Lions of the Grail Read online

  ‘Montmorency is right,’ he said. ‘The Rule of the order is strict on this matter and stipulates what your punishment must be. For the rest of today you must carry out the task I am about to set you, but after that you will be in disgrace. From now on, until told otherwise, you will work with the grooms dunging out the stables. At night you will sleep in the barn, not with your brother knights in the dormitory. You will eat your dinner off the floor of the Refectory.’

  Savage’s face flushed a deep red. He stared at the floor.

  De Vere sighed and wiped his forehead as his anger subsided.

  ‘When I judge that you have learned some humility, I will rescind this punishment and you can re-join your brethren again,’ he said. ‘Perhaps by then you will have learned to appreciate your privileges more.’

  Savage bit his lip. Fury boiled inside him.

  Montmorency smiled and looked satisfied.

  ‘Now,’ the commander addressed them all once more, ‘once the other commanders have arrived we will be holding a special council meeting in the chapel. I have instructed the sergeants to guard the perimeter of the preceptory. No one is to be let in or out once the council begins. You knights are in charge of the defence. At all costs, you must protect the chapel and let no one enter. You will stand guard in full battle readiness. Do you understand?’

  They all nodded.

  ‘Good. You are dismissed.’

  The three knights left the commander’s quarters and re-emerged into the courtyard. They exchanged nervous glances.

  ‘You shouldn’t have goaded the commander like that, Savage,’ Geoffry de Chamberlayne said. ‘It’s obvious he’s nervous. That temper of yours will get you killed one day.’

  Savage just grunted.

  ‘That bastard Montmorency had to stick his nose in though. I don’t like him.’

  His brethren avoided his eyes, uncomfortable with the fact that Savage was criticizing the man who would soon be their new commander.

  ‘This place will be hard to defend,’ Edward Harley, another of the knights, said. ‘It’s a farm. It’s not a fort. There’s no perimeter wall, just that picket fence.’

  ‘If this treasure is so precious our Masters should have taken it to one of the order’s castles instead of this place,’ Savage said. ‘But let’s not question their orders, eh? Far be it from me to point out their stupidity.’

  He spat on the ground.

  Geoffry glanced nervously around.

  ‘I’m sure there is a perfectly good reason why they did not take it to a castle,’ he said.

  Richard Savage tutted.

  ‘Just you keep your head down and make sure you do what you’re told, de Chamberlayne. You don’t want to be helping me with mucking out the horses now do you?’

  They all fell into a sullen silence.

  ‘What do you think the treasure is?’ Savage said.

  He would not admit it, but he ached to know what the riders had brought. Perhaps this, finally, was an actual manifestation of the sort of secrets and mysteries the order had a reputation of guarding.

  ‘Has anyone heard anything about it? Anything at all?’

  They all shrugged.

  ‘All I know is that it’s very special,’ Harley said.

  The rest of the day passed in a flurry of activity. The knights and the few sergeants and men-at-arms of the preceptory did their best to secure the boundary and set up various lookout points where watch could be kept on the surrounding countryside.

  Savage was mostly too busy for his resentment to smoulder but every now and again indignity at his punishment provoked a surge of anger he found very hard to quell.

  Throughout the afternoon commanders of the order from all over the Shire arrived on horseback. Each was ushered through to the chapel until finally, as evening started to fall, the three young knights were again summoned before their commander, this time before the double wooden doors of the round chapel.

  The knights were armed for combat. Their bodies cased in chain mail, shields slung by the straps over their shoulders and their swords sheathed at their sides. De Vere on the other hand was dressed in the full ceremonial robes of a commander of the order: a long white mantle, belted at the waist with the equal-armed cross emblazoned on his chest in crimson. He also wore a long, pure white cloak and a flowing white headdress of the kind worn by the people of the East. It was obvious this was an important meeting.

  ‘We are about to begin,’ the commander said. ‘I am sorry that the Master of the Hospitallers seems not to have been able to come. That news will not disappoint all of you.’

  He aimed a reproachful glance at Savage who met his gaze with more insolence than the commander liked.

  ‘However, we can wait no longer,’ de Vere continued. ‘You men must stand guard at the doors of the chapel. No one is to be let in until I open these doors again. No one. On pain of death.’

  De Vere swept back into the chapel, drawing the doors closed behind him. The knights heard the rattling of iron as the bolts were drawn and the doors locked.

  The three armoured knights remained standing outside as the first few heavy spots of rain began falling from the darkening sky.

  Geoffry sighed and looked up at the clouds. Within moments a steady downpour had begun.

  ‘I’ve had enough of this nonsense,’ Savage growled and began to head off in the direction of the knights’ quarters.

  ‘Where are you going?’ said Harley.

  ‘I don’t know yet,’ Savage said without bothering to turn around.

  ‘You can’t leave. You’re under a direct order!’ Geoffry said. ‘You’re in enough trouble as it is.’

  Savage stopped and this time did turn.

  ‘You may be happy to stand in the rain, kept in the dark about what is going on while those old fools wallow in their own self-importance,’ he said, ‘but I’m not. I’m going to pack my belongings and then I’m leaving.’

  ‘Leave?’ Harley said. ‘You can’t just walk out of the Order of the Temple. What about your vows? What about the Crusade?’

  ‘What about it?’ Savage said with a shrug.

  ‘Why did you even join the order anyway, Savage?’ Geoffry said. ‘If you think you can just walk away from your brethren?’

  ‘Why did I join?’ Savage said, his voice cracking. He looked left and right, heaving a heavy sigh. ‘Alright: I joined because of a woman.’

  Geoffry barked a short laugh.

  ‘You know it never fails to amaze me,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘how many men join an order that demands an oath of celibacy due to something caused by the lack of just that same thing.’

  Savage grunted.

  ‘Go and swive yourself,’ he said. ‘I’m leaving.’

  The other knights exchanged worried glances.

  ‘You can’t desert the order. It is the ultimate disgrace. We won’t let you,’ Harley shouted after him.

  Savage’s hand dropped to rest on the hilt of his sword.

  ‘Are you going to try and stop me?’ he said.

  The other two knights remained still. They trained regularly with Savage and were well aware of his ability in combat. None of them relished much the idea of fighting him.

  Savage spat into the mud.

  ‘I didn’t think so,’ he said in a mutter, then turned his back on them to recommence his journey to the knights’ quarters.

  He had barely got half-way there when he stopped. The desire to know the truth about what the riders had brought from France, to know what was in the chapel, itched within him like an unhealed sore. Could he really walk away from the possibility of actually finding proof that there was something greater than this miserable existence? After all, he had forsaken so much back home in Ireland to seek out the truth behind these mysteries.

  The vision of the laughing face of a beautiful young woman suddenly came to his mind. Memories of a beautiful summer’s day, a tournament and his last days in Ireland rushed back to him. Savage felt a strange pang i
n his chest, an uncomfortable mixture of sadness and guilt. Could he really go back now? Admit he was wrong? Would she ever forgive him?

  He screwed his eyes shut tight, trying to dispel the vision.

  When he opened them again, Savage saw a sergeant running towards him. The man’s face was ashen grey.

  ‘Syr le Savage,’ the sergeant said. ‘Come quickly. There is trouble.’

  5

  Savage shook his head. He was about to say that it was no longer his concern then he stopped himself, the memory of the sergeant on the rooftop in Tortosa coming back to him. Like him, this sergeant was a veteran warrior, not the type who was easily vexed and the man was clearly worried.

  ‘What is it?’ he said.

  ‘Horsemen. Soldiers. Lots of them and they’re coming this way.’

  ‘Where?’ Savage said.

  The sergeant led the way to the barn where a ladder was placed against the wall. The knight and the sergeant scrambled up the ladder and balanced themselves unsteadily on the ridge that ran along the centre of the barn roof.

  The sergeant did not need to point. Emerging from the woods to the North was a large band of men. Some were mounted, most were on foot. Some carried swords, others pikes and most had shields. There were bowmen among them.

  Savage took a quick look round and swore.

  ‘God’s bones! There’s more of them.’

  To the South, across the ploughed fields more soldiers were approaching. To the East, along the road that came to the Priory from the nearby village of Garway, another convoy of riders was approaching. At the head of them rode a man in green clothes with distinctive long, blond hair.

  There were soldiers approaching from three sides, while to the West any escape was cut off by the wide, fast-flowing waters of the Monnow River.

  ‘We’re surrounded: like rats in a trap,’ Savage said in a breathless voice.

  ‘That looks like Henry Pimlot, the County Sheriff,’ the sergeant said, pointing at the blond-haired rider.

  ‘It looks like they’re finally coming to arrest us,’ Savage said. ‘We have to tell the commander.’

  ‘Well will you look at that?’ the sergeant exclaimed.

  Savage looked to see what he was pointing at. Beside the Sheriff rode a man entirely dressed in black. Emblazoned clearly on the shoulder of his ebony cloak was an equal-armed cross, the mirror of Savage’s Templar insignia but white instead of crimson. It was the insignia of the Order of St John of Jerusalem, the Knights Hospitaller. Beside him rode a man in the robes of the Temple, Hugo de Montmorency.

  ‘Montmorency is riding with the Master of the Hospitallers,’ Savage said. ‘The treacherous bastard.’

  They both scrambled down off the barn roof and ran to the chapel as fast as they could.

  ‘There are soldiers coming. The Sheriff is with them and the Master of the Hospitallers,’ Savage said to his fellow knights who were surprised to see him back so soon.

  ‘What do they want?’ de Chamberlayne said.

  ‘They’re fully armed. There’s about a hundred of them, including cavalry and archers. I think it’s safe to assume this is not a social visit,’ Savage said. ‘We’ve got to let the commander know.’

  Savage’s mailed fist hammered loud and insistent on the chapel door. After a few moments came the sound of the door being unlocked. Commander de Vere’s face appeared, puce with rage.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he said in a roar.

  ‘Sire, the Sheriff has got us surrounded. It looks like the King of England has finally given in to the Pope’s demands for us to be arrested,’ Savage said.

  De Vere’s face fell in shock.

  ‘Savage: Assemble the sergeants-at-arms here. The rest of you, wait here,’ he said.

  The chapel door closed again.

  Savage ran to get the sergeants and before long the combined total fighting force of the Priory – four knights and ten sergeants – was gathered before the chapel door.

  After a few moments’ anxious wait, the chapel door opened again. To the surprise of those outside de Vere and the other six commanders emerged, each one carrying his unsheathed sword. The sight of these old men prepared for a fight sent a little shiver down Savage’s spine.

  De Vere turned to Savage.

  ‘What’s the situation?’

  ‘I’d say there are about a hundred soldiers approaching from three sides,’ Savage said. ‘Fifty from the North, about thirty from the South and a column of cavalry from the village: the Sheriff is riding with them. The river has us hemmed in to the West.’

  ‘Archers?’

  ‘Yes. A few crossbowmen as well.’

  ‘We’re desperately outnumbered, then,’ de Vere said.

  ‘There’s one more thing, Sire,’ Savage said.

  De Vere raised an eyebrow.

  ‘The Master of the Knights Hospitaller is with the Sheriff. Hugo Montmorency rides with them too.’

  For a second de Vere looked stunned, then he looked down and gave a bitter laugh.

  ‘Well, Savage, it looks like you were right after all,’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘I’ve been an idealistic old fool to think that all men would be as tired of bloodshed as I am.’

  Savage lowered his own gaze, unsure what to say.

  ‘Well so be it,’ the commander said. ‘Brethren, we are facing our most formidable challenge yet. The rules of our order forbid us to surrender. So, we shall meet our foes at the gate.’

  De Vere began marching resolutely towards the large wooden gate that blocked the entrance to the courtyard. A loud banging could be heard coming from the other side.

  Savage hurried to keep up with his commander.

  ‘Sire, this is suicide,’ he said, muttering from the side of his mouth to de Vere in a confidential voice. ‘We’re hopelessly outnumbered. It’s not true that our Rule does not permit surrender. Does this have something to do with our French brethren? I see they have not left the chapel to join us.’

  ‘Perceptive and nosey to the end, Savage,’ de Vere said in a confidential tone. He with a smile as he walked. ‘I have wronged you, so I shall let you into a secret: In the chapel, beneath the altar, is the entrance to a secret passageway that leads underground out of the preceptory. It was built years ago with this very situation in mind. I will not tell you where it leads. Our French brethren are making their escape that way. We must buy time for them and allow them to get away. What they carry is so precious that we cannot allow it to be captured.’

  ‘What can be so precious as to be worth the lives of so many men?’ Savage said. A long-forgotten memory, the face of Brother Gui, surfaced in his mind for some reason.

  ‘I cannot tell you, Savage. If you knew then you must follow us,’ the commander said. He smiled again; his eyes had a strange, glazed appearance. ‘I give thanks to God that that shit Syr Hugo Montmorency has not been here long enough for us to have revealed the secret of the passageway. The commanders, however, all know about it. We cannot allow ourselves to be captured. Our persecutors have instruments of persuasion in their torture chambers that can break the resolve of the strongest men, and we are all old, tired and long past our prime. Savage, you must promise me this: When all the commanders are dead, you will surrender. Save the lives of the sergeants and you younger knights. Once we have bought enough time for the French brothers to escape there will be no need for everyone to die.’

  ‘No Sire,’ Savage said. ‘We must all fight, and die fighting if necessary.’

  ‘Savage, I’m an old man,’ de Vere said. ‘I have lived my life and I’ve seen enough of death and killing. We commanders have no choice now, but do not throw away your life needlessly.’

  Savage could not reply. His throat felt strangely choked and his eyes stung.

  At that moment there was a crash as the preceptory gate smashed open. Through the splintered remnants of it several armed horsemen burst through into the courtyard. As they quickly arranged themselves in a defensive line they were followed by th
e Sheriff and the Master of the Hospitallers, both with swords drawn. Behind them foot soldiers and archers began pouring in.

  ‘Commander Guilleme de Vere,’ the Sheriff shouted. ‘We have come with a warrant for the arrest of you and every Templar here. You are all charged with the crime of heresy and must answer before a Church court. Surrender.’

  De Vere raised his sword.

  ‘Never.’ He said. ‘Beauséant!’

  At the sound of the battle-cry of the Order of the Temple, the other brethren ripped their swords from their sheaths and echoed ‘Beauséant’ at the top of their voices.

  The sound of this famous war cry made the Sheriff’s men hesitate for a second. De Vere charged towards them and the rest of the knights and sergeants followed, screaming and brandishing their weapons.

  The lead horseman recovered his wits and spurred his horse forward, intending to cut de Vere down. With surprising dexterity, the old man spun around, avoiding the sword blade that chopped down towards him. The commander thrust his sword upwards, back over his head and the blade sunk into the rider’s back as he rode passed. With a scream he collapsed backwards off the saddle, landing with a heavy thump on the courtyard ground.

  Savage felt like cheering the commander’s skill and wondered what a fearsome warrior he must have been in his younger days.

  He did not have long to contemplate this. Another horseman was galloping towards him. The rider swung his sword down. Savage hoisted his shield to protect himself. The heavy impact made him stagger sideways. Savage swiped in vain at the horseman like his commander had done but he had already galloped on towards the other knights, looking for another target.

  The other old commanders surged forward, swiping at their mounted attackers with similar expertise as that displayed by de Vere. Soon the first charge was over and the Sheriff’s men had retreated to the gate again. Five of their horses now had empty saddles. Their riders lay in pools of blood on the ground.

  The order had taken no casualties.

  ‘Forward again,’ de Vere roared. ‘Drive them back out the gates.’

  The knights surged forward across the courtyard towards the Sheriff’s men.