The Seal(47)

In this state of profound concentration, Nogaret took in the Grand Master’s face. He looked for surprise, for disbelief, but found only resignation. The man’s brows met in inquiry, lips framed by a well-kept beard formed unspoken words, eyes steady.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ the Grand Master said. ‘Have you so little regard for the holy office?’

The lawyer neither liked nor disliked de Molay. To his mind the man was merely a means to an end – the end of an Order that had outlived its usefulness. And as Guillaume de Nogaret disliked useless things, Jacques de Molay was nothing more to him than flesh awaiting a pyre.

The lawyer let his stagnant eye rest upon the Grand Master a moment then brought the arrest order forth and began to read it aloud. He liked the resonant sound of his own voice.

‘A bitter thing, lamentable, horrible to think of and terrible to hear, a disgrace, detestable, wholly inhuman and foreign to all humanity has, thanks to the reports of several persons worthy of faith, reached our ears. A crime so enormous that it overflows to the point of being an offence to the divine majesty of humanity, for it is a pernicious example of evil and a universal scandal!’

‘This is preposterous, Nogaret,’ came the calm reply. ‘What universal scandal? What evil do you speak of?’

Cries from the Templar delegates echoed around the church and in Nogaret’s ears. ‘Lies! Blasphemies!’

Nogaret sighed with impatience; his gloved hand motioned for guards to seize the Grand Master and place him in chains. ‘The charge is heresy, Grand Master, heresy most heinous and foul.’

‘Who charges us?’ Jacques de Molay raised his chin as chains encircled his wrists. ‘We are exempt from secular laws.’

The man’s face made a frown of Nogaret’s brows. Why does he not show more astonishment?

‘Who charges you? Why, the Inquisitor General, William of Paris, de Molay.’ He made his voice sound full with confident sarcasm.

‘He cannot arrest us without the Pope’s regard! We have our sovereignty! We are not ordinary men!’

Nogaret made a yawn. He must get more sleep. ‘Sovereignty?’ He noticed a fleck of lint on his cloak, which he summarily flicked off. ‘When the mighty fall, they fall further and therefore lower than ordinary men, Grand Master.’

There was a moment caught in a gasp. Jacques de Molay looked at Nogaret, and the lawyer noted what was, to his mind, a calmness that suggested anticipation.

A feeling of unease spread from Nogaret’s temples to the backs of his eyes. Was it possible that the man had been expecting it? No . . . he would not have allowed him passage, he would have battled to the death . . . surely?

Words came then, from out of the Templar’s mouth. To Nogaret they were no more than a whisper.

‘Maktub! ’ the Grand Master said.





18


LIGHT IN DARKNESS, WORD IN SILENCE

That was the true Light which lighteth every man that cometh into the world.

St John 1:9


Jacques de Molay sat upon the stone pallet of his dungeon, whose great dark cells in better times had been used to store ale, wine, grain and other goods. A small light came through the narrow aperture that went deep into the thick stone and he could see the barest margin of blue. If he was very still he could hear the twitter of birds.

He turned his mind then not upon his fate, which to him was plain and visible and fastened to his soul, but upon the fate of his brothers and of the terrible trials that awaited them. He thought of Marcus and the gold of the Order soon to be drowned. He thought of Etienne and his lonely task. His eyes filled with tears for all his men, sergeants, knights, priests, preceptors and commanders. He prayed that God would give him the courage he needed not only to do what was expected of him but also to bear the destiny of so many men upon his old shoulders. This thought made his breath come in labored bursts and he calmed his speedy heart against the weight that sought to pull the life from his veins. He grasped the pallet with his gloved hands and with his eyes closed tight clung to his Order’s words of consecration.

I am in Christ. Christ lives in Me, I feel in Christ. Christ feels in me, I will in Christ. Christ wills in me.

When he opened his eyes he had to shield them from an effulgence that, coming through the aperture, now filled the cell. A momentary thought passed through his mind as he saw it. This part of the donjon faced west and the sun could not so soon be setting. But the light would not be put off by his thoughts and continued on its journey through that meagre opening as if to push its way into him. He closed his eyes and saw the white heat of it gathering behind his eyelids. It felt to him like the fluttering of burning wings or the weightless wisp of hot snow. It took him out of himself to a place where his brows met and made a movement to his throat, seeking a path to his heart. It held him and, like that, in that space where there was nothing but the whirling of the world and the movement of stars, he felt himself like a word in the throat of God.