The Wolves of Solomon (Wolves of Solomon Book One)

by R. L. Blackhurst

31st October 1307, Paris, France

  “Montlhéry,” Galeren answered the innkeeper’s question distantly, staring out into the rain from the shelter of the inn. The innkeeper passed him the provisions he had paid for and said,

  “Less than half a day’s ride from here. You have business there?” He eyed the English knight, who merely nodded absently, with curiosity.

  He seemed to have plenty of money but his attire was unremarkable, there was no hint of status or distinguishing coat of arms and the horse he had ridden in on the previous night was just an old palfrey. His plain garb hinted that he did not want to be recognised and not lacking in coin indicated that he was probably a sword for hire. In that case, he was unpredictable and probably dangerous. Despite his evasiveness, however, he had a presence that was intriguing and his eyes told of a mission he was sworn on. The innkeeper could not help but pry further.

  “They say they are holding Templars in the Château de Montlhéry.”

  “Really,” Galeren said sounding uninterested.

  “Even the Grand Master.”

  Galeren looked up at the innkeeper, his attention suddenly roused. He had decided to leave his stallion, Red, at Temple Bruer and travel to the English coast as a wolf, carrying only the money bag that De Villiers had given him in his mouth. He had no time to waste and he knew his journey would be cut in half if he travelled in wolf form. He would be faster and his stamina would be two-fold of that of both horse and man. He only changed to take a ship across the narrow sea, stealing cloths like a common thief. Arriving at the outskirts of Paris once again as a wolf, he changed back to human form and sorted himself out with some humble attire and a horse.

  There had been another reason he had been keen to stay in wolf form, and that was to reach Catherine. It had been hard. She had faded so quickly and when he did sense her, the connection was always weak. It scared him. If the connection was so weak she may be injured, or dying. But he refused to dwell on that possibility, he was sure that through the bond they shared he would feel her pain or torment if such was the case.

  If he knew Catherine like he believed he did then the lack of clear contact may be down to her own will. She would try to distance herself from contact, knowing it would be leading him to her and she would not want that. She was probably trying to protect him as he would try to do the same for her.

  He had however, picked up a sense of where she had been taken and it seemed that the closer he got the clearer it became. As distracted as he always was by Catherine, he had no idea that his father may also be at Montlhéry.

  “Is that right?” Galeren said, feigning measured interest.

  “So I’ve heard. What think you of this business with the Templars, are they heretics like all are saying?”

  “It is none of my business.” The English knight said indifferently. “I thank you for this,” he said, shaking the bundle of food. He then turned on his heel and walked out into the rain. The innkeeper watched him go and wondered just what his business might be.

  “Ahhh at last,” Philip said to De Nogaret as he entered his chambers, “the Templar Knight errant has returned, but he is not with you?” Philip’s toned changed when he noted that De Nogaret was alone. The King had received news from De Nogaret that Esquin de Floyran had returned and it was not without time, for the Pope was raging.

  “He remains in Montlhéry, he is awaiting someone.”

  “More important than his King?” Philip cried outraged, “I suppose he expects me to go to him?” Philip continued angrily.

  De Nogaret winced, “Well Sire, he does.”

  “What?” the King spat. “I have the Pope breathing down my neck Guillaume! He has written to me expressing his fierce disapproval of the arrest of the Templars. He believes I have usurped his authority as he was to head the inquiry into the Templars that was called for in August.”

  Philip shook his fist angrily, “I could face excommunication for this! Even De Molay’s confession won’t still him. Our action without his authority has angered him and his bishops. I need De Floyran to corroborate this monstrous story, no more of his games!”

  “Sire, this is no game. He waits at Montlhéry for the arrival of Galeren de Massard.” De Nogaret appeased, but Phillip merely threw his arms into the air upon hearing a name of no relevance.

  De Nogaret continued, “Jacques de Molay’s son.”

  “What?” Philip said, his eyes widened half in disbelief and half in delight. “De Molay has a son?”

  “According to De Floyran and –”

  “Arhggg!” Philip spat, “De Floyran again. Must everything depend on this slippery eel? I have seen nothing, all I have done is waited on his return and now I am expected to go to him. I make the demands around here, or have you forgotten that?”

  “No Sire, but if it seems I put too much faith in the man then it is only because of what I have seen. He does not seek to disrespect you with his ways but he has his own revenge to mete out. He merely tries to combine offering you proof with that desire. He wishes that the Pope come to Montlhéry with you so that he can show you together. Imagine, you will receive your proof and if the Pope witnesses it too he will have no choice but to see the wisdom of you actions and offer support not obstruction.”

  Philip sighed resignedly. “As always De Nogaret you speak much sense, but this Templar aggravates me. I hope he produces the goods or he will be the first in the fire.”

  “He will, Sire.”

  Philip had his servant pour him some wine but did not offer any to his councillor.

  “So,” he said taking a long sip, “the Grand Master has a son. Oh, how the pious fall. And this son of his, you expect he would be so foolish as to ride into the bailey of the Château de Montlhéry? Does he think to rescue the old fool?”

  “I am not sure that he knows his father is there.”

  Philip raised his eyebrows, “Explain.”

  “De Floyran has something else of his,” De Nogaret said with a devious smile, “his woman.”

  “His woman? Sons, women, the Templars condemn themselves further by the hour, now they are desecrators of their vow of chastity.”

  “The Templars don’t just have women, their women are Templars. There are special Templar convents which house their wives, sisters, daughters and such.”

  “Why didn’t I know about this?” Philip said angrily.

  “I didn’t know myself until De Floyran told me two days ago.”

  “I don’t suppose any were arrested.”

  “No, we weren’t aware of any women.”

  “And now?”

  “Well they would be difficult to find, would you have me break down the doors of every convent in France?”

  “Don’t be stupid, you’ve got their men! Make them tell you which they are in!”

  “From what I’ve seen of their resilience they would protect their women more fervently than their honour. They would die by the torturers hand every one before they would disclose the whereabouts of their women and besides they’ve probably had chance to flee by now.”

  “Are they werewolves too?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Breeding amongst us! I can’t believe the horror of it. As it is we can’t have arrested nearly enough of them, they must have known!” Philip said, trying to contain his emotion.

  “Over four hundred, Sire. If they had known then I am sure they would have gotten the most important of their numbers out. We have all of the French Templar dignitaries.” De Nogaret said, but he too was sure that many had slipped their snare.

  Still, as he explained to the King, they had the cream of them and if others had fled to safer climes in Europe, it wouldn’t be long before they too were arrested. They simply would not disappear, they could not. The Temple had too much to abandon, they would still think the Pope would absolve them and in doing so could go back to their powerful fold, a fold that if not put in check could become a tyranny for the Church and mankind.

  “Mmmm,” Phil
ip mused, “be that as it may the lack of cooperation from the rest of Europe’s leaders means that at the moment there are Templars walking free and I want all of them De Nogaret! A race such as theirs must be destroyed.”

  “I agree, my Lord, and I think you will get what you want. We must get Clement to Montlhéry and reveal the truth to him. With the Pope’s blessing the leaders of Europe will follow suit.”

  Philip nodded, “I will write to Clement. Let me know when De Floyran is ready to dumbfound us with his revelation and I warn you De Nogaret it better be good. If he has led us a merry dance . . .”

  “He hasn’t, your Majesty. If you trust anyone then please trust me.”

  “I do, now go to. Prepare the château for our arrival.”

  De Nogaret bowed and left the King’s presence quickly but still with a smile on his face. He knew De Floyran’s character was unpredictable. However, having seen De Massard’s woman captive and De Floyran’s eyes full of zealous revenge, he knew that the desire to satisfy it would serve his own purpose well. Then both King and Pope would have irrefutable proof that the Templars were werewolves and thus must all be destroyed.

  Philip watched De Nogaret leave and had to admit to himself that he was immensely pleased with how things had gone. However, now he desperately needed Clement’s blessing not criticism, he only hoped that De Nogaret’s faith in the treacherous Templar was well placed.

  1st November 1307, Château de Montlhéry

  Catherine jolted awake on the cold dungeon floor. The thin layer of straw did nothing to warm the cold stones beneath it. De Molay had given Catherine his cloak, much to her protest but she was glad of it now for without it she was sure she would have frozen to the floor.

  She could not fathom how long she had even been in the pitiless dungeon. It was cold and dark and day and night were events that passed without her knowing. She had guessed by the scraps of food that were occasionally thrown in that it might have been three days or more. She had sometimes heard the voices of guards and the groans of the other men held here, but thankfully she had the company of De Molay. Their conversations kept her mind from dwelling within the gruesome reality.

  She liked him immediately and would have felt the same even if he had not been Galeren’s father. He had been curious to find out all about his son’s mate and she had told him almost everything about herself. Like Galeren he did not pass judgement and his words were kind and honest. She knew that this was the attitude of the Temple, the werewolf that had made them wise and forward thinking.

  It was Galeren’s call that had awoken her; first as his cry as the wolf. He had once said that she would know his call when it was meant for her and, to her sorrow, she did. It was a call that she had both hoped for and dreaded. He had found her and along with that his death. She knew that De Floyran had nothing but suffering planned for them, but she told herself to be brave. A strong sense of survival ebbed through her veins and she drew upon her wolf spirit to guide her. She would fight for what she loved. She would not be a victim of De Floyran and vowed that neither would Galeren. As she had drifted back into a restless sleep, he spoke to her mind.

  Catherine, speak to me. Tell me that you are unharmed.

  Galeren! You must not come here. There is nothing here but death.

  Christ Catherine, just tell me you are well. If he has touched you . . . he growled.

  He has not. She felt his relief surge through her and was comforted by the warmth of their connection but she knew that they would all die if he did not leave. She told him that she was with his father, of the state of the Templars that were held here and of the horror that awaited him if he came.

  I do not fear that. My destiny does not lie in death and nor does yours and even if it did I would never leave you to face that fate alone. I would rather die than leave you in that place.

  But the Temple needs you, returning to England alive would serve me and your father better instead of a pointless sacrifice. I cannot bear you to be here. Please go!

  I heed your words but I will not obey them.

  Galeren, please! she begged but contact was broken suddenly and despite calling for him for some time she could not find him again. She began to cry in her desperation.

  “Catherine,” De Molay’s voice called in the dark, “what is it?”

  “Winter has found me.” She said sorrowfully. “Galeren is here and he will not listen to me. He will die.”

  “If it was you beyond these walls and he was here, would you leave him?”

  “No,” Catherine said, “but sacrificing yourself is easy.”

  “’Tis true, but the way you feel is determined by which side of the dungeon wall you are on.”

  “Yes,” she said, wiping her eyes, “he knows you are here too.”

  “I doubt that makes much of a difference. He has come here for you.”

  “I am sure you are wrong.” Catherine said.

  “No. I saw the look on your face when De Floyran named me as Galeren’s father. You did not know, and he did not tell you.”

  “The right time for him to tell me had not come, of that I am sure.”

  “Perhaps, but I know that our relationship is not the easiest. I have not been much of a father to him and have given him reason to spurn me.”

  “Why?” Catherine asked, eager to learn about Galeren’s past.

  “Galeren’s mother was English. She was the wife of Gilbert de Massard, a Marcher Lord who had modest wealth and favour with Edward I, having supported him in a successful campaign against the Welsh Prince Llywelyn ap Gruffydd.

  I came to England in 1273 and was sent to Garway in Herefordshire. The Temple often assisted in quashing rebellions and settling troubles in the Welsh Marches to retain the high regard that they had with the Plantagenet kings. We helped De Massard in one such skirmish and in thanks he extended his hospitality to us and that was how I met Isabelle.” De Molay stopped, his breath seeming to be cut short in his throat.

  “Are you well?” Catherine said concerned.

  “I am, but to think of her evokes many emotions, regret at having met her, and regret at having left her. I was only young and she devastated me with one look. Her husband was a fine brave man, but he was a warrior first and preferred the battlefield to his marriage bed, he was often away and it was easy for our love to grow. When I found she was with child, my child, I had to make a decision.”

  De Molay sighed. “Isabelle was full of life, she was used to comfort, luxury and security and I had none of that to offer her. The best I could do was to reveal my true nature to her, and if she survived that truth have her put in the nearest Templar convent. I knew the Temple would not leave me in Garway, or even England and my own ambition drove me to seek the adventure of Outremer.

  She was not equipped for Temple life and I was not going to burden her with the truth. Though I knew the child would have to be taken into the care of the Temple eventually, I left knowing that until then it should be loved and cared for by Isabelle. Most don’t think of the consequences of love,” De Molay said looking directly at Catherine, “but I did. Despite a lack of passion, De Massard was a good man who would take care of them both. ’Twas not a decision without lament, but I kept my focus and knew that I would have to make a success of myself in the Temple or face bitterness thereafter.”

  He shook his head sadly, “I found out that Isabelle died when Galeren was five and although De Massard had accepted his son, it seems he never had much time for him. Perhaps he suspected that he was not his own. He soon remarried and had true heirs. The Temple went to get Galeren when he was ten, before his changes began and De Massard handed him over gladly. Galeren soon discovered the truth and of course he despised me for it. He was young and his world had collapsed, he was also changing and learning to deal with his wolf half.”

  “But now it is different.” Catherine said assuredly.

  De Molay half nodded. “He speaks to me and acknowledges me as his father but it doesn’t pr
event us from quarrelling. He may be my son, but we are different, very different. Galeren would damn the consequences and choose love over the Temple.” De Molay said.

  Catherine looked away from him a little too quickly.

  “Ahhh,” he said perceiving her action, “he had left, hadn’t he?”

  “Yes but,” she began but De Molay merely shrugged.

  “I would expect Galeren to choose the opposite path to me.”

  “But it is different.” Catherine stressed. “Galeren does not believe in the Temple’s future without change, that is why he left.”

  “I wonder though, if he had been in my shoes what he would have done then. Galeren is passionate like his mother was.”

  “Are you so different? What if Isabelle were within these walls and you were the other side of them?”

  “I would break them down.” De Molay said resolutely.

  “Exactly.” Catherine said.

  “But that is life over death. Would Galeren leave you, so you could have a better life?” De Molay shook his head before Catherine could open her mouth. “No, he would fight to keep you no matter what the consequences. I was ambitious for position within the Temple and glory and look,” he said motioning to the dungeon walls that surrounded them, “look where it has gotten me.”

  “I do not think that you can regret a decision you made in the past, it was the best decision you made at the time. The Temple has need of your strength now and so does Galeren.”

  De Molay smiled. “Kind words.”

  Catherine smiled in the darkness. She cleared her throat and said “Can the Temple make it into the future?”

  De Molay sighed long and hard, “It is difficult to determine. We have much to lose, mostly ourselves. The French King is looking for treasure, but our wealth is not what he imagined. Our treasury has all but been emptied of its money. He’ll find something to fill his coffers in the short term. But our real treasures have, I pray, been taken to safety.”

  “Knowledge?” Catherine said, remembering Galeren’s talk of the Temple’s goals.

  “Yes,” De Molay confirmed, “books that we’ve written and that have been written; Jewish medicine, Arabic geometry, Greek astronomy; the knowledge of the heavens and the Earth, all beyond the Church’s restraint and suppression. For that alone we would be damned and are in fact being damned for. The enemies within have made sure of that, but they will not get their hands on those precious relics that we have amassed over the decades. It is that knowledge that is our future and perhaps that of all mankind.”

  The conversation stopped suddenly and Catherine and De Molay looked at each other. Simultaneously, they turned their attention towards the door, sensing the approach of someone. De Floyran. The key turned in the lock and Catherine sat upright and folded her arms boldly, ready to face the foe she sensed behind the door. The guard swung it open and De Floyran entered the damp dungeon. He smiled down at her when he spied her in the gloom.

  “Get up. It’s time to go.” He said and held out his hand for her to take. She did not take it but instead remained unyielding, rigid with both fear and defiance.

  “Where are you taking her?” De Molay asked, standing up.

  “To make ready for your son.” He pushed De Molay back to the floor. “Did I say you could get up?” he growled angrily, “but I told you to!” he pointed at Catherine.

  “Don’t think you have him, he is too clever for you.” De Molay said vehemently. He may have been older than De Floyran but he was not weaker, however it was pointless to get physical with him.

  “Well that is yet to be proven.” He scoffed. “His prior arrogance saw me rise from the grave to curse you all, so think before you sing his praises. He has failed.”

  “Evil always prevails as the forerunner, De Floyran, but it loses pace quickly and good always catches up with it and becomes its successor.”

  “What a lot of sentimental tripe. You really disappoint me and to think I respected you once.” He spat on the floor next to De Molay and then turned his attention back to Catherine.

  “Do not make me ask you again. I am not yet ready to hurt you, but I will if you press me.”

  “Go with him, Catherine,” De Molay said, “’tis not worth his wrath upon you.”

  “Wisely said, old Master.” De Floyran held his hand out to Catherine. She looked at him with disgust and again ignoring it went to De Molay and embraced him, “I pray I see you again and soon.” She said to him.

  “You will,” he lied as he held her, for he sensed he would not. “Stay as you are and face your trials as such.”

  “Come on!” De Floyran said through gritted teeth and grabbing Catherine’s arm he pulled her to her feet. Incensed by her defiance, he was surprised that he hadn’t struck her in the face, taken her by her hair and dragged her out of the dungeon. She almost mocked him with her disobedience, but he was more annoyed with himself for continuing to let her get away with it. Things would have to change.

  “Lock it.” He snarled at the guard that waited outside. He pushed Catherine ahead of him, firmly holding her arm but so as not to hurt her. Catherine looked back at De Molay and then lost sight of him as the dungeon door was slammed shut.

  She tried to ignore her senses as they reminded her of the suffering of the Templars that were to remain in this hell. They moved quickly across the main room, past the oubliette and back up the stairs to the dungeon’s entrance, passing another guard as they left. She had not wanted to leave De Molay alone. Suffering was worse alone.

  They hastened through the dimly lit corridor, back past the kitchen and into well lit passageways until they reached the doors of the main hall, where she had first been brought. They made their way up a grand flight of stairs just beyond it and finally along another hallway to a set of thick oak doors. De Floyran kicked them open furiously and Catherine found herself in the exact opposite abode to what she had, just moments before, been in.

  It was a large, warm and inviting chamber. A fire roared in the corner and in the centre was a large steaming bath tub. She could smell the clean scent of the water that was full of rose petals. A platter of food had been laid out on a table to one side of it and it smelt so good that her stomach lurched. She also saw the large four poster bed, covered lavishly with an array of skins, and shuddered.

  “They aren’t wolf.” De Floyran smirked, noting her reaction.

  She turned to face her tormentor. “Why have you brought me here? I would rather have remained where I was.”

  De Floyran laughed. “Do not say what you do not mean. This brave act of yours is quite charming but it can lean toward being slightly tedious at times. There is food for you to eat, I know you are hungry. There is a hot bath waiting to cleanse your soiled flesh, and you do need to clean yourself. There is a fresh gown for you to change into when you are done.”

  He gestured to the bed and to a grey woollen gown that lay amongst the skins.

  “I thought it would compliment your eyes.” He smiled smugly but briefly for she slapped him with all the power she could muster. He stepped back from the shock and force of the slap and raised his hand to his face. He had forgotten, all but momentarily, that he was not dealing with a fragile human. Catherine was a werewolf and as such she had strength. However, it still didn’t match his and he was tempted to show her that fact. But again something prevented him from doing so.

  His face screwed up in frustration and he clenched his fist. She waited for the blow to come but it did not. Instead he spread his hand and pulled her close towards him. He looked into her eyes and said,

  “I do not know what power you wield over me Catherine, any other woman I would have killed for such an insult. Yet you,” he continued gripping her tightly against him, “I cannot even raise my hand to strike.”

  There was a thread of fear in her eyes but he saw it battling with her strength and it aroused him. He quickly pushed her away.

  “I tell you this though,” he said, waving a cautionary fi
nger at her. “If you do not do as I say, I will have De Molay flayed in time for Galeren’s arrival and it will be made known that it was because of your defiance. I am sure Galeren will understand.” “Bastard!” she cried at him.

  He smiled and shrugged at her remark. “Don’t test me. Besides, I have been called worse and that is what you should be worried about, little flower. Now eat and clean up and if you are not in that gown by the time I return, others will suffer.”

  He turned away from her and went towards the door but paused to look at her before he left. A wicked smile flickered across his face. It was the smile of success and Catherine looked away miserably.

  “Go to, go to.” He said and left, locking the door behind him.

  Chapter Seventeen