“De Floyran’s mark is barely traceable on her. If I hadn’t have known the history I doubt I would have sensed his scent upon her at all.”
Galeren turned to Bertrand, as he placed two dried figs into his mouth, and smiled confidently at his old master.
“That is because he is nothing to do with her.” He said swallowing the fruit quickly. “She is strong in the wolf spirit and as you well know, he is not. His bite merely made her but it has no bearing on who she is or her future.”
“Mmmm,” Bertrand mused contemplatively, offering Galeren some wine. They were in his private rooms and, while waiting for the others to come, had taken the time to have a more personal conversation.
“I did not think those who were marked could be stronger in one half. I thought it was a trait only those born of werewolf blood could possess.”
“Apparently not. As you know the balance is usually even, with exceptions.”
“Even so, her initiator is dominated by his human half and yet she is more like you. No wonder you recognized her as your mate.” He paused and then added. “She is lovely as well.”
“That she is,” Galeren smiled and took the wine from Bertrand. They struck cups in a toast and drank down the delicious liquid.
“Not much of this left,” Bertrand said sighing regretfully, “still there are more important things to think about than good Gascony wine. I didn’t think I would see you again, but once again you have more than surprised me.”
“I am surprised myself, but Catherine was responsible for my freedom.”
Bertrand raised his eyebrows inquisitively and Galeren continued after taking another gulp of wine.
“She gave De Floyran what he wanted.” He shrugged when he saw Bertrand’s expression hadn’t changed and then continued. “He wanted her for his mate and struck a bargain with her; my life and freedom for her willing compliance.”
The talk at supper had been a lighter version of events, omitting the more gruesome and harrowing aspects of what had occurred in Montlhéry. Bertrand listened intently as Galeren explained in detail, from start to finish.
“I’m sorry,” Bertrand said, noting the grief in Galeren’s eyes.
Galeren shook his head, “Her sacrifice may have been in vain if I’d succumbed to that poison. I was lucky, but I would never have gotten out of that place if not for her and neither would any of the others.”
“She has strength of spirit. I sensed that as soon as I saw her. And the letter?”
“One of Philip’s councillors was a past acquaintance of hers. He was one of her father’s squires and married her sister. He tried to help and De Floyran killed him.”
“I am sorry for that too,” Bertrand said and was about to continue when there was a knock on the door.
“Come,” he called out and Gerard de Villiers entered the room followed by Richard de Gosbeck, John St Clair and three other men that Galeren did not know. De Villiers beamed a smile at Galeren as they all entered the room and Bertrand poured wine for them all.
“Gentlemen,” he said when all had a cup, “first let us welcome our brother back and thank him for his bravery.” They all echoed Bertrand’s sentiment and Galeren winced.
“Thank you brothers but such accolade is not deserved. I was the Templar that changed from wolf to man before the King and Pope’s eyes. Others died rather than reveal that fact.”
“I’ll warrant that your change was nothing to do with your own torture, eh?” Richard de Gosbeck interjected, “but that of others, Catherine’s in particular I’m guessing.”
“You would be right. I was not willing to bear her suffering, so condemn my weakness, do not commend it.”
“I’ll do nothing of the sort.” De Gosbeck said forcefully. “It is easy to suffer yourself; not a man here would have acted differently if in your stead.”
“He’s right,” Bertrand said, “the King would have his proof, however it was obtained and I think with the least suffering, the better. What is important now is to hammer out a future for us, Templars or not.” The room hummed with agreement.
“Galeren, this is Guy Auvrey, Simon Carnet, and Paul Le Gras. They came over with Gerard before the arrests. We appear to be the most senior,” he sighed, “or at least the most experienced of our kind on English soil at present. The preceptors of other Temple estates remain on them and await our advice. We have been entrusted by all of our brethren and our Grand Master to make best the decision on our future. I know that some of you have different ideas and tonight we will hear them.”
They sat around the meeting table and Galeren grabbed a handful of dried figs before he broke the silence, “What have you decided to do in the short-term?” he said popping one into his mouth. Despite eating heartily at supper he was still hungry.
“Pierre D’Aumont, Gerard and many of the men who came over from France with them will be moving what is left of the Templar fleet up towards Scotland. There are many small coves and bays along the coast that are secluded and within them the ships may remain hidden until we are granted safe haven.” Bertrand said.
“How many ships are there?” Galeren asked, devouring more figs.
“Twenty came from France and there were three ships in Dover and two in Bristol.”
“Twenty five.” Galeren nodded thoughtfully.
“Several ships went with brothers to Cyprus in preparation to evacuate Templars there if things turn bad, which they look to. A few went to Spain. We sold the rest, discreetly and mostly to merchants, some in Lisbon, some in Gascony, and several to the Teutonics.”
“Did they know they were Templar ships?” Galeren asked.
“The fact would not have been made known, but the buyers would have drawn their own conclusions.” Gerard shrugged. “The rest were nothing more than a battle weary flotilla of junk, so we left them for Philip.”
“How many?” Galeren asked.
“Ten in total. We didn’t want the King benefiting from any of our ships. The shit that was left will serve to frustrate him and keep him guessing.”
“Absolutely,” Galeren said, but a frown formed on his face as he fell deep into thought.
“You think Scotland will give us the sanctuary we need if the leaders of Europe act on the Pope’s Bull?” John St Clair asked, looking at Bertrand.
“I think the Bruce may well indeed offer us sanctuary in return for our services as he continues to wage his war with England. He’ll not care for Philip’s ranting or the Pope’s for that matter, he has his country to think of and we have our race. Nationality will have to be put aside for the survival of our kind.” Bertrand said.
“I am in agreement,” Gerard de Villiers said and the others murmured their accord contemplatively.
“What think you Galeren?” Richard de Gosbeck asked, noting the brooding look on his friend’s face.
Galeren looked up and smiled, “I agree too. Scotland is ideal, in the interim,” he added.
“Would you like to elaborate?” Bertrand said, with a knowing look in his eyes.
“I don’t doubt for a moment that the Bruce will offer us sanctuary and in return he will expect us to fight his battles.” Galeren said. “In the short term it will suffice but it will do nothing for us in the long term. Our women will still be confined to Templar convents and even if we disband and lose our mantles, Scotland does not offer us much for the future, not if we are large in number and wish to stay united. Suspicion will always surround us and if we are to disband then we run the risk of being divided and lose what we have become. Do we wish to end up being swords for hire?”
Galeren shook his head. “I, for one, do not. I want to be far from the Pope’s sphere of influence and that of the King of France and any other would be leader who wishes to lead a witch hunt.” He sighed. “Don’t forget that they know what we are now. I do not trust my future in the hands of Kings and rulers whose petty squabbles and greed are likely to land us in hot water again. We cannot hide what we are and I do not wish to any longer. The Holy Land is not
the answer and neither is Christendom. If we have been forced to change our manner of existence then I say, let us embrace that change.”
“What options do we have?” John St Clair asked.
Galeren looked around the room and noted the expressions upon the faces of every man in it, some like Richard, Gerard and Bertrand were well aware of what was coming next. Others may have heard such ideas before, but not from his mouth and if ever there was a chance for him to make good his case, then it was never greater than right now. Galeren took a sip of wine and then said:
“In the eleventh century Vikings are known to have made successful voyages across the Atlantic and found land far beyond the shores of Greenland.”
“Vinland?” John St Clair said enthusiastically.
“Yes,” Galeren said, hoping that he may have an ally in this.
“I have read about those voyages.”
“Have you seen the maps?” Galeren asked, rubbing his chin zealously.
“I regret not.” He said. “Dare I ask where they are?”
“Thankfully, not in the Paris Temple. They are for the nonce in New Temple and we can get them, if we act now.”
“What do you propose?” Guy Auvrey asked, somewhat intrigued.
“’Tis much to swallow, but I think that some of our futures lie in new lands.”
“That would be starting from scratch, Galeren.” Bertrand said, but not in a tone that was discounting.
“Aye, completely from scratch. But if any race can do it, then it is ours. Think of our knowledge and skills, think of our strength and our hardiness. I am not saying it would be easy but it is a future away from our enemies, away from suspicion and scrutiny. In a new world, we may be able to achieve what we have always wanted to.”
“These lands you speak of though, are not uninhabited,” Paul Le Gras began, “I too have read the Viking histories and they did not colonise these lands successfully and they did not stay. They had their fair share of trouble with the inhabitants too.”
“The Skraelings, or so they called them.” John St Clair said.
“I don’t deny they did, but they are not us. The Vikings were often heavy handed and they were wont to fighting, more readily amongst themselves than with the Skraelings, over women mostly. My point here is not to discuss the success of the Vikings but to talk of our future possibilities. We need not settle where they did, we can traverse the coast. We can set up camps from which to conduct explorations. If the land is hard then we can always live as wolves when times are difficult.”
He saw the others exchange glances but he did not get the sense that his ideas were falling on deaf ears.
“What I am proposing may not be easy but at least we have the opportunity to be ourselves. This is a real chance for freedom, away from Europe’s warring leaders and the repressive cloak of Christianity. We can live freely with our women and children, build our own societies and perhaps learn from the inhabitants. I have read the descriptions of the so called Skraelings. They sound nothing like the men from these climes. They may have great wisdom to impart and we may find them better company than the men of Christendom.
Remember how much we learned from the so called infidel? There may even be those of our race amongst them, as we also found in the Holy Land. I have long dreamed of change and perhaps adventure too, but without the killing. We will never be able to be what we once were here, not anymore.” He paused and then looking around the room at each of the men he said:
“Since I first read of the Viking expeditions to Vinland, I have felt that we have a connection with this new land, from centuries past perhaps. It is hard for me to explain, but it is instinctual, as if something in my wolf spirit recognises an ancient association with this land. Maybe our ancestors went, or maybe some of our ancestors came from this land. I don’t know, only that I feel it is the right place for us and that given time we will prevail. We have the ships and we have the means and endurance to do this. I for one think we should.”
“I do too.” Gerard de Villiers said resolutely and gave Galeren a nod of assurance.
“And I.” John St Clair said, “I think it is a viable idea, maybe it is time we found our own place in this world, perhaps our true place.”
Galeren smiled at St Clair and then looked over at Richard. His friend had a pensive look on his face and when he saw Galeren look at him he said:
“Hell, I’m there too!” he knocked back his wine as if in affirmation of his commitment and then added, “can’t let you have all the fun.”
“There’ll be no conquering, Richard.” Galeren warned. “We’d be settlers, farmers. Can you handle a scythe in your hand instead of a sword?”
“My sword has rusted in my hand these past years; I’d rather a scythe than naught. Besides, maybe I should settle down, find a wife and enjoy my twilight years.”
“You’re not done yet!” Galeren said laughing, but caught Bertrand’s gaze and looked at the other men who had not said anything for or against, his face became serious again.
“I realize that not everybody finds this idea appealing. But I don’t mean for all of us to go down this path if it is not wished. We don’t yet know how the rest of Europe will react to the Pope’s Bull. If more arrests seem imminent, our brothers may already be dispersing. I fear that the Pope will dissolve the Temple and then we will truly be divided.
Travelling to a new world is an opportunity to stay united. But those who wish, can stay in Scotland and survive in their own way, or even go back to Palestine and eke out an existence there. Whatever happens though, I fear we will be forced into dispersal and I wish for our race to stay as united as possible.”
“I agree with you on that front.” Bertrand said. “And I think your idea has serious merit. In truth many, such as myself, may not wish to embark on such a journey of change. I would want to stay here and watch what happens. I cannot see myself leaving these shores, and who knows? Perhaps things will change in time and we can reunite here. I think many will stay, but many will want to go too.”
“This is a wise approach,” Simon Carnet said. “Some should stay here and some should make the venture. We do not know how the Templars in other parts of Europe will be dealt with or how they view their futures. If Scotland can provide us with sanctuary then perhaps we can make it a point of gathering, somewhere others may come to escape persecution. They can then decide whether to stay or try their fortune with Galeren and others in the new world.”
“That is an excellent idea.” Galeren said.
“Good,” Bertrand said, sounding relieved. “First Scotland then and temporary sanctuary, from there we can watch and make plans. We can decide when to embark on this voyage when we find enough who are willing to do so. I imagine it will be a young man’s venture.” Bertrand smiled as he heard De Villiers clear his throat in protest. “With some much needed guidance from the more wizened and wise among us.” He reached for the flagon of wine and made his way around the room refilling the empty cups. When he was finished he raised his own cup and said:
“A toast to the future then!”
As they all echoed his sentiment and drank down their wine feeling better about their prospects, Galeren had to darken the tone and remind them that they had a duty to those of their kind imprisoned in France.
“Before we embark on that future though, we have the past to contend with.” He said seriously.
“Meaning?” Bertrand wiped his mouth as a feeling of foreboding crept over him.
“I do not intend to sail west while there are still those of us rotting in gaols, waiting for Christ knows what fate, the stake probably, if Philip and De Nogaret have their way.”
“Galeren,” Bertrand said, knowing and half dreading where he was going with this.
“We cannot ignore the suffering of our race and I wish for those who are at present in stinking dungeons to have the same choices and opportunities as we do.”
“You cannot mean attempting to free them from their incarcerat
ion, can you?” Bertrand said.
“That is exactly what I mean.” Galeren replied seriously.
“It is madness. Impossible!” Bertrand said. “As always Galeren, you follow sense with nonsense.”
“It is easy, if executed correctly.” Galeren said, ignoring Bertrand’s reprove.
Richard pulled a reflective face and Gerard watched Galeren’s expression intently. He was immensely grateful for what Galeren had done for his son and the other Templars at Montlhéry, but rushing back to France could be folly, especially now that he had foiled De Floyran once and killed thirty of the King’s men. But he knew when Galeren had set his mind to something, he would not change it.
“I do not wish to devalue your recent efforts in Montlhéry but you were lucky. You had the element of surprise on your side. Do you think you could walk into every Templar gaol in France and have the same success? Our enemies will not allow such to happen again. Remember you went to France for personal reasons. Coming home with Catherine, Ourri and the others was a great triumph, but it may be our last in this fight.”
“Are you happy to abandon hundreds of our brethren to their deaths?” Galeren snapped angrily.
“No, not happy. But I am not prepared to send any more to theirs.”
“You don’t know that!” Galeren persisted. “It only needs a handful of us. I don’t mean to race over to France tomorrow, I mean to watch and wait for an opportune moment to strike and get as many of our brothers out as possible. You are right that De Floyran was caught off guard and yes, they will undoubtedly be taking measures to ensure they are not caught out again. But an opportunity will arise again, I just know it, and we should be ready to take advantage of it.”
Bertrand sighed wearily and looked around at the others. “What are your opinions on this?”
“Well,” Richard de Gosbeck started, “I would race to France tomorrow and give the bastards some grief, but I like Galeren’s approach too.” He said winking at Galeren. “I think we can afford to watch and wait. Philip and the Pope may think we are monsters, but I doubt they wish the masses to know the truth. They will conduct a trial in proper form, or so it will seem to the outside world. To our advantage then may be that they need to move prisoners and such like, or there may be a time when they are all in one place, who knows?”
“Exactly!” Galeren said. “De Floyran knows that with Templars incarcerated here and there all over the country, he cannot maintain fail-safe security and what happened at Montlhéry will have pointed that out to him like a lance through the balls.”
“I doubt they would put all Templars in one place, the risk would be too great!” Paul Le Gras said.
“Not if De Floyran thinks he can handle things. They could put a lot of Templars in a château like Chinon and make it impenetrable.”
“But if it is impenetrable, then how are you going to get in?” Bertrand asked.
“There is always a way, we just have to wait for the right opportunity.”
“This may be foolish to ask but I suppose you would be in the forefront of such an undertaking.”
“Of course.” Galeren said doggedly.
Bertrand rolled his eyes. “And who would lead your expedition to the new world should you be killed?”
“You don’t need me to lead anything. I just put the wind in the sails. I would, however lead a mission to free our brothers. Gerard could take the lead in the new world venture, should I die.”
“Not so,” he said, “for I would die by your side in France. What Galeren says is right. I can’t imagine what they would have done to Ourri if they’d gotten him to Chinon. If we wait and plan such a mission then it would be worth a few of our lives for what it could achieve. We owe our brethren that at least.”
“I know what you say is right but I am just loath to lose any more of us, especially from this group and on an undertaking that is so dangerous.”
“Don’t worry Bertrand, it will not be like before. We do have the benefit of time. It will be planned and we would only conduct such an undertaking at an opportune moment.”
“Fine, but I know how impatient you are Galeren and how you fret. Our brothers may be in prison for some time before such an opportunity presents itself, if it ever does, can you wait? Can you truly?”
“All of our futures are at stake and yes it will be hard for me but I know how important this is. I will sit on my hands and wait until the last possible moment if I have to.”
The Wolves of Solomon (Wolves of Solomon Book One) Page 45
