The Seal

by Adriana Koulias

  The Temple in Paris was the only lending body in France and thereby the only repository for moneys, wills, titles, deeds, treaties, charters, and the safe storage of jewels and other valuables. It proceeded without self-interest and, unlike its predecessors, it was scrupulous, honest and efficient. Most importantly it was impartial and international. Only the Order of Christ could serve the kings of France and England – who warred with one another – simultaneously without conflict or suspicion. Surely it was the greatest bank in the world? Tears came into his eyes and threatened to land on his books.

  He wiped them away and dipped his quill in ink and continued to describe perfect numerals in neatly ruled margins. What would Philip say when he found out that the greatest bank in the known world was not rich – not in the usual sense? He cast his gaze into the darkened corners and over the coffers that contained the meticulous records of the Paris Temple.

  In truth, in all his considerable time as treasurer, he had seen very little gold, for it was possible to transact without it if one had a ledger and some ink. The Temple collected revenues and credited them against expenses and debts in a system devised by the Arab merchants called double entry. This method was exceedingly practical. It meant that very little monies were handled at all. In all sixty accounts that were currently operating, as few as twenty needed a transaction in gold. The Templar wealth lay, rather, in common property – castles, manors, towns and villages, granaries, farms and mills. Some of the wealth came in the form of donations for the assistance of a donor’s soul, some of it by way of new entrants into the Order or from returns from rented lands, goods and services. Also, quite a tidy revenue came in the way of profit from variations in currency. But usury – being an abomination unto the Lord – was not employed since the collection of interest on loans was not appropriate to men of God. However, administrative charges could be made for expenses incurred on amounts lent. After all, any surplus profit had always been absorbed into the running costs of the Temple or otherwise used to maintain the Templar forces in the Holy Land.

  He continued to wet his quill with ink, until the great bells sounded nones in echoed disharmonies. He closed his ledger and said a Pater Noster with devotion, his head bowed and his heart fervent. He asked God to watch over his fellows who lay in the King’s prison and he asked that his Saviour might give him courage when the time came to meet his destiny . . . which he sensed would be sooner than later.

  He looked up from his prayers and remembered the dream then . . .

  Some time ago he had seen the image of the Grail, the Holy Cup wherein was contained Christ’s blood, the cup that Joseph of Arimathea had obtained from Pilate, in his meditations. Since then he had become preoccupied with the ideal, the womb waiting to be fertilised and filled with an impulse of Christ. It contained, to him, the seed of a New Jerusalem shining in the most profound illumination. The seed of a new world funded by a great bank, operated in the name of Christ for His people. That is, a bank that served all men and not merely the rich and powerful. In this bank there would be no gold, no security, only numbers in ledgers, recorded meticulously and with great care, just as he was now doing. Then gold would naturally lose its value. Never would a florin need to pass from one hand to another because, in reality, no man had a right to own gold. Had not Christ rejected Satan’s offer to turn stones to bread? In such a world, people, filled with hope and dignity, could live free, productive lives. Lives that sought to find the Christ in every word, in every deed.

  Now all was lost into the King’s hands. The great ideal would never be realised and he gave himself up to a sigh, his heart full of hopeless longing.

  There were footsteps coming from the halls and his mind was wrenched from his meditation to the present. His eyes widened and his brows raised. He stood like that, peering into the gloom, like a small animal that smells a predator.

  It was the King.

  He straightened his habit and tried to look calm.

  From the shadows emerged figures, the King’s guards were first, stone-faced and regal, then gradually the tall shape of Philip, followed by his royal chamberlain, Enguerrand de Marigny.

  He knew Marigny. He did not like the man.

  Philip was smiling, his energetic limbs making sparks in the frigid air as he moved towards the treasurer. His chamberlain stood a little behind him, flicking through some parchments.

  The King’s eyes made a study of John of Tours, and the shadows, and with a voice that echoed down the ever-stretching lanes of boxes, he said, ‘Well, Tours! Here is your king. He has come to stroke his fortune!’

  ‘Sire.’ John of Tours bowed.

  ‘I have been patient, Tours. Now I wish to know how rich I have become! Show me to the gold Byzantines . . . I desire to see the lustre of my benefits, though I suspect there is silver besides that!’ He slapped two hands together, looking at the beech crates stacked up as high as a man. ‘Are they in these boxes?’

  The treasurer fumbled with his words. The King would have to learn a thing or two about banking and John of Tours did not wish to be the one to teach him.

  ‘Perhaps I should show you the ledgers, sire?’ He moved toward his desk and took up the large collection of parchments held by metal clasps.

  ‘Ledgers?’ The King raised a quizzical brow, smiling still. ‘Why, pray, should there be a royal interest in ledgers?’

  ‘Ledgers, sire, enumerate an account of profit and loss . . . monies borrowed and deposits,’ he explained. ‘This is the most accurate way of knowing the state of the bank.’

  ‘No, no, Tours!’ The King rubbed his hands, his unblinking eyes wide and expectant. ‘I want only to see the Byzantines . . . Come . . . your sovereign is impatient.’

  John of Tours paused. The moment had come. ‘Sire . . . if I may . . . there is no gold, or at least an unremarkable amount by your standards. The last held by the Temple was lost after the Battle of Ruad.’

  The King looked at him and the smile froze on his face. ‘What say you? No gold?’ There was a frown.

  ‘Only a little, sire, but I assure you . . . the bank is doing very well.’

  ‘It is?’ The King took this in and became preoccupied with clenching and unclenching his long tapered fingers, watching as they turned from red to white to red again. When he spoke, finally, his voice was tight to his chest. ‘Without gold, it is doing very well?’

  ‘I realise that you may not have expected it, sire, it is something not generally known, but it is a common practice.’

  The King began to pace about with a reserved frantic energy. ‘Have I left you alone for months, with your inventories and your ledgers . . . waiting to hear to what extent I am rich, to find that your wretched bank has no gold? No . . . I did not expect it!’ He paused before John of Tours and his eyes and their pinpoints came at him with particular intensity. ‘How is it possible that business is brisk without it, Tours? How is it possible?’

  The treasurer was struck with incertitude.

  Philip looked behind him to his chamberlain. ‘Where is Fuinon?’ he shouted.

  The chamberlain scurried off and when Philip returned his stare to the treasurer, the man shifted under its immediate passion.

  ‘You shall find everything in the ledgers, sire.’ He offered the book to Philip but was forestalled by the eyes contrived into slits and the corners of the small thin mouth pursed into a half-moon frown.

  Then it came.

  ‘Shut up, Tours!’ the King shouted. He pushed the treasurer aside and came up behind the table, putting a hand on the many parchments that lay neatly stacked. He shouted again, ‘Shut up!’ and sent the papers flying. After that his face was serene and he went down upon the treasurer’s chair but found he could not fit his legs beneath the table so he splayed them out to one side like a clumsy pup. ‘Tell me, precisely, why it is that I have saved you from the Dominicans, Tours?’

  The banker’s mind was struck by a sudden palsy; he swallowed and found his mouth as dry as sticks. ‘If I m
ay . . . take a moment to explain it to you, sire?’

  The King raised brows and gestured with a hand. ‘By all means!’

  ‘The axiom, simply put, is this: a bank may lend more than it holds. Shall I give you an example, sire?’

  ‘Hurry up!’

  ‘Let us imagine that the bank has at its disposal ten barrels of gold Byzantines, this amount is written into the ledger as an asset. Suppose then that the King of Aragon requires a loan of one barrel of gold Byzantines. We continue to own that barrel of gold because it will – we hope – at length return to us by way of a repayment. We enter it in the ledger as gold owed to us, and so gold owned by us. We may do this nine more times, until we have no gold whatever.’

  The King sat forward with both hands on the table. ‘But then you have run out of gold, Tours! You can no longer lend or buy anything!’ He looked up staring at the treasurer and a moment later he let it out all at once: ‘Can you, you imbecile!’

  John of Tours cowered before the tempest of his king’s disdain. ‘But this is the secret . . . to a certain degree the bank still has this gold and may lend it to others, though now it is only on paper as a binding order that entitles the holder to a particular sum.’

  ‘A binding order is only paper, Tours!’ He thumped the table. ‘Paper!’

  ‘Yes, but . . . because the Temple has a very good international standing . . . such an order or promissory note is as good as gold anywhere in the world! The bank may give out similar notes ad infinitum. All is entered into this ledger.’

  The King took in a breath and let it out slowly with these words: ‘But what if you wish to buy something?’

  ‘I can see what you are thinking, sire, but when the bank purchases goods from its creditors it also uses only promissory notes, which are then entered in as expenses and liabilities. However, it is often the case that those creditors owe the bank in rents or taxes. In those cases all things are adjusted accordingly so that no florin need be exchanged. Everything is recorded meticulously down to the smallest amount. A bank may have very little gold, but wealth has been created without it. It is all in the use of ledgers, a little gift from our Arab friends . . .’ He ended out of breath, flat under the scrutiny of his superior’s intense regard. ‘The bank . . . sire, continues to grow . . .’

  ‘Things are in a marvellous condition?’ The King said, perusing his rings.

  The treasurer clasped his hands to prevent them from shaking. ‘It is a complex business, but it is profitable in its own way.’

  Philip gave him an eye. ‘Without gold?’

  ‘Yes sire.’

  ‘What happens then if all your notes are called in at the one time? What of that, Tours?’ He raised a frigid brow and waited.

  The treasurer faltered.

  ‘Well?’

  John of Tours blinked, and blinked and blinked. ‘Well, sire...’ He blinked again. ‘This would be most unusual . . .’

  ‘Yes, yes, unusual, but tell me, Tours, what would happen in such a case?’

  ‘The bank would be . . . well . . . it would be undone, sire.’

  The King nodded as if he had just been told that night would follow day. ‘Yes it would!’ He sat up. ‘But this will not happen, will it, John of Tours?’

  The other man shook his head. ‘Not unless . . .’

  ‘Unless . . . ?’

  ‘Not unless your Majesty takes over the running of the bank...’ He said it all at once and paused, knowing that all had been said and that his fate was now sealed.

  At that moment Marigny returned with a short, laconic man, dark of hair and skin, whose eyes were held in a permanent squint. In his arms he carried a myriad of parchments and ledgers, which he seemed particularly fond of.

  ‘Fuinon!’ The King’s eyes rolled from the treasurer to his secretary. ‘Your Majesty is not satisfied!’

  ‘No, sire,’ the man said, squinting.

  ‘Is this true, that this bank shall be undone if I take control of it?’

  ‘Sire . . .’ the man began, ‘if I may . . . an international bank is raised above the preoccupations of kingdoms; that is, wars and petty squabbles. Its business is based on its credentials and its impartiality . . . If France were to take over the running of the bank it would not succeed since it would not be seen to have either credentials or impartiality.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because, sire, you have many enemies, England... Flanders . . .’

  ‘Yes . . . yes . . . enemies, and?’

  ‘And, sire, the repercussions would be twofold. Those who do not trust you will withdraw their deposits, and where they owe the bank they shall withhold payments on their loans.’

  The King began a slow nodding. ‘You are telling me, Fuinon,’ he looked at his assessor, ‘that I have no gold and no bank to speak of?’

  The man peered myopically at his king. ‘Not in the usual sense, no, but if there were a way for your Majesty to remain aloof and independent from the bank, then France would retain the usual benefices in taxes and privileges . . .’

  ‘Taxes? Privileges?’ The King’s face had moved from one emotion to another until it finally settled on anger. ‘Taxes? I could have had those without moving one finger! Privileges? They are mine to take without asking. I have not coveted taxes and privileges, Fuinon! I have not toppled the Temple to acquire what was mine all along! I have done it for one reason and one reason only: to have a bank and a multitude of gold!’

  During this tirade the treasurer was transfixed where he stood. He dared not breathe.

  The King paused, remembering something, and his face brightened. ‘What about the towns . . . the farms, lands, granaries, mills, manors and castles? Where are the archives and the charters, the titles, Tours? I shall have them brought down to me. At least those if nothing else!’

  The treasurer opened his mouth and closed it again. The words came out before he could think. ‘They have gone missing at Acre . . . all the inventory of our holdings is missing, sire . . .’

  ‘Missing?’ The King’s voice sounded as if it came through broken glass.

  The treasurer prepared himself for what would surely come.

  ‘Marigny!’ Philip shouted, looking around.

  The chamberlain stepped up from his place behind his sovereign. ‘Sire?’

  ‘Is it possible to take possession of Templar property in France without titles, charters and archives?’

  Enguerrand de Marigny did not need to think on it. ‘Not without proof of ownership, sire. The truth is that it would be unlikely even if your Lordship had the titles, for in the event that the Order is dissolved the holdings would likely be turned over to the Hospitallers.’

  The treasurer grew weak and a desire to vomit worked its way to his throat.

  ‘I see.’ The King looked for all the world to be on the brink of a murderous yell, instead he turned grave and deathly quiet. ‘This is most unsatisfactory! I have no gold, no bank and no property! I find myself poorer than before! Well, well . . . it is not a good day! Is it, Tours?’

  John of Tours felt a sudden, urgent need to empty his bladder. His torpid eyes moved from this to that, looking for a way out.

  The King stared long and hard at him and stood, full with a sudden burst of activity. ‘Well then, I shall make something useful of it!’ he said. ‘How are your legs, Tours?’

  It was the truth that John of Tours could not feel his feet for numbness. ‘My legs . . . sire?’

  ‘Yes. Are they strong, do you have a fondness for running? Or have they turned to fat from sitting so often upon that abundant derrière?’

  ‘Why . . . do . . . you . . . ask, sire?’ The treasurer’s trembling sent his ledger onto the floor where the pages, having come loose, scattered and melted into the pile of parchments from the table.

  Philip Capet stretched forth his own sinewy extremities, flicked a wrist and his guards seized the treasurer. ‘You shall need them, Tours, perhaps you should not have sat so much . . . my dogs exercise every
day . . . their legs are most becoming.’

  ‘But sire . . . I . . .’

  ‘Hush . . .’ said the King with a finger to his mouth, as if in the other room there slept a restless child.

  His eyes were the blue of a winter sky. ‘We are going hunting.’

  34

  THE KING AND HIS

  ASTROLOGER

  ‘. . . dogs and sorcerers, and whoremongers, and murderers, and idolaters, and whosoever loveth and maketh a lie.

  Revelation 22:15

  The King entered the tower through a secret aperture to the left of his throne and climbed up the stone stairs, two steps at a time.

  Beneath the portholes in this part of the ducal wing he observed the turrets and battlements, and the little courtyard with a marble fountain surrounded by galleries. It had been snowing heavily all day and all of it lay drowned and cold.

  When he reached the top he stood before a door and pulled a face of disdain over his expressionless character before unlocking it.

  Inside the large room light diffused behind pale green windows fell upon a myriad of things. The first to come to his attention was the shape of a man that immediately dropped before his master.

  Philip’s shadow fell over it. ‘Stand up, Astrologer . . .’ Iterius rose with a limp. This day he wore a purple robe and a velvet cap that covered his ears and emphasised his enormous nose, his full lips and small, beadlike eyes. The King observed the ugliness of these features and made a yawn of it.

  Iterius bowed in answer and, adjusting the satin sash around his middle, waited to be addressed.

  The King looked around. In the middle sat a long table drowned in parchments, shells, rings, balls and vials filled with liquids and powders. Large volumes were scattered all over the floor, and there was a pungent smell of burnt herbs and sulphur. Philip walked over to the table, picked up a parchment then set it down without reading it. His eyes fell on this and that and finally came to rest on the Egyptian again, whom he examined as one examines an apple before biting into it.