De Ridefort dropped the remains of his fowl and pushed the thick trencher of gravy-sodden bread away from him. ‘It torments me all the time. Bernardus and I were too outspoken and argumentative about many things in Paris. We thought we were indulging in academic discussion with our fellows, but as the truth began to dawn upon us, after I learned of certain matters we should not have explored, we were cautioned then reviled. I had already had enough of whispered innuendoes about my uncle, whom the younger Templars now accuse of incompetence at best and treachery at worst in his calamitous behaviour in the Holy Land.’
‘The sins of the uncles visited upon the nephews, eh?’ misquoted John cynically.
‘Not only did the brothers of the Order began to despise and suspect me, but the priests outside started murmuring heresy. There is great trouble brewing in France, John, especially in the south-west, where de Blanchefort comes from. Though generally the Templars have sympathy with the Cathars there, in their dangerously unconventional beliefs, the power of Rome and its army of priests are becoming both anxious and vindictive – and some of that is falling on Bernardus and myself.’
‘So this great secret is a matter of Christian faith?’ asked de Wolfe, trying to pin down this elusive tale more firmly.
‘You could certainly say that,’ agreed Gilbert cautiously. ‘When the time comes, you will know it, along with the rest of the world, unless we are silenced beforehand.’
He would say no more, however much as John probed, and when Nesta came back to join them, the conversation was bent to other subjects. De Ridefort was particularly curious about the other’s duties as coroner, for no such office existed outside England. As they finished their meal, and drank more ale and some wine, de Wolfe explained his functions to an attentive listener who had many searching questions. The red-headed Welsh woman sat and listened to the two men and John noticed that her gaze often strayed to the profile of the handsome Frenchman. Eventually, Nesta was called away to settle some shrieking dispute between her maids in the kitchen.
As soon as they were alone again, de Ridefort returned to his worries. ‘I’ll stay here in the inn for most of the day, John, and not show myself about the town.’
‘No one here knows you, that’s for sure,’ said de Wolfe, to reassure him, ‘but I’ll keep an eye open for you. Both my officer Gwyn and my nosy little clerk know everything that happens in this city. So does Nesta, for that matter – her intelligence is county-wide!’
De Ridefort reached an arm across the table and gripped John’s elbow with a strong hand. ‘Let me know of any strangers who arrive. They need not be in Templar dress – we do not always wear it when necessity demands.’
‘I know you do not wear a chain-mail hauberk, but surely you always have your white mantle with the red cross on the shoulder?’
‘It is so claimed, John, but not always adhered to in travelling away from the Commanderies and Preceptories. And only the knights and chaplains wear the white mantle – the chaplains have it fastened in the front, but we must let ours hang loose. The lower ranks, such as sergeants, wear brown or black, but all with the red cross.’
De Wolfe sighed. ‘White, black or brown, cross or no cross, Gwyn and Thomas will watch out for you these coming days. Now I must get myself home, or my wife will chastise me.’
Somewhat uneasily, he left de Ridefort in the company of his mistress and made his way back to Martin’s Lane. It was now late afternoon and he had nothing to divert him in the way of corpses, rapes or even a serious assault.
As he was passing through the cathedral Close, he saw a familiar figure coming towards him, enveloped in a full black cloak. The crinkled grey hair surmounted a lean, ascetic face from which a pair of blue eyes looked out serenely on the world. It was John de Alençon, Archdeacon of Exeter, one of de Wolfe’s favourite churchmen, who lived in one of the dwellings in Canon’s Row, along the north side of the Close. After they had greeted each other and passed the time of day, de Wolfe thought he might tap the senior cleric’s knowledge of some of the things hinted at by Gilbert de Ridefort.
‘I recently met an old Templar friend I knew at the Crusades,’ he began, adapting the truth slightly. ‘He caused me to become curious about their beliefs and the strange secrecy that seems to surround their order.’
The Archdeacon took his arm and steered him towards the line of prebendaries’ houses. ‘Come and talk with me a while, John. I’ve seen little of you since you let your warhorse fall on to your leg.’
The priest’s asceticism did not extend to a rejection of good wine and soon they were sitting at a rough table in his bare room, the only ornament a plain wooden crucifix on the wall. Between them was a flask of his best wine from Poitou and each man held a heavy glass cup filled with it.
‘Why this sudden interest in theology, Crowner John?’ he mocked gently. ‘I’ve never taken you for a man who has much time for the Almighty, more’s the pity!’
De Wolfe grinned sheepishly. It was true that his devotions were reluctant and perfunctory – he went to Mass occasionally, but only on High Feasts or when Matilda nagged him to accompany her to some dreary service at St Olave’s. ‘It was meeting this old Crusading companion again, who now belongs to the Templar establishment in Paris. Some of the things he mentioned intrigued me, that’s all. The Order is said by some to have a rather different view of Christianity from the rest of us – is that true?’
He was fishing for information without wanting to give anything away, a difficult task with someone as astute as John de Alençon – but the cleric was happy to discourse on anything touching the Faith. ‘I agree with you that their organisation is somewhat peculiar,’ said the archdeacon. ‘Though they are under the direct protection of the Holy Father in Rome, many in the Church have for long been uneasy with the favoured status of the Templars.’
‘Why is this?’ prompted de Wolfe.
‘They are immune from orders by even the highest bishops, only bowing their knee to the Pope. They recruit not only devout men, especially rich ones with wealth or land to donate, but also attract excommunicate knights and persons with unorthodox views of religion,’ he said disapprovingly.
At this the coroner’s heavy eyebrows lifted. ‘I have heard that some accuse the Templars of heresy – but how can that be, in a such a devout body of men so favoured by Rome and patronised by St Bernard?’
The grey-haired priest looked shrewdly over the rim of his glass at his friend. ‘This is a strange conversation for you, John. You are usually full of tales about murdered men and mutilated corpses. Why this sudden interest in the Templars?’
De Wolfe sighed – he seemed to be transparent to his old friend.
‘This man seems to have fallen out with his Order. I can say no more, but I wondered if his dispute with them is real, or whether he has some ailment of the mind that convinces him he is persecuted.’
The archdeacon looked puzzled. ‘To fall out with the Templars would be very unusual – their brothers are bound to them for life. And it would be a very grave situation to fall foul of them as they are not known for their tolerance and forbearance with those who cross them.’
‘Do they have any dark secrets that they would not wish spread abroad?’
‘Rumours abound, John, but most are probably idle tittle-tattle. They have been accused of many things over the years.’
‘Such as?’ persisted the coroner.
‘Idolatry, including worshipping a disembodied head named Baphomet – and even the denial of the crucifixion of Our Lord and spitting on the True Cross.’ He shuddered and crossed himself as he uttered the words, reminding de Wolfe of his own clerk. ‘But I think these must be foul slanders about an Order so favoured by Rome.’