Satan's Fire (A Medieval Mystery Featuring Hugh Corbett) (30 page)

Corbett closed his eyes.

‘That is the warning I read out at the priory when I was present with the king. However, the warning given to me on Ouse Bridge read a little differently:

 

‘And the same is true of the warning which Master Claverley took from Murston’s gibbet.’ Corbett shrugged. ‘It was that which made me wonder. Were there two parties to this macabre game? Legrave in England and de Craon in France? Legrave posted the warning at St Paul’s when the Templars passed through London. De Craon passed me the second rendering of the message as I travelled through York. He also had one of his clerks display one on Murston’s gibbet just to deepen the mystery.’ Corbett smiled bleakly at the Frenchman. ‘You’ll have to tell your master in France that you made a terrible mistake: you copied out a message wrongly.’

The French envoy did not stir but sat, head back, staring up at the ceiling, running his hands through his sparse red beard.

‘But what’s this connection?’ Symmes asked. ‘How did you know Legrave and de Craon were fellow conspirators?’

Corbett turned to him. ‘Because on my arrival here – and you may not recall this – I told you that I had received a similar death threat but I did not tell you where. Later on, in discussion with all of you, Legrave casually remarked on how I was threatened as I crossed Ouse Bridge. How did he know that unless he and de Craon were fellow conspirators?’ Corbett pointed to Symmes. ‘You have written out your account, as the grand master ordered, of this whole sorry tale?’

The Templar nodded.

‘And you, Branquier?’

‘Of course.’

‘And Legrave?’

‘I was too busy,’ he retorted.

‘Whatever,’ Symmes barked. ‘I never knew about the warning being given on Ouse bridge.’ He pointed at Legrave. ‘Yet I do remember you saying it and Branquier kept a record of that meeting.’

‘But this manor has been secured,’ de Molay explained. ‘None of us could enter York, nor has Monsieur de Craon been here.’

Corbett asked. ‘If you wanted to correspond with someone just beyond the walls of this manor, would it be difficult? Baddlesmere found it very easy to slip away. I am sure Monsieur de Craon has envoys and clerks to run his errands – and so each kept the other informed about what was happening.’ Corbett paused and stared at the window. The storm had passed but the rain was still splattering against the windows. ‘In the end,’ Corbett murmured, ‘I must confess, I made a terrible mistake.’ He glanced round the table. ‘I thought this Order was rotten but, as in any community, there are bad and there are good. Grand Master, for my suspicions against you and the rest of your brothers, I apologise.’ Corbett rubbed his face. ‘But I am tired and my heart is elsewhere. “
Veritas in ripa
”,’ he murmured. ‘Truth stands on the bank.’ He stared at Legrave. ‘That’s what Baddlesmere scrawled on the wall of his cell before he hanged himself. He, too, had guessed the identity of the assassin. Perhaps he had seen something. Perhaps he had reflected on how close Legrave had been to Trinity when the king had been attacked. Perhaps he remembered what an excellent archer Legrave had been. A born warrior, he was not left-handed or right-handed but ambidextrous, who could shift a lance so easily from one hand to another. When I recalled the assassin in the library and asked my servant to play the part, I became confused until I remembered how the assassin kept moving the crossbow from hand to hand.’ Corbett looked at the grand master. ‘You know what the inscription meant?’

‘Yes, yes, I do,’ de Molay replied. “‘
Ripa
” in Latin means bank, but in French bank is “
la grève
”.’

Corbett pushed back his chair. ‘Baddlesmere knew that,’ he said. ‘But he could not betray an old friend, a brother of his Order. Moreover, he lacked any evidence so, in leaving that cryptic message, he purged his conscience.’ Corbett rose to his feet. ‘I have finished. Grand Master,’ he declared, ‘there is no secret coven or conspiracy amongst the Templars but instead, as I have described, there has been an attempt to bring the Order into discredit, to provoke Edward of England into seizing it and thus pave the way for Philip of France to act. Legrave was their tool but the conspiracy had its roots—’ Corbett glanced at de Craon ‘—with those dark souls who advise the French king.’

‘I, too, am finished.’ De Craon sprang to his feet, his chair crashing back to the floor. ‘Grand Master, I refuse to stay here and listen to this nonsense: these insults offered to myself and my master. A formal protest will be lodged both with Edward of England and the Temple in Paris.’

‘You can go when you want,’ de Molay uttered drily. ‘As you say, you are an accredited envoy. I have no power over you.’

De Craon opened his mouth to reply but thought better of it and, with his black-garbed clerk following, strode out of the room. Only when he passed Corbett did his eyes shift; the clerk flinched at the malevolent hatred in the man’s eyes. Corbett waited until the door slammed behind him and listened to de Craon’s fading shouts for his horses and the rest of his servants to join him.

‘He will return to York,’ Corbett declared, ‘then protest most effusively to His Grace and, by this time tomorrow, he will be travelling to the nearest port for a ship back to France. Now I, too, must go.’

He glanced at Legrave who sat, hands clasped together, staring into the darkness, his lips moving wordlessly. Corbett still hoped to spare this man the ultimate degradation.

‘You cannot go,’ de Molay declared.

‘But you gave your word.’

‘When these matters are finished!’ de Molay snapped. ‘And they are not finished yet!’ He turned. ‘Sir Ralph Legrave, Commander of this Order, what answer do you make to these accusations?’

Symmes, sitting next to the accused, grasped him by the arm and shook him. Legrave pulled his arm away as if he could see something in the shadows on the other side of the hall.

‘What answer do you make?’ de Molay demanded harshly.

‘I am a Templar,’ Legrave replied.

‘You are accused of terrible crimes,’ Branquier retorted. ‘Your chamber and possessions will be searched!’

Legrave shook himself from his reverie. ‘There’s no need for that.’ He ran a finger round his lips. ‘Search my room and you’ll find the evidence.’ He chewed the corner of his lip and glanced fleetingly at Corbett. ‘They might not find it but you will. De Craon warned me about you. I should have killed you immediately. We all deserved to die.’ His voice rose. ‘We are the Templars, men devoted to war against the Infidel. Now look at us: bankers, merchants, farmers. Men like Brother Odo living on past glories. Reverchien and his stupid pilgrimage every morning; Baddlesmere with his boys; Symmes and his drinking; Branquier and his accounts. What hope is there for any of us? I came into this Order because of a vision just as noble, just as holy as the search for any Grail.’ He jabbed a finger towards de Molay. ‘Philip of France is right. Our Order is finished. Why should we hug our riches to us? The Order should be dissolved, united with others, given a fresh purpose.’

‘And you?’ Corbett asked, curious at what Philip had offered this Judas.

‘To be a knight banneret at the French court,’ Legrave answered. ‘Yes, to have manors and estates, a release from my vows. The opportunity to make up the time lost; to marry, to beget an heir. At least there’s purpose in that. Sooner or later the storm will come, and the house of the Templars, built upon sand, will shatter and fall; and great will that fall be.’

Corbett went and stood over him. ‘You’re a liar,’ he accused. ‘You were a coward: you betrayed your Order years ago at Acre.’

Legrave’s head snapped back at the hiss of anger from his companions.

‘What, what are you saying?’ he stuttered.

‘I met a knight, a Templar in the Lazar hospital in York. A man kept prisoner for years by the Assassins: he did not give me his name. He called himself the “Unknown” but he talked of an English Templar who ran from his post in Acre and doomed his companions.’

‘I have heard of such rumours,’ Branquier interrupted.

‘You ran, didn’t you?’ Corbett asked. ‘And the French found out. They not only offered you wealth but threatened to reveal your cowardice.’

Legrave just nodded and, putting his face in his hands, sobbed quietly.

‘You admit the charges?’ Branquier whispered.

‘He must stand trial,’ Symmes barked.

‘He has stood trial,’ de Molay replied, rising to his feet. ‘And has been found guilty.’

The grand master drew his great sword from its scabbard hanging on the corner of his chair. He walked down the other side of the table then stopped, glaring down at Legrave. He held the sword up just beneath the hilt like a priest holds a cross.

‘I, Jacques de Molay, Grand Master in the Order of the Templars, do find you, Sir Ralph Legrave, knight of that same order, guilty by your hand of the terrible crimes of murder and treason. What have you to say?’

Legrave raised his head.

‘Sentence is passed,’ de Molay intoned. ‘Execution will be carried out at first light tomorrow.’

‘You cannot do that!’ Corbett exclaimed.

‘Go back to your Chancery!’ de Molay retorted. ‘Look amongst the deeds and muniments, your royal charters and licences. I have the power of the axe, the scaffold and the tumbrel, Brother.’ De Molay looked back at Legrave. ‘I ask you for the final time: do you have anything to say?’

‘Nothing,’ Legrave replied. ‘Except, Grand Master. . .’ He stared round the hall, seeing it for the last time. ‘All this will pass,’ Legrave whispered, ‘for our cause is finished. Our days are numbered. Our house will surely fall.’

De Molay went towards the door and came back, leading a group of serjeants. Symmes pulled Legrave to his feet. De Molay removed Legrave’s swordbelt, the sign of a knight.

‘Give him a priest,’ de Molay rasped. ‘Let his sins be shriven.’

The prisoner turned and, without a backward glance, was led out of the hall.

Corbett went towards the grand master, hands extended. ‘Sir, I bid you adieu.’

De Molay grasped his wrist; Corbett grew alarmed as the Templar seized it, holding it with all his strength. Ranulf cursed and stepped forward.

‘You are our guest,’ de Molay declared. ‘It is too late for you to return. You are the king’s commissioners. You must be his witnesses to our justice.’

Corbett’s heart skipped a beat. De Molay was right. Legrave’s execution would have to be witnessed. The king would demand that.

‘You object?’ de Molay asked curiously, still gripping Corbett’s hand.

‘I do not like to see any man die,’ Corbett replied. ‘Least of all at the block.’

De Molay released his hand. ‘It will be swift,’ he murmured. ‘So, sir, tell your servant to withdraw. Branquier and I have something to tell you.’

‘Master,’ Ranulf protested. ‘It is not — ’

‘Sir Hugh is safe,’ de Molay reiterated. ‘No harm will come to him. You have my oath.’

Corbett nodded; Ranulf and Maltote reluctantly went to the door.

‘Wait for him in the guesthouse,’ the grand master called out. ‘He may be some time. You have nothing to fear.’

Once the door closed behind them, de Molay gestured Corbett to sit, he and Branquier on either side of him.

‘You suspected,’ Corbett began.

‘I understood Baddlesmere’s riddle,’ de Molay replied. ‘Though I could not see how it could be true.’

‘And Philip of France’s meddling?’

‘The thought crossed my mind,’ de Molay replied. ‘At the Chapter in Paris, Legrave was often missing. I wondered if he was meeting some of Philip’s coven. The French king has always found us an irritation. We constantly remind him about how his sainted grandfather went to the aid of the Holy Places in Outremer. But something else; about eighteen months ago Philip, now a widower, actually applied to be admitted into our Order.’

‘Why?’ Corbett exclaimed.

‘For the glory. Perhaps our treasure. Or to learn our Great Mystery.’

‘What Great Mystery?’ Corbett asked.

De Molay looked across the table at Branquier.

‘He deserves to know,’ he remarked quietly.

Branquier breathed out noisily.

‘I have decided,’ de Molay repeated. He loosened the collar of his shirt, took out a gold reliquary, covered at the front by a piece of thick glass, and placed it on the table. He pulled the candle closer.

‘What is it?’ Corbett asked.

‘A piece of the true cross,’ de Molay explained. ‘Taken before we lost it at the Battle of Hattin. Put your hand over it.’

Corbett obeyed.

‘Now swear,’ the grand master insisted, ‘that what you see tonight, you will not describe, or hint at in any way, to another living soul.’

‘I swear!’ Corbett replied. He knew the Templars were about to reveal the Great Mystery of their Order: the source of all their secret rituals, hidden chambers, and ceremonies held at the dead of night.

‘I swear,’ he repeated, ‘by the Saviour’s Cross!’

De Molay slipped the reliquary back round his neck and, without another word, he and Branquier led Corbett out of the hall. They went up the stairs on to the gallery towards the secret chamber, still closely guarded by a company of soldiers. De Molay unlocked the room but he did not take Corbett aside. Instead, he came out carrying the tapestry Corbett had noticed hanging there on his first visit. The Templar soldiers stood like statues, heads lowered as Corbett was led up another flight of stairs and into a secret chapel. The tapestry was hung on a small hook thrust into the rim of the altar standing on the dais. Sconce torches were lit, as were the candles and the dark chamber flared into light. Three cushions were placed on the floor. Branquier gestured at Corbett to kneel, the Templar beside him. De Molay then played with the wooden rim round the tapestry. He took this and the tapestry away, revealing a pale linen sheet. Corbett could see the cloth was very old, yellowing with age, with a faint outline on it. De Molay then put two candles on either side of the sheet, etching more sharply the image it held. He came and knelt beside Corbett.