Julia Navarro - The Brotherhood Of The Holy Shroud

"I have no money to pay the soldiers, or the people of the castle, or my nobles. I have nothing, nothing. From the moment I became emperor at twenty-one, I have dreamed of restoring the empire's splendor, recovering the lands it has lost, and what have I done? Nothing! Since the Crusaders divided the empire and sacked Constantinople, I have barely been able to maintain the kingdom, and good Pope Innocent is deaf to my pleas."

"Calm yourself, my lord. Your uncle will not abandon you."

"Did you not hear the message?"

"Yes, and in it he tells you that he will send for you when he defeats the Saracens."

The majestic chair in which the emperor was seated had been stripped of its gold leaf some time ago. Balduino stroked his beard reflectively, his left foot beating a nervous staccato on the tiles.

"My lord, you must read the king's letter."

De Molesmes handed Balduino the sealed scroll Dijon had presented.

'Ah! Yes, my uncle no doubt recommends that I be a good Christian and not lose faith in our Lord."

Breaking the king's scarlet seal, the emperor scanned the missive, a look of growing astonishment suffusing his face.

"My God! My uncle does not know what he is asking for!"

"The king makes a demand of you, my lord?"

"Louis assures me that despite the difficulties he is experiencing with the cost of the Crusade, he is willing to advance me a certain amount of gold if I deliver the Mandylion to him. He dreams of showing it to his mother, the most Christian lady Doiia Blanca. He bids me sell him the relic or allow him to hold it for a number of years. He says that he has met a man who assures him that the Mandylion has miraculous qualities, that it has already healed a king of Edessa of leprosy, and that the man who possesses it shall never suffer. He says that if I agree to his request, I can negotiate the details with the Comte de Dijon."

'And what will you do?"

"What a question, Pascal! You know that the Mandylion is not mine to give. Even if I wanted to deliver it over to my uncle, I could not. It belongs to the Church."

"My lord, the Mandylion is all that remains to bargain with. If you could convince the bishop to give it into your keeping-"

"Impossible! He will never do that.".

"Have you asked?"

"He guards it most zealously. The shroud miraculously survived the Crusaders' sacking of the city. It was entrusted to the bishop by his predecessor, and he swore to protect it with his life."

"You are the emperor."

'And he is the bishop."

"He is your subject. If he fails to obey, there are measures you can take. He would not wish to lose his ears or his nose."

"My God, Pascal!"

"You will lose the empire. The cloth is sacred; the man who possesses it has nothing to fear. Try."

The emperor wrung his hands. He feared a confrontation with the bishop. What could he tell him that would convince him to turn over the Mandylion?

"Very well, speak with the bishop," he said at last. "Tell him you go in my name."

"I will, my lord, but he will not treat with me about this. You must speak with him yourself."

Balduino took a sip of pomegranate-colored wine, and then with a wave of his hand he shooed de Molesmes from the room. He needed to think.

The knight walked along the beach, his mind and spirit lulled by the washing of the waves against the pebbles on the shore. His horse stood by patiently, un-tethered, like the faithful friend it had been in so many battles.

The evening light illuminated the Bosphorus, and Bartolome dos Capelos felt in the beauty of the moment the breath of God.

His horse whinnied and pricked up its ears, and Bartolome turned to see a figure on horseback approaching through the dust of the road. He put his hand on his sword, a gesture more instinctive than defensive, and waited to see whether the man riding toward him was the person he was expecting.

The rider clambered awkwardly from his horse and strode swiftly along the shoreline to where the Portuguese knight stood waiting.

"You are late," said dos Capelos.

"I was attending the emperor until he dined. It was only then that I could slip out of the palace."

"Very well. What is it you have to tell me, and why here?"

The olive-skinned man was short and stocky. His rat's eyes weighed the Templar knight. He had to tread carefully with this one.

"Sire, the emperor is going to ask the bishop to turn the Mandylion over to him."

Bartolome dos Capelos didn't move a muscle, as though the information meant nothing to him.

'And how did you come to know this?"

"I overheard the emperor talking with de Molesmes."

"What would the emperor do with the Mandylion?"

"It is the last valuable relic remaining to him; he will pawn it. You know that the empire has no money. He will sell it to his uncle, the king of France."

'And what more have you heard?" the knight asked.

"Nothing, sire."

"Very well. Here. Now begone."

Dos Capelos put a few coins into the outstretched palm of the man, who rode off congratulating himself on his good fortune. The knight had paid him well for the information.

For several years he had been spying in the palace for the Templars. He knew that the knights of the red cross had other spies in the palace, but he did not know who they were. The Templars were the only ones in the impoverished empire who had good hard coin and there were many, even noblemen, who lent them their services.

The Portuguese knight had shown no emotion when he'd told him that the emperor was planning to sell or pawn the Mandylion. It might be, he thought, that the Templars already had the news from another of their spies. But no matter. It was not his problem. He patted the gold in his pouch.

Bartolome dos Capelos rode to the chapter house the Templars kept in Constantinople, a walled castle near the sea, where more than fifty knights lived with their servants and the grooms for their horses.

He made his way to the chapter hall, where at that hour his brothers would be praying. Andre de Saint-Remy, their superior, made a sign to him to join the prayers. It was not until an hour after his arrival that Saint-Remy sent for him. By then, the superior was in his study.

"Have a seat, my brother. Tell me what the emperor's cupbearer has told you."

"He confirms the information from the captain of the royal guard: The emperor wishes to pawn the Mandylion."

"The shroud of Christ…"

"He has already pawned the crown of thorns."

"There are so many false relics… But the Mandylion is not false. On that cloth is the blood of Christ, the true visage of the Savior. I await permission from the Grand Master, Guillaume de Sonnac, to purchase it. Weeks ago I sent a message explaining that the Mandylion is now the only true relic that remains in Constantinople, and the most precious. We must get hold of it, to protect it."

"But what if the Grand Master's reply does not come in time?"

"Then I shall make the decision and hope that he will accept it."

"What about the bishop?"

"We know that Pascal de Molesmes has been to see him and asked him to turn it over. The bishop refused. The emperor will now go in person to make his request."

"When?"

"Within the week. We will ask to meet with the bishop, and I will go to see the emperor. Tomorrow I will give you your instructions. For now, go and rest."

The sun had not yet risen when the knights completed their first prayers of the day. Andre de Saint-Remy was absorbed in a letter he was writing to the emperor, requesting an audience.

The Eastern Orthodox empire was in its death throes. Balduino de Courtenay II was the emperor of Constantinople and the surrounding lands, but little else, and the Templars' relationship with him, the balance of power in the empire, was sometimes difficult, given his frequent demands for credit. The superior had managed the delicate relationship with skill. He was an austere man who had kept himself untainted by the glitter of decadent Constantinople and prevented any concupiscence or comfort from penetrating the walls of the fortress chapter.