De Plaisians watched Philip de Voet, Provost of Poitiers, help the ailing man to him, after which they retired to a quiet corner where they could talk in relative privacy.
There was a pause. Guillaume noticed that the man looked haggard, and that his face told of the survival of a thousand tortures. Something, however, had remained of the man he once knew, some intelligence in the depths of the man’s eyes, in the peculiar way he held his chin – up a little, so that he gave one the impression that he was a man of God looking down from his great height upon a world of simple creatures that he must either pity or instruct. Such things seemed to de Plaisians ludicrous but true, and it filled him, for a moment, with an abject annoyance.
It was through a great effort of will that de Plaisians was able to construct his face into a look of sympathy. ‘Monsieur de Molay,’ he said, ‘I extend to you my love as a fellow knight, but I must counsel you to take a hold of yourself.’ Then in a lowered voice: ‘These men will take every word you say and they will twist it in order to further blame your Order.’
Jacques de Molay nodded his head. ‘Plaisians,’ he began but was forestalled by a terrible cough. He held his side and coughed until his lips were stained with blood.
De Plaisians looked away with disgust.
When the coughing fit had ended, the Grand Master, with watery eyes and pale expression, continued a little weaker than before. ‘I will not tell tales of terrible . . . unnatural tortures . . . you can see that plainly on my countenance. Nor will I tell you that confessions made were a result of these endless hardships.’ He paused, observing his wounds a moment; his hands veined and disfigured, trembling. ‘You are the King’s man, monsieur.’ He looked up, de Plaisians thought, like a mangy dog asking for a scrap of meat. ‘And the King wants the devastation of the Order in which I have served all of my life, so it is not as a lawyer but as a knight of noble birth that I appeal to you, in honour of the vows we have both taken.’
De Plaisians held his gaze. ‘What is it that you think I can do for you, Grand Master?’
‘I have thought long and hard these months without end, Monsieur de Plaisians, and what I have thought is this: I know that my Order sorely needs a leader who can dance these legal dances, a man of subtle tongue who can handle affairs with diplomacy, a man who can traffic in your world of words.’ The Grand Master narrowed his eyes as if he were looking directly at the hot white sun, as though beyond him he strained to see something not present but far in the distance, a memory. After a moment, he returned his gaze. ‘But I am not such a man, monsieur. I speak only what is held out steady, like a weapon, and I cut with it because that is what I know.’ He pointed to his eyes. ‘I am not able to see the clouded and undisclosed ways of your world with these, but my hope, my very faith, lies in our lawyers who now lie in prisons. They must be reached and convinced to stand up and defend the Order. That is what I am proposing that you do for me, monsieur, to get word to them. I regret that it may be difficult – how many will have remained
loyal to a master such as torture has made of me? And yes, I know it is not possible to prevent the horror that awaits us, I wish only to prevent the good name of the Temple from being disparaged for all times . . . History shall judge us according to lies . . .’ His eyes widened then. ‘What evils shall result then, monsieur? I am unable to relate, though I have seen them . . . in my dreams.’
Guillaume frowned a look of sympathy and commiseration, all the time his mind working like a well-greased machine. Constructing his voice to gentle the Grand Master he said, ‘As a knight, monsieur, I shall endeavour to do as you have asked, but you must remember, that as a man, as a lawyer, I am bound by my oath to the King.’
‘It is so,’ the Grand Master agreed, ‘and I shall not ask of you something that might lead you to break that oath. I only ask for that which cannot be taken away by any prince – the natural right of a man to defend himself.’
De Plaisians brought the Grand Master closer, noting how the man, who had once possessed perfect teeth, had lost several; how on his strong, once bronzed skin round wounds festered; how his feet were so hideously disfigured that he could hardly walk – and still the man had wits and cunning enough to know of the language of rights given by the jurists.
He smiled. ‘It pains the sensibilities of any honourable man, monsieur, to see such an obvious miscarriage of justice. The King himself has sent me here to oversee the trial as an impartial observer, to see to it that justice is being done, knowing the Church and its fondness for abusing the rights of his citizens. I shall do all that is in my power to help you.’ He looked about him, circumspectly thinking as he did so. ‘But first I have some advice for you, Monsieur de Molay . . . firstly you must ask the commission for some time in which to reflect, lest you hang yourself in your own noose, then when you next come before the commission you must curtail your emotional outbursts, present yourself as an illiterate, humble yourself, defend your Order by stating the obvious things, namely . . .’ He rolled his hands over and over thinking as he spoke. ‘. . . that your Order is devoted to the giving of alms; tell how men have readily shed their blood for Christ; mention the chapels and churches where the divine offices are performed with fine ornaments and relics; and lastly, ask the commissioners . . . ask them to allow you to use your private chapel in the Temple to hear mass, they will like that – and other offices if they’ll let you. Finally, ask that you be permitted the services of your personal chaplains, and meanwhile, I will make it possible that you receive communication from . . .?’