The Wolves of Solomon (Wolves of Solomon Book One)

by R. L. Blackhurst

Galeren stood in front of the gates of the château de Montlhéry and breathed in deeply. He had for a day and a night considered his best option of gaining entry. He knew of course that this would be as a wolf. Unlikely though it may seem, he could get inside the château relatively easily and unseen as a wolf.

  The château guards would at once notice a man slipping down the passageways, but not a wolf. The shadows would protect him and besides nobody would expect to see a wolf. It was easy to slip into the world of men as an unexpected creature. Even if he was seen, such a sight was likely to be quickly disregarded and ascribed to imagination, lack of sleep or too much ale. In any event, he could move more quickly and have someone’s throat ripped out before they could even form a cry for help on their lips.

  However, he was not dealing with just mere men in this case. De Floyran and his mesnie were present in the château. He would just be a wolf amongst wolves. This option, therefore, would be to no avail in these circumstances.

  Things would not fare any better if he were to try to slip inside unseen as a man. Though his senses would be sharp and his agility far superior to that of any human’s, his form was still not as graceful as a wolf’s and it would hinder him. The shadow of a man would not be dismissed as a trick of the mind and he would soon find the château guards upon him and in great number. In any case, his werewolf foes would smell him before the guards saw him. Considering all this, he knew that in any event he had to enter the château as the latter and with no tricks or attempts to conceal his entry. He would literally have to knock on the door.

  It was purely sacrificial but he’d known that from the beginning. A backdoor approach would do him no favours. He was alone, and whether as wolf or man he would not be able to get in and out with what he wanted. With De Floyran it was all about power and he had to give it to him, for now anyway. He had little alternative. Catherine had told him that De Floyran hadn’t touched her. She may as yet be unharmed, but she was still at his mercy and he would dangle this fact in front of Galeren and torment him with it. Galeren knew that De Floyran would never let her go. There was no bargain to be struck. He would never leave her untouched by his hands. He was waiting for something and it chilled Galeren to the bone.

  Then there was his father. While Catherine was in De Floyran’s hands, his father was in Philip’s and the King had another agenda. There were other Templars there too and Catherine had told him of their suffering. There was so much at stake on the other side of the imposing stone walls he now stood before. He did not have an army at his disposal to lay siege to the château, he was alone so he had no real options at all. The deck was not stacked in his favour and Galeren knew that he had no choice but to surrender himself in order to initiate the next step. He had lost contact with Catherine and hadn’t been able to regain it. With no more choices left to him and his fear and frustration growing every moment he delayed, he began to walk towards the château gates.

  5th November 1307, Poitiers, France

  Clement V put down the letter he had been reading and sighed heavily.

  “What does it say, your Holiness?” the Pope’s young scribe asked.

  “The King asks me to be prepared to travel to Montlhéry with him.” He said resignedly.

  “Montlhéry? Whatever for?” the scribe asked bewildered.

  “Our zealous King is on a crusade to undo the Temple, and seems intent on ignoring my advice. I fear he is making a mistake conducting it thus. He is impetuous and disrespectful but determined. He seeks to quell my anger by giving me irrefutable proof that the Temple is corrupt and evil.”

  “And this would be in Montlhéry?”

  “Apparently so.” The Pope replied.

  “But your Holiness, is it wise to travel in your condition? Can they not bring the evidence to you?”

  The Pope coughed several times and then said irritably, “I am well aware of my condition, Michael and I am sure they have considered it but it is obviously not possible. This whole thing grieves me and if this eases my concerns then it will be worth the trip.”

  Clement had been in ill health over the last year and did not seem to be getting any better. His strength was constantly sapped and he felt much older than his forty three years. This business with the Templars only added to his ailments. He had agreed with Jacques de Molay to conduct an inquiry into the Templars back in August to put pay to the rumour mill that was defaming the Order. It should have been simple enough but he had been particularly unwell over the last couple of months and so delayed the inquest.

  However Philip, ever impatient and spoilt, had taken over and he and his vile councillor De Nogaret had contravened papal authority and had, having concocted a sensational indictment, arrested every Templar they could in France. It was against his sanction but his relationship with the King was prickly and he knew that he had to tread carefully.

  “What do you suppose this evidence consists of, your Holiness?” Michael asked.

  “Our Lord in Heaven only knows.” Clement replied, rolling his eyes incredulously. But in truth he was a little concerned. He was in a precarious position between the Temple and the King. He knew that he should be on the side of the Temple and champion their defence, but Philip was a danger to him and the papacy. He had already attempted to bring to trial one Pope, destroying his reputation and terrifying him to the point of death, when he was taken prisoner in his own palace and, or so Clement had been told, viciously struck to the ground.

  Philip spoke of crimes then that Boniface VIII had committed, including heresy, sodomy and other heinous acts which he now identically accused the Temple of. Though Boniface had died before he could be brought to trial, his shadow still lurked over Clement’s head and he knew Philip would use this against him if he did not pander to his latest obsession. Clement knew he was not strong enough to take the King on. He would do what he could for the Temple but they may have to depend on themselves rather than him, for he had other concerns.

  If Philip failed with the Templars and Clement was seen to have acted against him, then he would turn his fury onto him and the papacy. If Philip claimed to have evidence that would condemn the Temple outright then Clement would be happy to see it and have the matter dealt with. He almost hoped that such evidence existed as it would, God forgive him, relieve the pressure on him and he could give the King his blessing instead of writing him angry, disapproving letters.

  “I will go nevertheless and have the affair be done with. The journey will not kill me. In truth, it may do me well. I would rather do this than continue with this exchange of letters that seems to do nothing but create headaches. Tell Paul to prepare my household for the journey and I wish for you to come too Michael. It may be of some interest to you, and of course I will want you to record events as they unfold.”

  “Of course, your Holiness. I would be honoured.”

  “Good, good and tell Paul to make me a dwale for my head, I have the onset of another headache already.”

  “At once. Is there anything else you need, your Holiness?”

  “No, just peace.” He said with a kind smile. Michael went to him, bowed, kissed his ring and left the room without another word. Peace was something Clement prayed for every day but he doubted he would ever get it, not while he lived in any case. He ran his hands over his head and noted his ever thinning hair. He rubbed his chin and noted the thickening of stubble. It annoyed him that as his hair got thinner, the need to shave got more frequent. He sighed but decided that the need to take an afternoon nap was even greater.