Robert produced several sealed rolls of documents, which André laid on the table.
“Tell me, André, what do you know of our parents?”
His brother’s lips tightened and he lowered his eyes to the floor. At last, he replied. “Our mother is dead. Our sister Casilda likewise. She died during the birth of her fifth child. Our father, though old and ailing with gout, was still alive last winter. He spends his hours sitting in the great hall; he can hardly walk for the terrible swelling in his feet. Our elder brother, Umberto, administers the inheritance—our lands are prosperous and God has given him four healthy children. It has been so long since we left Saint-Rémy….”
“But I still remember the allée of poplars that leads to the castle, and the smell of baking bread, and our mother singing.”
“Robert, we chose to become Templars, and we cannot and must not cling to the things of the past.”
“Oh, my brother! You have always been too severe with yourself!”
“And you, tell me, how is it you have a Saracen squire?”
“I have come to know the Saracens and respect them. There are wise men among them, men of nobility, and chivalry, and honor. They are formidable enemies, whom one must respect. I confess, I have friends among them. It is impossible not to, when we share lands and there is need to have quiet dealings with them. The Grand Master has asked us all to learn their language and has asked some of us, who have an appearance suitable for it, to learn their customs so that we may live in their territory, in their cities, to spy, observe, or carry out missions for the greater glory of the Temple and Christianity. My skin has become yet darker in the sun of the East, and the black of my hair also helps me disguise my true nature. As for their language, I must confess that it has not been hard for me to understand it and write it. I had a good teacher, the squire who accompanies me. Remember, brother, I joined the Temple at an early age, and it was Guillaume de Sonnac who ordered the youngest of us to learn from the Saracens so we might mingle freely with them.
“But you ask about Ali, my squire. He is not the only Muslim who has dealings with the Temple. His town was destroyed by the Crusaders. He and two other children managed to survive. Guillaume de Sonnac found them wandering several days’ journey on horseback from Acre. Ali, the youngest of them, was exhausted and delirious from fever. The Grand Master took them to our fortress, where they recovered. And there they remained.”
“And they have been loyal to you?”
“Guillaume de Sonnac would allow them to pray to Allah and use them as intermediaries. They have never betrayed us.”
“What about Renaud de Vichiers?”
“I do not know, but he made no objection to our traveling here alone with Ali and Said.”
“Well, brother, you must rest, and send me François de Charney, the brother who has come with you.”
“I shall.”
Once André de Saint-Rémy was alone he unrolled the scrolls given him by his brother, and he studied the orders sent by Renaud de Vichiers, the new Grand Master of the Order of the Temple.
The large bedroom resembled a small throne room. The scarlet curtains, the soft cushions, the carved table, the crucifix of pure gold, and other objects of hammered silver spoke eloquently of the wealth in which their occupant lived.
On a small table to one side, several decanters of carved crystal held spiced wine, and on an enormous tray were arranged a colorful variety of sweets from the kitchen of a nearby monastery.
The bishop listened impassively, almost aloofly, to Pascal de Molesmes, who had come again in lieu of Balduino. For an hour the French nobleman had wielded every argument at his command in an attempt to convince the bishop to turn the Mandylion over to the emperor.
The bishop had great love for Balduino; he knew there was kindness in his heart, even though his reign had been marked by a long succession of misadventures. But he was lost in his own thoughts.
Pascal de Molesmes paused in his plea when he realized that the bishop had stopped listening. The sudden silence broke the bishop’s reverie.
“I have listened to you and I understand your reasoning, but the king of France cannot barter the fate of Constantinople for possession of the Mandylion,” he told the nobleman.
“Our most Christian king has promised the emperor aid; if it is not possible to purchase the Mandylion, he wishes, at least, to hold it for some time. Louis is desirous that his Christian mother, Doña Blanca de Castilla, contemplate the true visage of our Lord Jesus Christ. The Church will not lose possession of the Mandylion, and it could profit by this agreement, Your Excellency, in addition to helping relieve Constantinople from the penury that it now suffers. Believe me, your interests and those of the emperor are the same.”
“No, my son, they are not. It is the emperor who needs gold in order to save what remains of the empire.”
“Constantinople is dying; the empire is more fiction than reality—someday Christians will weep over its loss.”
“Seigneur de Molesmes, I know you to be too intelligent to try to convince me that only the Mandylion can save Constantinople. How much has King Louis offered just to hold it—how much to possess it? It would take great amounts of gold to save this kingdom, and the king of France is rich, but he will not ruin his own kingdom financially, no matter how much he loves his nephew or desires the Mandylion.”
De Molesmes’s throat was parched. He had not even tasted the glass of no doubt superb Rhodes wine that the bishop had offered him. But such were the sacrifices of diplomacy.
“If the amount was considerable enough, would Your Excellency consent to its sale or lending?”
“No. Tell the emperor that I will not surrender it to him. That is my final word. Pope Innocent would excommunicate me. For many years the pope has desired to possess the Mandylion, and I have always put him off by arguing against exposing the shroud to the perils of such a journey. I would need the Holy Father’s permission, and even in the unlikely event he were to consider granting it, you know that he would name a high price—a price that, even should Louis be able to pay, would be for the Church, not for his nephew the emperor.”
Pascal de Molesmes decided to play his last card.
“I remind you, Your Excellency, that the Mandylion does not belong to you. It was the troops of the emperor Romanus Lecapenus who brought it to Constantinople, and the empire has never renounced its ownership of the cloth. The Church is but a repository for the Mandylion. Balduino bids you turn it over voluntarily, and he shall be generous with you and with the Church.”
De Molesmes’s words fell like lead on the bishop’s spirit.
“Are you threatening me, Seigneur de Molesmes? Is the emperor threatening the Church?”
“Balduino, as you well know, is a most loving and beloved son of the Church, which he would defend with his own life if need be. The Mandylion is part of the empire’s legacy, and the emperor is claiming it. I urge you to do your duty.”
“My duty is to defend the image of Christ and preserve it for all Christianity.”
“You did not oppose the sale of the crown of thorns, which was kept in the monastery of Pantocrator, to the king of France.”
“Ah, Seigneur de Molesmes. Do you honestly believe that that was Jesus’ crown of thorns?”
“You do not?”
A look of fury came into the bishop’s blue eyes. The tension between the two men was rising, and both knew that at any moment the bonds of civility might break.
“Seigneur de Molesmes, nothing you have said has changed my mind. You may tell that to the emperor.”
Pascal de Molesmes bowed his head. The duel had ended for the moment, but both men knew that neither victory nor defeat could be declared on either side.
At the gate of the bishop’s palace, de Molesmes’s servants were waiting beside his horse, a stallion as black as night, his most trusted companion in turbulent Constantinople.
Would he advise Balduino to go with his soldiers to the bishop’s pal
ace and force him to turn over the Mandylion? There was no other choice, it seemed. Innocent would never dare excommunicate Balduino, much less when he knew that the Mandylion would be in the keeping of the most Christian king Louis IX of France. They would lend it to Louis and they would put a high price on it, so that the empire might recover at least part of its lost glory.
The evening breeze was warm and soft, and the emperor’s counselor decided to ride down by the shore of the Bosphorus before returning to the imperial palace. From time to time he liked to escape the oppressive walls of the palace, where intrigues, betrayal, and death lay behind every door, at every turning of the stair, and where it was not easy to know who your friends were and who wished you ill, given the refined art of dissembling practiced by the knights and ladies of the court. He trusted only Balduino, for whom, with the passing of the years, he had come to feel true affection, as in earlier days he had felt for good King Louis.
It had been many winters now since the king of France sent him to the court of the emperor to protect the gold the king had sent as payment for the valuable relics Balduino had sold him along with the lands of Namur. Louis had charged de Molesmes with remaining at the court and keeping him informed of all that happened in Constantinople. In a letter that de Molesmes himself had delivered to the emperor, Louis had commended Pascal de Molesmes to his nephew as a good Christian man who, the letter said, looked only to Balduino’s good.
Balduino and he had felt a current of sympathy from the first moment, and there he was now, fifteen years later, the emperor’s chancellor and friend. De Molesmes greatly admired Balduino’s efforts to maintain the dignity of the empire, to preserve Constantinople, to resist the Bulgar pressure on the one side and the encroachments of the Saracens on the other.
If he had not pledged undying loyalty to King Louis and Balduino, he would have asked to join the Order of Templars years ago, so that he might do battle in the Holy Land. But fate had sent him to the heart of the court in Constantinople, where there were as many dangers to negotiate as on the field of battle.
The sun was beginning to drop below the horizon when he realized that he had ridden almost to the gate of the Temple’s castle. He had great respect for André de Saint-Rémy, the superior of the order, an austere and upright man who had chosen the cross and sword as his life. Both men were Frenchmen and nobles, and both had found their destiny in Constantinople.
De Molesmes felt a sudden desire to speak with his compatriot, but the shadows of night were falling and the knights would be at prayer. It would be better to wait until tomorrow to send a message to Saint-Rémy and arrange a meeting, he thought.
Balduino slammed his fist into the wall. Fortunately, a tapestry softened the blow to his knuckles.
Pascal de Molesmes had told him in detail of his conversation with the bishop and the bishop’s refusal to hand over the Mandylion.
The emperor had known that it was most unlikely that the bishop would voluntarily agree to his request, but he had prayed for that success most fervently to God, prayed for a miracle to save the empire.
The Frenchman, unable to disguise his irritation at the emperor’s display of emotion, looked at him reproachfully.
“Don’t look at me like that! I am the most wretched of men!”
“My lord, be calm. The bishop will have no choice but to deliver the Mandylion over to us.”
“And just how will that come about? Do you propose that I go and take it from him by force? Can you imagine the scandal that would cause? My subjects would never forgive me for taking the shroud from them—the shroud they consider to have miraculous properties—and Innocent would excommunicate me. And you tell me to be calm, as though there were a solution to this, when you know there is not.”
“Kings must make difficult decisions, my lord, to save their kingdoms. You are now in that position. You must stop lamenting your fate and act.”
The emperor sat in his regal chair, unable to hide the weariness that was upon him. It was bitter gall that he had tasted as emperor, and now the latest test with which his stewardship of the empire was presenting him was this unthinkable confrontation with the Church.
“Think of another solution.”
“Do you really see another way out?”
“You are my chancellor—think!”
“My lord, the Mandylion belongs to you—claim what is yours, for the good of the empire. That is my counsel.”
“Withdraw.”
De Molesmes left the room and made his way to his study. There, to his surprise, he found Bartolome dos Capelos.
He greeted the Templar warmly, then asked about the superior and the other brothers he knew. After a few minutes of polite conversation, he asked what had brought dos Capelos to the palace.
“My superior, André de Saint-Rémy, desires an audience with the emperor,” the Portuguese Templar said gravely.
“What is happening, my good friend? Is there bad news?”
Dos Capelos had orders not to speak a word more. Clearly the palace had heard nothing of the delicate condition of Louis of France, for when the Comte de Dijon left Damietta, the city was still in the hands of the Franks and the army was advancing victoriously.
“It has been some time since André de Saint-Rémy has met with the emperor, and many things have happened in those months. The audience will be of interest to both men,” dos Capelos replied, sidestepping the question.
De Molesmes realized that the Portuguese would tell him nothing more, but the importance of the audience the Templar superior was requesting was obvious.
“I note your petition, my brother. As soon as the emperor determines the day and hour for the audience, I will inform André de Saint-Rémy, in person if I may, thereby to enjoy a few minutes’ conversation with him.”
“I would beg that the audience be held as soon as possible.”
“I will see to it—you know I am a friend of the Temple. May God be with you.”
“And with you, my lord.”
Pascal de Molesmes was pensive after the meeting with the Templar. The inscrutable expression on dos Capelos’s face indicated that the Temple knew something of vital importance that it could tell only the emperor. What would it want in exchange?
The Templars were the only ones in that convulsed world who had money and information always at their disposal. And the two commodities—money and information—gave them a special power, more than that of any king, or even the pope himself.
The relationship between Balduino and Saint-Rémy was one of mutual respect. The superior of the Temple’s chapter in Constantinople shared Balduino’s anguish at the increasingly grave situation of the impoverished empire. On more than one occasion the Temple had lent him generous amounts of gold—money he had not been able to repay, but in return for which he had put down as deposit certain relics, which had thus become possessions of the Templars. There were other objects, too, which would never return to the empire until the emperor had repaid the debt he had contracted, and that was a most unlikely possibility.
But de Molesmes put those thoughts aside and set about preparing for Balduino’s visit to the bishop. He should go in the company of soldiers in armor and bearing weapons, enough to surround the bishop’s palace and the Church of St. Mary of Blachernae, where the Mandylion was kept.
No one was to know what the emperor was proposing to do, so as not to alert the people, or the bishop himself, who took Balduino to be a good Christian who would never raise his hand against the Church.
The chancellor sent for the Comte de Dijon, to go over with him the details of the shroud’s delivery. The king of France had given the count precise instructions as to what to do when his nephew turned over the shroud and how to arrange payment for it.
Robert de Dijon was around thirty, a powerfully built man of medium height, aquiline nose and blue eyes. The count’s beauty had awakened the interest of the ladies at Balduino’s court in the short time since his arrival. It was not easy for the servant s
ent by de Molesmes to find him; he had to bribe several servants in the palace before he discovered him, at last, in the apartment of Doña María, the emperor’s recently widowed cousin.
When the Comte de Dijon presented himself in the chancellor’s study he still bore traces of the musky perfume the noble lady left always in her wake.
“Tell me, de Molesmes, what the reason is for such great hurry?”
“My lord, I must know the instructions you have been given by good King Louis, so that I may please him.”
“You know that the king wishes the emperor to hand over the Mandylion.”
“Forgive my coming straight to the point: What price is Louis willing to pay for the shroud?”
“Will the emperor accede to his uncle’s request, then?”
“My lord, allow me to ask the questions.”
“Before answering them I must know whether Balduino has made a decision.”
In two long strides, de Molesmes planted himself before the count and glared into his eyes, measuring the sort of man he had before him. The Frenchman did not flinch; indeed, he hardly moved a muscle. Unwavering, he held the counselor’s gaze.
“The emperor is meditating upon his uncle’s offer. But he must know how much the king of France is prepared to pay him for the Mandylion, where it will be taken, and who is to warrant its safety. Without knowing these and other details, the emperor can hardly be expected to make such a weighty decision.”
“My orders are to await the emperor’s answer, and if Balduino agrees to deliver the Mandylion to Louis, to take it myself to France and deliver it into the hands of the king’s mother, Doña Blanca, who will look after it until the king returns from the Crusade. If the emperor would like to sell the Mandylion, then Louis would give his nephew two sacks of gold, each the weight of a man, and return the lands of Namur to him. He would also make a gift to him of certain lands in France, which he might lease at a good yearly rent. If, on the contrary, the emperor wishes only to lend the shroud for a certain time, the king would likewise give him two sacks of gold, which Balduino would be pledged to repay in order to recover the Mandylion. If by a certain date, to be mutually agreed upon, the emperor did not repay his pledge, then the relic would become the property of the king of France.”
The Brotherhood of the Holy Shroud Page 23
