An hour past midnight the nine wolves made their way to the château. They swam swiftly across the river, and under the cover of darkness they padded through the narrow streets of the town unnoticed. When they reached the outer wall of the fortress, they stopped and breathed in the still of the night, searching for scents that would encourage them onward or make them go back.
Richard made to carry on but Galeren hesitated, his nose raised high in the air taking in its stillness and reticence with concern.
What do you smell? Richard asked perplexed.
Nothing, Galeren answered, but such quiet disturbs me. There was nothing in particular that Galeren could pinpoint that caused his feeling of unease. The night was serene and why that should bother him he did not know. But he was not wont to ignore his senses, no matter how elusive. He would keep his wits sharp and take nothing for granted.
Don’t get spooked Galeren, Richard said.
I am not, but I think we should be cautious.
Good idea, Gerard said.
They traversed the high outer wall guardedly until they reached the location of the keep, Tour de Coudray, and dungeon where their brethren were being held.
What do you sense now? Richard asked as they stopped.
That we should get on with it. We only have one chance, Galeren answered. His unease had left him and now his mind was fixed on the mission in hand. He had noted there were embankments in various places, where the walls appeared sunken into the prominence of earth upon which the château had been constructed.
A bit of a leg up, Galeren said, inclining his head to the embankment they were presently stood on.
I’ll warrant it’s a long drop the other side. Richard de Gosbeck pointed out.
You don’t think we can do it? Galeren asked, but he didn’t care for the answer for he knew that they could. Richard’s eyes remained neutral as he looked around at the others for opinion.
What do you think Parsifal? Galeren asked.
Easy, the young knight replied confidently.
Oh to be young and foolhardy again, Richard said, half sarcastically, half whimsically.
You don’t have to be young to be foolhardy. Gerard aptly noted looking at Galeren and then said,
Who’s up first?
Me! Parsifal grinned enthusiastically.
Not so fast young scamp, let my old bones test the height. Galeren said and before anyone had time to protest, he ran up the embankment and leapt. In seconds and as if he had only jumped a few feet, Galeren was on the ledge of the wall looking down at them all.
Fool! Richard scolded looking at Galeren’s snow white silhouette. You’re like a fucking beacon up there!
Galeren promptly crouched down and looked into the westernmost enclosure below him. There were two guards at the entrance of the keep and several others dotted about the courtyard. He motioned to the others to join him and stayed low while he considered their next move. The nine wolves were soon assembled on top of the wall and were peering down into the bailey.
Surprise attack? Gerard offered.
Yes. It must be swift. Galeren said.
There are only six of them, Parsifal said complacently.
Six that we can see, Richard warned. There could be dozens inside the keep.
Like I said, swift. Galeren reiterated. But Richard is right, we have to be vigilant. Though he did not doubt that if tens of dozens of guards swarmed the courtyard they would be swiftly dispatched, he preferred not to have a bloodbath. They were here to rescue their brothers, not savage hapless guards.
Who’s first to break a leg? Richard smiled.
I suggest we hit the ground together, Galeren recommended.
On your mark then, Richard said.
They all spread out along the edge of the wall, each marking the guard they would take out and waited for the opportune moment. Synchronised and on Galeren’s signal, they all leapt from the wall and landed with a feather light touch on the dirt floor of the courtyard. The guards had barely the time to comprehend what was happening, and the wolves, exercising both haste and mercy, took their throats and quickly regrouped; their eyes fixed on the entrance of the keep.
All too easy, Richard said and began to move.
Wait! Galeren warned, his nose picking up the scent of both danger and the familiar. But before he could think or act, he saw that they themselves were being swiftly surrounded. Like the guards, they had no time to comprehend the turn of the tide, for it was not men that encircled them, but wolves. Dozens came as if from nowhere, swift and purposeful from across the dry moat that separated the enclosures of the château and from within the keep itself.
Fuck! Richard cried out, as he stared in disbelief at the situation unfurling before them. The realisation, that they were not friends come to aid them but traitors come to destroy them, hit them all like a mace in the face.
Reckless and over confident, as I knew you’d be Galeren. The black form of De Floyran said, as he emerged from the keep. I thought there’d be pitifully few of you but at least in double figures! he continued scathingly. I am so glad that you came, Gerard. Your flight bothered me and I am sure Philip would like to talk to you about the diabolical state of the Temple treasury.
You can go swive the King up the arse, Gerard said, baring his teeth.
De Floyran bared his own teeth and then looked at the rest of the enclosed men.
De Gosbeck, De Chalons and St Clair! After your time at Montlhéry John, I doubted you’d be keen to see the inside of a dungeon again! He fixed his gaze on Parsifal and then said: You’re James Bondeville’s son.
Parsifal didn’t answer. De Floyran cackled. Only nine, but what a fine nine! I couldn’t have picked a better group to have at my mercy if I’d picked you myself. He looked at Galeren, whose gaze roved around the troop that had them surrounded.
Nothing to say for once Galeren or are you struck dumb?
Galeren grimaced but knew it was pointless to entertain De Floyran’s conceit, besides he was right, he had been struck dumb by disbelief. They were severely outnumbered and Galeren was loath to believe that so many were happy to betray their own kind and join De Floyran. Anger and disgust replaced disbelief and he looked around at De Floyran’s pack, his eyes full of resentment.
What were you offered? he cried out in revulsion.
What you will never be, De Floyran said joyfully. Freedom!
We offer the same! Galeren said, desperately searching their faces. We can all get out of here, now. You need keep up this pretence no longer!
Hopeful to the last, Galeren. De Floyran said with scathing sentiment and hung his head low and shook it slowly. What you offer is the wilderness, a struggling existence, a disbanded group of the fallen. These werewolves don’t want that, they want leadership, power, wealth and purpose. This they now have and with the King’s blessing.
The King? Galeren said perplexed.
Aye, De Floyran said. These are the King’s men, under my command. There is no getting out of this one Galeren. Now become your human selves and I will take you down to join your brothers.
Galeren’s hackles raised and his fur bristled and his troop closed tightly together as if ready to attack.
Don’t be foolish! De Floyran said. You have no hope of coming out of this alive if you mount an attack. Suffer your fate or die now.
Galeren considered this. He had sworn to himself that he would not become a prisoner of De Floyran again and would fight to the last to prevent it, but the spectre of hope stung him once more. By surrendering now they may still have it; if they fought, it would be brave but hopeless. He tried not to think of Catherine, there had been hope once before but there was always a price. He conceded, his hackles went down and his fur smoothed. The others followed his direction and when all who were there understood the decision, Galeren changed and stood unmoving as the black wolf became the human form of his hated foe.
De Floyran grinned from ear to ear as he locked eyes with Galeren, his smug countenance purposely remind
ing Galeren of what he had taken. There was a moment when Galeren wanted to foreswear hope, lunge forward and rip out De Floyran’s throat with his bare hands. But instead he raised them in the act of surrender and said:
“Take us down.”
It was of no surprise to Galeren that he had been separated from the others. He was sure that De Floyran meant to taunt him once again and so he had been put in what he surmised to be another torture room. The room was split in two, the back part of the room being separated from the front by iron bars and a gate. In the front portion of the room, there was a rack and a table upon which various instruments of torture had been purposefully arranged to cause distress to waiting prisoners.
Galeren sat behind the bars in the back of the room and waited for his tormentor to arrive. The dungeons of the keep were extensive and as he had been led to this room, he estimated that just over a hundred of his brethren were being kept here. So few surprised him, as he expected many more to be incarcerated here, but then again he hadn’t expected forty of his brethren to turn against the Order and put pay to his rescue attempt. Perhaps they had been former prisoners of Chinon, willing to trade their allegiance for freedom.
His father and the other dignitaries were not here and Galeren suspected that they, and other Templars, were scattered about Paris. The information they had received from the spies was wrong and they had either been deliberately betrayed or their spies had not the chance to discover the truth. The door to the room opened and De Floyran entered, he carried a linen tunic which he shoved through the bars to Galeren who immediately stood up.
“For decency,” he smiled as he looked over Galeren’s naked form. “Well, here we are again, except this time there are no fair maidens whose virtue I am willing to besmirch for your freedom.” He licked his lips as if savouring a taste and pulled a chair from the corner of the room. Swivelling it round, he placed it in front of the bars and sat on it backwards.
“You really are predictable, Galeren. You should have stayed in Scotland.” He lent forward on the chair teetering upon its two rickety legs.
“And leave things unfinished?” Galeren slipped the tunic over his head. “I came here to kill you De Floyran.”
“I am flattered but you underestimated me.”
“Those men won’t stay loyal to you. It is only a matter of time. They will soon realise that your promise of wealth and purpose is empty. The King wants all Templars dead! He would never risk leaving an army of them under your command.”
“You may be right but their purpose is practically served, now that I have you back where you belong. You are going to burn Galeren de Massard, along with your father and all your most beloved brothers. This thing is almost over. Some five hundred of your former servants have marched on the capital to rally for the Templar Knights defence. The papal commission is interested in what they have to say and wish to re-examine the retracted confessions of some, who did not adhere to your father’s advice and return to their original confessions.
The King is furious but he has found a way to see his will done. Relapsed heretics are burnt at the stake. I already have your signed confession and retraction, falsified of course but that’s just between you and me.” De Floyran smiled maliciously. “The defence will soon disperse when the fires are lit.”
Galeren shook his head. “Clement may be weak but while the papal commission still investigates these ridiculous charges, he will never allow it.”
“It will happen without Clement’s knowledge and you’ll be ashes before he can stop it. Don’t think you’ll be the first. I’ve been burning Templars for the last two years.”
Galeren’s cool demeanour crumbled and he shook his head in denial. “You’re lying, it’s not possible!”
“The papacy has no idea what has been going on within walled baileys across the country. How do you think I amassed my army?” He smiled as he saw Galeren’s composure disintegrate. “They were offered a choice, those undecided watched the loyal and resolute burn alive. I thought Catherine would have told you.” De Floyran chuckled, “I hope it didn’t upset her too much. It was a harrowing sight, even for someone as hardened to violence as me.”
Galeren lunged forward trying to grab De Floyran whose position was just inches from his reach.
“You are far too emotional. I would concentrate on your own fate, their agony is over but yours is yet to come.”
“Where is my father?” Galeren screamed.
“I had him and the other masters moved to Gisors. It was partly precautionary, in case I underestimated you, but I needn’t have bothered. It was also to give De Nogaret something to do. He has become particularly irksome since you injured him. I promised that I’d let him break your leg in retribution for his own.”
“I’d like to see him try.” Galeren snarled.
“So would I,” De Floyran laughed, as if he were sharing a joke with an old friend. He stood suddenly and moved the chair aside. “I would stay and talk further but I have to get back to Gisors, I am expecting someone.” He turned and smiled provocatively. Galeren backed away from the bars and felt an old dread return.
“Don’t you want to know who?” De Floyran continued in the same vein.
“If you think to taunt me with Catherine, then save your breath. I know where she is and with whom.” Galeren said, trying to believe his own confidence in the fact.
“Then you would once again be mistaken. Catherine is on her way to Gisors under the escort of Raymond Caradas.”
“No,” Galeren shook his head. “You lie to provoke me. She is safely at Maryculter under the watchful eye of Le Roux.”
“Wrong.” De Floyran said assuredly. “We both know how wilful and disobedient Catherine is. ’Tis part of her allure. She is also far too trusting. Raymond went to convince her that, upon seeing his brethren burnt at the stake, he had a change of heart. He has told her of my trap and that like the others you face a fiery death. She comes with Raymond because she thinks to save you.”
“No!” Galeren screamed. “She would never trust Caradas!” but his heart told him that she would need little excuse to rush to France to his aid.
“Raymond is very convincing, no less because he did find the burnings difficult to stomach and Catherine is in love. Fools rush in, Galeren. But trust that I will take good care of her. I have missed her and have longed for our reunion, which is well overdue.” He smiled slowly, as he watched Galeren’s expression become stricken and added as an afterthought,
“Yes, we have not spoken since the night of your exit from Montlhéry. My time with Catherine was most pleasing, even if it only amounted to one night. I certainly made the most of it and no matter what she told you, I can assure you that the pleasure was not all mine. I know she fought it to begin with, but our bond made her body betray you.”
Galeren could not prevent his change, his emotion and agony at the thought took over his senses. The white wolf charged at the bars and battered against them. His muzzle and gnashing teeth thrust through them in a wretched attempt to get at his tormentor. He drew back and charged at the bars again and again until his muzzle bled and his forehead tore. De Floyran watched the fruitless attack, knowing that it was the only way Galeren could deal with his torment.
He shook his head and sighed as he left the room. “I’ll have to get you another tunic now.”
7th April 1310, Gisors
“I thought we were going to Chinon?” Catherine said, as they entered the town of Gisors and made their way towards the château. She may not have been a native of France but she had gleaned enough information from Galeren to know that Chinon was in the Loire valley and that they were still in Normandy.
“We have to stop at Gisors first Catherine. We need supplies and –”
“We are wolves we have no need for supplies,” she cut him off. “This is a waste of time.”
“We need men, Catherine.” He drew rein and turned in his saddle towards her. “There are those here that are loyal to the Order.
Going to Chinon alone would be a fool’s errand. De Floyran’s men are everywhere.”
She nodded reluctantly and urged her horse onwards. During the journey to France with Caradas, Catherine had learned in explicit detail of De Floyran’s recruitment methods and of De Nogaret and the King’s plans to burn Templars that they considered relapsed. She knew that De Floyran had some seventy men at his command and that Galeren and the others had walked into a trap. She had trusted Caradas thus far but she was wary about entering the château at Gisors with him, all the while she was in the open she had chance to escape, but once inside she was trapped.
Nevertheless, as before she had no choice but to trust him and catching her horse up to his, they entered the château bailey together. Catherine’s heartbeat quickened as they approach the keep and she saw that the bailey was full of men and that most of them were werewolves. She kept her head and tried to remain confident, but her resolve failed when she saw Armin de Merle leave a group of men he was conversing with and approach them with a broad smile on his face.
“We thought you’d abandoned us!” he said jovially, as he took hold of the reins of Catherine’s horse. Her heart pounded in her chest and her stomach turned.
“Just on a little personal business of De Floyran’s.” Caradas said casually, as he dismounted.
“Raymond!” Catherine whispered with urgency in her voice, hoping that he would give her some reassuring sign that this was part of some façade.
“Shut up!” he said viciously, his tone was suddenly brutal and unrecognisable from what it had been the last few days. Catherine’s pupils dilated and Caradas quickly grabbed her out of the saddle to prevent her change. She screamed and struggled with him but he was in no mood for her resistance and struck her hard in the face. The blow was not sufficient to knock her out, but it was enough to stun her and render her senseless.
“Oooh, better not let De Floyran find out you hit his mate.” De Merle teased.
“She fell!” Caradas said and joined his comrade in laughter as it bellowed out across the bailey. Caradas swept Catherine off the ground and throwing her over his shoulder he started towards the château’s entrance.
“She believed you then?” De Merle said, though the answer was obvious.
“It was too easy.” Caradas said dismissively. “Is the toad De Nogaret still here?” he asked.
“Christ yes,” De Merle said and spat on the ground. “He limps around constantly badgering whoever he can on news from Chinon. It takes all my strength to prevent myself from throttling the bastard.”
“Now, now,” Caradas said but his tone was sardonic, “he is a cripple.”
“I may hate De Massard, but at least he did us that service.”
“De Floyran wouldn’t have marked him anyway. He has never marked anyone before and let them live, except this one.” Caradas said, slapping Catherine on the behind.
“And we can all see why. ’Tis a shame he is so possessive of her. I’d like a go.”
“Be my guest but you would lose your balls. De Floyran would take you apart in small pieces. Better not risk it.”
“Mmmm,” De Merle mused.
“Speaking of wenches, are there any here?”
“Yes, but not of her standard.” De Merle grumbled. “There are too many men to service. Even the whores in the town are stretched.”
Caradas laughed as they mounted the stairs and entered the hallway. “Where does he want me to put her?”
“There is a secure room with no windows and a thick oak door. She is too good for a dungeon of course.”
“Of course.” Caradas agreed with a knowing smile.
“Come on, I’ll show you.” De Merle said, and led him down the hallway and then up a narrow flight of stairs that was just down from the main stairway. At the top, Caradas followed De Merle along the tapered passage to a doorway that was at the end of it. He turned the key in the lock and pushed the heavy door open.
“There you go. I’ll go try and find some entertainment for a task well done.” De Merle said, as he walked back down the passageway.
“Some good wine for a start!” Caradas called after him and then carried Catherine through the doorway. The windowless room was dark but appeared comfortable enough. There was a bed against one of the walls that was covered in various furs and he carried his charge to it and lay her down.
Catherine blinked as she came to her senses and Caradas paused momentarily to look upon her. Her grey eyes met his golden brown ones and the despair in them gripped him. She raised her hand to wipe the blood that trickled from her mouth and said:
“Raymond, don’t do this. You may have come to entrap me but I felt your sentiment. ’Twas real anguish you felt at the stake. We can still help the others and save them from the same fate.”
Lost momentarily, Caradas quickly came back to himself and shook his head. “It is too late in the day for me to change. I was born to murder,” he said, “’tis my very nature.” He stood and looked down at her.
“Please Raymond, help me,” she said softly, “I beseech you.”
“I am sorry,” he whispered as he left the room and it was perhaps the most genuine thing he had ever said in his life.
“This is fucked,” Richard de Gosbeck grumbled, as he paced the length of the communal dungeon he and the others had been put in.
“Don’t you mean we’re fucked?” Gerard pointed out.
“How come we didn’t know about this . . . this army of De Floyran’s?” Richard continued perplexed.
“It’s not like the old days Richard, our spies were once incomparable. It’s all out in the open now. The information we received was vague at best, besides human spies cannot tell the difference between man and werewolf. They don’t even know we exist, for Christ’s sake!”
“Still,” Richard growled, “we’re better than this, it was a trap and we leapt straight into it!”
“Most of the guards here are of our kind.” One of the other prisoners said. “The human guards you killed were merely pawns to draw you in.”
“So much for our rescue attempt,” Richard spat angrily.
“Your attempt is appreciated, nonetheless.” The prisoner said.
“Are all these men really loyal to De Floyran?” Gerard asked. “What the hell happened?”
They all listened, as the young Templar prisoner explained in detail De Floyran’s brutal recruitment tactics to them.
“I understand their motivation,” Parsifal reasoned, “I’d agree to anything to save myself from the stake. But it would merely be pretence. Last night they could have turned on De Floyran, like Galeren said their freedom was there waiting for them. There was nothing for them to fear, but they chose to betray us and they were happy to.”
“Not all Templars are saints, I think we know that. De Floyran rooted out all the rotten apples. The burnings were part of his sadistic pleasure and a way of getting rid of a good number of us under the Pope’s nose. Most who joined him wanted to, they didn’t need the stake to persuade them.”
“They can’t all be against us!” Parsifal insisted.
“I imagine that there are some who aren’t but with treachery and the threat of fire abound, those few are probably too afraid to break the pretence when they know not who to trust.”
“They can trust us!” Richard said. “We only need one to open the gate, and heaven help those with the stench of De Floyran on their hides, for brethren or not, traitors will feel my teeth or sword!”
Parsifal sighed, “I wonder what they’ve done with Galeren.”
“De Floyran is probably giving him a good beating.” Richard remarked but added when he saw Parsifal frown with concern. “Don’t worry, Galeren can take care of himself, besides I am sure De Floyran has a more gruesome end planned for us all.”
“Is there a way out of this Gerard?” Parsifal asked, the frustration was evident on his young face.
“I don’t know, but it is not our nature to give up hope. Templars have b
een in tight spots before and have managed to get themselves out of them. Look for opportunity and take it, no matter what the risk.”
Gerard said this with a stout heart, but with a garrison of traitorous werewolves guarding them, he realised that they were actually in a very deep hole rather than a tight spot.
Chapter Thirty Three
The Wolves of Solomon (Wolves of Solomon Book One) Page 57
