But it is getting better. An hour ago, you could hardly breathe in here without choking.”
St. Valéry nodded absently and made his way towards the fireplace, and Sir William stepped aside to let him pass, but instead of sitting, the admiral leaned against the high back of one of the armchairs fronting the fire. He looked as though he had aged greatly in the few hours since they had last met. His face was pallid, his eyes sunk deep into his head, and the skin beneath them appeared liverish purple. But he held himself erect, and his posture was defiant.
“I have seen Arnold,” he said in a calm, flat voice. “The surgeons tell me there was little blood and that his death was instantaneous, which means he felt no pain. In truth, it means he might not even have seen death approaching. I would like to think he died that way, without feeling himself betrayed, for if he saw his murderers, he must have thought them Brethren of the Order. Such a betrayal, even the semblance of one, would have pained Arnold greatly. I shall regret his passing. He and I were friends for many years … more years than most men are allowed to live. I will miss him.” He stiffened his shoulders and drew a great breath, then turned to face Sir William, every inch the Admiral of the Fleet whose personal concerns must always be subject to the dictates of his duty. “But I fear I may be forced to postpone my mourning until later. I have been told you come bearing urgent tidings, Sir William. Tidings from Master de Molay himself.”
“I do, Admiral.”
St. Valéry swept out an arm to indicate the room in which they stood. “Do they have any bearing on this obscenity that took place here?”
Sir William glanced at Tam Sinclair, who merely nodded, his lips pursed.
“Yes and no, Admiral. I believe there’s a very real connection between what happened here and the tidings I carry, but I cannot yet be sure. I have no proof—merely suspicions. Tam agrees with me.”
“Hmm.” St. Valéry grasped the back of his chair and pulled it away from the roaring fire. “Then we had best be seated where you can deliver your charges in comfort.” The other two men took the armchairs flanking the admiral, although in normal circumstances Tam would never have thought of doing such a thing. As a mere sergeant, he seldom mixed directly with the knightly brethren, but he had known Charles de St. Valéry for so long that his own conduct had earned him the right to both sit and speak up in the admiral’s presence, at St. Valéry’s own insistence.
“There is little of comfort in what I have to say this night, my lord Admiral,” Will Sinclair said as he sat down.
“Aye, well, that’s appropriate, Sir William. There is little of comfort anywhere this night. Tell me what you have. I presume it is in writing?”
“Aye, Admiral, in the Master’s own words. Tam?”
Tam Sinclair removed the heavy leather satchel that was slung across his chest. Then, holding it on his knees, he opened the buckle and withdrew two thick parchment-wrapped packages, one of which he handed to St. Valéry, who hefted it thoughtfully in his hand while he eyed the other package that Tam was returning to his satchel.
“The Master had much to say, it appears. Who is the other for, if I am permitted to ask?”
“Aye, Admiral.” Sir William waved a hand, and Tam passed the second package to the admiral as well.
St. Valéry looked at the inscription, and his eyebrows rose high on his forehead. “‘For Sir William Sinclair. To be opened on the Feast of the Epiphany, Anno Domini 1308. Jacques de Molay, Master.’” St. Valéry looked at Sir William. “The Epiphany?”
Will Sinclair shrugged, opening his hands to indicate his ignorance. St. Valéry grunted as he handed the bulky package back to Tam and took a fresh grip on his own, making no attempt to break the seal.
“Are you aware of what this contains?” Will Sinclair nodded. “And your own?”
“I have no idea, sir. The Master made no effort to tell me. He merely drew my attention to the inscription, so I shall find out on the Epiphany.”
“That sounds ominous. Frightening, even, since this is October. Three months for you to wait, in which time much could happen to affect your instructions—if instructions they be. Give me the gist, if you will, of what this one of mine contains. I’ll read it afterwards.”
Sir William inhaled sharply and stood up, moving to stand by the side of the fireplace, where he could look directly at the admiral. “As you know, the Pope himself summoned the Master home to France from Cyprus more than eight months ago, giving Monsieur de Molay no hint of why he was called or what was expected of him other than that he was to meet with Pope and King on matters pertaining to the future welfare of the Order and the proposed amalgamation of the Orders of the Temple and the Hospitallers, which Master de Molay has always vehemently opposed on several grounds.”
St. Valéry grunted. “I am familiar with the Master’s objections. Are you opposed?”
Sinclair nodded. “I am, Admiral. The Master fears the loss of our identity were we to join with Hospital. We all do, to some extent.”
“Tell me more, then.”
The younger knight brought his hands together in front of him. “Well, for one thing, the Hospital is far larger and more complex than our own Order—more diverse in its activities and less strict in its interpretation of its role and its duties. The Hospitallers have never been warriors before all else, and the Master fears we would lose our imperative need to win back the Holy Land in consequence. He also fears the duplication of installations in the cities—who would survive the amalgamation of those, Temple or Hospital? And who—which administration—would survive the consolidation? All of these things concern him, and he has found little satisfaction in the course of several meetings with Pope Clement in Poitiers and with King Philip in Paris, but nothing concrete has resulted in either case. And so our Master has sat waiting in Paris these two months past, wondering what might be afoot, but obedient to the King’s will. But then, less than a month ago, Master de Molay received a warning of a plot against the Order, which he treated with the utmost urgency. I have no idea whence it came, but I received the strong impression, purely through listening to what was and was not said, that it sprang from a trustworthy source close to King Philip himself, or to his minister and chief lawyer, de Nogaret.”
St. Valéry nodded, his expression serene. “I see. And to what end does this plot exist? Our money, obviously, and a move to confiscate it, since de Nogaret is in charge. What is involved, and how extensive is it?”
“More than you could possibly imagine, Sir Charles. When I found myself sitting across from Master de Molay and being entrusted with this secret, the scope of it appalled me to the point of thinking the Master had gone mad and was seeing demons everywhere. But in fact he had known of the plot for ten days by then and had had doubts of his own on first hearing of it. The source, he told me, was unimpeachable, and that had caused him sufficient concern to begin making arrangements, just in case the threat proved real.
“The warning was confirmed the very morning of the day I saw the Master, less than two weeks ago now. A second, more detailed report had arrived from the same trusted source. By the time the Master called me into his presence, his plans were in place, and I have been working at them ever since.”
St. Valéry was now frowning. “You make it sound like the end of the world.”
“It is, as far as we are concerned.” Sir William’s response was that of a commander to a subordinate, and St. Valéry took note of it. “It is the end of our world, here in France. Philip Capet, our beloved King, has his armies poised to act against us. His armies, Sir Charles. And his minions. The entire assembled powers of the Kingdom of France are being brought to bear upon us in one single, unprecedented coup. His creature, William de Nogaret, has issued instructions from his monarch to his army to arrest every Templar in the realm of France at daybreak on the morning of Friday, the thirteenth of October.” St. Valéry stiffened. “That … that is simply unbelievable!”