The Wolves of Solomon (Wolves of Solomon Book One)

by R. L. Blackhurst

28th January 1310, Avignon, France

  Brother Michael raced up the stone steps towards his master’s private chambers. He paused when he finally reached the top step to catch his breath. Placing the letter which bore the Royal seal of the King of France under his arm, he retrieved the small handkerchief that was tucked in the sleeve of his habit and mopped his sweaty brow. It was a cold morning but he had been so eager to deliver this latest letter from the King to the Pope that he had raced across the courtyard and up the several flights of stairs to this point. Now he tried to regain his composure and present himself in a respectable fashion to his revered superior.

  “Saints preserve us.” He muttered as he straightened his attire and walked slowly down the passageway to the Pope’s rooms. He knew that Clement was feeling the strain of the last couple of years and that his illness had not abated but rather had gotten worse. His struggle with the King concerning the Templar affair was taking its toll.

  By early 1308 all Templars in Christendom had finally been arrested. Many of Europe’s leaders had been unhurried in their actions, either through disbelief in the accusations or lack of care for them, however, eventually it had been done. But since then there had been much arguing between King and Pope. Though, as Michael himself had witnessed that terrible night in Montlhéry, the Pope knew the true nature of the knights that called themselves God’s warriors, he continued to condemn the King’s handling of the matter. The papacy had called into question the legality of Philip’s actions and so while the Pope tried to convince them that they were justified, he also had to persuade the impatient King to do things by the book.

  Both the King and Pope wanted to keep the Templars’ secret nature from the papacy and other leaders in Europe. Those that had witnessed the horror at Montlhéry had been sworn to secrecy on pain of death. The papal and diocesan commissions within France, and papal commissions without, were therefore unaware of the maleficent truth and so sought to investigate the matter thoroughly. The Pope had set out a dual process in his Bull Faciens misericordiam issued mid 1308, whereby diocesan commissions were charged with investigating each of the Templars individually and papal commissions with investigating the Order as a whole.

  The Templar dignitaries had played this to their advantage and when Clement had sent two cardinals to hear their confessions, they had retracted them outright, complaining that torture and abuse had led them to confess to lies in order to cease their mistreatment. With the truth hidden from the papacy and rulers of Europe, there had still been the chance that the Temple would be absolved.

  While Philip was enraged by the retractions, Clement remained dispassionate trying not to be bullied by the King who was losing patience with the matter. It seemed to Michael that the Pope was happy to let things play out, doing what was required by the Church and not forcing the King’s cause, as if by some madness he sought to protect the Templars with a passive voice.

  The King, however, regained his control when some seventy Templar prisoners had been brought to Poitiers in July 1308. Here they had made confessions that had satisfied the bulk of the papacy, who finally conceded that the Order was in disrepute. Since then, while diocesan and papal commissions continued their investigations, albeit slowly, Clement still continued his quarrelling with the King. The latest subject was the fate of the Temple’s property and possessions. Michael reached the door of his superior’s rooms and rapped upon it purposefully.

  “Come,” a weary voice said. Michael entered and was shocked to see how dishevelled his reverence appeared. Still in his night gown, his face was wan and riddled with evidence of stress and pain.

  “Your Holiness, are you well?” Michael rushed towards him.

  “A bad night is all,” Clement replied, waving him away.

  “Should I leave you to rest?”

  “I expect you have news from the King,” Clement said, filling up a cup from a pitcher of water. He took a sip from it and poured the rest over his head, shaking it as if cleansed with its coolness. He reached for and took the linen towel that Michael quickly fetched for him.

  “It is from the King,” Michael said and took the towel from Clement when he had dried his face and exchanged it for the letter he carried. Clement broke the seal and read from it. He sighed and crushing it in his hands threw it into the fire.

  “What did it say?” Michael asked curiously, noting that it must have been brief in its message.

  “Nothing, except I am to expect his lap dog, De Nogaret, in the next few days. We have much to discuss apparently.” Clement raised his eyebrows at Michael, stretched and then sat back down on his bed. It was true that he was weary of this business and alone in its burden. He looked up to Michael, his trusted scribe, and realised that this was not entirely true. Michael was so discreet and faithful, that Clement often forgot that he had also witnessed the truth at Montlhéry.

  “What think you of the Templars?” Clement asked suddenly.

  “Me, your Holiness?” Michael sounded shocked.

  “Yes, you and be mindful that I wish for the truth. Do not say what you think I would want to hear.”

  “You wish me to be honest?” he asked dubiously.

  “I need you to be honest.” Clement said his sentiment was heartfelt.

  Michael sighed. He didn’t really know what to make of the whole business. All he knew is what he saw; a wolf ripping out one man’s throat and yet not harming the woman who was thrown into the pit after him, then seeing that wolf change into a man. It was proof that these werewolf creatures existed and that the Templars were an order of such beings, but was it proof of their evil as the King argued? His head told him that the very nature of the Templars was against God’s creation and will and that therefore they must be of the devil’s design. However, his heart told him something different. The werewolf knight had been tortured and so had his brothers; some to death. He merely took the revenge that any man would have exacted on the perpetrator of such cruelty, could he condemn him for that? In addition, there was, he was loath to admit, some admiration there. What man would not admire such a force, such magic and be drawn to it? But magic, by the very teaching of the Church was evil and so he must be ruled by his head.

  “They are an abomination of nature, of God’s creation. The Church cannot sanction such evil.”

  “Is that your head or heart speaking?” Clement asked perceptively.

  Michael faltered for a moment but staring into the tired eyes of his mentor he decided to speak the truth and give him what he wanted.

  “My head.”

  “And what does your heart tell you?”

  “It tells me that the Templars have ever been Christendom’s ally. They have never given us reason to doubt their fealty to the faith, until now.”

  “Until now?” Clement frowned. “Why? Because they are an unnatural race?”

  “It is monstrous.” Michael said.

  “What is? Their nature, or that they have lived amongst us for centuries and have caused us no harm, in fact have only protected our faith and most precious facets of it.”

  Michael bowed his head, “I am confused, your Holiness.”

  “So am I, Michael,” the Pope said rubbing his tired eyes.

  “You have the confessions of some seventy Templar Knights, confessions of diabolical heresies.”

  Clement nodded agreeably, even though those confessions seemed dubious to him. De Molay and the other members of the Templar council had taken advantage of the fact that the real truth would never be revealed beyond Philip’s egocentric grasp and so henceforth, all he would have to condemn them with was De Nogaret’s spurious indictment. With that they could defend their honour and lay waste to the King and his councillor’s claims, and when Clement had sent the cardinals to meet with the Templar dignitaries they had done just that. The King’s counterattack with the seventy Templars who readily confessed to all charges did not sit well with him. At first the spectre of torture loomed but upon seeing the men himself, they looked neither mist
reated nor fearful. The fact that Esquin de Floyran, the treacherous renegade Templar, was present and ever watchful made Clement mistrustful of the men’s confessions. He suspected that the confessions were coerced from the men but not through threat but rather promise.

  He did not trust the King, or those whom he chose to surround himself with. There was evil at large of that he was sure, but it was not from the Templar camp. Nevertheless, he knew that his powers were limited and that if he made an obvious move for the Templars’ cause he may very well share their fate.

  “What is to be done?” Michael asked, noting the concern etched into the Pope’s brow.

  Clement sighed, “I must get dressed.” He said simply and rose to begin the process.

  De Nogaret arrived a few days later. He complained at having to climb the flights of stairs up to the Pope’s private rooms, his walking stick evident of the permanent damage that had been caused to his leg. Michael clarified that the Pope’s ill health made it impossible for him to leave his rooms at present and De Nogaret grimly had to lump it. Of course, Clement was not so ill that he could not descend several flights of steps but he loathed the King’s spiteful councillor and would take his victories where he could.

  “Welcome Guillaume,” Clement said, as De Nogaret was shown into his solar huffing and puffing. He extended his hand towards the councillor who, catching his breath, kissed his ring.

  “I am sorry you had to come to my rooms, I had no idea of your injury. I have been exhausted these last days and fear to exert myself lest I prompt another episode. How did you injure your leg?” Clement asked genuinely. He had not yet heard about the escape from Montlhéry or Galeren’s attack on the King’s cortege.

  “A riding accident,” De Nogaret said smarting at the pain in his leg. It ever reminded him that he too had an axe to grind with the elusive Galeren.

  “I am sorry to hear that,” the Pope said and gestured for him to sit and relieve his obvious discomfort. “Wine?” he offered and signalled at Michael to acquire some when De Nogaret indicated that that was exactly what he desired.

  “How is the King?” Clement asked when they had their wine. Michael remained to record the meeting in writing.

  “Anxious, disappointed, angry.” De Nogaret said.

  Philip was indeed all of these things and De Nogaret found it hard to take his tantrums these days, especially with his disability. De Floyran seemed to have become the King’s personal bodyguard and flaunted his new status now he was backed by his retinue of turned Templar Knights. Many knights had turned their back on their brethren who, loyal to their honour and code, were burned before them. De Nogaret had to admit that Esquin had been meticulous in the implementation of his objective. Some two hundred werewolf Templars had been reduced to ashes at the stake, while seventy had now become loyal to De Floyran and the King.

  “Is he not always thus?” the Pope said derisively.

  “You know him well.”

  “What is it you wish to discuss with me on his behalf?” Clement asked trying to hurry to the point.

  “There are several matters that are of concern to the King. I will start with the possessions of the Temple order.”

  Clement sighed and gestured for more wine to be poured for he felt he would need it. Michael set down his paper and quill and quickly refilled their cups.

  “I cannot argue the matter with the King. If there were to be another crusade, then the possessions of the Temple would be used to fund it, but what good would a crusade be without the Temple?” Clement added forgetting himself. He waved his hand absently and then continued, “I fear the King’s greed governs his reason. Isn’t this supposed to be about heresy and righting a great wrong?”

  “Of course,” De Nogaret assured. “The King’s actions are sincerely pious in the first and you yourself have seen what we are up against. But,” De Nogaret paused and took a sip of wine, “the King’s treasury is empty and the Templar riches are not what were expected. Even the Templar fleet is in a sorry state. There were merely a handful of ships at port in La Rochelle and Marseilles, and they were in disrepair.”

  Clement merely arched his eyebrows questioningly.

  “What was left in the treasury at the Paris Temple was paltry compared to what we had seen there not one year before the arrests. That which was scattered around preceptories all over France has hardly been worth the effort of retrieving.” De Nogaret continued. “The King is convinced that the Templars were forewarned and made off with their treasures in their ships.”

  “Have you ever considered that such treasure was myth? Maybe the Templar treasure was their very being, their power and supernatural nature.”

  De Nogaret shrugged, “I know what I saw at the Paris Temple and how do you explain the poor condition their fleet?”

  “The Templars dock in many ports, perhaps their fleet is scattered about Europe.” The Pope offered.

  De Nogaret shrugged again. “In any case, if you think the King will hand over the meagre assets of the Temple, that have thus far been confiscated, to the Hospitallers at this point in time, then you are gravely mistaken.”

  “Perhaps,” Clement said casually, “I just think that it would put Philip in a better light. To be seen to be giving the hoards of an evil order to an order that is highly respected would make his actions appear more devout. Coveting the Temple’s lands and wealth makes him look greedy and his cause financially driven.”

  “He only means to take advantage of some of the wealth acquired by the arrogant order; wealth that he believes is rightfully his as King. Philip, as you well know, does not like anything to be out of his control and the Temple was.” A sliver of malice entered the councillor’s dark eyes and he continued rather glibly. “Remember he is not reserved in his convictions, even Popes are not beyond his criticism. I believe that the untimely death of Boniface, before he could be brought to trial for his crimes, has eaten away at Philip and he has since bayed for the blood of another enemy to alleviate his disappointment. Between you and me your Holiness, I believe the King thinks that you somehow wish to defend the Temple and ally yourself with the supernatural knights. He may have lost one Pope but do not be mistaken to think that he will not go after another.”

  The flagon smashed on the floor as it fell out of Michael’s grip and he gasped in horror. De Nogaret and Clement looked at the dismayed scribe but after the shock washed over his face it suddenly took on a visage that Clement had never seen before.

  “How dare you threaten his Holiness? Do you forget whose house you are in?” he screamed at De Nogaret, passionate in his anger.

  “It is alright Michael,” Clement said calmly, though he too was angered by De Nogaret’s menacing threat, however, it was in his nature to remain composed and dignified when met with such malevolence. Michael’s face softened and he nodded curtly at his master and quickly sought to clear up the mess he’d made. Clement turned back to De Nogaret and through gritted teeth said:

  “I am not one to be intimidated by baseless threats. Philip uses the spectre of Boniface all too often to pressure me, but don’t let him count on it.” He sighed and then said. “I have no desire to ally myself with the Templars. I have seen as well as you what they are, but short of exposing the truth to all that it concerns, you must let the papal commissions conduct their investigations in their own way. Philip has to learn patience.”

  “Aye, but you know that he has neither the will or care for it. He wants the Order dissolved and all the knights executed.”

  “And what of the other members of the Order, those not of the race of werewolves who are unaware of their former master’s deceptions?” Clement asked warily. He was concerned for members of the Order that were above suspicion. Surely they would not be condemned for their ignorance.

  “Philip is not worried about them. We have confirmed they know nothing of their masters’ true natures.”

  “Some have been tortured?” Clement asked, though he already knew the answer.

&nbs
p; “It was necessary.” De Nogaret shrugged. “But only a few suffered for what we already suspected. The good of that is that they are now at your mercy. You may decide the fate of the Temple’s servants.” De Nogaret smiled conceitedly. Though Clement wanted to wipe the smug look off the councillor’s face, he was nevertheless relieved at the judgement.

  “They can make an act of contrition, once done they will be absolved and reconciled with the Church. They may find homes amongst the monasteries.”

  “A wise and merciful decision,” De Nogaret bowed his head.

  “What other business is there?” the Pope asked sharply, wishing to be rid of the snake that was in his solar.

  “The abolition of the Order.” De Nogaret said.

  “It cannot be done!” Clement stressed and then added, “not yet anyway. The papal commission wishes to continue with its hearings.”

  “The papal commission has invited a Templar defence to commence. Any free Templars have been invited to Paris to defend the Order. The King is most displeased!”

  “It is out of my hands,” Clement defended. “Anyway, is it not to your advantage to have any waifs and strays walk into your snares?”

  “I doubt any knights will turn up, by now the whole werewolf brotherhood will know that their game is up. I expect only the ignorant minions of the Temple will make a show. However, Philip is afraid that the papal commission will absolve the Order, especially after the retraction of confessions by De Molay and the other dignitaries. Can you imagine the retribution if that happens?”

  Clement sighed, “I do not like to, but doubt it will happen. You still have the confessions of some seventy knights. Besides, Philip must know that he has an ally in me. Allay his fears and make it known to him that I will act in his interest when the time is right. Let the commission have its hearings and let us see what comes of the Templar defence, if anything.” The Pope sat down, the strain on him evident. Michael took the fresh flagon he had returned with, filled a cup and quickly took it over to him. Clement drank thirstily enjoying the wine’s sweet taste on his bitter tongue.

  “Offer our guest some,” he said with a husky voice.

  “Thank you, but there is no need.” De Nogaret replied quickly. “We are done here and I have other business in Avignon to attend to before I return to Paris. I will relay your assurances to the King.” He stood and limped towards Clement who held out his hand to be kissed.

  “I hope you feel better, your Holiness.” De Nogaret said and then turned and followed Michael who escorted him from the room. At the top of the stairs De Nogaret paused and turning towards Michael he said, “I know my way out, you need not accompany me.” His eyes narrowed and he added:

  “Keep your scribe’s tongue firmly in your head. Remember you know a secret that is worth more than your pathetic life. I will excuse your fervent outburst this time, but do not expect such charity again. The King will not deal to lightly with the likes of men who defend heretics and monsters. The less who know about it the better, your existence hangs in the balance, pray it tilts in your favour.”

  Michael kept his eyes downcast, though they were full of vitriol and nodded his compliance.

  “Good,” De Nogaret said and turning made his way down the steps. Michael hurried back to the Pope’s rooms lest he be tempted by the devil to push the crippled councillor down the rest of them.