The King did not fly into tempers; his rages were cold and calculating and his revenge on those who displeased him could be terrible.
She been working at her embroidery one day when her mother had come to her and sat beside her.
“The King is in high spirits this day,’ she had commented. “The Pope is dead.” “Oh!” cried Isabella, ‘that is good news for France.’
“A foolish man,’ commented this Queen. ‘He thought to break his promises to your father.’
“Then he deserves to die,’ said Isabella. ‘He did not reign long as Pope. Was he an old man that he should die so soon?” The Queen smiled slowly. ‘Let us say that he was a greedy man. A basket of fresh figs was sent to him. He ate too many of them.” ‘Could he die through eating figs?’
‘This Pope did,’ said the Queen still smiling.
What rumours there were about that basket of figs! It was said that the Roman enemies of the Pope had had poison inserted into the luscious fruit before they had been sent to Benedict. It was even whispered that Guillaume de Nogaret had done it. But the chief suspect was one few dared name: the King of France.
Philip was certainly ready to seize the advantage and was determined that the next Pope should be his man. His choice fell on Bertrand de Goth, a man of great ambitions, and one who would be ready to do anything to gain his ends.
The very man for Pope. But what chance had the Archbishop of Bordeaux of reaching that mighty pinnacle? None without help of the most powerful man in Europe. And if he had that help?
‘Why should we not make a bargain,’ demanded the shrewd King of France.
A hard bargain it was but the Archbishop knew very well that it was his one hope of becoming Pope, and being the man he was he seized it. In a short time he had become Pope Clement V.
The papal resident had been moved from Rome to Avignon. This Pope was undoubtedly the King’s man.
Isabella knew that one of a ruler’s most urgent needs was for money. It was often the topic of conversation in intimate family circles. Subjects thought their rulers were possessed of inexhaustible coffers into which they had but to delve.
How different was the truth. Those coffers had to be filled and one of the main preoccupations was how to replenish them. Philip was like the rest in this. He had no alchemist’s secret of turning base metal into gold. So he must look about for other means.
He had hated the Templars since they had opposed him and the desire for revenge on them had been festering in his mind for some time. He would have taken that revenge before had he not been so immersed in papal affairs. Now he saw a means of satisfying two cravings at the same time. He could gain a great deal of money while taking revenge.
About two years before when there had been riots in Paris, he had been in danger and it had been necessary for him to seek a refuge. This had been offered to him by the Templars in the Temple Palace and during his stay there he had become aware of the amount of treasure which was stored in their vaults.
Isabella had heard a great deal about the Knights Templars― The Order of the Knights of the Temple of Jerusalem. They were a military religious order of knighthood which had been formed to protect the pilgrims to the Holy Land.
They had done good service during the Crusades and they had been maintained and rewarded in many countries and this had been the foundation of their great wealth.
Lately stories been circulated about the order. Being a rich and successful one, it had generated a great deal of envy. Isabella listened wide-eyed to the gossip. Her women talked of the Templars in hushed whispers while they assisted at her toilette.
The stories grew more and more outrageous.
“They have strange ceremonies. They have a Grand Master who is all- powerful. They say that what goes on at the initiation is too evil to be spoken of.’
‘But I wish to know,’ Isabella had said.
Glances were exchanged, reproving ones. ‘These things should not be spoken of before the Princess. ‘They are not for my lady’s ears,’ said one.
Nothing could anger Isabella more. She wanted to hear everything and the more shocking the more necessary was it for her to hear about it. When her temper was aroused, she had been known to administer many a painful slap or nip.
‘You will tell me,’ she said.
There was moment’s hesitation but only a moment’s, for her attendants had learned it was unwise to offend their imperious mistress. One of them whispered: ‘They spit on the crucifix and deny God.’
‘What else?’ demanded Isabella.
‘They have to behave― indecently on the altar― with each other.’
Isabella wrinkled her brows trying to imagine what acts were performed and as she saw that some of her women had a notion of this she was loath to show her ignorance so she repeated: ‘What else?’
‘They make obscene images and they worship goats and cats. And there are indecent acts with animals. They kiss them― in all manner of places―’
This was easier to understand and Isabella stared round-eyed with wonder.
‘They have children,’ whispered one woman, ‘when they should not according to law have them. Then they seek to destroy them.’
‘How?’
‘They roast them alive over a pan into which the fat drips and this fat they smear over their idols. It is a sort of sacrifice― an offering.’
‘It makes me feel sick,’ said Isabella.
‘I know we should not have told you, my lady.’
‘When I command you to tell me you will tell me, but I do not believe knights would behave so.’
The women fell silent and then Isabella said: ‘But perhaps they do. My father hates them. He is going to make them sorry for these evil deeds.’
Then the women shivered for they knew some evil would befall the Knights Templars.
And they were right.
They were filling the prisons now; they were confessing their sins. There was only one way of dealing with such wickedness, declared the King. From the squares in Ile de la Cité, the smoke could be seen rising and in the air was the acrid smell of burning flesh. The persecution of the Templars was providing a rich haul, for when a Knight was condemned for his sins his treasures fell naturally into the hands of the King.
‘We must impress the English,’ he told Isabella, ‘and as my daughter you must have a dowry worthy of you. We must make much of your bridegroom when he comes to marry you because he is the King of England.’
She liked to gloat over her treasures with her attendants round her. Her father was true to his word. She was to be magnificently equipped and for this she must thank the Knights Templars for she knew she owed her rich possessions to them.
‘It was God’s will that I discovered their villainies at this time,’ commented the King with a wry smile. ‘And there is more to come.’ He rubbed his hands together in glee and the Princess smiled at him. Her brothers thought their father was very clever and so did she, but she hated the smell of burning flesh, which seemed to permeate the air. She would not think of it. After all, it was very wicked of them to burn their babies― even though they should never have had them in the first place― and rub their fat over their idols. That image haunted her, sickened her, so that she turned to her treasures and thought how much better it was for a beautiful young girl to think that they should be buried away in chests in some gloomy vault.
She had two golden crowns decorated with magnificent jewels and she knew that the jewels had been taken from the Templars’ store and her father had had them set into the golden crowns for her.
“Remember always, daughter, that you are my daughter. You will have a young husband who is not very serious-minded. You must always remember to make him the friend of France.’