Brethren: An Epic Adventure of the Knights Templar (56 page)

“That was you?” Edward smiled. “I’m afraid I do not recall faces too well, but I suppose I did have other things on my mind that day.” His smile faded a little and Will caught a brief flash of what might have been irritation cross his face.

Up close, the prince was very different from how Will remembered him. He’d had poise then, but the refinement of youth had hardened into a shrewder, self-possessed adulthood. His eyelid still drooped like his father’s, but he appeared to be compensating for the defect by opening the eye a little wider than the other. This gave him a permanently arched brow that lent him a slightly mocking expression. Standing there, head held high, his gaze cool and unwavering, he already looked like the king he would be. When he spoke, he addressed them all.

“My father has not had the kind of relationship he would have liked with the Temple these past years. Unlike his uncle, Richard, he hasn’t found it so easy to accommodate the Order’s autonomy in his lands. I am glad to have been given this opportunity to follow in the footsteps of the first Guardian of this council and I hope that relations between the Order and the English crown can become as civilized as they once were under his reign.”

“Your devotion to our cause is most welcome, my Lord Prince,” said the Seneschal, as Will pulled up a stool and sat beside the Portuguese priest, who gave him a wary smile. The Seneschal looked around at the gathering. “Shall we bring this meeting to order?”

“Yes, brother,” replied Everard, “we have much to discuss. Although, I believe our Guardian has an announcement of his own that he wishes to make before we become too embroiled in the details. My liege?”

Edward nodded. “When Father Everard told me of the aims of your circle, I believed that I could help you achieve your goal. Baybars shows no sign of discontinuing his campaign against our forces and if we continue to lose territory at the rate we have been you will no longer have a base from which to continue your work. Therefore, we must act swiftly.” The prince paused to let his words sink in. “Peace,” continued Edward intently, “is not simply an ideal; it is our only hope for survival. I have been in talks this past week with a select number of nobles, including your Grand Master and the Master of the Hospitallers, and I have managed to convince them to support me in my proposal. Of course, they know nothing of my dealings with yourselves. I intend to approach Baybars with the offer of a truce.” He held up his hand. “Obviously, even if it is agreed, it is doubtful that it will be the end of the fight, but the Anima Templi will have a firmer foundation from which to continue its plans for reconciliation and we will all be able to preserve the lands we still possess.”

“A truce? With Baybars?” questioned the Seneschal. “I cannot imagine him agreeing to it.”

“One thing that may help to sway him is the Mongol Empire. Upon my arrival I sent ambassadors to the Ilkhan of Persia, Abagha, to ask for his aid in countering the threat posed by Baybars. My ambassadors have since returned from his court with news that the Mongols are interested in an alliance between our nations. The Mongols may be able to bolster the garrisons we still hold and Baybars might be dissuaded from further attacks if we present a united front against him. I now plan to persuade the Ilkhan to send a small force from Anatolia to threaten the Mamluks’ northern strongholds. I myself will travel south to attack several holdings there. I know you do not want war, but, in the short term, such an action may be our only hope. Casualties would be few, if any. The attacks would be staged to prove to Baybars that, as a combined force, we could pose a problem to him. This, I believe, would make him more willing to accept any truce we offer.”

Will, watching the prince, couldn’t help but be impressed by the man’s energy. He had never met anyone so self-assured. When Edward spoke, men listened. He was dynamic. Everard, Will noticed, had a smug smile playing about his thin lips. The priest obviously felt he had made the right choice. The others seemed to think so too, murmuring their approval. So why, Will had to ask himself, did he not trust the prince.

As the meeting continued, other members adding their thoughts and questioning Edward on the details of the proposal, Will watched the prince for any sign that could explain his distrust. He saw none; the prince was civil and attentive, but that flash of irritation he had glimpsed in Edward’s face stuck in his mind. It wasn’t the look itself; more that he felt Edward had been wearing a mask that had slipped, just for a moment, but long enough to reveal a second face beneath that unruffled exterior.

When the meeting was done, the two younger knights and the priest left. The Seneschal and the older knights remained. Will, too, lingered as the prince crossed to Everard.

“I’m pleased that you came to me with this position, Father Everard,” said Edward.

“As am I,” replied Everard. “I believe we can do much for one another.”

“There is just one last matter. We discussed it briefly the other day. I wonder, did you come to a conclusion?”

“Ah, of course. My answer is yes.”

Edward smiled. “Thank you, you have no idea how pleased this will make my father.” He opened his cloak and took a pouch from his belt, which he handed to Everard. “This covers part of the debt. As I said, I will hand over the rest when I return to England.”

“I will write to the Visitor in Paris. He will arrange it.”

“I would be grateful if I could have a receipt for this transaction.”

“Certainly,” replied Everard. “I will send someone to fetch one for you.”

“No need, brother,” said the Seneschal, standing. “I need to make an inspection of the cells this afternoon. I can escort the prince on my way to the treasury tower.”

“Cells?” said Edward. “Do you have many prisoners here?”

“Just three at present.” The Seneschal opened the door. “It is unfortunate that we have to punish our brothers, but discipline is the backbone of our Order. Without it we would be crippled.”

The Seneschal shot Will a black look as they left the chamber, the prince pulling a hood over his head to hide his face.

“You made the right decision.”

Will turned at Everard’s voice. “What?”

“To stay. I truly believe we have a chance to change things.” The priest smiled, his eyes shining. “What do you think of his plan?”

“Effective, if it works. What was that he gave you?” Will pointed to the pouch in Everard’s hand.

“Part of the debt King Henry still owes us.” Everard looked at the pouch. “A small part, granted, but it’s a start.” He stuffed the pouch in his robes. “I will need you to write to Visitor de Pairaud in Paris.”

“Hugues? What do you want me to say?” Will hadn’t seen Hugues de Pairaud since he left Paris, although he knew Robert kept up some correspondence with their old comrade, who had been made Visitor of the Kingdom of France upon the death of the predecessor.

“I want you to issue him an order to deliver the English crown jewels to King Henry in London.”

“Under whose authority?” said Will, astonished.

“You’ll sign it as Grand Master Bérard,” replied Everard, heading for the door.

Will shook his head. “Discipline?” he muttered beneath his breath.

“Make sure you do it today, William,” said the priest, before he disappeared, “we have more important things to be getting on with.”

Garin put the bowl to his lips and drained the dregs of the thin soup, which had a few strands of uncooked rice floating in it; a cook’s afterthought. He held it out to the guard.

“Thank you, Thomas.”

Thomas nodded and took it from him. “I’m sorry it’s not too good, sir, but you know them upstairs won’t let anything but scraps come down here.”

“I was a sergeant once. I ate scraps then.” Garin gave a shrug. “It’s not so bad.” He smiled. “But another drop of that wine might help it go down?”

Thomas glanced warily at the cell’s open door. “I’m sorry, sir,” he whispered, shaking his head. “I can’t do that for you today. The Seneschal is coming, you see, for an inspection. If he knew I’d been giving you my rations, he’d—”

“It’s all right,” Garin cut across him, “I won’t say anything. I’ll drink it quick.”

Thomas rose, still shaking his head. “Not today, sir.” He left hurriedly and shut the door.

Garin let his head fall back against the wall as the timber beam thudded into place. He swore tiredly. Without the wine, the moments were much longer. He wondered if he might be able to cajole some later when the inspection was over, but that would depend on who was on duty. Some of the guards, like Thomas, were sensitive to his situation, even calling him Sir, although Garin hated that last courtesy. It felt more mocking in some ways than
filth
or
turd
, the appellations favored by others who reveled in the chance to humiliate a fallen superior, themselves being sergeants of low birth who would never rise to the rank of knight.

Garin had quickly learned to hide his dignity and pride, not just from those who wanted to strip him of both, but also from himself. If the guards opened the door when he was taking his toilet, he wouldn’t flinch, but forced himself to continue. When they slopped his food onto the floor and told him he could eat it like a dog, he would say thank you and eat it all the same. He had told himself that he could cope with it all for so long that he almost believed it himself. But asleep, when he dreamed of things beyond the walls and woke with the memory of colors and places he had forgotten, he came close to the brink and, sometimes, fell into the abyss he teetered over each day.

Garin raised his head as he heard muffled voices outside. He quickly put his chin to his chest and closed his eyes. The Seneschal was fond of sermons and it paid to be asleep for his visits. The door opened.

“Knock when you’re done, sir,” Garin heard Thomas say.

The guard sounded shaken. As the door shut, Garin’s heart sank; the Seneschal obviously wasn’t going to be foiled by sleep today. He could feel a presence in the room; the almost imperceptible softness of breath; the faint odor of something sweet, wine or fruit perhaps that the man had had for lunch. He waited for the Seneschal to wake him with a kick, but the man just seemed to be standing there. Garin opened his eyes a crack and was surprised to see the hems of a set of black robes in front of him. He thought for a moment that they must belong to a priest, but then he saw that they weren’t made of rough wool, but black velvet. They were fringed with a delicate trim of rabbit fur. Garin looked up in puzzlement, not bothering to pretend to be stirring from his feigned slumber. His heart gave a violent leap in his chest as he met the cool gaze of Prince Edward.

“God!” he said involuntarily.

“Not quite,” said Edward. He crouched down before the chained and filthy knight, whose face was scarred with lesions from the leonardie and whose eyes were wide with terror. “Although I have been known to send men to Hell when they displease me, as you might remember, Garin.”

“How did you…?” Garin’s voice broke and he couldn’t finish the question.

Edward understood. “It was easy for my agents to discover where you were. You know how talkative servants can be. I simply waited for an opportunity to be invited here.”

“What do you want?” whispered Garin, looking past Edward to the door, wondering if Thomas would come if he shouted.

Edward followed his gaze. “We won’t be interrupted. The Seneschal was very amenable to my coming down here to inspect his errant charges.” He laughed. “Perhaps offer them a few words of wisdom, extol the benefits of sincere repentance, that sort of thing.” His laughter faded. “As for what I want, I did want to know what happened to the book you were sent here to retrieve for me, but since I have discovered that it has been destroyed, I would like to know where my manservant, Rook, is.”

Garin experienced a flare of hatred at that name; a name he had buried so deep inside himself he had almost forgotten it. The strength of his vitriol overwhelmed some of his fear. “I killed the bastard!” he spat at Edward. “I riddled him with holes so numerous his own mother wouldn’t have recognized him!”

Edward’s eyes narrowed in anger, but the emotion vanished quickly as he recovered his poise. “Yes, I thought something fatal must have had happened to him when he didn’t return. He was a very obedient man.”

“He was a malignant little toad,” growled Garin. “He threatened to kill my mother. He did kill my—” He cut off abruptly and closed his eyes.

“I admit, Rook’s methods were occasionally vulgar, but he always got the job done. That’s all I ever ask of my servants. You know that, Garin.”

Garin swallowed back his bitterness and the rest of his fear and made himself meet Edward’s gaze. “Yes, I betrayed you and killed your servant. But I was left with nothing when I finished working for you. What is it you want to take from me now?”

“When you were in my service you were well rewarded. It was your choice to leave all that for…” Edward swept a hand around the dank cell. “…this.”

“No. I was left with nothing
because
I chose to work for you. My uncle, my friends in the Temple, Adela, my freedom. I’ve lost everything. I have nothing left. So if you’ve come here to kill me, then do it. If not, get out.”

Edward looked mildly surprised by Garin’s bellicosity. “If you have nothing more to lose,” he said after a pause, “then I would think you would have everything to gain.”

“What do you mean?” muttered Garin.

“The Anima Templi,” said Edward, his manner now curt, businesslike, “the group your uncle was involved in; I have just been appointed its Guardian.”

“What?” Garin felt his tiny world, already reeling with Edward’s arrival, slip further out from under him.

“Everard de Troyes came to me some weeks ago with the invitation. He felt I could be of some assistance to his cause.” Edward laughed. “The crown jewels will be returned to my family and I will be crowned with them when I am king. I now have influence in the Temple, influence I can use to ensure that the Order will never attempt to control me like they controlled my weak-minded fool of a father.” Edward’s eyes were hard as stones, glittering with contempt. His face was adamant, implacable. Edward had many facades, but this was the prince at his most genuine. And his most terrifying. Naked ambition came off him like heat.