The three men sat at the tables in the corner and waited, occasionally conversing in low tones, always about trivialities, giving nothing away against the possibility that unfriendly ears might hear. There were only four other men in the tavern and none were familiar, but at times like these nobody knew who might be listening.
They had been exchanging banal conversation for a little over an hour when Guillem put in an appearance. Two of the tavern’s occupants had departed in that time, the other two beginning to play dice for small change; the Templars looked up as the door opened and the preceptory’s clerk stepped inside, his black sergeant’s robe hanging limp in the evening heat.
The man crossed to the bar where the innkeeper fetched a bottle and poured him a cup of wine without the need for any verbal exchange, and Guillem gave the man a grateful nod and took a sip, leaning on the counter. Only then did the sergeant, sighing with pleasure at the rich taste, turn his head, looking around the room. His gaze fell upon the three men and moved on for a moment before snapping back, brow folding into a frown of recognition. With a quick glance at the place’s other occupants and a last incline of the head at the barman, Guillem scurried across to the table and stood at the end.
‘Heavens above, but it is good to see you, Brothers.’
Balthesar’s brow rose. ‘We are safe to talk here? No dangerous ears to hear?’
The sergeant shrugged. ‘Ferrer and Guerau? They’re good men and owe their tenancy to the preceptrix. And the owner? Well, let us say that he is a friend. We’re fine, I believe.’
Arnau broke in now: ‘What’s happened, Guillem? I got your letter just after the fall of Ubeda. Apart from the Order of Calatrava, the army are on their way back to their homes, and we came as fast as we realistically could, but we do not know what it is that we hurry home to.’
‘We could not go straight to the preceptory,’ added Tristán, stepping in from the doorway, where he had been lurking in the shadow.
‘You are supposed to be in the stable,’ Arnau hissed at his headstrong and difficult squire, looking around to make sure no one was paying them undue attention, ‘with the other squires, guarding our packs.’
‘Ah but ’tis a dull task, when fascinating things are afoot, Brother.’
As Arnau threw his squire an irritated, disapproving look, Guillem’s eyes took on a nervous, twitchy manner. ‘You did well not to go straight there. The preceptory is a tense place at the moment. De Mont is over-attentive, his eyes and ears on everything.’
‘Who is de Mont?’ Arnau pushed, but Balthesar held up a hand to cut him off.
‘Arnau, stop pressing. Let the man speak at his own pace.’ He turned to Guillem. ‘Tell us everything.’
The clerk nodded and pulled up a chair, taking a sip of his wine. ‘I have only a quarter of an hour at most, and you are lucky to have caught me at all. I do not enjoy the preceptrix’s easy permission to leave the building these days, for she no longer commands in Rourell. I only come when I can sneak myself time. Fortunately, my role means I often have to deliver messages and collect them, so I am regularly out of the preceptory on duties.’
He sighed and put down his cup. ‘It all started not long after you left. Representatives of the Archbishop of Tarragona came to Rourell with charges that had been levied against Preceptrix Ermengarda. She stands accused on multiple counts of corruption. Various local landowners have levelled accusations that she has acquired, for the preceptory, lands that should belong to them, through underhand and illegal means.’
‘Preposterous,’ Ramon snapped.
Guillem nodded. ‘Quite, yet they are proving difficult to refute, and until the situation can be satisfactorily resolved, the preceptrix has been removed from office.’
‘Surely the archbishop cannot credit these claims?’ Arnau snorted.
Guillem shot him a bitter look. ‘Clearly you do not know Archbishop Ramon de Rocaberti. In my time here our paths have crossed once or twice, but worst of all, I know him for his reputation among the common people of the Selva region.’
‘Oh?’
‘The archbishop is a money-grasping and vicious bastard, pardon my wicked tongue,’ he added sharply, glancing upwards and crossing himself. ‘His recent tax rises on Church-controlled lands have made life all but impossible for many of the ordinary folk. There are constant murmurs of dissent because of his tax gatherers. That he might take the side of rich noblemen over a preceptory of the Order is hardly a surprise.’
‘You seriously think an archbishop would be so corrupt?’ Arnau asked.
Balthesar snorted. ‘It almost comes with the territory, my young friend. Corruption among the clergy is neither new nor rare, and men of rich backgrounds such as Rocaberti have little understanding of the plight of the poor.’
‘Maybe the archbishop should have his head pulled from his arse and have things explained to him with a big stick,’ Tristán grunted, miming the actions as he spoke and earning a hard look from the three knights.
‘It may not be that the archbishop is directly involved,’ Guillem added hurriedly, ‘but neither can I picture Rocaberti struggling to prove the preceptrix’s innocence. Given that the nobles have taken their grievances to him, he will undoubtedly take a reasonable cut of any profit for the Church coffers. No, I think the archbishop is our enemy in this as much as any of these dubious claimants.’
‘But why now?’ Balthesar mused. ‘I mean, such disputes are known, and I have seen three resolved in my time at Rourell, but for a slew of them to be presented at the same time through the archbishop is suggestive of a deliberate campaign of legal attack. Do we know any of these claimants?’
Guillem shrugged. ‘There are a grand number of claims. Scores of them. Suffice it to say that if they are all successful, Rourell will be all but penniless and landless. Almost broke. Some of the biggest names in the region, too. The Lord de Salanova, who had granted us land a few years ago, tried to claim it back last year, but was denied by the mother house. Now he renews his claim, despite its being settled already. Vidal de Mila claims the majority of the Francoli bank vineyard which conveniently borders his own estate farmland. Pedro de Canet believes he owns one of the farms to the east – the most lucrative of all our farms, in fact. The list goes on.’
‘So who is this de Mont?’ Arnau pressed again. ‘Why does he command, and where is the preceptrix?’
Guillem turned to him. ‘Once the accusations had been levelled, the archbishop placed the matter in the hands of the mother house at Barbera. They sent one of their brothers, Guillem de Mont, to Rourell to oversee the investigation. De Mont is in temporary control of Rourell while he deals with this, pending either the return to position of the preceptrix, or the appointment of a successor, depending upon the outcome.’
‘Surely this will be swiftly and satisfactorily resolved, then? If the mother house is in charge, they will protect their own. They cannot surely work to abandon their own lands to outsiders? That would be self-defeating, even for greedy men. Especially for greedy men.’
Balthesar shook his head. ‘Never underestimate the wickedness of mankind, Arnau. The preceptrix has ever been unpopular with the staid masters of our Order, who follow the Rule with such rigidity that Saint Bernard himself would be proud. I fear there are many, even in Barbera, who would be willing to ruin one of their own preceptories merely to be rid of the embarrassment of a female preceptor. This has the makings of a conspiracy, I fear.’
Guillem nodded. ‘I share your suspicions, Brother Balthesar. I have done what I can to argue the preceptrix’s innocence in each case. I have sought witnesses who have spoken out on her behalf, stating that they have always and solely worked the lands for the preceptory, and it is only their testimonies that keep her from a guilty verdict thus far, I suspect.’
‘Then you are already to be commended for your efforts in keeping things together until we could return and lend you our aid. Surely the records must speak for themselves, though, Guillem? The Order is nothing i
f not thorough where archives are concerned.’
‘True, Brother, but I cannot claim sufficient seniority to involve myself above my post. All records that can prove or disprove these cases are kept at the mother house.’
Balthesar sighed irritably. ‘Where they are controlled by men who wish to see the preceptrix fall. How convenient. And the records are duplicated, a second set kept by the paborda of Tarragona within the Church land registry.’
Arnau threw out his hands. ‘Then those records can be accessed and should be able to prove her innocence, surely?’
Guillem turned a frown on Arnau. ‘You miss the point, Brother. Those duplicate records are kept in the cathedral of Tarragona.’
‘Under the nose of the archbishop,’ realised Arnau with sagging shoulders.
‘Precisely. The very men who stand to gain from the preceptrix’s fall are the men who control all the evidence that can save her. My paltry efforts are slowing the process, but I fear a disastrous result is an inevitability, and de Mont jealously controls all access to any paperwork that might prevent it.’
‘And that is his right as the investigator for the mother house,’ Ramon sighed.
‘What will happen if the cases are successful?’ Arnau asked, slightly afeared of the answer.
‘Rourell will become the poorest house in Iberia,’ Guillem muttered. ‘Possibly in the world. Its viability for survival will be questionable at best and it will likely be sold on for profit, the brothers and sisters there dispersed to other houses and nunneries.’
‘And the preceptrix will face the judgment of her peers,’ Balthesar added darkly. ‘At best she can hope for dismissal in disgrace. It is highly likely that a sentence of death will be sought, and just as likely that it will be given.’
‘That cannot happen,’ Arnau growled.
‘Quite. But how we can possibly prevent it remains a puzzle.’
‘In the meantime,’ Guillem said, ‘de Mont has a small force of sergeants and servants with him from Barbera to do his bidding, so that he is not forced to rely upon the personnel of Rourell. He has allowed the brothers to continue their work at the preceptory under his supervision, while all sisters, the preceptrix included, have been quartered in the old mill. De Mont will not countenance having women in the house while he commands there. The Rule is being observed with spartan inflexibility.’
‘The mill is a ruin,’ Ramon reminded them. ‘Since the day it burned down, all that has been done with it is a temporary replacement roof and sufficient repairs to prevent its complete collapse. A full restoration has been planned for some time, but had not even yet begun.’
Guillem nodded. ‘It is hardly salubrious quarters, I agree, Brother. It has been made weatherproof and solid, but it remains little more than a prison. The preceptrix might as well be an anchorite now. Oh, do not misunderstand me,’ he added, noting the looks on their faces, ‘she is not being treated as a prisoner. The door there is not locked, and they are neither starved nor mistreated, but the preceptrix knows as well as any that she must be visibly above reproach now and follow the Rule to the letter, so she must not dare to venture from the building until permitted to do so by de Mont.’
‘This is all totally unacceptable.’
Again, Guillem nodded. ‘These past months have been dreadful. I would have contacted you sooner, but I am only permitted to send a letter with the permission of de Mont, and it was only when we heard of your victory at Las Navas that he decided you should be contacted for an update.’ He looked about, that nervousness back in his manner and his eyes. ‘I should go. I’ve been here too long. De Mont will start to question my absence if I am gone for an extended period.’
Balthesar nodded. ‘Go back and be about your work. Keep your eyes and ears open, but say nothing of our return yet. I fear that once our presence is noted, our enemies will become inscrutable. If we need anything we shall leave word here with the owner for you, that way we can perhaps meet without attracting the attention of your current master.’
Guillem rose, nodding and then draining the last of his cup. ‘It is so good to see you all, Brothers. I pray that your return resolves our troubles.’ With that, he withdrew from the tables and made for the door, with one last grateful look at them before slipping out into the evening. There was a protracted pause as the door clunked shut, filled only with the rolling of dice and the cackling of a lucky winner.
‘What are we to make of this?’ Ramon muttered, finally.
‘Villains gathered in a conspiracy,’ Tristán concluded sharply. ‘Greedy masters and greedier priests, all looking to extend their own power at the expense of Rourell and its preceptrix.’
‘Yes,’ Balthesar agreed, ‘but this is the work of a calculating mind rather than a gathering of vultures.’
‘What?’ Arnau frowned at the old knight.
Balthesar sat back and sucked on his teeth. ‘The archbishop would never have the temerity to mastermind, on his own, a plot that would require the complicity of the Order. If he attempted such a thing and the mother house did not fall in with him, he would open himself to a world of trouble, and even archbishops are not untouchable. His predecessor but one was murdered in office, if I recall. Thus, I fear the archbishop may be a conspirator, but not the prime mover. Similarly, the mother house of Barbera, I also fear, is involved rather than directly responsible. After all, the master of Barbera was with us at Las Navas de Tolosa, as well as several of his most senior knights, and he died on that field. Those involved at Barbera can therefore be only of middling rank at best. They will be happy to see the preceptrix fail, but none there could have sufficient seniority to be behind this plot. And any new master there can only have been appointed since the news arrived of the fall of the previous master at Las Navas, so he would not have been in power at the time this started.’
‘The nobles,’ Arnau murmured. ‘The nobles who put the claims in against her are at fault. This is their doing.’
‘But can they be our prime villain?’ Balthesar replied. ‘Each of them stands to gain in some small way, but none to such an extent that it would be worth going through all of this. No, someone gathered together every noble who could even hope to have a claim on land that belongs to Rourell and persuaded them to levy charges against the preceptrix. That same mover managed to coerce the Order and the cathedral of Tarragona to join their plot. I presume we are all thinking the same thing?’
He looked around the table. The squire was nonplussed, though the knights were all nodding their agreement.
‘Castellvell,’ Ramon answered for them all.
‘Who is Castellvell?’ Tristán asked, brow creased.
Arnau straightened. ‘The Baron de Castellvell. He is no friend of Rourell or the preceptrix. Our paths have crossed before and he would dearly like to see Ermengarda d’Oluja fall. When the Godless della Cadeneta chased myself and Sister Titborga to the preceptory, Castellvel all but demanded that we acquiesce to him. He may even have supported the villain’s attempt to break us by siege. Certainly he was vocally outspoken against the preceptrix. If Rourell ever had a habitual enemy it is Castellvel. He has to be our man.’
Balthesar nodded. ‘Moreover, Castellvell is in the best position. He is one of the most influential secular powers in the region, with great sway over the lesser nobles. He is strong enough to influence the archbishop, and has ties to the local Templar masters, including the former master of Barbera. Arnau probably doesn’t know the man’s full history, but Castellvell was the very man who gave Rourell much of its original land as a donation many years ago, under the previous preceptor and before Ermengarda’s arrival. Guillem told us that some of the biggest names in the region were involved. That he did not immediately name Castellvell as one of the claimants is damning, I think. The baron is using others to do his work while keeping his own hands clean, but he knows the way donatives work, because of his own history with the place.’
‘Castellvell,’ growled Tristán.
‘And the b
aron was not at Las Navas,’ Arnau said suddenly. ‘Surely being influential and powerful as he is he should have been there. The king would expect it of his senior lords. If Castellvell was not at Las Navas, what has he been up to and what was his excuse for his absence?’
Balthesar nodded. ‘The last time I saw Castellvell in person was on Mayūrqa more than a decade ago. He was still causing trouble when you two were in Constantinople, though. I had all but forgotten about the man since then. He seems to have laid low, and we have had our own concerns, for sure, and have paid little attention to what was happening at court. It seems that the snake has now slithered from his hole to interfere once more.’
Arnau cradled his fingers. ‘Are we to lock horns with our old adversary, then?’
Balthesar rolled his shoulders. ‘I believe we should stay the night here now, for it is too late to move on. In the morning, we shall visit our favourite landowner and confront him. If Castellvell is the prime mover of this conspiracy, then knowing that we are working to undo it might just force him to back down and let things return to normal. The baron’s chief residence is at Mora d’Ebre some thirty miles to the west, and that is where we will undoubtedly find him.’ The knights and their squires all fell silent, nodding their agreement.
Rourell was besieged once more, this time not by swords and crossbows, but by writs and lawyers. The preceptrix was on the verge of falling, with potentially fatal consequences. Seemingly every power in the La Selva region was arrayed against them.
And the old serpent Castellvell sat in his lair at Mora d’Ebre.
Chapter Two
Castellvell
Mora d’Ebre, 29th September 1212
The six Templars slowed their mounts as they approached the small town. Mora d’Ebre hugged the north bank of the Ebro River where the land rose sharply in an escarpment, towering over the low farmland on the far side. A church stood in the centre, visible above the roofs of the houses, but the entire place was dominated by the castle of the Baron de Castellvell.
The Last Crusade Page 3
