The Wolves of Solomon (Wolves of Solomon Book One)

by R. L. Blackhurst

“What?” Philip screamed in horror when De Floyran had finished recounting, a severely edited version of, what had occurred the day of the attack by Galeren and the escaped Templars. He had contemplated sending one of his men to see Philip, but given the news they would be giving the King, he decided it would look better on him if he delivered it in person.

  Himself, De Nogaret, and his remaining three men had made it to Chinon without further incident and, fortunately, the Grand Master was now securely locked up with the other members of the Templar council. It was extremely lucky for all of them that De Molay had felt duty bound to remain in custody with his brethren and hadn’t taken the opportunity to escape.

  Although De Floyran was grateful for that small mercy, it did not make up for the fact that Galeren was still alive and he had lost Catherine. It was this which caused him internal unrest. Though angry at the time, he had not realised the depth of the affect Catherine’s loss would have on him. He wanted her back and was determined to get her.

  In the meantime, he was minding the Templar dignitaries at Chinon and among others, the badly injured De Nogaret who was wearing thin on his patience. Money and wealth may be coming to him but he could see that he was going to be stuck in this for some time yet. For now, however, he had to temper the King’s anger, put his anxiety to rest and gain his confidence once again.

  “How could this happen?” the King said almost painfully. “More importantly, how did it?”

  “Beaumanoir,” De Floyran said slyly.

  “Beaumanoir?” the King shook his head bewildered.

  “I am afraid so.” De Floyran said solemnly. He had swiftly dispatched Botolf and Armin to Montlhéry, to make sure that the witnesses to Galeren’s rescue rapidly forgot the wolves that had raced through the château’s passageways to their liberty. Instead, a new version had been set in their minds which they would recount to whoever asked, on pain of gruesome death if they did not. De Floyran explained to the King of Beaumanoir’s connection to Catherine and that he had made a trip to the dungeons before their departure and left the door to Galeren’s cell unlocked, after she had begged him to do so.

  “Women!” the King spat furiously, “they are nothing but trouble. I should never have agreed to your request. I should have had them all executed immediately, including her!”

  “At risk of the Pope’s fury?” De Floyran pointed out.

  “And what do you think the Pope will make of this, you arrogant whoreson!”

  De Floyran clenched his jaw and tried to let the King’s insult wash over him. “The Pope need not know. We have done everything to minimise any damage caused and we still have the Grand Master.” De Floyran said evenly, maintaining his calm.

  “Yes that is a small mercy, though I am sure it has more to do with De Molay’s stubborn loyalty than to your deft action. I thought you were going to kill De Massard.”

  “I thought I had.” De Floyran said with bitter sentiment. “But I could not foresee that wolfsbane would have little effect on him or Beaumanoir’s intervention for that matter.” De Floyran shook his head and then added. “I lost one of my men.”

  “And I lost over thirty, including Beaumanoir!” the King snapped back, “and now we risk having the secret of the Templars revealed.”

  “Trust me, no one will talk. I have seen to it. We have emerged from this relatively unscathed, apart from the loss of your men.”

  “I suppose it is foolish to enquire whether any attempt was made to go after them.”

  “We needed to secure the Grand Master at Chinon as you requested and see to De Nogaret. Besides, we were outnumbered.” De Floyran said lowering his head.

  “Mmmm,” the King mused irritably. “How is De Nogaret?” he asked as a secondary thought. It was the first time he had enquired after his trusted councillor, despite De Floyran telling him he had been injured when he first recounted the incident. “I trust he is receiving the best treatment possible.”

  “Aye, a break to the leg is serious, especially the thigh bone. But mercifully it was a clean break and he will not lose the leg, which is often the case. I fear it will leave his mark on him though. He may need an aid to walk with and will at least suffer a severe limp.”

  “Well as long as his wits are still sharp.” The King said unconcerned. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Well Templar, I don’t have to warn you that I will not let you get away with a mistake like this again. I will not hesitate to have you strung up with the rest of your heathen kind if you do.”

  De Floyran was unaccustomed to receiving threats from anyone without retaliating and found it almost impossible to take, even from the King of France. It was even more difficult to stomach seeing as he despised the pompous King and loathed being answerable to him. It was a situation he had not foreseen being in when he started this. Nevertheless, trying to contain the anger that simmered evenly within him, De Floyran merely bowed respectfully to show he understood.

  “So how can you make certain that something like this never happens again? I mean they only need someone to open the gate for them and they are unstoppable. Templars could be walking into prisons all over France as we speak, handing themselves in with aim of helping their brethren escape. Imagine?” Philip said with concern spreading rapidly across his face. He was only just beginning to comprehend the potentially serious consequences of the situation they were all now deeply embroiled in. He may want to destroy the Temple, but it wasn’t that simple anymore. They were not just men, they were a powerful force and he had not realized just how powerful until now.

  “I have had some thoughts on this.” De Floyran said earnestly. He had not preempted such a bold move on behalf of Galeren, primarily because he thought he had killed him. But in hind sight, any Templar could have gained access to Montlhéry in such a way and caused the same devastating consequences. It was so simple he chastised himself for not having anticipated such a strike.

  “And these are?” the King pressed, chewing on a thumb nail ferociously.

  “It may seem like a foolhardy notion, in these circumstances, but keeping one’s eggs in one basket may be prudent. Having Templars scattered all over France makes it hard to keep an eye on them and have sufficient guard of them. They are dangerous and need but opportunity to make short work of escape. We could tighten up security on one or two places of incarceration and limit access.”

  “But having them all together could be perilous in itself. I have witness to the devastation the wolves can cause.” The King pointed out, though he could see sense in De Floyran’s overall idea.

  “True, but remember we can only shape shift. Wolves cannot escape from dungeons by themselves, only if somebody opens the door for them. Barred cells are just as good at containing wolves as men, provided the right person has keys to those dungeons.”

  “I suppose you are right,” the King said contemplatively.

  “Also if they are in one place, my men can act as guards.” He said, but Philip merely frowned doubtfully.

  “You have but three men and five of you had trouble with only thrice your number, let alone the several hundred Templars that we presently hold captive!”

  “Ah, this is where my other ideas come into play.”

  “Explain.”

  “We may need to, how shall I put it, reduce some of their number.”

  “You mean execute them?” Philip said surprised.

  “Yes, and without the Pope’s knowledge. He is not certain of how many Templars were arrested and records can be altered. But not all need be murdered. Some of the Templars in French gaols have been tortured, some have been threatened with it but they have all suffered miserably. I may be able to persuade some to come over to our side.”

  “Is that possible?” Philip asked, suddenly very interested.

  “Anything is possible. It is amazing what a man will agree to, to escape his misery and grisly fate, especially those who are weak.”

  “Is there such a thing as a weak Templar?” Philip queried.

&nb
sp; “Not in the conventional sense, but we have a strong will to survive, regardless of how that may be. No man likes to be in a cage and a wolf can barely stand it, its spirit is quickly broken when caged. They will be offered the option to join us in the first instance; those whom I think will not be persuaded will be executed in front of those I think may change their minds. Watching your pending fate can have great influence on the decisions you make. The ones most loyal to the Temple will die, which is a good thing. When I have a sufficient retinue the rest can be transported to Chinon and perhaps to a couple of locations in or near Paris. The Pope can then conduct his papal inquiry and then they can be tried and condemned.”

  “Do it then, if it can be done. You have my permission to use whatever methods necessary but I warn you to be discreet. The Pope must not get wind of this.” Philip said waving his finger in warning.

  De Floyran smiled and then said, “Of course, your Majesty, you can trust me on this.”

  “Good,” Philip said, “now go.” He waved him away.

  “I need a list of Templars and their places of incarceration throughout France.”

  “See De Plaisians.” Philip said curtly and then turned his back on De Floyran.

  De Floyran nodded and knowing that his meeting with the King was over, he bowed graciously and left the room.

  25th November 1307, Château de Chinon, Chinon

  De Floyran stared out of the chamber window into the gloom of the rain, trying to ignore De Nogaret’s complaints and cries as the bandaging was removed from his leg and his wound was inspected by one of the King’s best chirurgeons. De Floyran was not used to being anyone’s man but it seemed that he was unwittingly becoming Philip’s. The money was welcome but he had rather hoped to be residing at his own estate now, sitting back on his laurels and enjoying Catherine.

  Catherine, he thought, with a fervour that itched at his bones. He wondered how he could get her once again from Galeren. He knew that it would be almost impossible now, given that Galeren and his troop would be safely back on English soil and in the company of more Templars. Besides, Galeren would take no more chances where Catherine was concerned. He would not let her out of his sight. De Floyran allowed himself a thin smile as he thought of his night with her and how Galeren could do nothing to change that. The victory was still his, however small, and he would find a way to get her again, but for now he had to concentrate on the task of assembling a retinue of turned Templar Knights for the King.

  After he had been re-bandaged and the chirurgeon had left, De Nogaret stretched and looking at De Floyran’s wistful expression as he stared out into the rain, said rather venomously:

  “Brooding over the loss of your little whore?”

  De Floyran felt every hair on his body bristle at the remark and he was tempted to break the bastard’s other leg. However, he was loath to admit that he was attached to Catherine, weak as it would seem and so instead took a deep breath for calm and said:

  “There are plenty of whores to be had. The point is that I had her.”

  “I thought you wanted to keep her.” De Nogaret persisted in the same conceited vein. De Floyran scratched his chin absently.

  “It suited me then but now things have changed.”

  “What did Philip say?” De Nogaret said, wincing as he tried to sit more upright.

  “He was not best pleased as you can imagine, but I blamed it all on Beaumanoir. It helps explain his death too, rather fortunate really.” He turned from the window and smiled.

  “Did he believe you?”

  “Of course,” De Floyran said.

  “Genius!” De Nogaret grinned.

  “Yes, you are not the only one with sharp wits. Besides, I have promised to create a retinue of werewolf knights for him.”

  “Really!” De Nogaret said excitedly and tried to sit up again. He cried out pathetically and De Floyran lost his cool.

  “Can you not take your suffering like a man instead of whining like a pig before it is slaughtered?” he snarled contemptuously.

  “Have you ever suffered with a broken leg?” De Nogaret snapped defensively.

  “No, our bones are stronger than men’s. But I lay while a battle raged around me with my innards hanging out of my belly for hours after Galeren ran me through and did not complain like you.”

  De Nogaret’s lip curled angrily but he decided to use wits for his retaliation. “Speaking of Galeren, what do you plan to do about him?” He knew mention of his foe’s triumph would rile De Floyran.

  “What do I plan to do about him?” De Floyran said, shaking his head as if perplexed.

  “Well, he out played you. He went back to Montlhéry and helped the Templars incarcerated there escape, he attacked us, relieved you of your prize, rescued a Templar spy, killed all the King’s men and one of your own. Surely you don’t plan to let him have the better of you?” De Nogaret finished, folding his arms ostentatiously.

  De Floyran felt the bile rise in his throat and envisaged breaking the councillor’s neck, but he knew that what De Nogaret had said was only what he’d been telling himself these past days.

  “And don’t forget,” De Floyran added with his own measure of venom, “he broke your leg. He was the wolf that struck your horse. It was no coincidence.” A faint smirk broke across De Floyran’s face. De Nogaret’s eyes narrowed furiously but he remained silent.

  De Floyran sighed heavily. “I have no intention of letting him sit back on his laurels. But I do not plan any rash action. First I need my army.”

  “You mean the one you plan to assemble for Philip.” De Nogaret reminded him.

  “Yes, but they will be under my command.” He raised an eyebrow provocatively at him. “I am sure we have not seen the last of Galeren in France in any case. He is persistent and I am sure he thinks to rescue more of his brethren.”

  “Do you think?” De Nogaret said amazed.

  “Anyway,” De Floyran murmured vaguely. Wishing to be away from the irksome councillor, he turned to leave.

  “Don’t leave,” De Nogaret pleaded, sensing De Floyran’s irritation. “Not yet anyway, I could do with the company.”

  “You need rest, not distraction.”

  “I am going crazy in this room, Esquin. I am not battle hardened like you and I’ve never been injured before.”

  “I told you I have business to attend to.” De Floyran said coldly and began to walk away.

  “You could give me your mark now.” De Nogaret said suddenly.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” De Floyran’s tone was full of derision.

  “It may help me heal, make me stronger.”

  “It is not a good idea.”

  “Why not? The King will not expect me to be recovered for weeks, knowing how badly I am injured. I have time to make the transition.”

  “It is not the time.” De Floyran said plainly.

  “It is never the time!” De Nogaret spat resentfully. “You do not plan to mark me! I saw your face when I asked for your help during the attack. You hesitated, you considered leaving me there!”

  “Of course I did.” De Floyran said honestly. “My own safety was my primary concern. When I weighed up the risk I did come back for you and you are alive because of that. If I mark you now you could die. Your body needs to be strong, and the shock it has already received due to the break in your leg means that my mark would likely kill you.

  So shut up and be patient. I will mark you when I see fit to and not before. Now rest or you will end up a cripple and then I will never mark you.” De Floyran said turning to leave. He stopped halfway to the door then turned back suddenly.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” he said pulling a folded, sealed document from the pocket of his tunic. He handed it to De Nogaret.

  “It is a copy of the Pope’s Bull issued on the twenty second. De Plaisians was good enough to see that a copy found its way to you.” De Floyran smirked as he saw De Nogaret’s face grimace at mention of the name of his rival. He was nevertheless thr
illed to see the Bull.

  “The Bull Pastoralis praeminentiae.” De Nogaret almost sung, as he broke the seal and opened up the document. “You might have handled it more carefully.” De Nogaret scolded, as he looked over the crumpled leaves of the precious Bull.

  De Floyran shrugged unperturbed and said, “’Tis everything that you wanted, Guillaume. The Pope supports the King and now the leaders of Europe should follow the King’s example.”

  “Thanks to you.” De Nogaret said more humbly. “I have not forgotten what you did. My mood is sour because of my leg. You know how I hate to be out of things.”

  “I do, but fret not. Now is the time for watching. The time for more action will come, but you need to rest for it.” He nodded curtly and with that left the room.

  After leaving De Nogaret with the Bull, De Floyran went to find his men. They were languishing in the main hall of the château, drinking wine and fooling around with several of the serving wenches, all of whom seemed more than happy to receive their boisterous attentions. He motioned for his men to relax when they quickly stood as they saw him enter the hall. Only three of them remained now, but that was about to change.

  “Continue with your pleasure for this evening,” he said to them, “but we leave at first light on the morrow.”

  “What is the mission?” Raymond Caradas asked.

  “Recruitment,” De Floyran answered with a smile. “Have your things ready and your heads clear.” He said and turned to leave.

  “You do not wish to join us?” Caradas asked, motioning to the women.

  “Not tonight.” De Floyran said and left them to it. He felt piqued as he thought of them enjoying their pleasures with the women and wished that he too was inclined to relieve some of his heated blood with a wench this eventide. But there was only one who could satisfy his hunger and she was beyond his grasp, for now.