‘Yes . . . the Order of Hospitallers is no friend to the Temple, and, your Holiness, what has been decided is decided.’
‘Without consultation with the dignitaries in France?’
‘These things are always decided in the Holy Land, in this case Cyprus.’
Something, a spark, jumped out of the fire, bounced onto the hearth and turned black. Clement leant over and picked up the chestnut, juggling it from one hand to the other. ‘Well.’ The man sat back, peeling it until his fingers were charcoal, then he popped it into his mouth and his eyes grew cold. ‘It appears that our interests are opposite, Grand Master. I had hoped,’ he said chewing, ‘to salvage something from your Order, but I see that you are determined on your own destruction and the obliteration of everything . . . Will you have me order you to hand the gold over to the Church?’
Another chestnut shot out of the fire and rolled over the hearth, landing near the Grand Master, who caught it in his hand not noticing how it burnt.
‘You will need to consult with your cardinals, your Holiness,’ Jacques de Molay said with a bow but there was defiance in his voice.
Clement was furious now for he knew the man to be right – he was a pope with more enemies than friends. His brow furrowed. ‘Let us see . . . I shall think on it.’ Then, ‘Tomorrow we shall meet with Grand Master Fulk of the Hospital, it shall be a long day and you need your rest after your tiresome journey, I will bid you a good night.’
He gestured for the Templar and offered his ring. The Grand Master went down on one knee before him and pressed his lips to the jewel, remaining with head bowed for a time. He stood and was about to leave when Clement called out to him.
‘Wait!’ he said. ‘Wait . . .’ Then in a whisper, ‘Come closer . . . I will tell you something . . .’ When he was satisfied that Jacques had come close enough he continued, ‘Something I know concerning the spiritual secrets of the order . . .’
‘Secrets?’ Jacques de Molay took in a sharp breath.
Was that fear caught in his throat? Clement was suddenly full of satisfaction. ‘It was vouchsafed to me by Pope Boniface, his knowledge comes from an Inquisitor, a Rainerio Sacconi . . . If you are not careful, Jacques,’ he said, ‘Philip will soon have other designs besides taking the Temple’s gold . . . the temporal goods of the Order shall become secondary to him. Think for a moment of the consequences. He shall seek most vehemently and most violently . . . he shall desire with all his heart the spiritual goods that you so heroically guard. Mark what I say.’ He stared cold and grave into that Templar eye. ‘These he shall covet most of all!’
The Grand Master, the Pope knew, would not easily recover from this new and sudden fear and he sat back satisfied. ‘Firstly, he shall appropriate what you hold so tight to your heart, and secondly, he will exterminate your Order until nothing of it exists . . . do you understand me?’ His black eyes held those pale ones. ‘He will stop at nothing to destroy even the smallest remnant so that in times to come no man shall remember the Order of the Temple of Solomon save what history tells, namely, that it was guilty of heresy.’
Jacques de Molay’s mind seemed held fast by that word as if through its utterance an unspeakable picture began to rise in his eyes. He stared, the Pope fancied, like a child that is stabbed by his own father.
‘Now you understand me perfectly, Jacques . . . These last months Philip has been scheming, asking questions, raising doubts about the Order’s doings . . . all of it a prelude to one thing: the complete extermination of the Order and the appropriation of its goods! Now.’ He paused. ‘Is there nothing you would tell me?’
To Clement an invisible membrane descended over Jacques de Molay’s eyes at that moment. ‘All that is left to us is faith in our Lord and hope for His Kingdom. If I may, your Holiness, bid you goodnight . . .’ He bowed.
Clement’s face darkened and he was once again full of anger. He felt no sympathy for the old man standing before him with his shoulders square and his eyes sunken and sleepless. Clement could see in his mind’s eye what lay in store for him at the hands of Philip the Fair and he felt an impatience for it to begin.
‘God bless.’ He made the sign of the cross with a blackened hand and stifled a burp with the other.
‘Maktub,’ said the Grand Master and, seeing the question in the eyes of his pope, elucidated. ‘It means: it is written.’
12
THE KEEPER
Be thou faithful unto death and I will give thee the crown of life.
Revelation 2:20
Etienne dreamt he was flanked by priests who bore torches. They accompanied him through corridors made of stone to a crypt supported by four pillars. In the middle of the room the sarcophagus of marble was supported by two sphinxes; he looked into its depths and the priests, oiled, fasted and purified, began their chant. He was dressed in white robes and smelt of aromatic herbs. He knew this to be the day of his living death.