The Seal(108)

The man stood with his shoulders hunched, his skin translucent, his eyes pale and vacant. ‘You are the bishop’s charge?’ He squinted. ‘A notary for the trials?’

‘Yes, your Grace.’

The archbishop raised a quizzical brow and, yawning, responded, ‘You realise that I must attend the commission today and you are keeping me from it? Stand aside.’ He began to push him out of the way. ‘Today, we shall hear Renaud de Provins give his testimony . . . and if he is anything like Aimery de Villiers, whom we saw only days ago, he will tell us that he killed the Lord if he thinks it is required of him . . .’

‘Your Grace,’ Julien said, ‘I have something of importance to tell you.’

‘What is it?’ came the annoyed reply.

‘I have occasion to warn you that this day you shall not see Renaud de Provins . . .’

‘Why ever not? How shall we not see him?’ The man looked on somnolently and waited with regal impatience.

‘I have it on the best authority that the Archbishop of Sens will once again make your commission look like a laughing stock.’

‘Watch your words!’ His face was losing some of its torpidity.

Julian was not to be put off; he moved closer and continued in a harsh whisper, ‘It is his desire to make a show of his new position by interfering once more with your commission’s activities.’

Gilles Aicelin scowled down the length of his red-veined nose, annoyed that again he was put on the spot. ‘How does he have jurisdiction over the lawyer?’

Julian moved closer. ‘Renaud de Provins is from the diocese of Sens.’

The man drew himself upwards and back, looking askance as if attacks were coming from all directions.

‘The papal commission, your Grace, will not be able to determine the guilt of the entire Order when, under its very nose, its key witnesses and their defenders are being disposed of. The Pope himself, your Grace, has given the commission sanction to restrain by ecclesiastical censure anyone who interferes with its proceedings.’

The man made a sigh. ‘Oh! Very well! It seems something must be done if I am not to look altogether like a fool.’

Julian bent his head. ‘That was my estimation, your Grace. And I know what you are thinking.’

He raised a brow. ‘You do?’

‘You must apply subtle force . . . threaten to expose his excesses.’

‘His excesses?’

‘Excesses that could see the Church maligned before the world if they were exposed to public scrutiny. Excesses that would excite the King’s disdain.’

‘Come, boy!’ the archbishop said. ‘What excesses?’

Julian lowered his voice. ‘That he embezzles Templar wealth.’

‘He does?’ The man was put out of balance and had to grasp at Julian for support. ‘How do you know it?’

‘I will not stain your soul with the things that I have been privy to in my work, your Grace.’

‘Oh!’ The man was speechless.

‘He should be reminded, your Grace, of the consequences should the King learn of his indiscretion, considering also his contempt for the Church.’

‘Oh Lord!’ He stifled his cry. ‘This is just the excuse Philip needs to take everything from our hands!’

‘It would pain you, your Grace, because you are an honest and pious man, but you would be doing both the Church and the archbishop a great service by not alerting the King. And the archbishop, your Grace, shall be so grateful to you that he will return Renaud de Provins to your commission so that you may serve justice.’

The other man’s face smoothed over and he put concern aside as though it were dust on his mantle. ‘Justice? Since when is an ecclesiastical trial about justice?’ He belched then, and left.

All day messages flew across Paris, between the papal com-mission and the provincial council. Towards evening, around vespers, Philippe de Marigny, the Archbishop of Sens, relented. The outward world knew only that pressure was brought to bear by the commission and that his own suffragans had convinced him to obey the directives of the Pope, who had ordered that any man who came before the commission to defend the Order could come ‘under full and safe custody’.

The lawyer Renaud was once more returned to the bosom of the papal commission; however, the other procurator, Pierre de Bologna, the key lawyer, was missing.

Gilles Aicelin sent for the jailer and in his apartment questioned him on the lawyer’s apparent disappearance.

Jean de Jamville looked puzzled and frowned with a wine-flushed face. ‘Your Lordship . . . the one hand does not know what the other is doing. I was commanded . . . to . . . to dispose of him.’