The Seal(79)

‘Today I have learnt . . . that you . . . must direct the inquisitors to extract from Jacques de Molay concerning . . . those.’

The King frowned. ‘What secrets?’ He seemed to remember something – an Italian inquisitor had come to him some years before, he had spoken something of secrets, but Philip had not believed him. He turned a chill eye upon his astrologer. ‘Tell me!’

The man cowered. ‘I only know of their existence, sire. You must direct the inquisitors to ask the questions of the Grand Master. Only he –’

The King raised a hand and Iterius was immediately silent. ‘How may they do so, you fool?’ he thundered. ‘Clement has ruled that any Templar who is interrogated by a cardinal need not be questioned again! Jacques de Molay was interrogated at Chinon – all the Templar leaders were interrogated by cardinals at Chinon! The inquisitors cannot disobey!’

There was silence. The King moved around Iterius now, like an animal circling its prey. ‘I do not see what you promised me on your arrival at the gates. I am not rich, I have no advantage and I am yet to see the destruction of those accursed heretics – those heinous, cowardly heretics, those bestial knights of the Temple who have deprived me of my material possessions! I am beginning to think you a creature of grand promises and little talent! I have no use for debased currency.’ He hooked a finger under the Egyptian’s cap and sent it flying from his head.

The astrologer stood perfectly still. On his face was made plain the knowledge that this was not a good day. ‘If I may, sire,’ he pleaded, ‘I know something that shall calm your nerves . . .’

From a crucible he secured a handful of gold dust that he allowed to escape through his fingers into the atmosphere of the dark room. The gold danced in the pale green light and this observation seemed to calm the King.

Philip moved closer and a little quiver of excitement ran through him like a ripple in a pond. He placed his hand in the way of the falling specks, letting them run through his fingers, and this filled him with a memory, a dark memory full of blood and death. He knew this peak of bliss was destined to vanish and die, and leave him nothing but his unholy and abysmal spirit for comfort, and so he grabbed the Egyptian by the wrist. The man let go the crucible to the ground, causing gold dust to gloss the stone tiles. ‘Do not hex me!’ he cried in a low voice, his grip tightening until there was an imprint of blood where a sharply manicured nail had dug into the brown flesh.

‘It usually wins your esteem, sire,’ Iterius gave back, his face flushed.

‘This day it inflames me with an aversion!’ He let go of the hand and found a low chair on which to drop his long and angular body.

The Egyptian wiped the blood from his wrist and reached across the various articles on the table to bring forth a blue vial, which he took to the King. The King looked at him full of boredom and irritation. ‘What do you have now?’

Iterius fell to the ground once again before Philip; he did not look up but held the vial out above his head. ‘My King . . .

your loyal servant has something for you . . .’

The King looked at it. ‘What is it?’

‘It is a draught. But not like the others . . . something special . . . something . . . potent . . . I have been labouring on your behalf, see how I have been labouring? One swallow is all you need, sire.’

Philip took the vial and sniffed beneath its lid. ‘What is in it?’

‘It is a concoction whose ingredients are the powdered tongue of a hanged man, snake oil and mushrooms.’

‘Powdered tongue! Mushrooms? Snakes?’ The King eyed him with suspicion. ‘Stand up! I have taken much that you have made . . . but . . . this? Why should I drink such a brew? Perhaps you are trying to poison me?’

‘Sire!’ Iterius took his time to stand. ‘I have no other purpose left to me but to serve you.’

The King thought on it and could not help a laugh. ‘That is true.’

‘Ours has been a great association, my King,’ the Egyptian soothed, ‘since many lives before this life. Remember your dream, sire, which foretold my arrival? How it told of our brotherly bond made sure and fast through the blood of men? Such a dream is powerful and cannot be denied. You knew I would come and I did not disappoint you. Now you will trust the dream again, because without me . . . you will not learn . . . the secrets.’

‘What does it do, then, this concoction?’

‘It is an ancient brew, the mushrooms are magical and are known to induce visions. The ancient Jews used such mushrooms to bring about ecstasies and images of other worlds.’

The King made a twist of the nose. ‘And this tongue of the hanged . . . what is it for?’