The candlelight cast eerie shadows on the ugly walls of the office cluttered with registers. Monsieur de Nogaret certainly had an austere notion of comfort. There was little in the way of wall hangings to protect the occupants from the cold and damp. In fact there was only one that covered the large stones behind Nogaret’s work table. Francesco de Leone kicked himself for not having thought of it before. Taking advantage of the absences of the King’s Counsellor, he had searched for hours, finding nothing of any interest. And then, the previous evening, as he was preparing to go to bed after the meagre supper Giotto Capella had had sent up to him, an image flashed through his mind of a pack of dogs on a dark-blue background, their flanks hollow from exertion, their open mouths highlighted with red stitching.
He lifted the tapestry. Flush with the stone was a small metal plate. A padlocked safe set in the wall. Leone studied it. He had opened enough prison doors and safes considered foolproof by their inventors for this lock not to present any great difficulty. He pulled a fine metal rod out of his breeches and skilfully opened it within seconds. Even if his intrusion were discovered, which he doubted, he would be gone within a few hours, and Capella would have to deal with Nogaret’s men. Inside the tiny space were scrolls of parchment and a bag bulging with what must have been gold pieces. A slim notebook bound in black calfskin caught his attention. The pages were covered in the Counsellor’s narrow, hurried script. Francesco skimmed through it. The State secrets it contained, if divulged, would cause repercussions throughout the whole of Christendom. And so the holy crusade against the Albigensians had been a pretext to remove Raymond VI of Toulouse, recover the Languedoc and allow the lords of the North to carve out the southern fiefs as they wished. And so, despite the bitter defeat at Courtrai the previous year, King Philip’s army was preparing for battle again in a few days’ time in Flanders. He felt a painful wrench in his heart when he came across the rows of figures spread over several pages: an estimate of the fortunes of the Templars and the Order of the Hospitallers. So it was true: their suppression was planned. The Templars, who were wealthier, as well as more vulnerable, would be the first to go. Then it would be the turn of the Hospitallers.
There was a sound of footsteps close by. Francesco replaced the tapestry and unsheathed his dagger. They approached the door then died away along the corridor. He must hurry.
Underneath the rows of figures were a few brief comments dotted with questions marks:
Exemption from taxes granted to Templars? Will hopefully increase anger and resentment on the part of the populace.
Association with heretics or demons? Secret dealings with the infidel? Sodomy? Perjury, blasphemy or idolatry? Human sacrifice, sacrifice of children?
So the prior, Arnaud de Viancourt, had been right: exemption from taxes had only been granted to the Templars so as to precipitate their downfall. As for the rest, what did it mean? Were these authentic suspicions, or a list of imaginary and interchangeable charges for King Philip to make use of when the time came to justify an inquiry and a trial? The fate of the two great military orders was sealed. Arnaud de Viancourt and the Grand-Master had been right. When would sentence be passed?
Leone struggled with the anger and grief choking him and read on.
There were other sets of figures – a detailed inventory right down to the payment of a few pennies to spies in service, which accounted for some of Monsieur Philippe de Marigny’s expenditure of Treasury money. Thus he learnt that Squire Thierry had received a hundred pennies for examining the contents of a cardinal’s letters, and a launderer by the name of Ninon eighty for inspecting a prelate’s bed linen in order to ascertain whether the man was ill before approaching him. Monsieur de Nogaret was a meticulous and prudent man. Finally he came across two names underlined in a list including four others that had been crossed out: Renaud de Cherlieu, Cardinal of Troyes, and Bertrand de Got,* Archbishop of Bordeaux.
The Knight replaced the notebook and closed the padlock.
He regretted not having more time to peruse the other documents. What did it matter in the end? Only one kingdom mattered to him, that of God. Men would continue to tear each other apart over stupidities blown out of all proportion. Soon the truth would be clear for all to see, and nobody would be able to pretend that it wasn’t there any more simply by closing their eyes.
Francesco de Leone left the Louvre. The night was fortuitously dark. The stench in the streets, intensified by the seasonal heat, did not bother him any more than the odour emanating from the mass of humanity crowded into hovels.
He had a few minutes left in which to compose a coded letter to Arnaud de Viancourt. He must then deliver it to a priest friend at the Église Saint-Germain-l’Auxerrois who would make sure it reached Cyprus. The content was to the point and would make little sense to the uninitiated.
Dearest Cousin,
My research into angelology is proceeding at a slower pace than I had anticipated and than you had hoped, despite the inestimable help provided by the writings of Augustine – above all the remarkable City of God. The second order43 of Dominations, Virtues and Powers is extremely difficult to comprehend in its entirety and no less so the third order of Principalities, Archangels and Angels. Nevertheless, I persevere in earnest and hope that in my next missive I shall be able to inform you of important advances in my work.
Your humble and indebted Guillaume.
Arnaud de Viancourt would understand from this that Leone had discovered the names of six French prelates who enjoyed the King of France’s backing, but that he needed more time to unearth the identity of those most likely to be elected pope. The Knight did not mention the catastrophic discovery of the planned demise of the Templar and Hospitaller orders. He must reflect more on the best form of counter-attack.
He left the little church44 that stood near the Seine less than an hour later. The horse he had left with an ostler was waiting for him, together with his meagre baggage.
South to Perche, the commandery at Arville and Clairets Abbey. South to the Sign.