The Tolls of Death: (Knights Templar 17) by Michael Jecks

the door and squatted, sniffing, his nose twitching at the rich odours. Soon he lowered himself again and pattered silently along the edge of the floor until he reached the palliasse. There he stopped and sniffed again, and his tongue shot out to lick at the mess on the edge of the rough mattress.
    When a gust of wind blew, the door rattled and the rat hesitated, but it wasn’t that which made him pause and then scurry from the place: it was the slow and mechanical squeak from the rafter overhead.
    The slow squeak of the hempen rope bound tightly about the woman’s neck.

Chapter Three
     
    The view here, so high on the moors, was splendid, and John never tired of it. His little Mass complete, he stood in the small churchyard at Temple and gazed about him as the tiny congregation departed homewards.
    Here, staring out over the peaceful countryside, John was filled with a sense of ease, of all being well in his world. Strange to think that even a short time ago this had been such a sad place. On the orders of the Pope himself, the King had confiscated the manor and forcibly evicted those living here, for this had been the site of a flourishing little manor owned by the Knights Templar, the Order to which it still owed its name.
    John was some eight and thirty years old now, so when the Knights were all arrested in France, he would have been twenty-one; that was back in 1307. The Knights were tortured to confess to their sins. Terrible they were, too – so foul, so heinous, as to deserve the censure of the whole world.
    This little manor, like so many others, had been run by the Temple’s lay Brothers. A wounded Knight might arrive every so often, to be rested and refreshed ready for another battlefield, but not many came here. Most remained nearer London, that great cesspit where all the world’s malcontents eventually drifted. There the Templars had their great Temple. That was where the King had expected to find them when he was instructed by the Pope to arrest them all. However, Edward was a friend of the Knights. They’d helped him when he was younger, and he repaid them now, raising objections and dissenting from the French King’sview that the Templars should be eradicated. Instead he gave them time to escape, and when he finally agreed to arrest those whom he could catch and was instructed to torture them all, he replied that England had no need of torture, and therefore, unlike the French, England had no trained torturers. It was illegal in the King’s realm. He refused the Pope’s offer of experts in such fields.
    So for years King Edward II had procrastinated, against the wishes of God’s own Vicar on Earth until, in the end, he submitted and confiscated the Templars’ lands. Many had gone into exile. Some, it was believed, had gone to Scotland and repaid King Edward’s support by joining his foes at Bannockburn. It was rumoured that the
Beauséant
, their white and black flag, had been seen there, although John was not the only man to disbelieve that. He had known many Templars, and yes, the bastards were as prickly and arrogant as only the truly rich and wellborn could be, but that didn’t make them disloyal.
    The Pope demanded that their lands should all go to the Hospitallers, but Edward had again demurred, and many, like this manor, had been held by him and parcelled out to his friends and members of his household. This one had gone to a friend of the Despensers, and because of Sir Henry of Cardinham’s loyalty during the recent wars, he had carried some authority when there was a debate about who should be installed as the priest. Luckily for John, Sir Henry had carried the day, and John won the post. That was nearly ten years ago, when he was eight and twenty, already quite an old man for his first parish, but that didn’t take away from the pride and delight he felt in possessing it.
    And to Sir Henry’s credit, he had never asked anything in return. Perhaps, John thought with a grin as he made