Temple. They have been written for you and merely require your signature and the seal.”

  “May I know their content?”

  “Of course,” De Nogaret laughed with surprise, “I wouldn’t expect you to sign anything you haven’t read!”

  The Grand Master’s eyes narrowed and De Nogaret began to rub his temple. He handed the letters to De Molay and winced at the pain that was growing in his skull. He watched as De Molay read over the documents silently shaking his head in dismay as he did. “Ahhhh what a trap you have lain for us.” He said looking back up at De Nogaret. “You have been judicious in your scheming.”

  “Always,” De Nogaret replied pinching his nose, “it is better that you instruct the rest of your brethren to confess to these heretical practices they have been privy to in the Temple and save them the torture of having their confession obtained otherwise.”

  “I doubt they will suffer less for it.” De Molay said contemptuously.

  “I give you my word. Those who confess under your instruction will not be touched. Of course there are always the disobedient and the martyrs.”

  De Molay’s lip curled and he afforded a little smile as he saw De Nogaret’s discomfort increase. “Another headache?” De Molay remarked.

  “’Tis nothing,” De Nogaret snapped, “now sign and seal the damned letters or I’ll have every Templar in custody tortured for spite!”

  De Molay picked up his quill and dipped it into the ink pot sat on his desk. After signing he sealed each letter and placed them in a pile for De Nogaret to collect.

  “Thank you.” De Nogaret said finding himself short of breath. “Now gather some of your most needed items as you are being moved from here.”

  “Moved?” De Molay said with genuine concern.

  “Yes, now you have confessed to your crimes you are to be taken to prison. The King wants you off his property, heretic, you are to be incarcerated as befits you.”

  “You will rot in hell.” De Molay said venomously.

  “Long after you.” De Nogaret countered and snatching the letters off De Molay’s desk he quickly left the room. Outside he lent against the wall feeling nauseous, but the pressure in his head subsided a little. He breathed deep and hugged the letters to his chest. Perhaps he needed a rest he considered, but then dispelled the notion. There was still too much to do. As he straightened up he saw one of the Royal guards approaching him.

  “I have a letter for you just delivered. There is a messenger awaiting a response.”

  De Nogaret took it from the guard handing him in return the Grand Master’s letters. He broke the seal that he recognized as one of the Temple’s and smiled as he read the words.

  “Tell him to meet me in Montlhéry.” He said.

  Chapter Fifteen