Maureen Ash: A Plague of Poison

“You are well come, St. Maur,” the sheriff said when the party had dismounted. The two men were well-known to each other since the time that one of Gerard’s brothers had gone on crusade to the Holy Land with King Richard a decade before. “I did not expect to see you this far north so soon,” Gerard said. “Just before I left London I had heard that you were in Canterbury, with the king.”

“Aye, I was,” St. Maur replied. “I attended the celebration of Christ’s resurrection at Eastertide and witnessed John and Isabella’s ceremonial crowning for the service, but I left soon afterwards. There is need for my presence at our enclave in York, and it is there I am bound. Since the journey took me through Lincoln, I thought I would stop here on the way to discuss with Lady Nicolaa a matter that King John mentioned to me while we were both in Canterbury.”

“My wife will be pleased to see you,” Gerard said. “Will you come and take a cup of wine with us?”

“Gladly,” St. Maur replied. “But first, I would have a word with de Marins.”

Bascot went down on one knee as St. Maur walked toward him. The two had met only once before, on that long-ago night in London when Bascot had taken his vows and had been initiated into the Order. The reticent young knight that the Templar master remembered, so full of ardour to become a soldier for Christ, was now much changed. Thomas Berard had described the injuries that de Marins had sustained throughout the long years of his captivity, and the knight’s wavering of faith after his return to England, but the master had not expected to see a man who wore the results of his ordeal so plainly. It was not the black leather patch that covered his missing right eye which made it so, but the weary resolution in the vision of the other. Here was a man who had undergone great suffering at the hands of his heathen captors but had kept his devotion to Christ unsullied throughout. It was only amongst those of his own faith that his inner strength had been tested, and the master could see that his long endurance was beginning to flag.

St. Maur bade Bascot rise, giving him the kiss of peace on both cheeks as he did so. “I am pleased to see that the health of your body has been recovered,” he said, and then gestured to the saddled horse that the groom was bringing through the stable door. “Are you about to embark on a journey?”

“Yes, Master,” Bascot replied. “I am going to London, to request permission from Master Berard to resign from the Order.”

St. Maur rubbed his hand over his short pointed beard and nodded. “I met with King John recently and he told me of the offer he had made to you.” He gave Bascot an intent look as he asked, “I take it that you have decided to accept the king’s gift and abide by the stipulations he attached to it?”

When Bascot replied that he had, St. Maur asked another question. “Is it your wish, de Marins, as well as your intention, to leave our brotherhood?”

Bascot answered him honestly. “No, Master, it is not.”

“Then I think there is need for us to discuss the matter further,” St. Maur said in grave tones. “Go to the commandery and await me there. Inform Preceptor d’Arderon of my arrival and tell him I will join you shortly.”

Bound by his vow of obedience, Bascot did as he was bid and then, with d’Arderon’s permission, went to await his interview with St. Maur in the preceptory chapel.

The Templar chapel in Lincoln had been built, like many of those in other enclaves, in a circular fashion to emulate the rotunda of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. The interior of the chapel was plain, its small space supported by columns placed around the perimeter. On each of the two pillars alongside the altar, stone representations of cherubim had been carved on the capitals, and below them was a depiction of two knights astride one horse, the symbol that was used on the Templar seal. Niches in the walls contained torches that were kept alight day and night, and the acrid smell of burning resin filled the air, mixed with the sweeter and underlying aroma of incense. The altar was at the eastern end, with a figure of Christ on a cross above it and a statue of the Virgin Mary to one side. Bascot knelt in front of the rail that protected the table on which Mass was celebrated, and he bowed his head.

First he put an image of Gianni in his mind, asking God to protect the boy through whatever trials awaited him, then repeated the prayer of a paternoster over and over until he heard the footsteps of St. Maur ring on the stones of the chapel floor behind him.

The master genuflected and then knelt beside Bascot, his lips moving in silent prayer before he rose and spoke to the younger knight.

“I have just been discussing with Lady Nicolaa the offer that King John made to you and the terms that bind it. She tells me, as I suspected, that she believed you were not content in the Order and wished to leave it. That being so, her suggestion to the king that he reward your services by restoring your father’s fief to your possession was in anticipation of that desire. The constraints placed upon the boon were not of her design, but King John’s alone. She assures me that although she would be pleased to have you join her retinue, she has no desire to command the fealty of a man who has given it under duress.”

St. Maur paused when he finished speaking and, clasping his hands behind his back, walked to where the statue of the Virgin Mary holding the infant Jesus in her arms stood on a plinth. After looking up at her serene face for a few moments, he walked with a measured tread back to where Bascot stood. “Am I correct in assuming, de Marins, that were it not for the boy, you would refuse the king’s offer and return to our brotherhood?”

“You are, Master, but I must put Gianni’s welfare before my own and so cannot, as much as I would wish to.”

“And the vows you took, de Marins, what of them?”

“I shall honour those even though I leave the Order, Master. I will remain chaste, as I swore to do, and I have no desire for earthly riches. Any monies that accrue from the king’s gift, or my service to Lady Nicolaa, will remain intact and be given to Gianni when he is old enough to manage them.”

“And your promise of obedience?” St. Maur pressed.

“Any penance that is laid on me I will complete,” Bascot replied. “I would hope that it would not be so severe as to take me from Gianni’s company for the rest of my life, but if it is, I will do it and leave his care to a person of integrity.”

St. Maur nodded. “Thomas Berard told me that such would be your intent.”

Noting the expression of surprise on Bascot’s face, the master explained. “Before I came north to Lincoln, I called an assembly of some of our older and wiser brothers, as is the custom, to discuss your dilemma and seek their advice as to a resolution. We are always reluctant to lose any of our number, de Marins, especially one who has suffered as much as you have done in the service of Our Lord. At the meeting, that thought was uppermost in our minds, and we all gave much consideration to the part of our Rule which enjoins all brothers to defend the poor, widows and orphans. It was felt, by all of those who conferred on the matter, that your young servant is one of those we have sworn to protect and that it is incumbent on us, your brethren, to assist you in that task.”

Bascot held his breath as St. Maur continued. “While I was at the castle, I had your servant brought to me. I asked him what his feelings were in this matter, and he conveyed to me, through his literacy, that he has no desire for you to leave the Order, or for the provision that you would gain for him by your sacrifice.”

“He is young yet, Master. He has not the wisdom to judge…”