I am never at my best when I run into people unexpectedly and refined conversation is required in an instant and, I confess, I gawped a little at Sir Aymeric before I managed to clasp his outstretched hand and summon enough wit to pretend that I too was delighted to have encountered him. At the back of my mind, a fierce debate was raging: was his presence here outside the Counting House, on the day that I had chosen to visit the Paris Temple, a coincidence? Or did he have some sinister design in mind? He had every right to be here – more than I did: he was a Templar, he had only been following Richard’s army as an observer, and now that a truce had been declared, it was only natural that he should take the opportunity to visit his brethren in Paris. But I was not convinced. At Sir Aymeric’s shoulder, stood Sir Eustace de la Falaise, his dull-witted lieutenant, who beamed at me as genially as ever. I dipped my head in salute.
‘Are you in Paris for long?’ Sir Aymeric was asking. ‘If you are staying for a while, then I would take it as a great boon if you would dine with me. I should very much enjoy your company over a good meal – with some decent wine. And I have something I wish to discuss with you.’
I found Sir Aymeric’s affability disconcerting. We were not friends, in any sense of the word; nor yet jolly dining companions. I had attached myself to his diplomatic mission into Vendôme out of necessity – not because I sought his company. What was wrong with the man? One day he was threatening to have me writhing under red-hot irons, and the next asking me to dine and drink heartily. Was he touched in the head?
‘I shall be in Paris for a few weeks,’ I said, smiling stiffly at him, ‘but I am not sure of my plans exactly.’
‘We must make it soon, then,’ said Sir Aymeric. ‘Let us say a week from today, at noon. If you come to the main gate and ask for my apartments, the Brother Sergeant will show the way. Excellent! It’s settled. Till we meet again.’
I said, ‘Ah, well, you see …’ but Sir Aymeric was already striding away. Sir Eustace smiled cheerily at me: ‘God be with you, sir,’ he said, and went after his master.
You may ask why I did not protest further, or call out after them that I would not be available – but the simple truth is that I did not think of it at the time. My wits were scattered by his suggestion that we should break bread and drink wine together, and I was quite disarmed by his friendliness. Besides, why not dine with him? I wished to know more about the Templars, and here was a potential ally who might enlighten me about the knights of the blue cross.
Or have me murdered.
In the event, when I walked over to join Thomas and Hanno by the horses, the first thing I did was to tell them that I would be returning at the same time the following week: for a feast with a Templar. The first thing that Hanno said to me was: ‘They are here – these knights of the blue cross have a place here in this very stronghold. Our enemies are Templars, Sir Alan, I swear it.’
* * *
We waited until we were well clear of the Paris Temple before I allowed Hanno to speak. ‘They have many chapels in that place, many, and I go in one, a small one to the north of the hospital, and say a prayer. It is an old chapel, made before all this new building is happening, I think; very dusty, not so well cared for now, but dedicated to the Blessed Virgin Mary. And when I go inside I see their shields, two of them hanging on the walls, old ones, the faces very faded. But I saw the blue cross in a black border, for sure. And so I begin to look around the chapel, I search it, and I find a little stone, set in the wall by the chancel for the remembrance of a dead knight: Rodrigo of León. The stone was carved and painted, and bore the knight’s arms and the blue cross and black border. This dead Spanish knight is a member of an order: the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Our Lady and the Temple of Solomon – it says so on the memorial stone. And I think this is the order that the knights of the blue cross also belong to. And I think they must be Templars, or an order similar to the Templars, for sure.’
Hanno was rightly proud of the information that he had gathered. We had ascertained a Templar connection, and knew that these killers were dedicated to Mary, the Mother of Jesus – which tallied with the dying beggar-knight I spoke to asking me to forgive him in the name of the Queen of Heaven. We were beginning to know our foe.
On the way home, I stopped by the palace of the Bishop of Paris to see Brother Michel and ask if the Bishop had set a date for our meeting. After only a short wait, Brother Michel appeared looking flustered. He apologized handsomely for the delay and said that the Bishop had been especially busy during the past week but that his duties were lighter in the next few days and he was sure that there would be an opportunity for a meeting then. As I was leaving, I told the monk, as a form of security, that I would be dining with Sir Aymeric de St Maur the following week. I’d be less likely to be murdered, I reasoned, if a senior member of the Bishop’s personal staff knew my whereabouts. And if I was murdered, the monk’s knowledge of my engagement might allow my friends in Robin’s ranks to take a suitable revenge on Sir Aymeric.