The Seal(11)

‘He is a mercenary and no one shall suspect he carries the Order’s gold in his hold,’ Jacques said, turning around. ‘Marcus, take slaves and what men you want, two or three you can trust. No more. Go disguised.’

‘And?’ Marcus said.

‘And I shall leave tomorrow for Poitiers . . . and we shall see . . .’ These words were no more than whispers.

‘I shall accompany you,’ Etienne said. ‘If that is your wish.’

Jacques nodded and his pale eyes lost their hold and seemed to be gazing at something altogether different. ‘Very well.’ Then turning to the marshal, ‘You are to stay upon this wretched island. Do whatever you can to preserve the integrity of the Order while I am gone. Remember, not so long ago the people rose up against us and they will waste no time in forming alliances that do not benefit the Order.’

The marshal looked to the others and they saw a flash of something unknown in those eyes and the man left the apart¬ment with the awkward stride of one who vacillates between what is useful and what is admirable.

Alone the three men formed a circle of faith. ‘He is given the choice this night,’ Jacques said to them. ‘I hope it is the right one.’

Marcus grunted. ‘You know I have no liking for him, Jacques, he makes friends more and more with Ibelin and Soisson in Limassol. Remember how he took the side of Hugues de Pairaud against you in the election to Grand Master?’

‘He is the marshal, Marcus, and it is the rule that the three of us concur on anything that is to be done,’ Jacques said. ‘I will not break the rule.’

‘I suspect the rule would make an exception for a traitor.’

‘Do not be so hasty to judge a man, Marcus. In any case, what is written, so it shall be . . . that is the way of prophecy, and we, brothers, shall remain thus throughout the night . . . with the Lord, His Son and the Holy Spirit. We shall pray that our Lord might take hold of arms and shield and rise up to help us. To send forth the spear and conclude against those who persecute us.’

And the thunder moved closer.





3


LEPER’S CONFIDANT

For God shall bring every work into judgement, with every secret thing, whether it be good,

or whether it be evil.

Ecclesiastes 12:14


Christian de St Armand was helped onto his pallet by Jacques de Molay. The day was dawning soft through the window, illuminating the white walls, and a warm breeze, light and God-filled, moved in from the sea and circled about the room.

‘Oh,’ he said, ‘my back aches!’

The Grand Master brought the blanket of wool over the man’s knees and gave him a smile. ‘Once again I find myself visiting you, brother.’

‘You come to the leper because you are found too long and too often in conversation with God and this has struck you from conversation with ordinary men.’

Jacques de Molay’s face looked to him full of irony. ‘Your leprosy seems to have left your face peaceful and ready to meet heaven. I wish it were my fate to die so calm a death, full of God and longing for His Kingdom.’ He sat down beside the old monk’s pallet.

Christian crinkled his eyes. ‘If I had leprosy I would have died long before now . . . It has been a good secret that we have kept between us, my friend . . . In any case, I am almost an empty vessel. But you? You have much to do yet, Jacques de Molay, much . . . and that is why you have come. Will you not tell me why you are so full of heaviness, why so disquieted?’

There was a pause. Jacques de Molay seemed to be measuring his answer. ‘This seems likely to be a leave-taking, since I depart for France, and I fear I shall not return.’

Christian de St Armand nodded. ‘So you shall not.’

Jacques frowned and nodded, and smiled. ‘Your eyes and ears are attentive.’

‘I see and I hear . . . I know that since our short rule of this place we have lived like unwelcome visitors.’

Jacques sighed. ‘The people of this island have no liking for us . . . we have acquired our share of enemies.’ He made a rueful smile. ‘The King of Cyprus is young and petulant, he supports us more than his brother Henry, though it is far less than I should like . . . but my reasons for leaving are . . . more pressing.’

‘I know,’ the old man said.

‘You know . . . about Thibaud, that he was murdered – poisoned in this place?’

‘At Limassol,’ Christian said.

Jacques was thoughtful and a note of unguarded anxiety crept into his voice. ‘It is something to say it – I suspect our Order was behind it.’ He had the look of a man at a loss at the sound of his own words. ‘I have known it long, too many years, but I thought I could retake the Holy Land and that this would bring an end to such squabbles . . . I have not been successful . . . The Temple in France does not want a Crusade and rallies against me. The King of France has his scent upon the gold of the Order . . . All is coming to an end . . . the Lord has shown it to me in a dream.’