The Wolves of Solomon (Wolves of Solomon Book One)

by R. L. Blackhurst

  ****

  Caradas ingrained the back of his hand across the severely battered face of one the Templar prisoners they were trying to persuade to change loyalties, while Botolf did the same to the other that he was tied to. De Floyran wasn’t taking any chances and had them bound back to back to prevent them from changing. These prisoners had no reason to guard their secret from their tormentors who, being brethren themselves, knew exactly what they were. Keeping them bound together was necessary to prevent them from changing and causing carnage.

  De Floyran sighed for he had been in this stinking dungeon for what seemed to be an age and seemed to be getting nowhere with the two they were presently working on. But he knew it would not be easy, there was not a Templar alive that couldn’t take a good beating over and over again.

  “I have the authority to have you burned at the stake, whenever I choose. In fact the King wants to start getting rid of you, sooner rather than later.” De Floyran said using his trump card.

  “What?” one of them, Guillaume de Tour, said sounding panicked, “we haven’t even been tried! The Pope would not allow it, not without a papal inquiry! We come under the authority of the Pope, not the King.”

  “Don’t make the mistake of relying on the Pope for your salvation, for along with the King, he knows the true nature of the Temple.” De Floyran said glibly.

  “Lies!” the other, Raoul de Hanivell, cried resolvedly.

  “’Tis not lies, brother.” Raymond Caradas said solemnly. “What we offer is your only chance to escape a fiery death. The King plans to have some Templars burned now, save those that choose to serve him and the others publicly with the Pope’s authority when the Temple is tried and abolished. Not every Templar will be offered what you are now being offered, take it and live or else you will perish in fire.”

  “Go swive yourself you treacherous bastard! You think I would betray my kind as you have and preside over their deaths to save my own skin? Such treachery does not course through my wolf blood. I would rather die in the flames as a werewolf, true to my blood and brotherhood than become a man like you and live as a traitor!”

  “Brave words,” De Floyran said, “I commend you for them but think on your decisions for a time for they may not seem so compelling when you feel the heat of the flames rise about your bodies, and it will be too late to do anything about it then.

  I intend to leave here with some men for my retinue. Do not see it as treachery; it is the Temple that is being destroyed not all werewolf-kind. It is merely a name! All I ask of you is to swear fealty to a different master, one who has a future. The Temple dwindles and has long lost its direction, it lets our kind down. We have become both unpopular and of little use and now the King wants an end to it. But if you choose to serve him, then you will live and be as werewolf as I am, but free from the constraints of the Temple’s façade.”

  “I need not think on my decision,” Raoul spat, “I’d rather die as a Templar, with its name engraved on my heart and soul than be a hired hound for the King of France!”

  De Floyran inclined his head contemplatively and then motioned for Caradas, Botolf and De Merle to leave the torture room with him. Outside and when they were sufficiently out of earshot, De Floyran said:

  “What about the other, the one who kept quiet?”

  “Much is given away in silence.” Caradas said intuitively.

  “You think he could turn?”

  “Perhaps,” Caradas answered. “I can smell his fear.”

  “Good,” De Floyran said scratching his chin. “Throw them back in their cell together for now and work on some of the others. This is how we will play it; the resolute bastards, who won’t be turned, can burn together while the weaker, undecided ones watch. If watching their comrades being reduced to ashes doesn’t turn them, than nothing will.” He smiled at his men. “Get on with it then!” he said and turned to leave.

  “Where will I find you?” Caradas asked.

  “In one of the taverns in the village, enjoying some entertainment. Don’t bother disturbing me unless you have some good news.” He said seriously and walked away from them. Caradas watched him as he strode purposefully away before he motioned Botolf and De Merle to return to their unsavoury assignment.

  It was much of the same process over again with different pairs of bound Templars; a severe beating, some cajoling and threatening, more beating, all the while attempting to determine who would turn and who would not. De Floyran was counting on finding other likeminded Templars, whose loyalty to the Temple was questionable. He sought those who were without conscience or care, who would be eager to take what he offered, those as treacherous and malign as himself.

  Caradas knew that out of thirteen men there was only one who fitted that profile and a couple who may turn through fear and self preservation, but he knew the Templar resolve was strong in the face of adversity and in the midst of suffering. It did not sit well with him, for he knew what the grim outcome was and that he would be witness to it. Several days had passed and De Floyran had come and gone, enjoying the torture while it was administered but then he would get bored with the effort of it and would disappear again to take his pleasure in the taverns of Beynac.

  Caradas was sure that De Floyran was testing him, as his prior comments had angered him and his foolish mention of his unease with the stake had now made sure that he would have to deal with every gruelling detail of this mission, even lighting the kindling on the pyre itself no doubt. In any case, a list of the names of twelve of the Templars had now been split into two groups. There were those who resisted staunchly and they would be sacrificed to the flames. There were others who said nothing and how it would turn out for them was anyone’s guess. These men would be tested on the suffering of their comrades before judgement was passed. Caradas sensed that some may lose their resolve as they saw their comrades die in agonising circumstances, which is what De Floyran hoped for, and would then take up his offer.

  There was one other, however, that had agreed to join the King’s retinue before a single blow had been struck. He felt no loyalty to the Temple and certainly did not wish to martyr himself for it. This was the type of man they were looking for, if he was genuine.

  Pleased with at least completing his work successfully and preventing his own hide from being bound to a stake, Caradas went in search of De Floyran with his list. He did not want to wait for Esquin to return to the château, preferring instead to escape its confines and clear his nasal passages of the stench of blood and foreboding.

  The evening was chilly but nevertheless pleasant and Caradas made his way into the village and began his search for De Floyran, albeit casually. He planned to take his time, as De Floyran had not long been gone and he wanted to enjoy the solace of a drink or two alone before finding him and delivering the news that condemned at least seven men to the stake. He found it ironic that a place of such charm and beauty would soon conceal a dark chapter of evil within its walls and one that perhaps would never be revealed to the outside world.

  After several ales in one pleasant drinking abode Caradas resumed his search but need look no further than the second tavern he went into. This tavern was not as amiable as the first. It was dark and grimy and filled with drunken men and wanton women, whose roles as both serving wench and whore were performed with equal aptitude. This was the type of tavern that he was more familiar with, having frequented such places with De Floyran and the others. Although Caradas never gave much thought to where they drank or wenched, tonight he felt more disposed to drinking in the first tavern that he had been in. Its quiet civility had soothed his troubled mind and he had watched normal folk enjoying their drink and conversations.

  He shook his head to clear his thoughts and wondered to himself whether he was indeed going soft. He wanted to be rid of the burden of guilt that had laid itself upon him and this sudden change in his perception of events. Why should he care if men burned; werewolves or not? Nothing had ever bothered him before, murder, rape .
. . nothing. He saw De Floyran spot him and smiled as he was waved over. De Floyran was sat with a dark haired whore who was lavishing her paid-for attention upon him.

  “Raymond!” De Floyran said cheerily. “Join me for a drink? I trust we have something to celebrate?” he raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

  “We do,” Caradas said evenly and reached under his cloak to retrieve the list of condemned.

  “Later,” De Floyran said and waved for another flagon of ale to be brought over. “This is Catherine,” he said, introducing the whore at his side. Caradas nodded politely at the women whom he doubted was really called Catherine. He sat down and was thankful when the flagon was brought to their table with an extra cup. He waited patiently as the ale was poured for them and then gulped down his portion and quickly refilled his cup.

  “Isn’t she lovely?” De Floyran purred, pulling the woman closer to him. “Doesn’t she remind you of my Catherine?”

  Caradas smiled and nodded agreeably, though she was dark and of slight build she held nothing to the beauty of the Catherine Esquin was referring to, however, wary of De Floyran’s obsession he said, “The resemblance is uncanny.”

  “Leave us,” De Floyran said to the whore, his light mood suddenly souring. “Come back later and with a friend for Raymond.” He commanded and the girl nodded and quickly slipped away.

  “You look like you could do with a good fuck.” De Floyran remarked, as he stared after the whore until she was lost in the crowded room.

  “You may be right,” Caradas agreed genuinely. It might not be such a bad idea. A few flagons of ale and an obliging whore may indeed give him the mettle that he was missing and in fear of misplacing for good. De Floyran winked and then outstretched his hand and Caradas quickly retrieved the list of Templars and placed it into it.

  “So it begins,” he said as he studied the list, his eyes flickered up to Caradas. “Good work. We’ll burn six tomorrow and see what we end up with. What do you think the outcome will be?”

  Caradas took another slurp of ale and felt his stomach growl as he caught the aroma of a bowl of mutton stew being served at the table next to them.

  “I think there may be four that will do it. But even so, we will have to be careful. There is nothing to stop them from turning tail and escaping once they have the chance. How will you keep them loyal?”

  “I know an opportunist, when I see one.” De Floyran said assuredly. “I am looking for those who want a turn of fortune, not means of escape. The way I see it is, you’ve got the martyrs who will want to go down with the Templar ship, and then there are the devious ones who will tell you anything in order to save their hides only to make off at the first opportunity. Then there are those who were ripe for a change even before this whole business began. These are ready to shed their Templar skins and become wolves of their own destiny. We simply offer them an alternate future; werewolves not Templars. It is time that they accepted the difference.”

  “Then we will be successful. There is one on the list who has already forsworn the Temple.” Caradas said and then added when he saw De Floyran’s eyebrows twitch inquisitively. “Germain Otricourt.” He pointed to the name on the list.

  “Genuine?”

  “I believe so. He is of course eager to be free of his shackles but I sense that he is no Templar saint. Like you said, it is just the name to be shed, not the nature.”

  “Excellent, I will speak with him tomorrow after the others have been burned.” De Floyran said and knocked back his cup of ale. “You look hungry, Raymond.” He said, as he noted Caradas’ eyes darting back and forth to the table of mutton stew.

  “I am ravenous as it goes.” He confessed.

  “Then let’s eat and enjoy the evening. We have a big day tomorrow.” De Floyran grinned darkly and waved for service.

  Caradas shielded his eyes from the noonday sun and tried to ignore the thudding in his head. He had been well in his cups by the time they had left the tavern the previous night but equally sated in both appetite and lust. Now, however, was an entirely different matter. The few hours snatched the previous evening had sufficed in repressing his thoughts of discomfort at the task that, once again in the light of a new day, was at hand.

  He stared up at the berm and to the freshly constructed stakes to which the six loyal Templars were shackled and bound to. Two were bound to each stake, back to back, upright and firmly together. Their close bodily contact ensuring that any attempt to change was futile. With three stakes in use, this left one stake free which would serve to remind those, that may otherwise give their loyalty to Esquin de Floyran, what awaited them if they did not. These others Templars were also assembled, and bound together in a line beneath the berm with a clear view of those upon the stakes.

  De Floyran looked around the bailey and eyed the captain and his men who all looked upon the scene with trepidation. He was pleased that they viewed it with such, for it was to remind them also of what would be their fate should their tongues slip. Happy that everything was in order, De Floyran motioned to Raymond Caradas who stepped forward in front of the berm and spoke, reading from a parchment that he held in his hands.

  “Thierry Montfaucon, Andre Choisi, Gobert le Mez, Marcel le Breton, Olivier Vallet and Raoul de Hanivell, you are condemned for your acts of heresy and refusal to accept and swear loyalty to your one and true master, Philip IV, King of France. You have therefore been sentenced to death for your heretical acts and treacherous denial,” he paused and looked around at the Templars who stood looking up at their condemned comrades and then added, “and may God have mercy on your souls.”

  “’Tis your soul that he need have mercy on!” Raoul de Hanivell screamed, “I’ll see you in hell Esquin de Floyran!”

  De Floyran kept his head bowed low, he would normally have offered some rebuke but he wanted to look professional in front of the garrison of the château. Caradas rolled up the parchment and then nodded at the two guards whose duty on this day was to ignite the fire.

  They stepped up onto the berm and went before the stakes. One struck two pieces of flint together, while the other waited patiently for the spark that would ignite the cloth soaked in oil bound to the wooden baton he held. On the third attempt, the rag caught fire and the guard swiftly went to the first stake and lit the kindling that was piled high around the men. As it caught fire he rapidly went and did the same to the two remaining stakes. The kindling was plentiful and tinder dry and so began to burn in earnest. The brisk breeze that blew through the courtyard fanned the flames and the fire began to grow like a monstrous demon consuming the men’s legs and lower bodies.

  It was not long before Caradas’ sensitive nose picked up the scent of burning flesh and he looked across to De Floyran who gazed up to the burning men with a look of zealous delight. He sensed Caradas’ stare and looked across at him and smiled. Caradas turned his gaze away and back to the men whose cries now began to echo around the bailey.

  The wood piled around them had now caught and the intensity of the fire was now striping the men of their dignity as it devoured their mortal flesh. They may have had a higher threshold of pain than human men but the heat of the fire could only give them what it gave others, indescribable pain, unable to be escaped from, only endured. Neither wolf nor man could survive fire, and bound to the wood that burned with them they could only writhe in agony, scream for relief and curse those who had put them there.

  Their faces contorted grotesquely, illustrating the pain that they suffered and their screams, neither human nor wolf like, made Caradas’ entire being tremble within. But he could only watch with cool composure as he was aware that De Floyran was watching him carefully. Whatever crimes and heinous acts he had committed in his life, he now knew that he could tell himself that there was just the smallest amount of pity and mercy in his heart, for he found this hard to witness.

  It was especially difficult, as it was he who had personally selected the men that now, roasted, blistered and blackened in the f
lames on this crisp but beautiful December day. He could tell himself, when he went to hell, that there had been a limit to his cruelty; and that had been burning men alive. Before coming to Beynac he would have doubted such a notion, he had been happy to leave many in his wake of destruction, not giving them a second thought. But now, as the screams died within the flames that rose high above and beyond the top of the stakes and the Templars charred remains slumped forward indicating their death, he could not forget and knew that there was darkness upon his soul that he would never be able to escape from or ever deny.

  Once again he caught the eye of De Floyran who looked smug in his accomplishment. Though the worst was over, he did not motion for anyone to move from the spot that they found themselves rooted to until the men had been reduced to ashes and broken into pieces amongst the smouldering embers that had been their lives. When all was quiet and the diabolical exhibition was over, the living Templars were marched back to their dungeon cells and the guards were ordered to clear up the debris.

  “Who will be the lucky two?” De Floyran said in high spirits, as he motioned to the unused stake.

  “Would you like me to find out?” Caradas said unemotionally.

  “No, not yet. I would leave them to think on it through the night. If we leave them, they may think that they are all to burn. See in the morn if they are not begging to join us! Well done.” He said clapping Caradas across the back.

  “What a privilege! We have been the first to burn Templars. Many more will follow and Christ, I hope that Galeren and the Grand Master will be amongst them. What a delightful spectacle that would be!” he said, his white teeth gleaming in the afternoon sun.

  “Indeed,” Caradas agreed equably.

  “Fetch our new recruit, Germain, and have Armin and Botolf meet us in the tavern of last night. Let’s see how he measures up, besides I fancy more of what we had yester eve and perhaps a hunt later. A run in the valley would be the perfect end to this day and allow us to break in our new comrade, if he is indeed destined to be one.”

  “Sounds good.” Caradas nodded in agreement and then turned and left De Floyran standing in the bailey. Staring up at the stakes with a look of immense satisfaction across his face, De Floyran felt no pity for the burned Templars only pleasure in being instrument in their destruction. They deserved to die for their stubborn misguided loyalty. He would build up his mesnie of likeminded werewolves and then go in search of his quarry; the woman who would be his mate and the Templar he most desired to see burn at the stake. On that thought he smiled, certain of his victory in light of the day’s events. Turning away from the ashes, he almost wished that De Nogaret had been here to share it with him.

  Chapter Twenty Seven