P. Doherty - The Templar Magician

‘No, but Mayele has mentioned their names.’

‘Oh yes, he would.’ Trussell gnawed the corner of his lip. ‘Well, Walkyn gained a reputation for visiting the brothels and flesh houses. Apparently he found his vow of chastity difficult to keep. Here, Edmund, is an example of some of the men we are now recruiting. I suspect Walkyn had no more fidelity to his vows than Tortosa, my alleycat. Now, what concerned our master were reports from his legion of spies that Erictho had been glimpsed slipping into the Temple precincts. According to these reports, she dresses like a witch, a wig about her head, her face all painted, swathed in a robe fashioned out of crow’s feathers. Tremelai had no choice but to keep his own house under close scrutiny. Walkyn’s nocturnal expeditions to visit the ladies of the town were noted, but then fresh allegations were levelled at him that he was actually consorting with devil’s worshippers. I don’t know the true details, but Walkyn was arrested and his chamber searched. Evidence was found that he may have been involved in the same coven as Erictho.’ Trussell took a deep breath. ‘You know how the Temple works, Edmund. A secret inquiry was held. Walkyn was found guilty, but Tremelai did not want him punished here in Jerusalem. Instead he turned to a senior English knight, Richard Berrington. Berrington’s task, along with two serjeants, was to take Walkyn back to England, where he could be questioned thoroughly and imprisoned for life, or even executed. Everything was kept secret. A few weeks ago, Berrington and the two serjeants took Walkyn under chains from the city. Tremelai also summoned the English master from London, Boso Baiocis, to answer certain questions. Tremelai does nothing right.’ Trussell rubbed the side of his face. ‘Perhaps he should have provided a stronger escort, but to cut to the chase, it appears that Walkyn escaped.’

‘How?’

Trussell shook his head. ‘We don’t know, but he may have fled to Tripoli.’

‘Oh no!’ Edmund gasped. ‘Could a malefactor like Walkyn have had a hand in what happened there?’

‘Gossip alleges that the Assassins may not have been involved but a rogue Templar might have been, which explains why Tremelai is so eager in his pursuit of the Assassins. He wants to lay the blame for Count Raymond’s death at their door. Now, we have no proof of what truly happened or who was responsible. Walkyn? The Old Man of the Mountain? Or was it some other group we know nothing about? Our spies in Tripoli also report that Count Raymond’s murder may simply have been an excuse for the city to be plundered. Already the lists are coming in.’ Trussell spread his hands. ‘It would appear that certain merchant houses were pillaged within a short while of the count’s death. But in the end, Edmund, if you want to know what truly happened in Tripoli, I can’t really say.’

‘And this Berrington?’

‘Tremelai is deeply concerned. Berrington was a leading knight, a man of good reputation. He came here and joined the order, bringing his fair sister, the Lady Isabella. She lodges in the Benedictine convent close to Herod’s Gate. Berrington seems to have disappeared. Tremelai believes that he and the two serjeants were murdered by Walkyn, assisted by the coven in Jerusalem. There has been no sign of him, no report.’

‘And Erictho?’

‘Oh, our malignant witch! She has apparently disappeared from the face of the earth. Tremelai is secretly worried but at the same time rather pleased about that. More importantly, the hideous murders have ceased. Tremelai is using his spies and his army of informants to discover where Walkyn could have fled and what has happened to Berrington.’

‘And you, William, what do you think?’

‘I wish I could tell you, Edmund. Some allege that Count Raymond became nervous, that he heard rumours about something nefarious being plotted in his city and asked the Temple for protection.’

‘Did he?’

Trussell’s eyes refused to meet Edmund’s. ‘I don’t know,’ the old Englishman grumbled. ‘I sit here in the vespers of my life, chomping on my gums. I don’t know the truth of it all. Nihil manet sub sole , the psalmist says — nothing lasts under the sun, and,’ he added half in a whisper, ‘ dixi in excessu omnes mendaces — I said in my anger that all men are liars.’ He stretched out and grasped Edmund’s hands. ‘Anyway, enough of rumour. Tremelai the bully has now realised that what happened in Tripoli is a real mystery. No one knows why Count Raymond was foully murdered. In the end, do not be too harsh on Tremelai. He chose you for Tripoli because he respects you. You are a de Payens, a mark of honour and respect for Lord Raymond.’

‘And Mayele, what do you know of him?’

Trussell smiled with his lips only. ‘Very little, but Tremelai has high hopes for you, Edmund. The blessed Hugh journeyed to England to establish the Temple there, a mere foothold. Tremelai wishes to develop that. He and his council are thinking of sending you to England, even though the country is being torn apart. King Henry I died without a male heir; his daughter, Mathilda the Empress, claimed the throne only to be challenged by her cousin, Stephen of Blois. He in turn has been opposed by Mathilda’s son Henry Fitzempress, or Henry the Angevin, as they call him. That island now resounds with the clash of swords and,’ he added, ‘has done so for the last eighteen years.’ He sat back in his chair, wafting his hand as he peered at Edmund. ‘May God always be with you. I have spoken enough.’

De Payens made his farewells and left the chamber. He went along the gallery and down the stairs, so lost in his own thoughts that he was startled when a hand touched his arm. He turned quickly and gazed at the vision of beauty staring intently back at him. The woman was of medium height, dressed in the blue robes of a Benedictine novice, a white wimple framing her face. She was threading a set of ivory ave beads through her fingers.

‘Madam.’ De Payens stood back and bowed.

‘I am sorry for startling you, but I want …’

‘Madam, there is no need to apologise.’ De Payens was struck by the lucid beauty of the woman, her fair skin and violet-blue eyes. Was she laughing at him, teasing or just smiling?

‘Madam, what do you want with me?’

‘My brother, Richard Berrington, is a knight of the order. You must have heard of him?’

‘Madam, I certainly have. I am sorry about your sad loss. I know he was escorting a prisoner, who escaped, whilst your brother has now disappeared. Perhaps …’

‘I live for perhaps … Domine de Payens.’ She took a step closer.

The Templar caught her faint scent, the trace of an exquisite perfume. He stood fascinated by that face, the woman’s delicate movements as she moved the beads, those lovely eyes searching his.

‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ again the smile, ‘but I come to the Temple daily to learn news about my brother. I’ve heard that you and another knight, Philip Mayele, are to leave Jerusalem on some errand for the Grand Master. I just wondered if you could keep eye and ear open for any news of my brother’s whereabouts.’ She stepped closer and grasped de Payens’ hand. Her skin was soft, smooth as silk. She stood on tiptoe and abruptly kissed him on the cheek, then stepped back, fingers to her lips as if to stifle a smile. ‘That is the only payment I can give you, Templar, but please, remember Richard Berrington! Anything you learn, anything you discover. I’m sure my brother is still alive.’

De Payens nodded. He stretched out his hand, clasped hers between his, then kissed the tips of her fingers.

‘Madam, it will be my pleasure. I shall do what I can.’ He stepped back, bowed and left.