The Seal (6 page)

Thunder shook
the heavens beyond the walls of the old commandery. The brothers waited for the
Grand Master to continue, but he did not. The rain stopped, from the window
came the smell of wet stone and grass. Then, a sudden flapping of wings
disturbed the concentrated waiting. A small bird entered through the aperture
and was flying about the room. The mood became confused. The men moved here and
there, avoiding the small thing whose panic-driven flutter left feathers
floating down over them like snow. The Grand Master told them to stay still,
that the bird had run away from the storm and was frightened. A moment later it
landed upon the table, upsetting the parchments to the floor. The Grand Master
made soothing noises to it and reached out with a hand. The bird pecked his
finger and flew out into the storm.

The Grand Master
laughed and held his finger to his mouth. ‘See that bird! Remarkable creature!
It is able to navigate the world by using only its natural feeling for
direction and distance. It soars above all things and seems unassailable, and
yet it is not so clever that now and again it does not fly into an open
aperture.’

There was a
pause. Marcus shifted from one foot to the other and returned his Grand Master
to the moment with a clearing of the throat. ‘For what you foretell to come
true,’ he said, ‘Philip shall need the Pope’s agreement, and the Pope must
defend us since we are his warriors.’

Jacques de Molay
cast him an eye. ‘Must he? Popes, Marcus, are consumables for kings. Philip
slanders them and denies them taxes. He kidnaps them and pays assassins to put
them out of the way. Pope Clement . . . well, he is a Frenchman. That is one
thing, but that we have enemies now . . . even in the Temple . . . perhaps in
this very house? That is another.’ He fell silent and watchful. ‘In this house,
my brothers . . . in our very bosoms.’ His eye passed lightly over Etienne to
Ayme, who stared hard ahead, then to Marcus. He seemed to be listening for what
lay in the soul of his men. His eyes came to rest then upon Ayme d’Oselier with
particular intensity. ‘Thibaud,’ the Grand Master said to him, ‘was murdered
because he was too eager for a Crusade . . . what does that tell you?’

Ayme shifted.
Etienne and Marcus watched helpless as those words were brought out into the
day to be looked at.

No man could
think of words to say.

Outside the
storm changed direction and a wind blew through the window. The Grand Master
walked to the wooden shutter and closed it, casting them into gloom. Ayme went
out to the guards and a moment later a sergeant brother, an Egyptian named
Iterius, entered holding a torch and lit the lamps that were hung on brackets
around the walls.

He turned his
eyes to the three men and to the Grand Master he made a deep bow.

Marcus eyed the
man with deep suspicion and Etienne observed it.

When he was gone
the Grand Master turned to the marshal. ‘What do the spies know?’

The marshal made
a fidget of the hand. ‘I have been returned from a meeting with brother Ibelin
and brother Soisson only a day, the spies have not yet reported to me.’

Marcus huffed.
‘To whom do they report if not to you?’

The marshal
straightened and drew into himself, becoming cautious, like a man who only now
realises he is suspected of something. ‘To the Venetians or the Genoese or the
bankers, what do I know? This place is a snake pit!’

‘There was a
vessel in the bay yesterday.’ Etienne watched his expression. ‘
It was flying an unknown flag
,
today it is
gone
. What of that?’

Ayme shrugged
his shoulders. ‘How should I know?’

‘Because it is
your charge to know!’ Marcus hissed.

The Grand Master
waved them to silence and there was a long moment between them. ‘Do you see why
we are deserted upon this island? We have failed and continue to fail. We are
at once too light and too heavy. We have lived too long between the Devil
abroad and the Devil at home without a deed, between hell and the Holy Land.
See how we squabble amongst ourselves? More and more is it clear to me that we
have not accomplished the original intentions of our founder! Where is our
passion, brothers?
Our passion to make the world more just,
to fire the will of ordinary people and to inspire love for their duty to
Christ?
We have become road builders, landlords and bankers! That is
why, in spite of the dream, I must go to France. But before I do,’ he looked at
them, ‘I shall see to it that the gold, charters and titles are safe. Without
them there shall be no revenge of Acre and no recovery of our Lord’s
Sepulchre.’

‘It is clear
then, my lord,’ Etienne was thinking as he spoke, ‘that we must move the gold
from this place.’

‘That is what I
thought,’ Jacques answered. ‘Marcus, there has been no Commander of Jerusalem
since Acre, and you as Grand Commander of the Order have held charge of the
strong room and storage vaults where lie the gold, the archives and the titles
to our holdings over the sea and on the continent and so, I ask you . . . are
you of the mind to take the gold from this place?’

The man,
surprised, thought a moment. ‘If it can be done . . . It will take time, we
need a galley, not one of our own, but a Venetian and provisions . . .’

‘It will cost a
deal . . . maybe more than a fortune,’ interjected Ayme.

Jacques nodded.
‘And your advice, Marshal?’

Ayme d’Oselier
grunted. ‘I do not concur. To my mind it is more dangerous to move it.’

‘What then?’
Jacques said.

‘We hide it at
Limassol,’ he said.

‘Why have we
come to this modest house of Famagusta, Ayme,’ Etienne gave back, ‘if not to
outwit the spies at Limassol?’

Marcus said
something under his breath not meant for other ears.

‘They shall find
it at Limassol.’ Jacques added in paternal irritation, ‘
That
is where they shall look for it and it must be safe until I am certain! You
know I shall not wish to remove the gold without your agreement, so it is . . .
we must decide.’

Ayme shifted
with discomfort from one heavy foot to the other, carrying the burden of eyes
upon him.

To Etienne a
separation was occurring between the three of them standing before their master
– not a physical line drawn, that made each man acknowledge its meaning,
but a thing of subtle quality. Ayme, it seemed, was singling himself from the
rest as if his fate were a different one and must be played out in a different
way.

‘May we find
agreement?’ Jacques waited with raised brows.

Ayme looked
askance at Etienne and Marcus, searching for sanctuary, and found none. ‘If in
your wisdom you believe it must be done, then you shall have my agreement.’

‘Good,’ Jacques
said. ‘I have anticipated it. And I have anticipated your thoughts, Marcus. The
galley you saw in the harbour, Etienne, will fly a Venetian flag. Roger de Flor
will captain the vessel. They will await my orders at Tomar. It shall leave in
a day at dawn with the gold as ballast.’

‘Roger de Flor?’
Marcus said, disconcerted. ‘I know who he is! He took the Falcon from the quays
at Acre and never returned . . . I thought him dead.’

‘Well, he is
alive and an ally . . . for a price,’ Jacques replied.

‘He is a
mercenary!’ Ayme d’Oselier put in, turning his head and giving an eye to
Marcus, as if to say, I agree, do you see how I agree? But it made little
impression on Marcus since now they were men standing upon different ground.

‘He is a
mercenary and no one shall suspect he carries the Order’s gold in his hold,’
Jacques said, turning around. ‘Marcus, take slaves and what men you want, two
or three you can trust. No more. Go disguised.’

‘And?’ Marcus
said.

‘And I shall
leave tomorrow for Poitiers . . . and we shall see . . .’
These
words were no more than whispers.

‘I shall
accompany you,’ Etienne said. ‘If that is your wish.’

Jacques nodded
and his pale eyes lost their hold and seemed to be gazing at something
altogether different. ‘Very well.’ Then turning to the marshal, ‘
You
are to stay upon this wretched island. Do whatever you
can to preserve the integrity of the Order while I am gone. Remember, not so
long ago the people rose up against us and they will waste no time in forming
alliances that do not benefit the Order.’

The marshal
looked to the others and they saw a flash of something unknown in those eyes
and the man left the apart¬ment with the awkward stride of one who vacillates
between what is useful and what is admirable.

Alone the three
men formed a circle of faith. ‘He is given the choice this night,’ Jacques said
to them. ‘I hope it is the right one.’

Marcus grunted.
‘You know I have no liking for him, Jacques, he makes friends more and more
with Ibelin and Soisson in Limassol. Remember how he took the side of Hugues de
Pairaud against you in the election to Grand Master?’

‘He is the
marshal, Marcus, and it is the rule that the three of us concur on anything
that is to be done,’ Jacques said. ‘I will not break the rule.’

‘I suspect the
rule would make an exception for a traitor.’

‘Do not be so
hasty to judge a man, Marcus. In any case, what is written, so it shall be . .
. that is the way of prophecy, and we, brothers, shall remain thus throughout
the night . . . with the Lord, His Son and the Holy Spirit. We shall pray that
our Lord might take hold of arms and shield and rise up to help us. To send
forth the spear and conclude against those who persecute us.’

And the thunder moved
closer.

C
hristian
de St Armand was helped onto his pallet by Jacques de Molay. The day was dawning
soft through the window, illuminating the white walls, and a warm breeze, light
and God-filled, moved in from the sea and circled about the room.

‘Oh,’ he said,
‘my back aches!’

The Grand Master
brought the blanket of wool over the man’s knees and gave him a smile. ‘Once
again I find myself visiting you, brother.’

‘You come to the
leper because you are found too long and too often in conversation with God and
this has struck you from conversation with ordinary men.’

Jacques de
Molay’s face looked to him full of irony. ‘Your leprosy seems to have left your
face peaceful and ready to meet heaven. I wish it were my fate to die so calm a
death, full of God and longing for His Kingdom.’ He sat down beside the old
monk’s pallet.

Christian
crinkled his eyes. ‘If I had leprosy I would have died long before now . . . It
has been a good secret that we have kept between us, my friend . . . In any
case, I am almost an empty vessel.
But you?
You have
much to do yet, Jacques de Molay, much . . . and that is why you have come.
Will you not tell me why you are so full of heaviness, why so disquieted?’

There was a
pause. Jacques de Molay seemed to be measuring his answer. ‘This seems likely
to be a leave-taking, since I depart for France, and I fear I shall not
return.’

Christian de St
Armand nodded. ‘So you shall not.’

Jacques frowned
and nodded, and smiled. ‘Your eyes and ears are attentive.’

‘I see and I
hear . . . I know that since our short rule of this place we have lived like
unwelcome visitors.’

Jacques sighed.
‘The people of this island have no liking for us . . . we have acquired our share
of enemies.’ He made a rueful smile. ‘The King of Cyprus is young and petulant,
he supports us more than his brother Henry, though it is far less than I should
like . . . but my reasons for leaving are . . . more pressing.’

‘I know,’ the
old man said.

‘You know . . .
about Thibaud, that he was murdered – poisoned in this place?’

‘At Limassol,’
Christian said.

Jacques was
thoughtful and a note of unguarded anxiety crept into his voice. ‘It is
something to say it – I suspect our Order was behind it.’ He had the look
of a man at a loss at the sound of his own words. ‘I have known it long, too
many years, but I thought I could retake the Holy Land and that this would
bring an end to such squabbles . . . I have not been successful . . . The
Temple in France does not want a Crusade and rallies against me. The King of
France has his scent upon the gold of the Order . . . All is coming to an end .
. . the Lord has shown it to me in a dream.’

Christian was
silent.

Jacques raised
brows and searched his eyes.

‘And you will
make a step from the light to the darkness?’

‘If I could but
live once again in the lightness of the moment, in such simplicity!’ Jacques
answered him. ‘Ahh, it would be a respite from the complex darkness of these
future concerns. But the world moves in complicated rounds, not simple ones,
brother, as you know.’