The Last Crusade

by S. J. A. Turney

  Damnation – he was doubting too much, and doubt was of no use, now. Indeed, here it could only be harmful. He hardened his resolve, remembering his gospel, which he uttered inaudibly beneath his breath.

  ‘“But Thomas, one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. Therefore when the other disciples said, ‘We have seen the Lord,’ he said to them, ‘no, unless I see in his hands the printing of the nails and put my finger into their places, I shall not believe’.”’

  But Arnau did believe. Despite his momentary faltering, he believed in the preceptrix, who had taken him in, he and Titborga, all those years ago when their lives had been imperilled, and had put the entire monastery in danger to save them. He believed in Balthesar, who had abandoned a life of glory on the battlefields of the south to serve the Lord. He believed in Ramon, who had endured the dreadful siege of Constantinople with him, when the crazed preceptor Bochard had first shaken Arnau’s faith in the Order. And Tristán, too, he believed in. The squire who had fought his way through Al-Andalus and the battle that had turned the tide of the war. He believed in them all. And most of all, he believed that these two men now facing them were black-hearted villains.

  Archbishop Ramon de Rocaberti wore his red ecclesiastical robes with the decorative pallium, though his mitre and crozier were absent. His face was pale and almost waxy, as though he had recently been ill. A downturned mouth that provided a permanent pout sat below a long nose and deep-set eyes that gleamed with intelligence. He was immediately dislikeable, even before the face set itself into a scowl at what it now saw.

  La Selva, by comparison, sat perfectly emotionless, his handsome and well-proportioned features perfectly blank, though his eyes occasionally twitched this way and that as he watched the new arrivals. He was dressed in his secular clothing as a lord of powerful lands rather than a servant of the Church, and his short, straight hair was more severe than current styles, making him look oddly like some ascetic hero of old. The impression that he was in some way better than Arnau had expected, evaporated in a heartbeat as the man’s eyes met his and a shock of absolute burning hatred passed between them. Arnau almost recoiled at the feeling.

  ‘The investigation of Rourell’s corruption and the misdeeds of its fraudulent preceptrix has been concluded,’ the archbishop announced, opening the audience on his terms. ‘The preceptrix has been found guilty of ninety-six counts of corruption and land thievery, against the tenets of her Order and against the laws of this land. As such, while her punishment is yet to be handed down, its nature is inescapable, being laid out in ancient statute. Furthermore, all those who support her in the face of damning evidence stand to fall alongside her. As such, I presume the six of you are here to give evidence against her, and in doing so distance yourselves from the matter. A sensible decision, I must say.’

  Silence descended, and Arnau found himself wondering whether the man actually believed this. Surely not, especially given the manner of their arrival and the presence of so many guards. Arnau stepped to one side, now, grateful that his dry mouth and uncertainty would not be called upon immediately. While Arnau had ever been at the heart of this matter, Brother Ramon had been a student of the laws of the land long before his entry to the Order, and with his seniority it seemed appropriate that he be the one to address these vultures.

  ‘Your Grace,’ he began, addressing the archbishop directly and not meeting the eyes of La Selva, ‘sadly this is not the case. We come instead with an offer.’

  ‘An offer?’ La Selva repeated, leaning forward. Ramon continued to ignore the man, addressing the archbishop directly.

  ‘Your Grace, let us not dissemble. There is a conspiracy afoot to ruin Rourell and to destroy the preceptrix. That this is all part of some grand royal plan to refill an empty treasury and that irreparable damage and loss of life are simple side-effects of royal greed is immaterial. Your part in this as agents of the crown is known to us, as is that of the interim master of Barbera. We are, sadly, also aware that despite our controlling evidence that proves this conspiracy’s existence and confirms the innocence of the preceptrix, with this matter rising all the way to the royal court, we can do nothing to prevent the seizure of the lands and their sale to fund the king’s next venture.’

  The archbishop’s lip quivered, bordering on a snarl. La Selva still showed no open emotion.

  ‘However,’ Ramon continued, ‘we seek not the saving of Rourell nor the preservation of its lands. Take them as you wish for your corrupt masters. The fate of the preceptrix and the staff of Rourell, is a different and unrelated matter. Her fall has been sought and engineered primarily by wicked men within our own Order and need not occur in order to complete your task, for it affects the seizure and sale of lands not one bit. As such, we stand here and demand the release of Ermengarda d’Oluja along with all those who support her, and their clearance of all charges.’

  The archbishop spat a cloud of disbelief and incredulity, though La Selva simply leaned forward once more. ‘You demand much, given your precarious position, sir knight.’

  Ramon slid his gaze from the archbishop to the secular lord and allowed an infuriating smile to cross his face. ‘I am not finished with our demands yet, my lord. In addition, we wish our donatives repaid, that we each have returned to us those estates we donated to the Order upon taking our vows.’

  ‘Preposterous,’ snapped the archbishop. ‘Give me a single reason why I should not have you all arrested and dealt with this instant.’

  ‘Because at the very least,’ Ramon continued calmly, ‘the Lord La Selva here knows that we control evidence of the corruption of this investigation and the cases brought, and that evidence is in a secure place being watched by loyal friends.’ A lie, but a good one. ‘While the evidence will only condemn the investigator directly, once knowledge of its existence reaches the royal court, the Order’s Grand Master, and perhaps even the papacy in Rome, the matter will be investigated independently and in some depth. I think you are both aware of how much such an investigation will harm your reputations, your positions and your future hopes, as well as those of every man involved down to the lowest claimant and as high as the king himself. Such damage may be catastrophic for some of you.’

  La Selva’s eyes narrowed now, and as the archbishop turned a shocked look on his co-conspirator, he replied in flat tones: ‘You are aware that any such return of lands is not mine to agree, nor the archbishop here. It can only be agreed by the Order, and in some cases there will be complications. The preceptrix, for instance, gave a joint donation with her husband, who has since passed away in a different house, following the appropriate divorce. At best she can only hope to retain half of her donation, and even that would be a matter for serious legal wrangling.’

  ‘I am content that you can agree to that part of our demands in principle, on behalf of de Comminges. The man would, I am sure, be happy to see us go and the preceptrix released if it meant no impediment to his rise through the Order’s ranks. We shall leave this place today as former Templars and with an oath to see that this conspiracy remains a secret, in return for the fulfilment of our demands. If they are not fulfilled, then we shall depart with a promise that every soul involved in this criminal conspiracy shall feel the heat of Hell’s fires before this is over. The offer is ours. The choice is yours.’

  Arnau felt the finality of it, and was once more impressed at the rhetorical ability of his friend. It had been exceedingly well said, and left no doubt and no room for negotiation. And even if they left with only La Selva’s agreement in principle to the return of lands, the man would see that de Comminges upheld it, in order to keep the evidence hidden and their careers unharmed.

  Archbishop Rocaberti was visibly trembling with impotent anger. His lip twisted, his brow furrowing, and his finger suddenly shot out at them.

  ‘Seize these men,’ he bellowed.

  Arnau’s hand had gone to his sword hilt and the six of them had pulled closer together, preparing for trouble, when La Sel
va rose from his seat and spoke. ‘Belay that order,’ he shouted to the various guards about the room, who had begun to move. ‘Back to your positions, all of you.’

  As the soldiers stood down and Arnau’s hand left his sword once more, La Selva stood close to the archbishop and folded his arms. ‘In principle we agree to your demands.’

  Beside him, the archbishop suddenly rose from his seat, his face red. ‘Now wait a…’

  La Selva waved him back. ‘They have the advantage, Your Grace, and they know it. I know it, and so do you. The master and the king himself will be angered if our actions here bring them into public disrepute. The Templars in our midst have us, and they know it.’

  He turned back to Ramon. ‘We agree to your terms, but know that this is but a temporary impediment. Your advantage is based upon a small thing, and without that shred of evidence your entire argument falls and you have nothing. Know that you have won here, but all you have won is a temporary reprieve. I, at the least, shall not rest until your advantage is nullified. Know that you might leave here with your heads held high, but you will need to spend the rest of your lives sleeping with one eye open and watching every shadow for the knife it might hold.’

  The archbishop’s face went through a fascinating gamut of emotions at this speech, though by the end it settled upon focused hatred, nodding his agreement with his collaborator as he glared balefully at the six knights. ‘Would that I had the power to excommunicate you all,’ the man snarled.

  ‘We agree, then,’ La Selva said, his cold, emotionless gaze moving from face to face among the Templars.

  Ramon nodded. ‘We shall return to Rourell forthwith. De Mont can continue in his role, your men will be withdrawn and the preceptrix freed into our care. We shall remain at Rourell until word arrives of de Comminges’s confirmation of this agreement, and documents are delivered granting us all our returned lands. Then, and only then, will we leave Rourell and our mantles behind. And remember that the evidence shall not be conveniently in our hands but somewhere safe and under the watch of friends.’

  ‘And,’ Balthesar now added, stepping forward, ‘I would warn you this once against pursuing any lasting campaign against any of us. Let this matter end here. It would be better for all concerned if nothing of this was ever heard of again.’

  Arnau caught the looks in the eyes of both Rocaberti and La Selva, and he realised in that moment that this was far from over. Indeed, this would never end until La Selva saw them fall or the man himself met his unfortunate demise. The same would clearly be true of Rocaberti. All they had done was save the preceptrix from the gallows. Beyond that, the game would go on.

  Turning their backs upon the conspirators, the six men made for the door, where two soldiers pulled it open at a nod from the archbishop. Arnau did not look back. He did not need to; he knew what he would see in the two men’s faces.

  In silence, the six Templars strode back along the corridor, the strange monk once more leading the way through the dark passages of the castle until they reached the main hallway, where the soldiers stood holding the reins of their horses and looking perturbed and confused by the whole matter. Mounting once more, the Templars turned and made their way out through the gate and into the open street. Riding in silence, it was only once they had passed beneath the city’s arched gate and emerged into the open that they sagged in the saddle and exhaled their tension.

  ‘I almost sighed with relief when you bluffed about the safety of the files,’ Arnau said. ‘For a moment I wondered whether we were lost.’

  Ramon nodded. ‘It was a foolish lack of foresight on our part, corrected at the last moment. But now we must make good on our word.’ He turned to his squire. ‘I have a task for you. For all three of you, in fact. Tristán knows where the evidence is kept. We shall pass the location on our return to Rourell. You will quickly gather up those files and take them to safety, only returning to us once they are secure. They are now all that prevents open warfare with our enemies.’

  Arnau frowned. ‘But where is safe now?’

  ‘Nowhere subject to our Order, within the land of Aragon, or the reach of the archbishop. They will go to Calatrava, into the care of your friend Brother Calderon. He, and only he, can be trusted to keep them safe. He has no ties to the Temple, no connection with Catalunya or Tarragona, and falls under the secular aegis of Castile, not Aragon. In his hands, the evidence shall remain safe for now.’

  ‘But for how long,’ Balthesar sighed. ‘You heard La Selva. This matter is far from settled. We have won the preceptrix a reprieve, and now we shall each cast aside our mantles. As soon as those grants are in our hands we are free men, but all we have achieved we have bought with our future. As long as our enemies remain, this will never be over. La Selva will not rest, and nor will the archbishop. What of de Comminges?’ he asked Arnau.

  The youngest of the three knights thought back over all he had experienced of the ambitious and very likely heretical master. Somehow he could not imagine de Comminges being willing to allow men to go on freely while they held evidence that could ruin him.

  ‘De Comminges will do the same as La Selva,’ he said. ‘None of them will rest now until we fall, together or individually. Only the king might rise above this, and yet he is as guilty as all of them.’

  ‘Then once we leave the preceptory and the Order, we must plan for our future, for without a plan, we will not have a future. Come. Let us ride for Rourell one last time.’

  Part Two

  Vengeance

  For I shall seek justice for any spilt blood of your lives, from any unreasoning beast, and from any man, yea, from any man, and from any of his brothers, I shall seek their life if any of them take the life of someone.

  Genesis Book 9, verse 5

  Chapter Thirteen

  A time of troubles

  Castle of Queralt, Santa Coloma, 10th May 1213

  Six months after the withdrawal from Rourell, the world seemed to have finally settled into a new way of life, albeit no easier, and fraught with all new problems.

  Arnau’s six riders raced across the narrow stream in the valley below the castle, splashing into the last waters of spring before it dried for the hot season. On the far side, the bandits were already moving at speed and melting into the edge of the forests that stretched endlessly across these high hills that were the ribs of the world. By the time his men reached the treeline, he knew the bandits would be gone, and there was nothing he could do about it. He had to try, though, to at least justify why they were still here.

  As his men bellowed in rage and raced towards the disappearing figures, Arnau looked across at the farm that had been ravaged, one of so many that formed the main income of Santa Coloma and which had now been devastated over the past few months. Twelve good dairy cattle all lying in the dust in a growing lake of bovine blood, massacred with careless delight and for no reason other than ruining the castle’s livelihood, and among the cattle lay the body of the girl who’d been milking them.

  He sighed and waited as his men failed to catch the latest group of bandits, and once they were making their way back to the farmyard, he began to issue the orders. Two men into the main farm buildings to look for survivors, two to scout the outbuildings, and the two with crossbows to load them and take a good position to watch for any return of the villains – as if there were any real likelihood of that.

  He knew what the results would be already. No survivors. The farmer and his family would have had their throats cut, the workers butchered or hanged, any useful animal slaughtered and left in the dirt. If it had been an arable farm, the silos and barns and grain stores would now all be on fire, but here there was only animal feed. Even that, though, would have been ruined, probably dumped in the pond.

  The same story had played out time and again over the past half year. Farms ruined and their workers killed, mills burned, vineyards torn up, orchards and olive groves cut down. A concerted campaign of ruination. From the very start of their new lives, t
hey had been close to the line of poverty, only able to hire a small standing force of soldiery until the estate could start paying its way. Instead of a slow building of financial viability, however, with every attack the estate had become poorer and less supportive, and the small force they could afford dwindled and dwindled until now they could manage only six guards and three staff for the castle. That had the knock-on effect of making things even more troublesome. With near twenty men in the early days of winter they had been unable to secure the entire estate with all its villages and the town of Santa Coloma, as well as the numerous farms and businesses. Now, with six men, all they could do was race to the site of the latest disaster and pick up the pieces.

  He fumed. This was not what he’d had in mind when they walked away.

  They had returned to Rourell that day and freed the two women, settling into the main complex to wait for word while La Selva’s men continued to watch them from a distance. It had taken only two days for de Comminges to confirm his agreement to the deal, though not in writing for clear reasons. Their donations had been returned to them, but only the land titles, no financial aspect, which had annoyed Ramon intensely. Not that they had been cheated out of half of their donatives, but that despite his legal background, he had not been specific enough and had concentrated his demand on the estates with precious little mention of money. Still, they had achieved what they could and on a cold, drizzly autumn day they had each allowed their precious mantles to fall to the dusty ground; taken only what they considered their right, and ridden away, under the oddly sympathetic gaze of Brother de Mont and the spiteful glare of Brother Jaume, who they prayed they would never see again.

  They had left the Order. They were no longer Templars.

  What they would do next had remained undecided. The evidence that protected them was now safely lodged in the castle of the Order of Calatrava under the watchful eye of Martin Calderon, who Arnau trusted with his life. As such, he was fairly sure that none of their enemies would make an overt move against them. Anything that could be traced back to one of the conspirators might make them reveal their evidence to the world, after all, and certainly if one of them died unexpectedly that would happen, and so their enemies would continue to bide their time until the day they could acquire the evidence.