P. Doherty - The Templar Magician

The old Englishman rose as de Payens entered. He was a tall, angular man with stooped shoulders and the long arms of a born swordsman. His undressed grey hair fell to his shoulders; his face reminded de Payens of the colour of weathered manuscript. He clasped de Payens’ outstretched hand and fussily waved him to a stool next to the chair. They exchanged pleasantries, whilst de Payens quietly studied his host. Trussell was a veteran much favoured by the order, a hero who had stormed the walls of Jerusalem and fought his way through the ranks of seasoned Egyptian soldiers who had been the bulwark of the city’s defenders. He’d cut a path through these and decapitated the witches the Egyptian governor had placed behind them: evil harridans, their faces full of hate, their foul mouths spitting curses. In his time, Trussell had met all the heroes of the order: Hugh de Payens, Geoffrey de St Omer, Eleanor de Payens and her redoubtable husband Theodore the Greek. It was Theodore and Eleanor who had raised Edmund, and ever since he could remember, he had visited Trussell, who had filled his mind with all the daring, noble deeds of the Temple. Now, however, the old man was weakening, his mighty frame racked by fevers and ulcers that never healed. Sometimes his mind wandered; his eyes could assume a glassy look, his face hang slack, though he seemed alert and active enough now. He pointed down at the manuscript he’d been reading.

‘Fulcher of Chartres, his description of the expedition to Jerusalem. Very good, Edmund.’ He recollected himself, rolled up the manuscript, then glanced sheepishly at de Payens.

‘I am sorry to hear about what happened in Tripoli. How you were blamed. Tremelai is a fool, arrogant and devious …’

He was about to go on, then struck his breast.

‘ Mea culpa , I have sinned. I should not speak so about our Grand Master. Edmund, you will not denounce me in chapter?’

De Payens leaned forward and gently cupped the old man’s face in his hands.

‘Magister, Domine, I thank you for your kind intervention, but I am confused. Why was Raymond of Tripoli assassinated? What is happening here in the order? You must also have heard how Philip Mayele and I are bound for the Old Man of the Mountain.’

Trussell nodded, and his face assumed a sorrowful look. He touched the roll of manuscript with a vein-streaked hand and glanced across at one of the tapestries.

‘I see visions, you know. In the dead of night, dreams come. Ships sail into the west,’ his voice fell to a whisper, ‘black sails billowing, masts bending as violent winds drive them swiftly over the deep. It will come, Edmund, the vengeance, Jerusalem besieged. The cross will go, and the visions of the cruciferi will become no more than the dreams of shadow-riders.’ He lifted a hand to fend off de Payens’ startled exclamation.

‘I dream,’ he continued, ‘of how, along the roads to the west, the horses clatter, taking their sombre message across the sleepy, golden, autumn-tinged fields.’ He looked up. ‘They’ll gather at crossroads, before the great doors of cathedrals and the wooden planks of hamlet chapels. They will assemble in the meagre rush-light of taverns or the fire glow of castle hearths, the chilling darkness full of moans at our stupid sins of pride and avarice. Listen, Edmund: the standards of the Antichrist will be raised, the banners of Satan will fly above this city once hallowed by Christ’s presence and sanctified by his blood. A storm is coming, and it’s not to be checked by half-finished prayers or feverish chatter.’ He smiled to himself. ‘I write my own chronicle about life here in Outremer. We have won the land, taken the city, but look around. Our king, Baldwin III, is steeped in intrigue. The great lords divide the Holy Land into counties, cities and shires. They squabble and intrigue whilst fresh threats gather. The house of the Temple is no different. Tremelai is ambitious, ruthless, but not far-seeing. We have our roots here, but they stretch back to France, Burgundy and the Rhineland. Tremelai wants more. He has talked about sending envoys to England to intervene in the civil war between King Stephen and his cousin Henry Fitzempress, the Angevin. He wants to put down roots there, grasp a place close to the Crown.’ Trussell paused, blinking, and dabbed at the silver froth between his lips. ‘ Omnia mutanda — all things must change. Look at me, Edmund. I once ate rats’ heads outside Antioch, before Bohemond stormed its gates. I ate rats and chewed foot leather and harness. Now every day I am allowed three kinds of soups in honour of the Trinity.’

‘And Tripoli?’ de Payens asked.

Trussell shook his head. ‘Something is missing,’ he murmured. ‘God knows why you were there. I don’t know, Edmund, I truly don’t.’ He paused. ‘Sinister forces threaten our order.’

‘Magister?’

‘Here in the Temple house of Jerusalem, they talk about how Henry Walkyn, one of our company, has been arrested and expelled.’ He glanced quickly around, then over de Payens’ shoulder, as if some eavesdropper might lurk at the door. ‘Witchcraft and sorcery!’ he hissed.

‘Nonsense!’ de Payens murmured.

‘Not so, not so.’ Trussell drew closer. ‘We have found relics here. They are still hidden away. Then there’s the secret knowledge. For fifty years our order has mingled with the mystics of Islam and studied the Kabbalah of the Jews. All the secrets of the kingdom lurk here. You say nonsense — I agree, but beyond these walls, Satan lays siege. Ah yes, the Lord Satan!’ Trussell grew more alert, leaning back as he chanted: ‘“His brows are full, his face is flat, with owlish eyes and the nose of a cat, his wolfish mouth gapes open, showing wild boar’s teeth, bloody and sharp.” A children’s verse, Edmund, but Satan still prowls here, as he does the desert wastes. Oh yes, I have seen him,’ his fingers flew to his lips, ‘a small black shape clinging to the cliff face. He scuttles insect-like, eyes gleaming green in the daylight, burrowing like a maggot into the hearts of men.’

‘Magister, Magister, please!’ De Payens chewed his lip. Were Trussell’s wits turning fey, riddled with dreams?

‘Look around, Edmund.’ Trussell peered at him. ‘We now recruit from as far east as Iberia and as far north as the icy wastes of Norway and Sweden. We Templars are as powerful as the Benedictines or the Cistercians. We are under the direct authority of the Pope. We own the heart of the Temple, castles at Acre, Gaza and Chastel Blanc. We possess the great treasures of our faith, yet many of us want more, and because of that, do we really reflect on whom we attract into our ranks? Men who have murdered, committed heinous sacrilege; sanctuary men, wolfsheads in their own countries. Tremelai has a great deal to answer for. He is so greedy …’

‘And here in Jerusalem?’ De Payens desperately tried to bring the conversation back to his own concerns.

‘Tremelai reaps what he sows. Gossipers and whisperers say that there are covens, secret fraternities within the brotherhood dedicated to this or that, yet that might all be ale-bench gossip. We are under siege, and the belfries of hell, crowded with our enemies, edge closer.’ Trussell clenched a fist. ‘Dark souls are already in our order!’

‘Magister, what are you saying?’

‘You’ve heard about Walkyn being expelled from the order on suspicion of witchcraft?’

‘Yes, Mayele whispered about that.’

‘Ah, Mayele!’ Trussell smiled cynically, then paused and glanced over his shoulder, as if he felt a cold breeze from the window behind him. Then he turned back and touched Edmund on the knee. ‘Listen to this!’ He licked his lips. ‘Corpses were found around the Temple area and out in the Valley of Hinnom, others amongst the trees on the Mount of Olives. Young girls, their bodies hideously brutalised and their blood drained. Now, our so-called Holy City teems with ribalds and all the human scavengers from around the Middle Sea. Witches and warlocks are as plentiful here as lice on a dog. Most are mountebanks and tricksters, charlatans preying on other people’s fears. One, however, Erictho, is a true demon-worshipper, a witch whose very breath pollutes the air. A sorcerer of whom even the rock vipers would be wary. Anyway,’ Trussell wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, ‘Erictho was held responsible for many crimes. She was accused of draining corpses of moisture, of gnawing nails from dead hands, clawing through the nooses of hanged men, biting off their swollen tongues. More importantly, she was accused of being involved in these murders, hungry, thirsty for human blood for her sacrifices.’ He paused. ‘Edmund, you think my wits are wandering? I will tell you the full story, then you can understand my anxiety. Jerusalem is riddled with sorcerers and warlocks, but serious allegations have been levelled that demon-worshippers also lurk here in the Temple.’ He held a hand up to fend off de Payens’ exclamation. ‘It’s true! Our Grand Master and some of our leaders know about this. Objections have been raised by both the governor of the city and the Patriarch of Jerusalem about such filthy practices. Demands have been made that something be done. Now, have you ever met the two Englishmen, Walkyn and Richard Berrington?’