Prologue
La Rochelle, the Coast of France – September, 1307
The huddle of men sitting around the makeshift table paused in their whispering as the knock sounded on the door. Omar put his finger to his lips and hissed, “Shhh” and pointed to the door. They all drew their knives or swords as they looked at each other and moved toward the locked entrance. The pattern of the knock was repeated twice, followed by a pause, and then was repeated once more. The men relaxed some as they recognized the signal, although they kept their weapons ready. Omar moved to the door and easily removed the heavy plank that served as the lock. The visitor stood in the opened door and provided the sign that kept him from being quickly killed, then slowly entered the room. It was Baullier from Corbeil and one of the Order’s members. He removed his cloak, flicked the rain water off it, and sat down at the table. His beard dripped as he pointed his grave eyes at each of the three men in turn.
“Bad news,” he whispered. “The King is planning to disband the Order and eliminate all of the members.”
“We thought that there may be trouble brewing,” Omar replied, looking around. “We were just discussing plans. How did you find out?”
“Lucius contacted me two days ago; I left immediately to come here.” Lucius was a member of the King Philip IV’s court in Île de la Cité and was a secret knight in the Order.
Baullier spoke up, “The Pope will protect us, won’t he?”
“Lucius said that the King has influenced Pope Clement to go along with him, so it looks like we are on our own. Why’s the king doing this?”
Omar looked at Baullier and said, “Philip does not want to pay the debts he owes us. He’s also placing his relatives in positions of power--he doesn’t want to share that power with us. Did he give you any details?” asked Omar.
“He told me that the attack is planned for October thirteenth. It will take that long for the King to gather his troops to carry out the purge.”
“That’s only three weeks’ time!” spoke up Landreau.
Omar replied, “That’s not a lot of time to make our escape. It’s a good thing we have procedures in place to contact our members; we need to call them together--immediately!” They discussed various timelines and considered what they should do. Although Omar would have liked to have all the member knights to gather for the escape, he realized that those members that were in the far reaches of France may not get the word quickly enough to meet here. “Not everyone can get here by the time we leave,” he said.
“What do we tell them?” asked Baullier.
“Tell them to leave the country at once and make their way to the Templar lands in Scotland.”
“Will they know where those lands are?” asked Landreau.
“Tell them go to Pitfundie in the sheriffdom of Nairnm, between Brodie on the East and Penick Map and the woods of Lochloy Map on the west,” replied Omar. “They should be safe there. Advise them to stay there until someone comes for them. Also tell them that if they are captured, they will be tortured until they admit heresy and then they’ll be burned at the stake. Philip is getting a reputation for that.” He looked at the men nodding that they agreed with his assessment.
“It’s no wonder the people are beginning to call him the Iron King instead of Philip the Fair,” Baullier snarled.
“That settles it,” said Omar. “We’ll meet back here in six days’ time. We all know who we need to contact to get the message out.” As he spoke, the others began to move about collecting their coats. There was no time for idle talk; the meeting had lasted no longer than thirteen minutes before all four had mounted their horses and silently moved off into the night, each going a different direction. Each man rode from one contact to another, attempting to be as discreet as possible. As soon as a new contact had the word, he was off to spread the message to others. At the end of two days, the original four turned back toward the rendezvous spot, needing to be the first there in order to get preparations moving.
After six nights, the group began to gather, coming one or two at a time; each person that knocked was considered an enemy until he could prove his allegiance to the Order. Unlike other gatherings, there was no sign of casualness, as each face reflected a heightened sense of purpose. This was not a group that feared anything; however, they somehow knew that this could foreshadow a turn of fortunes for the Order. Coming from communities all over southwestern France, each man had established a reason for his extended absence from his workday. This gathering had to be kept a secret from King Philip and all his informers.
When it appeared that all were there, Omar called the meeting to order. “I am sure that most of you have heard what the King has planned for us. He is gathering his forces now and will torture and kill all knights that he can capture.”
Gerard de Villiers yelled out, “Let him try--his men are no match for us!” There was a great murmuring of agreement in the group.
Omar replied, “I agree . . . as long as the numbers are close. But he is assembling an army to carry out his orders. The numbers will just be too great for us to survive. It is time we moved on. France is no longer our friend.”
“Where will we go?” came from the back of the room.
Another shouted, “How long do we have?”
Omar replied to the second man, “We have only two weeks to make our escape. We have eighteen ships in port now that we can use. But we’ll have to be careful; we can’t let them know what we are doing.”
“Just how are we supposed to do that? How can we keep it a secret that we are loading all the boats? Someone will see us and report us--and the King will attack earlier than expected.” Master Jerar de Poitous asked the questions that many of them were thinking.
“We’ll sleep and work normally during the daytime and load them during the nights. There shouldn’t be anyone around in the dark; nevertheless, we’ll post guards. If anyone sees us, his fate is sealed.” Omar was definitely in charge of the meeting.
“Where will we go? You did not answer my question.” It was Guillaume again.
Omar replied, “I will answer that in a minute. Any other questions?”
One of men from Marseille spoke up. “Are we going to split the treasure up or send it all to one place?”
“We’ll put it all on the five boats we send to New Scotland. As you know, we have a place there where we have established a colony just as a precaution if this would happen. They should have a hiding place created for the treasure; we’ll bury it there. Baulliere will go with me in that group. Other boats, we’ll send to Scotland and England and set a time when we will all meet again. Landreau will lead the five boats to England and Guillaume will take his group to Scotland. We have lands in those countries where we should be safe.” He looked at Guillaume as he said this.
The rest of the meeting was taken up by planning how to secretly load the galleys and setting the timeline for the escape. The men were designated to twelve-man teams and each squad was assigned to a boat. It was almost daylight before they finished and they all lay down on straw to sleep.
The next two weeks were a flurry of activity—all at night. During the day, the men slept and took their turns at watch or work. They were all fit and they quickly gathered and loaded all they planned to take with them. Each day, they received updates on the king’s armies; it seemed as if every man not with them had been drafted into service and they were coming from all of France to join the purge. On the night of Friday, October twelfth, the knights assembled for the last time.
It seemed as if someone were watching out for them as the fierce storm kept the night completely dark except for the occasional streak of lightening racing across the sky; the wet wind coming off the ocean was numbing, but they were happy for the storm, as no one would venture out during this type weather. The men were assigned ships and they quietly took their places. The only sounds heard were the shuffling of boots and hooves as they led their horses up the long gangways. They secured their mounts with the canvas slings that would protect them in rough and rolling seas. They used oars to quietly propel the boats away from the shore. As each ship unfurled its sails, every man stood on the deck shivering, watching the darkened shoreline disappear into the blackness. They would sail due east until they cleared the Ile de Re’ and then turn north toward their destinations.
Omar stood beside his friend. Baullier raised his hand and pointed to the shore. “Will this be the last time we set foot on France?”
In the darkness, Baullier could not see Omar, who slowly nodded his head. “I am afraid it is. May God grant us safe journey.”
