contradiction?’
‘A measure which, when added to the rumours already circulating about the Templars, provoked the anger of the people.’ The scattered elements of the prior’s discourse had come together in Leone’s mind, and he continued, ‘So this is part of a long-term strategy thought up by the King in order to discredit the Templars permanently.’
‘Stoking the fire as you said just now.’
The prior’s words trailed off in a sigh. The prospect of the fate that awaited them had troubled him for so long now. Francesco de Leone finished his train of thought for him:
‘And so the fire is already blazing. A conflagration would suit the King of France’s purposes very well, and the other monarchs of Europe will not be displeased by the prospect of strengthening their power with regard to the Church. The defeat at Acre will only serve to kindle the flames. Their reasoning will be simple: why so much wealth and power for these military orders that lose us the Holy Land? In other words we cannot expect any help from outside. None will be forthcoming unless the other monarchs smell Philip the Fair’s possible defeat, in which case they would flock to the Pope’s side.’
‘What a curious monologue-for-two our discussion is turning out to be, brother,’ observed the prior. ‘Is it possible that we have foreseen the future since we refer to it in the same terms?’ A sudden sadness caused his pale features to stiffen. ‘I am old, Francesco. Every day I count the tasks I am no longer able to undertake. All the years of war, crusades, death and blood … All the years of obedience and self-denial. To what end?’
‘Do you doubt your commitment, the sincerity of our order, of our mission, or worse still of your faith?’
‘Nay, brother, certainly I do not doubt our order or my faith. I doubt only myself, my failing strength and ability. At times I feel like a frightened old woman whose only recourse is to tears.’
‘Self-doubt, when mastered, is a friend to all men except fools and simpletons. Self-doubt is the resounding proof that we are but an infinitesimal, troubled part of the divine understanding. We are aware of our failings, yet we progress.’
‘You are still young.’
‘Not so young any more. I shall be twenty-six this coming March.’
‘I am fifty-seven and nearing my end. It will be a glorious reward, I believe. I shall at last enter the Light. Until then mytask is to continue to fight with you as my magnificent warrior, Francesco. Our enemies will use any means, including ignoble ones. It is a secret war, but a merciless one. And it has already begun.’
Leone sensed the prior’s hesitation. What was he holding back? Knowing that a direct question would be awkward, he tried to curb his impatience.
‘Are we to prevent Benoît’s murder and the election of a pope favourable to Philip?’
Arnaud de Viancourt looked down, as though searching for the right words, before replying:
‘What you do not yet know, brother, is that the old idea advocated twelve years ago by Pope Nicholas IV in his encyclical Dura nimis, of uniting the military orders, primarily those of the Templars and Hospitallers, is still alive.’
‘Yet our relations with the Templars are … strained,’ Leone argued.
Viancourt hesitated before deciding to keep quiet about the pace of negotiations between their Grand-Master, the Pope and the King of France. The union would benefit the Hospitallers who would take control of the other orders. A confrontation with the Templars, who would not willingly give up their autonomy, was imminent, all the more so as Jacques de Molay, the Templars’ Grand-Master, was a traditionalist. An outstanding soldier and man of faith, he was weakened by his political naivety and blinkered by pride.
‘Strained … That is putting it mildly. Philip the Fair is a fervent advocate of this union.’
Leone raised his eyebrows.
‘His position is most surprising. A single order under the
‘A measure which, when added to the rumours already circulating about the Templars, provoked the anger of the people.’ The scattered elements of the prior’s discourse had come together in Leone’s mind, and he continued, ‘So this is part of a long-term strategy thought up by the King in order to discredit the Templars permanently.’
‘Stoking the fire as you said just now.’
The prior’s words trailed off in a sigh. The prospect of the fate that awaited them had troubled him for so long now. Francesco de Leone finished his train of thought for him:
‘And so the fire is already blazing. A conflagration would suit the King of France’s purposes very well, and the other monarchs of Europe will not be displeased by the prospect of strengthening their power with regard to the Church. The defeat at Acre will only serve to kindle the flames. Their reasoning will be simple: why so much wealth and power for these military orders that lose us the Holy Land? In other words we cannot expect any help from outside. None will be forthcoming unless the other monarchs smell Philip the Fair’s possible defeat, in which case they would flock to the Pope’s side.’
‘What a curious monologue-for-two our discussion is turning out to be, brother,’ observed the prior. ‘Is it possible that we have foreseen the future since we refer to it in the same terms?’ A sudden sadness caused his pale features to stiffen. ‘I am old, Francesco. Every day I count the tasks I am no longer able to undertake. All the years of war, crusades, death and blood … All the years of obedience and self-denial. To what end?’
‘Do you doubt your commitment, the sincerity of our order, of our mission, or worse still of your faith?’
‘Nay, brother, certainly I do not doubt our order or my faith. I doubt only myself, my failing strength and ability. At times I feel like a frightened old woman whose only recourse is to tears.’
‘Self-doubt, when mastered, is a friend to all men except fools and simpletons. Self-doubt is the resounding proof that we are but an infinitesimal, troubled part of the divine understanding. We are aware of our failings, yet we progress.’
‘You are still young.’
‘Not so young any more. I shall be twenty-six this coming March.’
‘I am fifty-seven and nearing my end. It will be a glorious reward, I believe. I shall at last enter the Light. Until then mytask is to continue to fight with you as my magnificent warrior, Francesco. Our enemies will use any means, including ignoble ones. It is a secret war, but a merciless one. And it has already begun.’
Leone sensed the prior’s hesitation. What was he holding back? Knowing that a direct question would be awkward, he tried to curb his impatience.
‘Are we to prevent Benoît’s murder and the election of a pope favourable to Philip?’
Arnaud de Viancourt looked down, as though searching for the right words, before replying:
‘What you do not yet know, brother, is that the old idea advocated twelve years ago by Pope Nicholas IV in his encyclical Dura nimis, of uniting the military orders, primarily those of the Templars and Hospitallers, is still alive.’
‘Yet our relations with the Templars are … strained,’ Leone argued.
Viancourt hesitated before deciding to keep quiet about the pace of negotiations between their Grand-Master, the Pope and the King of France. The union would benefit the Hospitallers who would take control of the other orders. A confrontation with the Templars, who would not willingly give up their autonomy, was imminent, all the more so as Jacques de Molay, the Templars’ Grand-Master, was a traditionalist. An outstanding soldier and man of faith, he was weakened by his political naivety and blinkered by pride.
‘Strained … That is putting it mildly. Philip the Fair is a fervent advocate of this union.’
Leone raised his eyebrows.
‘His position is most surprising. A single order under the
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