In Poitiers things had become intolerable: Philip had his troops everywhere and his influence on the French cardinals had caused them to despise Clement for not being loyal to the French Crown. On the other hand, the other cardinals, the Italians, the Germans, the Spaniards, hated him for the opposite.
He would have left long before, but there remained a piece of unfinished business he must attend to.
He gave a belch; his stomach was distended and there was a fullness between his legs. Eventually he would do what he had promised the King, he would exterminate that Order of prideful monks. But how to stall Philip long enough to give the astrologer time to find out where the spiritual treasures of the Order were hidden? The Order’s extinction and its goods were his currency. He would have to wave that in Philip’s face and hope for the best.
He shook his head, sighed sighs, and let loose a tempest of flatulence. At that moment an attendant announced a visitor. Immediately Clement assumed a stance that he hoped would affect a perception of power and magnanimity, of charity and generosity: one hand upon his pectoral cross and the other at his side, with his chin slightly raised and his plucked brows arched affably in inquiry.
A man entered the room incognito, followed by the King’s men disguised. Below a lowered cowl the man ordered them out and, taking off his robe, stood before the pontiff.
‘Charles of Valois,’ the Pope said the words sweetly but in his mind they came spitting out as if they were flies, ‘you have been on a long journey.’ He found his chair and sat down.
Charles of Valois went down upon the tessellated marble and kissed the golden cross embroidered over the Pope’s white chamois shoes, and then his pontifical ring. His balding head bent, awaiting permission to speak.
‘Welcome,’ said the Pope. He put a hand over the balding head and gave a fleeting blessing. ‘How is his Royal Highness, I hope he is well?’
Charles of Valois remained kneeling and spoke with his head bowed, ‘He is well, Holy Father, and pleasantly affected by your note. Like you, he seeks, at all costs, to come to a mutually satisfactory conclusion.’
Clement looked down on Charles. The man was overweight, upon his face there grew a large nose and there were blotches on his cheeks. Through that ill-fated marriage to Catherine of Courtenay, he was Emperor Pretender to Constantinople, and it was well known that he longed to become Emperor of Germany. With the King’s brother on one side as emperor and Philip on the other as king, Clement would be squeezed like a lemon. He smiled. ‘I am gladdened,’ he said, fingering his cross. ‘Now stand up . . . stand up.’
The man made to stand with difficulty, grasping at a nearby table with nervous fingers burdened with rings.
‘Tell me the purpose of your visit.’
The count was thoughtful a moment and then began. ‘The King is anxious to move swiftly on the matter of the Templars, your Holiness, as you know, though he realises the delicate situation in which you find yourself and wishes to assist you wherever possible. He realises that the magnitude of this matter requires your Holiness to hear with your own ears what has repulsed so many and so he proposes to bring to Poitiers seventy-two Templars, so that they may attest to the truth of their confessions before your person.’
‘Why has he not done so before this?’ asked the Pope, who already knew the answer. He moved from one buttock to the other, wondering why a cunning king would send such a man to him, a man whose intelligence was equal to that of an ass.
Charles of Valois found his reply as he spoke, ‘The King had not previously sent you the Templars . . . because there are so many scattered all over His Kingdom. Only now has it been possible to have them before your Holiness. The King is convinced that once you hear their declarations you will understand his righteous anger enough to see your way to sanctioning the inquiry – as the King knows you would have done, had it been possible to bring the Templars before you sooner.’ He paused, a little put out, his convoluted rhetoric falling thinly between them.
Clement shrugged and fell into a brown study, moving again from one buttock to the other. ‘I have heard that they have denied their affirmations, many speak of tortures, horrible, inhuman . . . Dominicans are by nature impatient creatures . . .’ He crossed his hands around his waist and constructed his face in a look of disgust.
‘Holy Father,’ the other man gave back nervously, ‘it is known that the Devil does not reveal his detestable practices easily. It was for this reason that Innocent himself sanctioned torture and inquisitors have used it ever since . . . The accused, we assure you, will confess their errors to your Eminence spontaneously and without coercion, they will humbly beg for absolution and reconciliation.’