When his time
came to stand he prayed that his legs would not give way and then spoke from
the Psalms. ‘Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgement, nor sinners
in the congregation of the righteous, for the Lord knoweth the way of the
righteous: but the way of the ungodly shall perish . . .’ Then he gave a brief
summary of the errors of the Order, careful to note that the Templars could not
go unpunished without inflicting damage on the honour of all those who loved
God.
‘After a long
and mature reflection,’ he said breathless, his hands trembling, ‘having before
our eyes only our Lord and bearing in mind only the interests of the Holy Land
. . . we abolish by perpetual sanction and with the approval of the Holy
Council the Order of the Temple, its rule, its habit and its name, strictly
forbidding anyone to enter into the Order, to receive or wear its habit, or to
act as if he were a Templar . . .
Factum
est
. . . It is done.’
He sank into his
throne and noticed that his hands smelt peculiar. As the King removed himself
and his entourage, Clement called for his attendant to bring him a bowl of
water. When it arrived he washed his hands, but the stink would not relent.
He had not felt
the contents of his bowels leave his body and form a puddle of excrement on the
floor.
I
terius
ran from the royal gates and from there he stumbled over the bridge and through
narrow streets, holding himself together. Fear nestled deeply in his breast and
he barely noticed the people that, like a blur of images, came and went about
in the early morning. In this state of half-mindedness he lurched into a
fishmonger’s cart and, throwing his arms about in the air for balance, lost his
footing and fell face down into mud and filth. He heard laughter and a shiver
whisked through him.
He recalled the
dream; he had seen himself falling from a great height, and the feeling of
surprise and a terrible pain had come over him as if some creature were tearing
at his face, throat and hand. Amongst the events of this nightmare he had seen
the King’s face distorted into a grin as he laughed and said these words: ‘You
shall never know it now, Iterius!’
How must he
interpret this beyond the plain facts? He was a man marked for death . . . a
counterfeit . . . empty and deluded.
Such a man
without the affection of his king was a man utterly lost in the void of his own
nothingness. A nothing!
What should he
do? He was given a glimpse of the horror of his destiny, and against this
momentary lapse into the truth of things, he closed his eyes and lay, letting
the muck soak into his cloak and breeches and stockings. ‘Oh!’ he said, opening
one eye and looking around him for assassins, and again, ‘Oh!’ into the mud. An
anxiety rose to his throat and caused a great trembling to come over him. He
grasped his cloak and pulled the wet muddy thing around him, taking gasps of
air into his lungs. Calm ... calm . . . he told the blood congealing in his
veins, Calm ... calm . . . he told the thoughts that flared up in the pit of
his mind. His cunning had never failed to find deplorable ways around immovable
obstacles. All he needed was a moment to collect
himself
.
Just a moment and something would surface to rescue him from this predicament .
. . something . . .
The world moved
around him as if he were a cockroach flailing in a puddle. Children passed and
threw food at him or kicked more mud into his face, but the Egyptian was lost
in thought and ignored these inconveniences long enough for a dull sense that
all was not lost to gradually emerge from the abysmal depths of his soul. He
might be nothing more than an imitation, a forgery, but even something
worthless held its own strange value for those who had a use for it. He stood
and wiped the grime from his face and his hands and took the thought to its
conclusion.
The lawyer, de
Plaisians . . . that was the name that had popped into his mind . . . something
told him that this man would find him useful. Perhaps a little could be gained
after all?
He straightened
his back. First he would travel to Grozeau for an audience with his other
master, the Pope. Iterius had failed him as well, but perhaps something could
be salvaged.
Perhaps the Pope
would take him as his astrologer? In the event this tack proved unsuccessful he
would take more poison to give to Clement’s keepers.
Yes, all things
would be put to rights.
And thus did
Iterius walk away from his humiliation with the gait of the resourceful, and a
smile upon his mud-stained face.
C
harles,
Count of Valois!’ exclaimed Guillaume de ‘Plaisians when the King’s brother
rushed to catch up with him along one of the corridors in the east wing of the
palace. When he reached de Plaisians, the King’s brother was breathless and
sweating.
De Plaisians
smiled. ‘How fortunate to meet with you,’ he said, looking over the man with
mild amusement, for arrayed in purple with ermine around his shoulders the
count looked like those strange creatures one saw illuminated in bestiaries. ‘What
is your pleasure, Count?’
Charles of
Valois,
disconcerted and suffering a cold, took a dismal
moment to regain his composure before answering. ‘Plaisians . . . you have sent
a message whose contents . . . whose contents, suggest . . .’ he lowered his
voice, ‘treason of the highest order.’ He edged towards a painting of St Louis,
grim-faced and ascetic, commissioned by Philip. When he was sure there was no
one in earshot the count spoke again. ‘There are spies everywhere! Philip tells
me that the papal commission’s first witness, de Folliaco, was a spy –
how do we know we are not being watched as a lion observes its prey, hidden in
the shadows?’
‘It is we who,
one might say, hide in the shadows. Besides, in these arts, dear Count, I am
king.’
‘Arts?’ he
snickered, sniffing and sucking his phlegm. ‘I have heard your only art is in
making women moan, Plaisians. I have heard you like them especially lowborn.’
De Plaisians
made a soft laugh. ‘Yes, why not? I admit to a fondness for those plump little
girls from the Parloir aux Bourgeois. I think the odours of frying fat and
leather stir the loins of a man too accustomed to perfumes. However, queens too
are tasty morsels, not without their uses, for one must not think the sport of
Eros and the games of intrigue mutually exclusive.’
‘Plaisians,
control your tongue, these are serious matters!’ the count said, and he gave a
spluttering sneeze.
‘If I cannot
control it in matters of love, why should I do so in matters of intrigue? First
of all,’ de Plaisians continued, taking the other man’s arm so that they both
walked in step, ‘let me give you some advice – you must be
attentus
. Pretending always to know
little, so that whatever he tells you, he must repeat a second time, even more
precisely. Then you ingratiate yourself with little lies, little gratuities,
but only little ones, for he shall soon get wind of it if you exaggerate your
love . . . That is how I am with women, Count, and it has stood me in good
stead.’
‘Wait!’ The man
was confused. ‘Of whom do you speak?’
‘Why, the King,
of course! We must be able to anticipate his every move and, above all, we must
know his own thoughts even before he knows them.’
‘To what advantage?
Monsieur, you are
confounding me!’ he whispered harshly, stopping in his tracks.
‘Everything is
to the advantage of a man who seeks to become more celebrated than his
brother.’
There was a look
of horror and the pale face grew paler and sweat began to glisten over the
bulbous forehead; he gave another sneeze. He brought a wet cloth to his nose
and blew loudly into it. ‘You are mistaken, monsieur! And you are a traitor
into the bargain!’ The count loosened himself from the lawyer’s hold and began
to walk away, but something stopped him and he turned around, fear composing
the lines of his face into a grimace. He sniffed and passed his trembling
fingers through his thinning hair. ‘What,’ he trembled, ‘is it that you want of
me, Plaisians?’
Suddenly a group
of guards and notaries, courtiers and advisers passed them. The palace seemed
engulfed in imbroglio.
‘Not here, come
. . . let us find a chamber . . .’ De Plaisians opened a door nearby that led
from the corridor to a room adorned with paintings and tapestries. Here it was
cold, dim and empty. ‘This is perfect. After you?’ He bowed deferentially.
The count huffed
and snorted and, narrowing his eyes, entered the room.
Once they were
inside and the door was shut, de Plaisians spoke from out of the gloom. ‘I hope
whatever it is you are preparing has been well prepared,’ he said, delighted to
be confounding the other man. ‘As it is I have done most of it for you, we only
await the result.’
‘Most of it?’
‘Why yes, nearly
all of it really.’
‘Monsieur, what
do you speak of?’
‘Come now, dear
Count
. . . the brothers Aunay, the princesses, your future
crown!’
The man gasped.
‘For the love of God! What are you saying, Plaisians?’
‘Please Count,
to feign ignorance is most unnecessary, for I know you to be a man whose
political skill I liken to . . . to Caesar! Your courage to Hannibal!’ He
paused to see what
effect
this had on the count before
continuing. ‘That the Pope overlooked your estimable virtues and appointed
another man emperor signals his incompetence, for you are a man who, after all,
knows the necessity of countering difficulties and dangers with a prowess that
is treacherous certainly, but also . . . timely and wise.’
‘Well . . .’
said the other man, frowning and coughing, but an unsettled contentment was
discerned clearly in his thick, oily voice. ‘Necessity dictates . . . one’s
actions . . . but . . . what are you talking about?’
‘The princesses,
my dear Count! Ah! Marguerite of Navarre, if you could see her as nature has
made
her,
you would think her nothing less than a
wondrous architecture of womanhood! She is the thunder of heaven! She is that
nepenthe that inspires unsatisfied satisfaction!’
‘Enough!’ The
count, whose sexual impotence was commonly known, sniffed again, wetly. ‘Tell
me everything.’
De Plaisians
smiled to the very edges of his dimpled cheeks. ‘Once Marguerite was satisfied,
and I myself achieved this with very little trouble, the other princess was in
a hurry to see what she was missing. Now, you see, these poor women, who had
not known the pleasures of love, could not afterwards bear to be parted from
them . . . After I distanced myself from their warm beds they began looking
around for lovers and that is when their gaze fell upon your equerries, quite
naturally.’
‘My equerries .
.
. ?
’ The count nodded his head slowly. ‘You put my
equerries in their way?’
‘In the most
subtle manner.’
The other man
sniffed. ‘But with what aim, Plaisians?’
‘With the aim
that soon the world shall hear of it – the King’s sons are cuckold! The
lovers of their wives will then be drawn and quartered and their heads shall be
hung on gibbets and their tongues sold to the sorcerers.’
‘And my
brother’s daughters-in-law shall lie in prison for life, or else die by the axe
. . .’ It was obvious that a light was lit in the count’s vacuous head because
he said very slowly, ‘And the King’s sons shall be left without heirs . .
. !
’
‘Most astute,
Count! Now, look at your nephews: Louis is weak and hollow-chested, Philippe is
thin, and Charles shall certainly succumb to . . . some terrible disease . . .
Many uncles have been known to outlive their nephews . . . especially when
there are no heirs to the throne . . .’
‘Yes . . .
especially so.’ The count sniffed with his blocked nose and smiled as a wicked
realisation dawned over his puffy features. ‘But . . . what shall you get
quid pro quo
, Plaisians?’
‘There is the
matter of elevation . . .’
‘Yes. And
further?’
‘If you should
become king, it would be my pleasure to serve you as Keeper of the Royal Seals.’
The count
frowned. ‘But Nogaret lives?’
‘There you have
illustrated my point! He lives, but as Horace tells us, dear Count, one night
awaits us all.’
‘I do not know
if I wish to kill him . . .’
‘Well, shall we
say that Nogaret was not so perturbed when your wife died, providing him with
an advantageous lure which he used to tempt Jacques de Molay to remain in
France.’
Charles looked
at this and shrugged. ‘I was not myself much perturbed by it.’