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The Seal(91)



De Marigny, perhaps used to his king’s strange philosophies and outbursts, answered mildly, ‘Yes, sire. If we place my brother in the position of Archbishop of Sens we shall control all his suffragan bishops, including the Bishop of Paris.’

‘Good then . . . go, prepare!’

He waved a hand then because he had forgotten something. ‘Also, go to Dubois today, have him draught a scandalum magnatum that shall make the Pope look like a miniature Satan. If we must we should mention sodomy, sorcery, etcetera . . . as well as the usual excesses and corruptions – he is French, after all.’

‘Yes, sire,’

‘And Marigny?’

‘Yes, sire?’

‘Quietus, my friend, don’t be so serious. You are my best man, a loyal servant and your Majesty holds you in high esteem.’

The man bowed.

‘In praesenti . . .’ he said, waving him away. ‘Cave Canem ... beware of the dog!’

When he was gone the King turned to Guillaume de Plaisians. ‘Remind me to have Dubois write something about Marigny, will you? In case I need it . . . I am in the mood for sorcery these days.’

For long moments the King ignored the lawyer, preferring instead to play with his animal. When he became bored he shooed the thing away and gestured for de Plaisians to come closer. ‘Tell me, did the Templar make a fool of himself?’ His eyes were steady and brilliant in their coldness. ‘It intrigues me.’

‘Yes, sire . . . more than we could have dreamed. If I may say, the destiny of the Order has this day been sealed.’

‘How so?’ The King sat forward, cupping his chin, and a dart shot out from his eyes to the lawyer.

This man is all eagerness, de Plaisians thought, then said, ‘The Grand Master behaved in a manner that left no doubt as to his unstable state of mind and moreover . . . he asked if he could take my counsel.’

The King’s eyes went completely blank. ‘He asked if he could take the counsel of the King’s counsellor?’ He sat back and his mouth twisted crookedly – the slightest trace of admiration surfacing over his brow. ‘How did you do it?’

‘One must understand human nature, your Majesty.’

‘And he did not detect your insincerity?’

‘Not in the slightest.’

He banged both fists on the arms of his throne. ‘Very good!’

‘In truth he was very grateful to me for I vowed to arrange for communications to resume between himself and his lawyers.’

The King paused, afterwards he whispered so quietly that de Plaisians had to lean in to hear, ‘Are you an imbecile?’

De Plaisians had expected this. ‘I offered to aid him in any way possible in his communications with other members of his Order.’

The King was grave. He stood and paced the room, sleek-limbed and significant. Looking to one side as he walked he said, ‘Make satisfaction of your answer, lawyer.’

‘Sire, you misunderstand me.’ His head was bent in deference. ‘It was my intention to endear the Templar to me, and I think he trusts me, for it is clear that he is a fool. As he was sinking deeper into the mire, he stared at me like a lamb who seeks shelter with a faithful dog. That was when I set about my plan. To woo him as one does a woman, with promises, pledges and affection, but just like that liaison I shall keep my promises to the extent that they are profitable . . . to you. Namely, to allow such a communication to one end and one end only: that they might be convinced to come forward and defend the Order.’

The King clenched his jaws and said with perfect civility, ‘Are you insane?’

‘Your Majesty shall see the cunning of my plan when I tell you that once they defend themselves they are in effect retracting their confessions, they are recanting, and in the eyes of the Church the moment they recant they are impenitents . . .’

A pause.

‘Impenitents . . .’ the King stared abstractly, ‘are delivered to me for burning?’

‘Always, sire . . . and when the individual Templars are pro-nounced guilty, it shall make it easier to prove the culpability of the entire Order.’

‘Intriguing . . .’ the King said.

‘I shall encourage a great groundswell, a groundswell of pride which shall see as many Templars as there are in our fair city come forward and beg to be burnt.’

‘And what does Nogaret think of your remarkable plan? Or is the disciple seeking to be above his master?’

De Plaisians thought quickly – the height of cunning was the ability to conceal it. ‘My king . . .’ he bent his head, ‘I pray I have not slighted my master . . . my loyalty has always been ...’

‘Yes, yes . . . loyalties . . .’ The King turned over an inquiring expression and said, ‘I find you exceedingly interesting, Plaisians.’ He fixed his eyes on him. ‘All around me there are three kinds of men: those who fear me and shower me with love, those who despise me and shower me with love, and those who seek benefit and do likewise. Those who fear me do so in anticipation of evil, those who despise me wish to destroy me, and those who seek benefit are seeking to be confirmed in the favourable opinion they have of themselves. You, on the other hand, do not seem to fear me or hate me, nor do you seek reward, so it seems. You appear to be splendidly false and nobly untruthful... all is plain to the eye. I like that, such qualities do I admire in a man! But to trust you, well ... I am not made up in my mind.’