Michael Jecks - The Chapel of Bones

His sword was on top of the chest, and he pulled the blade out partway to peer at the cross carved into the peacock-blue steel. The smith had used a burin to etch the shape, and then hammered gold wire into it. It formed a Templar cross, to remind himself always of where he had come from, and the men with whom he had lived.

Baldwin had been a Poor Fellow Soldier of Christ and the Temple of Solomon , a Knight Templar, almost from the moment of leaving Acre when it fell in 1291, until 1307 when the knights were all arrested on the orders of the French King. It was the injustice of the capture, torture and murder of his companions which had led to his returning to England afterwards, determined to seek a quieter life in the Devon countryside and avoiding contact with any men in positions of power. He detested politicians after the French King’s betrayal of the Templars purely for his own benefit, and he couldn’t trust even the Church, for the Pope himself had left the Templars to rot in gaols, then aided the King in stealing all their possessions.

That was, perhaps, the guiding treachery which lighted his path thereafter. The Pope had been the ultimate leader of the Templars. They owned fealty to no man, no man on God’s earth, other than His vicar, the Pope. No baron, earl or King could command a Templar knight; only the Pope himself. Yet he had deserted them to their fate. The accusations levelled against the Order were so vast and all-encompassing that few of the men could present a case for their defence, yet they were not permitted the advice of even one lawyer. Their destruction was assured.

So Baldwin returned to learn that his older brother was dead, and he was the owner of the small manor of Furnshill near Cadbury in Devonshire. Except he was not to be allowed to wallow in his feelings of hurt and misery. Soon after his arrival, he met Simon Puttock, and shortly thereafter he was given the post of Keeper of the King’s Peace as a result of Simon’s lobbying.

He had been content here in Furnshill, he had been happy as a Keeper; yet there was something that now, when he looked back over his life, seemed to be gnawing at him. Partly, he supposed, it might be due to his marriage.

When he had joined the Knights Templar, he had taken the threefold vows. The Knights were warrior monks, and although they lived as men-at-arms, they also lived apart from the secular world. They had a Rule which had been written for them by Saint Bernard himself, and Baldwin had adhered to it. He had sworn before God, accepting his Order’s harsh demands of obedience, poverty — and chastity . When he had left the Order, that had been the most difficult to adhere to, but he had recognised his loneliness, and he felt that in the absence of a Grand Master to obey, his other vows might equally be considered redundant.

That was fine, but still he had qualms. And these had magnified a hundredfold since his adultery. It made him feel less a man, more a beast. If only he had resisted … but he had not. And now, perhaps, he should confront the whole sin.

His marriage, although built upon love and, until now, mutual trust and respect, was surely foul in the eyes of God? Other Templars had managed to escape the fires and find their ways to alternative Orders, some joining the Benedictines or Cistercians. Provided that they went to an Order whose Rule was more stringent than the Templars’ own, they were permitted, once the French King had raped their treasury and stolen all he could from their preceptories, to go into another House. Those who refused and lived were likely to be found begging on the streets of Paris.

He loved Jeanne, but how could she love him, if she were to discover that he had been so false to her?

Hearing a step behind him, he turned and saw his wife entering. ‘Jeanne.’

‘I wanted to know if I might help you to prepare for your journey.’

He saw, with a stab in his heart, that she had been crying. ‘My dearest, my Jeanne, I will not be gone for long,’ he said.

‘Of course not, Husband,’ she said. ‘I shall wait your return. And I shall always hold my love for you deep in my heart.’

He thrust the sword back into the scabbard and began to bind the belt about his waist. Unaccountably, her ignorance of his behaviour, and her sweet acceptance of his treatment of her made him feel a sudden anger, as though she was being unreasonable in the face of his own offence.

‘Sir, have I upset you?’

Her voice, so low, so level and yet so brittle, as though she was about to break down into tears of despair, made him glance at her again, and this time his anger was washed away by his guilt, but also his recollection of his love for her. ‘Oh Jeanne, Jeanne, come here!’

He put his arms about her and buried his face in her shoulder, eyes squeezed tight shut, and muttered, ‘Jeanne, don’t worry. There’s just something … I need to think about it, that’s all. I am not another Liddinstone, Jeanne.’

She stiffened to hear the name of her first husband, but then she seemed to melt into his embrace, and he felt her arms reciprocate his hug. ‘Come home soon, Husband. I will miss you.’

‘I know,’ he whispered, hardly trusting his voice.

‘I love you,’ she said quietly. ‘Don’t leave me.’

He felt his treachery like a blade in his throat.

‘What is it, Joel?’

He was still sitting in his great chair staring at the fire when his wife Maud entered, and he didn’t hear her at first.

‘Hmm?’ he grunted, then smiled. ‘Oh, it’s you. I was miles away.’

‘So I saw,’ she chuckled. She was a contented woman. Although their marriage had not been blessed with children, she and Joel had been together for almost six and thirty years now, and while she was feeling her age at all of four and fifty, and he no longer looked like the fresh-faced joiner she had married so many years ago, her affection for him had only deepened over the years. He saw to her needs, providing her with money and clothing, and in return she saw to it that his household was managed well and that his table was always overflowing with food.

‘Miles away? Leagues, more likely, Husband,’ she murmured. She was carrying a handful of scented herbs for their mattress, but catching sight of his expression again, she paused, then set them down on the table. ‘What is it?’

‘Henry. It’s such a shock.’

‘The market’s full of the news of it. He was found in St Edward’s Chapel, wasn’t he?’

‘Yes. Look, I didn’t tell you this, but Mabilla came here and accused me of killing him.’

‘What! That’s ridiculous!’

‘Of course,’ he said.

But there was something in his voice that made her look more closely at him. ‘You wouldn’t have hurt him, would you?’ she asked slowly.

‘My dear, of course not!’ he said more emphatically, and he smiled into her eyes, but when she returned his smile, she saw a blankness there, a space where once there would have been conviction, and she was suddenly aware of a sense of fear.

Thomas had taken Sara straight to her house, carrying her in his arms like a child. She weighed scarcely more than a girl. She clung to him while she sobbed, her face buried deep in his throat.

‘I don’t know what to do! I can’t continue like this!’

‘I’m so sorry about him …’

They had found Elias’s body very close to Sara. The child’s arm had been outstretched, as though in his final moment he was reaching out towards her. Thomas had tried to cover the little face, but he was too late and he heard her give a sudden intake of breath, then the low, animal moaning as she shook her head from side to side in frantic denial of this latest horror.

‘Sara, I’m so sorry,’ was all he had been able to say. The boy’s arm was snapped cleanly in two places, and the blood dripped like a viscous oil from the second gash above his elbow where the bones were thrust through the thin sheath of flesh. Yet there was no mark of suffocation about his face, and no sign of pain or anguish, just a terrible vacancy in his dead eyes.