‘That event was momentous – and not only for the confrontation between Henry and Philip of France.’
‘That was momentous enough – we had a fight on our hands, over that damned tree that both Richard and Philip wanted to give them shade during the negotiations. The bloody French ended up chopping it down.’
‘Yes, the so-called Splitting of the Elm. But, for the Templars, the meeting at Gisors was far more significant. The Order of Sion, which had secretly been responsible for founding the Templars in Jerusalem, divorced itself from us at Gisors – and even changed its name to the Priory of Sion. Much of the trouble arose from my uncle’s misfortune in losing the Holy City to the Saracens in the previous year. His memory was vilified and, as one of his family, the shame has clung to me, like dung to a hoof.’
A little light began to penetrate John’s mind. The Grand Master of the Templars, of whom Gilbert was a nephew, had lost a disastrous battle at Hattin, and soon afterwards, was driven from Jerusalem by Saladin’s army. Perhaps a grinding resentment of the sneers against his family’s honour had turned de Ridefort to seek revenge on the rest of the Templars, who blamed their impetuous leader for the devastating loss of Jerusalem. What better revenge could there be than to disclose some dark secret that they had jealously guarded for the better part of a century?
Matilda, who had listened enraptured to these obscure matters, brought the conversation back to a more mundane level. ‘You cannot stay in that sordid Curre Street, Sir Gilbert. It is fit only for Saxon tradesmen, not the likes of you.’
‘It suffices well enough, lady. I wanted to remain inconspicuous. I have a corner of a room with several others. Dressed like a pilgrim, I wished to behave like one, to avoid attention.’
She huffed and puffed her indignation then came out with a solution that brought a scowl to her husband’s face. ‘Why not stay here, then? We can have a comfortable pallet laid before the hearth, which would be better than sharing an earth floor with half a dozen stinking pilgrims.’
De Ridefort must instantly have caught de Wolfe’s lack of support for the idea as he waved his hand in grateful but firm denial. ‘I must distance myself from a law officer as much as possible, my lady. Not only for my sake, but for John’s. It may be that powerful retribution will fall upon me and I would not wish your husband to be caught by it – especially as his sovereign lord is such a devotee of the Templars.’
De Wolfe weighed in with a counter-proposal. ‘Certainly Curre Street is not a suitable dwelling for you – but why not take a bed at an inn? I suspect that the modest cost would not be a problem for you, for the short time you hope to be in Exeter.’
Matilda glared at him, tight-lipped. She knew very well which inn he would suggest and suspected that it would form yet another excuse for him to visit his Welsh whore, as she called Nesta. Her chances of keeping such a handsome man under her roof vanished when de Ridefort took enthusiastically to the idea and, as expected, de Wolfe promised to take him down to the Bush to settle him in.
Gwyn was dispatched to Curre Street to fetch the knight’s pannier and get his pilgrim pony from a nearby livery stable, and within the hour, de Wolfe was introducing the stranger to the tavern-keeper, leaving an irate Matilda at home, fuming at the loss of her latest diversion.
Chapter Four
In which Crowner John visits the Shambles
Mindful of Matilda’s infatuation with the handsome Templar, John was a little concerned that Nesta might suffer the same symptoms, but although her eyebrows rose a little when he walked in with de Ridefort, she showed no signs of falling for him. After de Wolfe had explained the need for bed and board, Nesta sent the newcomer up the ladder with one of her maids, to approve his accommodation and leave his roll of belongings. The large space under the thatch of the Bush’s steep roof was divided into a number of sleeping spaces. Nesta had one corner, with the luxury of a door, while the rest of the boarded space was communal sleeping, with mattresses filled with clean straw, and a few open-ended cubicles, containing similar straw pallets.
While de Ridefort was up there, Nesta asked, ‘Who is he, John? A good-looking man, but he speaks poor English. Is he French?’
De Wolfe explained a little of the situation, but refrained from saying that he was a fugitive. ‘He is an ex-Templar, but whether he is still celibate I don’t know – so watch your step, my girl!’ His attempt at wit was half-hearted and Nesta knew him well enough to sense that there was more to this business than just a passing traveller wanting a bed for a few nights.
‘This is the man who has been stalking you! Come on, Sir Crowner, you can tell me more about him than that.’
‘I know little myself, except that he wants to remain incognito while in Exeter. He is expecting a friend soon, then they are off to Ireland. I knew him slightly in the old fighting days, and he has looked me up as he was passing through.’
Nesta sniffed peevishly. ‘You know more than you let on, John. What’s all the mystery?’
He was spared answering by the descent of de Ridefort down the rickety steps, and soon they were drinking ale and eating a pair of boiled fowls that Nesta had caused to materialise from the cooking shed behind the inn. Some other travellers had just arrived and she was dealing with them, so the two men had time for a low-voiced conversation, to the chagrin of Edwin, an incorrigible eavesdropper.
‘I have been absent from Paris these past six weeks,’ murmured Gilbert. ‘By now, the Master will have sent urgent news about me to London.’
‘How would they know you came to England?’
De Ridefort smiled sadly. ‘John, you should know after all your travels that the Poor Knights of Christ have the best intelligence in the world. There are Templars or their agents in every town and every port of any size. Nothing happens but they know about it – they need information to conduct their huge business transactions. They fund most of the kings of Europe and lend money to anyone who pays a sufficient levy on it. They will know that I took ship from Harfleur to Southampton. Soon, they will be after me, and their efficiency is legendary. I should know – I have been one of them these past fifteen years.’
He looked around the room, searching the faces of the merchants, tradesmen, travellers and harlots who made up the customers of the Bush, as if a Templar might be hidden amongst them already. ‘Sooner or later they will catch up with me, unless Bernardus and I can get abroad before they arrive.’
John was beginning to tire of this repetitive forecast of doom. ‘If you have not revealed this great secret of yours, whatever it might be, then what have you to fear?’
‘The very fact that we have left the Order and broken virtually all the rules laid down by St Bernard. That is enough. It may be a mortal crime, our lives may already be forfeit. Certainly, the best we can hope for if we are recovered by them is endless incarceration and penance.’
He tore at his chicken and as de Wolfe began thinking aloud. ‘There are no Templars in or near Exeter, that I know. There is a small Preceptory beyond Tavistock, almost fifteen miles from here.’
‘I know how they act, John. The main Commandery in London will send men to seek me out. They may well require any local Templars to assist them, but the thrust of the search will be from our New Temple on the banks of the Thames. The gravity of the secret is such that they will not entrust any great responsibility to rural knights or sergeants. It will be senior brothers who come after us.’
De Wolfe snorted with impatience. ‘You keep on about this bloody secret, Gilbert! How does your Order know you have it and that you might broadcast it? And why should you wish to do that, anyway? Don’t you have fifteen years of loyalty to consider?’