P. Doherty - The Templar Magician

‘Your coven,’ he smiled at Berrington, who still sat surprised at the turn of events, ‘became notorious. It attracted the attention of abbots, bishops even the Pope in Rome. Accordingly Thierry Parmenio, malleus maleficorum , the Pope’s hammer of witches, was also alerted.’

‘So that’s what you really are, Genoese,’ Mayele drawled, ‘a pimping spy. I wondered as much.’

‘Your notoriety was growing,’ de Payens continued, returning to his seat, ‘but Essex became dangerous. You could not continue your secret life as royal armies swept through the shire. You decided to leave. You, Berrington, approached Boso Baiocis, the master of the English Temple. Mayele also, acting the penitent sinner, the knight who’d killed a cleric and been ordered to take the cross in reparation. You were veteran knights with no impediment, eager to serve the cross in Outremer. Baiocis would be only too keen to recruit you. Isabella, as your devoted, pious sister, would also accompany you. Your wish was granted. You reached Jerusalem, a haven for so many of your kind. Tremelai accepted you with open arms. He was eager for recruits, desperate to strengthen the order, zealous to expand its influence in this island. You were admitted into the brotherhood, whilst your so-called sister took lodgings in a convent, but of course, in time, like any dog, you returned to your vomit. Erictho the witch emerged, a grotesque figure with her straggling wig, masked face and bizarre clothes, glimpsed but never really seen.’ Isabella laughed sharply, then glared at Berrington and Mayele as if urging them to do something. ‘You returned to your heinous rites, choosing victims for your bloody sacrifices …’

‘An easy task.’ Parmenio, realising the drift of de Payens’ allegation, was eager to intervene. ‘An easy task in Jerusalem, with its sacred places, its beggar children, hordes of young girls and women, vagrant and vulnerable, but,’ the Genoese spread his hands, ‘Jerusalem is not the wilds of Essex. No Mandeville emerged to protect you, no horde of mercenaries to shield you, just a legion of spies and informers who swarm around what in truth is a very small city. Rumours began to drift. Tremelai told me about Erictho being glimpsed with a Templar, as well as entering the Temple precincts.’ Parmenio ignored de Payens’ glare of accusation. ‘Peace, brother. Until now, I dared not trust any Templar. I did not really know who was in the coven and who was not. During our journey to Hedad I tried to draw Mayele, to discover more about his past; hence my closeness with him.’ He smiled. ‘But as we now know, that was his best defence! The cynical mercenary, with little faith or none. The rebel who would find slight cause with either God or the devil. He simply acted according to character, though he hid his blasphemous, murderous ways.’ He turned back to the accused. ‘Rumour certainly whispered that Templars were involved in satanic rites, not for the first time in your order’s history. Tremelai grew highly anxious, as did the Patriarch of Jerusalem. I was summoned from Rome, but …’ Parmenio gestured at de Payens to continue.

‘You, Berrington, decided to act. The rumours were thickening. You decided that Henry Walkyn would be your sacrificial lamb, a man intoxicated with fleshly pleasure, who had often been seen around the brothels and houses of disrepute in Jerusalem. He was English, lord of the deserted manor at Borley. You and your coven had undoubtedly used both that place and his name to perpetrate your abominable practices. A toper given to loose living, Walkyn was vulnerable. You placed those artefacts in his room, helped spread the malicious whispers. The conclusion was inevitable. Walkyn was arrested.’

‘But why should Tremelai turn to me?’ Berrington asked.

‘First, because you are English. Second, I suggest you played a prominent part in detecting Walkyn. Third, you must have exploited Tremelai’s fears that a coven existed within the order, perhaps comprised of English knights. You would argue how it might be best to get Walkyn out of Jerusalem, stifle a scandal, send the miscreant back to the bailiwick of England for judgement. How Tremelai could trust you and your fellow countryman Philip Mayele. Who else could the Grand Master turn to, other than English knights? How many of them are there? How many of those could be trusted? Tremelai would rise like any fish to the bait. He’d get Walkyn out of Jerusalem, kill the rumours and prevent a scandal. At the same time, however, he must have been secretly furious about what had happened. Perhaps at your instigation he decided to hold Boso Baiocis to account. Little wonder Tremelai summoned the English master back to Jerusalem, to be questioned about how the likes of Walkyn were admitted to the order in the first place.’

‘And why should my brother be so keen to take Walkyn?’ Isabella asked, regaining her composure.

De Payens secretly marvelled how easily she could replace one mask with another, so skilled in deceit! ‘You know that already,’ he retorted. ‘You and Berrington must have discussed it often enough. You’d been out of England for some time. You were tired of Jerusalem, wary of how close and narrow a place it was. How dangerous it was for you, vulnerable to capture. You wanted to return to your old haunts. You were now in a position of power. Berrington and Mayele were Templars. Once you returned to England, you could remove Baiocis, which you did, and exploit his death for your own secret purposes: chief amongst these was your deep, fervent desire for revenge against King Stephen, who’d brought about the downfall of Mandeville, your protector.’

‘Brother!’ Mayele scoffed.

‘Don’t call me that!’ De Payens gestured at Berrington. ‘Tremelai was only too pleased to commit Walkyn to you, to see him disappear back to England. You left Jerusalem. Walkyn, manacled and chained, was guarded by two serjeants.’ He glared at Berrington. ‘Was that your idea? To ask for two guards, a fairly paltry escort? Easier to kill? Your sister was left behind in Jerusalem. She would follow you to Tripoli and join you there, or so you publicly proclaimed. Everything was planned, safe enough. Who would dare to attack the Temple?’ He waved at Isabella. ‘You would! Once out in the lonely wasteland, you, Berrington, turned on those serjeants. You murdered both of them, as well as Walkyn. Afterwards, Isabella hurried back to Jerusalem to act the lonely sister, whilst her brother remained free to continue his plotting.’

‘So I followed my brother?’ Isabella exclaimed. ‘I wandered the desert?’

‘I didn’t say that,’ de Payens retorted. ‘I can imagine that camp: Walkyn by himself, the two serjeants busy. Were all three given some opiate, a poison? You’re skilled in physic, my lady, you proved that on our journey to England. Were they drugged before their throats were slit and the lady Isabella, accompanied by Mayele, entered the camp to check all was well? To remove weapons, clothes and horses? Ensure that Berrington was ready to move on to the next part of your plan?’

‘I was in Chastel Blanc!’ Mayele shouted.

‘No you weren’t — you would have been on one of your many journeys as a messenger. Who would suspect if you took a day or two longer?’

‘But why kill Walkyn?’ Berrington jeered. ‘He was supposed to be my reason for returning to England.’

‘Oh, for a number of reasons. Walkyn was innocent. I wonder if Tremelai had his doubts. The old Englishman William Trussell definitely did. What would Walkyn say if he was put on trial? He’d certainly had enough time to reflect on what had happened. Perhaps he too nourished his own suspicions about being used as a catspaw. He had to die. Second,’ de Payens spread his hands, ‘that’s why we are here, isn’t it? Henry Walkyn was the warlock, the sorcerer, the assassin who’d fled his captors and had a hand in the murder of Count Raymond before fleeing back to England to exact vengeance against the crown. Oh yes, Walkyn dead was much more valuable than Walkyn alive. He became the devil incarnate, the sinister will-o’-the-wisp who had to be hunted down. Tremelai, once he’d heard the news of Walkyn’s alleged escape, realised the terrible danger confronting him. A rogue Templar loose in this misty island, summoning up his coven to assist in the destruction of the king. Think of the damage that would do to the order’s reputation!’