Templar's Destiny (9780545415095) (20 page)

March 18, 1314

The carts rolled across the bridge and through the muddy streets as people shouted and jeered. Rotten fruit and vegetables pelted the ragged wooden slats and the men inside flinched beneath the onslaught. The crowd was thick with bodies pressed tightly together, their mood as high as if a festival and not an execution was about to take place.

Alexander, Aine, and I stood apart from one another, three points of the compass, north, south, and east. The platform with the scaffold was erected at the western point of the Île de la Cité, before the cathedral of Notre Dame. On the opposite shore, the King and his court crowded the parapets of the castle, watching to be sure at last that the Order of the Templar Knights was, without a shadow of doubt, finished.

The Grand Master, Jacques de Molay, and the Master Preceptor of Normandy, Geoffroi de Charney, were pulled from the carts by the ropes that bound their wrists. They were each a shadow of their former selves, withered and filthy, skeletal from years of torture, and a lack of food, water, and light, held as they had been in the dungeons of Chinon Castle deep below the city these last seven years. My heart ached for them. Nothing would change the outcome of this day. Nothing any of us could do would keep them from death, but we the gifted would join together today, perhaps one last time, to make their passing bearable.

I surveyed the crowd and saw many faces of the Templars who had gone to ground in the days before the dawn raid. They were alive and still practicing their faith in the Lord. Alexander and I had traveled the lands for many years seeking out the ones he knew to be gifted. We were, all of us, here out of respect and love.

The two men were dragged to the platform, tripping and stumbling without mercy from their captors. I wanted to press through the crowd and wrest them away, but held to my position even as I saw the blood on their wrists where the frayed ropes had cut and the way their legs shook as they staggered up the five steps to the top. Two lone stakes stood sentinel in the middle of the wooden stage. Tall heaps of kindling lined the platform's edge.

Aine's song began, outwardly silent, but ringing strong and sure within my mind. I called the power to me, reveling in the rush that set my blood afire. With a breath, I whispered over the gathered and I felt each of the gifted add to the net I was building and spreading. None of the non-gifted knew that anything was amiss.

I felt Alexander's strength as it added to my own. I was the main contact, the Chosen of Our Lady, and I would use Her Holy likeness, the carving, to accomplish what must be done. The Grand Master was dragged to the first stake. His soft words came to me as if on the wind. His request was to allow his hands be left unbound so that he could continue to pray. The executioner wavered, and I sent a strong command into his mind.
Ye will allow it. There is no harm in this.
The man moved on to the other captive without hesitation, leaving the Grand Master to his prayers.

I stilled my mind, calling on the triple grounding command, taking an inventory of the power available to me. There was more than enough to give peace to the men as they died and that was our main duty here.

As the inquisitor took the stage, the murmur of the crowd quieted and they waited expectantly. “Jacques de Molay. Geoffroi de Charney. You have been judged and found guilty by the law of the Kingdom. You have been sentenced to burn at the stake for your crimes. Have you anything to say?”

All of the gathered grew still and from across the water only the whisper of the wind seemed to cry in protest. The Grand Master raised his voice to the heavens. “The Templar Order is innocent. Let evil fall swiftly upon those who have falsely accused us. I condemn them to follow me unto death within the turn of the season.” His eyes were focused on the King's palace in the distance as the wood was piled around his and de Charney's feet.

A murmur arose then, and the crowd slowly parted. Hope rose within me as the bright robes of the Archbishop Lambert progressed across the bridge. Slowly and regally he moved, commanding the eyes and ears of the onlookers. He passed by me not a hand span apart, and I held the power steady as I waited and watched with all of the others. Up the uneven stairway he strode and across the platform as the wood continued to be heaped.

Before the Preceptor of Normandy he stopped and slowly raised a hand to trace the sign of the cross. “Your sins have been forgiven.
In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.
In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Be forever at peace.” The whisper of de Charney was lost in the noise of the crowd. Then he advanced on the Grand Master, who asked him something that was lost in the riffle. The Archbishop made the sign of the cross, leaned in toward the Grand Master, and spoke several quiet words.

Unwittingly, I had begun to move closer, something compelling my interest. The feel of the carving, brought from the cave for the duty at hand, was alight in the sporran at my waist. I rested my hands on it and Aine's song rose swiftly in my mind as the collar of the Archbishop's robes parted and a small, golden ring suspended on a chain swung free.

Time seemed to stop. Breath seized within my chest as the visions crashed down upon me. The Archbishop bent over the bed of an old man, his hands clamped tight over lips that were trying to expel a dark fluid. The Archbishop removing the Fisherman's Ring from the dead old man, the Holy Father, the Pope. The Archbishop commanding Alexander to find what lay at the end of the map. The Archbishop meeting with de Nogaret, then the Templar trainee Zachariah, planting the seeds of the plan to destroy the Order. The Archbishop promising Gaylen the highest price if he would deliver the relic. The Archbishop commanding the torture of the Abbot that he give up the location of the carving. The Archbishop finding Gaston with the parchment sealed with the impression from the lead hidden in the Queen's library. The struggle that ended with a blade to Gaston's neck as the false orders from the Pope granting the King permission to arrest the Templars fell to the stone floor and into the boy's crimson blood.

And then there came more. Visions that I knew had not yet come to pass. The Archbishop being inaugurated as the next Pope. The Holy Vessel alight in his hands.

It had been him all along, the nameless, faceless evil that had been moving among us. We had all been unaware. We had all furthered his goals and not a one of us knew that we had been doing so.

Fury whipped suddenly within me and with a strong and violent push I sent the knowledge out to all of the gifted gathered. I felt the shock of the many and most strongly the Templar Alexander, whose roar of denial resounded within my mind.

And within that roar I remembered what he sought most to teach me, that the future could be changed. That I could bring about that change with my decisions and actions.

As the Archbishop stepped away from the Grand Master and started back toward the stairs, I sent my mind along a tendril of power straight into the paths of his body, winging through the blood, deep into his heart. And there I began to squeeze. As I had tried to make Bertrand's heart beat more strongly, I worked the Archbishop's organ in the opposite manner. I felt his steps begin to falter as he neared the stairs, and his eyes grew dark within his head. I watched his hands grasp his chest as he began to fall, and as the crowd parted in fear, I saw the chain snap beneath his groping fingers. As he toppled dead from the platform, the ring of the Holy Father disappeared beneath the scaffolding. Undisturbed by the unexpected drama, the executioner lay spark to the tinder beneath the last earthly leaders of the Templar Order.

Tormod,
Alexander directed sharply in my mind, shaking me from the shock of what I'd done. Before me was the pained gaze of the Grand Master. Quickly, I applied myself to the task I had come for.

All of the Order used their gifts accordingly. Some drew all feel of pain from the men as the flames grew high and scorched their bodies. Some sent visions of loveliness into their minds, memories of childhood, loved ones, and beloved places. Some slowed the breath in their lungs and the beat of their hearts. And I funneled the pure and absolute love of the Mother directly into their minds. Then, with tears in my eyes, we commended their spirits unto the Lord.

We stayed until both had departed this world, until their earthly bodies had dissolved into ash. And then as one we prayed.

As (allegedly) prophesied by Grand Master Jacques de Molay, both the King and Pope who had orchestrated and allowed the extermination of the Templar Line died within the year.

April 20, 1314

Pope Clement V died less than a month after the execution of Jacques de Molay. It is rumored that, while his body was lying in state, it was burnt by lightning from an intense storm that rose up out of the night.

November 29, 1314

King Philippe le Bel of France died from complications that allegedly arose after falling from his horse while hunting.

It was both difficult and gratifying to end this series of books. Difficult, in that there were so many wonderful threads and scenes to tie together, and gratifying because I have learned as much about history as I have of the craft of writing in the process. I hope you have enjoyed my efforts. I apologize for any errors that might have come across in writing about a time, not only so long past, but documented, at times, very scarcely. Remember that many of the characters are works of fiction, but do look up the history of the Knights Templar. In my research, I have been constantly intrigued and impressed by the Order.

As always I thank my family, friends, and fans for their constant love, support, and encouragement. It's been a trying couple of years and I would not have made it without you. To my amazing editorial publishing team, Cassandra Pelham and Andrea Davis Pinkney, thank you for allowing me to follow this story through to the end with guidance, patience, and enthusiasm. You have my eternal gratitude. To my fabulous Speculative Fiction Group, most especially Lyndsay Calusine, who always manages to catch the small and incorrect details that would surely be my undoing, I offer all my thanks and love.

And to the angels who watch over me and mine (I include Templars in this list), you have my heart and soul.