Falconer and the Death of Kings

FIFTEEN

The two men sat either side of the fire grinning at each other, each with a goblet of wine in their hand. One was well built, with a neat white tunic covering his broad shoulders and slim waist. He exuded power and self-confidence even though his greying hair betrayed his advancing years. The other was somewhat older still, and a little more down at heel, his dowdy black robe hiding a shape that had once been that of a fighter but was now softer, more generous around the waist. The second man stared at the other in mock astonishment.

‘You are the new Grand Master, Guillaume?’

De Beaujeu laughed, raising his glass to toast his own success.

‘Yes, William. Who would have thought it when we met all those years ago?’

Falconer cast his mind back some dozen years to a time when the Papal Legate was in Oxford. An attempt had been made on Bishop Otho’s life, and someone else had got killed. Falconer had at first suspected de Beaujeu, who had appeared in the town just at the right time. His shadowy presence had attracted both Falconer’s attention and that of the town constable, Peter Bullock. In fact, the Templar had been on a mission on behalf of the former Grand Master, Thomas Bérard, concerning the appointment of the next Pope to succeed Alexander. He was a killer of men in wars, but not a murderer. Once Falconer’s mistake had been rectified, the two men had struck up a friendship based on mutual respect. It had lasted the years, even though they rarely encountered each other. Each had gone his own way and pursued different goals. It seemed that de Beaujeu had achieved his, and Falconer was not surprised.

‘Actually, I had no doubt you would be the Grand Master eventually. Even if you had had to eliminate all the opposition on the way, you would have got there.’

He remembered the Templar’s extraordinary skill in silent death. De Beaujeu was more like a Muslim Assassin than he probably dared to admit to himself. Now the Templar saluted his companion and old friend.

‘And you, Master William Falconer, you come before me as emissary of King Edward of England, no less. Or was that merely a ruse to gain admittance to the Temple?’

Falconer’s face took on a more serious look, as he recalled the task that had led him here.

‘Indeed it was not. I can show you a letter from the king, if you don’t believe me.’

De Beaujeu held up his hand.

‘That is not necessary between old friends. What is it you seek?’

‘Something you can help me with, actually. It concerns a Templar who got himself into trouble in England a couple of years ago. He then disappeared from view, and I don’t know if he is alive still. But I would dearly like to talk to him, if he is.’

De Beaujeu frowned. He may be the Grand Master of the Templar Knights and could wield great power. But the order took seriously the protection of its own. It would be a dangerous game to expose another Templar to the scrutiny of an outsider. Even one as respected as William Falconer. And he had a good idea who it was whom Falconer was hunting. He had to play the game through, however.

‘Who is this man you are seeking?’

‘He is called Odo de Reppes.’

It was as de Beaujeu thought. He knew all about de Reppes — had been advised by Thomas Bérard on his deathbed what deadly affair the Templar had been involved in. What he did not know was why his friend needed to talk to de Reppes. And so he now wanted some time to consider his options. He played dumb, though he did not like doing so with Falconer.

‘I am the new man, you understand. There is much for me to find out concerning the affairs of the order. Matters that only each Grand Master would know about, and some facts die with him. Let me ask around and see if de Reppes can be unearthed. Only then can I consider your request — whether I can allow you to see him or not.’

‘I understand that, Guillaume. I know your allegiance always has been and always will be to the order. I can expect nothing less of you, especially now. I can assure you of one thing, though. If what I have heard of de Reppes’ actions is true, then I can do him no more harm than he has already done to himself. And if they are untrue, then it is as well to set the facts right. How much time do you need?’

He was so relieved at Falconer’s retreat that de Beaujeu spoke without thought.

‘A day or two will suffice, I am sure. Come back the day after tomorrow, and I will hope to have news for you.’

Falconer nodded and took his leave of his old friend. He was escorted back to the gateway of the Temple by the same sergeant-at-arms, who must have waited patiently outside the great hall until the Grand Master’s visitor left. Walking across the marshy land between the Temple and Paris’s city walls, Falconer glanced back at the Temple tower. Its many turrets jutted up into the cloudy sky like arrows aimed at the very heavens. He grimaced, as a few drops of rain fell.

‘What sort of game are you playing now, Guillaume? What do you know about Odo de Reppes that you would hide from me?’

Falconer had seen through de Beaujeu’s hasty assessment of his ability to trace Odo de Reppes. If he had truly not known where he was, it would surely have been impossible to say he could tell Falconer in only a day or two. He had expected to be delayed by weeks while the man was sought. And even then he might have been dead already, or far away in Outremer. But the new Grand Master had promised a response much more quickly than that. Nor had he directly said he did not know where de Reppes was located, choosing the words of his reply with care. Falconer therefore knew that the Templar’s location was almost certainly already known to Guillaume. He had just needed time to work out what his friend wanted him for. Well, Falconer would let de Beaujeu have the time, if in the end he let him speak to the man. In the meantime, he would see how Thomas Symon was doing with his hunt for the murderer of Paul Hebborn.

Reaching the banks of the Seine, Falconer stepped cautiously on to the narrow plank bridge called the Planche Milbray that he had crossed on his way to the Temple. The wooden surface was now made even more slippery by the drizzle. He trod carefully, and was halfway across when he heard a cry from behind him. Looking back, he saw that an old man was clutching on to the handrail. He was clearly complaining about someone who had pushed past him in his haste to cross the bridge. The figure, now approaching Falconer, was enveloped in a black cloak with its hood pulled up over his head. Nothing unusual in that, thought Falconer; it was raining, after all. Which also probably explained the person’s need to hurry. He turned back and walked on, planting his feet firmly on the planks. Suddenly, the speeding figure was upon him, having closed the gap between them extremely quickly. Falconer turned aside to let him pass, but the figure hit him hard with his shoulder, deliberately barging into him. As Falconer lost his balance, he was aware of a pale, youthful face staring at him from under the hood. Then he slid between the handrail and the planks and could see only the swift-flowing river looming up below him.