‘You are truly a wise sovereign, intelligent in the art of intrigue, knowledgeable in the employment of the antipodes of terrorism and kindness. A sovereign who understands that severity is a useful tool but that humanity in some instances yields better fruit.’
‘You seem to think that you know much about my philosophy. Tell me more and we shall see if you are right . . .’ He took himself to his throne.
‘I know that a king must excite fear but not hatred, for hatred will destroy him in the end; that it is best to keep men poor and awaiting war, for it counteracts the sins of ambition and boredom.’
‘You are a wealth of knowledge, are you not, Monsieur de Plaisians?’
‘I know also that it is best for a king to confer benefits, but that if there is some evil work to be done, then he must let others do it, for they and not the King shall be blamed, and he may gain favour through execution, for men prefer vengeance and security over liberty. If I may say, your cunning is flawless, since to place Bishop Philippe de Marigny in the archbishopric, a man who has been both a secretary and a counsellor at the royal court, is to assure that the last piece of the puzzle falls into place. Marigny will be in a position to circumvent the papal commission without incurring the wrath of the Pope.’ De Plaisians saw a light go on inside the King’s head.
‘Circumvent the papal commission altogether . . .’ Philip said.
‘Yes, sire. You see, we have been on the same track,’ de Plaisians adjusted his voice to exude deference. ‘While I have prepared the trusting lambs, your Highness in his superior cunning has made ready the axe. The Archbishop of Narbonne shall be going about the futile business of inquiring into the Order and at the same time the provincial council shall be outwitting him by trying and burning his individual witnesses behind his back.’
‘Yes . . . yes . . . But Plaisians, you forget that the papal com-mission has authority from the Pope to offer protection to any Templar who comes forward to defend the Order . . . what about that?’ The King sat forward.
‘Yes sire, but it was also the Pope who set up the provincial councils whose task is not only to inquire but to pass judgement on the individual Templars that belong to their provinces. The Pope shall not see his stupidity until it is too late.’
The King sat back and mulled this over. ‘But how many Templars are under the jurisdiction of Sens, Plaisians? A paltry few.’
‘Some fifty men, sire. Not a large number, true, but in prisons all over Paris and France there are Templars who shall see themselves in those few brothers who come forward to defend the Order under the protection of the Mother Church. Or else they shall see themselves the same as those whose belief in the nobility of truth has kept them from confessing. They shall be watching and waiting to hear news of the success of the defence. When it is learnt that those who came forward were led to the pyre, no man shall seek to do the same, and others who have perhaps already done so and do not belong to the province of Sens shall retract their retractions, since it shall dawn upon them that if it can be done in Paris it can be done at other places where your royal supporters are chairing episcopal inquiries – Orleans, for instance, Amiens, Bayeux, Auxerre, Cambrai, Cahors . . . It shall become plain speech to them: “You have placed all your hopes on a weak pope who is neither capable nor interested in defending you from the machinations of a king who is your jailer, judge and executioner.” Such truths brought home will see an end to the resistance in France, and as the majority of the leaders are French, what is left of the Order in other countries shall follow in their skirt tails.’
The King lifted one brow and the corner of his mouth turned upwards in mild esteem. ‘We are wicked, Plaisians.’
‘Not wicked, sire, but rational. Such doings are demanded by the very nature of things, for the common good . . .’
‘You put it very well.’ Then his face was ashen, as though a grey curtain had descended over his features. ‘Sometimes I am uncertain of everything, Plaisians,’ he said. ‘Sometimes I feel that I have burnt rather too many Jews . . . that I have tortured and put to death rather an inordinate number . . . in truth a river of blood runs through my reign. What do you think of that?’ He was sour. ‘All such things in the balance would prove a means to an end . . . but where are my victories? I’ve yet to see them!’
Could it be the man was growing a conscience? De Plaisians knew he must keep him on track. ‘Sire, there are two worlds – one of personal morals and ethics, and another of the public organisation. A good king must sacrifice his personal salvation for the salvation of his kingdom, for his noble and glorious society in which his subjects can grow strong and proud, wise and productive. A king must exchange his private conscience for a public one. You do what you must.’