The Seal (37 page)

The man waited
patiently for his sovereign to finish and then began with a calm voice. ‘Last
year, sire, you asked the university masters for their lawyerly opinions on the
legitimacy of the arrests, and when their prevarications were received, you
seemed not so upset.’

‘Not so upset?’
he thundered, getting up and moving towards the windows. ‘How could it not
upset me? Perhaps I was outwardly serene because I had not expected the
unexpected . . . then.’ The King cast a look of shared knowledge. ‘But your
Royal Majesty finds himself not so peaceful now that he must look for
loopholes!’

‘No, sire.’

‘Of course not .
. . it is to be expected. Look at how things are going, Marigny! After these
replies, which did nothing to support me, I was put from my balance once again
when our gathering in the city of Tours came to nothing! What support was there
from the communities of France for their king? I wanted a large attendance,
Marigny! Grand! I wished to put fear into that swine of a pope’s profane heart,
to make him see that the nobles, that the French Church and its people, support
my actions! Then he would have seen he had no other recourse but to comply with
my demands. God knows we needed it, Marigny! But what did I get? Gilles Aicelin
sends his suffragans to Poitiers, not Tours, by mistake? How many pleaded
illness? How many said that it was short notice? Cowards! I was left with
crumbs! Then at Poitiers that old, near-dead corpse imposes conditions on me!
The King of France! Has he forgotten our preconditions, Marigny? Has he
forgotten who warms his pontifical seat?’

‘Perhaps he has
his eye on the Templar fortune, sire?’ de Marigny answered, as bland as
custard.

Philip’s ruddy
face contorted into a look of hatred. ‘I shall have that eye put out!’ he
yelled.

‘Everything now
moves too slowly and your Royal Highness wishes it all to end! Is that not why
we sent Charles to his chambers that night, to have him bring everything to a
close? In return that fat pontiff sends my brother back with a scheme to make
it all last till the end of time! Delays and prevarications! Charles is an
idiot for not seeing it! And to think he pesters me to make him emperor!’

De Plaisians saw
the chamberlain’s face change almost
imperceptibly,
his eyes became hard and watchful. ‘Sire, I . . . can only wonder if your
brother keeps the King’s interests firmly in his heart?’

‘Charles is an
opportunist and a fool, Marigny, totally untrustworthy, and blunt of mind!’ The
King was suddenly despoiled of temper. ‘But I have always found that one can
trust Charles to be Charles, and he has never disappointed me.’

There was a
pause. The King observed his own thoughts, and gazed out the window again, as
if expecting an answer from the snowflakes that were even now falling over the
grounds of his palace.

A sudden draught
blew out the candles, and then the lamps flickered and went out, casting the
three men into sudden gloom. It was cold.

The King
wandered back to his seat and sat down heavily, clicking his fingers. The
greyhounds leapt up immediately. ‘Sit!’ he told them, rubbing their chests as
attendants rushed in to light the flames. Momentarily a golden light
illuminated everything, and yet some darkness was left behind, as though it had
gathered strength in that one moment and resisted banishment.

The King turned
mercurial.
‘My brother’s sympathies lie where they profit him
most – I admire that.
He has always resented not having succeeded
to the throne, quite naturally. Perhaps the Empire would smooth his feathers.
Then we could exert a hold or two over the Church and the Empire. We kill two
foxes with one dog, do you see? There are advantages for you also, for you
have, it is true, taken his place as my adviser and he is inconsolable. It is
no secret that my brother hates you . . .’

He looked at
this with fascination. ‘In truth he loathes you! Perhaps, as emperor, he will
find his hate diminished?’ There was silence. ‘Perhaps you hate him also?’

De Marigny
remained very still. There was a pause rendered more significant by
uncertainty. The man reminded de Plaisians of a rat who fears the cat and yet
is destined to leap into its mouth. No, no, thought de Plaisians with sudden
amusement. That was not it! He was the fattened hen called by the farmer
holding a sharpened axe!

‘Sire,’ de
Marigny said, ‘I . . . I . . . have the profoundest . . . the most –’

The King waved a
hand, bored. ‘Never mind! Hate is a good emotion. Hate and rivalry, they
enrich, they blood the hunt, they add vigour to the lungs . . . You see these
two?’ He caressed the silky coats of his animals with bejewelled fingers. ‘They
are happy now because they are equally loved, but should I caress one and not
the other . . .’ He paid particular attention to one dog until the other animal
rendered its teeth and growled at his fellow. ‘You see? This rivalry shall make
them good hunters, because they shall try to outrun and outwit each other to
gain my favour.’ He continued until one jealous dog snapped at the other,
drawing blood. ‘Good dog, Prince!’ The King smiled thinly. ‘Attendant! See to
it!’

A servant
emerged from behind a tapestry and took away the bitten animal.

Philip looked down
at his blood-covered hand. He pressed the redness between his fingers, bringing
it to his nose to smell it. He tasted it then. ‘Why does blood taste so like
metal?’ he asked de Marigny absently.

De Marigny
looked about him with helpless agitation, and Guillaume de Plaisians seized his
chance. ‘Perhaps there are sub-stances in the blood that resemble metals, sire
. . .’

The King’s mouth
moved in an odd smile. He clapped his hands, ‘Wine!’ he said,
then
turned to de Plaisians. ‘Really? Metallic substances?
Gold perhaps?’

‘Only in the
case of kings, sire,’ said de Plaisians.

Philip Capet
raised an eyebrow and turned to his minister with a little less regard than
before. ‘Did you know this, Marigny... that there is gold in the blood of
kings?’

The minister shook
his head. ‘No, sire.’

An attendant
brought forth wine.

The King took it
and drank. ‘Be sure that you are not weak, Marigny,’ he said. ‘Rather, steel
yourself and be ready to bite like Prince for my affections . . . always
mindful.’ He smiled and raised a finger in the air. ‘
Cave canum
, for although my brother is a mangy dog, even such a dog
has teeth! But if we hold the Empire in front of his nose like a joint of
mutton, then we shall control him and the papacy.’ He changed his mood again
and clapped both hands. ‘Is all of it ready?’

De Marigny,
perhaps used to his king’s strange philosophies and outbursts, answered mildly,
‘Yes, sire. If we place my brother in the position of Archbishop of Sens we
shall control all his suffragan bishops, including the Bishop of Paris.’

‘Good then . . .
go, prepare!’

He waved a hand
then because he had forgotten something. ‘Also, go to Dubois today, have him
draught a
scandalum magnatum
that
shall make the Pope look like a miniature Satan. If we must we should mention
sodomy, sorcery, etcetera . . . as well as the usual excesses and corruptions
– he is French, after all.’

‘Yes, sire,’

‘And Marigny?’

‘Yes, sire?’

‘Quietus, my
friend, don’t be so serious. You are my best man, a loyal servant and your
Majesty holds you in high esteem.’

The man bowed.

‘
In praesenti
. . .’ he said, waving him
away. ‘
Cave Canem
... beware of the
dog!’

When he was gone
the King turned to Guillaume de Plaisians. ‘Remind me to have Dubois write
something about Marigny, will you? In case I need it . . . I am in the mood for
sorcery these days.’

For long moments
the King ignored the lawyer, preferring instead to play with his animal. When
he became bored he shooed the thing away and gestured for de Plaisians to come
closer. ‘Tell me, did the Templar make a fool of himself?’ His eyes were steady
and brilliant in their coldness. ‘It intrigues me.’

‘Yes, sire . . .
more than we could have dreamed. If I may say, the destiny of the Order has
this day been sealed.’

‘How so?’ The
King sat forward, cupping his chin, and a dart shot out from his eyes to the
lawyer.

This man is all
eagerness, de Plaisians thought, then said, ‘The Grand Master behaved in a
manner that left no doubt as to his unstable state of mind and moreover . . .
he asked if he could take my counsel.’

The King’s eyes
went completely blank. ‘He asked if he could take the counsel of the King’s
counsellor?’ He sat back and his mouth twisted crookedly – the slightest
trace of admiration surfacing over his brow. ‘How did you do it?’

‘One must
understand human nature, your Majesty.’

‘And he did not
detect your insincerity?’

‘Not in the
slightest.’

He banged both
fists on the arms of his throne. ‘Very good!’

‘In truth he was
very grateful to me for I vowed to arrange for communications to resume between
himself and his lawyers.’

The King
paused,
afterwards he whispered so quietly that de Plaisians
had to lean in to hear, ‘Are you an imbecile?’

De Plaisians had
expected this. ‘I offered to aid him in any way possible in his communications
with other members of his Order.’

The King was
grave. He stood and paced the room, sleek-limbed and significant. Looking to
one side as he walked he said, ‘Make satisfaction of your answer, lawyer.’

‘Sire, you
misunderstand me.’ His head was bent in deference. ‘It was my intention to
endear the Templar to me, and I think he trusts me, for it is clear that he is
a fool. As he was sinking deeper into the mire, he stared at me like a lamb
who
seeks shelter with a faithful dog. That was when I set
about my plan. To woo him as one does a woman, with promises, pledges and
affection, but just like that liaison I shall keep my promises to the extent
that they are profitable . . . to you. Namely, to allow such a communication to
one end and one end only: that they might be convinced to come forward and
defend the Order.’

The King
clenched his jaws and said with perfect civility, ‘Are you insane?’

‘Your Majesty
shall see the cunning of my plan when I tell you that once they defend themselves
they are in effect retracting their confessions, they are recanting, and in the
eyes of the Church the moment they recant they are impenitents . . .’

A pause.

‘Impenitents . .
.’ the King stared abstractly, ‘are delivered to me for burning?’

‘Always, sire .
. . and when the individual Templars are pro-nounced guilty, it shall make it
easier to prove the culpability of the entire Order.’

‘Intriguing . .
.’ the King said.

‘I shall encourage
a great groundswell, a groundswell of pride which shall see as many Templars as
there are in our fair city come forward and beg to be burnt.’

‘And what does
Nogaret think of your remarkable plan? Or is the disciple seeking to be above
his master?’

De Plaisians
thought quickly – the height of cunning was the ability to conceal it.
‘My king . . .’ he bent his head, ‘I pray I have not slighted my master . . . my
loyalty has always
been ...’

‘Yes, yes . . .
loyalties . . .’ The King turned over an inquiring expression and said, ‘I find
you exceedingly interesting, Plaisians.’ He fixed his eyes on him. ‘All around
me there are three kinds of men: those who fear me and shower me with love,
those who despise me and shower me with love, and those who seek benefit and do
likewise. Those who fear me do so in anticipation of evil, those who despise me
wish to destroy me, and those who seek benefit are seeking to be confirmed in
the favourable opinion they have of themselves. You, on the other hand, do not
seem to fear me or hate me, nor do you seek reward, so it seems. You appear to
be splendidly false and nobly untruthful... all is plain to the eye. I like
that, such qualities do I admire in a man! But to trust you, well ... I am not
made up in my mind.’

‘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.