P. Doherty - The Templar Magician

‘Berrington said you should leave,’ Mayele scoffed. ‘You wanted to journey back to Outremer, you and the prying Genoese.’

‘I was disgusted by Prince Eustace’s raids,’ de Payens countered. ‘A matter of hot temper rather than cold resolve. Oh,’ he gestured at Parmenio, ‘the prying Genoese as you call him must have been a thorn in your side. You didn’t know who he truly was — and why our masters had such confidence in him. I’m sure if an accident had befallen me he would have suffered a similar mishap. In the meantime, you could see I was not his true comrade. Parmenio was useful to you, a distraction for me, perhaps? True, you did want both of us to leave for Outremer, and why not? You had reached England. You had met with great success. You no longer needed either of us.’ De Payens laughed abruptly. ‘If we had left, I doubt we would have reached Dover alive. Your assassins would have seen to that.’ His gaze drifted around the hall. He noticed the tapestries, the paintings, some coloured canvas nailed to a piece of wood. He could see no crucifix, nothing of the Church. He also wondered what Hastang’s mercenaries had discovered in this temple of darkness.

‘What de Payens said is true.’ Parmenio spoke up. ‘I heard rumours about a conspiracy in Tripoli, about a Templar being involved. I saw what happened in that city, and was so angry I almost did what you would have liked: struck at de Payens. On reflection, it was remarkable how certain merchants’ houses were pillaged within a short while of Count Raymond’s death. Of course that was planned.’

‘Be that as it may,’ de Payens continued, ‘Montebard was only too willing to send envoys to the English king. Baiocis would also be eager to leave. On our journey you were cunning; nothing happened. We landed in England and the pursuit of the mysterious, elusive Walkyn began. You, Berrington, furnished us with a fable about Walkyn landing at Orwell in Essex.’ He shook his head. ‘Nonsense! You became busy. Baiocis was the first to die; he had to! God knows what he might know or suspect, what secret records he kept.’

‘Edmund, Edmund!’ Mayele tapped the table. ‘You have missed one very important fact. You and I were sent to Hedad to question the caliph about the assassination of Count Raymond. Why would Tremelai do that if a Templar was suspected of being involved?’

‘It was logical.’ De Payens held Mayele’s gaze. ‘No one really knew who was responsible for the massacre in Tripoli. Tremelai still believed, indeed hoped, that he could lay the blame at the feet of the Assassins. After all, certain of their insignia, curved daggers, the red ribbons and the medallion, had been found. Of course, as Nisam said, such items can be purchased in any bazaar. Tremelai was also curious about the truth, and of course you would welcome that. There was nothing to lose and a great deal to gain by visiting Hedad.’

‘Baiocis?’ Hastang intervened. ‘You were talking about Baiocis?’

‘Oh yes, he was the first to die. He wasn’t poisoned at the banquet but sometime before. He was clutching his belly from the very start. In all that confusion in the priory refectory, one of you poisoned his goblet to create the impression that the poisoning occurred then. In one swift, ruthless blow you had what you wanted: Baiocis dead, a place at the royal board, as well as control over the English Temple. Prince Eustace, Senlis and Murdac were just as easy to kill. You followed them into your old haunts in the eastern shires. By now you were using your secret wealth to contact other members of your coven, hire assassins and buy poisons. At the abbey, Prince Eustace’s chamber overlooked the garden. One of you secretly entered through the window and smeared their goblets, a devastating blow against the crown: Stephen’s heir and two of the king’s most fervent supporters all murdered, the malicious work of Walkyn. Eustace and Senlis were wine-lovers; they drank swiftly. The second draught would clear all poison from their cups. Murdac of York was more temperate; his cup showed how it had been done. Eustace and Senlis died immediately; the archbishop didn’t die, but he was weakened, marked down for death. Don’t you remember, Berrington? You were so eager to remove that tray of cups and the flagon. You took it down to the infirmary. If Murdac had not been so moderate in his drinking, we might never have found the source of such dreadful poisonings.’

De Payens thrust away the goblet on the table. ‘You continued your hunt. The king’s second son, William? I am sure your coven had a hand in his accident outside Canterbury. You could organise such a mishap: all those messengers supposedly dispatched to the court, other Templar holdings or elsewhere, a marvellous device to communicate with members of your evil fraternity and plot further mischief, such as the attack on me in the forest.’ He pointed at Isabella. ‘As for you, fair of face and foul of heart, flirting with the king, sitting alone with him and, I am sure, poisoning his wine cup. What noxious potion did you feed him, a secret poison to rot his innards?’ He glanced quickly as Parmenio stirred. He was not finished with the Genoese, not yet, but that would have to wait. ‘The king will certainly die,’ de Payens continued, ‘in pain, great suffering, some malignancy in the gut or bowel, and then perhaps more civil war, which you can exploit. Or were you satisfied, Berrington? Your newfound status as master of the English Temple would certainly allow you to continue your secret life. I have witnessed your work in London and Borley: young wenches, poor souls! God knows what horrors they experienced. You are immersed in such practices, addicted to your secret rites. I doubt if you can help yourself, be it in London or on your journey to Essex …’

Mayele began to clap, driving his hands together furiously. He sprang to his feet, the mocking applause echoing around the hall, and walked the length of the table. Hastang made to move, but de Payens made a sign to let it be. He suspected what Mayele intended, and welcomed it so as to give vent to his own rage. Mayele paused just before him and sat on the edge of the table.

‘And what proof, the evidence for all this?’ he jeered.

‘Really, Judas-brother,’ de Payens mocked back, ‘is that what it’s come to?’ He shrugged. ‘Proof enough. Walkyn is proof. A toper, a man given to wine and the joys of the flesh. Alienora was surprised at the proclamation issued against him. If he’d stood trial, others would have come forward to testify about his true character. So who is this Walkyn? Where is he? Can such a man really have the power and means to achieve what you three have done?’ He tapped the table. ‘Where is Walkyn, Mayele? Why did you kill those three men in Tripoli? And after the attack on me at Queenshithe, you and Isabella, as was your custom, were teasing me. You talked about my escape from that murderous assault in the woods outside the Abbey of St Edmund. You described my rescue. How did you know such details? I never told you. Which of you met with Baiocis before the banquet? Which of you poisoned that cup after Baiocis collapsed — when no one really cared to notice? And Isabella,’ he stared down at the witch, ‘how did you know which street I rode down as I left Jerusalem for Hedad? You actually mentioned the Streets of Chains. How could you know such a detail and remember it unless you were there, as you were, in your true guise as the witch Erictho, standing on the roof of that house glaring down at me? How would Walkyn know I was out in those woods, or journeying down to the Light in the Darkness at Queenshithe, or visiting Alienora? Strange: you three were always missing on such occasions. Moreover, who had the means, the knowledge, the wealth to hire assassins for such murderous assaults?’