‘I’m not behind anything!’ snapped de Wolfe irascibly. ‘I wish I’d never heard of either of the damned fellows. But I suppose I must come down with you. What about Gwyn?’
‘He has been around the alehouses with the gossip – no hardship for him, I’m sure!’ the little man added wryly. ‘And I saw him just now, talking to some of the men-at-arms downstairs in the guardroom, so he’s probably telling them as well.’
The result of Gwyn’s publicity was even more rapid than that of Thomas’s. By the time John and his clerk had reached the gateway to Rougemont, Sergeant Gabriel was hurrying towards them from the direction of the keep. ‘The sheriff wants to see you, Crowner. Something about a new Templar giving a sermon tomorrow. He seemed in a high temper about it. Wants you to go to his chamber right away.’
De Wolfe sighed a great sigh. ‘Can’t be done, Gabriel. I have to see the archdeacon urgently at the Chapter House. Tell the sheriff that if he wants to talk about it he had better join us at the cathedral without delay.’
Determined not to be at the beck and call of Richard de Revelle, de Wolfe waved the sergeant away and, with Thomas clip-clopping behind, he strode away down towards the high street and the Close.
He found John de Alençon waiting impatiently in the Chapter House. This was a square wooden structure outside the South Tower in which the daily chapter meetings of the canons and lesser clergy were held. It had bare benches around three sides and a lectern on the other, where a chapter of the gospels was read at each session, giving the assembly its name. A wooden ladder in the corner led to the cathedral library above. The archdeacon’s spare frame was pacing up and down, his cassock sweeping the floor in his agitation. Sharp grey eyes looked out worriedly from his thin face, accentuating his ascetic appearance. ‘John, what am I hearing about tomorrow? Is there no end to this?’
De Wolfe sank on to a front bench and turned up his hands in exasperated supplication. ‘It is not of my doing. Another ex-Templar has appeared, this time intent on delivering some religious truth. I have no control over him, so what do you expect me to do?’
De Alençon slumped on to the wooden seat alongside the coroner. ‘I wish the bishop was here. This should be the responsibility of someone with a higher authority. I have been visited by Cosimo and the Templar knights, who told me of their concern that serious heresy is afoot.’
The outer door banged and in marched Richard de Revelle, green cloak flowing in the wind and an expression of outrage on his narrow face. ‘You’re treading on thin ice, John,’ he began, without any preamble. ‘I have heard that some foolishness is to be to be perpetrated here tomorrow and it seems that you are linked to it in some way.’
De Wolfe jumped to his feet. ‘For God’s sake, it’s none of my doing! Some religious fanatic appears in the city and immediately everyone thinks he is my protégé.’
‘This cannot be allowed to continue!’ shouted the sheriff. ‘I’ll have three senior Templars on my back like a ton of quarrystone. When they hear of this, they will demand that he be arrested.’
‘Do you know who we are talking about?’ grated de Wolfe. ‘You want him arrested and yet you don’t even know his name.’
‘So who is he?’ demanded de Revelle.
‘He’s another Templar – or perhaps former Templar would be more accurate. No doubt he has already been ejected from the Order,’ observed de Wolfe.
The archdeacon, who disliked the sheriff as much as de Wolfe did, could not resist putting a brake on his autocratic manner. ‘Forgive me, de Revelle, but I have to point out that not only do you have no jurisdiction in the cathedral precinct, except upon the roads, but that I fail to see how you can arrest anyone for threatening to give a religious address, sacrilegious or otherwise. Both those matters are strictly within the authority of the Church and its Consistory Courts.’
Richard de Revelle tried to bluster his way around this. ‘Possibly true, Archdeacon, but if the outrage at heretical preaching leads to a public disturbance or even a riot, which could spread beyond the Close, then it most certainly is a breach of the king’s peace and falls within my remit.’
The two Johns couldn’t resist exchanging cynical smiles at this, coming from a recognised supporter of the prince’s treason.
‘I am very glad to hear you upholding your sovereign Richard’s peace, Sheriff, and I will bear it in mind,’ said the priest sweetly.
‘Are you going to do nothing to prevent this obscenity, then?’ fumed de Revelle.
‘There is no way that we can allow anyone to preach publicly from our own cathedral steps,’ said the Archdeacon decisively, ‘especially when it is rumoured that he is fostering some heresy, presumably that of the Cathars, as he is said to come from that part of France.’
Once again the Chapter House door creaked open and this time a whole crowd of men jostled inside. The three Knights Templar ushered in Cosimo of Modena and their five retainers came in after them to stand ranged around the back of the room.
‘Gossip travels fast in this city,’ observed John de Alençon mildly, looking at the group of damp souls who stood dripping water on to the flagged floor, for the rain had begun again in earnest outside.
The small Italian priest moved to the centre of the floor, in front of the much taller archdeacon. He began speaking in a high pitched whine. ‘It has come to my notice that we have yet more sacrilege amongst us! It is my duty to know of such dangerous men, especially from France, and I tell you, this Bernardus de Blanchefort may present a serious threat to our Mother Church. He must be taken and sent home to be taught the error of his ways.’
‘What are these errors, Brother Abbot?’ asked the archdeacon gravely.
Cosimo looked evasively from him to the coroner and back again. ‘It is the usual foul nonsense, the perverted beliefs of those in the Albi region of the Languedoc. They are so evilly fanciful that, though they make no impression on educated men such as we, if preached openly to the public some of the weaker-minded may be influenced.’
‘He must not be allowed to open his mouth,’ roared Brian de Falaise, from a few feet away. His bull neck and rugged cheeks were almost purple with anger and de Wolfe suspected that if he hadn’t left his broadsword at home to visit a church the blade would be whistling through the air at this point.
‘Where is this accursed fellow, anyway?’ demanded Richard de Revelle. ‘Has anyone seen him? How did we hear that he was in Exeter and intended on this madness tomorrow?’ He glared at his brother-in-law, as if suspecting that he was behind this new problem.
John decided that part of the truth was better than a complete denial. ‘He accosted me in the street today, after the burial of his fellow Templar.’
‘They are no Templars!’ snarled Brian de Falaise. ‘They would have been ejected from our Order with ignominy had they been found before they fled from us.’
‘So you were searching for these men, then, and not just looking for land to purchase?’ observed de Wolfe, with a hard edge to his voice.
Roland de Ver slid smoothly into the exchange. ‘We are seeking new estates, indeed we are. But on our journeying we were also told to look out for our two wayward brothers, who were thought to be in this part of England.’ He looked reprovingly at de Falaise, who glowered back. De Ver continued, ‘My friend here is not quite correct in his harsh judgement of them. If we had come across them in our travels, we were to persuade them to return with us so that the error of their ways could be explained to them, and every effort made to bring them back into the paths of righteousness.’
At this, Godfrey Capra and Brian de Falaise looked at each other as if this was the first they had heard of it, but they wisely held their peace.