The Death Ship of Dartmouth: (Knights Templar 21) by Michael Jecks Page A
Authors: Michael Jecks
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orders, it’s said de Molay demanded that the king should stand before God to defend himself for destroying God’s crusading army.’
‘You believe that?’
The memory of the injustice made Baldwin continue, even though his usual caution should have advised him to be more circumspect. ‘I believe with my entire heart and soul that Philippe was evil. Any man who could commit such a crime against a holy and religious Order deserves no less. He killed the Templars, and suffered for it.’
‘I do wonder, though … the punishment for his misdeed was truly dreadful,’ Stapledon mused. ‘To think that a man’s line could be so devastated. Perhaps it was God’s vengeance, as you say. Certainly none of his sons have been blessed so far, have they? After King Philippe IV died, his son Louis Xsurvived him by only two years. Philippe V became King in 1316 but died in 1322, and the last brother, Charles, has been on the throne now for two years. I do not know how healthy he is, but there is no heir as yet, I believe?’
Baldwin shook his head. He was still remembering that appalling year in which the d’Aunai brothers and so many others had died. He had no sympathy for Philippe.
In 1314 Sir Baldwin had been forced to come to terms with the destruction of his ancient and honourable Order, the Knights Templar. His comrades had been arrested on Friday, 13 October 1307, while he and some of his friends had been out of their preceptory, and as a result he had escaped the torturers, the indignity and shame. Yet he
had
been scarred, he told himself, eyeing his hand. It did not quiver or shake, but only because of an enormous effort of will.
‘So, Sir Baldwin, I must ask you for a favour, if you would be so kind.’
There was something in his tone that brought Baldwin to attention instantly. ‘What is that, my lord Bishop? If I can serve you, you know I would be glad to,’ he said, but he was warned by the bishop’s reticence that this was no ordinary request.
Chapter Five
It was late that night when Simon returned to his little chambers and sat before his fire with a bowl of hot soup and hunk of bread. He didn’t bother to go to his table, but sipped straight from his bowl as he contemplated all he had learned that day.
Originally he had taken a larger house in Dartmouth, but that was when he had hoped that his wife Meg might join him here. Since hearing of the death of Abbot Robert, it seemed clear enough to him that he would not be staying here for long. The good abbot had been his enthusiastic patron, and with him gone, it was likely that the new abbot would seek to install his own friend or loyal servant. Simon had quickly decided to take a smaller place.
It was comfortable enough, though. Situated in the upper of the two streets, a short distance from the Porpoise, a rowdy tavern, he had a fair-sized front room, a smaller kitchen and parlour behind, and a pleasant solar chamber above the front room for his bed. Outside there was a simple privy in his garden. For a man living alone, it was fine.
There was a squeak and rattle from a loose sign further up the road, and although the noise normally didn’t affect him,today it grated on his ear as though there was an invisible connection between his head and the rusty metal. When he heard a cat screech, he shot from his seat, spilling soup over his lap, making him curse loudly. He was not the only man in Clifton or Hardness who felt the same anxiety that night, he knew.
It was always hard when his friend Baldwin heard of some little precaution he took: Baldwin had a hard-nosed manner about all sensible safeguards, calling them ‘superstitious nonsense’ or somesuch, but Simon didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, it was proof of Baldwin’s foolishness. Simon wasn’t superstitious, anyway. He simply didn’t believe in taking risks.
There was something about that great ship lying in the haven, blackened and charred … as though it had been sent to hell, and
‘You believe that?’
The memory of the injustice made Baldwin continue, even though his usual caution should have advised him to be more circumspect. ‘I believe with my entire heart and soul that Philippe was evil. Any man who could commit such a crime against a holy and religious Order deserves no less. He killed the Templars, and suffered for it.’
‘I do wonder, though … the punishment for his misdeed was truly dreadful,’ Stapledon mused. ‘To think that a man’s line could be so devastated. Perhaps it was God’s vengeance, as you say. Certainly none of his sons have been blessed so far, have they? After King Philippe IV died, his son Louis Xsurvived him by only two years. Philippe V became King in 1316 but died in 1322, and the last brother, Charles, has been on the throne now for two years. I do not know how healthy he is, but there is no heir as yet, I believe?’
Baldwin shook his head. He was still remembering that appalling year in which the d’Aunai brothers and so many others had died. He had no sympathy for Philippe.
In 1314 Sir Baldwin had been forced to come to terms with the destruction of his ancient and honourable Order, the Knights Templar. His comrades had been arrested on Friday, 13 October 1307, while he and some of his friends had been out of their preceptory, and as a result he had escaped the torturers, the indignity and shame. Yet he
had
been scarred, he told himself, eyeing his hand. It did not quiver or shake, but only because of an enormous effort of will.
‘So, Sir Baldwin, I must ask you for a favour, if you would be so kind.’
There was something in his tone that brought Baldwin to attention instantly. ‘What is that, my lord Bishop? If I can serve you, you know I would be glad to,’ he said, but he was warned by the bishop’s reticence that this was no ordinary request.
Chapter Five
It was late that night when Simon returned to his little chambers and sat before his fire with a bowl of hot soup and hunk of bread. He didn’t bother to go to his table, but sipped straight from his bowl as he contemplated all he had learned that day.
Originally he had taken a larger house in Dartmouth, but that was when he had hoped that his wife Meg might join him here. Since hearing of the death of Abbot Robert, it seemed clear enough to him that he would not be staying here for long. The good abbot had been his enthusiastic patron, and with him gone, it was likely that the new abbot would seek to install his own friend or loyal servant. Simon had quickly decided to take a smaller place.
It was comfortable enough, though. Situated in the upper of the two streets, a short distance from the Porpoise, a rowdy tavern, he had a fair-sized front room, a smaller kitchen and parlour behind, and a pleasant solar chamber above the front room for his bed. Outside there was a simple privy in his garden. For a man living alone, it was fine.
There was a squeak and rattle from a loose sign further up the road, and although the noise normally didn’t affect him,today it grated on his ear as though there was an invisible connection between his head and the rusty metal. When he heard a cat screech, he shot from his seat, spilling soup over his lap, making him curse loudly. He was not the only man in Clifton or Hardness who felt the same anxiety that night, he knew.
It was always hard when his friend Baldwin heard of some little precaution he took: Baldwin had a hard-nosed manner about all sensible safeguards, calling them ‘superstitious nonsense’ or somesuch, but Simon didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, it was proof of Baldwin’s foolishness. Simon wasn’t superstitious, anyway. He simply didn’t believe in taking risks.
There was something about that great ship lying in the haven, blackened and charred … as though it had been sent to hell, and
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