 
### The Wolves of Solomon

R.L. Blackhurst

Published by R.L. Blackhurst at Smashwords

Copyright 2008 by R.L. Blackhurst

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This novel is a work of fiction.

All characters portrayed in it are fictitious or are historical figures whose personalities, words and actions are the work of the author's imagination. Any other resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is purely coincidental.

Cover design by Kirsty Bowden

This book is also available in print at most online retailers

Also by R.L. Blackhurst

### Wolf

For my mate, Andy

###  Prologue

Catherine once dreamt she was savaged by a wolf. She could not remember exactly when she had had the dream, but she knew it had been before her mother had died; so before she was five. Neither could she remember the details of the dream, only that she had awoken filled with a fear and exhilaration that had made her both long for the dream to recur and to think upon it in times of trouble. It was a dream she could sense, more than recall and from the moment she had woken, screaming into her mother's soothing arms, she had known that it had some significant bearing on her life.

Her father had always told her to stay away from shadows, warning that wolves and demons lurked within them, but her mother had said that the wolves were their friends. They were the guardians of nature and their howl was not the blood lust cry of savagery and evil but a call of the wild, a reassurance to the world that they were watching over it. Catherine had always preferred her mother's view of it.

Yet now, sitting on the edge of the hard pallet in her cell of solitude, thinking of events of several nights ago, she wished that she had heeded her father's advice. Fear, coupled with an unshakable conviction that her life had changed irreparably, gripped her soul. The details of how or why, like those of the dream so long ago, evaded her so that she knew not whether she was even in her right mind.

Templar Knights were here to see her. Why? She could not imagine. She had heard nothing about what had occurred in the aftermath of the tanner's murder and nobody had spoken to her since the night he had been brutally slain. The Abbess had naturally accused her of creating wild stories and that it was her wilful disobedience that had caused a good man's death. If she had returned with the rest of the sisters as she was meant to, instead of delaying and looking for mischief, she would not have been vulnerable to the immoral intentions of a dangerous stranger.

She had, since then, been locked in a room within the cold confines of the convent and forced to do penance. This consisted of a diet of bread and water, prayer for forgiveness every waking hour and solitude, for a term deemed fit by the Abbess, which she imagined would be indefinite.

But Catherine hadn't prayed for forgiveness, she had just listened to the rustle of her sisters' habits as they scurried passed her door, to their harried whispers and to the inner voice that told her she was in unimaginable trouble. She stood, smoothed down her skirts and followed Sister Clemence out of the room and to her fate.

### Chapter One

"I'm bored," Raymond Caradas said, sniffing crudely and then spitting as if to emphasize the point. He grimaced as his gob landed just to the side of De Floyran's foot.

Esquin de Floyran looked down and then shook his head, "You are so uncouth, Raymond." He chuckled and then added more darkly. "If that had hit my boot you'd be licking it off, that and the mess from your bloodied face."

"I apologise, Esquin but you are unlikely to find him here." Caradas said, casting his eyes once more around the bustling Saturday market.

"I know that." De Floyran replied.

"Then forgive me for asking, but what are we doing here?"

"Looking." De Floyran said evasively.

"Looking for what?" Caradas pressed.

"Just looking." De Floyran answered.

"Looking . . . _right_." Caradas nodded but bit his bottom lip irritably. There was no point continuing the conversation with De Floyran, best let him amuse himself. Caradas looked about to see if he could see the others.

"There," De Floyran said, elbowing Caradas in the ribs.

"What?" Caradas frowned.

De Floyran smiled slowly as he watched the young girl weave her way through the crowded market square. "In the white, the novice."

Caradas searched the crowd and soon spotted the one that had caught De Floyran's eye. There were numerous nuns busying themselves at the village market today, including several novices, but they were never usually cause for any attention. _So, that's what De Floyran was looking for_. Caradas ran his eyes over the girl and then shrugged.

"Can't see much of her in all that garb." He commented without much interest.

"You can see enough." De Floyran said his tone becoming predatory. "Look at her face, her expression. Besides, I can smell her....can't you?"

Caradas lifted his nose to the breeze as it rushed coolly over his face and searched for her scent.

"Nice, but..."

"No buts. I like her."

"Alright then." Caradas acquiesced. "Shall I get the others?"

"No." De Floyran said firmly. "She's mine." He smiled as he watched her converse with an old hunchback in rags, her features kind and sympathetic; her manner innocent. She reached into the pocket of the apron she wore and produced a coin which she pressed into his hand. De Floyran felt his need stir.

"Go find the others and amuse yourselves this evening. Let them suffer your belly aching Raymond. I'll find you tomorrow."

"As you wish, Esquin." Caradas said and bowed his head respectfully as he turned to leave.

"Oh Raymond," De Floyran called after him. "Have I ever had a novice?"

"Not that I recall." He answered and then after several moments of silence he took his leave.

De Floyran moved forward and lent up against a tree as he settled to watch her. His need to know his prey a little before he struck was an important part of the sport. He watched her for a while and then let his eyes leave her for a moment to look at the others in her group. While she walked through the market alone, the other nuns and novices moved in pairs. The others looked much as Esquin imagined they would. Old or unremarkable, weak or ridiculously pious and mostly plain, carrying with them an unpleasant musty smell that De Floyran had come to identify with nuns.

She that drew his gaze possessed none of these qualities. There was something about the upward slant of her big grey eyes and the crimson colour of her lips that made De Floyran forget, for the moment, that he could not find his enemy. He had sought him at Faxfleet but having no luck, had thought to find him here at Temple Bruer. But he was not to be found here either.

Caradas was right in that they were unlikely to come across him at the village market, but De Floyran, knowing this, had come here for a different reason. He had come looking for diversion and he had found it. Her sweet cries would subdue the disappointment he felt at another day lost and he would awaken refreshed on the morrow, ready to continue his search.

She moved more swiftly now, creating further distance between herself and her sisters. She looked about conspicuously as if she were conscious of being seen. What was she up to? De Floyran, increasingly intrigued, watched as she came across an old woman. They embraced briefly and once again she looked around to see if she had anyone's notice. _Only mine_ , De Floyran smiled from within the shadow of the trees. Satisfied that her sisters' attentions were diverted elsewhere, she, and her companion, began to hasten away from the noise and activity of market day.

De Floyran waited until they were out of sight and away from the attention of others. Then tracking her scent, he slowly pursued his quarry. It did not take him long to find where she and her companion had gone; a small crooked cottage not far from the village square. Now all he had to do was be patient. All the better, he thought to himself as the afternoon sun gradually waned and twilight approached.

4th September 1307, Lincolnshire, England

The rain was hard and relentless and Galeren de Massard paused to pull the hood of his cloak further over his head, despite knowing that the action was pointless. Sighing, he resigned himself to a good soaking.

"We'll be sick with fever before we even gain sight of the preceptory. I'm wet through to the bone!" his sergeant Parsifal echoed his thoughts irritably.

"I plan to stop somewhere warm long before then. An early return is not worth the risk of a fever."

"'Twas glorious in Paris, even in London. I wish we could have stayed in either. I am sick of the country." Parsifal grumbled. "I pray for a return to the Holy Land, if only for the sun to warm my bones." He continued with his grumbling and then added with caution, "would you be there, were it still ours?"

"It was never ours," Galeren corrected firmly and then felt a shiver run through his sodden body, but it was not from the cold. "And no, I would not." He answered, unable to prevent his mind's recollection of it. The incessant heat and unrelenting smell of blood and rotting flesh upon the air, even after all these years, would not leave his memory. Willing his mind to clear it, he drew a deep breath savouring the fresh scent of the wet grass and marvelled at the green of the countryside. Despite the bitter rain and grey sky, there was purity here, greater than any Holy Land, and he embraced it.

"I love this country." He exclaimed, looking up to the sky suddenly relishing the pelt of rain upon his face. Parsifal shot him a bewildered look. "Jesu sir, I appreciate the land of my birth but not its God-cursed weather!"

"'Tis part of its charm," Galeren smiled, releasing uncomfortable memories of the past. Parsifal shook his head bemused at his master's enthusiasm for the dire drenching they were receiving.

"I would go to the Holy Land tomorrow. I am happy to leave this behind. A new crusade, there is talk of it." Parsifal frowned when his master did not respond but then continued with burgeoning enthusiasm, hoping to draw him in on the topic. "Even Master William has spoken of it. You could return sir, perhaps not as a warrior, but –"

"Enough!" Galeren commanded looking fiercely at his young sergeant. He then lamented as he saw Parsifal's face redden and his eyes cast downward. He was often quick to forget how he had been at the same age and perhaps too hard on those who still saw the Holy Land as a glorious prize.

"Patience," he said more encouragingly, "your time will come soon enough, sergeant. There is always war, it needn't be in Palestine. When you have seen it up close, then you will be eager to return home."

"I am eager to return home now!" Parsifal complained at the rain.

Galeren shook his head, "soldiers fight in worse for days and with no respite. You'll have to harden up if you want war."

"I'll be ready," Parsifal said with the confidence of youth.

"Mmmm," Galeren mumbled and reined his stallion onward. The lad had heart, he mused, but he was impatient and not used to hardship and discomfort, lest ready for it. But it was not his fault. The Temple's war machine had been left to rust since the fall of Acre, and without the Holy Land as their backbone they were little more than farmers and landlords, and increasingly unpopular ones at that. A new crusade _was_ needed, and though he was loath to admit it, they could not continue thus. _Christ!_ That they needed war and a land to dominate in order to survive was infuriating. Galeren looked up at the grey sky that now reflected his mood and then over at his young companion and cleared his thoughts.

"If the rains continue thus I'll have you out training in it when we're back at Faxfleet."

"I look forward to it, sir," Parsifal grinned assuredly. Galeren gave him a nod and they continued their journey in thoughtful silence.

It was dusk when they reached Temple Bruer and the rain was harder than ever. Much to Parsifal's irritation, his master had decided to pass by the potential warmth and hospitality of several inns they had encountered. Galeren could smell what they offered within; food, ale and women, each eager to please the weary and the restless in their own natural fashion. Food and ale would be welcome but the other would not. It was not his virtue that he sought to protect but that of his young companion. Though he may have felt as restless and unfulfilled as his charge, his lustful youth had long past. While uninterested himself in fleeting encounters, his consideration was for his sergeant. He had not forgotten the urges he once had and insatiable craving for a satisfaction that was never obtained.

Parsifal was all heart and it merely took a few jars of good ale before the intoxicating scent of dark corners and the sweat of unrestrained desire weakened a youth's purpose. Their drive was strong and only wisdom and age could control it. It would be unwise to draw attention to themselves in these times and their attire was all too familiar. So, wisdom and age guided Galeren pass the inns and onward to the order and purity of the nearest preceptory on route to Faxfleet. It was Temple Bruer.

"You don't trust me," Parsifal said bitterly, as he shoved the reins of his horse toward the groom who'd run to greet them. Galeren raised a disapproving eyebrow at his sergeant as he dismounted and Parsifal checked his manners and smiling at the young lad said:

"Thank you." He looked back at his master as their horses were led away across the sodden bailey. He removed his gloves crossly demonstrating that, all manners aside, he was still aggrieved. Galeren shrugged, unperturbed at the performance.

"Your sulking only strengthens my decision," he remarked.

"I am not sulking, sir!" Parsifal threw back, his fists clenched as he spoke. Galeren noted it and sighed.

"You want to get a handle on your emotions sergeant. It is control that will save you on the battlefield and control that will enable you to enter such places as we passed on the road, and emerge from them unscathed."

Parsifal looked down at his muddy boots and put his hands on his hips.

"It is all part of our training," Galeren continued, "of any knight's training but especially ours. I don't have to remind you of what we are; control makes us good and strong."

Parsifal nodded. "You mistake emotion for lack of control."

"Then quell your emotion so others won't misjudge you." Galeren advised sternly.

"But some emotion is good, we need it surely? You have called on emotion in times of battle, have you not?" he ventured looking up at his master through cautious eyes, knowing that he spoke of only one battle. As always Galeren refused to be drawn on it but instead said:

"I was an emotional youth and sometimes," he tilted his head in warning, "sometimes it served me well. But I am a better Templar for my control of it. Throw too much emotion into the mix and we are driven by it." He gestured to his heart, "our core is made of it, but this," he then tapped the side of his head, "makes us masters of our savagery and hence our destiny. Lose that and we lose ourselves."

"I understand," Parsifal conceded reluctantly, "but in order for me to demonstrate control you must trust me."

"Granted," Galeren nodded. "There are plenty of inns on the way to Faxfleet, and the inns of Yorkshire are far worthier challenges for the likes of you than those of Lincoln." He smiled knowingly. "Peace, sergeant?"

"Peace Master," Parsifal held out his hand and Galeren shook it. They both turned as they heard the squelch of mud and saw someone approaching from across the bailey. A knight strode toward them and then paused to squint in the dusk light. The heavy rain added to the obscurity of his vision but did not dampen his sense of smell.

"Brother _Galeren?_ " his deep voice queried. "Is that you I smell?"

"It is indeed." Galeren answered. "How fare thee Brother Richard? I trust the weather is to your liking."

The knight laughed and continued towards them. "Ha! It has been a long time since you graced Temple Bruer with your presence."

Galeren shook his head. "Fear not, there is no grace here."

"I beg to differ." The knight retorted as he reached them. Parsifal looked up at him. He was a mountain of a man, about the same height as his master but much thicker set and less wiry. He had a leathery face that could only have been weathered from time spent in the Holy Land. It made him look older than his years, which Parsifal guessed were the same as his master's. His eyebrows, or rather eyebrow, met between his eyes as a thick black bush and his rubbery, dark lips were framed by a well maintained moustache.

Parsifal did not know the man but seeing that he was an old comrade of his master's, he was likely to have been at Acre. Perhaps, it was not such a bad idea to come here after all, as there may be talk of the Holy Land. Even if his master would not debate on it, there may be brothers here that would.

"What news Sir Richard?" the men embraced and clapped each other's backs briefly.

"Ach, the usual muck from this bog," Richard replied fixing his gaze on Parsifal, "and who might this be? A youth for you to corrupt?"

"Aye, but methinks he will corrupt me long before I corrupt him."

"None could corrupt you, Master." Parsifal said proudly but then regretted it when he saw the dark knight's eyes light up as he bellowed, "Hero worship, eh?" Parsifal's face reddened instantly. Galeren shook his head in disagreement.

"Bollocks!" the large knight contested, "every sergeant I've ever had the misfortune to train has hated me. The wretch I have now would murder me in my sleep given half the chance." He folded his arms and inflated his chest so that he became even more of a giant.

"That is because you're a bastard Richard." Galeren said with a smile and clapped his friend on the back.

"Accepted," Richard said reflectively.

"Parsifal Bondeville, please meet a very old friend of mine, Richard de Gosbeck."

"Less of the old you swine, I have but two years on you." Richard shook Parsifal's outstretched hand. "Ahh of course, James Bondeville's son."

"Yes, well met Sir Richard. You knew my father?" Parsifal asked, as his thoughts turned once again to Acre. Parsifal was fascinated with the battle, though it had been a great loss for the Knights Templar. His father had died at Acre, but he never knew him. His interest was more to do with the part his master had played in it. Galeren had been about his age back then and there was talk of great valour. It was an event, however, that his master refused to draw comment on and Acre was a sore point with most of the more seasoned knights. Perhaps Sir Richard would be more forthcoming with details on what so far was, for all the wrong reasons, the most important battle in the Templars' history.

"Come, let us not linger in this hell whore's weather. I can't remember when last I saw the sun or was dry for that matter." He led them across the bailey to the entrance of the preceptory.

"You've come up from New Temple?" he asked as they got inside.

"Aye," Galeren answered.

"And you weren't tempted by any of the hospitable inns along the way?" he said with a glint in his eye.

Galeren frowned. "We've already been round that course." He said dourly and shot a glance at Parsifal who shrugged.

"I see," Richard said. "There are plenty of inns on the way to Faxfleet," he winked at Parsifal, "but I think Master Bertrand may expect you to enjoy his hospitality for more than a night's rest."

Galeren paused, "How so?" He handed his sodden cloak to the servant that greeted them. Parsifal, doing the same, kept his eyes fixed on his master.

"There has been a bit of trouble, locally," Richard said, scratching his chin which was rough with several day's worth of stubble, "and you know how your former master reveres you."

"What sort of trouble?" Galeren asked, ignoring the latter comment.

"Bertrand will speak of it." Richard tapped the side of his nose and motioned towards the young sergeant indicating it was not for his ears.

"Come on, let's have it." Galeren said impatiently, "Are we brothers to have secrets between us? Secrecy without is necessary, but within is not acceptable."

"It is not my decision, brother." Richard said immovably. Galeren sighed and shook his head.

"Fine, but I warn you I intend to be back at Faxfleet within the week. I was delayed long enough in Paris; I have matters of my own to attend to."

"Dallying in that damn sick house?" Richard said his voice thick with sarcasm. Parsifal's eyes widened in shock as he anticipated his master's response. Galeren did not respond but instead turned and began to walk away from them.

"Ah, come on you sainted bastard, I know what riles you is all." Richard laughed. "Methinks you need company other than the infirmed and insane, or your humour will be as rusty as your armour!"

Galeren ignored his comment. "I know my way to Bertrand's chambers. Show Parsifal to the sergeant's quarters after you found him some food." He snapped instead.

"Still barking orders at your equals, brother?" Richard called after him, but Galeren had already disappeared into the blackness of the dim passage. Richard turned to Parsifal, who tried to look indifferent.

"Come then lad," he bellowed and slapped him hard across the back. "Let me show you how the sergeants of Temple Bruer fare!"

****

An hour or so later, after some food and the exchange of news, Galeren pressed Bertrand for what purpose he thought he may serve.

"Richard mentioned local trouble and I got the impression that he thought you would want me to...." he paused, "resolve it?"

Bertrand le Roux was in his late fifties and had a kind open face, the type that hid no secrets and more importantly the type you could trust. Galeren trusted him more than he did most others. He was also a good friend of his father's and despite his keenness to return to his own estate he would find it difficult to deny a man who held so much of his respect. Bertrand groaned.

"Damn Richard! He has the subtlety of a lance through the head!" He shook his head and sighed wearily. "However, it is complementary that he would think that I would require your service in a delicate matter and he is right."

"You need only ask, Master."

"I know," Bertrand smiled and drained his cup of its contents. "Another flagon?" he shook the empty vessel.

"Why not?" Galeren answered, knocking back his wine. "I feel my bones warming with each sip. 'Twas a rough journey, I hate to admit it."

"Rough?" Bertrand rang a bell and a servant entered, he motioned to the flagon and it was immediately removed. "You are the only warrior that I have met who can persevere through any God forsaken conditions, be them baking heat or freezing rain."

"In my youth, perhaps." Galeren mused reflectively.

"Ahhh and what a youth," Bertrand said with reflective admiration.

"If you speak of Acre then it was a fleeting youth, I imagine my functional but inglorious medical pursuits disappoint you master?" The servant returned with a fresh flagon. Bertrand was quick to dispense its contents between them.

"Not I," he said with conviction.

"My father perhaps," Galeren said, staring into the depths of his cup.

"Nor him," Bertrand replied with equal certainty, "You fulfil honourable aims of the Temple, but the fact that you are such a damn fine soldier, and natural leader for that matter, leads many to believe that that is where your true purpose lies."

"Not that Bertrand," Galeren shook his head firmly, "you know how I feel about the Temple's current ideology." He took a sip of wine before continuing. "But I am not here to argue the odds or press my views, it has never gotten me anywhere before. Let's hear of this trouble on the estate."

Bertrand went to protest but then relented. He nodded his head and then sighed heavily before beginning.

"One of our tenants, a tanner, was murdered several days ago. It has caused a quite a tumult."

"Understandable," Galeren acknowledged, "do we know of the perpetrator?"

Le Roux shook his head. Galeren tilted his and said, "A dispute settled without the law? You have no need of me if such is the case; Richard is more than capable of dealing with it."

"Normally I would agree, but the fact that this man's throat was ripped out by, what has been described as, a gigantic wolf means that our involvement is necessary."

"Christ!" Galeren said looking at Le Roux whose face was full of concern.

"There's more, the witness, a nun, perhaps the intended victim, has described the murderer as..." Le Roux paused and then raising his eyebrows concluded, "a man who became a wolf."

" _What?_ " Galeren nearly choked.

"Aye. And while it is a story open to disbelief," Le Roux shrugged, "we must investigate."

"Of course," Galeren agreed, "what exactly has she said?"

"That is for you to find out."

"'Tis a serious matter that must be handled delicately but I do not wish to put anyone's nose out of joint at Temple Bruer by assuming charge."

"If you mean Richard then don't worry. He is good for a battle but less than interested in matters of diplomacy. He longs for the days of the sword and his only interest in this has been to put pay to the rogue responsible."

"You have no reason to believe it is someone from within the Temple brethren?"

"No. No one within would bear this man ill. He was a good tenant, hard worker, went to church and neither drank nor wenched. This is a stranger's doing and that in itself is dangerous. So this must be settled quickly and without fuss. We have enemies aplenty, someone may be out to do us harm. You know how these things can escalate, these are superstitious times, brother, I have heard mention of witchcraft already. I want neither witch nor wolf hunt. I want this rumour quashed and quickly, I want whoever responsible found and this nun silenced if necessary."

"The first two requests I can execute but you ask the wrong man to commit murder of an innocent and if you ask another I will prevent it."

Bertrand laughed aloud, "Galeren, would I be so foolish to ask _you_ to commit murder and that of a nun of all people!"

Galeren shrugged. "Murder has been committed in the Temple's name before."

"But not by my request," Bertrand pointed out sharply, "murder is not my aim, prevention of it is. I mean discredit her testimony, confuse her mind, re-locate her – whatever is necessary."

"And under what guise are we heading this investigation?"

"Simply, we will not tolerate the murder of one of the Temple's tenants upon our own estate. Plus, we have livestock to consider, and we merely wish to discover whether a ravenous wolf is on the loose or a man and his hound with a grudge against the tanner."

Galeren laughed, "The latter is to my liking. But I thought you said that the nun may have been the intended victim."

"That is more likely."

"Why?"

"Well, it occurred at twilight and she was alone, coming from the village and heading back towards St Catherine's. Nun's are not wont to travel alone and at such a time."

"Mmmm, sounds as if she has more than one story to tell." Galeren tilted his head, a pensive look in his eye.

"Aye and that may serve our purpose well. If she has need of a secret to be kept then she may better be persuaded to alter her story."

Galeren nodded in agreement as he knocked back the dregs of his wine. "Trust I will do what needs to be done."

"I do, that is why I thank the Lord above that you rode through my gates this eventide." Le Roux said, smiling at his former sergeant.

"Thank not him, but the rains." Galeren returned the smile to his old master and then said, "It is good to see you Bertrand." He stood. "I will leave for the convent at first light." Galeren bowed and then promptly left Le Roux's chambers.

Later, as he stood deep in thought listening to the rain pelt the eaves under which he took shelter, he sensed Parsifal's approach and turned to greet him.

"I thought you were abed long ago." He said.

"Curiosity has made me restless, sir." Parsifal answered honestly, noticing that his master was scantly dressed in only a linen shirt, braies and black cloak. The weather never seemed to bother his master, Parsifal thought, and it should bother him less he noted to his chagrin.

He looked at Galeren and considered him for a moment, the sharp look in his eye, his face furrowed in thought; it was a face full of mystery. Perhaps, there was some hero worship there and the fact that his master was neither boastful nor proud was the very reason for it. Yet, he didn't understand why a man such as he was content to hide away in rooms filled with chaotic madness, tinkering with potions and experiments when all had said he could have been a good leader; their leader.

Galeren seemed to have shied from climbing the Templar ranks to leadership and was, instead, on a medical crusade. Parsifal fully accepted that the acquisition of knowledge was part of their doctrine and none would deny that Galeren de Massard was one of the finest physicians the Order had, but he knew that many believed that Galeren had turned his back on his true destiny for which he was bitterly criticised, even ridiculed; albeit behind his back.

"Ahhh, what trouble's afoot?" Galeren asked Parsifal's question for him, bringing the young sergeant back to his purpose. Parsifal nodded then said:

"You said there were no secrets."

"There are none here. There has been murder in the village and you will accompany me to the convent of St Catherine's to question a witness."

"A nunnery?"

"Aye. We leave early, 'tis only a short ride from here but I want to return to Faxfleet tomorrow, so get your rest now." He paused and then said, "Unless you wish to come for a run with me?"

"A run? In this _weather?_ " he said in disbelief and then regretted it as he saw his master's disenchanted expression.

"'Tis good weather for a run. It would heighten your senses. Rain can confuse things; you should learn how it does and how not to let it."

Parsifal was about to concede hating to disappoint his master when a familiar voice bellowed out:

"You need to harden the lad up or put him with the women. Mayhap he sews better than he battles."

Galeren noticed Parsifal's face redden. "Your form of encouragement is why all of your sergeants wish for your last breath." He said, but Richard laughed,

"I care not for that; only that they last more than one swipe of a sabre on the battlefield."

"In any case," Galeren said, smiling at Parsifal, "if he sews as well as I, then he will make a fine physician."

"You'll need to make a warrior out of him if we go back to Palestine." Richard continued. Parsifal's face lit up at talk of the Holy Land.

"You may stitch and sew well but you also know where to thrust a sword and more importantly, prevent being opened up by one."

"Let up Richard, Parsifal is as fine a swordsman as any sergeant of yours." Galeren said.

"Want to put that to the test?"

"This sounds familiar," Galeren rolled his eyes.

"Well then?" Richard waited.

"I don't have time for this childishness." Galeren returned with a bored tone.

"Afraid?"

Parsifal looked at Galeren and saw a dark danger enter his eyes. It was exciting to glimpse the other, hidden, side of his master.

"You know what happened last time you said that." Galeren reminded warningly.

"Oh yes!" Richard said elated, "I do, in the days when you had more about you. I would welcome a whipping just to see the old Galeren return!"

" _Really?_ I rue the day. I was hot headed and arrogant, totally unpredictable – a fool!"

Parsifal barely moved lest he disturb the men's banter, he had never heard his master speak of his past or himself before.

"You are the same today, brother, more of a fool though."

Galeren folded his arms and narrowed his eyes, Richard merely smiled. "You cannot change who you are. You have just locked that _other_ self in a deep chasm and beaten yourself numb with books and study and surrounded yourself with the near-dead. Your heart will beat once more. What to unlock it though, eh?"

"My heart beats fine. 'Tis you that needs to awaken from the past. You will find nothing in that dust, methinks our warrior days are drawing to an end."

"Really?" Parsifal suddenly called out, forgetting that his silence had made him obscure. Galeren whipped his head round. "Did I not tell you to get your rest sergeant? We ride at dawn."

Parsifal's shoulders slumped. _Damn!_ That he could not keep his big mouth shut. He wanted to go for that run now but his chance was taken; going now would seem for the benefit of Sir Richard and besides Galeren was now angered. He gave a shallow bow and left his master curtly, not wishing to press the matter further, save he receive a fierce tongue lashing.

"The lad longs for the passion of war, mark me in that," Richard said as he watched Parsifal walk away.

"What do you know of passion?" Galeren said irritably.

"More than you apparently. We are born warriors! Why do you revile something that you were born to do?"

"I would rather save than take life."

"And the boy? Does he truly follow in your footsteps?"

"They are not my footsteps. I merely teach and he learns well. He wants to be a physician, so he has told me often enough."

"On the battlefield perhaps, but not in a fetid infirmary. Why do you hide yourself away in such?"

"I do not hide, I work. How do you pass the long days, brother?"

"I prepare for the next crusade."

"Then you will have time aplenty for that. There will be no new crusade though perhaps we need it if attitudes like yours are the norm."

"Do you really believe that the Knights Templar can slip into the roles of farmers, bankers and physicians with our pasts? We are _hated now_ for it brother. Defence of the Holy Land is all we have!"

"Had," Galeren corrected, "we are upon the eve of a new era," he sighed heavily and then added, "but I share your concerns brother, that I do. Don't think me lax." He stared out into the rain.

"What are we to do?"

"Run." Galeren said and looked at his friend. Richard shrugged; he knew he could take Galeren's meaning whichever way he liked. "Care if I join you?" he asked.

"You are always welcome," Galeren smiled, "just try to keep up." He challenged and turning he strode toward the preceptory gates.

### Chapter Two

Catherine had awoken that dawn certain that someone was coming to see her. She didn't know how she could be so sure of the fact, but nevertheless had no doubt that today she would be visited. It would be about the murder of course, what else? And what part she had played. Her story was so wild that she herself had cause to doubt her conviction in it.

Perhaps she had finally lost her mind; it was what the Abbess had already concluded. But as she stared numbly at the rotting timbers in the roof, her mind was suddenly drawn back to that dark evening. She shivered as she remembered the killer's green eyes and how they had gleamed at her from beneath the hood of his cloak. They had shone with such diabolical hunger that her soul had frozen and even now she began to tremble, as if she was once again locked in his malevolent grip. His features had been obscured by such blackness that even the moonlight could not expose them and so she had begged the faceless monster to let her go. But she knew he would not, and then she heard a voice call out, the tanner's voice and then . . . Catherine jolted upright as the bolt of the lock slid back and the door creaked slowly open.

"What news Sister Margaret?" Catherine said before she saw who it was.

"How did you know it was me?" the portly nun enquired, as she appeared around the door frame holding a bowl of water and stale crust of bread.

"I can smell your sweat." Catherine said, crinkling her nose and sitting up. It was true, Margaret smelled especially bad today. She didn't care if she caused the girl offence. Margaret was only too pleased when Catherine was in trouble and seemed to take pleasure from her punishment.

"Witch!" Margaret retorted viciously. "You should be burned a witch. We all know where you were the other night, up to no good. A man died because of you, you and your evil. Nobody wants you here. The Abbess will wash her hands of you this time."

"Good! Now get out!" Catherine screamed with such vehemence that Sister Margaret dropped the bowl and crust she was holding. She stumbled backwards, rapidly retreating from the room. She slammed the door forcefully as if she was containing a devil within, slid the bolt across and scurried away. Catherine lay back on the bed. _Someone's coming_ , she thought, _for ill or good, someone comes_. She closed her eyes and awaited their arrival.

****

"Do you really believe that there'll not be another crusade?" Parsifal asked Galeren after an hour's ride. Not many words had passed between them that morning as they journeyed to the convent. Galeren's mood was even more pensive than usual and even when asked about his run the previous night his answer had been curt and distant. Parsifal hated long rides of silence and despite knowing his master was a man of few words, he still always pressed him for conversation on such journeys.

"Not this again," was the terse reply, "why are you so obsessed with talk of new crusades?"

"I am a Templar," Parsifal answered, "'tis our history."

"Aye, history. You should concentrate your thoughts on the future."

"You fear it?" Parsifal asked warily.

Galeren looked at him solemnly. Fear was not in their vocabulary, they had built a reputation on that very fact. But there was no point in foolish bravado. He had always been an honest man, so he gave an honest answer.

"I fear nothing but our future."

Parsifal looked down as if to ponder his master's answer. They continued for awhile in silent contemplation and it was Parsifal who once again broke it.

"May I ask, sir, why you never speak of Acre?"

"There is no cause to." He replied swiftly. Once again Parsifal was left wanting, usually he left it but after the conversation he had witnessed the night before he felt he wanted answers and so he persisted.

"I am interested, sir, I want to know what happened, about the battle."

"There is not that much to know. Acre fell, we came home." Galeren said, his face stony and fixed on the road ahead.

"What about you, sir?" Parsifal decided to direct his questioning to what he really desired to know.

"What about me?" Galeren asked, as if it had been a misdirected question. Parsifal could barely contain his frustration.

"Much! You were my age were you not? Still a sergeant, and yet there is talk –"

"Talk of what?" Galeren said irritably.

"That you showed great valour at Acre," Parsifal started.

"Enough!" Galeren raised his hand. "Damnation, where do you hear your tales?"

"They are not tales, sir, and well you know it. And if you worry about tales then _you_ should tell me yourself to save rumour."

Galeren pulled up his horse, turned in his saddle and pointed firmly at his young sergeant, his eyes darkened. "Never be so comfortable in my good nature to question me like that again or I will knock you out of your saddle. There is nothing to tell therefore I wish not to speak of it. I do not want Acre mentioned again, it is in the past and there it will remain buried."

Parsifal bowed his head. "Forgive my tongue, sir. Neither my questions nor manner were meant to insult you. It is my curious nature; it will not be mentioned again."

"Good," Galeren said and reined his horse onward.

They made fast progress to the convent in an uncomfortable silence that neither had chosen to break. The only breach was a long sigh that came from Galeren as they came within sight of their destination. The convent was a grey stone building with a single spire, set in generous gardens surrounded by a high wall. The entrance within was an archway with a double gate and a bell hung to one side of it.

Galeren pinched his nose. "Ring the bell if you will sergeant."

"Of course," Parsifal said, quickly dismounting and peeling the bell. "I'm sorry for before sir, I..."

"You have already apologised, I do not wish for you to grovel for the rest of the day. My sour mood is not because of you but rather the mission at hand."

Parsifal frowned. "'Tis simply a questioning, sir."

"Aye, but I cannot stomach these places or their inhabitants."

"Nuns?" Parsifal said perplexed. "On the surface we serve the same purpose, as brothers and sisters."

"But they are not our true sisters and well _you_ know it. This is why, young sergeant, I despair at the Temple's future. We have survived shrouded behind a holy façade for near two centuries but it is a falsity that needs addressing. I fear it will be addressed by others and to our detriment. We have been asleep since that diabolical battle you are so eager to talk about, and should instead have been preparing for a new phase instead of another pointless crusade but ahh . . ." he waved his hand absently.

Parsifal bit his tongue but then relented. His master infuriated him; at times he was so opinionated and yet would not act. What was _wrong_ with him? He refused to talk about the past and fretted about the future, a future he seemed unwilling to get involved with. Parsifal had always been a risk taker and so he ventured into dangerous territory.

"Men need to be led though, sir." He said innocently. Galeren snapped his head round to look at him.

"What is that suppose to mean?"

There was fire in his master's voice but Parsifal accepted that a beating would be worth an answer from his reticent mentor.

"Well, you always speak to counter the Temple's aim for a new crusade and talk of a necessary change. However, though many have called for your guidance and leadership you have turned from it and instead channel your energy into the practice of medicine, a noble occupation. But, and forgive my insolence, you cannot condemn that which you are not willing to change yourself."

" _Insolence?_ " Galeren snarled ready to explode, but to his chagrin he was not prepared to oppose his sergeant's observation, no matter how unfounded it was. Unsure how to berate his accuser he was relieved to hear a timid voice say,

"How can St Catherine's be of service to you, Master Templar?"

Galeren directed his attention to the pale young woman now present at the gate. How long had she been there he wondered? She stood in her black habit looking frailly up at him. Her face was pock marked and her eyes were watery. She looked withered and empty but probably had barely seen sixteen winters. His anger heightened. He knew not why he was so agitated. It wasn't Parsifal's doing or this young fool of a girl before him, but he could not shake it. All he knew was that he didn't want to be here. He cleared his throat.

"We wish to meet with the Abbess regarding the tanner's death and the sister who bore witness to it."

"Oh," the girl trembled, unsure of what to do, "if you wait I –"

"No," Galeren cut her off coldly, "we cannot wait. You must take us to see the Abbess now." His tone was harsh and his face serious. Parsifal looked at his master knowing he had crossed the line and that this nun's presence was the only thing between him and a hard crack in the face. He knew he probably deserved such. Galeren had never beaten him but Parsifal had never before given him reason to and he did not doubt he was capable of it. The girl's eyes darted nervously between the two knights and then were caught by Galeren's icy gaze. He raised his left eyebrow at her and waited. She nodded rapidly and beckoned them to follow her.

"Templars, _here?_ " the Abbess looked up from the parchment she wrote upon and narrowed her already small eyes. She had been distracted when Sister Clemence had first entered and spoken, but now her attention was redirected. She tilted her head and waited for the young nun to continue.

"They wait without, Mother. It is with Catherine they wish to speak," she paused and then added, "about the murder of the tanner."

"Mmmm," the Abbess mused, "a tenant of theirs, I suppose. She brings trouble to our door at every instance." She drummed her fingers upon the table. "Still, we have no quarrel with the Temple. They are our brothers are they not?"

Sister Clemence nodded quickly not sure whether it was a question to which the Abbess required an answer.

"Show the knights in and then go and fetch our Catherine. But wait without my door until I summon you. I will speak with these knights first."

Sister Clemence bowed humbly and leaving the room she ushered Galeren and Parsifal within. Galeren strode purposely across the room toward the Abbess, who rose from her desk and smiled sweetly. Parsifal followed dutifully.

"Brother Templars, it is an honour to receive you."

"Galeren de Massard, Parsifal Bondeville." Galeren said curtly, introducing himself and motioning to Parsifal as way of dispelling pointless false pleasantries. "'Tis a serious errand we are on." He finished sternly. He was in an ill mood and now regretted not taking refuge in one of the several inviting inns they had passed the previous night. At least he could have drunken ale to his fill and then ridden through the thick head he would have suffered with the next day, in silence, as they journeyed on to Faxfleet. Instead, his sergeant had just misjudged and disrespected him and he was stood in a cold convent faced with an aging crone.

"Aye 'tis true," the Abbess agreed soberly, linking her hands and resting them against her stomach, "a foul murder and one of confusion." She nodded assuredly. "I presume you have heard the tall tales perpetrated by, I regret, one of our own."

"The witness you mean? The nun from this convent?" Galeren asked.

"She is still only a novice." The Abbess corrected. "She has failed to convince me that she is worthy of the vocation as yet." And then she sighed deeply. "By God's good grace, I know we are told to love the sinner but I despair at this girl, so errant is she."

"Really?" Galeren said, his interest beginning to stir. He remembered that Bertrand had said that the girl had been wandering alone when the incident occurred, perhaps on her way back from some forbidden liaison. "How so?" he queried.

"She carries the sin of Eve heavily. She seduced her own sister's betrothed." The Abbess said with scathing sentiment.

"Grave indeed," Galeren agreed, as was appropriate.

"She is wanton and wicked." The Abbess continued with conviction.

"Wicked?" Galeren cocked his head to one side.

"Well," the Abbess's eyes narrowed and she looked around before she spoke, as if wary of spies hidden in the cracks and eaves of the room, "I suspect that if not a witch, then she has, at the very least, heretical ideas."

"What makes you suspect such?" Galeren frowned.

"She consorts with those in the village who are known to experiment with dark magic."

"Dark magic?" Galeren said, feigning ignorance. They were healers, no doubt, condemned as sorcerers and witches. Another reason he hated the cross that was emblazoned on his mantle and surcoat.

"Witchcraft, the devil's work! Spells and evil incantations, oh . . ." she said putting her hands upon her chest, as if it pained her to speak of it.

Galeren watched her with a mixture of fascination and disgust. She had a cruel face that had been sculpted from years of heartless malice. Her mouth was thin and embittered and she had small eyes that were full of malevolence. He could smell the acrid tang of her skin and knew that year upon year, with her youth wasting away before her, her bitterness had only grown. She had, therefore, wielded her insignificant power over younger, weaker, naïve women, until they were as withered as she. The novice though, about whom they spoke, sounded like the exception; unbreakable, and hence detested for it.

It was why he reviled the devout. They were all too eager to condemn any who appeared a threat. They chose their punishment with wicked precision, all the while claiming to be saving souls and welcoming the misguided into the bosom of God. It was control at its most base and made Galeren sick with anger. He now found himself strangely eager to meet the wicked novice. He looked at the Abbess, his expression neutral and waited for her to continue.

"I tell you brother, if her father did not temper the agony of her presence here with his generosity, I would have thrown her to the wolves long ago."

Galeren, seeing Parsifal look at him out of the corner of his eye, raised one eyebrow at the Abbess with curiosity.

"A fitting turn of phrase," Galeren said amused, despite sensing Parsifal fidgeting beside him, "and it brings us to our point. Was not the tanner's throat ripped out by a large wolf?"

"It would seem," the Abbess said, "but Catherine's account is most harrowing, not least for its unbelievable aspects. But I would expect nothing less from her. She was up to no good, wandering home at that hour, consorting with her wicked brethren no doubt and –"

"Please," Galeren raised his hand, "time presses us. I must ask you to avoid speculation. What did she tell you happened that night, Abbess?"

The Abbess sighed and shook her head. "That she was attacked by a large man who, when challenged by the tanner who had come to her aid, became a wolf!" she laughed into her hand in disbelief at this but composed herself and continued.

"He then ripped the tanner's throat out." She shook her head some more. Galeren stood still as a statue and did not comment but instead looked at her with an expression that told her he wasn't satisfied that she was finished.

"The commotion alerted others and the wolf-man fled and Catherine was spared, saints preserve us!" she concluded with sarcasm and crossed herself. Galeren nodded thoughtfully signifying that he had heard enough.

"You see why I despair at the child. Such a tale told when a man was murdered can only come from a wicked imagination. And if there is any truth in such a wild tale, then her hand is in that as well. It could only be the work of Satan and his disciples."

"Methinks your first supposition is the correct one." Galeren said curtly and then, "I will speak with Catherine now if I may. I find fanciful tales can be shorn to the truth with a few well chosen questions."

"Wisely spoken," the Abbess said then called out, "enter sisters."

Galeren turned to the door and felt his chest tighten suddenly, as if in the grip of a vice. Two women entered, one before the other. The first he had already met at the gate; it was the one who followed her that drew his gaze. The Abbess's account of her had been scathing but now upon seeing her, he understood why. Despite being shrouded from head to foot in a white habit, her beauty remained unmasked.

Galeren heard Parsifal draw breath beside him and knew that he too had noted it, but as always his sergeant's youth meant his emotions remained unchecked. Galeren was drawn to her eyes first, as he was to most people's; for much could be gathered from a single look. They were light grey but seemed to darken with a shade of defiance as she looked, first at the Abbess and then settled them upon him.

Galeren remained immovable, unreadable and tried to concentrate on the matter at hand instead of studying her features, however, he remained distracted. Her skin was pale, but not sickly like the other girl. There was a warmth to it, not yet extinguished by this place. Her hair was dark, probably black he gathered, like her eyebrows. As if sensing his silent deductions, she aptly arched both of them at him and brought him back to his purpose.

Galeren frowned and tore his attention away from her to instead face the scornful glare of the Abbess. Her eyes narrowed to slits and he at once knew that she saw him as another weak man, seduced by the sight of loveliness. It angered him that he would seem so easily felled because he was not. This was different, but how, he could not explain to himself let alone to the narrow minded Abbess. He turned back to the novice and arching his own eyebrows said rather pointlessly, "Catherine?"

"Yes," was all she said, her face _was_ unreadable and Galeren hoped that his composure, which was usually steadfast, was still intact, though he knew that the Abbess had seen it slip.

"I hope you will speak the truth now that the Temple is here to investigate. I am sure that _they_ will not tolerate your wild tales." The Abbess snapped. Galeren could almost taste the jealous venom dripping from her tongue. He could stand neither her distraction nor scrutiny so turned to her and said:

"I would prefer to speak with Catherine alone."

The Abbess's lip curled with displeasure. He knew that she would not expect a Templar to be easily tempted by the lure of beautiful flesh. But he was still a man and he knew that the Abbess despised him for that fact first and Templar or not, she would be suspicious of his motives.

"I find the truth emerges more readily when an audience is not present."

"I have already heard all that Catherine has to tell." The Abbess protested frostily.

"Precisely," Galeren said unreceptive, "she may have held back to avoid your . . ." he paused, wishing to choose his next words well, scathing judgement would have been the most accurate depiction of the Abbess's response, but instead he said, "disappointment."

The Abbess folded her arms but Galeren knew he would get his way. While his face carried a light expression his eyes were cold and the Abbess, much to her vexation, did not want to press him. She knew well enough not to challenge the Temple.

"As you wish," she said, clearly not happy. "I shall wait without." She walked towards the door.

"You too sergeant." Galeren said to Parsifal when he did not follow. Parsifal made a face of protest but saw the look in his master's eyes and thought better of it. Once the Abbess, Parsifal and Sister Clemence had left, closing the door behind them, Galeren turned to face the young woman whose destiny he felt irrecoverably linked to. He smiled in attempt to put her at ease.

Catherine looked at the knight who stood before her. His mail coif remained covering his head so that she could only see the shape of his face and his cool blue eyes. He had a deep scar that ran diagonally across his right cheek but this did not distract from the fact that he was a handsome man, whose age was difficult to fathom. He was impressive in his Templar attire; his leg armour shone reflecting the wearer's pride. He stood tall, filling the room with a strong masculinity that, she could not only see, but strangely thought she could smell.

The knight motioned for her to sit and she perched herself upon one of the benches, on one side of the room. She sat awkwardly, disarmed by his presence and continuing scrutiny. Something was familiar about him, though she knew she had never seen him before. Oddly, it was his smell that led her to think such.

Galeren turned and sat on the bench opposite her; silent he could only stare as he tried to choose his next words. A tension taut as a bow string was drawn between them and Catherine, still unsettled, looked down into her lap so as to avoid his gaze. Though she felt she had no reason to fear him, she knew that he was somehow linked to the man from the other night and again this was based on his scent.

The long silence stretched beyond bearable and confused by her new found sensitivity to smell, she decided to break the tense atmosphere. She brought forth the courage to speak.

"I was told you wanted to talk to me Sir Templar and yet you say nothing." She tore her eyes away from her lap and met an expression of deep concern on his face. Catherine bit down on her bottom lip in response and Galeren quickly relaxed his features and said:

"It's Galeren."

Catherine shrugged as if it was an unimportant fact but it comforted her to know his name and his eyes told her that, though something of his true sentiment had been exposed, he was not here to do her harm. He lent back and folded his arms and a hint of a smile began to creep across his face.

"You weren't what I expected is all," he offered in explanation of his reticence. It was his turn to shrug.

"What was it you expected?" Catherine asked, unable to stop a faint smile forming upon her own lips.

"A nun, like the other," he replied. That was true, he thought. He tried to read her expression but her emotions were well guarded, her face indecipherable. Catherine was still staring at him, an eyebrow raised waiting for an explanation.

He shook his head and said: "But on reflection, from the Abbess's description of you," he paused and looked her over, "you should have been exactly what I expected."

"And what was that?" Catherine asked a little defensively. "How did the Abbess describe me?" she folded her arms across her chest, but she knew the answer.

"Wicked, wanton, seducer of your sister's betrothed." Galeren cocked his head waiting for her denial or confirmation.

"She is too kind," Catherine said sarcastically and looked down, "and this is how I appear to you, a wicked and wanton seductress?" Catherine felt wounded by how her past had been twisted to label her so unfairly.

"No," Galeren said seeing pain in her eyes, "it is not what I mean," he added quickly, knowing he had unwittingly unearthed some hurt. He wished he hadn't begun this.

"But you just said that from her description of me I should have been exactly what you expected."

"I meant..." he paused trying to think of an eloquent answer to heal the wound. "To most red-blooded men, the idea of a nun conjures up a dour, cold and dry image, much like your Abbess." He shrugged and then gave her a crooked smile, his eyes twinkling with humour. Catherine smiled back.

He continued, "A wicked and wanton seductress does not fit in with this ideal." He shook his head. "What I am trying to say, is that she didn't say you were so beautiful." Galeren checked himself. _What had he just said?_ It was out of character and he immediately frowned.

Catherine blushed and noticed the stern mask return to his face once more. "You associate wickedness and wantonness with beauty?"

Galeren tilted his head, and shrugging it off said, "Wicked and wanton are not necessarily bad things, the details of such are always important. It is also true of sin; one's perspective is where the judgement lies. Your Abbess may describe some things as wicked and wonton where I would not."

"What strange things for a Templar to say? Are you not meant to be pious and chaste instead of red-blooded?"

"Meant, yes. But you do not know anything about the Templars or me." He moved his head from side to side loosening his stiff neck and then pushed the mail coif off of it to reveal gold curls that fell to just above his shoulders. Unexpected of a Templar again, Catherine thought, from what she knew their hair was supposed to be shorn short and he was without a beard as well.

Something made her suspect that he wasn't a Templar at all. Maybe he was an impostor using the guise of a Templar to gain access to her. She still couldn't shake the feeling that he was linked to the tanner's murderer yet despite that possibility she felt her trust in him grow as every moment passed. She stood up quickly and walked over to the Abbess's table, running her fingers along its edge as she tried to compose herself.

"I could scrub the walls and floors of this convent from dusk to dawn; live on water and never utter a word and it would not change the Abbess's opinion of me. She set it on the day she laid eyes on me and it has not changed in the year I have been here. She, like you, received second hand information on me. It is difficult to change someone's opinion of you when they expect the worst."

"It matters not. I do not put much faith in hearsay. I prefer my own judgement, not that of others." Galeren said standing up. He crossed the room towards her. Catherine took a step back and looked up at the giant that loomed over her, feeling claustrophobic she looked away from him.

"Jealousy is a vicious poison." He said earnestly.

"What is it you wanted to speak to me about Sir Galeren?" she asked, trying to redirect him to his purpose. "I am sure you have more important things to do than converse with a novice."

"I do not. What we have to speak of is of prime importance."

"It is?" she said.

"Indeed."

Somehow she knew what he said was true. She knew everything had changed.

"Tell me of what happened several nights ago." He said coolly.

She shrugged, "Are you willing to believe me?"

"I have no reason not too. Only speak the truth and tell of every detail, no matter how unimportant it may seem."

She nodded and drew breath to begin her tale. "It was market day. Many of the sisters go to market to trade and give alms to the poor and exercise charity. I go to the market to escape my prison for a few precious hours. There's an old woman that I have come to know over the last year." She paused at this point and looked at Galeren cautiously. He noted the look and said reassuringly.

"Every detail Catherine, you have nothing to fear from me. I am not here to pass judgement or condemn you."

She closed her eyes slowly and then smiled. She believed him and hoped, although she already knew he would, that he believed her.

"The woman is a healer, though the Abbess would scorn her for being a witch. She is my only friend. I enjoy spending time with her and hearing her tales when I have the chance." Catherine shrugged at her admission but Galeren remained impassive, not wishing to distract her from her story.

"Well," Catherine continued, "while visiting her on market day I lost track of time, and so it was that I began my journey back to the convent at twilight."

And then, as Catherine sighed in preparation to recount the crux of her tale, she felt herself transported back to that night and felt the chill enter her bones as she remembered.

She was not afraid of the dark and that evening had not been dark, as the half moon had lit the land with a cool pallor. Neither was she afraid of being alone and had only stridden towards her destination hurriedly because she knew she would be missed and wished to avoid severe punishment. Otherwise, she would have relished her walk home with time to think and time to be free. She crossed the Temple farm and picked up the track, which led through a wooded area, that would take her from the estate and onward to the road to St Catherine's.

As she hastened deeper into the wood, the moon's guiding light suddenly diminished and it was then that she heard rustling, the snap of twigs in the undergrowth and something moving ahead of her. She hesitated but kept her courage as she knew the woods were full of noise and movement, creatures of the night awakening to their shadowy world, curious, alert and hungry.

She listened, nothing. Confident she resumed her pace, only to see to her horror the figure of a large man emerge from amongst the trees ahead of her. She gasped and froze in her tracks. She should have run but shock rooted her to the spot even though she was, as yet, unaware of the danger she was in.

The man was shrouded from head to foot in a dark cloak, his hood was up and he stood with his arms folded in her path. She could see nothing of his face and wondered why his hood was up, obscuring his features. The evening was most pleasant and there was no need for head covering. She had removed her own, in order to enjoy the gentle breeze in her hair. But there should be no reason to fear him. He was probably a tenant on his way home. She would continue confidently, bid him good evening and pass unhindered.

But as she began to walk towards him, he spoke and it was then she knew that she was in trouble.

"A little late for a novice to be about alone, isn't it?"

She could hear the predator in his voice and recognised it all too well. It was too late for flight.

"Aye, a little," she said steadily, "I had a sick friend to attend to."

"Most charitable," he said. She could see the white of his teeth as he grinned at her. "May I offer to escort you back to your abode? I need to exercise some charity myself."

"Do not trouble yourself, sir, 'tis late." She said attempting to go around him. "I bid you a good night." She finished but cried out, as he grabbed her arm as she tried to pass him. He swung her around and gripping both arms viciously, he pulled her close.

"I beg you," Catherine said, breathless with terror.

"Beg," he said, "'tis music to my ears."

She tried to discern his features but all she could see were his eyes, they gleamed with malevolence and were void of pity. His grip was fierce and although she knew that fight was now her only alternative, she also knew that she had no hope of escaping. Nevertheless she tried. She kicked out but he anticipated the move and grabbing the assaulting leg he pulled it, and the other, out from under her. She met the ground hard and felt both the cold of the earth pressed against her back and the vile warmth of his body against her front.

" _No!_ " she screamed, her arms flailing as she fought against him but he just laughed. She screamed again but he pinned her more forcefully to the ground and gripping her face, he turned her head and whispered into her ear.

"Your spirit thrills me, but your struggling is futile. You know what I'm going to do to you, little flower."

It was pointless to keep crying into the emptiness of the night but she did over and over again. And then salvation; she heard another voice, that also of a man, and he cried out a warning. Her assailant stopped his assault and kneeling over her, turned to the direction from which the voice had come.

"Move on if you value your life, serf. Your death is not worth this woman's virtue."

"Yours is!" the man retorted. "Get off of her you bastard!"

Catherine struggled to see who her saviour was, as she recognised his voice but couldn't place it. She felt her attacker's weight lift from her and raising her head she caught sight of Lovell, the tanner, who stood ready to face his foe. She could have taken the opportunity to run, but she would not leave Lovell to face the man alone. Instead she picked herself up, determined to assist him if she could.

"I have no patience for heroics." The stranger said angered, "I warned you not to thwart me you fucking peasant!"

And then an unbelievable horror occurred. Even now as she recalled it, she could scarce believe it, but she _did_ see it and did not doubt her sanity for it. The stranger cried out suddenly, as if in rage. It was an inhuman sound that chilled Catherine to the bone and then as he moved toward his challenger, his form distorted and shrank away into darkness, becoming that of another. The darkness shrouded his metamorphosis but not the fury of it. His cry became that of a wild animal and before her eyes she saw the animal that now stood where he had been. It was the form of a huge black wolf.

The tanner's eyes widened but transfixed in his horror he was powerless to act and instead stood rigid as the beast leapt forward and slammed into him, knocking him off his feet. It tore out his throat before he hit the ground. Catherine screamed as she saw his body fall. Knowing he was dead she turned to flee, certain that if she locked eyes with the monster she would not be able to move and would suffer the same fate.

She ran for her life but all she could hear was the panicked beating of her heart and the wolf closing in on her. She managed one more step before she met the ground once again and felt the creature's teeth penetrate the flesh of her calf. She cried out in pain and terror but resigned herself to death, praying only that it may be as quick as the tanner's.

"There were more voices, several, it was others returning from the village and the wolf fled into darkness. I must have lost consciousness, as the next thing I knew I was back at the convent in the infirmary." Catherine shrugged and looked up at Galeren, whose face was set in a frown but seemed distant, as if he was concentrating on another matter.

As she had begun her tale, Galeren did what he should have done the moment he was alone with her. He breathed deep and filtered out the different smells of the room, until he was left with her scent alone. He then moved passed the hint of rose water that was upon her body and beyond the intoxicating aroma of her skin, to go further; to that of her essence and of what she felt. He smelt no fear, perhaps a little confusion, but then another scent hit him. It was cruel and malign and it possessed her. He recoiled.

"What is it?" Catherine asked. Galeren's eyes shot open to find her staring at him in bewilderment. He couldn't focus, the foreign scent filled him with a terrible dread and with it he smelt danger. It was horrifyingly familiar and yet he could not immediately place it. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled; the scent enveloped her and at the same time came from within her.

_Fool!_ He chastised himself. His initial reaction to her had dampened his senses, so he had missed the damning scent of her attacker. Now, however, it clawed viciously at them. With increasing horror he realised by whom she had been bitten. _It could not be possible!_

"I know it sounds like madness, but it is the very madness of my tale that makes it true." Catherine insisted mistaking the look on his face for disbelief. "Why would I make up something so unbelievable? Jesu my every breath lands me into trouble! I have no need for wild tales to get attention. You have to believe me." She said earnestly.

Galeren, realising the damning expression that was on his face, quickly softened his features and smiled at her, though his inner disquiet did not yield, nor would it.

"I believe you Catherine. I wish I did not, for what it means." He sighed, feeling defeated.

"You do?" Catherine said, almost elated but a little mystified. "But you are a Templar? You of all people should be the one to disbelieve me."

"I told you before you do not know the Templars." He clenched his fist and bounced it against his mouth in contemplation. "You said you felt the wolf's teeth?"

"Yes," Catherine said without hesitation.

"May I look at the wound?" he asked. Her story and the scent that now possessed her confirmed it, but he still felt the need to see the bite. Catherine looked startled.

"'Tis not proper, I cannot." She said, looking around the room nervously.

"'Tis wholly proper, I am a physician." He assured and Catherine was once again surprised by the knight's admission.

"What? Does it seem so absurd? Warriors need healers, I learned that at Acre."

She still seemed unconvinced.

"If I am willing to believe you, then you could at least return the courtesy and be willing to trust me." He was suddenly desperate to touch her, as if by doing so he could cleanse her violated blood. He was not yet ready to consider what all this meant, but felt that it did not bode well for any of them.

She nodded and he motioned for her to sit upon the bench again. Kneeling before her, he raised her skirts and placed his hand upon her left calf which was still bandaged. Carefully, he removed the bandaging and inspected the wound. When he was satisfied he sighed and replaced the dressing, his hand lingered upon her flesh until inappropriateness forced him to remove it.

"What? 'Tis bad?" she asked worried.

"No," he reassured her with the surface truth, "the wound has been well tended to and will heal without trouble, I doubt you will even scar." _But you are scarred_. He could not tell her the deeper truth. He stood up and walked towards the window. He looked out at the neatness of the convent gardens and closed his eyes, trying to see the way forward.

"And now?" Catherine asked.

"And now nothing." He turned to her and looked upon her solemnly. "You must not speak to anyone further on this matter. Our conversation has clarified that you were confused on the eve of the tanner's murder."

"But you just said –"

Galeren raised his hand to silence her. "I know well what I said and I stand by it but for the rest of the world the man who attacked you was accompanied by a vicious hound that he set upon the tanner when his intentions were disturbed. It is a pathetic tale, I'll admit, but 'tis all we have. His throat was ripped out after all. The Temple will settle the matter, 'tis all you need to know."

He saw her face sadden. "I believe you, Catherine I truly do. Keep that close to your heart." He said and quickly turned on his heel and within a moment he had left the room leaving Catherine feeling desolated.

### Chapter Three

"Sir Templar," the Abbess said with an impatient smile. She was still angered by being made to wait outside. "What did she say?" she moved towards him and Galeren found himself trying to avoid her proximity. He stepped around her to create distance and meeting her eyes smiled to reassure her as was necessary.

"Poor child," he said, "'twas as I suspected, a harrowing experience that thwarted her memory of it."

"What did she tell you happened then?" the Abbess said hungrily, her eyes gleamed zealously. Galeren took a deep breath; he wanted out of this place and away from this crone but knew he would leave suspicion if he left without offering the Abbess some explanation to quell her interest. "A fiend with a vicious companion, no less," he shrugged, "'tis a tale in itself."

"Pray, sir, explain yourself. I am a woman who does not, thankfully, have the imagination of young Catherine."

"It is true she was attacked and by a man who was accompanied by a large and viciously trained hound. This creature is most likely the brute's protection and may be used in his misdeeds to deter the intervention of others. The tanner was not deterred and to his detriment, I am afraid."

The Abbess put her hand up to her mouth. "'Tis a true horror!" she said aghast. "And what is to be done?" her voice was full of concern.

"This is a matter for the Temple to settle and it will be settled swiftly," Galeren said, "pray do not fear or fret, expel it from your mind. Only," he said with caution in his voice, "keep Catherine in her present confinement and do not let her leave the convent under any circumstances."

"Of course," the Abbess said, "I should think that none here would wish to leave the safety of the convent with such a villain free to roam. I pray that you will inform us as soon as the matter is settled for no less than our own peace of mind."

"Have no doubt I will inform you first." Galeren said with an earnest smile and the Abbess returned a smile of thanks. "If you need to speak with Catherine again –"

"I will not." Galeren said cutting her off. "My questioning was thorough. Just keep her within these walls. Now, we must make haste. Thank you, Abbess, for your time and patience and God be with you."

"And also with you." The Abbess smiled. Galeren turned swiftly and motioning to Parsifal with a curt nod he swept away down the hall like the wind. Parsifal broke into a jog to catch him up and only when they were outside said, "If I may ask, sir, what was all that about?"

"Christ on the Cross!" Galeren cried out as he mounted his horse, "Damn!" he said wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Parsifal looked at him bemused yet eager to know what was afoot, "Master Galeren, are you alright?"

"No," Galeren said reining his horse forward, "let's get out of here." He spurred his horse into a gallop and tore away down the dirt road leaving Parsifal once again behind, uninformed and forced to catch up.

"Where is the nearest convent to here?" the dark knight shouted as he downed his ale and raised his tankard into the air motioning for another. The inn keeper quickly refilled his cup and looked at him slightly amused but instantly knew that it was a mistake. The knight's eyes were green but had a deep darkness, which like an abyss, offered no hope of light.

"Did I say something to amuse you, you fat fuck?" he raised his eyebrows waiting for the inn keeper's answer.

"Nay, sir, just it seems...well a little...um..." he chuckled nervously.

The dark knight frowned, "Spit it out dullard before I do something you'll regret."

"No offence sir but you and your men have enjoyed every whore in the place, time over. The whereabouts of a convent seems, well..."

"Cannot a loving brother pay a visit to his beloved sister?" the stranger said to the whole room, his voice was sinister and revealed that he was anything but a loving brother. His men, the only other company, laughed at this which only added to the inn keeper's unease.

"Please sir, I meant no offence." He almost stuttered.

"I'm sure not and here's to prove it. I'll have that dark haired wench again this eve, what was her name, Alais? That may ease the insult."

"If it pleases you." The inn keeper said nervously.

"A little," he banged his tankard down, "if the bitch does my bidding. Even so," he bellowed to his men laughing like a jackal, "it's not like the real thing, eh?"

His men cackled back their agreement in their drunken stupor.

"I am not sure what you mean, sir." The inn keeper said quickly refilling his cup and moving to do the same for his men.

"Better you do not. Just keep the ale flowing, the whores eager and your mouth shut. Your coffers will be well filled for your trouble. Oh," he said slurping his ale, "and _tell_ me where that convent is."

"'Tis on the road back towards Temple Bruer. St Catherine's is the name. Your sister is there?"

"Yes," the knight said, "it's a surprise." He looked up at the inn keeper and winked. His smile was like pure evil, the inn keeper shuddered for he was sure that he had no sister there. He could have lied about the name and whereabouts of the convent, but the sooner this dog and his brutish men were gone the better and he didn't want to give them an excuse to return.

****

"Are you absolutely sure?" Bertrand asked; his face was ashen. Galeren folded his arms; he was loath to tell his old master the disturbing truth that he had uncovered and the premonition he felt that this was a sign of trouble for the Temple.

"As inconceivable as it sounds I am." Galeren said solemnly. Bertrand sighed and sunk back down into his chair.

"Esquin de Floyran...after all these years? Could it really be?" Galeren could tell that Bertrand was reluctant to believe. He would himself have been willing to disbelieve it, if it were not for the devil's cursed scent upon the innocent he had attacked.

"There can be no mistaking his scent." Galeren said.

"But you killed him?" Bertrand said exasperated.

"Believe me, I thought I did." Galeren said with regret.

"If it is him why would he turn up now, after all these years? Could you be mistaken Galeren, think about it." Bertrand looked at him earnestly.

Galeren pondered for a moment but it was for Bertrand's benefit. He had no doubt; the whoreson's scent was engrained into his memory. It made him sick to think of it. His mind turned to Catherine and he thought of her in the bastard's grasp. Bertrand looked at Galeren's expression as it darkened.

"Galeren, what is it?"

Galeren came back to his senses. "There can be no doubt Bertrand, 'tis him."

"Has he come for you?"

"Perhaps; he has reason aplenty. It was my actions, remember, that had him expelled from the Order and then I went to kill him."

"'Twas approved by the council. He was rightly expelled and condemned for his atrocities."

"Aye, but do you think he sees it that way?"

"But why is he prowling about attacking novices near Temple Bruer. He would not think to look for you here."

"Not unless he followed me here from Paris."

"From Paris? What, now he has been watching the movements of the Grand Master?" he said incredulously. "Coincidence, brother, surely?"

Galeren shrugged, "I think not. Methinks he has come for us all." Galeren said prophetically.

"Ridiculous!" Bertrand cried. "Your search for signs of our downfall clouds your judgement. If he is here for a reason then that reason is more than likely to be you."

"I do not search for signs, Bertrand, they present themselves. De Floyran has reason enough to hate the Temple, not just me. I sense something sinister and farther reaching than a simple act of revenge."

"But why come to England?"

"Perhaps he has come here with a message and he wishes it delivered to me." Sighing with frustration Bertrand shook his head. "You make matters more complex than they need to be. He may well have come with a message for you, but I very much doubt that it concerns the Temple. Don't let your guard down Galeren, looking for some sign of our impending doom. Watch your own back."

Galeren nodded, "I have never been afraid of De Floyran. He preys on the weak and helpless. If any revenge needs to be mete out, then it is still mine."

"And the novice? She will have to be dealt with."

"I plan to remove her from the convent and take her to a cottage I know safe from here. De Floyran will likely seek her out to finish what he started. 'Tis his way, he lets none who have crossed his path escape him."

"You'll use her as bait?"

"No!" Galeren said shaking his head furiously, "she needs both protection and guidance now."

"She has been marked, Galeren." Bertrand sighed wearily almost expecting this result. Galeren shrugged at what he viewed to be an irrelevant comment but he knew what Bertrand meant and folded his arms defiantly.

"You know the Temple's creed on those marked. She should be put out of her misery." Bertrand continued seeing Galeren's face glower; he knew that his words were not welcome.

"'Tis regrettable but think on it. It is the best thing to do. Don't condemn her to a life not of her choosing. You know in the past that those marked have had trouble adjusting and that has caused problems for us."

"I care not for the past. I will not see her destroyed, not for that bastard. Besides, you know I do not agree with the creed. I don't know why you waste your time telling me what you know I will not abide by. She is my responsibility; I will guide her through the change."

Bertrand knew well the history between Galeren and Esquin de Floyran and this novice was another innocent lamb for him to save. But those who were marked in this way could be dangerous to the Order. Bertrand tried another course.

"You are not to blame for what happened, you could not foresee –"

"My decision is final!" Galeren snapped, his emotion erupting to the surface.

"'Tis not yours to take!" Bertrand stood up. Their eyes became locked, a battle of wills ensuing. Bertrand knew that Galeren would not give in but he would not be overthrown by his subordinate. Galeren knew it too but refusing to look away said, "Then I leave."

" _What?_ " Bertrand blinked breaking the deadlock.

"You heard. I am sick of the Temple's archaic rules and rituals. You are not interested in sense and we will fail because of it. But be that on your head. I will _not_ sacrifice her." Bertrand noted something in Galeren's cool blue eyes and wondered if there was another reason for his response. He breathed deeply and tried to search for the scent of it. Galeren frowned, "What are you doing?" he asked irritably. Bertrand ignored him momentarily and then satisfied with the trail he smiled.

"There is something else."

"What?" Galeren said sharply, placing his hands on his hips.

"This isn't just about the innocence of a novice. You perceive a bond between you."

"I don't know what you are talking about." Galeren said indifferently and refolded his arms.

"Something you can't explain? I had the same, the day I met my wife."

"Don't twist my intentions. I have never agreed with Temple policy on those who have been marked. You think I am a lust driven fool?"

"I think you are a man like the rest of us."

"This has nothing to do with that! She is just an innocent who's been marked by . . ." he paused barely able to suppress his anger. He swallowed it down and finished, "by _him_ of all people." Bertrand took Galeren's response as confirmation of what he already sensed. "I understand." He said.

Galeren shook his head, unsure of Bertrand's meaning. "My judgement is clear and so are my intentions." He stressed. "If Esquin de Floyran has come to deal with me then I warrant it will be the last thing he ever does. I will not make the same mistake twice."

"Be careful Galeren. I have not seen you this emotive since –"

"Acre?" Galeren finished for him. "Perhaps young Parsifal is right. Suppression of emotion may be a folly."

"Then it is not yours. You may have controlled it well but every one of your undertakings or ideas has been driven by passion and emotion. I know that much. So is this, but this is a different emotion, perhaps the most powerful. Be aware of your vulnerability."

"Spare the lecture, you are wrong. It is De Floyran who has raised my hackles; the girl is just an unfortunate casualty."

"As you will." Bertrand sighed indicating his resignation. "Do what needs to be done but keep me informed about De Floyran. Do whatever is necessary where he is concerned. Know that you have the backing of the Temple."

"I don't need it." Galeren said almost with contempt as he turned and marched out of the room.

Galeren found Parsifal in the stables tending to his old destrier, Red, which he still preferred to ride over the lighter palfreys that many of his brethren used in these quiet times. Red was astute and in tune with his master's whims and temperament. Galeren valued the trust between horse and master and was reluctant to give up that which had developed between them over the years.

Parsifal looked up enthusiastically at his master hoping that he would finally find out what had passed earlier between him and the novice. Yet one look into his master's eyes told him that, as ever, hope springs eternal. Whatever had riled Galeren at the convent was still firmly with him and certainly hadn't been cooled by his meeting with the preceptor. In fact, he looked even more antagonised.

Knowing that he had tested his master's patience to breaking point already, Parsifal decided that another barrage of questions would be ill advised. Instead he patted the rusty brown stallion he'd been grooming and stood to attention waiting for his master's instruction, when none was forthcoming he said:

"Red is a _fine_ horse, master." It was a true but pointless statement. However, it was better than asking a question which he was desperately trying to avoid doing. Galeren stared at him but his eyes were full of distraction.

"Aye, he is despite his age. We have a lot of history." He said but his mind was in another place.

"Is there aught else I can do for you, master?" Parsifal asked. It was a question but one he was not likely to get an ear bashing for.

"Yes." Galeren said suddenly coming back to himself. "I have a job for you."

"Yes, master?" Parsifal said, walking towards him. Galeren looked at him seriously. "Remember the cottage we rested at on the way down to London?"

"Yes, master, just north-east of here in Ashby."

"Ashby de la Laund, yes. I need you to go there and prepare it for me, make it presentable, get lots of fresh linen and supplies."

Parsifal nodded as Galeren handed him a bag of coin. "'Tis to do with the novice, isn't it?" Parsifal asked biting the inside of his mouth in frustration at his inability to keep from prying. Galeren shook his head in disbelief.

"'Tis always questions with you. Do you ever wait for anyone to volunteer information willingly?"

"I cannot apologise enough to you master for my incessant curiosity, but it's just . . ." he broke off and turned away, "I'll do as you say, master, no more questions."

"Just what?" Galeren snapped, sick of the half finished statements he was getting from everyone today. Though he often felt guilt at being curt with his sergeant, right now he didn't have the time to mess with detail. Parsifal turned to him red faced and said:

"My mother died at my birth and my father at your side in Acre, since then I have been your charge and you are the closest thing I have to a father," he paused noting the furrow appear between Galeren's eyebrows, "an older brother even." He corrected and then continued when Galeren failed to change his expression. "Yet I know almost nothing of you 'cept what I have gleaned over the years from whispers and gossip. It," he paused and swallowed as if the words were difficult, "wounds me to think that you have no trust in me."

Galeren felt the wound and was mortified to find Parsifal felt such a way, "I do trust you!" Galeren moved towards him. "More than most. It is why I ask _you_ to do this for me. Would I ask De Gosbeck or another here?"

Parsifal shrugged a little embarrassed by his admission, once again showing the lack of control he had on his emotions, but Galeren did not seem bothered by it.

"It _is_ about the novice. I haven't spoken of it because I have been deeply troubled and I have been trying to work things out in my own mind. She was attacked and bitten by a man who I have a history with, bad history Parsifal." Galeren said gravely.

"He killed the tanner."

"Yes, and he may be here to kill me or have another decadent purpose. But, for whatever reason he is here it is not for the good of any of us. To me this is a bad omen, it comes at the same time as . . ." At this point he broke off and Parsifal nodded at him impatiently. Galeren sighed, "There is much you do not know young sergeant."

"I only wait for you to tell me." Parsifal said not bothering to hide his frustration. Galeren looked at him for a moment and then nodded.

"Fine. When we were in Paris, the Grand Master told me in confidence that the Temple has come under attack."

"Attack?"

"Yes, albeit in the form of criticism and rumour but . . ." he let out a long breath, "though we are no stranger to criticism, never before has it been so vicious or base."

"What has been said?"

"Ah, mostly lies about secret rituals, sacrilege, sodomy and other nonsense. But it is dangerous nonsense."

"What did the Grand Master say?"

"He is lax in his caution as he is always and instead chooses to make matters worse in his quarrel with the King over the affair with the treasurer."

Galeren sighed. Jean du Tour, treasurer of the Temple of Paris, had lent Philip IV of France a vast sum of money and had neither informed nor asked the permission of the Grand Master before doing so. Jacques de Molay was incensed by the insult and so had promptly expelled Du Tour from the Order, much to Philip's antagonism. Now a battle of words was underway between the King, Pope and Grand Master over the reinstatement of the errant treasurer. The King's nose had been firmly put out of joint as Du Tour was also his treasurer and he was infuriated by the Grand Master's reaction to the matter and stubborn refusal to reconsider. Now it was the King who felt insulted and the Pope's opinion had been ignored. It was just what the Order didn't need with a vicious rumour mill at work.

"But what Du Tour did was illegal." Parsifal interjected.

"I agree, but neither the pride of the Grand Master nor that of the Temple is, at present, worth antagonising the King and the Pope. Christ knows we need them both. A little flexibility on De Molay's part would have been preferable."

"But what has this to do with this stranger's attack?" Parsifal asked a little confused. Galeren's shoulders slumped and he again gave a heavy sigh.

"In truth, I don't know. It is just a feeling. Esquin de Floyran has much reason to hate the Temple, not just me. His arrival after so many years can't be a coincidence."

"And where has he been all this time?"

"The devil only knows! Dead I had hoped." Galeren shrugged and then offered explanation, "I had him expelled from the Order and then errr...well I _thought_ I killed him, in Acre, by the way case you hadn't guessed it."

Parsifal's face showed just how much he delighted in being in his master's confidence, making Galeren realise just how reticent he had been with his young sergeant. Parsifal looked like a boy on Christmas morning with a sack full of gifts to unwrap.

"What had he done?"

"Later, sergeant. We waste time. I must get to Catherine before he does." He said seriously.

"Of course," Parsifal agreed, "I will see to your request."

"Yes, get the horses ready and gather your things we must leave at once." Galeren said his look becoming distracted, "I'll see you in Ashby, wait for me at the cottage."

"Yes, master," Parsifal said and then added as Galeren began to walk back to the preceptory's entrance, "she was lovely sir, didn't you think?"

Galeren paused and turned back to his sergeant with a frown on his face, "I did not notice. She's just a girl in trouble. It is our duty to protect her, do you understand?"

"Of course," Parsifal said and gave his master a dutiful bow.

It was dark by the time Galeren reached the convent. The waxing moon offered a half light and he surveyed the shadows and smelled the air, almost expecting De Floyran to materialise before his eyes. Though he was sure that it was De Floyran that had attacked Catherine, he would not fully believe it until he saw the villain for himself. He had, after all, put the man down and driven his sword through him, but what did that prove? How many Templars had been dragged from battle fields with wounds thought to be mortal yet made a full recovery? It was part of their renown. He had been an overconfident and careless fool! It was not a mistake he would make again.

He looked at the convent and it seemed deathly quiet. He thought of Catherine, alone in the prison that he was about to release her from only to put her in another. Perhaps, Bertrand was right but he quickly dispelled the doubt. He shook his head; though he may have been born of it, he had had no more choice in the matter than she. He would not be doing this if he didn't think she could cope with it. Moreover, he knew that he would not risk her being at the mercy of De Floyran should he seek her out and Galeren was sure he would. Vowing to protect her from all ill, he leapt over the wall into the convent gardens.

Catherine had taken a long time to finally fall into a restless sleep. After a punishing interrogation from the Abbess about her meeting with the Templar she had happily been led back to her cell of internment and even eagerly ate down the stale bread she had been offered as sustenance. She sensed that her life, disastrous in its measure, may have reached a pinnacle on that terrible night from which there was no return. She was yet to fathom what that may be and whether it was a good or bad thing. All she knew was that she could not bear life in the convent and there was little for her beyond its confinement. Nun or whore was the choice present to her and neither could she stomach.

However, now there was a sickness that turned in the pit of her stomach and it was that of anticipation. A dizzying excitement, intermingled with a sense of danger, made her feel more alive than ever before. She could feel it itching in her bones and every one of her senses felt about to burst.

She was changed and knew it was to do with the stranger's attack. It was also linked to the Templar who had visited her. She thought about Galeren, the strange knight, his manner, his look and even his words. Everything about him was opposed to her idea of a Templar. He should have been rigid and cold like the Abbess with harsh judgement, but he was not. He was deeply mysterious but something made her want to trust him completely. He was her salvation. She finally drifted off to sleep with a faint smile on her lips.

She awoke with a jolt, in what seemed like only moments later and froze in panic as she felt the pressure of a hand clasped firmly across her mouth. Her shocked grey eyes stared into the cool calm blue ones of the Templar and he smiled.

"Promise not to scream?" he said and Catherine blinked slowly in agreement. He removed his hand from her mouth and took her face gently with it. She pursed her lips and tasted the tang of salt from his skin, evidence of the effort of his break in.

"I am supposed to break your neck." He said calmly.

"Why?" Catherine asked, not really believing he was going to do so.

"I cannot tell you." He shrugged.

"What harm can there be in telling me the reason I must die when I'll be taking your secret to the grave?"

"Sshhhhhh." He said looking around, and then fixed his gaze back on her with intense scrutiny. Her large grey eyes blinked up at him. _God, let Bertrand be wrong_. Her now uncovered black hair, which was a little longer than he had expected, was fine and shone blue in the pale moonlit room; he fought the urge to touch it. He had been surprised at his reaction to her when they first met and had with great effort ignored it. It was in his nature to resist such and with good reason. He had only just met Catherine and part of her had already been taken, taken by Esquin de Floyran. He clenched his jaw and tried to concentrate on the mission in hand.

"I cannot tell you just yet as I do not plan to break your neck. I may tell you another time if..." he paused.

"If?" Catherine said breathlessly, trying to compose herself.

"If you come with me, willingly, without struggle or fuss."

"Where?" Catherine asked, the skin crinkling between her eyes as she frowned.

"That you may not know." Galeren answered.

"Why?" her frown increased.

"That you may not ask."

"And if I refuse?"

The knight shrugged. "Then you can stay here, if you want." He knew she did not.

"I do not want." She said resolutely. He nodded his understanding.

"So you must trust me. I do not intend to harm you or let harm come to you. You must make a decision now."

"You know the man who attacked me?" she asked.

"Not here." Galeren said. "I have answers for you but you have to come with me." He knew she would and there was no doubt in her mind either that she would go with him. He offered her a chance of escape and she would take it; salvation or damnation, she did not care. Her life had changed and all paths were now linked with this Templar.

"Let's go then." Catherine said and Galeren helped her up off of the pallet. She wore only a delicate undershift and Galeren swiftly removed his black cloak and threw it about her shoulders.

"Thank you." She said grabbing a linen cap and placing it over her head. She tucked her hair within it and looked around frowning when she saw no evidence of forced entry.

"How did you get in?"

"Magic," he said and winked.

"And do we get out the same way?" Catherine asked, folding her arms. Galeren put on his mail gloves, unsheathed his sword and drove the hilt of it, along with his fist, into the glass pane of the only window in the room.

"No," he smiled as the glass shattered, "you have to escape. You have to disappear."

"Never to return?" she asked with a little smile.

"Never." He said smiling back.

### Chapter Four

5th September 1307, Fontainebleau Palace, Fontainebleau, France

"De Nogaret!" Philip called out with genuine delight at seeing the councillor enter his private chambers. The King, reclining on a chair with legs crossed resting one upon another, was greedily feeding himself grapes with one hand and slurping wine from a large bejewelled goblet held by the other.

"Get some more wine, boy!" he growled to the servant beside him through masticating jaws which were crammed full of the fruit, "And better than this piss you've given me thus." He shook the goblet at the servant as if in warning and shooed him away. "Well Guillaume," Philip said to De Nogaret when they were alone, "what are your thoughts on the latest gesture of the Grand Master? Is he fool or genius?"

"Your Majesty," Guillaume de Nogaret paused and bowed his head out of respect and only continued forward when Philip motioned him to do so.

"I was surprised when I received your message."

"Surprised, and?" Philip pressed, his eyes bright and eager.

De Nogaret sighed. "The Grand Master's confidence that nought will come of it may be for several reasons; either that there is no truth in the accusations made against the Temple or he is unaware of any damning deviations within the Order. In addition, there is also the probable difficulty in proving such heresies if they indeed exist." Guillaume smiled, but Philip frowned showing his irritation at De Nogaret's answer.

"Was it not you who presented the five denouncers to me?" Philip snapped. De Nogaret nodded and lowered his gaze.

"Have you no belief in their accusations then?"

"Only the belief one could have in someone who has been wronged and thus seeks a cold revenge." De Nogaret said being honest even though he knew that it may anger the King so passionate was he in his will to kill the Temple.

Philip was himself just another who felt wronged by the powerful knights. De Nogaret on the other hand did not care what the Templars had or hadn't been doing, he had no opinion on the matter and was not inclined to even think on it; this was merely another assignment for him and one that he would exact with zealous precision. To have judgment on a task was pointless and potentially vexing; when it came to the King's work De Nogaret was free of opinion yet coldly determined. Guilt or innocence mattered not, only the King's pleasure and his own reward.

"Whose side do you think you are on? I need faith to be instilled in the accusers! Christ be damned, if there is no truth to it then I will make a truth of it by any means necessary." Philip drained his goblet just as the servant returned with two fresh flagons, De Nogaret waited for the King's cup to be refilled before he spoke.

"It matters not what I think your Majesty, only that I act on it, and –"

"Of course it matters!" Philip interjected, "I need assurance of success. De Molay ridicules me at every turn. His over-confidence and arrogance incenses me. I must know that the days of the Master of the Temple thinking he is above the King are drawing to a close. Even popes have sailed too close to the wind on that point." Philip raised his eyebrows at De Nogaret to remind him of the point and to show his understanding, De Nogaret nodded.

Satisfied, Philip continued, "I will not allow myself or my descendants to be ruled by impudent Popes or knights of low nobility who believe they rank high enough to challenge or refuse the King. I want it to be understood that I answer to no-one 'cept God himself. Your opinion matters to me because I seek an end to this constant provocation and you are instrumental to this. Can it be done Guillaume?"

"It can and will be done. Clement is ignorant of the extent of your aim, is he not, your Majesty?"

"Clement is immaterial, he may support the Temple now but he is easily unnerved. He is weak. He may peck like a chicken at policies with his valueless opinions but he soon tucks in his neck when it comes too close to the chopping block. A new crusade and a merging of the Temple with the Hospitallers would be to his satisfaction. Both would have interested me at some point but crusades drain kingdoms of their wealth, as my father aptly proved, and I want not a shred of the Temple remaining merged or otherwise.

I know how to turn Clement but I need the accusations to have weight. I want the Temple destroyed, Guillaume. No mistakes this time." The King tilted his head at the councillor gravely reminding him of another point and drank back his wine. It was refilled immediately.

"Clement appeases the Grand Master with this inquiry and they both think that this is just a matter for course. The Master's arrogance and belief in Clement's unquestionable support is proved by this move but I promise that he and his brethren will fall foul because of it." De Nogaret assured.

"We need to strike with haste. Clement has already spoken of delaying the inquiry over this illness of his. I want this done, not dragged out for years." Philip said impatiently.

De Nogaret knew something of the King's impatience. He looked at Philip reclining in his lavish quarters. He was an extravagant king with the looks to compliment his manner, yet his treasury was not so bountiful. The wars with England in Gascony had exhausted the treasury and it needed to be replenished and quickly. Seizure of Jewish goods and money and even debasing the currency and increasing taxation had not given the King the capital he desired. It was the wealth of the Templars, reputed to be in vast stores of treasure, which obsessed Philip. De Nogaret could not judge the King too harshly on that fact for he too was ambitious for wealth and to be fair Philip did have other reasons for seeing the Temple felled.

He resented their power and influence and what he condemned as their hideous arrogance and their impunity. In particular it was the current Grand Master, Jacques de Molay, whose conceit proved insufferable and it was this, coupled with his unshakable conviction that he and his brethren were unassailable, that enraged the King. There was also moral motivation on Philip's part. There was hypocrisy about the Order that bothered him, for although he dared to challenge the authority of popes, he was deeply pious.

He sensed corruption and misdeeds behind the Templars' wealth and influence. The recent accusations of heretical activities within the Order by ousted Templars that had come forth with complaint, had only confirmed Philip's suspicions. They were immoral and self driven and served neither God nor King. It was their resistance to merge with the Hospitallers that convinced Philip that the Order was problematic and better served him dissolved and with their resources within his grasp. De Nogaret smiled to reassure the King and then brought forth the news that he knew would enthral him.

"Esquin de Floyran will provide a strong testimony to the Temple's misdeeds and not just acts of heresy and corruption, he has more."

Philip sat up, his expression rippled with interest and De Nogaret nodded his assertion that what he was about to say, would not only please the King but put to rest his fretting over the matter.

"Spit it out Guillaume!" Philip cried impatient for the information.

"I know not the exact details of it but De Floyran has assured me that there is a secret of the Templars so diabolical that it could strike Clement dead merely upon its revelation to him."

"Damn you Guillaume, you best reveal it to me now you have spoken of it!"

"Your Majesty I cannot because as I said I know nothing of its intricacies, but De Floyran swears that if Clement survived the utterance of the said revelation then he would have the Temple burn in the fires of hell for all eternity and you would have his blessing to send them there."

Philip clenched his fist and then motioned for more wine to be poured for the both of them, "You tease me with this morsel. Why the secrecy from De Floyran?"

"He says it is very . . ." De Nogaret stopped to find the right word, "dangerous knowledge and if he reveals it then it should be kept from the public domain at all costs."

"Hell's teeth, what is it? Where is De Floyran? I will see him now, I cannot be left thus!"

"He is in England at present, your Majesty." De Nogaret said removing one of his gloves and fingering it.

Philip stood up suddenly. "England? What the devil is he doing in England?" He began to pace the room.

"Your Majesty, my news was meant to ease your worry over the matter, not add to it."

"By leaving it a mystery? You fool! Do you now expect me to sleep? What if De Floyran is lying, what if there is nothing? Has he asked for more money?"

"Of course, he desires wealth and land; however he maintains that he can provide irrefutable evidence but does not wish to reveal the secret until he has such before you and the Pope."

"And he has gone to England for it?"

"Of that I am not sure."

"Mmmm, De Floyran." Philip mused and thought back to their meeting months before. "He had a Templar's arrogance that's for certain. I did not like his manner. Can we trust a man who would betray his own?"

De Nogaret shrugged contemplatively. "He is a mercenary, expelled from the Temple at the fall of Acre and he has such bitterness towards them that you can almost taste it when he speaks of them. He has waited a long time for revenge and so desirous is he for their fall that this revelation is his way of ensuring it, even though he risks his own position by revealing the secret."

"What makes you say that?"

"He told me so and 'tis why he is cautious in his disclosure of it. He requires guarantee of his impunity."

"He'll have it." Philip waved his hand dismissively. "What I want to know is whether you trust him?" Philip asked.

"He served me well at Anagni, though the outcome was not altogether as planned, he played his part well." Philip raised an eyebrow at his councillor impatiently. De Nogaret sighed.

"No, I do not trust him. But his mistress is money, so trust matters not when the weight of coin controls the tide. We offer him revenge and wealth and so his loyalty is secure."

Philip nodded. "When does he return from England?" He rubbed his left eye and returned to his chair.

"When his business is concluded but he said no later than the end of September."

"Jesu so I must wait, must I? Once again it is a Templar who has me by the balls!" Philip said throwing his arms up.

"Ex-Templar and he is firmly in your camp, Majesty."

"Let's hope Guillaume, for your sake, it better be good. But," he continued shaking his finger at De Nogaret thoughtfully, "if this secret shouldn't be made public then what good is it against them?"

"It will destroy the Pope's support of the Temple and it will give those who come to judge them, reason to judge them mercilessly. De Floyran wants to expose the Templars for what they really are." De Nogaret replied confidently.

"Mmmm," Philip nodded his fascination gnawing at him, "I want De Floyran brought to me as soon as he sets foot back on French soil. I want this to begin. Clement's ailment means that his meeting with the two Grand Masters to discuss a new crusade and merging of the Orders will be delayed.

De Molay will not go back to Cyprus until he has met with Clement nor until the inquiry into the Order has been concluded. The arrogant fool! This inquiry he has asked for provides us with a cloak and his infernal conceit will dampen his vigilance. We must not give him any reason to suspect anything else; I want De Molay arrested with the others. I will decide whether this other matter of De Floyran's is to be solely kept between our agents and those of the papacy when I've heard it."

Philip stood up and began to pace back and forth as his mind worked. "In the meantime, watch the Temple closely De Nogaret, and gather as much evidence as you can against them. I want charges to be laid against them, charges that will stick like shit and seize Clement's interest, charges that will destroy their foundations. I want the world to turn on them, see to it that such are drawn up."

Guillaume nodded, "Consider it done. De Floyran leads a handful of mercenaries that are, according to him, other expelled Templars. The Temple is unpopular and has enemies aplenty. It will be easy to secure other testimonies, false or otherwise."

"Good, good." Philip said stretching his arms above his head. "Now are you joining us on the hunt this afternoon?"

"No, I have work to do." De Nogaret said, bowing his head respectfully. "I must return to Paris this afternoon."

Philip shook his head incredulously, "How can you come to Fontainebleau and not wish to enjoy the thrill of the hunt? Surely you have time or do you never make time for pleasure, Guillaume?" the King asked inspecting his fingernails briefly before looking back at him.

"I find pleasure in my work." De Nogaret replied. "Besides I have a hunt of my own to conduct." He smiled at the King with a glint in his eyes that made Philip curious about the councillor's true nature, of which he knew little about. He was good at his job, clever and honest but, while Philip enjoyed the company of some of his other advisors, he had never cared to socialise with De Nogaret. The King kept his gaze firmly fixed on him and studied him for a moment.

Philip was aware that he and De Nogaret could not have been more different from each other in form. The King was tall, blond, strongly built and devilishly handsome while De Nogaret was squat, swarthy and had beady eyes that showed cold resolve. Philip knew that they were similarly ambitious and hungry for wealth and, while for perhaps different reasons, would seek any means necessary to secure that which they desired.

However, De Nogaret had a hidden quarter that when glimpsed, albeit rarely, made Philip a little uncomfortable. While most men enjoyed hunting for the sport of the chase, he knew that for De Nogaret it would be the point of slaughter that would most satisfy him. Philip could tell himself that the hunt for the Temple's destruction was a morally justifiable cause but he knew that, conversely, De Nogaret cared not for whys and wherefores but for the destruction of the quarry itself and that it was the final blow from which he would derive his greatest pleasure. He had been cheated of it with Pope Boniface VIII, so he would be doubly determined to have it satisfied with Templar casualties.

"Very well," Philip said breaking his thoughts and walking towards the door, "keep me informed, and I want to know when that renegade Templar is back in France." He finished sweeping quickly out the room. De Nogaret stared after him with a smile on his face that swelled with his damning objective.

****

"I don't like this Jacques," Gerard de Villiers said shaking his head, "we are hardly in a strong position of defence."

"What are you talking about?" Jacques De Molay said. His face, lit by the candlelight, showed his irritation at the remark.

The Master of the Paris Temple sighed, "Sometimes Jacques I am inclined to believe that you suffer from intolerable arrogance."

"Now you sound like my son." The Grand Master scoffed.

"Perhaps he is right."

"He is a hypocrite," Jacques said angrily, "he is arrogant himself in his own beliefs, if you've ever heard him." He drew breath and then let it out abruptly. "Conviction in our ability to sail through this inquiry unscathed is what I would call it. Requesting the inquiry into the Order myself shows the accusations are nothing more than vicious lies perpetrated by enemies of the Temple. Clement will work his way through it and it will pass. It is not as if we haven't suffered from bitter criticism before, eh?"

Gerard rubbed his chin, "No, but as I just said we have been in stronger positions." Jacques raised his eyebrows at him eager for clarification.

"We are without a crusade." Gerard began.

"We are here to discuss that." Jacques interrupted.

"Aye, but at present we have limited purpose. The possibility of a new crusade is all we have at best and God knows even if we get it, aren't we sick of the pretence?"

"Christ, you do sound like my son!" Jacques complained then sighed wearily, "Like you said it is all we have, at best. Besides it will deflect attention from this damned merger the King is hell bent on."

"Methinks he fancies himself as some sort of grand unifying master of the resulting order." Gerard observed.

"Over my dead body!" Jacques said pouring himself some wine. He slid the flagon across the desk to De Villiers. "I am rather inclined to think that he would like to alleviate us of some, if not all, of our wealth." He sipped his wine.

"This is my point, Jacques," said De Villiers, taking a hearty gulp from his cup, "Philip covets our wealth and the power we hold but we are in a precarious position. You cannot rely on Clement, he is afraid of Philip. He cowers in the shadow of Boniface and Philip well knows that."

"Philip is a bully but Clement is not as weak as you think."

"I hope you are right but you have caused him embarrassment of late, don't forget that." Gerard cautioned. They both knew that the incident with the Temple's treasurer had angered Philip and Clement alike. Philip in particular had had his nose severely put out of joint, namely because he had had to ask for the money from the Temple in the first place. Although the large sum had been given to him, insult had been added to injury when De Molay had promptly expelled his treasurer for conducting the deed without his knowledge. This indicated to Philip that the request would have been denied had the Grand Master been notified of it beforehand. Clement had interjected on Philip's behalf and requested immediate reinstatement of the treasurer. The Grand Master had ignored him, burning the Pope's letter to make the point that the matter was closed.

"I was within my rights to expel Du Tour. Clement was just pandering to Philip's pride."

"Still there would be no harm in reinstating Du Tour."

" _What?_ " Jacques face crumbled in horror at the notion.

"Jacques," Gerard raised his hands to still his temper. The Grand Master was not usually so quick to lose it but Gerard knew that this matter particularly incensed him. "Think of it as a gesture of good will, it may be a timely one."

"I am not afraid of Philip. He has nothing on us, anyway he is too stupid."

"He may be stupefied by wealth but he has unrelenting determination when he fixes his sights on something and he has councillors to be astute and do the digging of the dirt for him. De Nogaret is like a jackal waiting to pounce, he does his research thoroughly and he is not afraid of the height of the target either."

Jacques nodded contemplatively thinking of the jackal's attack on Boniface VIII. Clement's predecessor had been another of Philip's obsessions which had resulted in him being seized by a group led by De Nogaret at his palace in Anagni and held captive under threat of going to trial on charges of abuse of power and heresy. Rebellion against this outrage, by the people of Anagni, had saved Boniface and he never went to trial although he died, in any case, within a month of the offence. Still it was proof of Guillaume de Nogaret's guile and cocksure attitude. He had narrowly escaped excommunication by Boniface's successor, Benedict XI, and by the time Clement V became Pope, under Philip's persuasion, the matter had been forgotten and De Nogaret was comfortably situated within Philip's camp once again.

"It could be within our interests to appease the King and respectfully acknowledge Clement's stance on the matter. We have a lot more to lose than our pride." Gerard clasped his hands together before him and with his elbows upon the table for support he rested his chin upon them whilst studying the Grand Master's expression intently. Jacques' brow twitched in deep thought and then he frowned and rested his eyes upon De Villiers, "Your suggestion makes sense though I am loath to admit it."

Gerard breathed a sigh of relief, it was something of a victory to get Jacques de Molay to change course on something which he had already set his mind to. He quickly made sure that he reaffirmed his support for the Grand Master's original decision and that foul times required unwilling sacrifices.

"Under any other circumstances I would have had Du Tour strung up by his bollocks for his insolence and expelled, but just now it may do some good to have the King on side when this inquiry begins."

"Fine. Have the fool reinstated into the Order as treasurer. I hope I am not going to regret this Gerard. I hate weakness and would be mortified to be thought of encompassing any." Jacques staunch resolve had come from quelling the only weakness he had ever really had and it was not without regret. He thought of the last time he had seen his son and how much he had looked like his beautiful mother and again felt regret. They had not parted company on good terms and now ironically he was doing the very thing his son had told him to do weeks ago.

"Jacques, nobody could ever accuse you of being weak." Gerard said seeing the disturbed look on De Molay's face. Jacques shook his head and pushed away his sentimental musings. There would be time aplenty to make amends when this business was done with. His priority at this moment in time was the Temple and personal relationships had to come a poor second.

"Perhaps we should deploy more agents of our own." Gerard said almost as an afterthought but his intention was serious. Jacques looked up at him his eyebrows arched in interest.

"If Philip has a mind to depose us, then we would do well to find out how he is armed. We should be one step ahead of trouble if it's afoot and be ready to act if necessary."

"Practice caution," Jacques said agreeing despondently. Gerard nodded. "We could know in days if there is any real threat."

"Do it then." Jacques said curtly in response to Gerard's comment and pinched the bridge of his nose. "This wine must be bottom of the barrel as I have developed a crushing headache, apologies Gerard but I need to retire."

"Of course," he said standing up to take his leave immediately. "Much has been resolved this evening. I will see to the Du Tour business. Goodnight Jacques."

The Grand Master nodded his farewell and when Gerard had closed the door behind him he rested his head in his hands, the burden of his responsibility weighing him down. It was at times like this that he allowed himself to wish that a choice he had made some thirty three years ago had been different. He wondered where he would be now if Isabelle was still alive and whether he would know better his son. He sighed heavily then pushed the sombre thoughts away again. Regret was weakness and weakness he despised. He stood up and wearily made his way to his pallet where he attempted to get some rest. However, sleep did not come and as he lay in the darkness he was only aware of the unrelenting advance of time and fate.

### Chapter Five

The storm that had cast its shadow over the north of England, for what seemed like most of the summer, was still unrelenting in its siege but thankfully the rain had ceased for a time and now there was only the howling wind to contend with. Catherine jolted awake as it screamed through the trees, vaguely aware of her surroundings and felt someone's arm tighten around her waist. She quickly came to her senses in the grey dawn light and took stock of the situation; she rode pillion on a horse, the Templar's horse, and it was his arm that was wrapped tightly around her.

"Are you well?" a voice, she recognised as his, asked. She looked around her and then behind to catch a glimpse of him. She met the coolness of his eyes and turned her head to quickly face the road ahead once more.

"Yes, but you hold me so tightly I feel I will soon be unable to draw breath." She remarked.

"Sorry," he said, softening his grip, "but you were heavy in your slumber. I did not want you to fall."

"Heavy?" Catherine said a little affronted, she looked round at him and frowned. Galeren shrugged at her and then smiled, "Dead weight. Your conscious body is much lighter."

"I haven't slept for days. I had no idea I had fallen into such a deep sleep." She said apologetically looking back at the road again.

"You needed it," Galeren said. Catherine nodded and studied the overgrown road ahead of them. "Where are we going?" she asked pushing her shoulders back and stretching her aching neck.

"Ashby," he replied.

"This isn't the road to Ashby," Catherine said stubbornly.

"Not the one you know," Galeren replied. "This is an old route that became disused long ago. It was difficult to keep clear and often became impassable in places for cumbersome wagons and large retinue. Now it is a hidden path, used by those with something to hide."

"You have something to hide?" Catherine said curiously.

"Only you," he said casually.

"The Abbess is hardly likely to send out a search party. Rather she is counting her blessings and prays I don't darken her doorstep again." Catherine said disdainfully.

"That is not my concern." He said curtly. "It is the prying eyes we'd encounter on the main road that I wish to avoid."

It seemed curious to Catherine that she had gone with this stranger so willingly when she knew nothing about him except that he claimed to be a Templar Knight. His concern about what had transpired several nights ago seemed less in the interest of Temple affairs and more to do with his connection to the murderous assailant, of whom she was positive he was acquainted with.

He was also not dressed as he had been when he and his comrade had first visited her at the convent. His shabby attire was completely in contrast to the gleaming and immaculate uniform he had previously worn when he had presented himself as a Templar Knight. He had taken her from the convent wearing a plain black woollen surcoat over a dirty, rusting mail hauberk and dark brown leg attire. His boots were scuffed and well worn and his dark dusty cloak was that which was presently wrapped around her. However, despite his ambiguity she still sensed no danger. He could be taking her to her slaughter, but trusting that this was not his intention, she decided to satisfy her curiosity and question him instead.

"You're not really a Templar are you?" she ventured, looking round at him.

Galeren raised an eyebrow curiously at her. "What makes you say that?"

"Your garb for one," she said. "You were so impressively dressed when you came to the convent yesterday but now you are dressed like a penniless mercenary."

"And?" Galeren said as if he was waiting for her point.

"And your manner is not befitting that of a Templar."

"My manner?"

"Your hair is long, you do not sport a beard and . . ." she shrugged not sure how to word her meaning.

"How many Templars have you known?" he queried.

"You are the first I admit –"

"Ah well," he cut her off, "to whom do you compare me to then?"

"You know well what I mean, sir." Catherine said determined not to be played by him, the Templars had a reputation and well he knew it. He chuckled behind her and she felt the vibrations prickle her skin. "Well?" she asked.

"Despite my caution at using a quiet path if we were to be seen, a Templar Knight riding pillion with a half dressed lady would rouse much interest. In my present attire we would appear less conspicuous, a mercenary and his mistress perhaps?" Galeren felt Catherine stiffen at this remark but let her brood on it rather than placate her. "I prefer to wear my hair long and I find a beard itchy. Have you any more questions?" he added with a little humour in his voice.

"Yes!" she cried, "many, as a matter of fact." She found herself suddenly irritated by his casual manner. She may have gone willingly with him but she still wanted to know what was going on. She took a deep breath and sighed and keeping the tone of her voice even she said:

"I want to know where we are going and why and I want to know who you really are and what your link is to the villain who attacked the tanner and I?"

"That's fair enough," he said calmly.

Catherine turned to face him again and stared into his cool eyes.

"Well? I'm waiting." She said impatiently, her eyes darkened to reflect the moody grey of the turbulent sky. He looked at her for a moment, enamoured by her spirit and paused to study her features close up. The shifting colour of her eyes was fascinating but her frown deepened and he broke his gaze.

He sighed, "I plan to keep nothing from you. I am just biding my time. There is much to tell and I felt it better to wait until we were in more comfortable surroundings. But if you insist . . ."

"I do." She said curtly. Galeren crooked his neck from one side to the other repeatedly until it cracked and then he said:

"In Ashby is a cottage belonging to the Temple. It is unoccupied and secluded and will provide a good refuge. I am a Templar, be secure in that fact, as was the bastard that attacked you. I do know him, and well, though I can assure you he is no friend of mine. He was expelled from the Order some sixteen years ago and seemingly has come back from the dead to settle a score with me."

"But why did he attack me and kill the tanner?"

"He has a penchant for attacking women. The tanner was just an unfortunate intrusion into a sadistic intention, unfortunate for him, fortunate for you. My involvement is purely coincidental or perhaps fate."

"Fate?"

"I was just passing through. I am not from Temple Bruer. My preceptory is Faxfleet in Yorkshire. My sergeant and I merely stopped to shelter from the damned weather and I became embroiled in this. I can hardly believe it myself, seeing as last I saw him he had been run through by my own sword."

"So how can you know for sure that it is this man who attacked me?" she asked confused.

"Trust me, I know. It is complicated to explain right now."

"Why did you come back for me? Am I in some sort of trouble or danger?"

"There are many reasons, but I will give you the most basic just now. He has unfinished business with you. You escaped him and he cannot allow that. Your evasion of him has made you twice as . . ." he paused and grimaced at the notion, "appealing. He will seek you out at the convent first and when he finds you are gone, he will come looking for you. He will know when he speaks to the Abbess that you are with me. She will tell him of my visit, as no doubt he will be dressed as a Templar."

"That is the most basic?" she said incredulously, wondering what the other reasons could possibly be.

"Aye, 'tis." Galeren replied looking up as he felt a spot of rain hit his nose, "Believe me," he said, frowning as the rain began to fall, "you are in quite a mess."

"But why should you care?" she asked genuinely interested. "What do you care for a nun?"

"But you are not a nun are you? You're a novice and a wicked one at that, if your Abbess is to be believed." He teased.

Catherine shrugged. "Fine. What do you care for a wicked novice then?"

"I care that when he finds you, I will be there to put an end to him." Galeren replied curtly.

"I am bait then." Catherine snapped.

"You're bait whichever way you look at it. At least this way, I'll be able to protect you. Would you rather have remained at the convent?"

"I would rather be dead." She said gravely.

"I take it from that, that you were not there out of choice."

"I had no choice. It was forced upon me."

"Well, I am afraid that another situation has been forced upon you."

"Don't apologize. I would rather the fear of the unknown then the mind numbing certainty of each day until my death."

"Then we are like minded." Galeren said with a smile on his lips.

"When will you tell me the rest?"

"When we are –" he cut off as his horse side stepped nervously on the track and threw its head up as if about to rear.

"Easy, Red." Galeren said, softly patting his stallion's neck but caught the scent of something and looked ahead down the track.

"What is it?" Catherine asked.

"Ssshhhhh!" Galeren said reining Red onwards. He smelt them before he saw them. Red too had sensed their presence but, unusually, before Galeren had. It was the second time he had missed the importance of a scent in the presence of Catherine. Up ahead, on the side of the track, stood a group of five men. There were five mounts with them and they had a fire going, over which boiled a pot of something that smelled rancid. Galeren cast his eyes over the group and swore under his breath. Catherine felt his tension.

"What's wrong?" she whispered looking at the men ahead. Galeren pulled the cloak even more tightly around her and pushed her head forward so she was looking towards the ground.

"Keep your head so." He said firmly. "Don't look at them when we pass. Don't make any kind of eye contact, do you understand?"

"Yes," Catherine said uneasily, feeling the rain drops trickling down her face.

Galeren spurred Red onwards in a show of confidence and rode past the men, tipping his head at them in greeting. They stank of days of riding, rotting linen and rusting mail. They were a motley group of mercenaries and a desperate one at that given the state of them and the smell of what they had to eat. Their dusty faces fixed upon the passing riders. Five pairs of bleary eyes looked upon the girl who sat in front of the unassuming knight, who himself looked worse for wear.

Galeren could smell the zeal of their lust as they took in the view of Catherine. It had probably been some time since they could afford a woman and not one as beautiful as she. Her head was still downcast but her curious eyes couldn't help but dart sideward to steal a look. She caught sight of their faces, which although wore smiles, were filthy and brutal looking. They continued past and up the track away from the group. Biding his time, Galeren finally looked behind him to see what they were doing.

"Shit." He swore. The men had quickly climbed on their mounts and were slowly following them. The rain began to fall in earnest.

"What?" Catherine asked nervously.

"They are following us." Galeren said.

"What do they want?"

"You," he said solemnly and immediately felt her tense.

" _Me?_ You're so sure?"

"Well they don't want me and I don't look worth robbing. Believe me, men in that state are not wont to let a woman like you pass them by."

"But I'm with you." She protested.

"They care not about that. There are five of them and one of me."

"What are we going to do?" she asked. Galeren could sense the unease within her.

"Don't worry. I won't let them hurt you." He said with conviction. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes." She breathed turning her head to look at him. His eyes were intense yet had a thread of calm within them. However, over his shoulder she saw the men closing in on them and she quickly turned her attention back to the road ahead.

"You must do exactly what I say and keep to it. Whatever happens, don't look; you won't want to see it. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Catherine said as the men caught up to them. Two trotted ahead of them and turned to block their onward passage, while the others stayed behind to secure the rear.

"Can I help you?" Galeren said. His voice was steady and strong but Catherine couldn't prevent herself from shivering. The leader of the group, or the one who had chosen to speak for them, smiled and lent forward in his saddle, his face becoming streaked with grimy rivulets as the rain pelted it. He cast his gaze approvingly over Catherine, then fixed his eyes on Galeren.

"Save yourself a beating and give us the woman and we promise to give her back to you in one piece when we've finished with her." The others laughed at this and Galeren tightened his grip around Catherine to reassure her.

"I don't think there'll be much left of her when you've finished." Galeren remarked keeping his eyes on the leader who nodded his agreement and flashed Galeren with another toothy grin.

"You're probably right but that's the chance you'll have to take to save your own skin."

"I take no chances." Galeren said coolly. "This woman's skin is more precious to me than my own, so the answer is no. I now offer you a choice," he continued as a dark mask fell over his face and a snarl formed on his lips, "take your group of filth and turn about, or I promise there'll not be much left of _you_ when I've finished."

The leader laughed at this and the others joined him, though he was a little unnerved by the lone knight's cool confidence.

"Gutsy," he said and looked about him at his men. His eyes did the talking, indicating to Galeren what their next move would be. The tension grew and Catherine could feel her heart beating out of her chest.

"But I don't fancy your chances," the man finished and Catherine heard the scrape of steel as it left a scabbard and felt Galeren's hand on her side. He gave her a good firm shove and she flew out of the saddle.

"Get down and cover your head!" he screamed, as she hit the sodden dirt. She did, just as Red reared up over her, his hooves crashing down beside her head. More hooves circled her and she heard more swords being drawn and then someone scream out a warning. A horse whinnied in the agony of injury and she felt the earth shake as it crashed down onto the ground, trapping the screaming rider beneath it. In the chaos and screams she heard flesh tear and felt the splash of something warm and wet cover her hands, but she dared not look up. The screams went through her as she heard more tearing followed by thudding, like the ground was being pelted with something other than the rain. Though she had heard swords drawn, she heard no clash of steel against steel, only tearing, thudding and blood curdling screams.

And there was another sound, strange, out of place and terrifying. It was the snarls and guttural cries of an animal. Her heart almost stopped, as she realised that it was an animal she recognised. She could not hear Galeren's voice through the fray, only the awful screams of the mercenaries and terrible ripping sound. Despite Galeren's commands, Catherine felt compelled to look upon the scene, dreading that her instinct would prove true.

Slowly, she looked up, and to her horror saw what she had feared. It was a wolf, a huge white wolf, drenched in blood. Its teeth were bared in a terrifying grimace as it launched itself at one of the men. The man stood, his sword raised in defence, ready to bring down his attacker. He did not stand a chance. The wolf flew gracefully through the air and the man swung his sword in a feeble attempt to fell it, but he was too slow. The wolf slammed into his chest, knocking him to the ground and its jaws, wide and ready, clamped shut on his forearm.

Catherine shuddered as she heard the crack of bone, followed by tearing and then a pop as the man's arm was ripped from its socket. His cries were inhuman. The wolf tossed the arm from its mouth and it hit the ground just inches from where Catherine lay, the sword still firmly gripped in its hand. Stood on the writhing mercenary's chest, the wolf wasted no time in finishing him. Its teeth now took the man's throat and tore with such force that his head was all but separated from his body.

Catherine covered her mouth to prevent herself from crying out, but the wolf sensed it was being watched and turned its gaze upon her. Catherine saw Galeren then; his eyes were fixed furiously on her. She knew it was him; though it may not have been his body, it was his eyes. Though she recognised them, they were unlike those she was used to looking into. They were wild, they were animal. The huge white wolf began to pad towards her, its teeth bared. _Was he going to attack her?_

" _Galeren?_ " she started fearfully but suddenly found herself grabbed by the waist, hauled up and pulled backwards. She now had full view of the carnage. Galeren had kept his promise, there was not much left of the mercenaries. It was over and the cries and sounds of the conflict were replaced by an eerie silence broken only by the fall of the rain and the furious beat of her heart. Strewn across the road were, what appeared to be, various body parts. She could distinguish arms, lumps of flesh and the bloodied, torn remains of four men.

She then realised that it was not her that the wolf was snarling at, but the last remaining mercenary who now held her. She felt a cold steel blade against her throat. Before her eyes the white wolf seemed to blur and elongate, and in but a fragment of time Galeren, the man, stood before them. He was naked, but still covered in blood and not bothered by his natural state. She felt her captor tense and utter an oath under his breath.

Galeren's face was dark and savage and the ferocity of his action was evident. One horse was down and the others had bolted. Red, however, was stood at the side of the road casually lipping at some shrubbery. The surviving mercenary gripped Catherine tightly and slowly began to back away from the fierce creature before him. Galeren's face was covered in rain washed blood and he was wild with rage. He looked at Catherine who stared at him incredulously, despite her predicament. With what appeared to be great effort, he composed himself and caught his breath.

"Let her go," he said and a thread of calm returned to his eyes, which now appeared more human, "and I'll let you go."

The man backed up, the horror of what had just happened was emblazoned starkly across his stunned face. Galeren raised his hand in reassurance.

"In Christ's name what are you?" the man asked still horrified, his prior bravery having disappeared along with his slain comrades. Galeren shook his head and merely said, "something you should have listened to."

"You'll let me go?" he asked, lowering the sword slightly from Catherine's neck.

"I give you my word." Galeren smiled and nodded his assurance, but Catherine saw the wolf return to his eyes.

The man lowered his sword and roughly shoved Catherine towards Galeren. He then turned and began to run. Catherine skidded onto her knees as Galeren changed and leapt over her head. She did not look back but heard him bring down the fleeing man. The ripping sound of flesh leaving bone drove her to her feet and she made to escape.

_No, no, no, no!_ It could not be. He was like the one who attacked her. She knew they were linked, and this was how. What nightmare was she in? As she ran for her life, her heart told her that he meant her no harm, but her head told her to get as far away from him as possible.

" _Catherine!_ "

She heard him call out. She expected him to give chase and the terror of the other night came back to haunt her. She heard him take up the pursuit. She knew he would be swift, she knew she would not escape him. She felt him close in on her and his arms around her as he brought her down to the ground.

"Catherine, please!" he said holding her fast, "let me explain." He rolled her onto her back and held her still. Catherine stared into his blue eyes. They were so deserving of trust, but what did she really know?

"Are you alright?" he asked, concern suddenly twisted his face as he looked over her blood stained visage. Catherine nodded numbly. Her emotions confused her; trust, fear, horror, admiration.

Galeren sighed, "I had to protect you."

"You are like him, the man who –"

"No!" Galeren said passionately. "I would never hurt you or allow anyone to do so. Believe me, horrific as it may seem, those men deserved to die."

Catherine shook her head, but it was in disbelief, not condemnation.

Galeren frowned as if angry. "How much mercy do you think they would have shown you while they raped you? They would have torn you apart like a piece of meat." Galeren shook his head. "They got what they deserved. I gave them a choice and they chose not to believe me. Had I been anyone else they would stuck me with a sword and raped you while I bled to death. I am sorry about the horse though." He added with genuine regret.

"I don't understand what's going on. Please, just let me go." Catherine begged in her confusion.

"I cannot do that." Galeren said. "I swore to protect you. It may be hard to believe at this moment, but I am nothing like the man who attacked you. You must trust me, but I tell you now that I will say or do anything to prevent harm from coming to you, Catherine."

She looked away quickly, still unsure of his intentions and of the way she felt. If he wanted to cause her harm then surely he would do so now. There was nothing to stop him, she was utterly defenceless and at his mercy.

As if sensing her thoughts, Galeren released her and helped her onto her feet.

"Don't run. I'll always catch you." He said and gave her a faint smile. It was a small comfort in that moment. Despite him standing bloody and naked before her, having torn five men apart, she was certain that he was as she had first thought him, trustworthy and her best option.

"You're not taking me to him?" she asked; she had to.

"Christ no!" he seemed to shudder. "I am like him in being but not in spirit."

"I don't understand any of this." She said and began to shiver involuntarily. Galeren looked at her strangely. The shivering escalated; it was not caused by fear, or cold but something else. Self conscious, she turned and began to walk away but she did not get far. She stumbled, suddenly feeling her legs lose rigidity. She felt a searing heat surge through her body, up to her head where it crashed into her skull so viciously that she thought it might crack it open. She put her hands to her head and cried out and then felt the nausea overtake her.

"Gal –" she began but swooned. The last thing she felt were his arms as he caught her.

****

" _What is it_ , Sister Clemence?" the Abbess said irritably, looking up from the parchment she was reading.

"There are more Templars at the gate." The nun said nervously.

"More Templars?" the Abbess said incredulously, dropping the page she held. "The same ones as yesterday?"

"No, there are five of them and the one who speaks for them is not the man who was here yesterday."

The Abbess shook her head. "Saints preserve us! Is there no respite from Catherine's misdemeanours?" she asked wearily. "I pray that those who came yesterday had taken her away with them, to be burdened with her temperament. Perhaps, we will be more fortunate today, eh?" the Abbess said with fake jollity. Sister Clemence just stared blankly at her and the Abbess sighed despairingly. "Oh go and show them in here would you and not all of them, two at the most. I don't want a hoard of men trampling through my rooms, Templars or not."

When Clemence returned, she was accompanied by two of the Templars who swept passed her into the Abbess' private quarters without waiting to be announced. The first to enter was tall and immediately fixed his green eyes upon the Abbess and smiled smarmily. Though the Abbess appreciated his dark good looks, there was something brutal about him and his green eyes brought to mind those of a snake. His companion was less commanding in his presence and waited behind his comrade with his eyes downcast. The Abbess may have been a bitter crone but she was not stupid and something about this situation didn't feel right.

"Well," the Abbess began standing up, "we do feel honoured here at St Catherine's to receive so much attention from the Temple, but I thought the men who visited yesterday were content with their inquiry into the matter to warrant a further visit and by a greater number of you."

The dark haired knight looked surprised at this remark and stepped forward. "You have already been visited by us?" he sounded concerned but his eyes were bright with intrigue.

"Why yes." The Abbess said now echoing his concern. "From Temple Bruer, there were two of them. You have come from that preceptory have you not? The man who was murdered was a tenant."

"We have but were unaware of any prior visit." He rubbed his stubbly beard as if in serious thought and then said, "You don't happen to remember the names of the men who visited you do you, for I would surely know them if they came from Temple Bruer."

"Ah," the Abbess said smiling, "I remember the one who asked all the questions, Galeren de Massard. I believe the other was his sergeant, from the way he was dressed, and his name I do not remember."

A light that could only be described as that of recognition entered the knight's eyes and then the strangest smile crossed his face that made the Abbess feel uneasy.

"What is it Sir Templar?"

"I do know the man who was here. He is no Templar though; he was expelled some time ago. He has a rather vicious reputation."

"Christ, protect us!" the Abbess said crossing herself several times. "I must admit his manner did vex me and he seemed overly interested in Catherine, if you take my meaning." She raised a disapproving eyebrow at him.

"Did he now?" the Templar said, another strange smile crossing his face.

"He insisted on speaking to her alone." The Abbess continued.

"This is most disturbing." The Templar said, though nothing about his expression indicated to the Abbess that he was at all disturbed. "May _I_ speak with . . . _Catherine_? I would like to find out about what they spoke. It may be that he himself was her attacker and sought to silence her tongue with fear."

"You don't seriously think, do you?" the Abbess said putting her hand on her heart, her shock was genuine.

"Oh I am deadly serious." The Templar said.

"Oh, and to think he was here within these walls!"

"You must not blame yourself Abbess," he said with a wolfish grin, "it is easy to be taken in by impostors when they dress and act convincingly."

She nodded wearily. "May I speak with her?" he asked again.

"Of course," the Abbess said. "Sister Clemence can you fetch Catherine again please." The young nun left to do the Abbess' bidding at once and the Abbess sighed wearily and slowly sank back into her chair, "I will be relieved when this is all over and peace is resumed to the house."

"It will be, of that you can be assured."

"Well, I pray that this fiend is caught and dealt with soon. We shan't want to leave the convent or know who to trust until he is."

"Oh we'll get him, worry not." The knight assured.

The door suddenly crashed open and all looked round to see the cause of the commotion. "Mother Abbess!" Sister Clemence cried careering back into the room.

"Temperance Sister!" the Abbess scolded standing up again. "What is the meaning of this?"

Clemence caught her breath and gushed, "Catherine's gone!"

"Gone?" the Abbess squawked incredulously, "what do you mean _gone?_ "

"She is not in her room and the window has been smashed. She has escaped, run away, gone!"

The Abbess sat down and put her head in her hands. "When will it end?" she asked to no one in particular.

"Is she wont of this sort of behaviour?" the Templar asked.

"She is wanton, if that's what you mean?" the Abbess said irritably. "Did no one hear anything during the night? Was not Sister Margaret outside her door all evening?"

"She said she heard nothing."

"Nothing but her own snoring, I imagine." The Abbess said derisively then looked at the Templar who seemed thoughtful.

"You don't think she was taken by . . . him, do you?" she asked.

"It is difficult to say. Was she likely to run away?"

"She has been nothing but trouble since she came here and has found difficulty adjusting to the vocation, so it would not surprise me."

"Let it trouble you no more." The Templar said making to leave. "We will find her, if she is still alive that is." He added pessimistically.

"I pray that you do find her, God willing, and safe. I may despair at the girl but I would not see her fall foul of a monster."

The Templar nodded his understanding and then said, "we must make haste then. I thank you for your time Abbess and God willing we will return your lost lamb to you presently." He turned on his heel and left the room hurriedly and his sour companion followed him. The Abbess sat down and chewed on her bottom lip with fervent concern feeling sure that she was unlikely to see any of them ever again.

"Do you think he took her?" the other man dressed as a Templar asked his superior when they were back at the convent gates.

"Of course he took her," Esquin de Floyran spat, "I bit her for Christ's sake!"

He chewed on a hangnail ferociously and then turned back to his companion. "What are the odds, eh, of De Massard getting involved? I thought he would have been back at Faxfleet by now." He continued to chew the nail of his middle finger, deep in thought and suddenly the anger on his face evaporated to be replaced with sinister delight. "It could be perfect."

"Perfect?" the other said stupefied.

"Yes perfect!" De Floyran snapped impatiently. "You know what a sap Galeren is. He knew I would come looking for her. 'Tis why he took her, he's protecting her." He laughed. "She was a peach." He said smiling at the memory. "He'll probably fall for her, imagine that?"

The thought suddenly struck him in earnest and his smile widened, "Christ he probably will, but she has been marked by me." He mounted his horse in one fluid movement. "Fate smiles on me, Botolf!" he said motioning his men to move out.

"Now to find them." He brooded and spurred his horse away from the convent and back towards the direction of Temple Bruer.

### Chapter Six

"Help me!" Galeren called out as he saw Parsifal emerge from the cottage to greet them.

"What happened?" Parsifal asked, hastening over to help his master as he threw Red's reins aside and eased an unconscious Catherine out of the saddle and into Parsifal's grasp. She lolled to the side and Parsifal lurched with her, he quickly steadied himself and pulled her close to him. It was still raining and both were wet through.

"She's like a rag doll." Parsifal commented nervously as he struggled to keep her upright, he had never held a woman so close before and the experience was beguiling while also awkward. Galeren leapt from the saddle and took Catherine from him and gathering her into his arms effortlessly, he strode toward the cottage's entrance.

"What happened?" Parsifal asked again noting the blood stains that covered both his master and his charge.

"It's beginning." Galeren said plainly. Parsifal knew to what he referred but it didn't explain the state they were in.

"And the blood?"

"We were attacked by a group of mercenaries. The blood is all theirs I can assure you."

Inside the cottage, Galeren looked briefly around taking stock of supplies and then took the few steps up to the loft which contained a rickety bed and a wooden chair. Parsifal followed, both eager to help and satisfy his curiosity. He had never before seen the battle between body and blood, as one fought to overcome the other. If one defeated the other then the outcome was always death. To live, a compromise had to be reached where both had equal standing and thus the symbiosis between wolf and human came into being. It was a powerful union that could never be undone. Before that was established however, there was a painful transition where death, eager to take the weak, was never more than a heartbeat away.

Galeren laid Catherine upon the bed and as her body made contact with the straw mattress her eyes shot open suddenly and filled with bemused horror, she began to struggle and lashed out at him.

"No!" she cried, her arms flailing. "Let me go!"

She went wild, her strength quickening. Galeren swiftly grabbed her arms and pinned them beside her head, using his weight he leant over her to still her writhing body, his knee pinned her legs fast to the bed.

"Catherine," he said when he felt she was sufficiently secured, "it's Galeren, remember me Catherine." She stopped at the sound of his voice and a wave of recognition flooded her face.

"Galeren?" she said bewildered.

"Yes, Galeren. Remember me Catherine, remember." He repeated more gently feeling the tension of her resistance leave her arms. They relaxed under his grip and confident of her calm he released them. Still looking at him, her hand slowly reached up and rested gently on his face. It was as soft as a lover's touch.

"Galeren," she said again with breathless relief. Galeren instinctively placed his own hand over hers and found himself staring back at her forgetting all else. Parsifal watched with avid fascination at his master's response, but feeling as if he were intruding on something he should not, he slowly took a step backward in order to leave the room. A floorboard creaked intrusively, Parsifal grimaced and Galeren snapped back to his senses. He looked round to see Parsifal teetering by the door and quickly removed Catherine's hand from his face and placed it across her chest.

"She's delirious." He said self-consciously and looked back at her to find that she had once again lost consciousness. He placed her other hand upon her chest and said, "I need lots of water. Go to the creek, fill the buckets to the brim and fill the tub. Did you get plenty of linen?"

"Yes," Parsifal replied quickly, "plenty of food and –"

"Good," Galeren cut him off abruptly, "'tis a long road and this is just the beginning. Go to it and see to Red when you are done." He finished curtly indicating that the conversation was over. Parsifal nodded but raised his eyes heavenwards as he turned away, disgruntled at the terse dismissal even though he understood the reasons for it.

When Parsifal was gone Galeren looked back at Catherine. She looked peaceful now as if in a glorious slumber but he knew it wouldn't last. He sighed heavily and rubbed his face. He had administered many transitions over the years and had lost only one man. However, all of the successes had been those who had been marked willingly and there was a lot to be said for mental preparation before the process of transition took hold. The man he had lost had been bitten in a fight and had no foreknowledge of what was to come. Under such circumstances the body and mind fought in unison against the invading infection and this often resulted in madness before death. This was why the Temple preferred to pre-empt this outcome and end the torment quickly and mercifully before it even took hold.

Galeren looked back at Catherine, her face now glowed with mounting perspiration and her chest rose and fell quickly as she battled for breath. If only he had had time to explain, to prepare her, he thought, angrily. It should have been the first thing he'd done when he had taken her from the convent. However, explaining that she was about to undergo a battle from which, if she emerged alive, would leave her burdened with a wolf half life, had not seemed appropriate while riding pillion on an abandoned road to Ashby. But when was such news appropriate?

Parsifal had accused him of being unforthcoming, delaying until the right time or place presented itself, and now his reticence may prove to be to her detriment and his own. He cursed but then quelled his concerns with reason. She was strong and she wasn't stupid. Some part of her knew what was going on, he was sure of it, even if he had not told her in so many words. He could not, would not lose her and he vowed that whatever it took he would get her through the transition.

****

Catherine awoke with a start and gasped for air as if she had been starved of it. She was immediately aware of the pain that racked her body, which felt bruised and broken. With great effort she managed to raise her head and look about her. She was momentarily disorientated but immediately recognised the figure slumped in the chair across from her. Her memory slowly restored itself, but as she recounted events, she knew some things were missing. She could remember the visit by the Templar, her escape with him from the convent, the mercenaries on the road approaching them and then nothing.

The room was dark and bare but stiflingly hot despite the fact that the small and only window was flung wide. She recalled that she had been terribly cold as last she was aware. The tiny amount of energy she had used to lift her head from the pillow was quickly drained and her head slumped back down upon it and she again gasped for breath. Galeren stirred and opened his eyes, sleep quickly left him as he saw Catherine was awake and he hastened to her side.

"Catherine," he said smiling down at her. She looked up at him and returned the smile, though she noticed that he looked as exhausted as she felt. His face seemed ravaged by days of sleeplessness and worry, yet she also saw relief in his tired eyes. Catherine wondered what had happened though she sensed it had something to do with the man who had killed the tanner. Her breathing was erratic and desperate as if she had just climbed a mountain. Every limb was heavy, immovable and full of a crushing pain like she had been trampled by hundreds of horses.

"How do you feel?" Galeren asked brushing a wisp of black hair from her forehead.

"Like I have been crushed in a battle, though I have never been in one. What happened to me? Was I gripped by a fever?" she said short of breath. He smiled gently at her and pulled the chair close to the bed so he could sit beside her.

"Catherine, you _have_ just undergone a great battle and thankfully have emerged victorious."

It took every effort to frown quizzically at his remark and she opened her mouth to speak but he put his fingers to his lips to silence her. "Save what energy you have. Your body desperately needs it for its recovery. I will explain as best I can what has occurred." He breathed in deeply and began, "I should have told you as soon as we left the convent but I thought we would make it back here in time."

She didn't speak but Galeren could tell by the look in her eyes that he needed to get to the crux of the matter. There was no point in dampening the facts, best to tell her outright. If she didn't believe him now, she soon would.

"The man who attacked you and murdered the tanner did indeed change form, from that of a man into a wolf, just as you described. He is a werewolf," Galeren said, "a creature that can live as both human and wolf. I too, am such a creature. You may have heard of werewolves in tales told to frighten children, but we exist. You were marked, bitten, by him. Therefore, now that you have gotten through the transition, you too are a werewolf." He looked at her to determine her reaction. Catherine's eyes suddenly widened as an image flashed in her mind; a white wolf and bloody carnage.

"The mercenaries," she looked at Galeren for confirmation.

Galeren shook his head regretfully. "I am sorry you had to see that. It's hardly the best introduction to the life." He sighed. "It must all seem pretty savage, first being attacked by one of us and then to see what I did."

"You promised to let him go." Catherine said reproachfully, as more of that day's events came back to her.

"I was very angry."

"But you gave your word."

"Believe me, I am a good man Catherine, but not a saint. I told you, I'll do or say anything to protect you. The world is better off without their sort, they'd only hurt another."

Catherine slowly nodded and Galeren continued. "We're not savages though, just not to be crossed. If a member of our pack is threatened –"

"Pack?" Catherine interrupted him. "Jesu you really are wolves."

"And now so are you."

"'Tis strange but I felt something from that moment, when he bit me, and afterwards things felt different, even how I viewed the world." She sighed. "One knows their own mind and body and when they are changed, as you do in illness. Even when I first saw you there was recognition but I couldn't quite fathom what it was."

He smiled. "'Twas the wolf you recognised. You will notice more how differently you sense things as time passes. You will perceive things more clearly and you will have advantages over others that are not like us." Catherine attempted to sit up.

"Easy," Galeren said, "you'll have to be patient, your body is exhausted of energy."

"Please," her eyes pleaded, "just help me to sit up, I can't bear to look at the ceiling. At least while we're talking." He nodded and helped her into a comfortable position. She thanked him breathlessly but despite her exhaustion he could tell by the look in her eyes that she had many questions.

"What exactly are you . . . we?" she asked croakily.

He smiled and stretched his arms above his head. "A union of the natural world, of beast and man, and of course, woman." He added raising his eyebrows, "In fact, women were the first of our kind according to our legends, but that story is for another day. In most cases, both entities have equal standing, neither dominates the other. In some, however, one will be stronger than the other. The spirit of the wolf, or the spirit of the human."

"Do you know whether you are dominated by one or the other?" Catherine asked.

"Yes, but first you have to settle into your skin." He smiled. "It is possible to live as either, the choice of which remains with the individual. However, most reside in their human form only changing to nurture the other which is a necessity, but not an evil one. I cannot explain how it feels to run as a wolf, it is something amazing which you will have a chance to experience soon enough. There is a magic in seeing the world through the eyes of the wolf."

"Do you know yourself when you are wolf?" Catherine asked.

"Yes," Galeren said, "and others. You are aware of everything. Your mind is not changed, only your form. Change comes when desired and can be controlled. However, fear and pain can bring about change. It is a defence mechanism. Our power comes from our wolf half and so sometimes we will change involuntarily if we are in jeopardy."

"But you are in control of your wolf-self."

"Totally. There is no lack of control or unmanageable savagery. It may be hard for you to believe, after what you witnessed, but as a rule we are not killers. However, as I said, the defence of ourselves and others in our pack comes above all else. We strive to protect the innocent from the harm of others and for those who would cause harm, our judgement is severe." Galeren said seriously.

"We do hunt, but when we hunt as wolves, our prey is the same as that which we hunt as men." A light returned to his eyes as he spoke of this.

"You see it as a gift don't you?"

"I do. But it is really neither a blessing nor a curse, rather a form of existence and a power which, as in the case of all forms of power, should be wielded with caution and ideally for the good of others. But you have seen firsthand how some use it for ill."

"When will I change?" Catherine asked, her voice had an edge of eagerness. Galeren smiled, both relieved and amazed at the ease of her understanding and acceptance of the monumental change that had occurred to her life.

"Not for a time, not until your body has recovered from the battle it has undergone."

"It's so hot," she said her breathing was still heavy, "it was raining before was it not?"

"It was," he agreed and then added to her dismay, "a week ago."

"I've been unconscious for a week?" she said incredulously. Galeren nodded. Catherine sighed, her head thudded synonymous to the beat of a drum, "You haven't slept since then have you?"

"Is it that obvious?" Galeren said rubbing his hands over his face.

"You look like you need some rest." She said sympathetically.

"I had to see you through it. I wasn't sure you'd make it. I hadn't prepared you for it."

"What happens?" she asked curiously. She had missed a week of her life and was eager to find out how she had spent it.

"The bite introduces a foreign element into your body, your blood. 'Tis like an infection, in truth. The body naturally rejects the invasion. As the infection attacks, the body fights back. There can be no winner though. I have tried to study the process and I think that the compromise reached between body and infection is the werewolf. 'Tis a split of nature that is fused in battle. The union is harmonious thereafter, if you survive the transition."

It was difficult to pinpoint what happened when someone was bitten and had thus far lived a proportion of their life as a human. Galeren had administered several transitions and tried to understand the process. Likening it to an infection was the most satisfactory explanation he had and that mental preparation was key to survival. Even afterward, the change was hard to come to terms with. Some didn't have the wherewithal to deal with the situation and this was why the Temple preferred to cull those who had been marked, seeing it as the kindest and safest option. Galeren disagreed and believed everyone deserved a chance. Catherine, he knew, would adapt easily, he could tell just from the look in her eyes and by the fact that he knew she was strong in mind.

"So I made it then," she smiled.

"Yes, you are out of the woods," he smiled back, "so to speak, but you will still not be right for a few days."

"And then _what?_ " Catherine asked.

Galeren shrugged, "Well, then I have to help you through the change, make sure your adjustment is smooth."

"And then?"

"And then what?" Galeren knew what she was asking but he delayed in order to think of a convincing answer.

"Well what becomes of me? Do I go and live in the forest and howl at the moon? I can't go back to the convent even if I wanted to."

"Don't worry about any of that now. You won't be abandoned. You are under the Temple's protection now."

"The Temple?" She looked at him quizzically and then her eyes widened in understanding, "The Knights Templar are _werewolves?_ "

Galeren nodded earnestly.

"All of you?"

Galeren nodded. "Not all, just the hierarchy, the knights mainly." He was to say more when Parsifal burst into the loft.

"I heard voices, is she . . . ?" he stopped and met Catherine's grey eyes with his own startled brown ones.

"Sister Catherine!" he said sounding overjoyed. "You are back with us."

Catherine beamed a smile at the youth, "Catherine, please." She corrected gently and then added, "I am well and fortunate to be in your care."

"Master Galeren did not leave your side," Parsifal said enthusiastically, "not even to rest his eyes such was his concern he –"

"Thank you sergeant," Galeren interjected swiftly. "Catherine needs not hear of our attention. We are pleased she is well, but still she needs her rest." Catherine shook her head, with great effort, to show that she was not bothered by the intrusion.

"My sergeant, Parsifal Bondeville," Galeren said as way of introduction, "who has need to get on with his duties." He tilted his head at Parsifal and fixed him with a serious gaze.

"Yes, master." Parsifal said quickly, "Be well Catherine." He added and turned to leave.

"I will with thanks," Catherine smiled and watched him go. Galeren turned back to her and shrugged.

"He is sweet," Catherine said, "a werewolf too?"

"Aye," Galeren nodded. "He is as needy as a hound though. But he is a good lad."

"He is young." She said.

"As are you," Galeren pointed out, wondering how old she really was.

"I think he is younger, I have eighteen or nineteen winters. He cannot be older than sixteen."

"You would be right," Galeren said hoping she would not enquire after his own age.

"And you," she said immediately with a mischievous light in her eyes.

"Older," he said smiling secretly.

"Older, meaning you will not tell me?"

"Precisely." He gave her a curt nod.

"You know my age," she pressed, "what harm is there in it?"

He shrugged, "I have thirty two winters under my belt. You're surprised." He said noting her reaction.

"'Tis not flattery but you do not look more than five and twenty to me."

He smiled. "We age well. 'Tis an advantage."

"Were you bitten?" she ventured.

"No, I was born of it. There are three kinds of us. There are the pure bred, begotten by parents who are both werewolf. Half breeds, such as myself, are the product of a werewolf's union with a normal man or woman. My father was the werewolf, in my case. Then there those who have been marked, like you. Some choose to be marked but this is usually by their mate," he looked down and then back at her with eyes that attempted to be unreadable, "others have it forced upon them." He stood up abruptly and said. "Are you hungry?"

She didn't want him to leave but suddenly realised that she was in fact starving.

"Very," she said smiling up at him. He nodded and turned to leave the room and as he did so, she sensed anger within him and knew that it was to do with her.

She slept for a time after two hearty portions of a tasty potato and ham pottage that Parsifal had kindly prepared. Galeren had not returned to sit with her, sending the excuse that she needed to rest with Parsifal, when he served the food. He was right, of course, and she did fall into a deep sleep. It was intense and riddled with strange and vivid dreams. She dreamt of the moon, swollen and full and that it was so bright that the night was like the day and she heard the call of the wolf. A wild cry, piercing the night, carried upon a cool breeze, yet she could not answer it.

"I don't know how!" she called out feeling distressed but someone took her hand. She could not see them but she sensed Galeren, "Come," he said reassuringly, "it's easy."

She was then in another place, it was dark and full of dread. She smelt fear and pain mixed within the pungent scent of freshly spilt blood and death. Cries rang out but not of the wolf, they were of human torment and she could hear the grisly deeds that caused the pain. Her hand was once again taken but it was cold and she turned to see malevolent green eyes which chilled her soul. It was a featureless monster but she knew him well and recoiled, but his grip was like iron, "Come, it's easy." He hissed and she cried out, waking herself from the nightmare to the sound of a wolf's howl.

Sweating, she sat up and was immediately aware that she felt stronger. The wolf called again and she wasn't sure whether she was yet in another dream. Curious, she pushed back the blankets and swung her feet out of the bed. Drawn to the cry she went to the open window and look out onto the barmy night. The moon was not full, like in her dream, but its waning light still lit the landscape with a silvery radiance. Not a cloud marred it and she noticed that the cottage was set in a wooded area, secluded and safe, as Galeren had described. The wolf's cry had stopped but ensnared by its mystery she ventured toward the loft's doorway and down the tiny set of stairs.

The downstairs was empty and she quickly found herself outside and moving towards the edge of the wood, suddenly a wolf crashed through the thicket and stood but yards from her. Its cool blue eyes she recognised and stared in awe at the rest of him. She had seen him before, but then he had been covered in blood and wild with rage. Now, however, she could see his beauty.

Never before had she seen such a magnificent creature. She wanted to touch him, to bury her hands in his thick white pelt. As she stared mesmerized at the vision, a second wolf joined him. Parsifal, she recognised him too. He was a little smaller and his grey coat was mixed with patches of brown to compliment his eyes.

The white wolf padded closer to her and trusting what Galeren had told her about the wolf's conscience she did not back away or feel threatened. She smiled and started towards him, yet as she took the first step a searing pain suddenly shot through her midriff. Catherine collapsed to the ground doubled over in agony. Again she lost consciousness, the silvery night merging with the white wolf's approaching visage.

### Chapter Seven

"He's not here Esquin," Raymond Caradas said, taking a swig out of his wine skin but he immediately spat the sour liquid out.

"Agghh!" he wiped his mouth, "I am sick of this piss. We should be on our way back to Paris!"

"Patience, old friend. I would have thought you'd be as eager to see Galeren as I, after the whipping he gave you."

"I don't need reminding. Despite the passage of time I _am_ eager to see the bastard but not as eager to play these games as you. I prefer getting on with business instead of all this sneaking around and setting of traps. He'll get his, they all will."

"Ahhh but this is sweeter, Raymond, if a little more effort. But worth the patience." He sighed however, for in truth he too was tired of roughing it, "You are right though, he is not here and I should know that Galeren is not so stupid. He has hidden her somewhere and not at a preceptory. I said I would be back in Paris near September's end, and that is over two weeks away yet. We will find him before then."

De Floyran was piqued at the situation and at the fact that they had wasted time watching the preceptory. His anger was heightened by the fact that he did need to get back to Paris and tend to business there, but he had wanted to see Galeren before then and have the girl he had bitten.

"With respect, I think De Nogaret expected us before September's end."

De Floyran spun round to face Caradas, his mouth curled in displeasure and his eyes glowering. Caradas stepped back and immediately lowered his head, both in mark of respect and submissiveness.

"Don't contradict me, Raymond," De Floyran stepped toward him and grabbed him by the throat, "ever! Or question my methods or you will find yourself on the wrong side of me and there will be no games with you, I will just break your fucking neck." His grip tightened and Caradas choked for air but endeavoured to bow even lower in attempt to pacify De Floyran. Esquin held him so for a few moments longer and then released him.

Caradas gasped and filled his lungs with air but he remained in a passive position. He had known De Floyran for all of his adult life and knew how easily he could be provoked and how over so little. He would take complaint and criticism at the best of times but was dangerously unpredictable and could turn sour at the slightest remark.

"Stop cowering Raymond," De Floyran said nonchalantly, "I know you didn't mean it." He flexed the hand that had just been at his friend's throat. "Darkness comes. Let us hunt this night and scour the area. We will give it a few more days and then return to Paris. But I will be in an ill mood if I return not having visited my old friend. Make sure the men know that." He looked at Caradas who had stood up but still had his head bowed.

"I have waited a long time for this, Raymond." He said a dark edge entering his voice, "I know well there will be an end to this and him, but I want it to be the end I have envisaged Raymond, do you understand?"

"I do, sir." Raymond responded rapidly.

"Esquin, please." De Floyran protested jovially then said more seriously. "Tell the men."

14th September 1307, Paris, France

De Nogaret leaned back from the parchment he had been working on to let the ink dry. He smiled, for there was not a mistake within it. There was not one scratching out and not one smudge mark, just the purity of indictment laid down in an ink as black as his heart. There had been plenty of testimonies to back up Esquin de Floyran's allegations. Ex-Templar tenants and servants with grudges had been secured as witnesses, and liars had brought tales of depravity to life for a few coins. That had been easy and though pleased with his efforts to that effect, it paled to the pride he felt as he looked upon the bill of indictment that he had so meticulously laboured upon. It was a beautiful document. Perfectly written; a masterpiece of devastating qualities. Within its pages was held the fate of the most powerful religious military order the world had ever known.

De Nogaret was grossly arrogant in the knowledge that before him was a document of such supremacy, so beautifully constructed, that the destruction of the Temple was imminent, immune to failure and that he had orchestrated it. He cared not if the accusations were unreliable or out and out untruths. That had become immaterial, now that the document had been created. It was about how, not why anymore and his skill was how. He stared lovingly at the document as the last words dried fast to the page, forever bound to forever damn. He would almost be reluctant to relinquish it into the greedy hands of Philip, who would turn the pages with his food encrusted fingers, his wine stained spittle flecking each page as he gasped and gaped.

He sighed regretfully and then took heart as he looked at the candle that burned to his right. The night was still young, he would make a copy. He would keep the original and give the copy to the King. If he worked through the night he could do it and still leave for Fontainebleau in the morning as planned.

"Ourri!" he called out and immediately his new servant entered. "More wine," he commanded. The young lad look surprised.

"You are not to bed, sir?" he enquired.

"No, there is still much work to do. The taste of wine on my tongue will make the task sweeter. I will work through the night yet."

"'Tis for the King?" the boy enquired looking at the document as he filled his master's cup.

"Careful!" De Nogaret warned, "I would flog you to death myself if you spilt a drop on this work." Ourri shook a little nervously as he finished filling the cup and moved the flagon away from the table.

"'Tis important?" he asked, stating the obvious as only a nervous servant would.

"Oh Ourri," De Nogaret said swelling with pride, "'tis the most important document, perhaps ever written, aside from the holy book itself. If only you could read, eh?" De Nogaret chuckled.

"'Twould be a miracle, sir," the boy answered earnestly and then, "do you still plan to travel to the King's palace at Fontainebleau on the morrow."

"Aye, if you would leave me and let me get on with my work. Leave me undisturbed for the rest of this night. Pray leave the wine on the side. Only come to rouse me if you do not see me by matins."

"As you wish, sir." The servant bowed out of the room. De Nogaret smiled, took a sip of wine and drew forth a new sheet of parchment and begun again his masterpiece.

It was only when Ourri saw the light diminish from under the door and after a time that another candle had not been lit, that he dared enter the room. De Nogaret was slumped over the document he had been working on, quill still in hand the ink still wet on its nib. With stealth he moved over to the table and saw that the original document was opened on the last page and that that page had been copied onto the parchment that De Nogaret was now slumbering upon. He had finished the copy. There were still a few hours until dawn broke and quickly and carefully, Ourri gathered up the original manuscript, wrapped it in a linen sheet and put it into a leather satchel. Swiftly and without a sound he left the room and hastened to his destination.

Gerard de Villiers looked around the squalid inn within which he sat and wondered why such a meeting place had been chosen given the numerous alternatives. He supped on his ale inconspicuously, surrounded by the dregs of the inn's customers who swayed and slept in various doorways, some still loudly drinking, others arguing the price with various whores that decorated the place. He was not dressed as a Templar but rather just as shabbily as the grimy patrons that he sat amongst, his unshaven face and demeanour drawing no attention, as was intended. However, he had been propositioned twice already and sick of the smell of stale ale and filthy flesh, he made ready to leave when suddenly the reason that he was at the inn finally made his entrance.

"God's blood Ourri! I've been here half the night!" Gerard said through gritted teeth. "Of all the places –"

"It had to be here, 'tis the closest to De Nogaret's dwelling. We don't have much time. He plans to leave for Fontainebleau after matins. I thought he'd never sleep." Ourri slid the satchel containing De Nogaret's masterpiece across to him.

"This it?" Gerard said, eagerly opening the satchel.

"Jesu be careful with it! Not a mark must be found on it, for he would know it. I swear he knows every line of it."

Gerard carefully removed the document from its linen cover and stared at the front of it, his eyes widened in concern.

"The indictment against the Temple. Christ on the Cross! I had no idea of the extent of it." Gerard said, shaking his head in dismay.

"He has been working on it relentlessly." Ourri said, "You know how closeted he is. It has been difficult to fathom what has been taking place between him and Philip. But this . . . " He trailed off. Gerard sighed and opened the document, carefully leafing through the pages. His eyes darted across them as he tried to take in what they read. He studied it for a while and frowned several times and bit his lip nervously as he proceeded through the indictment.

"Have you read this?" He looked up at Ourri through anxious eyes.

"Parts, and those I didn't like. It damns us. It is a powerful document written for Philip. De Nogaret is a crude little man but his work is meticulous, based on lies it may be but this is dangerous for us."

"You don't have to tell me that. It confirms my worst fears. I take it this is the only copy?" Gerard said leafing through to the end of it.

"No, he has spent this past night making a copy, 'tis why I was so late. One he intends to give to Philip and one, the original I'm guessing, he intends to keep for his egotistical self. We cannot keep this, he will know and he will know that we have it."

"I know that. We need time to act. They must not know that we have a suspicion. I must tell De Molay and the council."

"Is your word enough without evidence?" Ourri asked.

"It's true that Jacques hates the theory of conspiracy and believes this is just a minor grievance fashioned by Philip's jealousy. But he will trust my word and he will act, he would never leave anything to chance. Get this back to De Nogaret in exactly the way you found it. See him at matins and make sure that he does not suspect anything out of place. Watch him carefully and be guarded yourself, we must not let them know that we are on to this." Gerard sighed.

"Get word to me of any developments but be vigilant Ourri, if you think there is the slightest danger to yourself then get out of there and to the Temple. I don't want you taking any foolish risks, is that understood?" he finished sternly.

"Of course, father." Ourri said wrapping the document within the linen once more and slipping it back inside the satchel.

"Again, make sure De Nogaret is not suspicious. We need them to believe we are ignorant of this document. We must try and get ahead of the game, if we are not already too late."

"But surely they cannot act without Clement's approval?" Ourri said, clutching the document close against him.

"Don't assume anything. Unfortunately, Clement is weak and Philip is ruthless. I did not foresee a document of this manifold, we must expect the unexpected. Now go, and be safe my son." Ourri nodded assuredly at his father and then speedily left the depraved premises. Gerard waited a few moments and drained the dregs of his cup. He stood, side stepped a toothless whore and left the inn, hastily making his way back to the Temple.

21st September 1307, The Paris Temple, Paris

"I have been lax, gentlemen." De Molay sighed heavily. The Grand Master sat behind a large oak table in his private chambers at the Paris Temple surrounded by the Templar council. The council consisted of the hierarchy of the Templar brotherhood and present were Hugues de Pairaud, Visitor of France; Raimbaud de Caron, Grand Commander; Geoffroy de Charney, Commander of Normandy, Geoffroy de Gonneville, Commander of Aquitane-Poitou and Gerard de Villiers, Master of the Paris Temple who had already briefed the Grand Master several days before, after he had been shown the damning indictment by Ourri Venois.

"No one could have predicted this, Jacques." Hughes de Pairaud offered but De Molay merely looked at the visitor of France and shook his head.

"My son has for years, and just last week Gerard warned me of the potential danger. I have been foolish and proud."

"I disagree," Geoffroy de Charney said passionately, "we have a right to be proud and arrogant for Christ's sake, look at what we've achieved. Philip is a slippery eel who was born to power, we built ours from the ground up. Everyone knows that Philip's coffers are empty, he is greedy and pathetic –"

"But unfortunately for us that makes him incredibly dangerous." Gerard de Villiers interjected swiftly. "We have come under attack before and nothing has come of it because we've had the Pope's support. But it has been difficult to gauge where Clement's loyalty lies. I don't trust him, he is an appeaser. He would reassure you one day, Jacques and then tell Philip what he wanted to hear the next. He will side with whom he thinks could do him the most damage and that is Philip. He lives in Boniface's shadow and Philip has too much control over him, that and the strength of this document is where the danger lies."

"This document, that you briefly flicked your eyes over, sounds like a fanciful dossier with no real evidence to back it up!" De Charney spat.

"There doesn't have to be any evidence Geoffroy. It is all lies; it just needs supporters of those lies and there appear to be plenty." Gerard rubbed his face in attempt to rid it of his concern.

"Explain yourself Gerard." Hugues de Pairaud said noting his look.

"While briefly flicking through the indictment," he paused and gave De Charney a stern look, "there were several of the accuser's names that appeared familiar to me. The most disconcerting was that of Esquin de Floyran and several of his associates."

"De Floyran." De Pairaud said recognizing the name and trying to place it.

"Wasn't he that animal who ran rampage in Acre, Gerard?" Raimbaud de Caron asked.

"He was." Gerard confirm, "Him and his associates brutally raped and murdered several women in Acre, preyed on them and got away with it until they were found out by Galeren de Massard. Surely it's not been forgotten?"

"Not so likely." De Pairaud said assuredly, "It is just that I have not heard the name in such a long time and I thought Galeren had put an end to him."

"Well, yes and several of the others." Gerard answered in a preoccupied tone.

"You said some of his associates were named in De Nogaret's indictment, are they synonymous to the men that Galeren slay? De Nogaret may be using the names of dead Templars, who would otherwise hold a grudge against the Temple, as chief accusers." Raimbaud de Caron observed.

"Possible," Gerard said, "but the names of the men in the indictment are not the same as those that Galeren was said to have killed. Raymond Caradas, Huguard Parry, Armin de Merle and Botolf Wardard were all expelled, along with De Floyran and three others, in Acre on the eve of the battle."

Gerard paused and then continued. "As far as I know, the four I've named fled Acre before the siege began. Only Esquin and the other three remained and attempted to exact revenge on the city and the Temple during the battle. Galeren was sent to dispatch De Floyran. He killed him and his remaining three men. However, it is not impossible that De Floyran survived in the chaos and escaped only now to re-surface."

"And the other three?" Geoffroy de Gonneville, who had until this point had been quiet, asked.

"I would think that they _are_ dead, as their names would undoubtedly have surfaced in the indictment. If revenge is a dish best served cold then De Floyran is feasting on it, if the others were still alive they would want their revenge too, mark my word."

"Your memory for names is impressive Gerard." The Grand Master said, but he had of course already heard all of this when he had spoken privately with De Villiers. He sighed heavily,

"Well you have heard it brothers, five enemies of the Temple will speak against us and the testimonies of ex-Templars will hold weight. I am sure there are plenty of minor accusers as well to fan the flames, but these five cannot be ignored. De Nogaret has certainly done his work and De Floyran, if indeed it is the man himself, would take such an opportunity to destroy us. If he somehow survived Galeren's sword, I imagine that the bitterness has eaten away at him over the years and now the prospect for revenge has presented itself."

"He would only denounce the Temple though, would he not?" Geoffroy de Gonneville asked concerned.

"'Tis enough, brother." De Molay answered.

"Yes, but what I mean is . . . well he wouldn't expose the truth of us would he?"

"To his own detriment." Raimbaud de Caron pointed out.

"Don't be so sure," Gerard cautioned, "Esquin de Floyran may be a monster, but he is a clever one. I wouldn't mind betting that that is exactly what he intends to do."

"What?" Geoffroy de Gonneville cried incredulously, "destroy his own race?"

"He cares not for his race or for their good. He cares only for himself. He was never a brother, he is a brute that came into the Temple to spill blood, scrounge booty and pursue his barbaric pleasures veiled beneath our banner. He will secure impunity from Philip, fortune and lands and then he will destroy us. He can easily prove it." Gerard said. De Gonneville put his head in his hands and groaned as if in pain.

"This is all speculation, we have no idea what De Floyran's intentions are or even if he is still alive." De Charney said heatedly.

"What more evidence do you need?" Gerard snapped at his peer.

"More than hearsay and that is all we have."

"Hearsay? I've seen the damned indictment. Or do you think I am making this up, De Charney?" Gerard said standing up angrily. De Charney stood up to face him.

"I think you are as prone to accept and heighten conspiracy theories as Galeren is, the slightest whiff of a –"

"Enough!" De Molay cried out banging his fists on the table and standing up. Both De Villiers and De Charney immediately sat down and bowed their heads in respect of the authority of their master.

"We do not need this bickering." De Molay said sitting down again. "I understand your point Geoffroy, but Gerard is right."

De Charney curled his lips in displeasure and cast a scathing glance at Gerard who refused to react.

"We cannot leave anything to chance." De Molay continued. "It may be a storm in a tankard of ale but better we act to prevent disaster than let it decimate us. We know what is important and that is not our standing in the world, our authority, our buildings, our reputation or even our name. It is the race and the knowledge we have accumulated. We are united and the Temple did that, but we can remain united without the Temple guise."

"What are you suggesting?" De Charney said his face wild with bemusement. "That we just disappear?"

"Exactly." De Molay said hearing a stunned silence fall over the room. It was De Charney that broke it.

"But you have criticized the very idea before now!"

"Before, yes." De Molay answered. "'Tis true that my son has often spoke of such a venture. A change, a new phase, believing we have the knowledge and wherewithal to start afresh somewhere new and somewhere far away from the influence of the Church that not only contradicts our purpose but forces us to suppress it and our true nature. Imagine the horror of the papacy if they knew the truth; imagine their swift and brutal retribution. We dance too close to the fire, brothers. I would not see us consumed by it."

"But how can we just disappear?" said De Charney.

"Quietly." De Molay answered.

"What is your thinking Jacques?" Hugues de Pairaud asked.

"First, know that I have had this news for several days, so while waiting for us to assemble I have had time to digest it. I have not slept for thinking of a viable solution. It is risky and may be to the detriment of some of us but there must be sacrifice for the good of the race."

The men of the council looked at each other solemnly, all fearing of what he was about speak.

"If we run they will follow and if our secret is unveiled they will hunt us to the ends of the Earth, for they will view us as nothing other then the Devil's disciples. The Church will feel betrayed, violated and will need to make an example to divert their embarrassment, whether the rest of the world knows it or not. We must survive but not as Templars.

If they wish to destroy us then we must make them think they have or at least the most important among us. If De Floyran denounces us he will want the hierarchy destroyed, he will tell them of our infrastructure and so many of our number, those not of the race, I believe will survive. The future of our race lies with our youth. We must get our women and children safely away and our most precious possessions. Gerard will choose as many of our men as possible and take the fleet out of La Rochelle."

" _What?_ " De Charney gulped, "he can't move the whole fucking fleet, and what of that in Marseilles? Where are they going to port?"

"They are not all going to port."

"What are you saying Jacques?" Hugues de Pairaud asked steadily.

"The best busses and smaller sailing warships will be kept, twenty or so, those we lease can be reclaimed, the rest of the best can be sold and we'll leave the most worthless ships at port for the King to claim." De Molay shook his head. It was with regret that they would have to sell much of their fleet but they could not remove it in its entirety without alerting their enemies and the rest of the Temple to the threat. The human Templars would have to be left to ride the storm.

"Sell them?" De Charney said incredulously, "you cannot sell our ships! What if nothing comes of this indictment or inquiry?"

"I know what is at stake. We have to try and sell as many as possible without rousing suspicion."

"Without rousing suspicion? You think selling half the Templar fleet won't look suspicious?" De Charney spat.

"It won't be a public event De Charney," Gerard interjected irritably and then checked himself and continued calmly, "it will be executed carefully. We haven't the manpower to move the entire fleet, not of the race anyway and besides we cannot tell the entirety of the Temple the potential threat. It won't work any other way. We must move small and fast."

"And if nothing comes of it?" Hugues de Pairaud asked evenly.

"Then we'll have a smaller fleet. I pray that is the outcome given the alternative we face. If so we will have kept the best vessels and can again lease what more we need. I daresay we will need more galleys if a new crusade is launched but if not then the loss is negligible."

De Charney sighed as Hugues de Pairaud looked intently at the Grand Master and then nodded his agreement.

"And what of the treasury?" Geoffroy de Gonneville asked.

"Gerard will take some of it, but leave part for Philip. If and when he comes to claim it I want the bastard disappointed, not fucking rich. I have sent a letter to Pierre d'Aumont with similar instruction regarding our ships in the Mediterranean. What remains of the fleet and treasury will be taken to England, to land at Dunwich and ports to be decided upon, on the East coast. I don't want the fleet suddenly turning up in Bristol or Dover for reasons apparent.

Gerard will send word to Bertrand le Roux at Bruer and William de la Fenne and Galeren at Faxfleet. Their guidance will be sought and they will watch France carefully. It will be their council that will decide the future of our race. The rest of us will carry on our duties as if oblivious to the plot and we will ride the tide."

" _Galeren?_ " De Charney spat.

"Shut up Geoffroy!" De Molay shouted, "I trust Galeren's judgement, he has spoken of new beginnings for years and I am confident that he has a practical way of implementing such. England is the safest haven for us at present." He looked around the council intently and then said, "If any of you oppose this idea then let it be heard now." He looked at everyone again and as he did each shook their heads slowly to show that they were in agreement.

"Good. I know we have had little time to ponder or discuss this but the indictment was taken to Philip several days ago and he could strike within the hour."

"Won't he seek Clement's approval first?" Geoffroy de Gonneville asked. "He cannot act without the pope's direction, it would be illegal."

"If Boniface were Pope I would not be worried but Gerard is right, Clement is like to bend to Philip's will and as I have said before we cannot take that chance. Better to act and be wrong than be lax and be crushed. I have chosen Gerard for this task because he is a good seaman, and is well known in England and to Le Roux and Galeren. Not to mention his mind, which seems to be stored full of useful information. Pierre d'Aumont too is an able seaman and like Gerard, with no disrespect, will not be so readily sought as the rest of the high council.

Others who could not be here have been briefed with letters, their only instruction being to carry on as usual. If any arrests occur they will happen in France first. Brothers in other parts of Europe can decide on their own course of action if we are arrested. Some of us may be sacrificed if our worst fears are realized, but as keepers of our race we must ensure that our knowledge, our progress, our children and the brotherhood we have built strong over the past two centuries survives beyond us. I for one am prepared to sacrifice my flesh and blood for the good of that."

"And I." Hugues de Pairaud said resolutely. The rest of the council joined him crying out passionately in agreement and De Molay felt a weight lifted from him.

"If nothing comes of this, I want our treasured possessions placed in New Temple, London. I will never trust the French King again because of this strike he has made against us. Then perhaps together we can decide on the future of the Temple as it stands now. I have been guilty of apathy these last years, pinning hopes on a new crusade but events over the last few months and indeed the last few days have challenged my thinking. If we are not struck down by existing events then we will be eventually."

De Molay arranged six cups on the table and taking the flagon full of wine that had sat there throughout the meeting, he poured from it until each cup was full. He then took the cups and gave one to each of his peers and when they each held one the Grand Master raised his own cup for a toast.

"To our future," he said.

"Our future," the council echoed and drank deep.

### Chapter Eight

"I thought I told you to rest!" Galeren scolded when Catherine woke up the next morning feeling battered again.

"I was having nightmares," she said defensively, "and I was alone. I heard you calling."

"But I was not calling you." Galeren said and then realized that his remark sounded harsher than he had meant it to. "You will know my call when it is meant for you."

"Would it be so different?"

"Absolutely, 'tis as unique as words when one's ear is trained to it, like any language."

"How long will it take me to learn such a language?" Catherine said overwhelmed at the thought of the task. Galeren laughed throwing his head back.

"You will know it as a wolf as soon as you change and you will come to recognize it as a human with experience."

She sighed with relief. "Language is not my strong point. My father had me tutored in French; it took me a long time to master it."

"French is an irksome language to learn."

"You speak it?"

"Most Templars do, but my father was ...is French."

Catherine's eyes widened in surprise. "You're half French?"

"You sound surprised." Galeren said.

"You seem so English."

"Aye," he said folding his arms, "my mother was English and I lived on the Welsh border until I was ten. I didn't meet my real father until then, when I was taken into the Temple's care. It is a long story." He said dismissively.

"The Temple," Catherine mused, "I still find it astonishing that Templar and werewolf are one and the same"

Galeren smiled. "The core of the Temple, yes, but not all those in the Temple's service are werewolves and not all werewolves are Templars, or do not choose to be anyway."

"Does the Church know?"

"Christ no! Can you imagine? Would their God create such an unnatural horror?" he mocked.

"Their God?"

"Yes theirs, not mine." Galeren said contemptuously.

"But aren't you meant to be God's warriors?"

"Meant to be." He raised his eyebrows. "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

"So everything you stand for is . . ." she paused trying not to sound insulting, "a falsehood."

"A facade," he gave a brief nod, "but not to cover any malevolence, rather to shield us from it. We are no evil scourge. It is what we are supposed to represent that is to be feared. It has been the dark cloak we have used to conceal ourselves. We have utilized the Church and its crusades to protect our identity and unify our kind. Imagine what would become of us if the rest of the world knew?" he said soberly.

"Before the Temple united us we were alone and confused, hiding in shadows. But we have since grown together and advanced in knowledge. There are those among us whose human nature has drawn them to have faith in God but most believe that we are aligned with a natural world which runs a cyclical course through the vast heavens which were not the making of one God.

It may seem like an unbelievable idea but you will come to know it when you become a wolf. Animals are not tricked by religion. They have a natural rhythm with the world; you will feel it pulse through your veins. It is simpler and cruder than the dreams of a grand father and paradise, but far more beautiful and without fear. I would be burned at the nearest stake if the Pope heard me speak thus."

Catherine stared at him in awe and smiled, "If only my mother could have met you. I knew you weren't a Templar, well not the kind you have led all to believe exist."

"I sense from your errant attitude towards your former refuge that you are not bound by Christian beliefs either."

"No, and it has led to my being in trouble on many occasions. My mother was a healer, like my friend and as such was viewed with suspicion. I think it was only my father's standing that prevented her from being ousted by some of the people in her village. Fortunately for her she died before he tired of her mystery." Her eyes saddened and Galeren said, "What happened to you? Why were you put in that place when it was so clearly wrong for you?"

Catherine sighed, "I brought shame upon him, or that was the way he viewed it. In truth I think it was his way of atoning for his sins."

"His sins?"

"My mother and me. My mother was not his wife." She shrugged. "My father is Thomas du Vaux, Lord of Sunbury and has a vast and wealthy estate in Gloucestershire. My mother lived in the village of Salperton and they met after he was hurt in a riding accident near the village. She tended to, and healed him. His wife had died some years previous. They fell in love, much to the disapproval of all and then they had me. My mother and I were not left wanting, my father was generous but he would not marry my mother who was, of course, beneath his social standing and labelled as nothing more than a witch. But I do think he loved her and she him. She died when I was five and my father did not hesitate to take me in. I had an older sister who, I think, always resented me." Catherine shrugged.

"My father lavished attention on me when I was a child but when I reached about twelve he gradually became more distant, favouring my sister. I was jealous, of course, but did not begrudge her anything for she was his true daughter and I a mongrel he had dragged in. I couldn't blame her for hating me. It was a lonely few years and then . . ." she paused, her eyes became glazed and then she looked up at Galeren and continued, "My father acquired a new squire, Robard Beaumanoir, the son of a French nobleman who had known my father for many years. Robard was handsome and he used to wink at me. His attention was well met and over the years our friendship grew. I became smitten. He told me he loved me and, foolishly, I gave myself to him."

Catherine's cheeks flushed and she looked down as if she feared Galeren's judgement. But there was none and he merely waited patiently for her to continue.

"We planned to marry and when I was seventeen we went to tell my father and expected to receive his blessing. He had never spoken of a suitor for me or my sister so we thought he would be pleased. We were wrong, he was incensed. He separated us. I was locked in my bedchamber for days with no contact from anyone. I don't know what passed between Robard and my father but when I was finally let out my father cursed me for bringing shame upon him, said I was my mother's daughter and told me that Robard was to marry my sister."

"Your sister?" Galeren said surprised.

"I had never heard of such until that moment and I am certain neither had Robard nor my sister, as she would have delighted in telling me that she was betrothed. I think it was a surprise to all of us. My father told me that I was to spend the rest of my days in a convent to pay for my sin and then he dragged me to the main hall where the whole household was assembled. Robard was there and stood beside my sister. He would not look at me even though I refused to take my eyes from him. My father said he would not be shamed in such a way, he struck me to the ground and then whipped me with a birch until I lost consciousness."

Galeren felt his blood heat but tried to quash the anger building within him; he shook his head and clenched his fists. "How could he have done such a thing?" he said appalled but Catherine could hear the anger in his voice. She looked up at him. Galeren shook his head again. "And Robard? Did he do nothing to intervene?"

"That was the most painful, not the beating or the humiliation of having it witnessed by so many, but that Robard did nothing. It was like he didn't know me."

"The pathetic swine!" Galeren said angrily. "I would have torn your father's arm off before the first stroke hit you and taken you out of there before anyone could draw breath. Christ Catherine! I had no idea. And the Abbess?" he asked, remembering her scathing judgement, "God if I had known then what I do now."

"A week later, when my wounds had healed some, I was sent to where you found me. I have never heard from, or seen any of them since that day. You heard first hand what the Abbess thought of me. The day I arrived I was tired, sore and still devastated by what had happened, yet the first thing she did was have my head shorn. My hair had been down to my waist and she burned all of it in front of me."

Galeren bit his lip and took both of Catherine's hands in his, he turned them over and looked at the scars on her wrists. "And these?" he said gently. "I noticed them while tending to you during the transition."

"Those arrived two days later at the first chance I had to get my hands on something adequate for the task. I know it is a sin but I had already drowned in enough of it."

Galeren stroked the scars tenderly with his thumbs, "Catherine, I am an honourable man but I am vengeful to injustice, I pray that I do not cross paths with any of these people for fear of what I may do."

Catherine shook her head, having witnessed how vengeful he was.

"'Tis in the past and besides, I have a new life now." She smiled and her eyes were bright and full of anticipation.

"Indeed you do." He said feeling his inner anger subside a little. Despite the fact that her ordeal had incensed him, he felt tempered by the strength she now showed.

"If I didn't know what I do, I would have said you were born to the life of a werewolf. Most who have been marked involuntarily find the change hard to accept, but you . . . you embrace it and it embraces you. I just wish you hadn't been marked in such a way and by such a man."

Catherine could feel the beat of her heart within her chest and thought she could feel Galeren's pulsing through his hands in unison with hers.

"Would you have marked me, if things had been different?" Catherine asked and immediately wished she had not as soon as the words left her lips. She watched as Galeren's face twitched nervously. He shook his head as if confused and breaking contact with her stood up abruptly. Catherine scolded herself as an awkward silence descended.

"Get some rest." He said curtly, breaking it and turning swiftly he left the room.

Galeren flew down the small staircase and headed toward the cottage's door. Parsifal was stirring a pot of stew over the fire and looked up as his master passed.

"What is it, sir?" he asked noting Galeren's dark visage.

"Always questions." Galeren said irritably, "Do you not have the wits to know when to keep your mouth shut?" Parsifal began to stutter an answer but Galeren interjected.

"When you see me look as such or behave as such, do you not think it better to leave me in peace?"

"Is Catherine alright?" Parsifal asked instead of giving Galeren a submissive answer.

"And he chooses to ignore me!" Galeren said exasperated. "I have been too lenient on you. Richard is right, his sergeant's may all despise him but at least they respect him."

"I do respect you!" Parsifal protested.

"Then show me some! I think it is time you returned to Faxfleet and alone."

"Return to Faxfleet? No sir, please."

"You are irksome!"

"It is only because you won't talk to me."

"What do mean you imbecile? You are my subordinate. I don't have to talk to you. And you should not talk to me unless I request it!" Galeren cried furiously.

"'Tis Catherine isn't it."

" _What?_ "

"I am not stupid. I notice a change in you. You love her but she has been marked by your enemy." Parsifal barely had a chance to draw breath when he felt the back of Galeren's hand across his face; the force of the blow sent him to the floor.

"Gather your things together. You are leaving. Don't be here when I get back." Galeren said and then turned and left the cottage, trying to ignore the self-reproach in the pit of his stomach.

Parsifal was still at the cottage when Galeren returned. The storm that had been Galeren's mood had somewhat subsided after a vigorous run and patrol of the area, but he was still gloomy. However, he had half expected Parsifal to ignore his command and so he merely raised his eyebrows in false surprise when he saw the lad sat on the step of the cottage whittling a piece of wood.

"So you are disobedient as well as irksome?" Galeren asked, folding his arms as he approached his young sergeant.

Parsifal scrambled to his feet and bowed. "I mean to be neither, master," he said remaining with his head lowered, "but I thought I would serve you better if I remained here."

"Know what's best for me too, eh?" Galeren said sardonically. Parsifal didn't reply choosing to remain quiet and passive.

"How come you are quiet when I require you to answer me and full of chat when I require peace?" Galeren asked, walking up to Parsifal.

There was much about the young Parsifal that reminded Galeren of himself at times. He remembered how he had incensed Le Roux, more often than not, with his wilful disobedience when he was a sergeant. He had always suffered the punishment of extra duties which, although gruelling, had done nothing to temper his nature. Even now his wilful temperament irked his peers and superiors, no less his father. Still, he could not let Parsifal get away with what he had not. Bertrand le Roux had never struck him though, and although many Templar masters were known to employ punishment that could include a beating, it was not to Galeren's taste and he felt guilt at having struck his errant sergeant.

Galeren sighed. "Stay if you will, but keep your curiosity in check and your assumptions to yourself."

"I will, sir." Parsifal replied head bowed.

"Good," Galeren said nodding, "because I have an errand for you and pray you will not let me down."

Parsifal looked up, his eyes full of renewed enthusiasm. "I shall not, sir, of that you can be assured."

****

Four days later Catherine sat on the edge of the bed, her feet planted firmly on the floor. Despite Galeren's attempts to dissuade her from getting up she had been adamant that she had had enough rest and was ready for the next step, which at the moment consisted of getting dressed. She looked at the gown of blue wool that lay across the end of the bed which Parsifal had been sent to find only a few days before. It had a simple cut but was full in the skirt and had gold embroidery around the hem and neckline which was considerably faded, a sign that it was past its glory days.

Provided with it was a girdle of woven gold and blue thread for around her waist and a cream silk wimple and veil which came with a fillet of blue braid. Catherine stood up and gathered the gown up, holding it against her. Though old, it still was a fine garment and she was impressed with Parsifal's judgment and the fact that it looked like it would be a good fit.

Galeren had not passed comment on the gown and had been morbid and reserved since their conversation of last, a few days before. She had been foolish to ask him such a question, how did she think he would respond? She liked to believe that perhaps he felt more for her than responsibility. She was sure she felt something between them but her heart was fragile and she would do better to accept that his kindness and care were just that. Yet her dreams were becoming more vivid and more real and he was always in them. She could never see him, only feel him . . . next to her at every step, within her, his heart beating in time with hers. She had always been a foolish romantic but she was aware of that and promised herself that she would not fall foul of any whimsical ideas that she may have.

She dressed herself and secured the wimple and veil with the blue braid and now felt, more than ever, the loss of her lustrous black tresses that would have hung in a long braid down her back. Still, the gown was glorious compared to the dour white habit she had worn since entering the convent some fourteen months previous and she turned in a circle to see the skirt swirl out in its fullness and giggled with delight as it did. She stopped short when she heard movement in the doorway and quickly straightened her skirt. She looked up, with slight embarrassment, to find Galeren stood watching her. He must have only just arrived but he had a half smile on his face that rapidly diminished when he realised he had been caught watching.

"Parsifal did well." He said staidly, "It fits you?" It was a pointless question, the answer was so obvious.

"It does, Parsifal has a good eye."

"Hmm," Galeren said curiously. Parsifal had performed the errand he'd been sent on very well indeed. The gown had seemed tired and dull when Galeren had first clapped eyes on it but Catherine glowed in it; her beauty made it look fit for royalty. Galeren looked down to conceal his thoughts but wondered how long he could remain in close proximity to her and resist the bond.

"You need not wear your wimple in our company. It is not our thinking that women should keep their heads covered, but of course do if we are to go to a public place." Galeren said looking back at her, his composure restored.

"Well, I am dressed appropriately then as I would like to go out." She said confidently.

"Really, you feel strong enough?"

"Yes. I cannot bear to be cooped up a moment longer. I want to walk and savour my freedom."

Galeren smiled wryly, "I am afraid you are not free of me. I must accompany you in case . . ."

"Oh, I know." She smiled back, "I meant..." she trailed off. He nodded that he understood and then gestured towards the stairs, "Shall we?"

"Yes," she said taking a step towards him. He offered her his arm and she took it and together they left the cottage.

"Tell me about the man who attacked me." Catherine asked after they had walked for a time. The silence between them had been a comfortable one and she had been otherwise occupied with the new sensations that her body and mind were experiencing. The day couldn't have been more glorious, the sun shone, the sky was cloudless and there was a cool breeze, a relief from the mugginess of the late summer they had experienced for the last week or so.

Catherine felt born anew, for everything that she had previously known in the world now seemed more vibrant and alive. Colours dazzled and the forest was alive with smells that she had never before sensed. She tried to guess the identity of each of the new aromas; the drop of dew on grass, the pollen on a bee's legs, the ooze of sap from a tree. She could hear the forest chattering around her, the flight of birds, the humming of wasps from afar and the shuffle of creatures in the undergrowth. The clarity of her new world thrilled her and all that had been before seemed dull in comparison. Galeren had been right; she did embrace her new existence and it embraced her. All the while Galeren's arm had been there for support, and though she was strong enough to not need it she kept grip of it.

Galeren winced at the question; he found it hard to stomach mention, or even thought, of Esquin de Floyran. However, he could have expected such a question and knew that Catherine would not allow him to be as reticent as he was wont to be with Parsifal. She was not his subordinate and she had nothing to lose by pressing him, but still he would do all to avoid having to think or talk about the man. He took a deep breath.

"His name is Esquin de Floyran. I knew him in Acre and 'twas the last place I saw him alive and dead." He shrugged.

"Go on." Catherine prompted.

"There is nothing to say, 'cept he is cruel." Galeren said brusquely.

"I want to know about him."

"He's not very nice Catherine, the less you know about him the better."

"Don't patronise me, I am far from the fragile creature you think me." She said crossly.

Galeren stopped and looked at her earnestly. "I don't see you as a fragile creature, just the opposite in fact, and if I had then I would have broken your neck as I ought and saved you the misery." He sighed when he saw her frown. "As it is I find it hard to talk about him, even the mention of his name and –"

"He is in my dreams," Catherine interrupted, "every one." She looked up at him, her eyes showed a little distress. Galeren cringed, even though he knew it.

"He calls my name," Catherine continued, her voice full of emotion, "and sometimes I feel his grip crushing my heart, it's inescapable. I dread sleep, 'tis why I came to find you that night. He shows me things Galeren, dreadful things. How can I stop it?"

"It's alright," Galeren said turning to face her, "those who are marked are linked to their initiator through their mind. He can communicate with you and you with him."

"I don't want to communicate with him!" Catherine said aghast, stepping back from him.

"You don't have to," he said reassuringly and took hold of her by her shoulders.

"Can I stop him?" she asked.

"I will, when I kill him," Galeren said assuredly releasing her and pacing away to his left, he turned to look back at her. "But for now you can distance yourself from him. If he enters your dream then walk away from him in the dream. You can use your dreams against him. Turn your back, don't respond, even to fear, he feeds on it. If you let him he will torment you. He is looking for you and if you react to him the link between you will strengthen."

Catherine nodded her understanding and then said, "There is another who enters my dreams and his presence is getting stronger."

"Oh?" Galeren said casually and looked away briefly. His eyes darted back to her and though they were cool she saw hidden depths. "We should be getting back."

"'Tis you Galeren, I know it." Her soft grey eyes searched his face daring him to deny it but he did not and slowly he nodded acquiescence.

"I sought to protect you. If you focus on me it will weaken the link."

"But don't we want him to find me?"

"No, I'll find him when the time is right. I don't want him in your head, I don't want him anywhere near you, do you understand?" he said ardently.

"I do," she nodded quickly, then added, "how is it you can enter my dreams?"

"All werewolves can communicate with their minds when in wolf form and in close proximity. 'Tis how we speak to each other, one to one or in groups. You will see when you make the change, it comes naturally."

"And in human form?" Catherine asked the question Galeren hoped she would not.

"We communicate as humans do, usually. But there is communication that can travel distance. It is unique between marked and initiator and . . ." Galeren paused, not willing to give her the answer she pressed him for.

"And?" she put her hands on her hips. He smiled at her and wondered whether if he told her the truth he would be able to kiss her, as he wanted to. She pursed her lips and then raised her eyebrows expectantly. He was not ready and drew a deep breath.

"'Tis late, we should go back."

Catherine frowned, "'Tis not. Finish what you started, how is it you can enter my dreams?"

"Another time." He said refusing to be drawn further on it. He would only end up saying something he'd regret.

"Damn you Galeren, tell me!"

He raised his eyebrows, surprised at her language and could see that she would not be easy to mollify. But he had had many years practice avoiding difficult subjects or those that he wished to keep buried. Difficult it may be but he would not be broken by her.

"This is for another time Catherine," he said, "and I will not be drawn on it further, not today." He turned swiftly from her and began to make tracks back the way they'd come.

He heard her follow after a bit and felt shamed by his behaviour. He wanted to tell her and he was also afraid to. The mark of Esquin de Floyran was upon her and it could never be removed and yet he felt just as powerful a connection to her as if he had bitten her himself. But he had not, and he needed to reconcile himself with that fact and decide whether he could survive the torture of it, if she was to be his.

### Chapter Nine

25th September 1307, Paris

De Nogaret woke from a restless sleep with the terrifying realization that he was being watched.

"What do you fear the most?" an eerily familiar voice oozed from across the room. De Nogaret scrambled upright and squinted into the darkness to see the form of a large man sat on a chair in the far right corner of the room. Could it be?

"De Floyran? Is that you?" De Nogaret said nervously, pulling the covers up around him as if he sought protection from them.

"Were you expecting someone else?" De Floyran replied smoothly.

"No, I . . . what are you doing in my chambers at this hour?" he said trying not to sound too angry or alarmed. He knew that they were supposed to be allies and although he was fascinated by the renegade Templar, he was well aware that De Floyran was a mercenary and dangerous. He had seen how brutal he was at Anagni. Though instinct told him to be wary, Esquin de Floyran had an enigmatic and powerful charisma and De Nogaret was palpably drawn to him, like moth to flame.

"Waiting for an answer to my question." De Floyran answered unwaveringly. De Nogaret sighed and rubbed the scant sleep from his eyes,

"Falling from grace," he said and then shrugged, "losing favour, my position, my future. I fear that, satisfied?"

"No," De Floyran chuckled darkly, "but I expected such a shallow answer from a limp swine such as yourself."

De Nogaret glowered at the insult, "You can barely talk, denouncing your own." He spat back angrily.

De Floyran laughed, "That's better."

"What are you doing here Esquin? Surely it's not to discuss my fears. I don't appreciate having you enter into my private chambers uninvited in the dead of night."

"There is no better time than now, besides I thought you'd be pleased to see me." De Floyran's voice was smooth but De Nogaret still felt the skin prickle at his neck.

"I . . . am," he answered cautiously, "but would have preferred a little warning and a more civilised hour."

"But then we couldn't have had this conversation."

"A conversation about fear?" De Nogaret said bewildered. "You'll need to clarify the point for I fail to see the importance of it at this hour."

"The point will be clear soon enough when you have satisfied my question," De Floyran said, "now again, what do you fear in the dead of night? 'Twas not fear of falling from grace that had you jolting awake just then. Do you hasten pass shadows at night or do you stare boldly into them?"

"Are you talking of monsters?" De Nogaret said nonchalantly, but the dark edge to De Floyran's voice made him uncomfortable. What was he doing here?

"Do you believe in monsters, witchcraft, the devil?" De Floyran continued.

"I don't believe in monsters, but I am a God fearing man, so devils perhaps. Does that satisfy you?" De Nogaret said trying to sound assertive even though the conversation felt as if it had a sinister intent. He felt vulnerable in his bed and wondered if he should get up, but being unsure of De Floyran's motives he decided to stay where he was.

"Guillaume, for a clever man you severely lack imagination." De Floyran sighed and then said, "I am about to tell you the greatest secret of the Knights Templar, so I would expect a little more enthusiasm."

De Nogaret sat bolt upright, unease suddenly replaced by interest.

"You have my full attention. Would you like some wine. Ou –" he began to shout out his servant's name but De Floyran stopped him before he finished.

"No, no wine. Later, perhaps. All I want is for you to listen to me."

De Nogaret nodded his eyes bright like an owl on a night hunt. This was what he had been waiting for. De Floyran had been ambiguous when he had mentioned, some weeks past, that the Temple concealed a diabolical secret. De Nogaret had begun to regret telling the King that such a secret existed as he was beginning to think that the slippery Templar may be using it as a bargaining tool.

However, despite Philip's delight at De Nogaret's indictment against the Templars and the fact that the Templars' fate was more or less sealed as far as Philip was concerned, this was what he, De Nogaret, wanted. It was the secret which deep down he had always believed existed. Many had spoken of a great secret hidden by the Temple, but no one knew what it was or even whether it really existed. Many theories were nothing more than wild speculation and malicious gossip, most of which had formed the basis of De Nogaret's denunciation; heresy, blasphemy, sodomy and worship of demonic prophets among others. Yet here was a former Templar who had said that the truth was far more heinous than any accusation that had been laid down in the indictment. De Nogaret waited with bated breath for De Floyran to speak.

"Imagine the most monstrous thing you can," De Floyran said dramatically, "it lurks in shadows and waits for the scent of blood. I am talking about monsters Guillaume, real monsters."

De Nogaret said nothing for he was paralysed with anticipation and transfixed by the mercenary's green eyes that gleamed at him from across the room.

"Imagine a man who can change his form. Imagine that he can become one of the most dreaded beasts known to humanity, a beast that can tear a man apart . . . a wolf, Guillaume." De Nogaret's eyes narrowed but he nodded eagerly lapping up the theatre.

"Werewolves, Guillaume, you have heard of such creatures? Perhaps as a child, a tale told to make you behave?"

"Yes," Guillaume managed hoarsely, he could barely breath, "they are in folklore, but surely you are not saying that such things exist?"

"I am and they do." De Floyran said and then added slowly, "the Knights Templar _are_ werewolves."

De Nogaret shook his head in disbelief but nevertheless flinched. Something about De Floyran and the way he told his tale made De Nogaret believe him and Christ he wanted it to be true. As diabolical and unbelievable as it was, it was at the same time hideously delicious, even perfect!

"Can this really be so?" De Nogaret said trying to remain impassive, though his heart pounded in his chest and his clammy hands gripped the sheets about him.

"Do you need proof?" De Floyran asked. De Nogaret could almost see the glint of his teeth as he smiled. Of course, if what he said was true that would mean that he too was a werewolf.

"Can you prove it?" De Nogaret asked warily.

"The Order of the Knights Templar is a guise hiding the most malevolent race of creatures that is the scourge of God's Earth. They have fooled the Church for near two centuries, _imagine?_ " De Floyran shook his head as if to emphasize the incredulity of what he was saying.

"The Order's founders were werewolves; its leaders, hierarchy and all of its knights are werewolves. The rest who serve the Temple are ignorant of its bestial roots. I was a Templar, I am a werewolf. I remain cursed whether in the Temple or not. You chastise me for denouncing my own, but I only seek salvation." De Floyran said theatrically.

De Nogaret doubted this last sentiment, despite De Floyran's dramatic rendition of the Templars' true nature he knew the knight was both beyond salvation and cared less for it. His brutality and imposing presence, however, could readily be explained by such a cursed existence, but did such a horror really exist?

De Floyran was speaking of the supernatural, like witchcraft. Although De Nogaret had seen many accused of sorcery, he was disinclined to believe magic was involved, heresy and knowledge outside the Church's teaching perhaps, but not enchantment.

"Do you seek proof?" De Floyran asked again.

De Nogaret was dying for it, but at the same time he realised that if Esquin de Floyran did speak the truth then he was in a precarious position.

"I do seek proof, but only if my safety is assured."

"Oh bless you Guillaume!" De Floyran cackled, "I have not come here to kill you and the wolf in me will recognise you as friend, you need have no fear."

De Nogaret nodded to show that he was happy, although he was not, but it was a risk he was willing to take. Besides, De Floyran had nothing to gain by killing him rather he had everything to lose.

De Floyran stood up and without a sound moved to the centre of the large room, it was then that De Nogaret saw that he was completely naked. Looking intently at De Nogaret who was still holed up in his bed, De Floyran, without warning suddenly doubled over, crying out in the most inhumane agony. De Nogaret gasped in shock at the sound which, in all its horror, only lasted a few seconds. His eyes widened in amazement as he saw De Floyran melt into the darkness like an apparition, except he did not disappear but changed. De Nogaret could not fathom what he had just seen, nor would he be able to describe it to another, but clear in his vision, as had been the man who'd stood there moments before, was now the form of a huge black wolf.

"Jesu!" De Nogaret cried out and crossed himself several times. The wolf lowered its head and stared unkindly at him, its green eyes easily recognizable as De Floyran's and its disdainful view of him unmistakably apparent. Fear pulsated through De Nogaret's heart despite De Floyran's prior assurances and he found himself crying out, "Enough! Enough, I've seen enough."

The wolf sat down but did not break its gaze, and then as if it had never happened De Nogaret blinked to find Esquin de Floyran sat cross legged on the floor in the centre of his bed chamber.

"I'll have that wine now," De Floyran smiled at the white but rapt visage of Guillaume De Nogaret.

De Floyran had insisted on taking his wine in one of the many inns of disrepute that were to be found in the darker streets of Paris. A celebration, he had called it, now that the burden of his secret had been lifted. Guillaume de Nogaret was stuck in a state that was between incredulity and fascination as he reflected on what De Floyran had both told and shown him. The fact that he was walking side by side with a creature that, before this night, he never imagined existed was inconceivable. And yet such creatures did exist and had been living amongst humanity as Knights Templar for near two centuries! They had been honoured and protected by Rome and had grown powerful, almost untouchable, over the decades.

De Nogaret had done his research on the wily knights and knew of their fearsome reputation. They were fearless in battle often taking on double, even triple their number, they commanded respect and had an extremely powerful presence. The latter De Nogaret had noticed the most when he had had dealings with Templars. Many saw it as arrogance, such as the King, but De Nogaret had seen it as something more, though he'd never been able to put his finger on it until now.

When Esquin de Floyran and his men had assisted him at Anagni he had noticed it most then. They had appeared as an extremely tight group sharing a secret knowledge between them which had come over as arrogance and supremacy. De Nogaret knew they were renegade Templars, every one, but assumed that the firm bond they appeared to have and denigrating attitude was a result of their former training and service. Now he knew that they still belonged to an elicit group, expelled in name but bound in blood.

Though De Floyran had described it to him as something diabolical, De Nogaret did not view it in that way and also knew that despite what he had said neither did De Floyran. As he thought of the man's transfiguration, it struck him not as a curse but as a gift, an immeasurable gift that someone like he should be in possession of. De Floyran had especially intrigued him, right from the moment of their first meeting. He was everything that De Nogaret was not; tall, ruggedly handsome and charming, with the eyes of a devil and the smile of a saint. De Nogaret was aware that he himself was an unattractive man, nondescript and undesirable to women. However, he was compensated by the fact that he was clever and his lust for power was sated by destroying those to whom it already belonged.

The Templars were doomed and Guillaume knew he would be rewarded handsomely for the crucial part that he played. However, as they wound down the alleys and back streets of the city, in silence, De Nogaret realised that the truth, in all its stark horror, which he had wanted merely to seal the Templars' fate, was something he now found himself coveting. Was it possible that De Floyran could give to him this remarkable gift? If it was, then De Floyran could give him power and presence, De Floyran could change his life.

"This will do." De Floyran stopped and remarked with a wave of his arm.

"Seedy and grimy," De Nogaret responded, his repulsion clear in his tone.

De Floyran laughed at the little man's aversion, "'Tis open and welcoming is it not? Everything we require is inside. Besides, we will go unnoticed."

De Nogaret shrugged again and reluctantly followed his companion inside. The place stank of ale and sin and was full of men enjoying both. De Floyran motioned for Guillaume to sit. He did so and waited for him to return with a flagon of ale.

Not many words were exchanged while they drank. De Floyran watched De Nogaret's beady expression and knew that his mind was busy trying to find greater advantage to what he had just been told, other than simply the destruction of the Order. But De Floyran appreciated what a cunning toad he was and had anticipated just this. Despite abhorring his company he also knew that De Nogaret was crucial to his own plans and he would need to play him to his advantage.

"Where do we stand on things?" De Floyran finally broke the silence.

De Nogaret looked up as his chain of thought was broken and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, "Philip had several copies of a summarised version of the indictment made. He sent these out, along with a letter commanding the arrest of the Templars, to all his bailiffs and seneschals in the Kingdom."

"When has the arrest date been set?" De Floyran asked pouring himself more ale.

"I believe that it has been set for Friday the 13th of October."

De Floyran narrowed his eyes as if in thought and then said, "Does Clement know?"

"Clement is set to supervise an inquiry into the Templars which was requested by the Grand Master. However, Philip knows that the illness and incompetence that plagues the Pope will delay such to a future date, which is beyond Philip's patience. He plans a swift, clean sweep of arrests and an immediate inquisition.

Clement may protest but with the damning indictment he will soon adhere to Philip's methods. Besides, we have the most shocking secret to yet reveal. Clement is Pope, the truth could undo him. Even if it did not, he would never protect monsters nor wish for it to be known that he and his predecessors have done so for near two hundred years." De Nogaret paused and looked down aware that he was sat with one such monster. De Floyran waved his hand dismissively.

"And the Temple does not suspect anything?"

"I think not. The bout of prior accusations and setting of a papal inquiry into them has averted their attention from this separate inquest. The Grand Master even now attempts to appease the King by reinstating the Temple's disgraced treasurer and he is due to be pall bearer at the funeral of Catherine de Vallois the day before the arrests are planned. This is no ill-executed scheme, believe me, if the Temple suspected anything then I would expect the Grand Master, at least, to flee France."

"Do not underestimate De Molay or his council," De Floyran waved a cautionary finger, "they are as slippery as eels when it comes to avoiding jeopardy."

"Not this time," De Nogaret said smugly, "the Grand Master is being watched."

"Commendable, but the information you will be getting will all be lies." De Floyran said assuredly.

"How so?" De Nogaret frowned.

"I doubt your spies would admit that they could not penetrate the Templar council. They would be sniffed out from a mile away, unless you have other werewolf collaborators?"

De Nogaret's eyes flickered with interest, "You can tell who is and isn't?"

"Of course you fool!" De Floyran said contemptuously. "We are wolves," he added more quietly. "Our sense of smell is second to none. We can sense all through smell; your emotions, where you've been, who you've been with. For example, I know that you took relief with your hand shortly before you went abed."

De Nogaret immediately reddened with embarrassment and was about to object when De Floyran interjected,

"You may have washed yourself but I can still smell your latent lust upon you." He raised his eyebrows and added, "There's not much you can hide from me. But getting back to the point, I would have our King set about the arrest of the Templars sooner, because like me not much will remain hidden from them for long."

De Nogaret forgot his embarrassment and nodded his understanding. They could not afford to lose the element of surprise nor the prize of arresting the Grand Master and his peers. "I will speak to him with haste. Will you come with me and recount your tale?"

"I fear I cannot for I must go again to England on the morrow."

"But you have just returned!" De Nogaret protested.

"Aye, but I interrupted my outing to give you the nail in the Templars coffin. I must resume my business as soon as possible. You should be thankful."

"I am," De Nogaret sighed, "but I doubt the King will believe such a tale."

"You can convince him. Get him to make the arrests as soon as possible and I promise I will give him all the proof he needs, spectacular proof!" He beamed an immaculate grin. His perfect white teeth were another advantage of his gift, De Nogaret supposed as he ran his tongue across his own discoloured and rotting pegs.

"I suppose," De Nogaret shrugged, "can I trust you?" It was a pointless question.

"Of course," De Floyran said flippantly, "but failing that what choice do you have? I leave you with this though, this is all to my benefit as well and I trust myself to come through."

De Nogaret nodded and drained his cup of ale, he would have to take him on his word and after all, he had just revealed his secret to him.

"Let's get a couple of women," De Floyran said suddenly, watching De Nogaret's expression closely. Guillaume looked up hesitantly; " _Here?_ " he said wrinkling his nose as if in disgust.

"Yes here, 'tis the perfect place. I always want a woman after I change, 'tis the beast in me." He widened his eyes suggestively.

De Nogaret felt his groin stir at the thought of it, though he was not in the habit of going to whores. He was surprised that De Floyran would want to either, as he imagined that he had no trouble picking up desirable women with his looks and charm. However, if the urge took him . . . De Nogaret knew nothing about the libido of werewolves. Perhaps it was as rampant and base as the place they were presently sat in.

"Come on," De Floyran encouraged, "it's on me, what about those two?"

He pointed across the room to two young but worn looking women. Despite his distaste at the place he could feel De Floyran's lust getting under his own skin. He had been to a whore once, the first time in fact, but had been left feeling both unsatisfied and defiled. He had never repeated the experience and lived daily by ignoring his body's wants and needs and throwing himself instead into his devilish work. It sufficed for the most part, his work had become his mistress and his achievements his climax. But now in the charged company of this Templar, this werewolf, De Nogaret was aroused and feeling the desire to give in to his more primitive needs, he found himself saying yes.

The room the women took them to was divided, for privacy, by a tattered and tarnished linen sheet. Each partition consisted of a small pallet that was covered with more stained sheets, evidence of many sordid couplings. Guillaume felt his stomach turn but De Floyran wasted no time studying the squalid surroundings and instead disappeared behind the scant partition and quickly set to the task of fucking his choice of whore.

Guillaume sat on the very edge of his pallet and clasped his sweaty hands together; his own whore knelt before him. She smiled and began to unlace his shirt, but he slapped her hands away,

"Wait!" he said nervously, his attention drawn to the vigorous sounds coming from beyond the partition, a mixture of intense arousal and revulsion hit him at once.

"Come on my love," the woman purred, "your friend will be through before your cock sees the light of day." She chuckled and grabbed at his groin. Guillaume struck out viciously at her sending her reeling into the corner of the small room.

"Get your filthy hands off me you stinking whore!" he screamed his abhorrence. De Floyran jumped up and threw aside the partition.

"What in God's name?" he cried standing naked with a sheen of fine sweat covering his body, his interrupted momentum evident by his still erect and quivering member. He looked first at the whore huddled in the corner and then to a flustered De Nogaret, who was still perched on the end of the pallet.

A glint of something sinister entered Esquin's eyes and then he fixed De Nogaret with a questioning look.

"I don't want her touching me, she's dirty!" Guillaume said looking up at De Floyran with momentary fascination which was quickly replaced by embarrassment. De Floyran nodded his understanding at the situation but the look on his face almost boasted delight.

He then said, "Get a drink and wait for me downstairs."

De Nogaret nodded and quickly got up, fumbling to straighten his attire as he made for the door.

"You," De Floyran snapped his fingers at the whore still hunched in the corner, "finish me off, seeing as I paid for the pair of you."

He smiled and winked at De Nogaret who looked back as his hand grasped the door handle. The whore crawled over to De Floyran on hand and knees while De Nogaret averted his eyes and hurriedly left the room.

A few minutes later De Floyran returned from the room, where he had sought their entertainment, with a spring in his step and a sparkle in his eye which led De Nogaret to believe that the whore had dealt with his final request to his satisfaction. He sat down and grabbing a cup, helped himself to the wine in the flagon that sat before Guillaume. He drank deep and draining the cup sighed his contentment before filling it again to the brim. He smiled at De Nogaret and said,

"'Tis men you prefer then?"

Guillaume looked at him aghast, "Jesu no!" he said petulantly but immediately saw that De Floyran was teasing him.

"Whores repulse me. They are soiled and impure." He said in way of explanation.

"So you have never been with a woman?" De Floyran asked drinking his wine and then refilling both their cups.

"Yes, I have. A whore in fact, a time ago now. It did not leave me satisfied, rather despoiled. However, I am wont to have little success with the type of women I desire."

"Ahhhhh," De Floyran said nodding his head, "you seek purity . . . innocence."

Guillaume's eyes widened and he suddenly felt a thrill as De Floyran spoke of the essence of his desire.

"Yes," De Nogaret breathed.

"Then we are similar, as I too desire those qualities in a woman." He waved his hand dismissively as he saw Guillaume's expression, "Whores are a quick and convenient fix for the rampant appetite I have need to satisfy frequently, but I consider it a physical need. My true pleasure comes from another quarter."

De Nogaret's eyes, first bright with nascent interest became dull and he shrugged, "And I am sure a man like you has no trouble charming innocent maidens and making them pliable in your arms with false promises."

De Floyran drained his cup for the third time and refilled it; De Nogaret's wine remained untouched.

"I promise them nothing." He said brazenly.

"Ha!" De Nogaret spat in disbelief. "Even a man of your prowess must have need to assure a woman that her precious maidenhead is not about to be wasted on a selfish scoundrel who will be gone before his pillow is cold. I doubt any pure and innocent maid would be wont to give her prize to such a man so willingly."

"I did not say that they gave it to me willingly." De Floyran said darkly. Guillaume felt a cold chill enter his body but as he was beginning to learn, everything that De Floyran said both shocked and excited him.

"What are you saying? That you force yourself on them?"

"I am saying exactly that. Charming women doesn't interest me, taking them against their will does, 'tis from where I derive my greatest pleasure." He smiled, his white teeth gleamed in the dusky light of the inn and De Nogaret felt his groin stir again.

"You do this often?" De Nogaret asked feverishly.

"As often as I desire, but as I said my appetite is insatiable so whores are convenient, but the more innocent the prey the better." He smiled wolfishly, "I recently had a novice in my grasp."

"A novice?" De Nogaret said again both filled with intrigue and a little shock.

"Aye, she was like a peach but I did not get a chance to taste her."

"What happened?" De Nogaret asked his interest mounting.

"We were disturbed and she eluded me, but I'll find her again and she will taste even sweeter."

"'Tis a bit risky, raping nuns," Guillaume observed, "they are like to report you. If you are a wanderer then I am sure no trouble comes with it, but a man of my standing would soon find himself set upon."

"Not if there is no one to tell the tale." De Floyran said dispassionately.

De Nogaret's expression turned to one of genuine shock as he took on De Floyran's meaning, "I am not one for murder." He said categorically.

De Floyran cackled both loudly and callously, then leaned forward across the table so that he was close to Guillaume and whispered,

"You have just written an indictment that will condemn thousands of men. Don't give me the pious act when you are about to murder hundreds of Templars."

De Nogaret's face darkened and his eyes narrowed, "What I do is for the good of the Church and the King. To bring down a dangerous and powerful institution like the Templars is a far cry from what you speak. The Order will be tried and punished as is justly deserved."

"And how do you think your King and your Church will deal with the wolves of the Temple, hmmm? Surely they won't condone such a race of men and allow them to prevail. I smell the stake; they'll charge them with heresy and roast them."

"'Tis not my concern after the fact. If the Templars are tried and found guilty, which they will be, then many of them will burn. I do not relish the stake or suffering but after what you have just told me my conscience will not allow such dangerous and powerful creatures to wield such influence."

"Mmmmmm," De Floyran mused shrewdly, "you may be able to fool yourself, Guillaume, but you'll never be able to fool me. I can smell your murderous nature. You may distance yourself from it, speaking of conscience and duty yet you suck up the consequence like a starving leech. You enjoy the sport but the kill is what thrills you the most. You need no pretence with me, Guillaume. I understand you, better then you understand yourself."

Guillaume's pupils dilated and his eyes darted nervously about the room. He picked up his cup for the first time and drank the wine down hungrily. When he was finished he had a second and a third and when he had caught up to De Floyran he steadily put his cup down on the table and in a whisper, which was thick with sweet anticipation, he said,

"Show me."

### Chapter Ten

"Right then," Galeren said stopping and surveying the clearing they were in.

"Here?" Catherine asked puzzled. She had followed him dutifully into the depths of the forest, walking for what had seemed for hours. With each step she became more and more afraid as she felt that he was slipping further from her.

The last few days had been indescribable for Catherine. Her new world was in bloom and she was becoming ever more attuned to it. Galeren was there in every capacity to support her but though in the waking day he was attentive, emotionally he was distant. Her life was in the throes of rebirth and she could not bear his cool demeanour. He was her only connection to her new life but she knew that the mark of Esquin de Floyran marred her and it was that that caused Galeren's detachment.

She knew nothing of the past they'd shared only that Galeren was loath to speak of it and her own experience with him, although brief and terrifying, had irrevocably changed her life. Yet in the world of werewolf dreams, which were vivid and sometimes difficult to separate from waking life, Galeren's presence was powerful and grew ever more so, crippling Esquin de Floyran's grip on her. She felt safe and united with Galeren and she was certain she sensed a deep connection with him but one that seemed absent in waking reality.

Today she had felt the tension within him as he stormed ahead of her urging her to keep up. Today was different. Catherine no longer needed the fresh air and exercise to regain the strength she had lost during her transition or to adjust to her new senses. The part of the forest he took her into was dense and dark and thus undisturbed and she knew there was good reason for them coming here; she was ready for her first change.

For days now she had been filled with an unrelenting energy that seemed to want to eat her from the inside out. She could feel an itch in her bones and sleep would not come. Galeren had told her to have patience and that the longer she put up with the frustration, the easier the first change would be. Galeren himself could barely remember his first change it was such a blur of emotions, but he knew that he had been in the care of the Temple and angry at everything. Since then he had guided many through their first change, including Parsifal, but this was different.

Her change was important. She would become wolf and he felt sure that the bond he sensed between them would be sealed. They could run together and feel the gift that the Earth had given them unite them as brethren. She would see the world as he saw it and she would love and yearn for its wild abandon. But Galeren also feared the transition. Human emotions could confuse and only as wolves would their real destiny be revealed.

He had been cool with her these past few days, he did not want to think of her as his mate, not yet, for fear that when she changed things would not be as he wished. Though marked by another, he hoped that as wolves they would recognise each other as the life mates he believed they were meant to be. There was also an apprehension at seeing her in wolf form. He wondered what colouring she would have. She was dark, and though her complexion was pale he knew that De Floyran's bite would have influence on it.

However, he tried to keep that thought distant. She had been marked by De Floyran and there was nothing he could do about it. Despite the bitterness this engrained within him, Galeren felt that any bond that Catherine had was with him, and not her maker.

"What should I do?" she asked, turning around and shrugging.

"What do you feel?" Galeren asked.

"Hot." She replied. This feeling had been with her for days and was often accompanied by an intense pressure behind her eyes which was both draining and sickening.

"Take off your clothes." He said casually.

Catherine's eyes widened, "Right here?"

"You'll lose them if you change within them."

"Lose them?"

"Aye," he raised an eyebrow, "change can be quite quick and there is a point when you are neither one nor the other, there is a space between those two states and anything upon your person remains in that space."

Catherine frowned, her bewilderment apparent but Galeren just shrugged, "Don't ask me how or why. All I know is that if you change in clothing then you lose it and believe me you will never find it again. 'Tis as unexplained as how we came to be. How hot do you feel now?"

"Much hotter."

"You are close then. Find your space and relax."

"Does it hurt?"

"'Tis a discomfort, but it is so brief you will not notice it, not when you've done it countless times." He smiled. "The first time is more fear of the unknown then actual pain. But I think it will be easy for you."

"How so?"

"'Tis something I sense, now go to. Find your space. I will be here if you need me."

She nodded her understanding and looked around a little hesitantly. She felt the heat within her rise and made herself leave the safe proximity of Galeren and walk into the dense undergrowth. Immediately feeling a little cooler she moved amongst the foliage until she felt she was a sufficient distance from Galeren to make her change privately, but not too far from him lest anything bad happen.

Quickly she removed her girdle, dress and undershift and folded them carefully into a pile. She suddenly felt hot again and could tell that the fiery heat within her was rising. It was in her blood and even her bones felt the charring heat. For days now she had felt this, the rising heat and pressure within her coming in ever increasing waves until they became nauseating. She eventually cooled down but today was different; she could feel the heat intensifying and nausea gaining on her with a relentless aim.

Her head spun and she quickly crouched down on all fours onto the cool grass to prevent herself from swooning. Burning up she scrunched her eyes together and tried to prevent the rest of her body from tensing but it was of no use. She felt her body spasm and cried out sharply as a cold sensation, like ice, rushed through her veins. It instantly cleansed and cooled her burning blood. Exhilarated, she felt her body relax and opened her eyes to find herself looking at a blur of greenish brown that was the forest floor.

Blinking she moved her hand in front of her as her vision cleared and saw a sight that made her baulk. It couldn't be? She moved her head closer to what should have been her hand but found herself staring at a grey paw, like a dog's paw . . . a wolf's paw. She moved her hand and saw the paw move. She clawed at the undergrowth, until what she was seeing connected with what she was feeling. The new appendage really belonged to her.

She crossed her eyes and looked down what was a dark grey muzzle protruding from her face. Shaking her head in disbelief she looked at her second paw and then turned her head to look down the length of her body. She was still on all fours, but now these were four grey legs and she looked beyond her furry flank to see a bushy tail that she swished from side to side. Amazed and excited by her new body she made to run from her hiding place and find Galeren.

"Galeren!" she tried to cry out but a strange sound came from her new mouth and she ran to where he had been to find him gone. Where was he? She turned with ease on her four paws, feeling graceful and agile. A noise from the right caught her attention and she turned to see the white wolf come crashing through the brush.

_Catherine!_ she heard him say as clear as anything and cocked her head in confusion. Galeren looked at the grey wolf before him and, much relieved, admired her beauty. She was a grey, not black, anything but black.

_Run!_ he said and tore off through the forest. Still a little dazed but unwilling to lose him she began to chase after him. How was he talking to her? She could hear him but he wasn't taking though his mouth. It must be through his mind. Like in the dreams, they must be linked through their minds and with them they could communicate.

She ran after him, feeling a new unity with the forest around her. Her senses spanned out, reaching far and wide into the new world and she felt them purified by the Earth's rhythm. Freedom! As she ran trying to find her companion she felt deliverance and that all that had been before was now gone. Galeren had told her that there was no feeling in the world like that of running as a wolf. She now understood that and speeded up thrilled at how fast she could run! But Galeren was nowhere to be seen. She called out to him in her mind,

Galeren, where are you?

When he didn't answer she felt she had done something wrong and was about to try again when she felt something rush towards her from the side.

_Here!_ he said and crashed into her. She felt her feet knocked from under her but she quickly recovered and squirmed her way out from under him.

_You rogue!_ she said panting and lowered her head at him. His eyes were bright and curious. She shook herself and said, _Come, try and catch me then!_ And tore away from him like lightning, hearing her own laughter in her head.

She couldn't tell how long they'd run and fooled around for. She had felt like a child again, tumbling through the undergrowth with a good friend that she had long forgotten. She felt close to Galeren and sensed that any tension that had gripped him the last few days had gone. He seemed relaxed, happy and free. This was true freedom though, something she had never known and now would never give up. Nor, she vowed, would she give Galeren up. She knew that she wanted to be with him always and that the world would be unbearable without him, a cruel winter with no thaw to look forward to or summer warmth. She would freeze without him.

She awoke from a peaceful slumber with no memory of dreaming, just the satisfaction gained from a good rest after a day of vibrant activity. She yawned and stretched, aware that she lay across Galeren who snoozed lying upon his stomach. She looked down and suddenly jumped up in horror. She was naked and no longer in wolf form. Gasping she ran for the cover of the trees. Galeren stirred at the commotion and sleepily shook his head to waken himself.

"Catherine?" he called out, propping himself up on his elbows.

"I'm fine." She said, fruitlessly looking for something to cover herself.

"What are you doing?" he called out, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"I . . . " Catherine paused crouching down, "I'm naked." She finished only to hear Galeren laugh.

"So?"

" _So?_ " Catherine said embarrassed, "God knows where our clothes are from here?"

"Don't worry. We'll find them later." He said standing up.

"Don't come in here!" she said, crossing her arms to cover her breasts.

"Why not?" he said still approaching.

"It's not proper! You should not see me thus!" she protested.

"You just changed into a wolf Catherine, we've run through the forest together as wild beasts and you worry about me seeing you naked."

"But," she started pausing as Galeren suddenly appeared before her. She looked away but couldn't prevent her gaze being drawn back to his nakedness. She found herself perusing his wiry physique allowing her eyes to wonder beyond his midriff and below to his groin. She could feel her cheeks burn and wished it was a sign that she was changing again and not of embarrassment, but she knew it was the latter.

"Stand up," he commanded.

"No!" she said, wishing to disappear.

"You have nothing to hide, you are beautiful."

She was momentarily lulled by his remark but still did not feel she could stand before him without a stitch of clothing.

"Please," she begged but he moved towards her and offered his hand to her. She shook her head but knew he would not give in easily. She trusted him but was still afraid, emotions were raw and her blood was hot. She thought of the winter that would be without him and slowly offered him her hand. As he took it he said,

"I told you of the link between marked and initiator."

She nodded, unwilling to look into his eyes. "Well, sometimes there is a special link between others." He continued.

"Special?"

"A deep and powerful bond."

"What sort of bond?" she mumbled, knowing that her nerves had the better of her.

Galeren sighed, "Christ on the Cross Catherine, don't tell me you know not of what I speak!"

"I do," she whispered hoarsely and looking up at him through her lashes she tentatively allowed his grip to pull her to her feet. He did not look at her body but instead looked straight into her eyes.

"There are several reasons why I took you from that wretched convent, not least because I was lost to you the moment I saw you. We are bonded as true mates, 'tis why I can enter your mind as both human and wolf, and you can enter mine. Ours is a bond that can cross great distance and I felt it immediately."

Catherine began to chew on her bottom lip nervously though her heart quickened, "I felt it too." She admitted, both relieved and overjoyed. Smiling he moved towards her but she stepped back. "I am afraid," she said.

"Do not fear me, Catherine. I would never hurt you or force myself on you."

"No!" she said her eyes widening, "you misunderstand me, I am not afraid of you but of loving you. You know my heart is scarred Galeren."

"I do, but know this; what I feel I've never felt before, a wolf's bond with its mate is unbreakable. Nothing or no-one can ever sever it, Catherine, ever."

She smiled for she sensed it to be true. "I have never –" she began but was cut off as Galeren pulled her into his arms and kissed her. The forest was suddenly alight and she burned within it.

Catherine was consumed by his fire. Their union was desperate; as if it were the first and last time they would be together. He devoured her passionately like she knew he would. Though not green to the act itself, she had not experienced anything like it and overwhelmed with emotion from the day she cried as their fervour melted them together and left them breathless and forever changed.

As she lay wrapped in his arms she thought of the brief and awkward couplings she had had with Robard; her skirts pushed up to her waist, their skin separated by clothing, his grunts and passionless kisses that, in comparison, were like being pecked at by a bird. There had been no tenderness or fire and she wondered how she could have ever thought that she was in love.

This _was_ love; his body had shown her, reinforcing his words and she'd felt the intensity of his feelings throughout her own body. Her heart now felt tight and though she was happy she also felt fear. This situation was irrevocable and her new feelings frightened her, there would not just be winter without Galeren but despair and death.

"What are you thinking about?" Galeren said shaking her from her thoughts. She snuggled closer against him and savoured his scent.

"I thought you could read my mind," she said.

"No. I can communicate with your mind through mine and meet you in dreams but your secrets are safe from me."

She laughed, "You know all my secrets and I know none of yours." She said playfully.

"I have no secrets from you, ask me anything and I will tell you." He said earnestly; _only nothing about Esquin de Floyran_ , he prayed. Catherine was too insightful to ask him about her initiator and besides, she did not wish to think of the brute in the twilight of their passion.

"Tell me about our kind, where do we come from, how did we come to be?"

Galeren smiled relieved at her question and sensitivity. He crooked his neck to look at her.

"There are many stories and legends but there is one that has stood the test of time and it is the one the Templars hold true."

"Tell it!" she said excitedly.

"The legend tells that the first werewolf came from the forests of Germany and that it was a woman."

"A woman?"

"Aye, a woman. 'Tis a woeful tale though. She was young, probably your age and by all accounts a little careless, also like you for she found herself walking home alone in the forest one eventide and was attacked by several men." He paused and pulled her closer and Catherine thought of the incident on the road to Ashby and of the night she met De Floyran.

"She was beaten and raped and left for dead and did indeed lie dying. However, as the blood drained from her body, the spirits of the trees were so angered by the event they'd witnessed that through their pity they turned her into a wolf and she healed quickly.

She found that she could transfer between human and wolf form thereafter and knowing who her attackers were, she dispatched of them one by one, as wolf, ripping their throats out. It is believed that the trees turned other women into werewolves and the gift was then passed down the generations to men as well."

"Tree spirits? Do you believe the legend?" Catherine herself found it fascinating but knew that Galeren was a man of learning and doubted if he believed what sounded like nothing more than a faerie tale.

"I have tried to find less fanciful explanations and I have never conversed with the spirits of trees, yet I can find no better truth and you would have no more believed in werewolves than in the spirits of trees a month ago."

"My mother believed in the spirits of trees, she used to ask them about the weather." She looked up at him and smiled.

"And did they tell her?" Galeren asked curiously.

"She said they did, and she never got it wrong."

"Mmmm," Galeren pondered thoughtfully. "It sounds like your mother was specially tuned to nature."

"She was, I think she knew about werewolves too," Catherine said, propping herself up so she could look at him, "she told me wolves were good and watched over us. I dreamed of wolves too," she added.

"You did?"

She nodded, "But I can't remember the dreams." She said half truthfully allowing De Floyran to enter her thoughts; she tried to expel him and said,

"I am surprised the Templars value that story as their history, seeing as a woman is the focus."

"The Templar pretext fools all, we are werewolves first and the Temple is our disguise. Unfortunately our disguise is contrary to our true ideals. It was a good guise but it swept us away."

Catherine frown quizzically and Galeren smiled at her, "We hold women in the highest regard but hide this through rules of chastity and celibacy. We act opposite to our true selves. We seek knowledge not God, we love women, not prayer and we hope for peace, not war. Sadly, we are a product of our circumstances and as thus we have been able to remain hidden."

"Where are the women then? Templars are all men."

"There are women, but our women hide too, behind habits. There are special convents, nothing like the one you were in. Most are close to Templar preceptories. They house the wives, sisters, and daughters of Templars. All are of our race. To the outside world they are just convents but within they are nothing like them. They are institutes of learning."

"So husband and wife must live apart; sisters and brothers as nuns and Templars."

"Yes, husbands visit their wives though, as often as they can. It is far from ideal but –"

"You do not mean to put me in one?" Catherine interrupted suddenly her voice filled with dread. She pulled away from his embrace to look at him, "They may not be true convents but I cannot spend my days locked behind walls draped in a nun's habit."

"No!" Galeren said passionately, "I never want to be parted from you. I plan to sever my ties with the Temple. Parsifal will deliver my decision in the next few days." Galeren said resolutely.

He had already decided that he would send Parsifal back to Temple Bruer with his wishes. It was with a heavy heart that he would dismiss his young sergeant and hand him into the care of Richard de Gosbeck. De Gosbeck might seem brutish but he was a fine Templar and would do well by Parsifal, as Galeren would insist. His decision would be no surprise for Le Roux though, who was only too aware of Galeren's thirst for change and impatience with the Templar rule.

Catherine was at once relieved but then was shadowed with apprehension, "Galeren I don't want you to lose everything you know," she started.

"Fear not," he said quickly, "I have long been separating from the Temple. I love my brethren but not the way we live, even a well meaning lie is still a lie. We have brilliant minds amongst us; gifted men and women who can't live together and must fight and murder those whom we have no quarrel with, our own brethren in fact, in different lands. All this for a belief that is not our own."

"How did the Temple start as thus? You said werewolves founded it." She moved close against him again.

"Aye, and for love would you believe."

"Love?"

"Hughes de Payens was not born a werewolf, but rather like you he was made one. As a young knight he was attacked near some woods on the way back from an errand he had been on for his lord, the Count of Champagne. Brigands beat him half to death and left him with barely the shirt on his back. They took his horse and stripped him of everything.

He was left for the wolves and was nearly had by them 'cept he was saved by a she-wolf who fought another off as it made to attack. She changed into human form and carried him to an inn, the owner of which, also a werewolf reluctantly took him into his care. The woman's mate, a brute of a man and the very wolf she had saved Hughes from, came for her and Hughes vowed to save her from him.

When he was well he went back to the place she had found him and was immediately met by her mate in human form who fought with him. Once again she came to Hughes rescue. However, she was slain by her mate, as she fell on the dagger in his hand while she tore his throat out. She crawled into the woods to die but Hughes found her and saw her change back into human form, she died in his arms before he realised that he had been bitten by her mate.

He later married Catherine St Clair and lived with what he saw as a terrible curse and was haunted by the memory of the woman who'd saved him. When his wife died he went on crusade and wished to seek absolution and forgiveness from God for his unnatural affliction.

While in Outremer he met other knights like him and seeing a chance for the redemption of his soul he, along with the others, formed the Knights of the Temple of Solomon, who sought to protect Christian pilgrims and the word of God. He hoped that the formation of the Order and his service would absolve him of his curse and that of the woman who'd saved him and they would be reunited in heaven. So it was. But the Temple grew and one man's reason faded and left the rest with a unified race but a conflicting purpose. It is difficult to slay men for thinking differently to you, especially when some of them are werewolves just like you."

"The infidel?"

"Another blind concept." He said but then squeezed her tightly so she didn't take offence by his critical remark; it was not meant at her.

"I know you know them as thus but they are just men and women who have different beliefs and different looks. It is difficult to run a man through when you know that underneath you are of the same race.

We learned a lot from our Palestinian brethren. As knowledge was shared and gained, the Temple changed but was and has been trapped under a clever guise which has, for a long time, become difficult for me to live with."

It was a lot for Catherine to take in; that she was part of this was almost too overwhelming. This, coupled with how she felt about Galeren and the silhouette of Esquin de Floyran, crushed her. Today she had become a wolf and was bonded with a man that she loved so much she was afraid to think about it.

There was danger in what Galeren had decided to do; she saw the sense and reasoning for it but as his words came to her she felt underlying dread. She wanted to tell him, but what was her explanation? A feeling, what she was given in the dreams that Esquin de Floyran entered. He still managed to reach her when sometimes Galeren did not. She didn't want Galeren to know for fear of worrying him and also because she wanted to know what it was De Floyran was showing her. She would tell Galeren as soon as it became clear. Perhaps Galeren's break with the Temple was a good thing, perhaps they could get away from the evil she felt creeping towards them.

"Where will we go?" she said suddenly, "what will we do?"

"Far," he said decisively and brushed her face gently with the back of his hand, "and whatever we do, will be together."

### Chapter Eleven

6th October 1307, Fontainebleau Palace

"This is what you give me?" Philip said with an angry edge to his voice, he then laughed but this was even more disheartening, "several weeks I have waited and _this_ is what you give me?" He threw his goblet of wine to the floor in rage and immediately motioned to his servant to replace it. De Nogaret, like the others in the room grimaced, but Philip's rage was like that of a spoilt child and was as easy to dispel; give him something sweet and it would pass.

"Why would I lie to you, Sire and why would you expect me too?" he said boldly and tried to stand his ground as he saw Philip's face distort. He felt emboldened since his last encounter with De Floyran, who was the reason he was here. Rather than face the King of France himself, the ex-Templar had hastened back to England to whatever business he was eager to conclude, promising to return with spectacular proof for Philip. De Floyran liked the dramatic, so it seemed, but then so did the King.

"Dare you speak to me so?" Philip said gulping down his fresh cup of wine. De Nogaret bowed submissively, "I mean no disrespect, your Majesty, but I have no reason to lie and if I was mad enough to do so then I would not tell you something so fantastical."

Philip inclined his head as if to ponder the fact and then turned to the two young pleasant looking men to his right, one sipped at his wine like a snake, the other stood dumbfounded.

"De Plaisians, Beaumanoir!" he shouted, "what think you of this?"

Guillaume de Plaisians looked across at De Nogaret and smiled as he took another sip of wine.

"Our brother is a little manic," he said and quickly turned his gaze towards the King to avoid De Nogaret's daggers, "but he has no reason to make up such a tale." He looked back at De Nogaret and smiled slyly. De Nogaret nodded politely but the daggers remained. The King motioned to the other young man, Robard Beaumanoir shrugged.

"If there is heaven then there must be hell, angels therefore demons. The Church teaches us so and to be aware of the demons that would influence and cause us to lose God. If demons walk amongst us I am not surprised that they are in the guise of the Knights Templar."

De Nogaret smiled and nodded at Beaumanoir in respect of his answer. Beaumanoir was a man of few words but when he spoke he made it count. He had not been at Philip's court long, but he had proven himself apt and reliable. However, despite his dark agreeable looks and confident stance, he was not as savagely ambitious as either he or De Plaisians were. Perhaps that's why De Nogaret could tolerate him.

Philip's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Interesting, however still difficult to swallow. You are asking me to believe in monsters, things that are un-Godly!"

"Un-Godly indeed. I know what I am asking you to believe is inconceivable but I can assure you I saw it with my own eyes."

"A man become a wolf?"

"Yes."

"And you weren't in your cups?" De Plaisians jested and Philip joined in his laughter.

"No." De Nogaret said through gritted teeth, he looked back at De Plaisians wishing he could strike the dumb smile off his face but merely smiled at him instead.

In contrast to what he felt about Beaumanoir, he totally despised De Plaisians and had reason aplenty to hate him. They were both lawyers, both long serving and of high positions in Philip's council, they were of a similar age and equally talented and ambitious but there the similarities ended. De Plaisians was tall and handsome with sandy brown hair and hazel eyes. He had much attention at court from both men and women and had an easy manner with the King, enjoying his company much more than De Nogaret had invitation to.

Today, however, it seemed to matter less. In fact, De Nogaret felt that he cared less today than he ever had before, for he had tasted something far more exquisite. It was a freedom and power the likes of which even the King was unable to give him. And it was within his grasp. He allowed his mind to wonder back and relish the night De Floyran showed him what he could have. The girl had been young, pretty and innocent and he'd taken what he wanted before draining her life from her. He could still feel the power that had surged through him as his hands gripped her delicate neck and crushed it. The thought even now aroused him. He pushed the pleasure away and tried to concentrate on the task at hand.

"And where is the wolfman now?" Philip continued the jest.

"De Floyran returned to England on urgent business."

"I bet he did." Philip said disdainfully. De Nogaret himself was not pleased that De Floyran had disappeared again and he would have preferred to face Philip with him at his side. However, the King's patience had been wearing thin for the renegade Templar's secret and De Nogaret knew he could delay no longer.

"He promises to return with proof for you, your Majesty."

"Turning into a wolf before my eyes would have sufficed, did it not convince you?"

"Of course, but he is fond of theatrics and I believe he wishes the Pope to be present as well."

"So this is true," Philip said, almost to himself, in a bemused fashion, "the Knights Templar are, Jesu I can barely utter the madness, werewolves?"

"So De Floyran has said, and I saw him become what he himself claimed to be. There is something about the Templars, you will admit it yourself, that has never been right." De Nogaret said.

"That they are blasphemous, greedy heretics?" Philips said glibly.

"More. They have bond between them, a unity like no other group. They've inspired envy because they are powerful and fearless in battle, feared and respected by their foes and almost infallible."

"You sound like you admire them." De Plaisians jibed.

"I do." De Nogaret answered flatly. "However, they are dangerous and anti-God. An abomination of nature but they are intelligent and have knowledge beyond the Church's teaching."

"Knowledge, what knowledge?" Philip said eagerly.

"Magic from the East, blasphemous knowledge that they have gained from the infidel. They seek to destroy God, draw the people from him and captivate them with the devil's quill."

"I stand for God!" Philip said passionately, "and I'll be damned before I see his work undone by savage demons. If we ever doubted what we are doing then the time for that doubt has gone.

When De Floyran returns from England with his elaborate proof, and proof there better be, be sure the Pope is here to witness it. I'll burn every Templar in every land if I have to and it _will_ be God's work."

The King raised his cup and the others joined him in the toast, De Nogaret looked at De Plaisians with a smile that was the darker side of smug. They all drank deep from their cups but a look of concern crossed Philip's face as he motioned for them be re-filled.

"Dangerous you say?" he said rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "hmm, I am not ignorant of Templar myth and reputation. Would they resist arrest? I do not wish for a revolt. Can we repress such a group discreetly? I don't imagine they will take to their destruction lying down, they are great in number."

De Nogaret shook his head reassuringly. "Not every Templar is one, only the higher ranking knights and hierarchy. Many sergeants, chaplains and servants are as human as you and I and are oblivious to the in-human nature of the masters they serve."

"That is good news," Philip chirped, "because it is the hierarchy that I want, always has been not their minions. It's De Molay and his arrogant peers that I want crushed."

"We must still exercise caution though, Sire." Beaumanoir warned. "There are still over a thousand knights."

"Not all in France," De Nogaret contradicted, "besides De Floyran believes those that face arrest will acquiesce peacefully as they believe it is still a routine enquiry that will be quashed by Clement. They know nothing of the indictment or Clement's waning support. In any case, the Templars would not want to seem aggressive over a matter of routine lest they lose support and look like they have something to hide. They will not know that we know the truth of their nature."

The King nodded. "Their support has diminished since they lost the Holy Land, but you are right De Nogaret, they are clever but we will outsmart them. My men will be well armed and will exercise caution in numbers. I have already instructed the arrests to occur in the early hours of the thirteenth."

"Next Friday?" De Plaisians said.

"Yes, I would do it sooner but De Molay is acting pall bearer at my sister-in-law's funeral on the 12th. It would be untimely to do it before then. The Templars' arrogance will keep them ignorant of how close to the edge of the precipice they are."

"What of the Templars abroad?" De Plaisians enquired.

De Nogaret smiled relishing having the upper hand, "France will lead by example. We will crush the Templars here and prove the Order's heresies. Others will follow suit not wanting to be seen as the protectors of heretics."

"Precisely," Philip said jubilantly, "the matter of their monstrous nature need not be revealed to others. We have enough with which to crush them. France and its King will be remembered for the abolition of the arrogant Templar Knights, their former glory will drown in the tide of their destruction and they will be forgotten."

8th October 1307, The Paris Temple

De Villiers hurried his way through the passageways of the Paris Temple towards De Molay's private chambers, he was running late and De Molay had said that tonight would see the last meeting of the Templar council for Christ knows how long. He was deep in his thoughts and as he turned the corner a man came towards him out of the shadows and De Villiers instinctively drew his sword.

"Easy Gerard," De Charney said stepping back. De Villiers sighed. "Shouldn't you be in the meeting?" he said pushing passed him. De Charney placed his hand on his arm to stop him.

"I was waiting for you." He said.

"Whatever for?" De Villiers frowned and looked down at De Charney's hand and the knight slowly removed it.

"A word." He said.

"Away from the council? We are late, save it for the meeting."

"No," De Charney said sharply and then sighed. "De Molay seems out of sorts, he is usually so certain of matters. He's putting much faith in you Gerard and I want to be sure it is faith well placed."

"De Molay's world is changing." De Villiers said. "He has relied on the continuity of the Temple for far too long, we all have. Change is never easy, especially after nearly two hundred years. De Molay is wise; he is simply placing matters into the hands of those who are confident with the changing tide."

"And what tide do we expect? Are you sure that the threat is real? Nothing may come of the damned indictment. Exercise caution of course but this reaction reeks of panic. You are going to sell most of our fleet, for Christ's sake its madness!"

"Geoffroy, the Temple's material possessions are irrelevant, our survival is not. They will want nothing to be left of us do you understand? At least we can have some control over that, we'll leave _them_ nothing."

"How can you be so sure they will take it that far? Philip is easily bored and needs a cause to champion. If he can't play crusader in Outremer then he'll look for one closer to home. His attention simply needs diverting, promise him money and a new crusade and naught will come of this."

De Villiers shook his head in dismay and made to move past De Charney who blocked him.

"The Temple is over Geoffroy!" he said pushing him aside, "accept it. Its destruction is imminent but ours is not, not if we move now."

"How can you be so sure?" De Charney said as if in agony. De Villier's knew what security the Temple had brought to them over the years. Like impenetrable armour in battle, it would seem foolhardy to remove it unless it had a chink in it. But the Templars' armour did. There would be many, like De Charney, who would hold onto the Temple, preferring to sink with it rather than swim into a vast ocean of uncertainty.

"'Tis instinct, an ill wind, call it what you will but I know it."

"But we stand to lose so much!" De Charney protested.

"Exactly," De Villiers said, "Geoffroy, the Temple is a name, a guise that has mostly worked over the decades and brought us wealth and power. Abandoning it to its fate may appear foolish, but it is _not_ us. If we abandon it we will survive even if we have to start again, but if we cling to its coattails and wait for the Pope to save us we will lose a lot more than a few galleys and the Temple's good name. We best get to the meeting, they will wonder what's afoot." He motioned De Charney to follow.

De Charney rubbed his hand over his face and sighed deeply, "needs must," he uttered distantly and began to walk with De Villiers to De Molay's meeting.

****

"Is everything prepared Gerard?" De Molay asked. The council sat in silence supping on the finest wine that could be found in the Temple's cellar.

"Yes, Master. Pierre D'Aumont left Marseilles two days ago with six galleys. They contain our brethren and most treasured possessions, there are four galleys that remain in Marseilles." He looked at De Charney who grimaced openly at his words.

"I leave tonight for La Rochelle," De Villiers continued, "where fourteen busses are being loaded with horses, weaponry, money, our possessions and many more brethren, mostly women and children. Some of our men join them, mostly the young. Some have gone to Cyprus and others have chosen to cross the border to watch events from close by. They plan to return if our fears are unfounded. Many of the older ones have chosen to stay behind and weather the storm, but have sent their families away for safety."

"And what is the word from Galeren and Le Roux? Are they making preparations for your arrival?"

De Villiers nodded assuredly. He was not about to tell the Grand Master of the news he had received from Le Roux. Galeren had broken faith with the Temple and was on the road with a young woman whom he was convinced had been bitten by Esquin de Floyran.

It seemed to be an uncanny coincidence, but De Villiers knew Galeren well enough to know that he was not wont to make a mistake, besides he himself had seen De Floyran's name on the indictment. However, until now there could be no certainty that the man was indeed alive when he should have been long in his grave. Galeren had an acute instinct and sharp senses, if he'd smelt De Floyran's scent then the man was surely alive.

Though De Villiers was sure that the Temple was in jeopardy, this news had reinforced his conviction. He knew that Galeren was loyal to the Temple and not one to turn his back on his brothers, however he also knew that he was tired of the Order and its refusal to take hold of its own future. He hoped he would be able to find him quickly when he landed in England and convince him to return, for he would need him. In the meantime, he had written to Le Roux asking that he seek him out and tell him the news. De Villiers was sure that if Galeren knew what was happening in France, then he would be back at Temple Bruer by the time he arrived.

"Some of us will land at Dunwich," De Villiers continued, "others at Rye. Le Roux and Galeren prepare for our arrival and for any backlash from France. They are, for now, leaving what ships they have in Bristol and Dover. There is only a handful but they will move them if they need to. We think to eventually continue up the coast to Scotland but wait for instruction from our English brethren."

"Scotland?" De Charney said. "There are hardly any of us in Scotland and our reputation isn't exactly sweet amongst the Scots!"

"It is true that our preceptories in Scotland lack healthy occupancy but that makes room for migrants. De Jay's misdeeds in Scotland were known to be against the Temple's rule and time has healed the mistrust."

Brian De Jay had been Master of Scotland from 1291 until his death at the battle of Falkirk in 1298 where he'd taken up arms against the Scots. He had been another Templar who'd thought himself above the rule and being in the wilds of Scotland had been difficult to keep in check. He had sworn allegiance to Edward I, thereby making him his overlord which was, by the Rule, the province of the Pope alone. De Jay had then committed cruel and murderous deeds in order to secure property within the domain of the Temple.

De Villiers continued, "I am sure the French King will rally the leaders of Europe to follow suit when he feels he is in a strong position, his vanity ensures that he would not want to lose face or indeed show his true one. We need to find a temporary refuge that is readily accessible and on Europe's doorstep.

Our presence in Scotland may be welcomed if we turn it to our advantage. Scotland is committed to its independence from England; the Bruce is likely to give sanctuary to a formidable army that would in return be at his disposal."

"And you think English Templars will be willing to murder their countrymen for Scottish independence?" De Charney said disdainfully.

"Have we, in our recent past, ever been willing to kill?" De Villiers pointed out. "Our talent at it is unfortunately a fact, one that has kept the outside world at bay. Needs must De Charney."

"Indeed," De Molay said, "none of this is choice gentlemen, it is survival."

"Templars outside of France have a little breathing space, but must still prepare for the worst and watch France with a sharp eye." De Villiers added.

"So the rest of us can only wait for the storm to envelope us," Hugues De Pairaud said resignedly.

"I would pray that nothing comes of the indictment or Philip's vendetta but –"

"You are sure something terrible will," Hugues De Pairaud finished for him.

"Resolute." De Villiers said without hesitation.

"We seem well prepared for it when it comes," De Molay said evenly, "but we will not take this lying down. We will defend our honour and show the French King for the greedy and cruel coward that he is and without a single drop of blood spilt. I still have faith that we could emerge from this unscathed."

The others muttered their agreement but Gerard de Villiers merely bowed his head out of respect for the Grand Master, for he was certain of the opposite. They had become useless without the Holy Land to protect and maintain and people had tired of their wealth and dominance. They were hated as landlords and their special status with the Church was resented. They would not survive another decade let alone another century. However, he did hope they would surface anew without the Temple and without a single drop of blood spilt.

"In the meantime," the Grand Master continued, "our thoughts go with those who seek to take our brethren to safety. They are our hope and future if things go awry. Good luck Gerard." The council echoed the Grand Master's words and De Villiers once again bowed his head respectfully.

"Send word to me when you arrive, and thereafter of developments."

De Villiers nodded and joining the others in a toast, he prayed for God speed.

10th October 1307, Temple Bruer, Lincolnshire

"Do you think he will still be at Ashby?" Bertrand le Roux asked frowning. Parsifal scratched his chin slowly and looked down as if thinking on the question. His aching body begged him that if there was a chance to escape Richard de Gosbeck's gruelling training regime then to take it.

"He did not tell me of his immediate plans, but I do not believe he was in a hurry to leave the cottage at Ashby. In truth I don't believe he knew himself what his next move would be, only to stay by Catherine's side."

"Told you then that he loved her?" Bertrand pried. Galeren's letter had been unforthcoming and there had been no mention of the novice he'd sworn to protect the last time he had spoken to him.

"Not in so many words but it was obvious to me, 'twas the look in his eye. Yet he was tormented by the fact that she had been marked by De Floyran, as if she had been soiled by him."

"Well she has," Bertrand said, "De Floyran bit her, made her one of us. His scent will be upon her like a deed of ownership and Galeren suffers that. 'Tis like a terrible scar that will ensure that he will never forget it, nor be able to do anything about it."

"But he loves her," Parsifal said.

"Then he will find a way to live with it. But in the meantime, I need you to find him and give him this." He handed him De Villiers' letter.

"But if he doesn't care . . ." Parsifal said instantly regretting it when he saw Bertrand's face curl up angrily.

"Where would you get an idea like that? And do not say from Galeren himself for I will know it is a lie and have you flogged!"

"No!" Parsifal said. "Not from Galeren. Forgive me, sir but it is my own observation."

"Explain it then!" Bertrand snapped.

"He never speaks of the past. He avoids speaking of Acre, though I have heard his actions there were heroic. He speaks nothing of the Holy Land as if he cares less for it and baulks at the very idea of a new crusade. He seems disinterested in the future of the Temple and now has demonstrated this by leaving. I tell you these things but with the utmost reverence for my former Master."

A deep bellowing laugh came from the back of the room and Parsifal turned to see his new master, Richard de Gosbeck, striding towards him. He had not heard him enter the room.

"Worship of a fallen hero." He continued laughing.

"Not fallen," Le Roux pointed out, "we have all misplaced Galeren's faith."

Parsifal looked at both men quizzically. "What is your meaning, sir?"

"Galeren is loyal to our brethren but for a long time has seen a different future for it. The Temple has become set in its ways and stuck in its foundations. Now it seems that he was right. He has encouraged change for years but his ideas have been scorned and ignored. However, now it seems to have been forced upon us. Galeren is modest but do not mistake this for indifference."

Parsifal's shoulders slumped and he pulled a face remembering his accusation outside the convent, "I said something to him once . . ."

"I would not dwell on it. Galeren would never lead the Temple as it was but he would surely lead us now."

"I will find him." Parsifal said purposefully.

"And Richard will help you." Le Roux said encouragingly but Parsifal felt his heart sink even as he felt the clap of De Gosbeck's hand across his sore shoulders. Still, if Galeren was to return he would surely have his old master back.

"And what of the Lady Catherine?" Parsifal enquired.

"She is welcome here. She is one of us now, no matter how it came to be. Now go make haste and bring our brother back to us."

Parsifal bowed respectfully and followed De Gosbeck out of the room filled with even more curiosity for his reticent former master.

### Chapter Twelve

"Sshhhh," Galeren said suddenly looking around him. Red sidestepped nervously and Galeren drew rein. Catherine pulled closer to him, her arms encircling his waist and waited patiently. She knew he'd sensed something for she sensed it too and her heart beat rapidly for fear of what it was.

"De Floyran," she whispered tentatively.

"I don't know," Galeren said moving his hand to the hilt of his sword. He knew that Catherine, though new to this life, was as sensitive as he and especially so when it came to the man who had marked her, "what do you think?" he said turning his head to look at her.

"I am not as certain of my senses as you," she said, "but I sensed something in the second that you did."

They had only left the cottage in Ashby that morning and were making their way to Scotland. Galeren thought that it was a sensible, albeit temporary, solution and one that would give them time to make more solid plans for the future. Scotland was a wild land preoccupied with its warring with England and was seeking to carve out its own future, like Galeren. Templar presence was minimal but adequate for his purpose, he knew people at Balantrodoch and they would give both he and Catherine shelter while he figured out what to do next.

Though he always thought himself independent he had been, like many others, conditioned to life in the Temple. Having to think about where the next meal came from, or coin to pay for clothing and shelter, was foreign to him. But if he was to have the freedom to live the life he wanted with Catherine, then he would need to put what talents he had to good use.

He considered joining the retinue of some lord and becoming a simple hearth knight, but it would not give him what he desired. Catherine would be bound to endure endless hours with the wives and mistresses of other knights, day in and day out, and he would run the risk of heading into whatever battle or skirmishes were afoot for what could amount to months on end. The pay would be poor and though there was security in such an occupation, they would be no freer than if he remained in the Temple.

More importantly their other lives would be difficult to manage under such close confined living conditions. They would need to change and they would need to run and often. Galeren was personable enough but the camaraderie that he knew would form a necessary part of being a household knight would be difficult to muster up or maintain and most likely would lead to unpopular scrutiny, just what he didn't need.

Another possibility was to become a tourney knight. It was an arduous existence, following the tourney circuit, not to mention somewhat perilous. A man could lose all he had with one ill thought move, but he wasn't a man and that is why it could work well for them. Though it appeared to be the domain of the young, sometimes reckless and in some cases desperate knight, Galeren's prowess on the battlefield and enhanced strength that came from his wolf blood would prove profitable.

He was no novice to the tourney either, though Templars by the rule were not meant to compete in tournaments, they often did, albeit anonymously. He need only compete for a short while to gain a decent fortune, though this would not come without some guilt. He knew he would be unbeatable and the idea of using his gift to strip knights of their livelihoods, with relative ease, did not sit well on his conscience. But there were his skills as a physician that were not to be put to waste and what he took from a man in one hand, he could give back to him in the other. Catherine had some talent in the art of healing and he could teach her what he knew.

Security and a household of their own would be their ultimate prize and he could ease his conscience in acts of goodwill thereafter. But then there was De Floyran; sooner or later he would have to be dealt with. Sooner was Galeren's preference as he did not the relish the idea of forever looking over his shoulder, but as the unease now crept up his spine he already wished to be far from this place and the threat of him.

"He may be tracking us." Galeren said.

"How can you tell?" Catherine looked around her noting that Galeren's hand was still firmly upon his sword.

"He's not here," he said, "but he has been. There is a trace of a scent, it lingers and sometimes you can pick it up. Its strength depends on how long ago it was left. He'll be using the same method in his search for us. It is likely he's been to the convent and therefore he will know that I was there and that you are now with me. I did not give the Abbess a false name. He will be tracking the main routes between Temple Bruer, the convent and Faxfleet. Especially the less used roads."

"Why would he bother? Why does he want me?" she said, frustrated and annoyed.

"You eluded him, you are with me and," Galeren smiled softly, "who wouldn't want you?"

Catherine smiled ruefully at him. "But he won't get you. It will be over my dead body," Galeren said darkly, "I can promise you that."

Catherine shivered. Galeren looked away toward the path ahead.

"What will we do?" she rested her face against the soft wool of his cloak between his shoulder blades and felt the first drop of rain fall against her cheek. Galeren looked up and felt the steady patter of the rain drops that began to grow in intensity.

"We'll shelter at an inn tonight."

"Won't the rain protect us?"

"It can make things more difficult, but better that we surround ourselves with people. Besides it won't be much fun riding in this, it looks to set in for the night. Tonight we rest and then tomorrow we can make haste and head west. A long way round but I don't want him following us to Scotland."

In truth Galeren wanted to face De Floyran now and finish it, but Catherine gave him fear. It was something he had never experienced before. He knew he would lose reason if she was in harms way and the thought of anything happening to her weighed heavy on his mind. De Floyran had done enough to her already. But when was he likely to have the chance to face De Floyran alone now she was by his side? For now, he reasoned they would find shelter and he would think on the matter later.

****

"What is it?" Catherine propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at Galeren. She pressed her thumb against the deep furrow that had appeared between his eyebrows.

"All is well my love." He answered.

"Liar!" she said half teasing, half scolding.

"I am a liar," he said, "I only seek to protect you."

"I don't want you to lie to me. There will never be good reason. If you have a burden then I must share it. I cannot dwell in a false world where I believe all is well while you are laden with worry. What good is a union like that?" she reproached.

"Alright, you've made your point." He raised his hands in submission. They lay together on a comfortable straw pallet in a tavern just outside Scopwick. It was still raining hard but they had found shelter before it had become too uncomfortable and had made short work of a tasty mutton stew along with several large cups of sweet wine.

Warmed by the fire and relaxed by the wine they had retired to their small room. The pleasure of the night had been intense but Catherine had felt the tension in Galeren, his body never lied and though he was gentle and passionate there was also desperation as he held her. He gripped her even as they lay afterward as if afraid to let go, lest he lose her, and she had only now been able to wriggle free of his grasp and look upon his stricken face.

"There is an ill wind that blows."

"De Floyran," she said.

"Yes." Galeren said, "I killed him, you know," he paused and shook his head as if in disbelief, "and he has come back to haunt me."

Catherine's heart tightened as she was struck with a notion and she aired it immediately, "I don't want you to be haunted because of me. Don't be with me through pity or conscience."

Galeren sat up. "What do you mean?"

Catherine sighed. "Would you be with me if he hadn't bitten me?"

"Expel that notion from your head." He said scowling. "If I'd passed you on a lane or laid eyes upon you at a market I would have given my soul to be with you. I sensed _our_ bond before I sensed De Floyran's mark. That is the very pain of it, finding you and –"

"And what?"

"It matters not, what matters is that I love you."

"His bite has violated me in your eyes," she said, suddenly understanding it, "just as if he had –"

"Don't say that!" Galeren cried cutting her off but knowing well her meaning. He averted his eyes.

"It has, hasn't it? You smell him on me. I am marked by his scent, you can't escape it. Tell me Galeren! Is it so?"

"Yes!" he screamed, "'tis so."

"Oh God, is it to torment you forever?" she asked afraid of his answer. She covered her mouth with her hands but he quickly took them and pressed them to his lips.

"But it matters not. I would rather this than to never have found you."

Tears welled up in her eyes. "And if you kill him will I be free of his mark?"

Galeren shook his head. Catherine closed her eyes and the tears streamed down her cheeks.

"But you will forget it, like a bad dream. I am not the first werewolf to be bonded to one marked by another."

"But your enemy."

"It hurts Catherine, I will not lie to you but it is nothing compared to not being with you. And I tell myself that if he hadn't bitten you then I may never have passed you on a lane or seen you at a market." He pulled her into his arms.

"But you fear to lose me." Catherine said pulling back and looking into his eyes. "I feel it when we are together, each time is like it may be the last."

"Aye," he said and ran his fingers through his hair, "I will not deny it though I do not mean for it to manifest itself in such a way. I feel the heat of his breath upon my neck but also on the Temple's."

"What do you mean?" Catherine asked, wiping the tears from her face.

"He has reason enough to hate me, but the Temple expelled him and ordered that he be destroyed and I was given the task. Until now I had no idea that I had failed. I think the Temple may be in danger. It has enemies aplenty and De Floyran only need take advantage of that."

"Then we must not leave. I cannot be the reason that you abandon your brethren when they may need you."

"My brethren have done little to heed my warnings over the years."

"But if they need you?"

"We'll see." Galeren said distantly. He pulled her close and kissed her. "You are the most important thing to me. I have waited a long time to have a future of my own making."

13th October 1307, The Paris Temple

Jacques de Molay was awake when he heard the rapping on his chamber doors. He quickly slipped the covers off and pulled a cloak over his half dressed body.

"Come." He said with calm resonance in his voice. It was not yet dawn but he sensed that every Templar residence in the Kingdom of France had synonymously heard the heavy rap of Philip's hand upon their door. Paul, one of the servants, rushed into the room panicked and breathless.

"There are armed men at the Temple gates demanding entrance. They say they have orders to arrest you and brother knights!"

"I see," the Grand Master said resignedly then muttered, "not without time."

"I'm sorry, Master?" Paul asked confused.

"No matter." Jacques said. "See them into the main reception hall. I will join them when I am dressed decently."

"There are many, Master, will I emit all of them."

"If they so desire. Now go to, I imagine they are in no mood to wait."

De Molay dressed quickly and, as his pride demanded, dressed in full Templar regalia. It now seemed to him that his ambitions for the Temple may lay in ruin. Change had been forced upon them and even though he had spoken confidently to the council that he believed they would emerge from this episode unscathed, his instinct told him that De Villiers' fears were substantiated. They would not be able to remain the same and would be exterminated if they tried.

He sighed woefully as he realised the reality of it. He had been fighting to keep the Temple in its position of privilege and esteem, being above suspicion so their race could be left alone and unhindered to live their lives free from persecution and destruction. Since the loss of Acre and the disaster of Ruad, the absence of a notable Christian presence in the Holy Land meant that many thought any hope of the recapture of Jerusalem was futile. But a new and successful crusade was possible. It was not that he desired for the Order to participate in the slaughter of more Moslems but rather for it to continue being protected within the shroud of its former purpose, until more enlightened times. That involved the protection of Christians in the Holy Land and of Christendom's most sacred sites.

Within that premise they could work on greater aims. They had much to learn from the East and had had good relations with their Moslem brethren. His vision of a new crusade had nothing to do with conquering and genocide, though at the outset battles may ensue, this crusade was about sharing. They had seen much of what that was like in Acre before the end.

He saw the Temple as having a purpose in the Holy Land once more, but as unifiers rather than conquerors. Of course, such a vision was shared amongst the Temple brethren, but it needed to be introduced to the leaders of the West gradually and through example. Rousing the armies of the West to march upon Syria with gusto anew would have to come first and in addition the Mamluk's position had to be taken into account too; they had had enough of Western influence and so would rise against the new invasion. But the possibility to build bridges was there.

The Temple had successfully united their race which had brought them stability and kinship. It had also provided the opportunity for them to thrive and use their gift to progress instead of hiding in the shadows. Their brethren in the East, conversely, were divided, surviving as individuals or within small groups lacking any coherent or purposeful unity. Those that met and knew the Temple longed for a union of their own brethren and so therein lay the foundations of bridges.

Jacques de Molay desired change for the Temple, but unlike Gerard de Villiers, Galeren de Massard and others, he did not want the Temple to disappear into obscurity, to be re-born in another place under another guise. He wanted the Temple to prevail, to reach through future centuries and one day through their endeavours and accumulated respect, be revealed to the rest of humanity and accepted.

Though he knew such a desire far surpassed the span of his lifetime, he wished to set in motion the process that would take decades, if not centuries to achieve. But now that seemed little more than a dream. He wondered if they could yet escape the snares of Philip's trap and surface with renewed support. They could if Philip's hegemonic desires and cruel ambitions were revealed. He would need Clement's support and importantly be able to handle the next few hours, days, and weeks with temperance and deference.

Guillaume de Nogaret looked around the hall of the Paris Temple to which he and his men had been led to. Sixty armed men had accompanied him into the Temple and there were double their number outside the Temple gates. It was not the first time he had been inside the Paris Temple. In fact, it had been little over a year since he was here last, and that had been with the King. Having come to visit the treasury they found themselves in a precarious and somewhat embarrassing situation. They were prevented from leaving the Temple by the gathering of an angry mob. The riotous horde had surrounded the Temple, blocking its exits in retaliation for the debasing of the currency which Philip had orchestrated in an attempt to raise funds for his dwindling treasury.

Despite the drama of that visit he remembered how in awe he had been of the place. It was immaculate and possessed an imposing and regimented ambience, yet one that was anything but cold. The Temple had oozed a feeling of brotherhood, belonging and power that had been subtle but for that all the more discerning. He recalled how the knights had stridden through the passageways with an air of dominance and complete security that was unparalleled, their close-knit unity evident in every room, hall and corner they graced. How envious he had been of them then. Now he knew where those characteristics, which he had solely identified with Templar Knights, came from.

However, as he looked about himself it all seemed very different now. He knew that it was the small hours of the morning, and that dawn had yet to crack, but gone was the previous sentiment he had perceived. The place was a void, a chasm filled with nothing of its former ambience and it seemed cold. De Nogaret wondered if he was just sensitive to the unpleasant matter at hand. It was often at such times when a piece of his work came to the hour of its fruition that he would recognise the cruelty in it and perhaps perceive a little guilt. But that in itself proved intoxicating and he would soon be revelling in his task. He felt his heartbeat quicken in anticipation of De Molay's arrival. He had admired the Templars, even envied them but now he would be instrumental in their downfall and yet he had never been closer to becoming like them.

He straightened up and composed himself as he saw the heavy oak doors open and the Grand Master enter. He looked at Robard Beaumanoir who stood on his right and couldn't help but say, a touch conceitedly, "watch and learn."

"Gentlemen," De Molay said serenely as he entered the reception hall despite battling to keep his surprise in check upon noticing the force that had been sent to apprehend him. A dark, squat toad of a man stepped forward clutching a roll of parchments and held them up to the Grand Master to behold.

"I am Guillaume de Nogaret, chief councillor to Philip IV, King of France –"

"I know who you are." De Molay said deliberately cutting him off.

De Nogaret snorted at the interruption and continued with his introductory oration. "It is by royal decree of King Philip IV of France that you, Jacques de Molay, Grand Master of the Order of the Poor Knights of the Temple of Solomon, and your brethren knights be taken into the custody of the King's guard until such time that your crimes are fairly judged and your guilt or innocence proven. It is the King's wishes that you acquiesce quickly and peacefully without resistance." De Nogaret finished and then lowered the parchments and looked at De Molay to gauge his reaction. The Grand Master scratched his chin thoughtfully and appeared un-alarmed.

"And what am I, and the Temple Knights accused of?" he said arching his eyebrows.

De Nogaret's face twitched nervously. Despite the presence of his armed guard, his position of authority was as yet still uncertain. He was well aware that he now faced a man who was powerful, wily and in the command of knights who, if ordered, could crush the retinue of men that accompanied him. It was a humbling consideration that he was here to assume control over the leader of, not only a powerful military institution but also a brotherhood of werewolves. Nevertheless De Nogaret stood his ground.

"I hold in my hand an indictment containing no less than one hundred and four articles pertaining to acts of crude idolatry, heinous initiation ceremonies, secrecy, sodomy and heresy."

"And yet you act without the authority of the Pope." De Molay said casually.

De Nogaret felt the sweat bead between his thick brows, De Molay was no fool. He knew that without direction from the Pope this action had no legality.

"I act under the authority of the King of France and the seriousness of the crimes that you and your brethren are accused of is justification for this action. The Pope is in any case prepared for an inquiry into the Temple and will likely thank the King for his swift action to detain an order of heretics."

"Unproven," De Molay said curtly, "and your King is likely to be excommunicated for his illegal strike."

De Nogaret was unwilling to look away from the Master's eyes as they bore into him, challenging him to look away and show his weakness. He could see the beast that dwelled within the Grand Master and he fought the urge to concede, instead he rebuked:

"Not when you are revealed to be the monsters that you truly are." There was a hint of smugness in the smile that De Nogaret felt form on his face. He knew that he was courting danger by uttering such wisdom. The Templars were meant to be under a false sense of security that a few matters of secrecy and rumour would be laid to rest by the Pope and his inquiry. Suggesting that the Templars truth was known could ignite a bloody resistance and the King would not thank him for that.

De Molay froze for a moment as he considered the meaning of De Nogaret's words. Was it a turn of phrase or did it hold some deeper meaning? De Villiers had suggested that the Templar nature could be denounced by mortal enemies such as Esquin de Floyran whose name had been seen on the indictment. This was what De Molay feared the most. He took in the scent of the room, filtering out all the smells he knew well in order to concentrate on that of the invaders.

The sweat on the skin of the guards told him that they were fearful. The Templars' reputation was still strong and they were still not sure how things would evolve. In that moment, with the smell of their fear within his nostrils, De Molay suddenly wished that he hadn't opted for the passive response. Instead he wished he could order his knights to tear their heads off. He turned his attention to the man that stood on De Nogaret's right, a man he didn't know. He sensed caution in him and uncertainty as if the situation did not sit well with him. He would have spared the man's life for that, had things been different.

De Molay finally concentrated on De Nogaret, hoping to sense some fear, there might have been some but he was instead overwhelmed with the scent of the man's malevolence laced with a jealous reason. He was, otherwise, a guarded man and appeared in control of his feelings, keeping them suppressed. It was a feat De Molay deemed admirable in the presence of a werewolf's nose. De Molay was unable to sense whether he knew the Templars' secret or not. He hoped then that it was paranoia on his part, and suppressing his pride and urge for violence he made sure that his visage remained composed.

De Nogaret watched the Grand Master carefully and considered adding something to pervert the true meaning of his words. Sense swayed him against it; he did not want to alert De Molay to the peril and decided that the less said now, the better.

Instead he said, "I urge you to assent peacefully and let King and Pope settle the matter for the good of all."

"And where do you mean to take me?" De Molay asked staidly.

"I mean to take you nowhere. As Grand Master of the Order you will remain here under arrest for the time being. How many knights are here?"

"Forty." De Molay said flatly. They were knights who had chosen to stay and weather the storm that they believed would pass.

"So few?" De Nogaret said suspiciously, thinking of his earlier feeling.

"Templar matters are far reaching," De Molay said, "and business cannot be neglected. The King's other bailiffs will have, no doubt, apprehended others. I imagine your early visit was not the sole privilege of the Paris Temple."

De Nogaret's eyes narrowed and he wondered if the Grand Master had known about the arrests or whether he was just unbelievably arrogant. Templars were renowned for it and it was what made them so despised. The fool believed that when Clement caught wind of the King's exploits the matter would be settled quickly and in the Temple's favour. He reasoned that if the Templars had had prior knowledge of the arrests, they would at least have gotten the Grand Master out of the country.

"Are my men to stay here?" De Molay asked.

"No," De Nogaret said sharply, "they are to be taken to undisclosed premises to be questioned away from your watchful eye and influence."

"Am I to be questioned?"

"All in good time." De Nogaret replied evasively.

"I want word sent to the Pope and I want to see the King." De Molay demanded.

"Word has been sent this very morning. We will soon be aware of Pope Clement's sentiment. The King will see you in his own time. For now you will remain here with your servants under the watch of the Royal Guard."

"And what of my servants? Are they under arrest too? Or is it just to be my knights that are subject to incarceration?"

"It is the practices of the knights that are in question. 'Tis the core of the Temple that is rotten."

"There may indeed be rot but it's not within the Temple." De Molay said coolly.

De Nogaret nodded respectfully if not a little smugly. "We will see. Have your knights brought to me and my men will conduct a search."

"Do as you will. I am sure you will find what Philip is looking for in the Temple's treasury," De Molay said scathingly, "I will return to my private chambers if I may?"

"Please do, I will see you again Grand Master." De Nogaret said with purpose.

De Molay nodded curtly and turned on his heel eager to be away from the swarthy councillor lest he lose control. Yet even as he gained distance he felt Philip's hold tighten around him as he was escorted back to his chambers, flanked by no less than fifteen Royal guards.

### Chapter Thirteen

13th October 1307, Scopwick, Lincolnshire

Galeren woke before the dawn and felt the danger hit him like the impact from a mace. Quickly he reached for Catherine,

"Wake up, we're leaving."

"What is it?" she asked half asleep.

"Hurry up Catherine." He said already half dressed. She looked at him frowning but then came to her senses.

"Is it him?" she said, throwing the covers back.

"Yes, no...I don't know. Just hurry, I don't want to find out like this."

Catherine dressed quickly and when she was ready Galeren took her hand in his and led her from the room cautiously, his sword drawn and ready in his other. They slid quietly down the flight of stairs, stepping over some of the slumbering residents who had not yet made it to their beds.

Outside the sky was still dominated by its nightly shade but Catherine could see a hint of gold marking the presence of the approaching dawn. Without releasing her from his grasp, Galeren headed to the stables for his horse and only then let Catherine go in order to saddle him up. He helped her into the saddle and mounted behind her, gripping her tightly.

"Allow me to breath!" she complained.

"Sorry," Galeren said, and loosened his grip as they rode from the stable.

They rode with haste away from the inn and after some time Galeren drew rein and looked about.

"I don't understand this," Galeren said, his voice full of frustration. He gently nudged Red's flanks and they moved on slowly.

"What?" Catherine said.

"It comes in waves, a feeling, a sense, a smell, but nothing solid. This morning I sensed danger but I cannot be sure of what. It might have been De Floyran, but then again it might have been farther reaching. I don't know if we are moving away from it or towards it. What do you sense?"

"I don't know if we are moving towards him or away from him either, but I sense he is close. My heart speeds up with the beat of fear."

"Jesu," Galeren cursed, "my senses are usually as sharp as a freshly forged sword, but since . . ." Galeren broke off.

"Since what?" Catherine asked.

"It's you," he shrugged, and drew rein once more. "You are a distraction. It is why I didn't sense his mark on you when first we met. My senses were filled only with you. I heard that love made you lose sense but I didn't think it was literal, or that a werewolf could be affected thus. It must be the human in us."

"I'm sorry." Catherine said with genuine sentiment.

"Don't be, 'tis not your fault. It just makes me afraid that I might –"

" _Galeren!_ " Catherine cried out in terror before he could finish his sentence. His senses returned to him suddenly and crudely. There was no confusion now and no mistaking their disclosure. He reached for his sword but stopped short as he felt the cool steel tip of a blade thrust with force into his back, penetrating his clothing, the links of his mail and piercing his skin. He arched his back and felt a warm rivulet of blood begin to course down it.

"I could skewer the both of you like suckling pigs," a familiar voice said, "I would fucking eat you as well, but the pleasure would be short lived." It was the voice of Esquin de Floyran.

Raymond Caradas stepped out in front of them and grabbed Red's reins. Galeren quickly looked about them and saw that they were surrounded by a grim looking group of ex-Templars, of whom all he recognized. His heart sank and he cursed his failure. He pulled Catherine against him protectively and felt her heart beating out of control with fear. De Floyran passed control of the sword that was in Galeren's back to one of his men while he stepped around to survey his quarry.

"How are you Galeren?" he said with fake gaiety, "you cannot imagine how much I have been looking forward to this reunion my old friend."

"I can assure you the feeling is not mutual." Galeren said grimly as he looked at his foe, still only half believing that the bastard stood before him. How had he survived when he had been so sure that the man was only good for the crows? He should have taken his head, but he hadn't and was now paying for his lax actions.

Esquin de Floyran smiled at Galeren and motioned toward his face. "You still bear the scar of our last meeting," he said smugly.

"As do you," Galeren said unemotionally.

De Floyran nodded and his hand involuntarily went to touch the disfigured flesh that was the remnant of his torn ear.

"I have more scars than that to thank you for. I could bellyache for some time about my misfortunes caused by you and your Templar brethren, but 'tis of no import now. Your time for scarring has come and I can promise you it will be more severe than mine." He smiled and looked at Catherine.

"Mmm," he cooed, "of course, it will be all the sweeter for me now that we share something in common."

Catherine allowed her gaze to fall upon De Floyran and she saw for the first time the werewolf that had made her. She had seen nothing of his features on the night he had attacked her, only felt his grip, malevolence and his fateful bite. To her surprise and horror he did not exactly look like the monster that he was.

He had handsome features, which was a surprise, yet his dark looks and green eyes bespoke of the evil of which he was capable. He smiled at her like the wolf who'd found his prey and she looked away. De Floyran turned his attention back to Galeren whose icy eyes fixed on him a look of indescribable rage. Galeren had killed Templars before, been outnumbered by them, but he knew this was different. Catherine was here and he knew for that reason he would lose.

"Come to me." De Floyran held out his hand to Catherine and beckoned her to him while his eyes remained fixed on Galeren's.

"No!" Galeren growled through gritted teeth and pulled Catherine even closer.

De Floyran flicked a glance at Botolf Wardard who drove the sword deeper into Galeren's back. He felt its bite and drew breath sharply.

"Come on Galeren, if Botolf is forced to run you through he may injure sweet Catherine, besides how would you save her stuck on the blade of a sword?"

"I'll take my chances as you did." Galeren said.

"Run us both through!" Catherine cried out finally finding her voice. She was afraid but that fear was overruled by Galeren's torture. She looked at De Floyran defiantly.

"Mmmm," De Floyran said smiling, "fear and defiance deliciously combined. I remember it now the night we met. She is such a tease Galeren, but she cannot tease me forever. I am afraid she belongs to me now."

"She will never be yours." Galeren said. "Run me through and before the blade splits my spine in two I will have broken her neck, which would be her preference to being in your hands."

"It is." Catherine confirmed and straightened up against Galeren to show their unity.

"God's bones, I knew you'd be like this you sanctimonious bastard. Having anticipated it I am well prepared to turn the tide in my favour." He nodded and swiftly Botolf removed the sword from Galeren's back and drove it upwards into his left thigh, not stopping till the tip of the blade came out the other side. Galeren threw his head back as he cried out in agony and rage.

Caradas lunged for Catherine, seized her out of Galeren's arms and pulled her into his own.

"Submit!" De Floyran cried at Galeren, "or I will hurt her. I will hurt her so badly."

"No, don't Galeren!" Catherine screamed as the rest of De Floyran's men moved forward and dragged him out of his saddle. They threw him face down onto the ground and restrained him. Botolf placed his foot upon the back of his neck, while the other two stood on his arms and legs and drew their swords above him. He could not change, not while they had hold of him.

"See how quickly things alter?" De Floyran said smugly, motioning to Raymond Caradas. He took Catherine from him and turned her round to face Galeren. He roughly pulled the veil and wimple from her head and caressed her hair. Catherine tried to pull away and looked at Galeren lying upon the dirt, bleeding and defeated. Her heart tightened and her senses deadened.

"Such soft hair; so sweet smelling," he said filling his lungs, "she really is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, Galeren." He could hear Galeren growling into the dirt.

"You cannot change, though I know you are desperate to. You cannot save this one Galeren."

"I swear De Floyran," Galeren spat into the earth, "do not touch her or –"

"Or . . . or . . . come on Galeren you must admit defeat. You weren't on form today. I expected a bit of resistance, but this was easy. You really have lost your touch, rotting off the battlefield since Acre." He laughed. "Making meaningless threats into the ground is pointless if not pathetic. Besides, I have already touched her in a way you can never undo.

It's a novelty really. No-one has lived with my mark before. I will enjoy her all the more for that. I may even keep her a while before giving her to my men for their amusement." His men all grunted their approval and one dug his foot into Galeren's wounded thigh.

"Stop!" Catherine cried out as Galeren groaned through clenched teeth, "I'll do whatever you want, please!" she begged.

" _Really?_ " De Floyran said thoughtfully, "I'd prefer a little fight, Catherine to be honest. I'd go to a whore if I wanted a willing partner." He grabbed her by her neck and looked down at Galeren who strained to look up at them.

"Her neck would be easy to break," he smiled, "but I do not intend to kill either of you. This is just a little taster of the torment to come. Your brethren are about to come undone and I have a merry hand in it. Sixteen years I have waited for such a moment." He wrapped his arms around Catherine and rubbed his rough face against hers.

"Now you lie injured on the forest floor and I have your mate. I would love to stay and catch up but I have important matters to attend to. I will leave you with this though; I am taking her to France. That will give you a head start after you have recovered from your injury and I promise I won't kill her, not yet. However, I cannot promise what state she will be in. I would like to say that I could resist her, but my prick has grown hard at the very thought of her these past weeks and she will have to pay her way."

"I swear –" Galeren begun.

"You can swear all you like." He laughed. "I understand the desperateness of your rage and agony of despair but unfortunately it is all I have yearned for all these years. I must admit though, I never imagined it would be this sweet. The coincidence of Catherine. You cannot imagine my anger when she escaped me. But now I thank that hapless peasant for saving her. Little did I envisage that my early loss would be my later gain."

Catherine tried to pull away from his hand as he ran the back of it down her face and her eyes locked with Galeren's. She saw the anguish in his look but also his determination and strength. She knew then that she must show the same. She could play the victim and add to Galeren's angst or she could be strong and assure him that this was not over.

De Floyran said his purpose was not to kill them but rather he meant to torment them. She would survive this and so would Galeren and they would be reunited. She also knew that the Temple brethren were in danger and that this was only the beginning of a long struggle. Galeren's look told her that he would come after her and she acknowledged that with her own look of assurance.

"I leave you then with your wound and your imagination. Let your imagination run wild," he chuckled as he stroked Catherine's face again. He then snapped his fingers whereby Caradas slammed the hilt of his sword into the back of Galeren's skull. Catherine gasped but composed herself quickly to show strength.

"Is he out?" De Floyran snapped.

Caradas lifted Galeren's head by his hair and inspected him. "He's out," he replied and let his head fall back into the dirt.

"Wounded and outnumbered and yet you still appear to be afraid of him." Catherine said with scathing sentiment.

De Floyran grabbed her face and turned it toward him, "Careful how you speak to me little flower. I am your master now, your true master." His eyes narrowed as they tried to penetrate hers. She was aware of the danger Galeren was still in, but also knew that De Floyran had another agenda and so she said bravely,

"I have no master, only a mate and you will be neither."

He laughed and patted her on the head as he motioned to one of his knights, "I am beginning to like this attitude of yours. I can smell your fear and yet you dare to spur me. We can play this game but I will break you in time."

He took what were to be her bonds from the knight and tied her hands in front of her and then had her veil and wimple retrieved which he carefully arranged back on her head.

"Now remember this," he said, his voice becoming low and sinister. He pulled her close so that her face was only inches from his, "I care not for women, only for what pleasure I can gain from between their legs and, apart from the occasional whore, none survive the experience.

I have no qualms about killing you, and Galeren would not know for months, yet he would still race gallantly into the trap I have set for him. If you want to see him again then watch your clever little mouth and do my bidding and I will not mistreat you. Anger me or attempt escape and I will hurt you and I will enjoy it, it's from where I derive my greatest pleasure."

His look was dark and Catherine felt a chill enter her soul, her eyes darted across to Galeren's unconscious body and then back to De Floyran's menacing glare. She tried to hide the despair that entered her heart so she closed her eyes and nodded her acquiescence.

"Good." De Floyran said. "Now let's go, I am over this part." His men nodded and they moved out.

When Galeren initially regained consciousness his first waking thought, other than the acute pain in his leg, was that he had to get off the road. He was in wolf form and must have changed while unconscious. Change often came involuntarily in times of pain, fear or stress. It was a survival mechanism. Wolves dealt with all the former more adeptly than humans, with logic and a powerful resilience. However, lying wounded on the road put him in danger. Any passing rider would run through a wounded wolf without a second thought.

He tried to get up but just fell back down again. The fur of his left leg was drenched in blood and the earth about it sodden with it, his head swam. Too weak to stand and unable to change back into human form, he willed every nuance of strength in his wolf body to drag himself off the road. Growling, he bared his teeth to ride the pain and slowly began to crawl, heading to the tree lined edge of the road.

Progress was slow and arduous and the trees weren't getting any closer. _Come on!_ he willed himself but froze as he sensed the approach of riders. Two or three, he wasn't sure, but it mattered not for it only needed one to finish him. He tried to move faster but the injured limb prevented him and he felt himself lose consciousness.

"It's a wolf!" one of the riders screamed seeing him. The voice sounded familiar but his weakness confused him. He was done for and as he slipped away he called for Catherine.

****

When he regained consciousness for the second time, he was aware that he was in human form again and lying on a comfortable pallet. His eyes shot open and he sat up. He'd forgotten about his leg and the piercing pain came back to remind him of it. He cried out in rage as he remembered the reason for it and saw a blurred figure approach him.

"Master," Parsifal's reassuring voice said, "don't move."

"Jesus Christ Parsifal!" Galeren gasped for air. "How in the name of hell did you come by me?"

Despite the agony, relief overwhelmed him and he looked down to see that he still retained his leg.

"Where you fell, and lucky that we were the first to pass."

"I know," he acknowledged gratefully, taking a cup of wine from Parsifal and drinking it down eagerly. "Who's we?" Galeren questioned.

"Richard de Gosbeck and I." Parsifal answered.

"Fortunate for me, what were you doing in Scopwick?"

"Looking for you." Parsifal said matter-of-factly.

"Why?" He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, "I left the Temple. I thought I had made that clear." Galeren said defensively, despite his relief.

"Master there is terrible news. The Temple is in serious –"

"Trouble." A voice Galeren immediately recognized concluded.

"Gerard?" He blinked several times to take in the vision of his old friend as he drew near his bedside.

"Aye," Gerard de Villiers said solemnly, "I would be pleased to see you if not for the circumstances."

"My circumstances were grim before I opened my eyes but you will do me no disservice by adding to them though I can guess the worst."

"Sergeant you may leave us." De Villiers said to Parsifal.

"But –" he began in protest.

"It is okay Parsifal, I will see you later." Galeren said and winked at his sergeant who nodded and not too disgruntled took his leave.

"De Floyran?" De Villiers said motioning to Galeren's leg.

Galeren nodded slowly. "He has my mate." He said miserably.

"Catherine?"

Galeren nodded. "Parsifal told me about her," De Villiers said, "she's the one who bears De Floyran's mark."

"She is _my_ mate." Galeren growled.

"I meant nothing to the contrary."

"I know," Galeren said and relaxed his tense body, "I am sorry but he has her and Christ knows . . ." he shook his head in defeat not willing to go on.

"He has the Temple too and by our skins. Did he say aught to you?"

"Aye, he did now that I remember. He said that we are to be felled and he plays a part. 'Tis true then?"

"Aye," De Villiers nodded, "before dawn on the morning of the 13th, four hundred and eighty nine Templar Knights were arrested from various locals in France, including your father."

"My father?" Galeren said aghast then frowned at De Villiers, "then how the fuck did you come to be in England, Gerard?"

"We knew," De Villiers said and watched Galeren's eyebrows crumple into a frown, "not the way you think, with some foreboding feeling. Our spies alerted us. I saw an indictment written for the French King with tens of charges laid against us. It was written by Guillaume de Nogaret, a jackal in the King's council and he is after blood. I saw the name of Esquin de Floyran and some of his associates on the indictment."

"He has denounced us in his thirst for revenge. How did you come to see the indictment?"

"Ourri showed it to me. He is working as one of De Nogaret's servants."

"Is he still there?"

De Villiers nodded his head.

"Christ Gerard! You need to get him out of there. With De Floyran and other traitors about he will be exposed."

"I know, I know. I told him to take flight if he sensed danger."

Galeren sighed. "Tell me it all then. Tell me about my father, why is he not here with you?"

"You know De Molay, he felt guilt over ignoring the warning signs and decided that if the council offered themselves into Philip's jaws many of us would be able to escape."

"The noble fool!" Galeren said. "So De Pairaud, De Charney and the others have been arrested too."

"Yes," De Villiers said solemnly. "We took twenty of the best ships from the fleet in La Rochelle and Marseilles, sold some of the rest and abandoned the worst of what was left. We emptied the Templar convents and took the youngest of our men. The best of the fleet is scattered up the East coast of England. Some others went to Cyprus or across the boarders into Spain and Germany to see what would happen, and some stayed in France.

De Molay sent me here to seek your advice and the guidance of our English brethren. We believe Scotland may be the safest haven. If things turn bad we think to offer ourselves into the services of the Bruce in turn for sanctuary. Nothing may still come of it but I urged the council not to take that chance, I don't trust Clement."

"Neither do I," Galeren agreed. "My instinct tells me that this is our time of reckoning. You think right to go to Scotland. I was on the way to Scotland myself at least for some thinking space. 'Tis a good start Gerard, but one arrested Templar in my view is one too many, can we get to them?"

"No." De Villiers said firmly. "Those who stayed knew the risk. We fear the King may learn of our true nature, and if he does then he will seek to wipe us off the face of the Earth. Philip must think he has succeeded in some way so the rest of us might survive. There must be a sacrifice for the greater good and that was decided."

"That is exactly my point! Whatever the King thinks or knows we cannot let any of our people suffer, old or young. They will be tortured and murdered!" Galeren said fervently.

"Galeren, it is the decision of the high council and as such is final."

"And when have you known me to heed council decisions?" he said with dangerous determination in his eyes.

****

"This is a ridiculous idea! I hope you haven't encouraged him." Bertrand le Roux thundered as he looked at De Villiers and pinched his nose for composure.

"I certainly have not!" De Villiers defended folding his arms.

"Gerard is firmly in your camp on this matter." Galeren stressed. "I don't even know why I am having this conversation for all the good it will do me. I left the Temple and I act independently from it. I am wasting my time here." He finished nonchalantly.

He had been at Temple Bruer for one week now, and though he'd healed quickly, as he was predisposed to, he was still risking permanent damage by exerting himself on his damaged leg. But he could lay about not a moment longer. He could only see Catherine and she was slipping away. He had tried to contact her with his mind, but to no avail. Though he sensed she was not dead, the connection was faint, broken and he could not reach her.

"Things have changed Galeren, you are needed here! It is the future we must think about now."

"My interests lie in France and don't think to challenge that." Galeren said.

"I would never be so foolish as to challenge you, for what good it would do me." Bertrand shook his head in frustration. "I only seek to advise you. You are not fully healed." Bertrand said spreading his hands. "You are not at full strength and even if you were, you would be foolhardy to go to France alone. You must see that De Floyran has set a trap for you, this is exactly what he wants you to do."

"I know _that_ ," Galeren barked, "but what would you have me do, leave Catherine at his mercy? There are Templars in danger including my father. If you still think the Pope will come to our rescue then you are mistaken. De Floyran wants revenge and that lies in our destruction. If Philip and his minions know our true nature then every Templar now in custody will be murdered. You wish me to hide like a coward?"

"You wished to hide before." Bertrand said, not meaning it to sound as it did.

Galeren's face darkened, "I did, but when all had the opportunity to do so. 'Tis different now, our brothers will die. I choose to sacrifice myself but do not choose to sacrifice others, for the greater good or not, when the need is not there."

Bertrand sighed, knowing that while nothing Galeren said would convince him to take such a risk, nothing he could say would convince Galeren not to.

"No one doubts your integrity Galeren, your intentions are always honourable but we cannot send a contingent to France, into a trap. You are stubborn to your detriment if you think you can achieve anything, except your death, alone. We must take heed, observe and plan for the future. I urge you to think about it. Making decisions when emotions are raw is unwise. Your skills are needed here."

"And if it were your wife?"

Bertrand shook his head solemnly. "That," he sighed, "I cannot answer."

"Or will not," Galeren pointed out. "You once warned me that it is the most powerful emotion of all. I didn't understand then," he clenched his fists, "now I do and am bound by it. You have Gerard here for advice. You know what I would do; you need not have me here to tell you again." He nodded at De Villiers then Le Roux and turned on his heel and left the room.

Le Roux sighed again and blinking several times said, "Fool or hero?"

"Both," De Villiers said, "we need people like Galeren."

" _Here_ , yes." Le Roux stressed.

"Maybe not," De Villiers disagreed. Le Roux looked at him frowning. De Villiers shrugged. "He may have vision but Galeren is also warrior, Bertrand. If anyone can –"

"You don't seriously think he can go into the Lion's den and save four hundred Templars single handed do you?" Bertrand said incredulously.

"No," De Villiers said regretfully, "but I think he won't let it go easily and he _will_ kill De Floyran."

"'Tis a waste to lose such talent, but if it must be his destiny . . ." Le Roux trailed off.

"Of what emotion did he refer to?" De Villiers asked.

"Love," Bertrand answered soberly.

"Where are you going?" Parsifal called out as Galeren limped towards the stable yard.

"To France," he said pausing to turn and look at his sergeant.

"Can I come?" Parsifal said seriously.

"No, and," Galeren said, raising his hand when he saw Parsifal's face twist in protest, "it is not because I think you unworthy, indeed your honour and worth are unparalleled at this point but I cannot have you with me. I act alone and outside the Temple's sphere of authority. It is my chance to take, mine alone. I have already lost much and am not prepared to lose you."

Parsifal nodded his understanding, "But I would rather go into the jaws of hell with you than remain in De Gosbeck's charge."

Galeren's face crinkled into a smile. "He is a good master, if a little overbearing and will serve you better than I."

"I have the right to disagree. If you do not wish to take me because you think I will disobey you then –"

Galeren shook his head, "'Tis not. Simply I would be concerned for your safety and that would distract me. Catherine distracted my senses and she now suffers for it."

He looked at his faithful sergeant and was struck by an immense feeling of pride. The young lad would follow him to hell. He had heart. Galeren had always prided himself on sense but he now realised that heart was at the core of achievement. Heart was impulsive and risky but sense would not save Catherine or his father.

"There will be struggles ahead Parsifal and the Temple will need brothers like you."

"I will not argue with you, I trust what you say. I have said some bad things to you in the past . . . "

Galeren shook his head but Parsifal motioned that he was not yet finished, "what I said was wrong but I still blame your reticence for part of my ignorance."

Galeren smiled, "I'm not good at talking about myself but I accept your apology if you will accept mine."

"Done," Parsifal said. "Good luck, sir." He held out his hand and Galeren shook it. He then took something out of his pocket and handed it to Galeren. It was a money bag and it was full of coin. Galeren frowned in puzzlement.

"From De Villiers," he said smiling, "he thought you may need it."

"I'd say," Galeren said returning the smile. "Thank him for me."

"I will. If you ever have need –"

"You will be the first I call upon." Galeren promised and watched as Parsifal turned and walked back across the bailey. Taking a deep breath Galeren made his way back towards the stable.

### Chapter Fourteen

"Drink," De Floyran said and handed Catherine a cup filled with wine. It was laced with a concoction that Catherine recognized as a poppy and mandragora dwale. Despite her promise to acquiesce peacefully and travel without fuss, De Floyran and his men had obviously thought she was still too much trouble to leave conscious and so had drugged her more or less constantly since they had stolen her from Galeren.

Or perhaps there was another reason. In whichever case, her head felt heavy and she fought to retain her senses as she woke from each druggy slumber, often disorientated and without memory. But then De Floyran would appear with a new dose and she would remember all too painfully her quandary. She was vaguely aware that they had crossed the narrow sea. She had scraps of memories which returned to her every time she woke; like having felt the pitch and roll of a ship and smelt the saltiness of the sea. She also sensed Galeren at times but he seemed faint and she feared that it was due to De Floyran's influence. All she knew now was that she was in a dark room somewhere in France.

She pushed the cup away. "Why do you drug me?" she said hoping to prevent the next dose.

"For peace," he smiled, "and to deaden Galeren's contact with you."

She looked at him dolefully.

"Mostly however, it is to prevent you from distracting me." He added and Catherine averted her gaze from him. Galeren had said that she distracted him; in fact it had been their last conversation. She wondered if De Floyran meant it in the same way.

"Surely you don't think I've been performing obscene acts on you while you are unawares?" he said, smiling wickedly. Catherine's eyes widened as she looked at him aghast, but she knew he was merely mocking her.

"Don't worry," he chuckled, "it's not my style. I'd prefer you to be conscious and that is why I'm keeping you drugged. It is to keep me off you, at least until I have you where I want you."

"Why are you doing this?" she asked miserably.

"Revenge. It really is as simple as that. Your lover tried to kill me, thought he had in fact. Ran me through like a pig and left me to bleed in the dirt while a battle raged around me. I had position within the Templar ranks and I enjoyed my privileges. Galeren took that from me and my men, some of which he killed."

"But you did something terrible," Catherine accused. De Floyran's eyes narrowed at this and he looked at her charily.

"Did he tell you what?" he asked slowly. Catherine blinked several times, her head pounded and the truth was she didn't exactly know. All she had was her own experience of him and the knowledge that he was Galeren's enemy.

"No." She said a little defeated.

"Really?" De Floyran's face lit up, "then how do you know what I did was so bad?"

"You forget our night in the woods." Catherine said contemptuously.

"I do not." De Floyran answered menacingly. "In fact I have thought of nothing else." He moved closer to her and she froze.

"I've never marked anyone before and let them live." He smiled.

"But you didn't _let_ me live. An honourable man sacrificed himself so I could escape. Had he not intervened I would not have lived." She challenged.

"But you live now and only because I choose it." He took her face gently in his hand. "I praise God for the intervention of that peasant. Now drink, forget." He picked up the cup again and thrust it toward her.

"Where am I?" she asked, reluctantly drinking the potion.

"A place of refuge, for now, but you will soon find yourself amongst imprisoned Templars, in a dungeon awaiting Galeren."

"You won't succeed." She said bravely.

"Oh I will, little flower," he said stroking her face, "I will."

He waited a time until the potion took effect and watched her for a while, as he always did, while she breathed deep in her induced sleep. It was true that he kept her in this drugged state to prevent him from finishing what he'd started with her. De Floyran yearned to have her, but for some reason he held off. He would never take her while she was unconscious so keeping her thus preserved her for him, for a later date. It was somehow too soon to have her now. When she _was_ conscious, he found it took every bit of will power he possessed not to leap upon her. He was not used to denying himself what he wanted. It was an oddity to him that he would have brutalized her without a moment's hesitation that night in the woods, but now it was different.

He still imagined her struggling beneath him, her breath frantic and her eyes wide with anguish. Yet sometimes he envisaged another scene; one of her reaching up to him, her eyes filled with the same look he'd seen her give to Galeren. It was a scenario that he had never before imagined with any woman and it disturbed him. He could smell his scent upon her skin and knew that he was bonded to her. The thought suddenly angered him and he cast the sentiment away, he was no more bonded to her than a father was to an unwanted bastard.

He stood up abruptly and walked to the door. She was just another bitch and her reason for living was merely to augment Galeren's agony and nothing more. She would suffer the same fate as all the others. He opened the door to leave but turned once more to look at her before he did.

24th October 1307, The Paris Temple

Guillaume de Nogaret eyed the Grand Master suspiciously as he directed him to sit opposite him in the main hall of the Paris Temple. With De Nogaret were Guillaume de Plaisians, Robard Beaumanoir, two inquisitors, two scribes and twenty of the Royal guards. De Molay had been bound at the wrists and his eyes were bleary and red, indicative of a lack of sleep. However, there was also a dark intensity about them which allowed De Nogaret a glimpse into the deeper depths of the Templar's psyche. As he looked within he saw the man's strength and resilience.

De Molay looked around those at the table and spoke, "I am honoured that Philip sends so many fine young men to deal with one old one. Is there so much to fuss over?"

"Oh yes indeed," De Nogaret answered. "No less than one hundred and thirty eight confessions by your brethren which substantiates the accusations laid forth in my . . . the indictment brought against you."

De Molay slammed his bound fists onto the table which made everyone jump and stood up abruptly, "Liar!" he screamed as he was forced back into his seat by two of the guards.

"I urge you to remain calm, or I will have you bound properly." De Nogaret warned with a cruel smile. De Molay noted it and spread his hands to show that he acquiesced.

"I do not believe they would confess to such without some form of coercion." De Molay said through gritted teeth. "How were the confessions extracted?"

"With relevant questioning." De Nogaret said dismissively.

"Were they tortured?" De Molay asked more purposefully.

"Some required more persuasion than others but it didn't take much for the torturers to have them singing like songbirds, they know well how to ply their trade." He said brutally.

"Christ save you, you are enjoying this you malevolent swine!" De Molay cried, "but God sees your blood stained hands and black heart."

"You forget I do this for God and for the protection of the Church and its flock." De Nogaret said passionately and then leaned in towards the Grand Master so that only he could hear, "I know what you are," he whispered.

De Nogaret sat back and locked eyes with De Molay and only when he was sure that the Templar had taken his meaning did he say, "I need a moment alone with the Grand Master."

"I think not," De Plaisians said immediately, "we are all on the King's business and as such must all be present at proceedings."

De Nogaret turned to him and fixed him with a venomous look, "I am afraid you are mistaken, my learned friend. I have special dispensation from the King to speak to the Grand Master alone if I so choose."

"Since when De Nogaret?" De Plaisians said with contempt.

"Since this morning." The Captain of Royal guard said, stepping forward. "I bore witness to it and swore to uphold the King's wishes. You gentlemen must go without and remain there until called to return."

"You see?" De Nogaret said conceitedly.

"This is horseshit!" De Plaisians protested angrily, as he and the others were ushered outside. When they were alone De Nogaret turned to De Molay and smiled triumphantly.

"This vile victory of yours will be short lived." De Molay spat. "At least I see that your contemporaries view you as I do; a spineless cruel little toad."

De Nogaret laughed. "Such scathing may have bothered me once, but not anymore. It may be true but my contemporaries do not view you in the same way as I do, nor do they know you as I do . . . werewolf master."

De Molay blinked in shock at this revelation as if he had misheard what he had said. "What did you say?" his question was barely a whisper.

"You heard," De Nogaret said inspecting his finger nails, "they do not know." He motioned to the others who had been sent out.

Beaumanoir and De Plaisians did know the truth but De Nogaret had pressed Philip to keep them out of dealings with the Grand Master, on points of the savage nature of the Templars, until they had seen proof as he had. At least that was his excuse. In truth, De Nogaret wanted to have autonomy on proceedings while he still could, before all of Philip's minions stole a piece of the pie that had been of his making.

"The King knows but lacks the proof. I have seen with my own eyes the true nature of the Templars, so do not think to deny it."

"And where did you witness this nature, while they were being tortured?" De Molay said with disgust. He knew that the instinct to change under stress or pain would be difficult to contain under torture, he could only imagine the methods that were used.

"No," De Nogaret said thoughtfully. "One of your own showed me willingly. Esquin de Floyran, I am sure you have heard of him."

De Molay grimaced, "Yes, I have. He is a vicious killer and now a traitor but I am sure you find him fine company."

"I do as it goes." De Nogaret agreed. "He is on his way back from England and as I understand will provide proof for the King in spectacular fashion."

"England?" De Molay said his heart tightening. He knew his son was there and that De Floyran had a blood feud with him.

"Yes, he spoke of unfinished business there. But don't let that concern you. What you should be concerned about is the fate of your heretical brothers. They have confessed to crimes most heinous."

"All made up by an unworthy King and his greedy council." De Molay said but his mind was still on his son.

"You should heed your respect for the King, for your life and that of your diabolical brotherhood is in his hands."

"For what good? If you believe what you think of us then surely we are already condemned."

"Not necessarily," De Nogaret smiled, "in fact it is why I wanted to speak to you alone. The others need not know of the deeper meaning of this inquiry, you would agree that the less who know the better."

De Molay nodded though he was loath to agree with the snake.

"Good." De Nogaret said. "It would be foolish to allow such knowledge to be loosed in the public domain. Imagine the panic; the Church would have a battle on its hands. It is easy to strike down innocent potion makers as witches and dispose of them to resounding public support. But a pack such as yours may weaken the foundations of the Church. These are difficult times De Molay, especially without the Holy Land, the people may be quick to lose their faith. We don't want to make you a cult of heroes."

De Nogaret drummed his finger against his face lazily. "But deposed as heretics, losers, not defenders of the Holy Land, betrayers of the Church and our Lord Jesus Christ, sodomites, practitioners of Jewish and Islamist magic and whatever else we can think of, then the Templars would be damned by all and sent into the fires of hell. Confessions are pouring in as we speak; it is looking grim for you and your kind."

De Molay's lip curled but he was not about to give De Nogaret the satisfaction of another emotional reaction. He was smarter than that, instead he just shrugged, "I suppose you are building up to the point of this little conversation," he said derisively.

De Nogaret looked at the Grand Master, still aware of what he was and what he could only yearn to be. He hoped that this would change when De Floyran returned from his business in England.

"I am," De Nogaret said, "so you'd better listen carefully. The confessions we have received so far are enough to have those Templars burnt at the stake."

"Not without the Pope's authority. I doubt Clement even knows about the confessions. This inquiry should be directed by Clement V, we should be questioned by bishops not tortured by inquisitors."

De Nogaret's left eye twitched but he remained composed even though he knew of what the Grand Master spoke to be true.

"It matters not, for Clement will be firmly in Philip's camp when he sees the monstrosity that is your true nature."

"You will take it that far?"

"The Pope must know the truth, that he has given special dispensations to a horde of monsters."

"You speak of us as monsters and yet you know nothing about us. There are more monsters in the Vatican than in the Temple be that assured, only they have but one face and it is human."

"Regardless of whether what you say is true, the fact is that the Temple is the institution on trial and Clement will support the King's actions and will know you." He scratched his head. "You are right though, the King is greedy and so am I. Philip wants the Temple dissolved by the Pope and wants the Temple's treasures and all its estates and assets in his possession. That is all. You and your brethren can be saved from the stake, in return for your confession Jacques de Molay, Grand Master of the Temple of Solomon."

De Molay looked at him in bewilderment, "You expect me to believe that would be the case. You would set free a brotherhood of werewolves but for their name, their wealth and their property?"

"Not exactly free." De Nogaret smiled. "The hierarchy of the Temple is seen to be the evil influence and therefore should be punished; for example, you, your dignitaries and all your werewolf knights. You will have to remain in prison. You are too dangerous to have roaming around the countryside. I understand that the Temple servants are not of the werewolf brethren, so they would not share your fate. They would instead do penance in monasteries throughout the Kingdom, under the watchful eye of Dominican monks."

"So all still prisoners, in one way or another." De Molay said flatly.

De Nogaret rolled his eyes, "If you wish to see it as thus. But at least you won't be burnt at the stake." He shrugged nonchalantly.

De Molay didn't believe him and even if he did speak the truth, prison was as cruel a fate for a werewolf. The wolf could not be caged for long before its spirit broke; death was preferable but not at the stake. However, De Molay knew that he needed to play the game, this was his fate. He knew he would not taste the sweetness of freedom again but he would need to ensure that some of his brothers would, so he would do the King's bidding for now and watch the tide.

De Molay sighed and nodded compliantly, "I imagine you will need the others to return now to hear my confession."

De Nogaret smiled smugly, "Oh yes," he beamed, "it is an historic moment."

"You won't get what you want from him." De Molay said as De Nogaret rose to his feet.

"What?" De Nogaret said shaking his head in puzzlement.

"De Floyran." De Molay said casually.

He could have meant anything, information, proof, but De Nogaret knew exactly what the wily Grand Master was referring to and so he tried to deny it.

"I don't know what you are talking about." De Nogaret said and started to turn way.

"De Floyran may be many things but he is not a fool. He would never initiate a snivelling bastard like you."

De Nogaret turned back, his face twisted with spite. "You know nothing old master. He has denounced you all and craves your destruction!"

"Maybe, but he will never give you our mark."

Now sensing De Nogaret's weakness and desperation De Molay felt empowered. De Nogaret made his way to the door unwilling to look the Templar master in the eye, lest he sense his disquiet. De Molay didn't need to see De Nogaret's eyes, now knowing his weakness he concentrated his mind and struck. De Nogaret stumbled as he reached the door drawing his breath in sharply. He raised his hand to his head.

"Headache?" De Molay said with false sentiment.

"'Tis nothing." De Nogaret answered shakily and pinching the bridge of his nose he reached for the door and opened it.

****

Philip looked at the signed confession with gleaming eyes and smiled.

"I am impressed." He said placing the document upon the table and reaching for a cup of wine. "He believed you then?" Philip said sounding surprised.

"No," De Nogaret replied, "De Molay is a clever old fox. He is simply buying time for his brethren. Perhaps he believes Clement will still come to their rescue."

"Well at least you didn't have to bring in the torturers, Clement may have baulked at that."

"Indeed though I cannot say the same for the others questioned."

Philip turned and frowned at him. De Nogaret shrugged. "They proved to be a resilient group. I had no choice but to introduce some unsavory methods. As history has shown us time and again Templars are hard to break and believe me they have an incredibly high threshold for pain."

De Nogaret's eyes glazed over with memory of it. "It was interesting if not a little disconcerting." He smiled slightly and then returned to the present. "Anyway, De Molay knew there had been torture and his confession arose from his desire to prevent further suffering."

"To his own detriment. His confession will send him to the stake, and such a death is not one to look forward to."

De Nogaret nodded in agreement and then shrugged again. "As I said perhaps he believes he is buying time."

"Perhaps," the King agreed, "whatever the case, this is excellent, excellent work." He raised the cup to De Nogaret who nodded modestly.

"Of course, De Plaisians is raging."

De Nogaret tilted his head, "Personal egos are not important here," he said knowing that his was the exception, "but rather making sure that the job is done properly."

"I agree," Philip said draining his cup, "but perhaps you can allow him more involvement now."'

"No." De Nogaret said a little too sharply. Philip looked at him askance. "At least not yet. There will be a time for that, and better when he can see the proof with his own eyes. I do not have the patience for his derision. He has doubt in what I have told you, for now the less involved he is the better."

"Enjoying the privilege?" Philip said astutely. De Nogaret made to protest but Philip raised his hand to quiet him,

"And so you should. Your work has been critical to this undertaking and I am sure to this end we would not have had such success without you."

De Nogaret smiled, "I thank you sire but my work is not yet complete. Only when the Temple is dissolved and these devils are all but ashes will I feel my task fully accomplished."

"Such dedication! You will be rewarded well." Philip said and then a dark look crossed his face. "I only wish I could fill your coffers from the Temple treasury!"

De Nogaret knew that the treasury at the Paris Temple had been severely deficient in the riches that Philip had expected. Though not empty, it was a paltry sum compared to what they had seen within it only one year before.

"I have arranged a public session at the Paris Temple tomorrow." De Nogaret said quickly changing the subject. "De Molay's confession will be repeated in front of a pick of clergy and select members of the University of Paris. Our success here will urge our European counterpart to follow suit."

"Clement is sure to fall in line now that we have De Molay's confession."

"With the confessions I have obtained from all the Templar dignitaries, he can do nothing else and do not forget that we still have De Floyran's contribution to convince him."

"De Floyran is conspicuous by his absence." Philip snapped, "I trust you De Nogaret but not this Templar. I would think he would have been here to see the judgement as it unfolds, seeing as this is supposed to be his, long desired for, revenge."

"There is no reason to think he has abandoned his purpose as he has yet to gain his reward. I expect him any day now." De Nogaret said assuredly, though he was growing impatient himself and De Molay's words came back to haunt him. He had been shocked by the Grand Master's intuition but was sure that his comments were merely to spite him. De Floyran liked him, of that he was sure. They were similar, sharing the same dark thread as if brothers separated at birth. He was sure that his brother would not let him down.

25th October 1307, The Paris Temple

They were assembled in the main hall of the Temple. At the far end of the hall sat on the long table, usually the province of Templar Knights, were De Nogaret, De Plaisians, Robard Beaumanoir and several others from Philip's council. Guillaume de France, the Inquisitor of France, and several of his inquisitors were also present and sat with the King's councillors. The table was flanked by Royal guards and set along the sides of the hall were seats forming a public gallery. These were filled with members of the clergy, lawyers and theologians from the University of Paris as well as scribes to document the proceedings.

In the middle of the hall sat Jacques de Molay, he was not bound but instead had two royal guards stood either side of him. He looked about the room repressing his inner rage at his Temple being polluted by the worst kind of humans. He could smell their sentiment in the air, each and every one savouring their moment to watch the once powerful fall. It mattered not for what reason.

It was the severest of all human traits; the desire to see failure. The fall of others satisfied the inadequate, the jealous and the weak. He expected that they all thought that it was no more than the Temple deserved, for all their arrogance and superiority over the decades. But still they were cowards all, staring at him with their over zealous eyes, pitiless and ready to cast judgement over what they did not know. The Temple may have been over zealous at times and ferocious in its actions but they had never been cruel. He knew that he was now in the domain of the truly merciless.

"I ask the prisoner first to verify his identity," Guillaume de Plaisians said, "please confirm that you are Jacques de Molay, Grand Master of the Order of the Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ, Knights of the Temple of Solomon."

"I am." De Molay replied unemotionally.

De Plaisians turned to those that were seated and addressed them. "I hereby declare this public session open. On the 25th of October in the year of our Lord 1307, Jacques de Molay did confess to crimes brought against the Order of the Temple. The trial of the Order of the Temple is a matter for public witness and it is the wish of this council, representing Philip IV, the King of France, that the confession be repeated so that it be known to the King's people and thereby judged by them."

He then turned his attention back to De Molay who watched him bitterly. "I will ask again the questions put to you yesterday and ask that you answer them honestly and with a pure heart."

De Plaisians looked down at De Nogaret who nodded his approval. De Nogaret smiled to himself. He was happy to let De Plaisians run the proceedings, he was not a selfish man besides he had favour with the King and it was De Plaisians who now looked to him for direction.

"Have you in any way been forced in your confession?" De Plaisians asked.

"No," De Molay answered, feeling the bile rise in his throat, "I answer as befits my conscience and as a witness before God."

"Good," De Plaisians said, "you have confessed that at the time of your reception into the Order in Beaune in the year of our Lord 1265 that you denied Christ, albeit unwillingly, and were forced to spit on the cross, although you spat to the side of it in order to miss it. Is this truthful?"

"It is the truth." De Molay said biting down on his tongue.

There was a collective gasp of horror from the public gallery which seemed grossly exaggerated and only heightened De Molay's misery.

"Did you conduct admissions into the Temple thus?"

De Molay swallowed slowly to contain his antipathy and then said, "I have a few, yes and believe that this was and has been the way of the reception as laid down by my predecessors." He could hear disapproving mumbles among some in the public audience.

"Have you ever participated in the act of sodomy?" De Plaisians said sternly. The hall was suddenly silent with bated anticipation.

"No." The Grand Master answered firmly.

"When you were received into the Order were you advised that it was permissible to have carnal relations with your brothers should your blood become heated?"

"No, I was never advised this nor gave out this advice, nor am I aware that this advice was ever given out to brothers." De Molay answered neutrally.

"Thank you." De Plaisians said genuinely. "You have answered within the realms of your knowledge and as your conscience directed you. Your confession corroborates those obtain by your brother knights and confirms the Temple's guilt in acts of heresy. The people of France have heard. This session is thereby closed."

It was brief in its brutality, De Molay thought as he was pulled to his feet and led from the room. They could have forced more humiliation on him, having him confess to a salvo of other heinous lies which were contained within the leaves of De Nogaret's vicious indictment. But the repudiation of Christ and spitting upon the cross was heresy and what else did the Church need to condemn them? He thought of De Villiers and wished that there was a way to reach him, he longed for news from England and wanted to find out where his son was and what he was doing.

Later, De Nogaret visited him in his private chambers. The councillor smiled as he entered the Grand Master's sanctuary.

"You did well today De Molay. I know what you did wasn't easy but your brethren will be grateful for it in the end."

"Do you think?" he answered sardonically.

"I do. But there is one more thing you can do for them."

"And what pray is that?" De Molay asked.

"I have several letters here which will, in a few minutes, bear the seal of the Temple. They have been written for you and merely require your signature and the seal."

"May I know their content?"

"Of course," De Nogaret laughed with surprise, "I wouldn't expect you to sign anything you haven't read!"

The Grand Master's eyes narrowed and De Nogaret began to rub his temple. He handed the letters to De Molay and winced at the pain that was growing in his skull. He watched as De Molay read over the documents silently shaking his head in dismay as he did. "Ahhhh what a trap you have lain for us." He said looking back up at De Nogaret. "You have been judicious in your scheming."

"Always," De Nogaret replied pinching his nose, "it is better that you instruct the rest of your brethren to confess to these heretical practices they have been privy to in the Temple and save them the torture of having their confession obtained otherwise."

"I doubt they will suffer less for it." De Molay said contemptuously.

"I give you my word. Those who confess under your instruction will not be touched. Of course there are always the disobedient and the martyrs."

De Molay's lip curled and he afforded a little smile as he saw De Nogaret's discomfort increase. "Another headache?" De Molay remarked.

"'Tis nothing," De Nogaret snapped, "now sign and seal the damned letters or I'll have every Templar in custody tortured for spite!"

De Molay picked up his quill and dipped it into the ink pot sat on his desk. After signing he sealed each letter and placed them in a pile for De Nogaret to collect.

"Thank you." De Nogaret said finding himself short of breath. "Now gather some of your most needed items as you are being moved from here."

"Moved?" De Molay said with genuine concern.

"Yes, now you have confessed to your crimes you are to be taken to prison. The King wants you off his property, heretic, you are to be incarcerated as befits you."

"You will rot in hell." De Molay said venomously.

"Long after you." De Nogaret countered and snatching the letters off De Molay's desk he quickly left the room. Outside he lent against the wall feeling nauseous, but the pressure in his head subsided a little. He breathed deep and hugged the letters to his chest. Perhaps he needed a rest he considered, but then dispelled the notion. There was still too much to do. As he straightened up he saw one of the Royal guards approaching him.

"I have a letter for you just delivered. There is a messenger awaiting a response."

De Nogaret took it from the guard handing him in return the Grand Master's letters. He broke the seal that he recognized as one of the Temple's and smiled as he read the words.

"Tell him to meet me in Montlhéry." He said.

### Chapter Fifteen

28th October 1307, Château de Montlhéry, Montlhéry, France

"Brother!" De Nogaret cried, raising his arms enthusiastically as the cortege rode into the bailey of the château de Montlhéry. De Floyran winced at De Nogaret's familiar address but nevertheless dismounted and greeted the swarthy councillor with a brief but firm embrace.

"The King thought you would never return, but I knew you would!" De Nogaret said fervently.

"Trust." De Floyran said, removing his gloves and flexing his hands which felt cramped from the ride.

"Absolutely." De Nogaret agreed casting his eye over the group that was with De Floyran. "Your men?" he said stopping short as his eyes fell on the woman that sat in front of one of them.

Catherine looked at De Nogaret blankly, vaguely aware of her surroundings having only recently awoken from her last drugging. He was struck dumb momentarily by her beauty. She had the face of an angel, the face of innocence.

"Who is the woman?" he said, rubbing his hands together eagerly.

"A surprise." De Floyran said furtively.

"A surprise?" De Nogaret said enthralled, "For me?" he added in a manner that repulsed De Floyran.

"No," he asserted angrily. "She is the lover of Galeren de Massard."

"Galeren de Massard?" De Nogaret shrugged none the wiser.

"Jacques de Molay's son." De Floyran said unemotionally.

" _What?_ " De Nogaret said, taking his eyes off Catherine for the first time since sighting her. De Floyran nodded slowly and rolled his aching shoulders.

"Jacques de Molay has a son?"

"Yes," De Floyran said, "and he is on his way here for her." He pointed at Catherine. "Now, Christ on the Cross let us inside to the warmth! My arse nearly froze to my saddle. I hope you have laid on some hospitality for my efforts."

"Of course," De Nogaret stuttered, flicking his eyes over Catherine once more. "De Molay is here." He said, leading De Floyran across the bailey towards the entrance.

"Perfect." He said, clapping the councillor heartily across the back.

It was indeed warmer in the château and De Floyran rubbed his hands together to heat the blood in them while he waited for the rest of his men to assemble. De Nogaret ushered them into the main hall where a fire was roaring ferociously and had spiced wine brought to them. He watched keenly as Raymond Caradas brought the woman within and she too was offered wine which she took with her bound hands and eyed suspiciously.

"It is just wine this time Catherine, I promise." De Floyran said with a wink. She looked at him scornfully and then drank down the warming liquid eagerly, for she too felt frozen to the bone. Hot pastries were brought out on platters from the kitchen and bowls of mutton pottage. De Floyran nodded contently as he made short work of one of the pastries and motioned for more wine.

"Catherine?" De Nogaret said contemplatively to De Floyran. He sipped his wine slowly and watched her take the pastry that Raymond Caradas offered her. "She is beautiful."

"She is indeed." De Floyran agreed, sliding his eyes askance so that he could look at her. "Remember the novice I told you about?" De Floyran said playfully, enjoying the effects of the wine.

"'Tis her?" De Nogaret said, licking his lower lip.

"Yes. She bears my mark."

"You bit her?" De Nogaret said, engrossed in the unfolding tale.

"On the night I came across her. When I went back to find her I discovered that Galeren was protecting her."

De Nogaret once again raised his eyebrows quizzically at the mention of this Galeren whom, until today, he had never heard of. De Floyran rolled his eyes impatiently. "He is a hated enemy of mine, it is a long story I may bore you with one day, but she is or _was_ his mate," he corrected.

"What do you plan to do with her?"

"She is bait for him. He is the sentimental sort, so will race gallantly to her rescue. He loves her." De Floyran said uncomfortably.

"And after?"

De Floyran shrugged draining his wine, "I'll see." He said evasively.

"Can I have her?" De Nogaret said without hesitation. The suggestion turned De Floyran's stomach. "She's mine." He said possessively, but De Nogaret persisted.

"Come brother, are we not to share our desires?"

De Floyran grabbed De Nogaret by the arm viciously and pulled him close to him. "I said she is mine. If you so much as touch her, I will rip your heart out and eat it while it still beats, is that understood . . . _brother?_ "

De Nogaret winced at the force of De Floyran's fingers as they bit viciously into his upper arm. He nodded quickly, "of course."

"Good." De Floyran pushed him away with a smile. "More wine?" he tilted his cup, "and then I want to see De Molay."

"Where are you going to put her?" De Nogaret said, rubbing his sore arm.

"With De Molay for now." He shrugged. "They should meet. They have something in common."

"Whatever you want." De Nogaret said disgruntled. "But we need to discuss things later. Philip has grown impatient with you."

De Floyran waved his hand dismissively. "He will get what he wants and not without time. Relax," he said, noting the look of concern that crossed De Nogaret's face, "things have gone well for you. You will have everything you desire, fret not."

De Nogaret looked at De Floyran with eager eyes but did not press him further. It was good advice though and he should take it and relax. He was in Philip's favour and though De Floyran was tardy, he had delivered on all his promises so far. He had no reason to doubt him. After more wine and pastries were devoured, De Floyran took Catherine gently by the arm and looked at De Nogaret.

"Lead the way brother." He smiled and gestured to his men to stay and enjoy the hospitality.

De Nogaret led them away from the main hall and down a passage that passed the kitchens from which delightful smells were emanating. Catherine felt her stomach ache as she smelt the food. She had tried to consume what she'd been offered as she knew she needed her strength. However, it had been difficult to eat in the company of the smug De Floyran and his cheery men, knowing her own miserable predicament. She was relieved and at the same time disappointed that she wasn't drugged. On the one hand ignorance was bliss but on the other she wanted to know what was going on.

They followed a corridor that veered round to the left, away from the kitchens. As they progressed, it gradually snaked into a narrow, dimly lit passageway. Few torches lit the way here and as they neared the end Catherine could see a large iron barred gate, outside which sat a brawny man leaning on the handle of an axe.

"Open it up De Vere!" De Nogaret commanded and the man quickly got to his feet and jumbling with a ring of keys he placed the largest one in the lock and opened the gate. He raised a curious eyebrow as De Nogaret approached with the others.

"A visitor," De Nogaret said and then motioned to Catherine, "and another prisoner." The guard grunted and looked over Catherine approvingly.

De Nogaret caught sight of the dark cloud that descended across De Floyran's face and quickly said, "Consider the worth of the skin on your back before you entertain such thoughts," he warned, "do not even think to touch her or you will find yourself on the other side of this gate and in grisly circumstances."

The guard nodded quickly that he understood and handed De Nogaret the keys and looking down respectfully as they passed, he closed the gate behind them. They descended a winding flight of steps and it was then that the smell hit Catherine. The horror of it brought back memory of the nightmare she had already had in De Floyran's presence. She gasped as she realised it and looked at De Floyran in horror. He had brought her to this diabolical place in her dreams. She had smelt the blood, the pain and fear before but now could hear the groans of the victims as they fought for respite from their torment. They were Templars and they had been tortured in these dungeons. She pulled away from De Floyran and he looked at her with surprise.

"You monster!" she said miserably.

"Don't worry little flower, I don't see the necessity for you to share their fate. I have better uses for you." He pulled her close to him. "Come, it's easy." He said and pulled her along with him.

At the bottom of the steps they entered an enormous room which was bordered by numerous dungeons constructed from iron bars so that the prisoners within could all be seen from without. In the centre of the room was a large cylindrical stone wall with an iron gate in its side. It was another dungeon, but the structure rose all the way up to join the low ceiling.

"An oubliette!" De Floyran said, recognising the edifice. He suddenly sounded excited.

De Nogaret laughed. "Yes. You can view within it from the guard room above. Handy, if you wish to see the suffering of its occupants."

"Is anyone in it?"

"No," De Nogaret said.

"Well, we'll have to change that." He looked at Catherine and chuckled, "what a delightful surprise!"

On the other side of the oubliette was a long table. A couple of guards sat at it, drinking and playing cards. They all looked up to see who had entered but resumed their activity when they recognised De Nogaret, who indicated to them that they were not required. Willing herself not to, Catherine could not help but look into each dungeon cell that they passed. She saw men, strewn in various positions upon their floors, naked and bleeding. Some were dead. She could smell it and she could sense the suffering of the others.

"Galeren will be here soon." De Floyran whispered to her cruelly. "Where is la chambre de la question?" he asked eagerly.

"Over there," De Nogaret said. "Those doors." He pointed to a set of wooden doors that formed the entrance to a stonewalled dungeon at the far end of the room. It was a private room, explicitly for the exercise of torture. The other prisoners could not see within, but could only hear the suffering that would resonate from it. Next to it was a single door, another entrance to a private dungeon.

"De Molay is in there." De Nogaret pointed to the door.

"Tortured, the Grand Master?" De Floyran said surprised.

"No, he didn't have to be. His brethren's suffering was enough to secure a confession. I wanted to keep him away from the others in solitary confinement." De Nogaret said, sliding one of the keys into the lock of the door. He opened the door and allowed De Floyran to step inside, pushing Catherine in before him. He squinted in the dimness of the candle lit room and strained to make out the figure of the Grand Master sat in the corner on some straw.

"De Floyran," De Molay said, "I thought I could smell your stench approaching."

"Always a pleasure, Jacques. It's a bit dark in here," De Floyran commented lightly, "I'll have some more candles brought down for you, if you like." He turned and looked at De Nogaret as if giving him the instruction. De Nogaret made a face at him.

"I need to speak to the Grand Master alone for a moment. For old times sake." De Floyran said evenly.

De Nogaret conceded reluctantly, feeling sidelined once again. Nevertheless, he left De Floyran to his business, knowing as he did that he had a short temper and that challenging him ignited it. When he was gone De Floyran smiled, "It is good to see you thus, Jacques. It has been a long time coming."

"Where is my son you bastard?"

"Ah, well that is why I brought the beautiful Catherine here to see you. I thought you could become acquainted and she would tell you about Galeren. He is alive though, I'll tell you that."

Catherine looked first at De Floyran in shock and then over to De Molay. Was he really Galeren's father?

De Molay looked at Catherine. "Who is this poor creature, another one of your victims?"

"Not yet. She is the reason that your son is going to rush here to his death. After that, who knows?"

"How the hell did he not finish you?" De Molay said raging inside.

"Only he can answer that. I think it is fate though. Just think, you can tell yourself at the end of all this that the fault lies entirely with him. If he had made a proper job of it..." De Floyran trailed off. "Who knows? Philip may have still been hell bent on the destruction of the Temple, but they would not have known the truth."

"And you? You are prepared to see the destruction of your kind?"

"I am prepared to see the destruction of the Templars, a soiled and arrogant group of my kind, that's all you are. There are plenty that have had nothing to do with the Temple. I think it may have started out having some purpose but it has since become a conceited group of half-breeds and bastards. I am more than happy to see the Temple and all whom reside in it burn to ashes."

"You are so deluded De Floyran. You were happy to use the Temple as a shield while you wreaked havoc and destroyed whomever you wanted. We were right to condemn you. We are a force for good, not evil."

"Good . . . evil," he laughed, "it matters not to me, just revenge and my reward. Catherine here may well become part of that reward. We'll see how things turn out. Now, you must excuse me. I must meet with De Nogaret. We have things to discuss, besides you two have much to talk about."

"He thinks you are going to initiate him." De Molay said, as De Floyran turned to leave.

"That's what I let him think. Come on Jacques, do you think I would pollute the race further with a slimy little bastard like him? You know how I feel about bastards." He looked at Catherine and smiled at her reassuringly. "The lovely Catherine is the only exception I am willing to make."

He bowed courteously at her and then left the room, closing the door and turning the key within the lock. Catherine waited until she heard his footsteps recede into nothingness and then sunk down onto the floor.

"Are you hurt?" De Molay said, getting to his feet and going over to her.

"Please don't trouble yourself, you have been through enough." She said.

"And you have not?" he said astutely.

"Yes, I have been through something, but I cannot imagine your torment here. I am uninjured, just tired and afraid."

"There is nothing but fear here." He said sombrely, sinking down to his knees beside her. He took in the scent of her and said, "You and Galeren?" He could smell the scent of his son on her. However, he could also sense that of De Floyran.

She nodded confirmation and he smiled. "Tell me about my son. Tell me what happened."

"De Floyran and his men attacked us. He wounded Galeren in the leg, grievously. We were surrounded and De Floyran had me, Galeren could do nothing."

"And De Floyran bit you?"

"De Floyran had bitten me before that."

De Molay raised his eyebrows in interest.

"De Floyran attacked me one night when I was foolishly wandering home alone. Someone intervened to their detriment and I managed to escape, save for his mark. I was a novice and Galeren came to the convent to find out what happened. He came back for me a few nights later and took me with him and helped me through the transition."

"So he found you finally." De Molay smiled, "I wondered if he would ever find a mate. Cruel that De Floyran found you first." He shook his head.

"But that matters not." He said assuredly. "Galeren goes into nothing lightly. His will is as ferocious as his temper," he laughed. "Not even De Floyran's mark could quash it."

"And it will destroy him. He _will_ come here and fall into this trap and he knows it."

"But he will still come." De Molay said. "It is his way. Nothing you could say would stop him."

"But I must, I cannot see him here. I cannot bear it!"

"And Galeren can bear to have you here? He cares not for consequence. He has ridden into danger before and for those he did not know."

Catherine groaned hopelessly.

"And De Floyran, has he touched you?" De Molay asked.

"No," She shook her head.

"When did he assail you?"

"I have lost track of time. He has drugged me since he took me, but I think it was the second Friday of October."

"The thirteenth," De Molay said. "The same day as the arrests, of course. I should expect nothing but purposeful timing from De Floyran."

"How many Templars were arrested?"

"Some four hundred," De Molay sighed. "Many however, left before the thirteenth on galleys to England, for temporary sanctuary and other parts of Europe to plan for an uncertain future. We were not sure of the severity of the situation, but now it seems we are in very serious trouble."

"Your men out there," Catherine said sorrowfully, "some are dead."

"I know." De Molay said swallowing his anger. "They resisted to their ends, stubborn fools, honourable fools, despite my instruction for them to confess to the pack of lies De Nogaret and the King concocted. Not one of them changed, not willing to reveal our secret, despite the torture. Even that was in vain, as De Floyran means for the King and Pope to know the truth of the Templars."

"But why? Surely he is destroying himself too." Catherine said bewildered.

"I am sure he has struck a bargain, but while the knights of the Temple are all werewolves, not all werewolves are Templars. He sees us as one sect that he can afford to destroy as we tried to destroy him once."

"What did he do? Galeren would not tell me. He avoided the subject of De Floyran like a scourge."

"That does not surprise me. De Floyran is a despicable man. He preys on the weak, the defenceless and cares nothing of the devastation he wreaks. He cares only for himself and what he can gain. But there was a time when they were friends."

"Really?"

"In Acre when he was just fifteen. De Floyran was about five years older and full of Templar confidence and arrogance. Galeren's childhood had not been good and he had not long learned the true identity of his father, me."

De Molay shrugged. "Galeren made no bones over the way he felt about me. He was angry and rebellious. He broke the rules, drank too much and his temper was easily ignited. He was always in trouble with his superiors."

He smiled and shook his head, "I could not even speak to him. But Esquin de Floyran seemed to connect with him and took him under his wing and Galeren was drawn to him as others were.

De Floyran had the respect and favour of many and I suppose Galeren longed for the temperance and self-assurance that he had. However, the more time he spent with him he discovered that he had a brutal side and realised that the people he was surrounded with, didn't respect him, they feared him. Galeren sensed the evil within De Floyran and so started to create distance between them."

De Molay coughed and cleared his throat. "This angered De Floyran and they fought. I don't know what exactly occurred but young Galeren flattened him and they never spoke again. De Floyran laughed it off but was enraged that he, of pure breed, had been put down by an inexperienced half breed."

"Pure breed and half breed, does it make a difference?" Catherine asked curiously. She recalled Galeren explaining the different kinds of werewolf but not whether or not it made a difference.

"Yes, it does." De Molay began, "Pure breeds are, as a general rule, the strongest as they have an undiluted bloodline. Those who can trace their bloodlines back the farthest are the purest of our kind and should therefore be the best of us. Half breeds have a mix of human and werewolf blood, they are still of the race but are not so pure."

"And what about me?" Catherine asked, "I guess I am a bastard."

"That is a term sometimes used for it," De Molay said, "but crude. You are marked."

"And bound to my initiator." She said miserably.

"That is the unfortunate case. But that is the bond that was forced upon you. You know you have another, stronger, natural bond." De Molay raised his eyebrows and then continued. "Those who are marked are as werewolf as the rest, but will never be as strong as those born of it, especially the pure breeds. But there are always exceptions."

"Exceptions?"

"Yes." De Molay said and smiled at Catherine. "Galeren is stronger than De Floyran."

"How is he stronger?"

"Nature has rules but she doesn't always stick to them. Whether marked, pure or half breed, the wolf and human elements usually have equal standing but in some that is not the case. While De Floyran is purebred, he is dominated by his human half and 'tis where his evil comes from. Although Galeren is a half breed he is dominated by his wolf half. The wolf is stronger than the man. It is the wolf that gives us our strength. Galeren could live as a wolf and not crave his human life."

"Really?" Catherine said transfixed. De Molay nodded.

"De Floyran is only brave when he has his minions around him or knows you are weaker than him. Galeren humiliated him in front of his peers. It was the beginning of their new relationship."

"Why was Galeren sent to kill him?"

De Molay sighed. "At that time in Acre there had been a series of brutal attacks on women. They were sporadic but the Temple got involved, determined to find and put pay to the perpetrator. Many in Acre put blame on the Saracens or someone from the Genoese quarter; they never expected it to be Templars."

"Esquin de Floyran." Catherine said.

"Aye," De Molay confirmed, "and his band of savages. They prowled the poorer quarters of the city. It was like some kind of game to them; they would pick their quarry and watch them for days, their routine, who they knew. They would pick the most vulnerable and those few would miss. Then Galeren came upon them."

De Molay shook his head. "Their victim was young, thirteen at most and they surrounded her, jeering as one took his turn. Galeren flew at them in rage, not thinking or caring for the fact that he was outnumbered. He managed to get the girl away from them and nobody tried to stop him. De Floyran himself merely laughed, as if he had enjoyed being discovered. Galeren brought the girl to us."

"What did you do?" Catherine asked.

"Well, she had been bitten by one of them, not De Floyran, so she was given to our women to care for. The Templar council in Acre decided that De Floyran and his men should be executed for their crimes, but we didn't want the whole city knowing. Acre was on the verge of a siege and our city walls surrounded by the Mamluk army. We decided that justice would be served after the threat to Acre had been eliminated. It was not to be.

Acre fell and we sent Galeren to dispatch De Floyran and his men for fear that they would escape in the mêlée. In the chaos of the fleeing city, De Floyran and his men went on a rampage cutting down all who crossed their paths, it didn't matter, Saracen, Frank, man, woman, child, all were attacked. Galeren found them and killed three of De Floyran's men. The others, who travel with him now, had already fled. Galeren and De Floyran fought and Galeren killed him, or so we all thought." De Molay shook his head regretfully.

"Afterwards, Galeren stayed to help people escape. We had some galleys, but not enough. Even when the Mamluk army swarmed the city, a few Templars stayed to protect the fleeing people, including Galeren.

It was a hopeless situation. They were outnumbered and there were just so many people trying to escape. The others had to drag Galeren out of there, he was young and it was his first experience of battle. He was skilled with the sword and was loath to abandon those fleeing for their lives." De Molay said.

"He was devastated by the carnage. It was this which set him on his path for the pursuit of knowledge. He desires to pull the Temple away from battle and wars and towards something greater."

"You are proud of him." Catherine said.

De Molay nodded. "Of course, but he has no idea. He thinks I despair of his ideas. In truth I don't. I just had a different vision for our future. Now we suffer because of it."

De Molay sighed. "It is difficult to break from a sanctuary you have known for so long. I share Galeren's vision but had my own idea of how to realise it. Galeren's way seemed hasty, forcing us to start again with nothing, whereas I saw a more gradual approach through the Temple. Galeren has been desperate to cast off the cloak of God. Now it appears our hand has been forced. In this chaos, and if the Pope does not help us, all will look to Galeren for guidance."

"But he is heading into a trap." Catherine said hopelessly.

"Don't worry," De Molay shook his head, "he will have a plan. Galeren is no fool." He said assuredly.

But what he didn't say was that Galeren was fearless and driven by emotion, something he had tried to control over the years. As De Molay looked at Catherine, he knew that Galeren would ride straight into the mouth of hell for her.

### Chapter Sixteen

31st October 1307, Paris, France

"Montlhéry," Galeren answered the innkeeper's question distantly, staring out into the rain from the shelter of the inn. The innkeeper passed him the provisions he had paid for and said,

"Less than half a day's ride from here. You have business there?" He eyed the English knight, who merely nodded absently, with curiosity.

He seemed to have plenty of money but his attire was unremarkable, there was no hint of status or distinguishing coat of arms and the horse he had ridden in on the previous night was just an old palfrey. His plain garb hinted that he did not want to be recognised and not lacking in coin indicated that he was probably a sword for hire. In that case, he was unpredictable and probably dangerous. Despite his evasiveness, however, he had a presence that was intriguing and his eyes told of a mission he was sworn on. The innkeeper could not help but pry further.

"They say they are holding Templars in the Château de Montlhéry."

"Really," Galeren said sounding uninterested.

"Even the Grand Master."

Galeren looked up at the innkeeper, his attention suddenly roused. He had decided to leave his stallion, Red, at Temple Bruer and travel to the English coast as a wolf, carrying only the money bag that De Villiers had given him in his mouth. He had no time to waste and he knew his journey would be cut in half if he travelled in wolf form. He would be faster and his stamina would be two-fold of that of both horse and man. He only changed to take a ship across the narrow sea, stealing cloths like a common thief. Arriving at the outskirts of Paris once again as a wolf, he changed back to human form and sorted himself out with some humble attire and a horse.

There had been another reason he had been keen to stay in wolf form, and that was to reach Catherine. It had been hard. She had faded so quickly and when he did sense her, the connection was always weak. It scared him. If the connection was so weak she may be injured, or dying. But he refused to dwell on that possibility, he was sure that through the bond they shared he would feel her pain or torment if such was the case.

If he knew Catherine like he believed he did then the lack of clear contact may be down to her own will. She would try to distance herself from contact, knowing it would be leading him to her and she would not want that. She was probably trying to protect him as he would try to do the same for her.

He had however, picked up a sense of where she had been taken and it seemed that the closer he got the clearer it became. As distracted as he always was by Catherine, he had no idea that his father may also be at Montlhéry.

"Is that right?" Galeren said, feigning measured interest.

"So I've heard. What think you of this business with the Templars, are they heretics like all are saying?"

"It is none of my business." The English knight said indifferently. "I thank you for this," he said, shaking the bundle of food. He then turned on his heel and walked out into the rain. The innkeeper watched him go and wondered just what his business might be.

"Ahhh at last," Philip said to De Nogaret as he entered his chambers, "the Templar Knight errant has returned, but he is not with you?" Philip's toned changed when he noted that De Nogaret was alone. The King had received news from De Nogaret that Esquin de Floyran had returned and it was not without time, for the Pope was raging.

"He remains in Montlhéry, he is awaiting someone."

" _More important than his King?_ " Philip cried outraged, "I suppose he expects me to go to him?" Philip continued angrily.

De Nogaret winced, "Well Sire, he does."

" _What?_ " the King spat. "I have the Pope breathing down my neck Guillaume! He has written to me expressing his fierce disapproval of the arrest of the Templars. He believes I have usurped his authority as _he_ was to head the inquiry into the Templars that was called for in August."

Philip shook his fist angrily, "I could face excommunication for this! Even De Molay's confession won't still him. Our action without his authority has angered him and his bishops. I need De Floyran to corroborate this monstrous story, no more of his games!"

"Sire, this is no game. He waits at Montlhéry for the arrival of Galeren de Massard." De Nogaret appeased, but Phillip merely threw his arms into the air upon hearing a name of no relevance.

De Nogaret continued, "Jacques de Molay's son."

"What?" Philip said, his eyes widened half in disbelief and half in delight. "De Molay has a son?"

"According to De Floyran and –"

"Arhggg!" Philip spat, "De Floyran again. Must everything depend on this slippery eel? I have seen nothing, all I have done is waited on his return and now I am expected to go to _him_. I make the demands around here, or have you forgotten that?"

"No Sire, but if it seems I put too much faith in the man then it is only because of what I have seen. He does not seek to disrespect you with his ways but he has his own revenge to mete out. He merely tries to combine offering you proof with that desire. He wishes that the Pope come to Montlhéry with you so that he can show you together. Imagine, you will receive your proof and if the Pope witnesses it too he will have no choice but to see the wisdom of you actions and offer support not obstruction."

Philip sighed resignedly. "As always De Nogaret you speak much sense, but this Templar aggravates me. I hope he produces the goods or he will be the first in the fire."

"He will, Sire."

Philip had his servant pour him some wine but did not offer any to his councillor.

"So," he said taking a long sip, "the Grand Master has a son. Oh, how the pious fall. And this son of his, you expect he would be so foolish as to ride into the bailey of the Château de Montlhéry? Does he think to rescue the old fool?"

"I am not sure that he knows his father is there."

Philip raised his eyebrows, "Explain."

"De Floyran has something else of his," De Nogaret said with a devious smile, "his woman."

"His woman? Sons, women, the Templars condemn themselves further by the hour, now they are desecrators of their vow of chastity."

"The Templars don't just have women, their women _are_ Templars. There are special Templar convents which house their wives, sisters, daughters and such."

"Why didn't I know about this?" Philip said angrily.

"I didn't know myself until De Floyran told me two days ago."

"I don't suppose any were arrested."

"No, we weren't aware of any women."

"And now?"

"Well they would be difficult to find, would you have me break down the doors of every convent in France?"

"Don't be stupid, you've got their men! Make them tell you which they are in!"

"From what I've seen of their resilience they would protect their women more fervently than their honour. They would die by the torturers hand every one before they would disclose the whereabouts of their women and besides they've probably had chance to flee by now."

"Are they werewolves too?"

"I believe so."

"Breeding amongst us! I can't believe the horror of it. As it is we can't have arrested nearly enough of them, they must have known!" Philip said, trying to contain his emotion.

" _Over_ four hundred, Sire. If they had known then I am sure they would have gotten the most important of their numbers out. We have all of the French Templar dignitaries." De Nogaret said, but he too was sure that many had slipped their snare.

Still, as he explained to the King, they had the cream of them and if others had fled to safer climes in Europe, it wouldn't be long before they too were arrested. They simply would not disappear, they could not. The Temple had too much to abandon, they would still think the Pope would absolve them and in doing so could go back to their powerful fold, a fold that if not put in check could become a tyranny for the Church and mankind.

"Mmmm," Philip mused, "be that as it may the lack of cooperation from the rest of Europe's leaders means that at the moment there are Templars walking free and I want all of them De Nogaret! A race such as theirs must be destroyed."

"I agree, my Lord, and I think you will get what you want. We must get Clement to Montlhéry and reveal the truth to him. With the Pope's blessing the leaders of Europe will follow suit."

Philip nodded, "I will write to Clement. Let me know when De Floyran is ready to dumbfound us with his revelation and I warn you De Nogaret it better be good. If he has led us a merry dance . . ."

"He hasn't, your Majesty. If you trust anyone then please trust me."

"I do, now go to. Prepare the château for our arrival."

De Nogaret bowed and left the King's presence quickly but still with a smile on his face. He knew De Floyran's character was unpredictable. However, having seen De Massard's woman captive and De Floyran's eyes full of zealous revenge, he knew that the desire to satisfy it would serve his own purpose well. Then both King and Pope would have irrefutable proof that the Templars were werewolves and thus must all be destroyed.

Philip watched De Nogaret leave and had to admit to himself that he was immensely pleased with how things had gone. However, now he desperately needed Clement's blessing not criticism, he only hoped that De Nogaret's faith in the treacherous Templar was well placed.

1st November 1307, Château de Montlhéry

Catherine jolted awake on the cold dungeon floor. The thin layer of straw did nothing to warm the cold stones beneath it. De Molay had given Catherine his cloak, much to her protest but she was glad of it now for without it she was sure she would have frozen to the floor.

She could not fathom how long she had even been in the pitiless dungeon. It was cold and dark and day and night were events that passed without her knowing. She had guessed by the scraps of food that were occasionally thrown in that it might have been three days or more. She had sometimes heard the voices of guards and the groans of the other men held here, but thankfully she had the company of De Molay. Their conversations kept her mind from dwelling within the gruesome reality.

She liked him immediately and would have felt the same even if he had not been Galeren's father. He had been curious to find out all about his son's mate and she had told him almost everything about herself. Like Galeren he did not pass judgement and his words were kind and honest. She knew that this was the attitude of the Temple, the werewolf that had made them wise and forward thinking.

It was Galeren's call that had awoken her; first as his cry as the wolf. He had once said that she would know his call when it was meant for her and, to her sorrow, she did. It was a call that she had both hoped for and dreaded. He had found her and along with that his death. She knew that De Floyran had nothing but suffering planned for them, but she told herself to be brave. A strong sense of survival ebbed through her veins and she drew upon her wolf spirit to guide her. She would fight for what she loved. She would not be a victim of De Floyran and vowed that neither would Galeren. As she had drifted back into a restless sleep, he spoke to her mind.

_Catherine, speak to me. Tell me that you are unharmed_.

Galeren! You must not come here. There is nothing here but death.

_Christ Catherine, just tell me you are well. If he has touched you . . ._ he growled.

_He has not_. She felt his relief surge through her and was comforted by the warmth of their connection but she knew that they would all die if he did not leave. She told him that she was with his father, of the state of the Templars that were held here and of the horror that awaited him if he came.

I do not fear that. My destiny does not lie in death and nor does yours and even if it did I would never leave you to face that fate alone. I would rather die than leave you in that place.

But the Temple needs you, returning to England alive would serve me and your father better instead of a pointless sacrifice. I cannot bear you to be here. Please go!

_I heed your words but I will not obey them_.

_Galeren, please!_ she begged but contact was broken suddenly and despite calling for him for some time she could not find him again. She began to cry in her desperation.

"Catherine," De Molay's voice called in the dark, "what is it?"

"Winter has found me." She said sorrowfully. "Galeren is here and he will not listen to me. He will die."

"If it was you beyond these walls and he was here, would you leave him?"

"No," Catherine said, "but sacrificing yourself is easy."

"'Tis true, but the way you feel is determined by which side of the dungeon wall you are on."

"Yes," she said, wiping her eyes, "he knows you are here too."

"I doubt that makes much of a difference. He has come here for you."

"I am sure you are wrong." Catherine said.

"No. I saw the look on your face when De Floyran named me as Galeren's father. You did not know, and he did not tell you."

"The right time for him to tell me had not come, of that I am sure."

"Perhaps, but I know that our relationship is not the easiest. I have not been much of a father to him and have given him reason to spurn me."

"Why?" Catherine asked, eager to learn about Galeren's past.

"Galeren's mother was English. She was the wife of Gilbert de Massard, a Marcher Lord who had modest wealth and favour with Edward I, having supported him in a successful campaign against the Welsh Prince Llywelyn ap Gruffydd.

I came to England in 1273 and was sent to Garway in Herefordshire. The Temple often assisted in quashing rebellions and settling troubles in the Welsh Marches to retain the high regard that they had with the Plantagenet kings. We helped De Massard in one such skirmish and in thanks he extended his hospitality to us and that was how I met Isabelle." De Molay stopped, his breath seeming to be cut short in his throat.

"Are you well?" Catherine said concerned.

"I am, but to think of her evokes many emotions, regret at having met her, and regret at having left her. I was only young and she devastated me with one look. Her husband was a fine brave man, but he was a warrior first and preferred the battlefield to his marriage bed, he was often away and it was easy for our love to grow. When I found she was with child, my child, I had to make a decision."

De Molay sighed. "Isabelle was full of life, she was used to comfort, luxury and security and I had none of that to offer her. The best I could do was to reveal my true nature to her, and if she survived that truth have her put in the nearest Templar convent. I knew the Temple would not leave me in Garway, or even England and my own ambition drove me to seek the adventure of Outremer.

She was not equipped for Temple life and I was not going to burden her with the truth. Though I knew the child would have to be taken into the care of the Temple eventually, I left knowing that until then it should be loved and cared for by Isabelle. Most don't think of the consequences of love," De Molay said looking directly at Catherine, "but I did. Despite a lack of passion, De Massard was a good man who would take care of them both. 'Twas not a decision without lament, but I kept my focus and knew that I would have to make a success of myself in the Temple or face bitterness thereafter."

He shook his head sadly, "I found out that Isabelle died when Galeren was five and although De Massard had accepted his son, it seems he never had much time for him. Perhaps he suspected that he was not his own. He soon remarried and had true heirs. The Temple went to get Galeren when he was ten, before his changes began and De Massard handed him over gladly. Galeren soon discovered the truth and of course he despised me for it. He was young and his world had collapsed, he was also changing and learning to deal with his wolf half."

"But now it is different." Catherine said assuredly.

De Molay half nodded. "He speaks to me and acknowledges me as his father but it doesn't prevent us from quarrelling. He may be my son, but we are different, very different. Galeren would damn the consequences and choose love over the Temple." De Molay said.

Catherine looked away from him a little too quickly.

"Ahhh," he said perceiving her action, "he had left, hadn't he?"

"Yes but," she began but De Molay merely shrugged.

"I would expect Galeren to choose the opposite path to me."

"But it is different." Catherine stressed. "Galeren does not believe in the Temple's future without change, that is why he left."

"I wonder though, if he had been in my shoes what he would have done then. Galeren is passionate like his mother was."

"Are you so different? What if Isabelle were within these walls and you were the other side of them?"

"I would break them down." De Molay said resolutely.

"Exactly." Catherine said.

"But that is life over death. Would Galeren leave you, so you could have a better life?" De Molay shook his head before Catherine could open her mouth. "No, he would fight to keep you no matter what the consequences. I was ambitious for position within the Temple and glory and look," he said motioning to the dungeon walls that surrounded them, "look where it has gotten me."

"I do not think that you can regret a decision you made in the past, it was the best decision you made at the time. The Temple has need of your strength now and so does Galeren."

De Molay smiled. "Kind words."

Catherine smiled in the darkness. She cleared her throat and said "Can the Temple make it into the future?"

De Molay sighed long and hard, "It is difficult to determine. We have much to lose, mostly ourselves. The French King is looking for treasure, but our wealth is not what he imagined. Our treasury has all but been emptied of its money. He'll find something to fill his coffers in the short term. But our real treasures have, I pray, been taken to safety."

"Knowledge?" Catherine said, remembering Galeren's talk of the Temple's goals.

"Yes," De Molay confirmed, "books that we've written and that have been written; Jewish medicine, Arabic geometry, Greek astronomy; the knowledge of the heavens and the Earth, all beyond the Church's restraint and suppression. For that alone we would be damned and are in fact being damned for. The enemies within have made sure of that, but they will not get their hands on those precious relics that we have amassed over the decades. It is that knowledge that is our future and perhaps that of all mankind."

The conversation stopped suddenly and Catherine and De Molay looked at each other. Simultaneously, they turned their attention towards the door, sensing the approach of someone. _De Floyran_. The key turned in the lock and Catherine sat upright and folded her arms boldly, ready to face the foe she sensed behind the door. The guard swung it open and De Floyran entered the damp dungeon. He smiled down at her when he spied her in the gloom.

"Get up. It's time to go." He said and held out his hand for her to take. She did not take it but instead remained unyielding, rigid with both fear and defiance.

"Where are you taking her?" De Molay asked, standing up.

"To make ready for your son." He pushed De Molay back to the floor. "Did I say you could get up?" he growled angrily, "but I told you to!" he pointed at Catherine.

"Don't think you have him, he is too clever for you." De Molay said vehemently. He may have been older than De Floyran but he was not weaker, however it was pointless to get physical with him.

"Well that is yet to be proven." He scoffed. "His prior arrogance saw me rise from the grave to curse you all, so think before you sing his praises. He has failed."

"Evil always prevails as the forerunner, De Floyran, but it loses pace quickly and good always catches up with it and becomes its successor."

"What a lot of sentimental tripe. You really disappoint me and to think I respected you once." He spat on the floor next to De Molay and then turned his attention back to Catherine.

"Do not make me ask you again. I am not yet ready to hurt you, but I will if you press me."

"Go with him, Catherine," De Molay said, "'tis not worth his wrath upon you."

"Wisely said, old Master." De Floyran held his hand out to Catherine. She looked at him with disgust and again ignoring it went to De Molay and embraced him, "I pray I see you again and soon." She said to him.

"You will," he lied as he held her, for he sensed he would not. "Stay as you are and face your trials as such."

" _Come on!_ " De Floyran said through gritted teeth and grabbing Catherine's arm he pulled her to her feet. Incensed by her defiance, he was surprised that he hadn't struck her in the face, taken her by her hair and dragged her out of the dungeon. She almost mocked him with her disobedience, but he was more annoyed with himself for continuing to let her get away with it. Things would have to change.

"Lock it." He snarled at the guard that waited outside. He pushed Catherine ahead of him, firmly holding her arm but so as not to hurt her. Catherine looked back at De Molay and then lost sight of him as the dungeon door was slammed shut.

She tried to ignore her senses as they reminded her of the suffering of the Templars that were to remain in this hell. They moved quickly across the main room, past the oubliette and back up the stairs to the dungeon's entrance, passing another guard as they left. She had not wanted to leave De Molay alone. Suffering was worse alone.

They hastened through the dimly lit corridor, back past the kitchen and into well lit passageways until they reached the doors of the main hall, where she had first been brought. They made their way up a grand flight of stairs just beyond it and finally along another hallway to a set of thick oak doors. De Floyran kicked them open furiously and Catherine found herself in the exact opposite abode to what she had, just moments before, been in.

It was a large, warm and inviting chamber. A fire roared in the corner and in the centre was a large steaming bath tub. She could smell the clean scent of the water that was full of rose petals. A platter of food had been laid out on a table to one side of it and it smelt so good that her stomach lurched. She also saw the large four poster bed, covered lavishly with an array of skins, and shuddered.

"They aren't wolf." De Floyran smirked, noting her reaction.

She turned to face her tormentor. "Why have you brought me here? I would rather have remained where I was."

De Floyran laughed. "Do not say what you do not mean. This brave act of yours is quite charming but it _can_ lean toward being slightly tedious at times. There is food for you to eat, I know you are hungry. There is a hot bath waiting to cleanse your soiled flesh, and you do need to clean yourself. There is a fresh gown for you to change into when you are done."

He gestured to the bed and to a grey woollen gown that lay amongst the skins.

"I thought it would compliment your eyes." He smiled smugly but briefly for she slapped him with all the power she could muster. He stepped back from the shock and force of the slap and raised his hand to his face. He had forgotten, all but momentarily, that he was not dealing with a fragile human. Catherine was a werewolf and as such she had strength. However, it still didn't match his and he was tempted to show her that fact. But again something prevented him from doing so.

His face screwed up in frustration and he clenched his fist. She waited for the blow to come but it did not. Instead he spread his hand and pulled her close towards him. He looked into her eyes and said,

"I do not know what power you wield over me Catherine, any other woman I would have killed for such an insult. Yet _you_ ," he continued gripping her tightly against him, "I cannot even raise my hand to strike."

There was a thread of fear in her eyes but he saw it battling with her strength and it aroused him. He quickly pushed her away.

"I tell you this though," he said, waving a cautionary finger at her. "If you do not do as I say, I will have De Molay flayed in time for Galeren's arrival and it will be made known that it was because of your defiance. I am sure Galeren will understand." "Bastard!" she cried at him.

He smiled and shrugged at her remark. "Don't test me. Besides, I have been called worse and _that_ is what you should be worried about, little flower. Now eat and clean up and if you are not in that gown by the time I return, others will suffer."

He turned away from her and went towards the door but paused to look at her before he left. A wicked smile flickered across his face. It was the smile of success and Catherine looked away miserably.

"Go to, go to." He said and left, locking the door behind him.

### Chapter Seventeen

Galeren stood in front of the gates of the château de Montlhéry and breathed in deeply. He had for a day and a night considered his best option of gaining entry. He knew of course that this would be as a wolf. Unlikely though it may seem, he could get inside the château relatively easily and unseen as a wolf.

The château guards would at once notice a man slipping down the passageways, but not a wolf. The shadows would protect him and besides nobody would expect to see a wolf. It was easy to slip into the world of men as an unexpected creature. Even if he was seen, such a sight was likely to be quickly disregarded and ascribed to imagination, lack of sleep or too much ale. In any event, he could move more quickly and have someone's throat ripped out before they could even form a cry for help on their lips.

However, he was not dealing with just mere men in this case. De Floyran and his mesnie were present in the château. He would just be a wolf amongst wolves. This option, therefore, would be to no avail in these circumstances.

Things would not fare any better if he were to try to slip inside unseen as a man. Though his senses would be sharp and his agility far superior to that of any human's, his form was still not as graceful as a wolf's and it would hinder him. The shadow of a man would not be dismissed as a trick of the mind and he would soon find the château guards upon him and in great number. In any case, his werewolf foes would smell him before the guards saw him. Considering all this, he knew that in any event he had to enter the château as the latter and with no tricks or attempts to conceal his entry. He would literally have to knock on the door.

It was purely sacrificial but he'd known that from the beginning. A backdoor approach would do him no favours. He was alone, and whether as wolf or man he would not be able to get in and out with what he wanted. With De Floyran it was all about power and he had to give it to him, for now anyway. He had little alternative. Catherine had told him that De Floyran hadn't touched her. She may as yet be unharmed, but she was still at his mercy and he would dangle this fact in front of Galeren and torment him with it. Galeren knew that De Floyran would never let her go. There was no bargain to be struck. He would never leave her untouched by his hands. He was waiting for something and it chilled Galeren to the bone.

Then there was his father. While Catherine was in De Floyran's hands, his father was in Philip's and the King had another agenda. There were other Templars there too and Catherine had told him of their suffering. There was so much at stake on the other side of the imposing stone walls he now stood before. He did not have an army at his disposal to lay siege to the château, he was alone so he had no real options at all. The deck was not stacked in his favour and Galeren knew that he had no choice but to surrender himself in order to initiate the next step. He had lost contact with Catherine and hadn't been able to regain it. With no more choices left to him and his fear and frustration growing every moment he delayed, he began to walk towards the château gates.

5th November 1307, Poitiers, France

Clement V put down the letter he had been reading and sighed heavily.

"What does it say, your Holiness?" the Pope's young scribe asked.

"The King asks me to be prepared to travel to Montlhéry with him." He said resignedly.

"Montlhéry? Whatever for?" the scribe asked bewildered.

"Our zealous King is on a crusade to undo the Temple, and seems intent on ignoring my advice. I fear he is making a mistake conducting it thus. He is impetuous and disrespectful but determined. He seeks to quell my anger by giving me irrefutable proof that the Temple is corrupt and evil."

"And this would be in Montlhéry?"

"Apparently so." The Pope replied.

"But your Holiness, is it wise to travel in your condition? Can they not bring the evidence to you?"

The Pope coughed several times and then said irritably, "I am well aware of my condition, Michael and I am sure they have considered it but it is obviously not possible. This whole thing grieves me and if this eases my concerns then it will be worth the trip."

Clement had been in ill health over the last year and did not seem to be getting any better. His strength was constantly sapped and he felt much older than his forty three years. This business with the Templars only added to his ailments. He had agreed with Jacques de Molay to conduct an inquiry into the Templars back in August to put pay to the rumour mill that was defaming the Order. It should have been simple enough but he had been particularly unwell over the last couple of months and so delayed the inquest.

However Philip, ever impatient and spoilt, had taken over and he and his vile councillor De Nogaret had contravened papal authority and had, having concocted a sensational indictment, arrested every Templar they could in France. It was against his sanction but his relationship with the King was prickly and he knew that he had to tread carefully.

"What do you suppose this evidence consists of, your Holiness?" Michael asked.

"Our Lord in Heaven only knows." Clement replied, rolling his eyes incredulously. But in truth he was a little concerned. He was in a precarious position between the Temple and the King. He knew that he should be on the side of the Temple and champion their defence, but Philip was a danger to him and the papacy. He had already attempted to bring to trial one Pope, destroying his reputation and terrifying him to the point of death, when he was taken prisoner in his own palace and, or so Clement had been told, viciously struck to the ground.

Philip spoke of crimes then that Boniface VIII had committed, including heresy, sodomy and other heinous acts which he now identically accused the Temple of. Though Boniface had died before he could be brought to trial, his shadow still lurked over Clement's head and he knew Philip would use this against him if he did not pander to his latest obsession. Clement knew he was not strong enough to take the King on. He would do what he could for the Temple but they may have to depend on themselves rather than him, for he had other concerns.

If Philip failed with the Templars and Clement was seen to have acted against him, then he would turn his fury onto him and the papacy. If Philip claimed to have evidence that would condemn the Temple outright then Clement would be happy to see it and have the matter dealt with. He almost hoped that such evidence existed as it would, God forgive him, relieve the pressure on him and he could give the King his blessing instead of writing him angry, disapproving letters.

"I will go nevertheless and have the affair be done with. The journey will not kill me. In truth, it may do me well. I would rather do this than continue with this exchange of letters that seems to do nothing but create headaches. Tell Paul to prepare my household for the journey and I wish for you to come too Michael. It may be of some interest to you, and of course I will want you to record events as they unfold."

"Of course, your Holiness. I would be honoured."

"Good, good and tell Paul to make me a dwale for my head, I have the onset of another headache already."

"At once. Is there anything else you need, your Holiness?"

"No, just peace." He said with a kind smile. Michael went to him, bowed, kissed his ring and left the room without another word. Peace was something Clement prayed for every day but he doubted he would ever get it, not while he lived in any case. He ran his hands over his head and noted his ever thinning hair. He rubbed his chin and noted the thickening of stubble. It annoyed him that as his hair got thinner, the need to shave got more frequent. He sighed but decided that the need to take an afternoon nap was even greater.

****

Catherine paced her quarters trying to quell the agony that was growing inside her. She knew Galeren was here, and not safely beyond the château walls but within its confines. She sensed him clearly and yet could not communicate with him. Her frustration was excruciating. Even De Floyran had not been back to torment her and so she remained in darkness about what had become of Galeren. She assured herself that he was not dead or even hurt. She remembered how she had felt when De Floyran had wounded him the last time they'd met. It was a pain that had not been physical, but had instead tormented her senses with spirit weakening despair until De Floyran had deadened her reaction with the sleeping potion.

Maybe he was with De Molay. She knew now that De Floyran had left her in the dungeon for those days merely to frighten her, to show her the hopelessness and misery that was to face them. It was part of his sadistic game and he enjoyed the torture. Now servants brought her food and kept the fire roaring. She ate because she wanted to be strong and she tried to sleep for the same reason. However, she found herself lying awake through the night trying to speak to Galeren or listening to the approach and retreat of footsteps, fearing it was De Floyran coming to take what he wanted.

She tried to imagine the outcome of the calamity they were in and if there was a possibility that they would all emerge unscathed. She could not and so instead wept. She was ashamed of her weakness but resolved that she would empty herself of tears now so as to remain dry for the trials ahead. She would not show De Floyran her tears for she knew he would relish them and she could not let Galeren see them, for he would despair in them. All she could do was wait and gather her strength.

Galeren sat on the floor of the cold and damp oubliette, hugging his knees to his chest and drumming his fingers upon his arms. He was also in a place of frustration. He had not seen De Floyran yet. He had given himself in to one of the guards at the gate who, despite knowing exactly what to do with him, had told him nothing. He had been stuck in this pit since then, in virtual darkness. The only discernable light came from the pit's roof cavity which was covered with an iron grill. There was activity above him and occasionally figures loomed, peering in at him.

All he could do, however, was sit in the darkness, smelling the aftermath of the horrific deeds that had gone on before his arrival. He knew the dungeons were full of his brethren, some dead, some wishing to be. He did not know any of them personally but they were still of his race. He could sense his father and knew that he too was in this dungeon, concealed in one of the torture rooms. He did not sense that he was injured; only frustrated. He would find it hard to restrain his rage when finally faced with De Floyran.

He had wanted to change in order to establish a strong connection with Catherine again, but dare not risk being seen. Their connection was stronger in wolf form, but he still should have been able to contact her while human. He knew she was not in the dungeon, for which he gave thanks but then wondered where she could be, and with whom.

He stood up and slammed his fist into the wall of the pit. He knew De Floyran would leave him languishing in here for days so he could drive himself mad with scenarios of Catherine's captivity. If only he could contact her again. What was it that prevented him? He wondered whether it had something to do with De Floyran's mark. Did it block him somehow? He slumped back against the wall and sunk to the ground. Sleep. Perhaps he could get into her dreams. He closed his eyes and tried to find sleep.

No sooner had he drifted off then his senses were flooded with the scent of De Floyran. His eyes shot open and he heard his voice from the entrance of the dungeon. The small side gate of the oubliette was opened and two of De Floyran's men with swords at the ready, dropped down into the bottom of the pit, followed by De Floyran himself. Galeren did not bother to get up but merely eyed De Floyran coldly, repressing the hot anger that was eager to erupt.

De Floyran smiled. "How is the leg?" he asked smugly, a glint in his eye.

"Where is Catherine?" Galeren said, ignoring the question.

"Ooohhh," De Floyran grinned, "straight to the bone." He looked at his men who risked a surreptitious glance at their master before locking their attention back on Galeren.

"Safe." De Floyran said glibly.

"I want to see her," Galeren snarled, "with my own eyes."

"How predictable," De Floyran sighed, his tone was scathing.

"Did you expect me here for anything else?" Galeren said, trying to contain his fury.

"Your father is yonder," De Floyran said, motioning to beyond the wall of the oubliette, "or are your senses dulled by our little novice?"

Galeren clenched his jaw, "There is nothing wrong with my senses and I know my father is here. However, he is not under your authority but of that of the King. I should speak to him on the subject of my father. Catherine is a different matter."

"I hadn't thought of it that way," De Floyran said thoughtfully. "You may have a point. Then again you may not. Guillaume de Nogaret runs the King's show and he thinks I will impart a gift to him. He acts on the King's authority and the King has instructed him to do whatever is necessary. My advice is valuable to him."

Galeren's lip curled in anger. "You wretched stray! What drives you to such lengths?"

"You were sent to kill me. You killed three of my friends and left me bleeding in the dirt."

"You were monsters!" Galeren screamed.

"That is a matter of opinion." De Floyran smiled.

"If, in that twisted head of yours, you believe you have some quarrel about what happened then it is with me, not these men and not with Catherine. I denounced you, I killed your men and God help me I failed to kill you."

"It was the Temple council that had final word. You were all responsible."

"Responsible?" Galeren shook his head incredulously, "because we did not allow you to rape and murder whenever you felt the need? You have no right for revenge, you sick bastard."

De Floyran's eyes narrowed. "Right, perhaps not. Need," he paused as if to ponder the fact and then said, "yes. And I will have it. I also have the opportunity to obtain wealth and land from this affair."

He smiled suggestively. "And then there is Catherine...well I didn't expect her." He looked at Galeren's face as it twisted into a mask of rage and then continued merrily. "I went to England to find you and to tell you that the Temple was about to be undone. Of course, I wanted to kill you too and toyed on the journey as to whether I would, or let you witness the Temple's destruction before doing so. But you know how easily I am distracted by a pretty face and there she was at the market, smiling, begging to be broken. She was meant to be a little treat on my way to see you but we both know what happened. Killing you would have been a short lived pleasure, but fate smiled on me and it has led us here."

He sighed dreamily as if remembering a sweet memory. "She is quite a prize and I feel very much drawn to her." He noted the ever darkening look on Galeren's face and continued heartily. "She remains untouched by my hand. Yet I find the longer I resist her, the more I am drawn to her. It is a delicious frustration and I will hold out for as long as I can, for I know the longer I do the sweeter she will taste."

Galeren lunged at De Floyran, taking both him and his men by surprise. De Floyran parried and Galeren failed to grab him but managed to knock him off his feet before his men had their sword tips poised at Galeren's throat. Galeren raised his hands in surrender but afforded himself a smile as he watched De Floyran scramble to his feet.

"Your reactions seem dull as ever," Galeren said derisively and received a fist in the face for his remark.

"Very clever." De Floyran said fuming. He brushed down his tunic and continued with vitriolic sentiment, "You can have your brief moment of victory, but remember your situation. Templars are in dungeons all over France. They are being forced to confess to fictitious crimes through diabolical torture. Some have held out to their deaths, trying to defend the honour of their order, hoping the Pope will absolve them and the Temple.

But I am going to make sure that that never happens. The King of France and Clement himself are on their way here as we speak. You and I are going to put on a little show for them that will shake the very foundations of their faith. They will know the true nature of the Temple and you will be destroyed for it."

Galeren's face paled with disbelief as he took on De Floyran's meaning. De Villiers had suspected that this could very well be part of De Floyran's plan, but Galeren still could not believe it.

"You would really do that?" he shook his head incredulously. "You would denounce your own race."

"I would." De Floyran said resolutely. "I have, in fact. I merely need to provide proof."

"Why? So you can use your power for ill? So you can carry out your depraved existence with others who think like you?"

"Yes." De Floyran said simply. "It is only those in the Temple that will suffer. There are plenty of werewolf kind that did not choose that life and it is time for them to flourish. Our race will not be destroyed only those who took the Temple's vow; a good number but not the whole. There will be a new race and in time they will dominate as the Temple should have."

"You really are crazy." Galeren said. He felt a dark dread course through him but spoke with conviction, "You will not succeed. This will not succeed. You are a fool to underestimate the power of the union of the Temple."

"Ancient sentiment. Once perhaps, but you lost hold on what you were relied upon to keep. The King is looking for booty, De Nogaret glory and the Pope peace. Together they will end this."

Galeren shook his head but looked down towards the floor of the pit not wishing to witness the look of triumph on De Floyran's face. He knew that the villain was capable of anything, being composed of neither pity nor mercy. He had managed to slip into a position of influence with Philip's hound, De Nogaret, and was not going to waste the opportunity to have his twisted revenge. Reasoning with him was futile, he had explained his rationale and there was nothing to stop him.

"What about you?" Galeren attempted vainly, "you think the Pope and King will allow you to remain free assuming they know what you are."

"I have been granted impunity," De Floyran said, "I offer no threat to them and will go in peace to live out my days like a King."

"How selfless of you!" Galeren said sardonically, trying to swallow the distaste that overwhelmed his senses. "Werewolves will never be safe again. They will be hunted for all time by the Church's minions. You have forthwith condemned your brethren to a lifetime of persecution and murder."

The corner of De Floyran's left eye twitched as if piqued but he merely shrugged and said, "I care not, brother, for the future of others, only my own. Enjoy your last moments of solitude." He snapped his fingers at his men and made to leave the pit.

"Catherine!" Galeren called as De Floyran started to climb out. "I want to see her!"

De Floyran turned. "You will see her soon and for the last time."

The words sent a chill through Galeren and he could do nothing but sink back down against the wall of the pit. He knew De Floyran had denounced the Templars, spinning tales of heresy and other crimes that would make the Church nervous. However, he never really imagined that he would betray his race. Yet it seemed to come with ease to him, he was secure and smug with the betrayal and would never be reasoned with.

It was a pit of despair that he'd been thrown into, Galeren thought, and it was all fault of his own. De Floyran must have anticipated the guilt that would lay upon Galeren's shoulders after he revealed his cruel plan; for if he had done his job properly and killed De Floyran, than it would not have come to this. The Temple may have had enough wind in its sails to push through the King's storm, but nothing would save them if their true nature was revealed. The next step had been initiated; De Floyran held the whole deck and Galeren had to figure out whether he would be able to survive it and turn the tide.

### Chapter Eighteen

10th November 1307, Fontainebleau Palace

De Nogaret was excited. He could not ever remember being this excited, even as a child. He had gone to Fontainebleau to see the King, both to reassure him and alleviate his fretting. Philip was as impetuous as a child and just as spoilt, stamping his feet when he didn't get what he wanted and demanding the sometimes impossible. Unlike a child though, and more considerably dangerous, he could, in the throes of a tantrum, have you thrown into a dark dungeon and forget about you or have you disembowelled because you displeased him in some way.

De Nogaret sipped his expensive wine greedily and finished his sumptuous food heartily, feeling as if the Sun shone from every single orifice that it could possibly emanate from. He had found himself in a position of privilege and had become indispensable to Philip. It was a situation that he thrived in and felt he wholeheartedly deserved, as he had worked hard and risked much for it.

He had pushed the King's patience while trying to convince him of De Floyran's revelation of the werewolves of the Temple. It had been a tall tale for the King to swallow and all he had relied on was Philip's trust in him. But De Floyran's disappearance to England and the delays in proof had annoyed the King, who was used to getting what he wanted immediately. Despite all this, De Nogaret had persevered and was about to come full circle. Philip was delighted with his work. Now all he had to do was provide the proof, to him and the Pope. Once the Pope rallied to the King's side, De Nogaret would be untouchable and showered with wealth, status and the glory he had always coveted.

In addition, there was De Floyran's promise, the gift he would bestow upon him; the power of the very thing he sought to destroy. It was all rightfully his. This morning he had gotten the news he desired. Galeren de Massard had arrived at the Château de Montlhéry and was secured in its dungeons awaiting the arrival of the King and Pope. The Pope had already journeyed to Paris to speak with the King and had agreed to travel to Montlhéry if important evidence, supporting the charges against the Templars, was to be brought forth.

It was all falling beautifully into place. Philip had been overjoyed at the news. He had ordered his household to be packed up and ready to make the journey to Montlhéry immediately, with the Pope in tow. The Pope's ailing health meant that the journey would be slow in order to cater for the comfort of the Holy Father.

Philip fussed around Clement as if he were a favourite uncle of his and both men conversed easily with each other like old friends, though De Nogaret sensed the distrust felt by both sides. Once the evidence was successfully presented at Montlhéry, Philip would duly return to his usual manner of bossing Clement around disrespectfully. De Nogaret could see that the Pope was wary of what evidence was about to come to light, as if he sensed Philip's grip tightening around him.

De Nogaret cared not for such petty wrangling; only that he was proved right and handsomely rewarded. His old rival De Plaisians was to accompany them to Montlhéry as well as Robard Beaumanoir, and he was looking forward to basking in the laurels of being the King's most trusted councillor. After the event Philip wanted things to move more quickly and for the leaders of Europe to follow suit.

De Nogaret would almost be loath to see this chapter in his work end, for it had been his best yet. However, there was no point brooding, he would have a new life to embark upon and perhaps greater challenges to occupy his shrewd mind. With that thought he swallowed down the rest of his wine and called his servant in to pack his belongings.

"Ourri, we leave on the morrow and I want you to accompany me." De Nogaret said as he left the room to go and speak with the King.

"Of course, sir." Ourri said, a deep frown beginning to settle on his brow. He had not expected to be asked to go with De Nogaret and it made him a little nervous. His father had warned him to get out as soon as he felt the heat. Although the arrests had occurred and it seemed sensible to leave now and join his father and the others, something made him hesitate.

He knew his spying had afforded his brethren time to think and act before the arrests. It had allowed his father and others to go safely to England. Yet he felt he could still help his brothers by remaining in his position. Knowing the thoughts and movements of De Nogaret and the King could serve a purpose and now that Clement was here, he may be able to fathom whether the ailing Pope had either the power or inclination to defend the Temple.

He sensed danger, but running to England would be of no help and would only leave him frustrated. His father may despair at his decision but would be proud and that was worth the risk. After all, he was a werewolf and had cunning, the likes of which De Nogaret and the King could only dream of.

11th November 1307, Château de Montlhéry

"The time has come." De Floyran said through the bars of the entrance to the oubliette. Galeren looked up at him and shrugged. "For what?"

"To reveal the glory that is your other self."

"Where is Catherine?" Galeren asked brusquely, refusing to be drawn into De Floyran's puzzle of words, "I thought I would see her."

"And you will, but first you must do me a favour." De Floyran smiled as Galeren looked at him through suspicious, hate filled eyes. "Change into a wolf for me."

"Go to hell you whoreson! Do you think me stupid?" he growled. "I will not be part of your show."

"Stubborn." De Floyran shook his head. "I hoped you would acquiesce immediately to save yourself pain but then again I didn't, as I wanted to cause you it."

"You think to torture me into wolf form? Then do your worst! I will not betray my brethren."

"We will see." He opened the gate and three of his men jumped down to Galeren's level. "I will be back shortly to see if you've changed your mind...and your form." De Floyran smiled and left, making his way back across the dungeon room and up the steps to its exit. He paused at the top of them to listen to the sounds of his men laying into Galeren. A good beating would bring him to his senses, though he knew Galeren would not be easy to break.

Under torture his werewolf brothers had impressed even him as to the trials and agonies they had withstood, merely in order to protect the honour and good name of the Temple. He had heard no horror stories of men turning into wolves in the throes of their agony, which was often the case with their kind. The mayhem and confusion that occurred on a battlefield could allow them to change, if required. But this was a different situation. In the confines of a torture chamber they could not risk the truth being discovered, and none wanted to be the cause of their betrayal.

But Galeren would be different. De Floyran's men knew how far to take it and he didn't expect him to change during a beating. It would be his trump card, Catherine, which would cause Galeren to change for the King's pleasure. Smiling, he left the dungeon behind him and went to meet his soon-to-be grateful audience in the main hall for an early supper.

The hall was bustling with the King and Pope's entourages. On the dais table sat Philip and Clement, side by side. De Nogaret sat the other side of the King, his beady eyes darting furtively about the room as if unwilling to miss out on anything. Other men sat on the table around them, talking amongst themselves, but De Floyran noticed a seat free beside De Nogaret and took the liberty of assuming that it had been reserved for him.

The hall was rammed with trestle tables full of the King's men, all enjoying the gluttonous feast and plentiful drink that De Floyran himself had ordered for them on the King's coin. De Floyran may have spent many years in the wilderness but he still knew how to feast like a Lord and he knew that De Nogaret and the King would be pleased with the reception that he had had prepared for their arrival.

The Pope's smaller retinue sat apart from the King's and as loud as the King's men were, they were, in complete contrast, eating and drinking modestly and showing pious disapproval on their pinched faces. De Floyran was not ignorant to the fact that the Pope's health was fragile. He knew that Clement's dedicated followers objected to the journey they had been made to undertake, even though they had made numerous stops for the Pope to rest, and now they frowned on this raucous feasting.

De Floyran moved across the hall smoothly and with a haughty smile upon his face, he tipped his head at De Nogaret who spotted him immediately. He then stepped up to the dais table and Philip looked up at him, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. De Floyran bowed graciously at the King.

"Your Majesty," he said and quickly turned to look at the Pope while remaining low in his bow and said, "Your Holiness," in the same breath.

"Well ex-Templar," Philip began sharply, "I am pleased, if not surprised to see you again. I was beginning to think you were leading us a merry dance."

De Floyran stayed bowed until Philip waved him up. He smiled at the King.

"It grieves me to think that you had reason to doubt me. I assured Guillaume that I would return and it was important business, your Majesty. Business, that in fact, has led us to this very day."

Philip's expression stayed neutral, he only moved to pick up his goblet of wine from which he took a large gulp.

"Be that as it may De Floyran, I hope it was worth your efforts and you should pray that it has been worth mine and our Holy Father's."

De Floyran noted the shadow of mistrust in the King's eyes and he nodded his head, "I can assure you that it will be worth all our troubles." He looked at the Pope and sensed his nervousness but though Clement was weak, he was still not to be underestimated.

"It must be quite a thing to cause you to denounce your brothers, or is it a grievance? Tell me, what were the circumstances surrounding your departure from the Temple?" the Pope asked perceptively.

De Floyran laughed confidently. The Pope was a wily old fox but De Floyran knew that he had something to lose if the Temple were found guilty of the charges brought against them. Clement would quickly have to hasten to the King's side, to prevent himself from becoming tainted by association. For now he was biding his time and reserving his judgement.

"Your Holiness, all that will soon become clear. Now please enjoy the food, you may find it difficult to stomach later." With that De Floyran bowed, and the King dismissed him. Taking his leave, he made his way around the table to join De Nogaret.

"Brother, this is truly a feast to foretell a great victory!" De Nogaret said elatedly, and raised his cup in a toast. De Floyran obliged him and raised his own cup. He gave him an animated smile, irritated as he always was when De Nogaret referred to him as brother.

De Floyran used the term ironically when referring to, or addressing one or other of his former Templar brethren. He hated the way De Nogaret used it, as if they were sworn brothers forever bound by blood and honour. He knew that he had given De Nogaret plenty of cause to believe this was so and fortunately for him he had swallowed it. However, he despised the little man and would be glad when the need to endure his company was over.

"Indeed brother," De Floyran said, knocking back his wine, "I am expecting such a victory."

"I was flooded with relief when I received your letter, not that I mistrusted you brother but," De Nogaret leaned closer to De Floyran's ear, "Philip was becoming anxious."

"Well, we can all relax," De Floyran said, clapping De Nogaret on the shoulder and pushing him away.

"What do you have planned for us?" De Nogaret swayed into him again. It was clear he was in his cups and De Floyran was not relaxed enough to be patient with him. He was confident with his plan but would not enjoy the moment until it had come and gone. A sumptuous array of food lay before him, roasted fowl, meat and potato pastries, thick slices of ham, poached peaches and flagons filled with ale, mead and the finest wine from Gascony, but he did not have a passion for any of it.

"I don't want to spoil it for you," De Floyran said absently, his mind turning to Catherine. He had avoided visiting her in the chamber he had confined her to these last few days, there was little point and he did not trust that he was strong enough to resist her. Avoidance was the best strategy.

However, his purpose here would soon be over and he had to think of his next move. He could have her and be done with it and then pass her on to De Nogaret or whoever, but the thought of that was somehow abhorrent to him. He reached for his wine and gulped deeply and then the sight of Armin de Merle deferred his thoughts. The man entered the room and shook his head ominously.

"Damn it," De Floyran cursed for De Nogaret's benefit. He was pleased that an excuse to leave had materialised.

"What is it?" De Nogaret said.

"I have business to attend to." De Floyran said, standing up abruptly.

"I'll come too, brother," De Nogaret started.

"No," De Floyran said sharply, "stay here and enjoy the feast, but don't get too deep in your cups or you will spoil seeing all you have worked for."

He made a shallow bow to the King and Pope and quickly joined De Merle at the door and left the hall with him.

"No change?" De Floyran said, pleased that this was the news.

"No, sir." De Merle said sheepishly. De Floyran looked at him and saw a smear of blood, across grazed skin, on his left cheek. He shook his head irritably.

"Don't fret man, I didn't actually expect him to roll over and play dead for us. I thought you'd enjoy the opportunity to give Galeren a good beating, after what he did to Sacquerville and the others. He'll change, mark my words."

They made their way down to the dungeons and De Floyran's face erupted into a visage of fury when he entered the oubliette and saw the state of Galeren.

"I didn't tell you to beat him to a bloody pulp though, did I?" he screamed at his men.

Galeren lay crumpled on the floor, his stripped body covered in mosaic of bloody fist marks, his face was swollen and already turning a dark shade of purple. He wasn't moving.

"He is no good to me dead!" De Floyran raged.

"It was not meant to turn out this way," Huguard Parry defended, "the bastard fought back. He broke Botolf's nose for Christ's sake and –" he discontinued when he saw that De Floyran's expression of displeasure was not diminishing, rather it was becoming more animated.

"Bad luck." A voice full of irony spoke up from the floor and De Floyran looked down to see Galeren looking up at him through swollen eyes. There was a painful smile on his face. De Floyran crouched down beside him.

"I can't believe you're still so smug," De Floyran said, relaxing a little. "This makes matters very dicey for Catherine," he continued with venom, "for if you do not change forthwith, I will have her brought down here. My men will tear her to pieces, but not before we've all had our turn with her. Me first, of course. Then there are the torturers and they are always eager for a fresh bitch to play with. Would you like to see that?"

De Floyran watched Galeren shake with rage and his desire to kill him. He smiled, "Agonise all you like, Galeren. Betray your kind or betray her." He looked at him through malicious eyes. "I will do it, don't think that I won't." He stood to leave. "So be it."

"No!" Galeren growled through clenched teeth, "wait . . ."

De Floyran turned back, his eyebrows were raised expectantly. He knew that Galeren believed he was capable of it and he was, though he would be a little reluctant in this case.

"Leave her out of this. I will do as you ask."

"I will," De Floyran lied, for Catherine did have an important part to play in this. He smirked at Galeren and then saw his visage change.

"Get out!" De Floyran screamed to his men, as Galeren's form disappeared and his wolf half materialised instantaneously. His white fur was bloodied, evidence of the beating he'd taken but his lips curled back and his teeth were bared in preparation for the strike he was about to make. De Floyran dived out of the small entrance and slammed the grill shut just as Galeren's muzzle snapped through the bars after him.

"Christ on the Cross!" he swore, staring at the raging wolf that was just inches from him. He had taken a foolish risk getting into the pit with Galeren and provoking him thus, knowing as he did that he wouldn't have been able to change quick enough to defend himself. He looked up at his men.

"Fools!" he spat and got to his feet, though he knew he was at fault here. He had forgotten about Galeren's strength and speed. Having his men in a confined space with him was one thing, but having himself was another. His desire to torment Galeren had made him careless. He would have to be more careful. De Floyran knew that Galeren had let the others beat him and refused to change simply to remind him of how strong he was. His only weakness was Catherine and De Floyran thanked the heavens that he had her for leverage.

"Where is Caradas?" he snapped, brushing the dirt once again off his tunic.

"He guards _her_." Huguard Parry answered, wiping his nose. "He waits for your instruction." De Floyran shook his head in disgust at the state of his men.

"Clean yourselves up! You are a disgrace to me and your race. Meet me in the guard room as soon as you look respectable." He looked back at the wolf that still had its muzzle strained through the bars of the gate. The eyes of Galeren stared coldly at him, reminding him that it could still end differently if he did not mark his caution.

"Stay as you are," he said, the warning dark in his voice, "or I will make good my threat."

Galeren's teeth remained bared and a guttural challenge emanated from his jaws. De Floyran nodded as if to accept it and then left.

"The time is near." He said to Raymond Caradas as he approached him. He moved past him and opened the doors to Catherine's chamber. She was sat on the edge of the bed but stood up immediately when she saw De Floyran enter. He took a moment to admire her in the gown he had provided for her several days ago.

The gown of grey wool was worn over an underdress of striking royal blue, giving the grey a silvery hue. It hugged her lithe figure and accentuated the curve of her generous bosom. Catherine's black hair was uncovered and clung to her head like a cap, wisps and silky tendrils curled around her ears and down the nape of her neck. Her ghostly grey eyes made her seem like a fey spirit and De Floyran was struck by her once again. Strangely, he felt both regret at the pain he would cause her and a spiteful need to cause it.

"It is time for you to see Galeren."

"Is he well?"

"Shut up." De Floyran said, going to her and grabbing her arm, "I am in no mood for your questions. Keep silent and obedient and you will do fine." He pulled her from the room and passed her to Caradas.

"Keep her here and bring her to the guard room when I send Armin for you." Caradas nodded his understanding and De Floyran left them. He made his way back to the main hall and straight up to the dais table. The food had been more or less demolished, though the wine and ale still flowed freely. De Floyran bowed at both the King and Pope and then went to speak to De Nogaret. The councillor had halted his drinking and the shine had returned to his eyes, he looked at De Floyran expectantly.

"Bring them and meet me in the guard room."

"Everything's ready?" De Nogaret asked, almost breathless with anticipation.

"Yes. Try not to delay. The sooner this is over the better for both of us." He smiled briefly and added, "Your moment of glory is almost upon you, King's favourite."

"And your reward awaits you, brother." De Nogaret replied.

De Floyran nodded and gracefully left the hall and then quickly made his way to the guard room. Inside, he walked over to the top of the oubliette and looked down to see Galeren pacing the floor. Galeren looked up sensing the motion of someone above him and saw the figure of De Floyran peering down. He wondered what De Floyran had planned, merely showing the King a wolf trapped in a pit would not convince him of De Floyran's claim and he was certain that no one had observed his beating or change.

He had let them beat him of course, with a strike of his own here and there for his own satisfaction. He could have changed. He could have changed at any moment and savaged De Floyran's men, before they had a chance to change themselves. Though all werewolves, the man was no match for the wolf. He could have killed De Floyran too, but that would not have been wise, not now. He knew that De Floyran wanted to use him in his show for the King. Galeren's threshold of pain was high, even for a werewolf. He would not have changed for anything, but his high threshold of pain did not extend to Catherine's suffering. That he would yield to immediately. As he paced, he wondered how the hell he would get out of this and how he could get Catherine away from De Floyran before he really did hurt her.

De Floyran smiled at his trapped quarry feeling confident in his plan. He looked up suddenly as he heard a snort and saw a man slumped over a table in the corner of the room. He had not noticed him, being so focused on Galeren as he had been. There was a flagon and cup by him and the man's snoring was the result of a drunken slumber.

De Floyran knew from the man's drab dress and black leather hood, which clung tightly to his skull, that he was one of the torturers. The existence of a torturer was bleak and routine. When they weren't breaking bones they dulled their senses with ale and plenty of it. The suffering they inflicted was often in the haze of a hangover and perhaps it helped them with their gruesome tasks. De Floyran was suddenly struck by a sinister thought and he smiled with cruel cunning as the man's snoring continued to annoy him.

The door opened and Armin, Huguard and Botolf entered cautiously. It pleased De Floyran that his men were afraid of him. He had given them reason aplenty to be. He looked over them with deliberate scrutiny.

"Better," he said with little real care for their hasty clean up, "Armin, go and fetch Raymond at my signal." Armin de Merle nodded his head in obedience and they all looked round as the door opened once again. De Nogaret entered, followed by Guillaume de Plaisians, Robard Beaumanoir and the Pope's scribe Brother Michael.

They stood aside and De Nogaret gestured for the King and Pope to enter. All bowed respectfully as the two dignitaries entered the tawdry guard room. The King's nose wrinkled in animated disgust at the smell of the room and the Pope covered his mouth and nose with his hand and made a sickened sound. The King soon forgot his displeasure and opened his hands in an expectant gesture at De Floyran. Despite his irritation at the vile smell of the room he was not surprised at the choice of locality where the proof was about to be revealed. He had been told about the Templar werewolves; however the Pope was completely unawares and seemed uncomfortable and somewhat angered.

"What is the meaning of this?" the Pope asked, airing his displeasure. He was no fool; he smelt death and knew that the Templars that were imprisoned here had been tortured. He looked at Philip and pointed an accusatory finger at him,

"This will be noted. First you arrest these men without papal authority and now I fear that you have tortured their confessions out of them!"

Philip's face grimaced nervously but De Nogaret quickly jumped to his defence.

"It was not without just cause, your Holiness." He said and then added, "Esquin de Floyran is about to make you see that we have had no choice."

"If I am to be witness to more torture then I will take my leave now and make my report which you will not like." Clement knew that Philip thought he had a hold over him, but where matters stood at present the King had acted illegally and so was himself in a precarious position.

"Trust me, your Holiness." De Floyran said evenly, "You need to trust me, for what you are about to witness will make you see that the King has acted justly to eliminate an evil scourge that if left unchallenged, could damage the foundations of the Church and shake the faith of the masses."

"The Templars' heresy? I doubt that, and in any case I have yet to have proof of it."

"I am not talking about heresy, your Holiness." He motioned to his men to remove the grill that covered the top of the oubliette.

"Take a look inside." De Floyran said invitingly.

Both King and Pope were hesitant, neither trusting the treacherous ex-Templar. But Philip took the lead and casually walked over to the edge of the pit and looked down. He smiled and looked back up at De Floyran.

"What is it?" Clement said nervously.

"Come see for yourself." De Floyran said, offering the Pope his arm for support. Clement did not take it.

"Michael," he called and took the arm of his scribe instead. Slowly, he moved over to the edge of the pit and cautiously looked over the side.

"A wolf?" he said in bewilderment, seeing the creature lying calmly in the centre of the pit. He looked at Philip whose eyes were fixed on De Floyran.

"I did not travel here for guessing games. Tell me what is going on."

De Floyran walked over to the slumbering torturer who in his drunken state was still oblivious to their presence. He grabbed the man under his arms and raised him to his feet. The torturer was beefy, as they mostly were, but De Floyran barely noticed his bulk. The man woke up immediately but was confused in his waking sleep and began to protest to his handling in a semi- conscious babble of words.

" _Shut up!_ " De Floyran said with such menace in his voice that the whole room fell cold. He dragged the man over to the pit's edge and nodded to Armin de Merle who immediately left the room.

"What is going on?" the Pope demanded, feeling ominous apprehension course through him. He looked at the King whose eyes looked apprehensive too, yet also glistened with anticipation. He looked at the others in the room, De Nogaret's expression was similar to the King's and the other councillors looked on with nervous concern upon their faces. De Floyran appeared calm but the torturer, whom he held teetering on the edge of the pit, appeared to have sobered up with fear as he stared down into the darkness.

"What do you mean to do to him?" the Pope said with a shaky unease in his voice as he looked around the room for support.

"To give you proof." De Floyran said casually.

"Proof of what?" the Pope said hurriedly.

"The wolf you see in the pit is a Templar Knight."

The Pope shook his head in disbelief. "This is madness!" he looked at Philip, "are you listening to this?"

"Yes," the King replied calmly, "but I have heard this tale before and I am merely here for proof of it."

The Pope looked at the King as if he had just sprouted another head.

"You believe this nonsense?" Clement continued, shaking his head.

"With respect, your Holiness," De Floyran said, "it is not nonsense. The Knights Templar are a race of werewolves. Humans that are able to change into wolves at their whim. They care not for God's rule. They are heretics that practice dark magic and have an esoteric power that, if not stamped out now while we have chance, could destroy faith and mankind. I know this because I am one of these creatures and seek to absolve myself of our crimes by denouncing my race to the Church."

"I cannot believe this! This is just a wolf." The Pope reasoned, staring back into the pit. The wolf now stood and stared back up at him. He shook his head, "I've had enough of this." He said and made to turn.

"Wait!" De Floyran said, "The wolf in the pit is a Templar called Galeren de Massard, he is the son of the Grand Master, Jacques de Molay."

"Madness!" the Pope reaffirmed, his eyes were almost wild with anger at what he was hearing.

"Galeren!" De Floyran called down into the pit. Beaumanoir and De Plaisians now moved to the edge of the pit, both fascinated with the culmination of the wild yarn they had heard and slaves to their burgeoning curiosity. They stared down to see the wolf's piercing blue eyes fixed upon De Floyran and his captive.

"This man tortured your brothers with no mercy."

"What are you _doing?_ " the Pope asked frantically.

Esquin de Floyran ignored him and continued, "The ones who died, Guibert Ravenot, Sagard le Blond, Guillaume le Masson and Rannulf de Pardieu had the bones roasted from their feet and every one of their limbs broken. 'Twas a mercy really that they died. But they died in the agony of their stubborn refusals to confess to their sins."

Galeren could not control his emotion, for he knew there would be no reason for De Floyran to lie and he had smelt the lingering scent of seared flesh in the dungeon when he had first arrived and the death it had caused. He began to snarl and rage like the wild creature he was and the torturer began to whimper in fear.

"De Massard has a vicious temper." De Floyran smiled.

"Sweet Jesus, save me!" the torturer begged, struggling to get out of De Floyran's grasp, but De Floyran restrained him with little effort and held him over the edge. The Pope's eyes widened in horror and he looked at the King.

"Stop this Philip!" he cried, but the King shook his head in refusal and continued to watch De Floyran. He knew that if De Floyran had lied, then he was in serious trouble. But it had come too far now and he understood the renegade's desire for the dramatic and he himself was eager to see the rest of the show.

"Get on with it." The King said and with a brief nod De Floyran let the torturer free from his grasp and he descended into the pit. His blood curdling scream was brief and his death sudden, for Galeren had torn out his throat before he even hit the ground.

"God have mercy!" the Pope cried desperately, looking away from the scene with eyes closed and his hand once again over his mouth. De Nogaret smiled with blood lust and the others in the room appeared rooted to the floor, a look of both horror and disbelief across their faces.

"There are plenty more torturers to be found and after what he did to those Templars, your Holiness, mayhap he got his just desserts." De Floyran said pitilessly.

"Have you all lost your wits? You have just put to murder a man in front of me! How dare you defile the sanctity of life before God's ambassador!" he cried incredulously.

"You will soon see that this is for the good of God and will be thanking me." De Floyran said arrogantly. "This isn't finished, _Caradas!_ " he called and the door opened and Armin de Merle entered the room followed by Raymond Caradas who held Catherine in front of him. All looked at the beautiful young woman being brought into the room and she in turn looked defiantly at all them.

Robard Beaumanoir nearly choked when he saw her, the past rolling before his eyes in that instant. Her hair was shorter and her face wiser, but there was no doubt that it was his former love. Her eyes instinctively locked with his as she recognised him and she shook her head with disbelief and shock,

" _You?_ " she said with scathing sentiment. That he was a part of all this was too much for her to take.

"No!" he said in defence of her accusation as a sickening realisation of what was about to happen struck him. De Floyran looked furiously at him as if his thunder had been stolen. He frowned in anger and puzzlement at how they could possibly know each other, but there was time to find that out later. He snapped his fingers impatiently and Caradas quickly handed Catherine to him. He held her at the pit's edge and looked at all who were present in the room with a wicked smile.

"Do not do what you are about to do, I beseech you or I will damn you for all eternity!" the Pope said, gripping Michael's arm tightly as if it would save him from what he was witnessing.

"I already have my place in hell," De Floyran said indifferently and then casually pushed Catherine over the edge.

" _Catherine!_ " Beaumanoir screamed and grasped at thin air as he weakly attempted to reach out for her. All watched in horror and fascination as she hit the floor of the pit. However, the wolf's teeth were no longer bared and its rage seemed to have disappeared as it rushed at her. Catherine landed on the dead torturer who broke her fall, but she still cried out as she landed on her left side and felt her hip connect with the dead man's bones.

"Galeren!" she said with relief as he pounced upon her, licking her face as a desperate form of contact. He could not help but show his relief and affection, though he knew their forms were conflicting. She drew her hands around the wolf's neck and pulled herself up into a sitting position. She held him close and buried her face into his soft fur, recognising his scent and being instantly comforted by it. She then looked up at the faces of the spectators who seemed more horrified at the present scene than they would have been if she had been savaged like the torturer.

" _Are you satisfied?_ " she screamed up at them.

"What evil trickery is this?" the Pope said, his heart still in his mouth.

"No trick." De Floyran said. "The wolf loves her and she him. He is aware of who she is and so would not harm her."

"Witchcraft!" the Pope said.

"Older than that." De Floyran replied.

"This proves nothing." The Pope said still adamant.

"Be patient," De Floyran scolded, "they will not be able to remain in their opposing forms for long. She too is a werewolf. Natural instincts will take over and they will need to be alike, their bond necessitates it. Watch closely."

De Floyran was right. Those who were bound to one another as mates could not exist in differing states for prolonged periods and nature took control to right the difference. It was Galeren who changed. Before their eyes the large white wolf seemed to evaporate, leaving behind the form of a man and the two unnatural lovers clung to each other as man and woman.

"Christ on the Cross!" Beaumanoir screamed and the Pope shook his head in disbelief not bothering to chastise him for his blasphemy. The King stared with delight and looked at the others in the room to gauge their reactions. Every one of them appeared to be stunned beyond words except De Nogaret, who shared Philip's look of zealous satisfaction.

"Amazing," the King said. His mouth was agape as he finally focused on De Floyran.

"Your proof, your Majesty." De Floyran said humbly.

### Chapter Nineteen

"Christ Catherine," Galeren swore both with relief and concern as he searched her over for signs of injury. Their audience had shortly left them and despite her assuring him she was fine, but for impact of the fall, he was unconvinced.

"Stop fussing!" she scolded gently, "my fall was broken." She said looking over at the dead man.

"Who was he?" she asked.

"A torturer," Galeren said, "I played straight into De Floyran's hands, but I was angry and I could smell the blood of my brethren on him. I shall not lose sleep over his death."

"I swear to you I'm fine," she said taking his hands in hers. "It is you who is injured." She looked at his body which was beaten and bruised and shook her head.

"Not anymore," he said, looking at her and smiling, "it looks worse than it feels. And you tell me the truth when you say that De Floyran hasn't touched you?"

"I do," Catherine said. It was a small mercy but she wondered for how long it would remain that way. Though she was relieved to see Galeren, she knew that their reunion would be cruelly short lived.

"You fool," she whispered, "you shouldn't have come here. I told you there was nothing but death. He means to torment you and you have given him the opportunity now."

"It was worth it, just to see you again. I would have gone to hell for that."

She shook her head at him. "This is hell, you fool!"

"Did you think I would leave you here?" Galeren asked fervently, "what should I have done, Catherine? Carry on with my life and pretend we never met?"

"I don't know." She said miserably. "All I know is that we're in a terrible trap with no hope of escape."

"There is always hope." He said, but was wondering himself where to look for it. De Floyran had won the battle and the King of France and Pope had witnessed his change from wolf to man. The Pope would hasten to join the assault on the Templars, now he had witnessed the truth.

How could there be any hope for them? They were truly lost and he was the cause of it, once again. Not only had he failed to kill De Floyran sixteen years ago, but he had broken and changed for De Floyran's little show. The Templars who had died in this God forsaken place had withstood terrible torture. Yet they had still resisted the will to change as their instincts would have directed. But it was easier to sacrifice yourself than someone you love.

The Templars that had been arrested were doomed and De Villiers had as much told him that when he had arrived in England. Their only hope was for the ones that were still free to disappear and start again. The Knights Templar may be finished but their race was not, at least his father and the council had taken evasive action and not without time. They could not all be saved.

"I met your father," Catherine said.

"How is he?" Galeren asked, not sure whether he wanted to know what state his father was in.

"As well as he can be under the circumstances. He is very proud of you." She said smiling.

"He won't be when he finds out what just happened." Galeren sighed.

"He knows what is going on here. There is no one to blame but De Floyran and the King."

Galeren nodded slowly. "What did he make of us?"

"He was happy, but not at our situation."

"Perhaps, I should have left you at the convent, saved you from this." He said bitterly.

"You still would not have saved me from De Floyran."

"No," he agreed.

"Maybe it is my turn to save you." Catherine suggested.

"I think you already did." He said, pulling her towards him. "I just don't want to be parted from you again. I don't want him to hurt you." He held her tightly.

"We could end it," she said, "here."

He looked at her oddly and then she said, "Would you take my life?"

He pulled back from her, "I could never kill you Catherine. Though much pain it could save you, I couldn't bring myself to. Not while I think there may be the tiniest hope."

"Then let us cling to that hope," she said.

****

The main hall had been emptied of its revellers and the remainder of the feast was being cleared away by the servants. The King sat on the dais table and dismissed them with an impatient wave of his hand and began to pick at the scraps that remained. He then poured himself some wine.

De Floyran stood with his arms folded, staring intently at Robard Beaumanoir who chewed on his finger nails nervously. De Nogaret joined the King and got himself some wine, while the Pope paced the length of the dais wringing his hands. Brother Michael shadowed him anxiously, as if expecting him to collapse at any minute from the shock. For a while nobody said anything and even De Plaisians, who usually had some clever remark to make, remained tongue tied.

De Floyran had no comment to make on the evening's events. He had done his job and wanted his reward. However, he was very keen to speak to Beaumanoir and find out how the hell he knew Catherine. It had only been a moment's recognition and two words exchanged, but it was enough for De Floyran to deduce that they had, at some point, known each other well. It vexed him and he longed for a moment alone with the man so he could find out.

De Nogaret's beady eyes shot from the King, to the Pope, to De Plaisians, to Beaumanoir and back to the King again. He was eager to know what was going through their minds but all remained speechless. De Nogaret was elated, impressed and delighted with the performance that De Floyran had put on. It had been worth the painful wait and he knew that the King must be jubilant with the proof that would now silence the Pope and get him to do as he wanted.

The Pope could not, would not deny the King now, not faced with this diabolical truth. Protecting the Templars now would only condemn him to their fate and surely he would not, not if he were truly a man of God. His face was ashen with shock and his body language told De Nogaret that he was both uncomfortable and afraid.

The King picked up on it too and broke the silence. "Still wish to defend the Temple, your Holiness?" he said derisively. The Pope stopped his pacing and shot him a venomous look.

"Of course not!" he spat and then shook his head violently. "Do you expect me to take this lightly? You mercilessly had a man murdered tonight and have revealed that the Templar order is comprised of monsters, changelings, devils! Do you expect me to smile gratefully and carry on with apathy? This could destroy the Church!"

"Exactly!" Philip agreed, "and 'tis why I took such decisive action, though you may have at first disapproved of it."

"You may have forewarned me!" the Pope said, swooning from the force of emotion that emanated from his weak body. Michael leapt forward to steady him and hurriedly led him to the table and seated him. He poured a cup of wine for him and the Pope greedily drank it down as if it were Holy water.

"Come now Clement," Philip said, refilling his own cup, "would you have believed me if I had come to you with such a tale? You could barely swallow the heresy story."

The Pope looked at him and narrowed his eyes, "The charges against the Templars, are they false?"

"Are they _false?_ " Philip chuckled, unsure of how to answer. He looked at De Nogaret and hoped the councillor's smooth tongue would intervene, but De Nogaret's gaze was fixed on De Floyran.

"After what you have just witnessed the charges laid against them _concern you?_ " Philip said, pulling a bemused face.

"What I have just seen condemns the Temple and all who dwell in it," the Pope said and Philip was flooded with relief, "I still wish to know if they are guilty of heresy."

"They are monsters!" Philip cried. "You have just seen it, is that not heresy enough? They do not march for God and the faith. They are practitioners of dark magic brought with them from the Holy Land. The charges against them fit! In any case, we cannot let the truth out into the public domain but people must believe they are guilty of something."

The Pope turned and looked at De Floyran with scathing contempt and said, "What _are_ you?"

De Floyran curled his lip thoughtfully, "Men that become wolves, wolves that become men . . . and women." He smiled. "Creatures that have cheated nature, or perhaps, were created by it."

"You were not created by God!" the Pope said resolutely. "How can such come to be?" he shook his head.

"It is what it is. I cannot explain our origin but it is ancient and very powerful."

"Then it must be destroyed for the good of man. The truth must not escape us Philip," the Pope said and looked around the room at the others to bolster his point.

"If you trust your man then have a trust in mine. If any here betray what they have just seen to others, then they will burn with the Templars." He quickly looked around the room and smiled as he saw everyone nodding their allegiance to him.

"And what about you?" the Pope said, looking straight at De Floyran.

He shrugged casually, "I was promised impunity. I just want my reward and I will be on my treacherous way, never to bother you again." He smiled.

"You will have what you want." Philip confirmed.

"Good, because I also want the woman and to have final say on Galeren's fate."

Beaumanoir grimaced and De Floyran smiled. Philip raised his eyebrows at De Floyran to prompt him for an explanation.

"We have a history and I owe him a death. I would like to decide how it ends for him." De Floyran answered simply.

Philip sighed. "I suppose you deserve that, just as long as you _do_ kill him. He must never leave this place." The King tapped his chin thoughtfully, "I am not sure about the woman though. Women can be tricky, especially if they don't like you." He raised his eyebrows at De Floyran.

De Floyran shrugged, "Well, _I like her_ and she is bound to me."

"What do you mean bound to you?" the King frowned.

"I bit her. She is a werewolf because I made her one. She bears my mark and is bound to me." De Floyran said, looking at De Nogaret casually. De Nogaret said nothing and kept his look neutral.

"Saints preserve us!" the Pope cried, crossing himself several times as he tried to take in what he was hearing.

Philip shook his head doubtfully but nevertheless said: "If you are sure you can keep control of her then do as you will. As it is, she is the only female of your kind that we have captive, make sure she stays that way."

"Death will be her only escape from me." De Floyran said assuredly and smiled at Beaumanoir.

The Pope shook his head disapprovingly but Philip waved his hand dismissively and said, "And what is our next move to be Clement?"

Clement sighed long and hard. "First, I wish to speak with the Grand Master. He is still being held here, is he not?"

Philip frowned, "Is that wise?"

"It will not change my opinion but I have known De Molay for many years and I must look him in the eyes and hear what he has to say. This has been a shock, I deserve some explanation."

"If you wish," Philip said unenthused by the notion, "but it can wait for the morrow. I am tired and I think we have all had enough excitement for one evening."

The Pope nodded in agreement and Michael helped him to his feet and escorted him from the main hall to his private chambers. The King waved at the others to leave him. As they all dispersed and wandered their own ways, appearing distracted by their thoughts, De Floyran waited for his chance to corner Beaumanoir. He slipped into the shadows to avoid De Nogaret and watched as the councillor looked for him. When De Nogaret finally gave up and made his way to his chamber, De Floyran picked up the scent of Beaumanoir. He caught up to him near the kitchens and when he was sure that they were alone, he advanced on him and gripping his shoulder he spun him round to face him.

"Hey!" Beaumanoir said and made to shrug off the offending hand but froze when he met the cold stare of De Floyran. He did not forget what he had just seen and that he, like the man in the pit, was a werewolf; a creature that could kill him effortlessly and without mercy.

"What do you want?" Beaumanoir said, trying to disguise the fear in his voice.

"How do you know Catherine?"

"Catherine?" Beaumanoir said acting confused.

"Don't insult my senses, boy." De Floyran snarled menacingly.

Beaumanoir sighed. "It was from long ago," he said.

"Long?"

"A year or so."

"So not that long. How do you know her, I ask you again."

"We were betrothed."

" _Betrothed?_ " De Floyran sounded almost horrified.

"Well, it was such between us, but nothing official. As it was, her father disapproved and had me marry her sister instead while she was –"

"Put in a convent." De Floyran finished his sentence for him.

"Yes. I have not seen her since then. Who is the man in the pit?"

"Nobody, just like you." De Floyran jeered and saw Beaumanoir's face twitch uncomfortably.

"What will happen to her?"

"Don't concern yourself with that." He grinned.

"Will she die?"

"No," De Floyran said, "not if I can help it." He scrutinized the handsome young man for a while and then said, "Happy were you to abandon her to life in a convent? You did not question her father's decision?"

"I had a duty to my family."

"Of course." De Floyran said derisively. He wondered why he despised him so much for his honest, but pathetic answer; was it because of Catherine? He turned on that sentiment immediately. No, it wasn't that. It was because Beaumanoir was a weak man and De Floyran despised weakness, not the reason for, or consequences of it, but the very trait itself.

"Why do you care? You have just betrayed your whole brethren and yet you look at me as if I have no honour." Beaumanoir said defensively.

"I care not about honour." De Floyran scoffed.

"You could let her go instead of keeping her against her will." Beaumanoir said.

"And you _could_ have kept her, instead of letting her go. Perhaps if you had, she wouldn't have found herself in this predicament. She has been cursed by me and now must suffer me. Sleep on that." De Floyran said, enjoying how spiteful it sounded. "Oh and stay away from her. If I see you anywhere near her, I will skin you alive." He stepped closer so that Beaumanoir was backed up against the wall. "Do you understand?" he breathed sourly into his face.

"Yes." Beaumanoir said quickly.

"Good," De Floyran smiled and patted him twice on the face. Satisfied he walked away, leaving Beaumanoir to catch his breath and his nerves.

It was early in the morning when the Pope requested to see the Grand Master. He had been awake half the night trying to come to terms with the incredible revelation about the Knights Templar. He _had_ been shocked, there was no doubt about that and even amazed and he had sung the song that Philip had wanted to hear, but things were never that simple for him. He was an intelligent man and wanted to know more about these unnatural knights, who had served the Church for over a century.

For Clement there was always a fine line between God and the Devil, a line that was often blurred. That which was different or not understood was often feared and labelled diabolic, when in fact it was not. In the same vein that which was known, trusted and protected by the Holy Cross could in truth _be_ diabolic. But which were the Templars? He had long known of their fearsome reputation and of their bravery in the face of peril. Crusades were not picnics and blood had often been spilled in God's name but, as far as his knowledge extended, the Templars had always been fair and had even played mediator between Frank and Muslim. They had in turn been accused of fraternising with the enemy and exchanging knowledge with them.

But what they actually _were?_ It was almost too difficult to comprehend, men that could physically change into a beast and one, which was itself mans' most dreaded foe, the wolf. Rationale would deem that it could be nothing less than evil, but Clement was unsure and this was why he wished to speak to De Molay.

Several of Philip's guards accompanied Clement down to the dungeons. The guard room above, from where they had witnessed De Floyran's show the previous evening, had reeked of the cruelty that emanated from the dungeons below. But now the Pope could not only smell the acrid depravity of the acts committed, but could also see them. He covered his nose and tried to keep his eyes from looking into the barred dungeons in which the Templars were kept. He deplored torture but knew that any power he might have had, had now been taken from him.

The guard unlocked and opened the door to the enclosed room that housed De Molay but the Pope stopped short before going in.

"I wish to speak to De Molay alone." He said seriously.

"With respect, it is too dangerous your Holiness." The guard said.

"I have known this man for many years. He is no threat to me. I will speak to him alone." His voice was unwavering.

"But –" the guard began.

"There are no buts," the Pope said, "you will be just outside. I will not argue with you about this. Just grant me my request."

The guard frowned, unsure of what to do. However, the Pope's expression remained resolute so he finally acquiesced, albeit reluctantly.

Clement entered the room and saw De Molay lent up against the wall opposite. The two men looked at each other, their weary faces testament to the fact that neither of them had gotten any sleep the previous night. De Molay was well aware of what had happened. He had heard Galeren's beating and the show that De Floyran had put on. He could do nothing but listen, powerless to do anything about it, just as he had been when his brother knights had been tortured.

Clement's face grimaced when he saw the conditions that the Grand Master was being kept in and he shook his head shamefully. Just seeing De Molay and the look in his old friend's eyes confirmed what he knew in his heart.

"I am sorry Jacques. I truly am."

De Molay's face took on a look of surprise. "I expected scathing rhetoric from you, Clement, not an apology." He flexed his hands. "For what do you apologise? My imprisonment, mistreatment, the torture and murder of my men and my son, or our pending doom?"

"Are we not friends?" the Pope asked.

"Still?" De Molay queried sounding surprised, "after what you know."

"I don't know what I know, only what I saw."

"You saw my son. Yes, _my_ son, turn into his other form. A wolf!" De Molay reaffirmed. "We are exactly what you saw, us all. Some of what De Floyran told you is true, but we are not monsters and you must know that if nothing else."

"I believe that, Jacques." Clement said, "Popes have had a special relationship with the Temple for near two centuries. You may have hidden your true face but you did not hide your deeds." De Molay raised his heavy brows at the Pope, surprised at his reaction.

"Actions speak louder than words," Clement continued, "and if you want to know the truth, right now I would prefer the company of wolves to the jackals that I am surrounded by." He sighed and taking a cloth from within the folds of his robe, he mopped his brow.

"I thank you for your insight. I misjudged you."

"'Tis easy to do, Jacques. I have endeared myself to nothing less. So tell me, how did you and your kind come to be? I ask out of genuine interest."

"We are as old as the forests or some of them. It is said that that is where the first of us came from. They say it was the spirits of trees that made us become _werewolves_. Magic and mystery Clement, there is much in this world that your God cannot explain."

"Or perhaps does not wish to."

"Whatever you want to believe," De Molay sighed.

Clement shook his head. "Why would you defend the faith if you do not believe in it?"

"I did not make the rules. De Payens and his brothers sought absolution for what they saw as a curse, so they did God's work. The Temple has evolved since, to do good, but not necessarily the work of God."

"It matters not what you have or haven't done," Clement said, his eyes showed regret for what he could not do, "I cannot help you, you know that. Before this, I would have. I condemned Philip's actions, I threatened him with excommunication! But now . . ."

De Molay nodded his head slowly, knowing that this would be the case.

"Philip is zealous in his intent and he has clever advisors, they are ruthless. I have no cause for defence given this revelation. He will use it against me. He went after Boniface with less. I am powerless and can do nothing but show support for him."

"So the charges in De Nogaret's indictment will stand?"

"Yes, they have to. Philip doesn't want the truth revealed. He wants to keep it out of the public domain."

"Why? What is he afraid of?" De Molay asked. "That people _won't_ turn against us?"

"Perhaps," Clement considered. "He doesn't want people's faith in the Church shattered."

"And you?"

"These are difficult times." Clement observed, "Faith must be maintained. Your secret is dangerous."

"But we are not. I would rather be tried as a werewolf than a heretic."

"Some would see it as one and the same."

"And that is the problem with the world." De Molay said angrily.

"Magic and mystery are seen as evil Jacques, you know that." Clement reasoned.

"That has been enforced by the Church! You have made people afraid. You condemn what you do not understand. The faith you are so eager to protect has been murdering innocents for years."

"The line is often blurred."

"Blurred?" De Molay raised his voice and Clement quickly put his finger to his lips to silence him, motioning to the door and the guards on the other side of it.

"Let's not argue this point. It is the French King who sought to destroy you, not the Church. I have supported you as far as I can. I even agreed with your argument against a merger with the Hospitallers, though now I can see why you were so against it."

"Even without our supernatural blood I would never have considered joining with those sanctimonious bastards." De Molay said passionately.

Clement smiled half amused, half saddened.

"What is it?" De Molay asked.

"The nature of the Templars. There has always been something about you, something that no other group or organisation has ever possessed. It _is_ something magical, though I am loath to use that word. It has been envied by all. It has brought you respect and adulation and has inspired resentment and jealousy."

"And now we are to be destroyed for it."

"I may never see you again after this day Jacques and though I cannot help you, I will do my best to see that you are treated fairly."

"Until put to the stake."

"It may not come to that. I can only do what I can, Philip –"

"I know, has you by the bollocks." De Molay finished for him. Clement lowered his eyes.

"I ask of you a small favour." De Molay ventured.

"Of course, if it is within my power." Clement said.

"Have the dead Templars removed from here. Surely it is un-Godly to leave them to rot on the floor of putrid dungeons next to their living brothers, werewolves or not."

"I can have them removed, but they cannot be buried. We will have to burn the bodies, but I will say a prayer for their souls."

"Thank you." De Molay said.

"Anything else?" the Pope asked.

"Perhaps," De Molay considered. "The girl thrown into the pit with my son, is there any chance you could get her out of here?"

"There is none, I fear. That treacherous swine of a Templar, De Floyran wants her." Clement paused as he saw De Molay's face grimace. "Philip has given her to him and also the decision on the fate of your son."

"I see," De Molay said thinly. He turned away from Clement to hide his pain.

"I _am_ sorry Jacques." Clement said, feeling the acidity of his ineptitude rise as bile in his throat.

"So you keep saying," De Molay said.

The room turned cold with the realisation that any further words were pointless. Clement's heart sank with regret, knowing that the conversation was over. However, he felt that there was much that had been left unsaid. He searched for the words but could not find them and the best he could have done was to say I am sorry once again. He turned to leave and then pausing, turned back and met De Molay's gaze for the last time.

"I am not long for this world, Jacques. I wonder how I will be remembered?" he asked contemplatively. "Not wise or merciful, perhaps only as weak."

"You will be remembered as the Pope who brought down the Knights Templar." De Molay said without emotion.

"Yes, of course," Clement smiled bitterly, "what an accolade." He turned quickly and rapped on the door to alert the guards. He left the dungeon and allowed himself to be escorted back to his private chambers, with his head bowed low to hide his tears of self loathing.

### Chapter Twenty

Catherine awoke and was lost in her surroundings for a fleeting moment, and then she remembered. Her despair was replaced with relief as she realised she was still with Galeren. But for how much longer? She tried to dispel the fear from her mind and closed her eyes, savouring the rhythmical rise and fall of his chest as she lay upon him.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"You're awake?" she said surprised.

"I have been for some hours."

It had been impossible to sleep knowing that Catherine could be taken from him at any moment by De Floyran. They had talked through the night, trying to avoid dwelling on the grimness of their predicament and instead had reassured each other by focusing on a future that, secretly, he feared would never be. Still, it had been a pleasant fantasy in the cold darkness of the oubliette.

Finally, sometime deep into the night, Catherine had lost her fight with sleep and had succumbed to it. He watched her; the hours before the dawn seeming to fly by with unmerciful speed.

"'Tis morning," she said, sounding panicked. She heard noise coming from beyond the walls of the oubliette and the muffled voices and movement of men.

"What's going on?"

"They are taking the bodies of the dead men away. The Pope went to see my father earlier. He must have extended this small mercy to him."

"And no other." She said mournfully.

"No," he agreed and then added, "Clement isn't cruel, he is just weak."

"Beaumanoir is here." Catherine blurted out abruptly.

She didn't know why he had come to her thoughts so suddenly. When she had seen him the previous night, it had been like something out of a macabre dream. He had just stood there with the others, witness once again to her suffering. He had the same helpless look on his face as the day he had seen her being taken from her father's estate to end her days in a convent.

This time she had been able to smell his weakness and cowardice and was left feeling only contempt for him. It was fitting, she thought, that he would be on the other side of the divide with the cruel and selfish, an ocean away from her and Galeren and the Templar brethren.

" _What?_ " Galeren said horrified. Though he had heard it only once, he did not forget the name of the rogue who had abandoned Catherine so quickly to save his own skin and feather his nest in her father's favour.

"I think he is one of Philip's councillors," Catherine said, knowing that his father had many contacts at Philip's court. Robard had never been much of a warrior and she remembered that he'd often complained about how awkward a sword felt in his hand. He didn't have the heart for battle and she imagined that her father had been more than happy for him to find a place of prestige among Philip's advisors, seeing as he was married to her sister.

She thought of Galeren who had just walked into a nest of vipers for her, preferring to suffer with her than abandon her. She knew that given the choice, she would rather suffer hell over and over with Galeren than spend a single moment of freedom with her spineless, former lover.

"When did you see him?"

"Last night, he was in the guard room with the others. I did not speak to him. I was shocked and more concerned about you."

" _Christ!_ " Galeren screamed, his rage finding its pinnacle again.

"He is the least of our worries. I feel nothing but pity for him." She turned and looked into his eyes; they were full of hopeless grief.

"Don't despair!" she said with desperate sentiment.

Galeren closed his eyes. "How can I not? I know I have lost you."

"You will never lose me. Remember our bond, remember what you said?"

"I know, but our bond will not save us."

"You are wrong. It brought us together, and it will bring us together again." She closed her eyes and bit down on the bottom of her lip, as if concentrating.

"What are you doing?" he asked, bemused by her manner.

"Looking for the future," she answered.

He humoured her for a few moments and studied her beautiful face. She opened her eyes and smiled at him.

"What did you see?" he asked.

"We do have a future, but we may suffer much travail before we get it."

"What sort of travail?"

"I don't know exactly, it's just what I sense."

He nodded and smiled to show he was pleased with the answer. However, it felt like the blind advice a priest may give to a prisoner before he was executed; _it will be over quickly and you won't feel a thing_. It served no purpose but to calm the condemned, albeit before they made it to the scaffold.

"You don't believe me?" she asked.

"I want to but," he stopped and shrugged when he saw her frown.

"I've sensed things before Galeren, in the past."

"Like what?"

"I've been to this place before," she said, "in a dream."

"A dream?" he said curiously.

"De Floyran brought me here in one of them. The scent in the dream was the same as this place. I didn't tell you before because I was afraid of what was happening and I didn't understand. I dreamt of De Floyran's attack too, when I was a child. I am sure of it. I didn't understand it then but when he attacked me I felt like it had already happened. It sounds crazy I know but –"

"No, it does not," he sighed, "some of us have the gift of inner sight. You probably already possessed it, but now it has become stronger. You just have to learn how to use it."

"Do you possess it?"

"No. My senses are stronger in other areas. Yours is a human gift but it is enhanced by the wolf's instincts. I hope you are right Catherine, I could do with hope like that."

He went to pull her towards him but stopped as he caught the scent of De Floyran. Catherine caught it too and threw herself against Galeren, gripping him tightly. The gate at the side of the oubliette opened and two wolves leapt onto the floor of the pit, followed by De Floyran who was in human form.

He folded his arms and smiling said, "How tragic, and pathetic."

Catherine turned to look at Galeren's face and searched for some sign of hope from him but it had faded and had been replaced with dread.

"Be nice Galeren. Remember I have your father's chain to tug on if you try any tricks." De Floyran smiled and wagged his finger at him in a scolding manner. Galeren bit on his tongue with a thousand threats wishing to be made, but he knew they were all futile and would only amuse De Floyran. Instead he fixed him with a frigid stare.

"I think I have been overly generous in allowing you the whole night and some of the morning to say your goodbyes to each other. But considering the show you put on last night you deserved it." He put his hands on his hips and smiled.

"However, I have come to claim my prize."

With De Floyran's men already in wolf form, Galeren knew that he had no advantage here.

"Come here," De Floyran said sinisterly and reaching out, he beckoned to her with his finger. Disadvantaged, but not willing to let her go without some resistance, Galeren pushed Catherine aside and lunged forward, grabbing De Floyran's finger. In one fluid motion he snapped it, between its base and knuckle.

" _Ahhrrr!_ " De Floyran cried, jumping backwards. One of the wolves pounced, knocking Galeren back onto the floor. Standing on his chest, it bared its teeth and drove its snarling muzzle into his face.

"Stop!" Catherine cried, fearful that Galeren was about to lose his throat.

"Botolf," De Floyran yelled, as he hauled Catherine up using his good hand. "Leave him, for now."

He forced Catherine out of the pit and into Caradas' waiting arms.

"Take her up to my chamber Raymond."

"No!" Catherine screamed, struggling in Caradas' grasp. Galeren could hear her resistance continue as she was dragged from the dungeons. He shook his head in defeat and looked up as De Floyran re-entered the pit.

"You couldn't help yourself, could you?" De Floyran said furiously. "That little feat is going to cost you." The displeasure at being humiliated in front of his men and Catherine intensified upon his face. "Any more tricks like that and I will break everyone of Catherine's bones, starting with _her_ little finger." He added sneering.

"Take this hell hound to the torture room," he instructed the others, "he needs to be taught a lesson."

"Do you think I care without her?" Galeren said miserably, as Botolf and Armin changed back into men and dragged him to his feet. "You have no concept of what I am feeling, but believe me when I tell you that you have already done your worst to me."

De Floyran's eyes narrowed. "Ha! I think not. I have yet to touch her and when I do then you will be at your worst. I will spare you no detail. I want him strappado, then wait for my instruction. Submit to your suffering, Galeren, or I will make you witness hers!"

Galeren did not resist as they dragged him to the torture room. As they strung him up, he was sure he could still feel Catherine's resistance coursing through his damned blood.

****

De Floyran's face twisted into a frown as he saw Raymond Caradas striding towards him from the door of his chamber. He noted the vicious scratch upon his face.

"What happened?" he demanded angrily.

"She's as bad as him!" Caradas snapped, fingering his wound.

De Floyran sighed and placed his hands on his hips, noting the smarting of his broken finger. "You'd better not have laid a hand to her, or the scratch on your face will feel like a feather's touch compared to what I'll do to you."

"I haven't touched her." Caradas said irritably.

"She is not like the women we are used to dealing with, she is one of us. I told you to have a care." He sighed exasperated. "Go see to your wound. I will take care of her from now on seeing as you are so inept."

Caradas bowed curtly and strode down the hallway towards the stairs with haste. De Floyran stared after him until he had disappeared and then turned back towards the chamber door. He shook his head and then smiled, eager to see his captive. He walked to the door and opened it cautiously. Catherine whirled round to face him, her expression, one of fury, only pleased him and he tutted at her.

"You've upset Raymond," he said with false sentiment.

Catherine's lip curled in disgust, "you monstrous bastard!" she screamed and then her face softened into beautiful misery as she said, "please, don't hurt him."

De Floyran laughed, "You scratch my man's face, call me names and then expect me to show mercy to Galeren." He paused and viewed her through narrowed eyes, "I owe him at least a broken finger."

Catherine sank down onto the floor and stared at the fresh rushes that had been scattered across it. She could smell the crushed lavender mixed amongst them but its sweetness did nothing to soothe her, nor did it cleanse the stench of death and suffering that had perforated her soul.

"Don't be so despairing," De Floyran said sounding sympathetic.

"Isn't that what you want?" Catherine asked resignedly.

"Yes." De Floyran answered honestly, "but now that I have had it, I want something else." He added contemplatively.

Catherine looked up at him with hatred in her eyes. He spread his hands apologetically.

"Hard to believe but true. I am sure we'll be able to work something out, a compromise." He gave her a reassuring wink.

"What do you want?" Catherine asked, a faint sliver of hope was in her voice.

"We'll talk about this later." De Floyran said, pleased with her response. "I'll have a bath and some food prepared for you. You need to clean up after your night in that putrid pit. It is a shame that your gown was ruined. I suppose I'll have to find you another. We'll talk when you are refreshed." He said cheerfully and turned to leave but noted that her head was hung low.

"Don't worry Catherine. Everything will be alright, I promise." But she refused to look at him and with that he left the room.

Outside he nearly crashed into De Nogaret who was racing towards the chamber door.

"Steady!" De Floyran complained, protecting his damaged finger with his other hand, "were you going to knock or barge straight in?"

"Knock of course!" De Nogaret said defensively, "what is wrong with your hand?" he asked.

"Nothing," De Floyran answered irritably, putting his hands behind his back, "what do you want?"

De Nogaret's thick eyebrows undulated rapidly with interest. "What about the girl?" he said, his tongue flicking in and out of his mouth like a serpent.

"She's fine." De Floyran said curtly. "Surely you did not rush up here to ask me that. What occurred at the meeting this morning?" he asked, quickly changing the subject.

"The Pope didn't say much about his meeting with De Molay, only I know he insisted on seeing him alone with no guards or even his scribe present."

De Floyran shrugged, "Anything else?"

"Well, he requested that the dead Templars be disposed of."

"Yes, I saw that."

"I suppose it was a request of De Molay's and he would have to show some compassion fitting of his Holy status. But he is firmly with Philip now on the matter and has said that he will issue a Bull ordering the arrest of the Templars throughout Christendom as soon as he is back at the papal court."

"Excellent," De Floyran said, starting to move away from the chamber door. De Nogaret hesitated for a moment and then followed him.

"The Pope is preparing to leave for Poitiers as we speak and Philip is keen to get back to his palace at Fontainebleau. He thinks this château is about as welcoming as a graveyard. He wants me to return with him of course."

"Of course," De Floyran said, only half interested. He turned to the councillor at the top of the stairs and said "And what about my spoils? Will I forever be chasing the King for them?"

"No," De Nogaret said, "he has selected several estates for you to choose from. They are all considerably wealthy. There will be men at your disposal and of course your coffers will be filled. You'll want for nothing." De Nogaret scratched his chin and then added as an afterthought.

"He asks that you be at his disposal if ever he should have a need to call upon you. There will of course be extra payment for any services rendered."

"The King's mutt," De Floyran said thoughtfully, "mmm, I half expected it. I suppose I can live with that. Now, all I need is a wife with whom I can produce my heirs." He chuckled and raised his eyebrows suggestively at De Nogaret. De Nogaret's face dropped a little and he looked back at the chamber door at the end of the corridor. De Floyran began to make his way down the steps.

"You don't mean _her?_ " he said astounded, remaining at the top of the stairs.

"Why not?" De Floyran questioned.

"I thought you meant to amuse yourself with her, not marry her! Besides, she is your enemy's woman."

"No!" De Floyran said, turning on De Nogaret with eyes of dangerous frustration, "she is mine by mark."

"But she despises you! She will never agree to such, marrying the man who slaughtered her lover and betrayed his kind." He said incredulously.

"Perhaps, but I will persuade her to think otherwise. I made her. There is a bond between us. A blood bond, and in time she will acquiesce to that bond, it is nature and cannot be undone. I don't expect you to understand."

"I wish to understand it." De Nogaret paused, "I thought you were going to help me to." He added disgruntled.

De Floyran quickly took back the few steps he'd taken and gripped De Nogaret's arm viciously with his good hand. He pulled him close to him.

"I told you to _wait!_ " he said through gritted teeth. "There will be a time for it, but that time is not now. You have much work to do for your King, it must wait until the matter of the Templars is dead and buried. Have I not kept all my promises?"

"Yes," De Nogaret said wincing.

"Then why do you doubt me on this?" De Floyran spat and pushed him away.

"I am merely impatient. I remember our night in Paris and long for such again."

De Floyran looked at De Nogaret and smiled briefly but although he kept the expression in his eyes neutral he looked upon the councillor with derision.

"Sometimes you have to do these things alone, but do not worry we will hunt together again. As I said there is a time and that is not now."

De Nogaret nodded, "I understand. I could serve you well." He said in almost a whisper.

"You do already." De Floyran said, bored with the turn of conversation. He was keen to be away from the devious imp and on to more pressing matters like seeing to his broken finger. "And will in the future. Don't worry, you are in the new circle." He smiled and patted him on the shoulder.

"Now, I must see to something." He said. "I'll see you later for supper and a few flagons. Be sure to bring that list of estates for me." He called back, as he disappeared rapidly down the stairs leaving De Nogaret once again unfulfilled. De Nogaret turned and looked back at the chamber door, his lip curling in resentment.

Robard Beaumanoir averted his eyes when he saw De Floyran striding towards him. Even so, he felt the knight's scathing glance upon him as he past. He saw De Nogaret loitering by the stairs near the main hall shortly afterward and ducked into a doorway to avoid being seen by him. He waited, and eventually De Nogaret scurried past him in the wake of De Floyran. He looked at the flight of stairs and wondered if he dare be so bold.

He waited for a few moments longer and then stepped out of the doorway and hurried up the flight of stairs. At the top, he paused and listened for a few moments for voices or footsteps. Satisfied that all was clear he hastened to the door of the chamber that Catherine was in. He smiled as he saw that the key had been left in it and looking round once more, he slowly unlocked the door and swiftly stepped inside.

"What are you doing here?" Catherine asked, with both surprise and disgust in her voice when she saw who the intruder was.

She had not given much thought to her former lover since she had seen him in the guard room the previous night and why should she? He was a treacherous cad, just like the company he was keeping these days. He was in her past, though she could not regret it. In truth, he'd done her a favour. If she had married him, his good looks would have soon paled against the prevalence of his weak personality and her passion would have been wasted.

"Shhhhhhh," he said, putting his finger to his lips, "no one knows I am here."

"Why are you here?" she asked again scornfully.

Beaumanoir looked at his former paramour and felt more than a twinge of regret. She had matured since he had last seen her and despite her predicament, she appeared to be a stronger woman and her beauty seemed enhanced by her strength.

"I had to see you, Catherine. What is going on?"

"I rather thought you would be able to tell me." She answered sardonically.

"Christ, I know nothing. I have only been at court a few months. Last night was..." he broke off, lost for words. Catherine raised her eyebrows at him, prompting him to finish.

"That thing in the pit. I can hardly believe it, though I saw it with my own two eyes!"

" _Thing?_ " Catherine said with loathing. "He is my mate, my heart, everything that you are not and could never have been."

Her words stung him but he said, "I meant no offence. It is much to take in."

She shrugged indifferently.

"And you're really one of these creatures too?" Robard asked.

"Werewolves," Catherine corrected, "and yes I am one."

"De Floyran said that it was he that made you one of these . . . werewolves."

"Yes," she said remorsefully, "I don't regret what I am, only how it came to be. He attacked me while I was at the convent you allowed me to be taken to. He tried to rape me and then bit me as I made my escape."

"I'm sorry," Beaumanoir said, "but De Floyran is no friend of mine. He threatened to skin me alive if I came near you. I am risking much to be here."

"How brave of you, but save your skin. You are not wanted here."

"I know how you must hate me," Beaumanoir begun.

"I don't hate you Robard, you did me a favour. How is Margaret?" she asked after her sister.

"She is fine. We have a son, Peter." Beaumanoir answered, swallowing hard.

"Good," Catherine answered, "and my father?" she asked more painfully.

"He is well, I suppose."

Catherine raised her eyebrows at him.

"I think he has missed you." He said.

"Yes, he has shown that by ignoring me and leaving me to rot in that place."

"He would never admit it. I think you remind him too much of your mother. Your father's pride rules over any sentiment he has."

Catherine shrugged. "It matters not now."

"Should I tell him of this?" Robard asked hesitantly.

"No!" Catherine said vehemently, "he must never know any of this! I am sure the King wants this kept within boundaries that he has set, and involving my father could put you all in danger. Besides, do you think he would race to save his werewolf daughter, when giving my heart to you was enough to have him abandon me?"

Beaumanoir shook his head slowly and then lowered his eyes to hide his shame.

Catherine sighed. "Well," she said, clasping her hands together, "we have exchanged news and if there is nothing else I would get your hide quickly out of here before De Floyran tans it for you."

"For what it's worth, I want to help. Let me do _something_."

"Free us all?" Catherine said thinly.

"You know I cannot."

Catherine bit down on her lip in thought and then suddenly her eyes lit up and she said, "There is something you can do."

"Name it." Beaumanoir said.

"The Pope is going to issue a Bull, ordering the arrest of all the Templars in every Christian realm."

Beaumanoir frowned.

"I heard De Floyran and one of the King's councillors talking about it outside the chamber door." Catherine explained.

"So?"

"Well, it will take time for him to do. I need you to warn the others. You must get a message to the Templars in England. Tell them what has happened here, that the Pope knows and that he supports the King."

Beaumanoir considered her request but only for a few moments, he nodded and said purposefully, "I will. Where and to whom do I send this message?"

"Temple Bruer in Lincolnshire. Address it to Parsifal Bondeville, he is Galeren's sergeant."

"Consider it done."

"Thank you Robard," Catherine said gently and with genuine gratitude.

"It is the least I can do. I am sorry I hurt you, it is not without regret. I carry my own demons." He said sadly.

"Think on it no more. This deed builds the bridge between us. There is peace."

"Peace," he said and stepped forward to embrace her. She let him and it felt like the embrace of an old friend, not lover.

"I wish I could do more," he said.

"Our fates are not linked and here we must part, do this one thing for me and live your life. Just have a care."

He nodded and turned to hide the tears beginning to well up in his eyes.

"Farewell," he said but did not look back. He listened for a moment by the door and when he was happy that it was safe, he opened it and disappeared once again from her life.

****

"Who has been here?" De Floyran asked, when he returned to the room some time later.

Catherine looked at him and widened her eyes in bewilderment, "I don't know what you mean. I am a prisoner. Do you not control the lock on my door?"

"Don't play games with me Catherine. It is a human trait to try and fool others and given what we are, I would have thought that you'd know better. If I were a human you may be able to bluff me but I am not and I can smell someone's presence. I ask you again, who was here?" His green eyes darkened.

Catherine remembered that Galeren had told her about lingering scents that could be picked up by a wolf's nose long after an event and she cursed her carelessness. But even if she had warned Beaumanoir the moment he stepped into the room, De Floyran would have smelt him, even outside the door. However, she still would not betray his name, even if De Floyran already knew who had visited her. She shook her head at him and he smiled.

"Loyalty," he said, "another folly."

"But very much a wolf trait." Catherine countered haughtily.

"You are a clever thing. Enough games though, what did your old lover want?" De Floyran asked and Catherine was surprised at his knowledge of their former relationship.

De Floyran smiled slowly, "oh yes, he told me of your history. What a pathetic wretch you fell for. Still, 'tis in the past. What I want to know is why he was here and what was said?"

Catherine knew that he could not smell that kind of knowledge and so she said:

"He wanted answers, and to see me. It was much for him to witness, what occurred last night. The last time he saw me, I was being taken to a convent and the next I am being thrown into a pit with my wolf lover. Robard has always had a curious nature, but I did not wish to entertain it. I care not for his bewilderment or sentiment. He had a frosty reception and did not stay long." She hoped De Floyran accepted her half-truth, for it was mostly the truth except for the letter she had requested to be sent to the Templars at Bruer.

De Floyran looked at her intently for a few moments and then, seemingly satisfied, he nodded his head and put his hands on his hips.

"Hurt you, did he?"

"What would you care? Are you not about to administer some form of hurt?"

He smiled, "I am sure Beaumanoir and I operate very differently. He hurt you out of weakness, whereas . . ." he paused and then said, "I would save you out of it."

She shook her head at him. "You are fond of playing with people." She said scathingly.

"Yes, but you have made me display a trait that I despise. It is true!" he laughed when he saw her scowl.

"Are you relieved to be back in more comfortable surroundings?" He folded his arms and took the opportunity to admire her.

"I would rather be in the pit with Galeren than in the grandest palace with you." She returned with genuine sentiment.

De Floyran snorted. "A predictable answer, but I can hardly blame you."

"How is your finger?" she asked, allowing a conceited smile to form on her face as she looked at the bandaged appendage. She knew it was a small victory to be smug about, but still she saw that the question had piqued De Floyran.

"You should be more concerned with Galeren's fingers than mine." He returned the conceited smile.

"You have what you want!" Catherine shouted. "So get on with your revenge. Rape me, kill me, give me to a thousand soldiers! I don't care, just get on with it!"

De Floyran raised his eyebrows at her angry outburst. "Catherine, I don't want to rape or kill you. I did, once, but much has happened since our little meeting on the Temple Bruer estate."

He suddenly moved swiftly towards her. Startled by his sudden advance, Catherine quickly retreated backwards to get away from him, until there was nowhere to go except through the wall. Her heart raced and her senses swam. She could try to be brave but she was afraid, even more than when she had first encountered him, ripping out the tanner's throat, advancing on her, knocking her to the ground and marking her with his black blood.

She knew things about him now, things that she hadn't known then. He was just toying with her; he was a sadist who enjoyed the torment he caused. He loomed over her now and took her face in his uninjured hand, pinning her against the wall. His touch was neither forceful nor violent but gentle in its manner and it made her tremble all the more.

"Do you think me void of feeling?" he asked, his tone tender but unnatural.

"Yes," she said, unable to prevent the quiver from entering her voice. The sense that he was going to do something terrible filled her with fear.

"Mayhap you can change me?" he continued into her ear as if he were her lover whispering sweet incantations. Catherine shuddered involuntarily as she felt the heat of his breath upon her skin. He looked at her quizzically, as if shocked at her reaction to him. He pulled back and rested his hands upon her shoulders and sighed.

"It is a cruel thing and almost out of my hands," he said through hooded eyes, but then lifted them to meet hers and added as an afterthought, "but I have influence with De Nogaret and after the King and Pope leave tomorrow, well who is to know?"

"What are you talking about?" Catherine asked warily.

"Galeren's fate. The King has honoured my request to have final say on it." He smiled wolfishly. "I spoke earlier of a possible compromise. It is up to you though, Catherine."

Catherine shook her head perplexed, knowing that whatever he offered would be twisted to his design and malice.

"I have been forced to eke out a meagre existence as a hired sword since my expulsion from the Order and attempted murder by Galeren. Times are about to change for me. I am about to become a wealthy landowner with my own garrison, income and various chattels. It may be time for me to change. A wife with whom to produce an heir would complete the metamorphosis." He smiled as he saw Catherine's eyes widen in horror as she took on his meaning.

"Why you look at me with such dismay is but a mystery, when you're already mine." He said matter-of-factly, "I marked you, you belong to me and Galeren knows it well. You feel me in your cursed blood, my power courses through your veins, not his! You are of my making." He grabbed her arm as she made to escape him and pulled her back.

"Catherine!" he looked at her and his eyes shone in their intensity. "You feel it! You are bound to me, and in time you _will_ desire me."

"Never!" she screamed into his face. "You may have cursed my blood but I feel no bond to you. I am bound to Galeren, 'tis a natural and more powerful bond. You will never destroy that. Galeren and I would rather die, and you know it!"

He laughed, trying to quell his frustration. There was a bond between them and damn her she would yield to it. He pulled her closer and his teeth were bared as he spoke. "Brave words Catherine, so brave. But I will not let that be your fate. You will not die. You will live beside me, through force if necessary but not before you've witnessed every moment of your beloved's suffering."

He smiled cruelly as he said, "I can't imagine your distress as you are made to watch his torture. You are strong, but are you strong enough to hear every crack of bone, every tear of skin? Can you watch his attempts to thwart his cries of agony? Can you suffer to smell his searing flesh, as he slowly roasts at the stake? You will witness every moment of it!"

"You are truly a devil!" she screamed and spat at him.

He wiped his face unperturbed and pushed her back against the wall. "Not really, Catherine," he said, "I am giving you a choice." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "How do you choose to be with me? Through force, after witnessing Galeren's suffering and death? Or willingly, in exchange for his freedom and life?"

Her eyes widened once more as she took in his words.

"That's right," he said. "I will let Galeren walk out of Montlhéry alive and you can watch him leave. You have my word."

She looked at him in disbelief but knew that this was the hope that she had foreseen; a chance. There would be much travail but Galeren would live and so would she. She knew what she had decided before De Floyran had the chance to draw breath.

"Willingly," she said without hesitation.

### Chapter Twenty One

There was a light spring in De Floyran's step as he swept into the main hall. The smell of the feast that had been prepared on the eve of the King and Pope's departure, made his mouth water. He was ravenous and had much to celebrate. He saw De Nogaret sat on the dais table and next to him, a spare seat loyally reserved. Instead of feeling the usual dread at having to share the councillor's company, De Floyran rather relished the opportunity this evening.

He nodded at his men who sat on the trestle tables with the King and Pope's entourages and bowed respectfully to the two dignitaries before making his way to De Nogaret's side. He sat down, quickly drained the cup of wine which had been poured for him, and grabbed at one of the roasted fowls that was set amongst many others on numerous silver platters.

"Mmmm," he said, licking his lips as he tore at and devoured the bird, "there is almost too much food here!" He took a hunk of bread and broke it up, dipping it into its juices. "But I feel like I could eat the fucking lot!" He smiled with his mouth full and wiped his hands on a napkin so he could pour himself some more wine. He motioned to De Nogaret's cup.

"A little." The councillor said dourly. "You are in high spirits this eve." He said almost enviously.

"I am, there is much to celebrate and I would think that you would be in a more amiable mood. We all have much to be pleased about."

De Nogaret noticed De Floyran's bandaging on his finger and how it was absorbing the grease of the food he was dining on. He wondered how the man didn't choke, so fast he was wolfing it down.

"Yes, you are right of course." De Nogaret said, picking half-heartedly at some of the food.

"If you are still belly-aching about the gift I promised you, then you needn't." De Floyran washed a mouthful of food down with more wine and then in a whisper said: "You have my word. The transition is long and arduous and you will need to stay with me some time so I can help you adapt."

"De Molay said that you would never initiate me." De Nogaret said resentfully. De Floyran's eyes widened and he showed his teeth.

" _You told De Molay?_ "

"No!" De Nogaret said, looking around the room nervously. "He guessed it. I told him nothing."

"You'd better keep your mouth shut and be careful who hears it. We are _supposed_ to be destroying the werewolf brethren, not adding to it. If I can't trust you . . . " De Floyran trailed off.

"You can!" De Nogaret said almost too desperately and grabbed De Floyran's sleeve. De Floyran looked down at his hand disdainfully and De Nogaret quickly removed it and sighed defeated.

"Just relax Guillaume, enjoy your favour with the King. Let things calm down and then we will have some fun." He smiled at him reassuringly and De Nogaret appeared to relax a little.

"Of course," he agreed and raised his cup in a toast and downed it quickly.

They ate and drank in silence for a while and when De Nogaret felt full, he turned to De Floyran, who was still eating like a starving man, and said: "They want to move De Molay."

"Risky, there could be a battalion of Templars waiting to liberate him beyond the château walls." He said in a blasé manner.

"That's why the King wants you and your men to escort him."

"What?" De Floyran said not so blasé. He sighed irritably when he saw that De Nogaret was serious. "I'd hoped to relax here for a few more days before heading to my new estate, which I haven't yet even decided on."

"I have the list with me," De Nogaret said, as way of appeasing him.

De Floyran rolled his eyes. "Where do they want him moved to?" He poured them both some more wine.

"Chinon. It is where the other Templar dignitaries are incarcerated. The Pope wants them kept together and for their imprisonment to be overseen by the Church."

"My, my, he is flexing his muscles," De Floyran noted with a little surprise in his voice, "I must admit, I thought the old bastard weaker than that but I suppose that he wants the Church to be seen doing the right thing. You cannot wipe out one of the most powerful military orders and keep it from public scrutiny. Or perhaps his friendship with De Molay has clouded his judgement."

De Nogaret looked at De Floyran with surprise. "Surely even old friendships have their breaking point."

"Clement may be weak but he is wise, perhaps he likes the idea of the Church being protected by a brotherhood of supernatural knights. Did not my revelation to you lead to your desire to become one yourself?"

"That is different. I am but one man. The Pope would not risk the Church's reputation and besides Philip totally dominates him, he fears the stake himself and knows that he has no impunity against Philip's wishes.

Remember that the King has never shied away from going after the man in the top job. Boniface had much more about him than Clement. If it were him here and not Clement, I may agree with you. The King still went after him though and you frightened him to an early grave." De Nogaret reminded him in a lighter tone.

"Perhaps, you are right. My former observation is probably the correct one. Philip's methods are over zealous and Clement knows that history will judge them."

"'Tis the more likely reason." De Nogaret agreed. "The King has said he will pay you and your men extra for this service."

"Yes, yes," De Floyran waved his hand dismissively. He wiped his hands again and made to leave.

"Where are you going?" De Nogaret asked, sounding disappointed.

"Well I had hoped to enjoy the evening and relax, but seeing as I am to leave with you tomorrow, I have business to attend to that cannot wait."

"The girl?" De Nogaret asked, unable to keep the spectre of envy out of his voice. De Floyran raised an eyebrow knowingly and smiled but then shook his head.

"It involves her but my pleasure must wait. I've found a way of making her pliable to my advances."

"How so?" De Nogaret asked intrigued.

"I have promised to free Galeren, if she gives herself to me willingly."

De Nogaret's face crumbled in horror. "But you cannot let him go! He cannot live, he must die here. He will hunt us the length of his days, he is too dangerous to be left alive."

" _Shut up!_ " De Floyran growled. He looked around to make sure there were no interested ears before continuing. "Do you think me stupid?" A note of menace entered his voice. "I have no intention of letting him live, only that she believes he does."

"What are you going to do?"

"Well, I haven't quite got to that point. I rather thought I had a few days grace." He grabbed a napkin and shook it out so it was flat. He then grabbed one of the roasted fowl and wrapped it up within it.

"What time do we leave tomorrow?"

"First light," De Nogaret answered.

"Well then, I have a busy night ahead of me." He nodded curtly and got up. De Nogaret watched as he went over to speak to Raymond Caradas. He then left swiftly, with Caradas and the rest of his men in tow.

****

"Gathering your strength for the ordeal ahead?" De Floyran asked, as Galeren slowly opened his eyes to look at him as he entered the torture room. De Floyran was accompanied by Botolf, Armin and Huguard, the latter two in wolf form in case the unpredictable Galeren had had a thought to change himself.

However, he was still in human form and hung in the strappado; his arms pulled upwards and back so that his own weight wrenched his shoulders almost out of their sockets. This method of torture was often employed in the first instance, as it was extremely effective. Usually, no further action was required to secure a confession as, in most cases, the excruciating agony of dislocation was sufficient to get the victim talking. The terrible pain was prolonged even after they had been taken down.

"Or had you passed out from the pain?" De Floyran added with a self-satisfied smile on his face. Many victims did pass out from the pain and had to be resuscitated for questioning with a few firm slaps or a bucket full of water thrown over them. Such could go on for hours, however, De Floyran knew that Galeren was made of stronger stuff and his comment was merely to rile him.

"Get on with it." Galeren growled and De Floyran laughed raucously.

"Amazing! That is exactly what Catherine said to me. Would you like to know what I got on with?" he paused and watched Galeren's eyes darken.

"I'll put you out of your misery. Get him down." De Floyran commanded.

Botolf took hold of the device's rope that was bound to a large hook embedded in the wall and unsecured it. The pulley system lowered Galeren to the ground and he gripped the floor with his feet, determined not to fall upon it. He slowly pulled his arms back down behind him and stared at De Floyran, waiting for his next move.

"Here," De Floyran said and threw the wrapped fowl on the small table that was in the corner of the room. "I thought you might be hungry."

"Fuck you." Galeren said. "What's going on?" Galeren's senses were flooded with trepidation. _Catherine_. De Floyran folded his arms casually and Raymond Caradas entered the room with some clothing which he placed on the table next to the food.

"I said what is going on?" Galeren repeated as his heartbeat quickened.

De Floyran smiled. "You are free to go. I have provided clothing for you to wear and food for sustenance. The palfrey you rode in on will be saddled up and waiting for you. You will not be stopped if you leave without fuss, quietly."

"Do you think me dim-witted?" Galeren said. "You do not mean to let me go. Besides, you know well that I would not leave without Catherine or at least a fight for her."

"It's not what I want. It is what Catherine wants you to do." De Floyran said with a triumphant smile. "She and I came to a little compromise."

Galeren stared blankly at De Floyran, his breathing became shallow. He was loath to ask the bastard what his meaning was, though he dreaded that he already knew. De Floyran got tired of waiting and shrugging he said:

"I fear the beautiful Catherine has bewitched me. Perhaps it is because she bears my mark. No woman has lived with that before. I find her," he paused and raised his hand to his chin and stroked the stubble there, "intriguing. You know well my view of women, they are not much worth unless on their backs and I am not one to play games of seduction. I take what I want when I want it."

He shook his head as if perplexed. "But Catherine has caused me some confusion. On the one hand I _want_ to hurt her, to punish her for causing me to have such unnatural thoughts while it is those very thoughts that give me the strange desire to protect and care for her." He sighed as if in genuine turmoil. "I am almost ashamed to say it but I think she has gentled me. I have just been given an estate of my choice and I want a wife with whom to produce an heir. She is perfect," he smiled at Galeren, "and I can see myself enjoying her for many years."

"You whoreson!" Galeren stepped towards him, his teeth bared but De Floyran held his ground and let his men control the offence.

"She would not agree to it." Galeren said. A thread of certainty was in his eyes as he tried to shrug off Botolf's grip from his sore shoulder, but Catherine's words came back to haunt him. What would she agree to, to save him? His arms were still secured behind him, his hands still in the manacles of the strappado device.

"She knows I would rather die, and Christ knows she would too than be with you!"

"Then you do not know her as well as you think." De Floyran grinned.

"What have you said to her?"

"Only what is within my power to do. Throughout history we have seen that it is easier to sacrifice yourself than the one you love. She is merely honouring that time long tradition. She wishes to see you freed and unharmed, to return to your brethren in England. I've no doubt that she holds onto some romantic notion that you will seek her out and save her, like in some Arthurian romance but that will not be. You will never find her and I am positive that the bond we share will, in time, temper her feelings towards me. She will give into the nature she is bound by and become my mate in every sense of the word."

"You know nothing of the bond between mates!" Galeren screamed enraged at him. "Is this how you think to torture me?"

"Well, I would like to have pulled you apart limb from limb, but that is gratuitous, not to mention a relatively short-lived pleasure. This is more elegant and it works because my feelings towards Catherine are genuine, but don't misinterpret them as merciful." He said, a dark tone entering his voice, "I would still have no qualms about causing her agony in your presence if you do not honour your end of the bargain, which is to walk out of here and not look back. I'll have her willingly or I will just as happily satisfy my darker desires and cause her a lot of pain." He smiled. "You must sacrifice each other and then I will consider you efficiently tortured my old friend."

"I want to see her!" Galeren demanded.

"Predictable, but I have no problem with it. I can assure you though her mind is quite made up."

"We will see. Just bring her to me and I want to see her alone."

"This is the last request I will ever grant you. Be thankful." De Floyran grinned with pleasure and nodding to his foe snapped his fingers and left the torture room.

Galeren, now manacled to the wall, waited for what seemed an age for Catherine to be brought to him. When she finally entered the room he grimaced as he could see the determination on her face and knew what she would say.

"Galeren," she said in barely a whisper as the door was closed behind her and they were alone. She went to him and held him.

"Don't despise me."

"Despise you?" he said pulling away to look at her, "that I could never do, but I beg you not to do this. I would rather die."

"And I could not bear that. Perhaps it is selfish of me but this does offer some hope."

"Hope?" Galeren said bewildered. "Hope that you do not bear his child or get used to his attentions. What hope Catherine? I cannot accept the thought of it, lest walk out of these gates and leave you to live it."

"You don't understand. He will have me anyway, he has made that clear. He wants me to be with him willingly to hurt you of course. But if I do not, he will torture you to death in front of me and _then_ force himself on me, maybe once or maybe for the rest of my miserable life."

"It is rape whichever way you look at it!" Galeren cried miserably.

"Yes, you are right!" she said passionately, "but I would rather it knowing that you lived, that we may be reunited. I can survive with that hope."

"And what if I cannot?" Galeren shouted in fury, "I cannot! At least if I were dead I would know nothing of it. This way I will be haunted by you every moment, agonising whether his hands are upon you. Christ, can you not see it! There must be another way."

"There is not. I love you and won't let you die. Even if I never saw you again, you will live in my heart and that will save me from the darkness."

His heart tightened as he saw the tears well up in her sorrowful eyes and begin to course down her face. He pulled at his manacles as if to be free of them so he could hold her but she stepped towards him and laid her hands on his bare chest, "I don't want it this way but when we were in the pit there seemed to be no hope, now we have a little. You will be free and you will find me, I know you will."

"I will Catherine," he said assuredly, "but I am afraid what I will find," he added despairingly.

"You will find _me_." She looked at him with promise in her eyes. "Remember what you said to me when you killed those mercenaries in the forest on the way to Ashby?"

He shook his head, "You said, 'I will do or say anything to prevent harm from coming to you.' I never forgot it and now it is my turn to say the same."

"Catherine," he said defeated and rested his chin upon her head. They remained that way for a few moments and then Catherine said, "The Pope plans to issue a Bull ordering the arrest of all the Templars throughout the Christian world."

" _What?_ "

"I heard De Floyran speaking to one of the King's councillors." She continued but her voice suddenly dropped to a faint whisper, "I saw Robard Beaumanoir." She saw Galeren's frown deepen and quickly continued in the same vein. "He is sending a message to Parsifal at Bruer to warn the English Templars about the Pope's Bull."

Galeren's expression changed. "You trust he will do it?" he sounded doubtful.

"He feels he owes me and I believe that this in part will alleviate some of his guilt over me, of which he made clear that he has. Besides, you will now be free to get to England yourself and warn them."

"I am not going to leave French soil without you, mark me on that."

She smiled sadly. "Don't torture yourself with thoughts of me. Don't think of me in misery. Remember _us_ , and what we will be again. I am strong Galeren and I will wait for you."

"You will not wait long." Galeren promised and then said warningly, "De Floyran," just as the door opened and he appeared with a cunning look on his face.

"Have you changed your mind?" he addressed Catherine.

"No," she shook her head.

"Good girl!" De Floyran said chirpily.

"When will he be free to go?"

"Tonight, when he is ready." De Floyran answered. "I would have delayed until tomorrow but the King wants me to escort De Molay to his new place of incarceration. Chinon, in case you are wondering. The Pope wants him to join the other members of the Templar council."

"What of the other Templars here?" Galeren asked with fervent concern.

"They are to be left here to rot," De Floyran laughed viciously but quickly backed away as Galeren lunged forward.

"Ah, ah, ah . . . " he waved a warning finger, "keep your temper in check. You still have much to lose." He pulled Catherine away from him. "Come sweeting, back to our chamber. I must have parting words with Galeren. Caradas will bring you to the bailey to wave your farewell when he departs."

He smiled at Galeren as she was forced to leave and waited until he was sure she had been taken from the dungeons and was out of werewolf earshot.

"Of course, what she doesn't know is that I cannot let you live at all."

"You _bastard!_ " Galeren spat, though he sensed it was coming.

"The King only wants De Molay to leave Montlhéry. The rest of you were meant to end your days here. But he allowed me to have final say on your fate as long as you did not leave here alive. Christ knows _I_ don't want you to leave here alive. I have thought of nothing but your death since Acre."

He shrugged defensively, "Of course I could not convince Catherine to become my willing mate if you were to be killed. So for her benefit she will see you ride out of Montlhéry alive, but," he paused and unsheathed a dagger that was attached to his sword belt, "you will not live for long." He finished and thrust the dagger deep into Galeren's side. Galeren swallowed a cry and attempted to battle with the agony of its entry. De Floyran slowly pulled it out and inspected the blade proudly.

"Wolfsbane," he said casually as he re-sheathed the dagger, "an effective poison which will work its magic on you fairly rapidly. My men will help you dress, Catherine will be none the wiser and I would not have broken my promise to the King. Take heart Galeren," De Floyran said as he watched the hatred pour out of his eyes, "at least you will not live too long with the torture of knowing your mate is mine, making yourself insane with imagined scenarios which are probably happening." He laughed. "Oh, and not a word to Catherine about my parting gift, or me and my men will tear her apart in front of you."

Galeren sunk down on the floor as De Floyran's men entered to dress him and did not resist as they set about to their task.

"I doubt for the chance to see my father before I leave to die?" Galeren said when they had finished.

"I told you before that I'd granted you your last request when I allowed Catherine to visit you." De Floyran reminded him unsympathetically. "Besides I know how you Templars scheme when you are together and I could not stomach having to watch your woeful farewells."

"You always blame the Temple for what happened to you, but it is you that are twisted Esquin, not the brotherhood." Galeren said standing up.

"The Temple is hypocritical. How much innocent blood has been spilled in the last two centuries by Templar swords? And I am sure there are many women that have come up against a Templar's cock unwillingly and not just mine." He smiled sweetly.

Galeren scowled at him, "I am sure you speak the truth. On the first count, blood has been spilt but I believe we have evolved since the early days. The good we have tried to do and would have done, would eventually outweigh such casualties. On the second count, monsters, such as you, do not escape justice for long."

"You almost make me sick with your sanctimonious twaddle." De Floyran said contemptuously. "Remember that it was your failed attempt at justice that has led you, and all whom you love, to here. Think on that in your last agonies. Now you must leave before the wolfsbane renders you ineffectual."

Armin and Botolf pushed Galeren ahead of them as they all made their way out of the dungeons. Galeren saw for the last time the men who would not make it out of here alive and couldn't help the anger in him once again surface. He of course would become one of the Templar casualties of Montlhéry and he couldn't help but imagine De Floyran recounting the tale in years to come to the rapturous sound of appreciative laughter.

And what would become of Catherine? She would become nothing more than a slave, staring at a bleak horizon, wondering if this would be the day that he would come to save her from her desolation. He grimaced as he left the dungeons and thought of his father and the other Templars that still lived. For those that were already incarcerated, their future was doomed. Philip and his minions would make an example of them and ensure that the Temple was disseminated forever. Those that were still free would have no choice but to start anew and far from these shores. He could at least have faith in Le Roux, De Villiers, De Gosbeck and even young Parsifal in this dark hour and know that the future of their kind was assured, albeit from the ashes of devastation.

He saw Catherine in the château bailey guarded by Raymond Caradas. Over her gown she wore a dark black woollen cloak, the hood was up and she turned to stare at him, her grey eyes like those of a ghost, haunted already. De Floyran took Caradas' place and he instead went over to speak to the guards on night watch to allay their curiosity at the unusual activity. Once done he led Galeren's palfrey to him and helped him into the saddle.

Galeren turned his mount to face all of them and looked at each in turn, first at De Floyran's men his stare cold but full of promise that, if by some strange act of fate he ever came across them again, they would come to a fitting end. Then he looked at De Floyran who met his stare with smug triumph, completely secure in his executed plan. He would not think to look over his shoulder in the coming days but Galeren gave him a meaningful look of his own and then he turned his gaze upon Catherine. She closed her eyes slowly and opened them and he mirrored her act. She was safe in the knowledge that he would come for her and he needed to secure that knowledge for himself.

"There is nothing more to say," De Floyran said sounding bored. "You have said your farewells, this is merely for ceremony. Turn your mount and be on your way to freedom Galeren and never darken my doorstep again."

"I cannot promise that." Galeren said with a dark look in his eye and reined his horse reluctantly away and on towards the gates. As he reached them he felt a spasm rack his body and unsure whether it was a chill of foreboding or the effect of wolfsbane he nevertheless quickly spurred his mount onwards, not wanting Catherine to witness the truth for fear of her own safety. And so swiftly and painfully he was into the night and gone.

Catherine stared wistfully after him not wanting to accept that he was gone knowing what she now must face. But he was free and now she could wait for his return.

"Come Catherine, into the warmth. He's gone." De Floyran said with chilling finality. He offered her his hand and she took it numbly and he led her back inside. He spoke briefly with Caradas who, with the rest of his men, retired to the barracks to find some rest before the next day's journey.

De Floyran took Catherine gently by the arm and led her back up to the chamber that had been her prison for the last few days. But this time he did not leave her alone. He smiled as he removed his gloves and went over to the table, upon which sat a flagon of wine, two cups and some figs and sweet pastries.

"I thought you may need this." He said as he poured the wine and offered her a cup. She took it without hesitation and drained its contents immediately. She held it out to be refilled.

De Floyran laughed gently, "I suppose you think it will be easier for you if you are drunk." He remarked intuitively. Catherine merely shrugged and took the refilled cup from him.

"I don't want you to be afraid. I do not mean to hurt you."

Catherine looked at him cagily and he laughed again. "I know what you think of me and I know that at present there is nothing I can do to change your opinion."

"You could free me and the others here." She said daringly.

"I cannot do that Catherine and I do not want to either. You are exactly where I want you to be. However much you despise me, remember that you gave your word that you would give yourself to me willingly. My men can easily catch up with Galeren and there are others here that would suffer if you do not do my bidding."

"I will honour my word. Resistance would be pointless." Catherine said, knowing that there was too much at stake to resist or anger him.

"And unpleasant," he said with a malevolent smile. "Come here." He commanded. She obeyed him and walked boldly up to him. He put down the cup he was drinking from and unclasped the broach that pinned her cloak together. He pushed the garment from her shoulders and watched it drop to the ground.

"Take off your gown." He said and saw the onset of humiliation flicker in her eyes. She hesitated momentarily but then, as if drawing on some hidden strength, she began to undress. De Floyran watched with fascination at the ritual, he could not think of a time where he had ever interacted with a woman in such a way. He quickly followed suit. She watched at first, noting how toned and powerful his body was, a werewolf trait, she presumed. His skin was dark and there was thick black hair scattered across his chest. She quickly averted her eyes, not willing to see the rest of him.

She stood, still in her undershift while De Floyran, naked, walked towards her. He reached down and gathered the bottom of the scant covering in his grip. He wound the material around his fist, drawing it taut against her body. It rode up her legs as he gathered it upwards. He pulled her against his body and stared into her eyes that looked desperately into his.

"I have waited a long time for this Catherine," he breathed huskily, "now say my name."

"Esquin," she said without emotion.

"Again," he said, "and how you know I want you to say it."

"Esquin," she said breathlessly and with feigned passion.

"Yes," he hissed, as if he had already obtained his satisfaction. "You will never mention Galeren's name again, not to me, not to my men, not to anyone and you will rue the day that you do, is that understood?"

She nodded sadly and he took her face with his hand and tilted it up to him. "You are beautiful and you are mine. I will treat you well, if you let me."

She nodded dolefully, trying with all her power to prevent the tears from welling up in her eyes.

"I am your true mate and Galeren has always known that. It was my bite that made you one of us. The wolf in you will be reconciled to that fact relatively quickly and in time your human nature will accept it too and I promise you, when it does you will be content."

He moved back from her slightly, and slowly and deliberately removed the undershift, the last vestige of modesty, from her body. He took a moment to admire her. Pleased, he smiled and gathered her into his arms and swiftly took her to the bed. Laying her upon it, he paused and looked down at her legs. He took her left thigh in his hands and then slowly ran them down it, across her knee and then along her calf, where he stopped. He turned her leg slightly and inspected the scar from his bite.

"Mine," he said possessively and smiled.

### Chapter Twenty Two

The hazy dawn light fell upon Catherine's face and she stared dazedly at the shapes it created on the chamber walls. She felt De Floyran stir beside her, his arms still wrapped around her. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, as if to eradicate him from her memory. He had not hurt her, not in the sadistic way she had imagined, rather he had treated her with a respect and care that she thought he would have been incapable of. But he had been insatiable in his desire for her, not letting her be until a few hours before dawn. She would rather that he had been cruel; at least she would have felt justified in suffering, instead of feeling like his whore.

He groaned and his hand reached up to touch her hair. She prayed that he would be mindful of the time and hasten to get up and ready for the journey to Chinon.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked casually and memories of Galeren came flooding to her. She closed her eyes and swallowed the choke in her voice.

"Of the journey ahead," she lied. She wanted to say Galeren and tell him that he would never be out of her heart and mind, but she was afraid of what his punishment might be.

"Yes," he said. "We had better make ready for it, though I would rather stay abed with you." He wound a lock of her hair around his finger and then released it, running his fingertips down her bare back. She shivered.

"Are you cold?" he asked, though he knew she was not. He knew that her compliance the previous night had been for Galeren's benefit and to hold true to her word, even though at times he thought he had felt her respond to his touch. He had enjoyed every inch of her immensely. Her intense hatred for him, combined with her battle to restrain any pleasure she may have felt, had kept his lust ravenous.

However, he hoped that eventually her hatred would be replaced by desire. It was strange the affect she had on him. In time, he was sure that the bond between them would grow, and she would allow herself to enjoy the pleasure of his attentions. He smiled as the thought of Galeren struck him; if he had lived to see that! But he probably hadn't made it through the night. The wound itself had produced plenty of blood, that and the poison would ensure he was just debris on the forest floor.

"Get dressed," he said to Catherine as he jumped out of the bed and began to dress himself. She nodded distantly. He kept his eyes on her while he finished getting ready.

"Don't look so sad." He said as he pulled on his boots. "This will all be over soon and we will be well away from it all. You can then adjust to your new life." He grabbed his gloves and made for the door. "I'll send Caradas for you." He said cheerfully as he left. Catherine curled up into a ball and cried.

The château bailey was alive with an assortment of knights and servants from both the King and Pope's retinues all preparing for their various journeys to Poitiers, Fontainebleau and Chinon.

"Who's getting De Molay?" De Floyran asked De Nogaret as he walked into the noise and chaos.

"I thought it best if you and your men did." He answered with a yawn.

"Yes, indeed," De Floyran agreed, "De Molay may be old but he is dangerous."

"How so?" De Nogaret asked curiously.

"He is a very powerful werewolf," De Floyran said. "He can get into here," he tapped the side of his head, "if you let him."

De Nogaret remembered the strange affect the Grand Master had on him during his meetings with him. The intense headaches came to mind at once. He had thought they were due to the pressure of work but now he wondered whether it was De Molay's doing.

"Well he is all yours." De Nogaret said absently, as he saw Catherine being brought towards them by Raymond Caradas.

"Did you deal with your business last night?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the beautiful captive.

"Yes, fear not Galeren has been well disposed of."

"And her?" his tiny eyes darted furtively from Catherine to De Floyran.

"Yes, she was well disposed of too." He winked at De Nogaret but cranked his head to the side as something caught his ear. He heard raised voices and looked across at the château's entrance and saw Huguard and Botolf dragging a man down the steps and towards them.

"Hey!" De Floyran screamed at them and began to make his way over to the disturbance. De Nogaret hesitated for a moment and then immediately followed when he recognised the man they were wrestling with.

"What is going on?" he said angrily as he reached them.

"We have ourselves a spy!" De Floyran said zealously.

"What are you talking about?" De Nogaret said befuddled.

"Do you know this man?"

"Of course, he is my servant. He has been abed, sick."

"Really?" De Floyran smiled. "He is a Templar."

"A Templar?" De Nogaret said shocked, but he did not doubt De Floyran's integrity for he had spoken of a werewolf's perception for those of their own kind. Nevertheless, he wanted to hear it from the servant he had put his trust in over the last few months.

"Is it true Ourri?" De Nogaret demanded.

Ourri nodded slowly, it was pointless to deny it seeing as he was surrounded by his own brethren.

"You snake!" De Nogaret spat and struck him with back of his hand.

"Touché," Ourri said arrogantly and braced himself as De Nogaret raised his hand to strike him again.

"Now, now," De Floyran said taking hold of De Nogaret's arm. "Let's not make too much of a fuss."

"What is going on?" Raymond Caradas asked, as he approached the commotion with Catherine in tow.

"We have a spy in our midst," De Floyran answered. "Where has he been hiding?"

"I cannot believe this!" De Nogaret shook his head. "He has feigned illness these last few days and therefore stayed in the servant's quarters, to avoid you no doubt! He begged me to let him follow in a few days when he was feeling well." De Nogaret shook his head angrily, wondering what secrets Ourri had imparted to his brethren since being in his service.

"We smelt him out," Botolf said with a crooked smile.

"Unlucky for you, boy!" De Floyran jibed.

"How come you did not sense him at my residence when you visited?" De Nogaret asked accusatory.

De Floyran pondered this. "I was distracted." His eyes darted over to Catherine. "He probably made himself scarce." De Floyran offered dismissively. In truth, his sense of smell was not always so astute, but he wasn't going to tell De Nogaret that.

Catherine looked at the young boy and sensed his fear. He looked at her woefully and sensed that she too was not here through choice.

"Ourri is your name?" De Floyran said contemplatively and put his finger to his lips, "Ourri Venois? De Villiers'son?"

The boy nodded his head slowly in agreement. "I thought I could smell him on you." De Floyran sneered.

"Gerard de Villiers?" De Nogaret said, eyes widening. "He was one of the dignitaries that eluded arrest, told about it by this shit no doubt! What else has he done?" De Nogaret threw his hands up in anger.

"I am sure he has quite a bit to tell us, not least where his father is." De Floyran said more calmly.

"What shall we do with him?" De Nogaret asked, infuriated by the betrayal.

"We'll take him to Chinon with De Molay and have him interrogated there. We have special methods for spies."

"Can't you let him go, Esquin?" Catherine said softly, putting her hand on his sleeve, "he is just a boy."

De Floyran looked down at her hand and smiled.

"I am afraid not, even though you asked me so nicely," he said patting her hand gently, "but I am far too familiar with the trouble a boy can cause." He narrowed his eyes. "Secure him Raymond, while I get De Molay. And no trouble boy or you will have the Grand Master's death on your conscience." De Floyran said and took Catherine's hand and kissed it.

"I will be back presently," he smiled reassuringly at her and headed into the château along with Botolf and Huguard.

"Where is Galeren?" De Molay said when De Floyran and his two men entered his cell.

"Gone," De Floyran said, "I let him go last night."

"You expect me to believe that?" De Molay said, as he was put in shackles.

"I don't expect anything." De Floyran said nonchalantly. "I struck a bargain with the fair Catherine, torture and death for Galeren or his freedom in return for her favours." He smiled wickedly. "She chose the latter, only what she doesn't know, is that Galeren left here with a wound in his side full of wolfsbane. I doubt he made it through the night. It's an old trick but a good one. I wasn't feeling generous enough to allow you to say your goodbyes but you've never been particularly close, so it was probably for the best."

"You craven bastard!" De Molay snarled. "I swear that before I utter my last breath, you will come to a pitiful end."

"Yes, yes. I am sure you can appreciate that I am getting bored with all these pointless threats. I had several from Galeren but to no avail, as you know by now he is merely forest fodder."

De Molay closed his eyes a moment and breathed deeply as if in meditation. De Floyran narrowed his eyes suspiciously and was about to speak when De Molay said, "You are wrong, he lives."

De Floyran turned away from him angrily. "So you would like to believe. His wound was severe and the poison potent."

"Be assured in your confidence then," De Molay said calmly, "and I will be assured in mine."

"Fuck you and your confidence Jacques de Molay." De Floyran said edgily. "Your time and that of your son's has come and gone. You are just wood for the fire, be grateful that your son did not suffer the same fate, though now I wish that I had saved him for it. Still, I have De Villiers' son for that." He said viciously.

"What?" De Molay raised his eyebrows in shock.

"Yes, young Ourri Venois has just been found spying in the King's camp. Imagine the fate he faces. He is coming to Chinon with us. You are all damned De Molay! Bring him up after the King has left!" De Floyran screamed at his men and left the room with his temper firmly ignited. Outside the main hall he saw Armin de Merle who hastened over to him.

"I've been looking for you," he said a little flustered.

"Well, you have found me. Did you speak to him?" De Floyran asked eagerly.

"Yes, he waits for you now behind the barracks."

"Good." De Floyran said and turned to leave.

"Do you want me to come with you," De Merle offered.

"Don't be stupid," De Floyran said contemptuously, "go and help Caradas in the bailey, we have a new prisoner."

He turned and left him and made his way to the garrison barracks by means of avoiding the main château bailey. There was not a big retinue at Montlhéry and most of the men were assisting the King and Pope in the main bailey so the barracks would be more or less empty. He saw Beaumanoir, just where De Merle had told him, and he was nervously tottering from one foot to the other.

"Robard!" De Floyran said in a friendly manner, as he approached the nervy councillor.

"What do you want?" Beaumanoir asked uneasily, "your man said it was about Catherine."

"It is indeed," De Floyran said, "she always works well as the bait," he added as he reached Beaumanoir. He quickly grabbed his arm as the councillor realised the danger and made to escape. De Floyran swung him round and slammed him into the wall of the barracks and grabbed him by the throat.

"Uh uh," De Floyran said, bending his head from side to side until his neck cracked. "You went to see her when I told you not to." He said, as if he were scolding a wayward child.

Beaumanoir knew it was a mistake to meet De Floyran but he'd been tricked into thinking it was for Catherine's sake, he should have known better.

"She told you," he managed to say without choking.

De Floyran loosened his grip and shook his head. "She's not a treacherous worm like you," he said scornfully, "she didn't have to," he tapped the side of his nose, "it's a gift."

"I only wanted to see her," Beaumanoir said desperately, "I could not believe what I had witnessed. I still care for her."

"You are a fool. To have let a woman like her go . . . I thought it madness before, but now I have tasted her, I see it as a crime."

He saw Beaumanoir's eyes cloud with hatred as he took on the meaning of his words.

"You swine!" he cried and felt De Floyran's grip tighten about his throat. "Did you hurt her?" he coughed and De Floyran smiled.

"No, but you did, so who's the swine?" he raised his eyebrows at him. "Now, what I want to know is what you spoke about during your little meeting? I warn you, I can smell a lie."

"We spoke briefly about her sister, she enquired after her father, I asked her what all this madness was," he rambled rapidly and then drew breath to continue, "but she did not welcome my intrusion and I don't blame her." Beaumanoir said, his jaw trembling.

De Floyran eyed him suspiciously for a moment. In truth, he could not smell a lie, but this whelp did not know that and with that knowledge, he trusted what he had just been told.

"Catherine told me as much when I pressed her. Thank you for telling me the truth." De Floyran said. Beaumanoir breathed a small sigh of relief.

"Now," De Floyran smiled, "did I say I would break your neck or skin you alive if you went near her?"

Beaumanoir's eyes widened in horror, as he watched De Floyran frown in mock contemplation. "You surely don't mean to . . ." Beaumanoir said in breathless horror, but De Floyran ignored his question and instead said:

"It was to skin you alive, was it not?" he looked at Beaumanoir as if expecting confirmation of the fact. Beaumanoir shook his head and his body convulsed in terror.

"I am one of the King's men!" he protested. "You dare not harm me!"

"I don't care who you are. I told you what I would do to you if you went near her. You did not believe me?"

Beaumanoir made to cry out but De Floyran squeezed the sound from his throat.

"See, I don't have time to skin you alive and you would make such a fuss in any case, so break your neck it is." De Floyran said and continued the pressure.

Beaumanoir's watering eyes bulged and he could feel the bones in his neck crunch as De Floyran made good his threat. However, his last thoughts were not for himself, only that he was glad he had dispatched the message to the English Templars the day before, and that Catherine would remember his integrity.

Back in the bailey the King and Pope were stood talking to De Nogaret and De Plaisians. De Floyran cast his eyes casually about the scene and saw that Catherine was sat upon his mount with Caradas holding its reins in one hand and the reins of the mount Ourri Venois was tied to in the other. Armin was stood with him watching the commotion in the bailey with vigilant scrutiny. He was pleased but De Molay's words came back to haunt him and he wondered about Galeren.

He knew well the consequences of not seeing a job through to the end. Galeren had failed on that part and he was living proof of that, but now he may have made the same error. Not having seen the light of life leave his enemy's eyes may prove yet to be a dangerous mistake. He knew the power of wolfsbane and had driven the dagger deep into Galeren's side, but he was now left with a seed of doubt. He looked again at Catherine. She believed her lover lived and she would be able to confirm whether he did or not, when she tried, as she would, to contact him.

Piqued by De Molay's arrogance and his own potential folly, he nevertheless strolled confidently over to De Nogaret and, bowing to the King and Pope, quietly joined the conversation.

"We can further this discussion when I see the Bull published and action taken by Europe's leaders. I don't need to remind you of what we are dealing with here, do I?" Philip said obstinately.

"Of course not, but this is also a matter for the Church who is, or has been, the only authority that the Temple has had to answer to. It would appear strange if we were not involved. If you wish me to abolish the Order, then you must grant me involvement with my own methods."

De Floyran noted that while Philip was wont to dominate the weak Clement, the Pope still contained his resolve and would not allow himself to be completely bullied. The King looked at De Nogaret for an answer that he could not come up with himself.

"You have seen with your own eyes the truth of the matter and I think De Molay did not deny it to you. The investigation itself is more or less over, all else is for show." De Nogaret said. "However, I can see your Holiness's point at wanting to be seen to be involved. It is important, for all proceedings and conclusions will be documented, without, of course, certain details. History will judge the matter and we must be seen to be conducting it legally and fairly. After the Bull is published, we can arrange for representatives of your choosing to speak to whomever you wish."

Clement looked at Philip who nodded his agreement and happy with the answer Clement lowered his head respectfully at the King.

"It has been quite a harrowing few days but I praise you all for your temperance and efforts." The King said.

"Indeed." The Pope agreed solemnly and held out his hand to Philip and the King quickly kissed his ring. Clement then turned and left them and once secured in his litter, his retinue began to move out of the bailey.

"Christ forgive me, but I would like nothing better than to have him holed up with De Molay and his kind." The King said disgruntled, wiping his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. "I swear he does this just to aggravate me! Why does he want to speak to De Molay and the others, he knows what they are!"

"Clement is a sap," De Floyran offered. "He and De Molay have been friends. He merely wants to save him and the other dignitaries from mistreatment. Clement is a man who does things by the book. He does not wish to be thought of as cruel, lest history taint him with that virtue."

"So the cruelty rests on my shoulders!" Philip said angrily, "I am doing good here, now _I_ am to be judged?"

"No, no your Majesty," De Nogaret interjected, shooting De Floyran with a warning look. "Esquin does not mean that. It is another facet of Clement's weakness; he will sit on the wall and therefore save himself from being judged either way."

"Absolutely," De Floyran added. "Clement will be judged as weak, you as decisive. When this is done you will be praised for your actions."

"And if Clement wishes to involve himself in Templar sympathies then he will find himself in a dungeon alongside them, I promise you that." De Nogaret finished.

"Hmmfp," Philip snorted, "let's keep watch of him then and I want to know immediately when this Bull is published." He folded his arms. "De Plaisians you will come to Fontainebleau with me and I want you and Beaumanoir to accompany De Floyran to Chinon, where you will all wait for my instruction." He said to De Nogaret.

De Floyran smiled at the King though he wanted to snarl, while De Nogaret sent a scathing look De Plaisians way.

"I had rather hoped to be on my way after delivering the Grand Master to Chinon, your Majesty." De Floyran said smoothly, trying to quell his irritation at the instruction.

"You will be on your way when I say so. I am sure De Nogaret explained that I may need your services from time to time and you will be well paid for them, is that not what you want? And you can take that gloomy look off your face," he snapped at De Nogaret, "you are in the thick of the fray worry not! There is more going on in Chinon than Fontainebleau, I can assure you. Now piss off and get on with your jobs." The King said and turning away he snapped his fingers and several of his servants hurried to his side.

Bowing dutifully, they watched him leave and as he did De Nogaret sighed, "I suppose I should have expected this," he said. "He always falls into a foul mood when the Pope pushes him. Clement had better watch himself."

"Mmmm," De Floyran said thoughtfully, thinking of his own situation. It may be just as well that he spent some time at Chinon when he was uncertain, as he now was, of Galeren's fate. If he was indeed alive and followed them, then this time he would make sure he did the job properly before heading to his new estate which he had yet to decide on.

De Floyran echoed De Nogaret's sentiment by sighing too and said, "I did not expect to be playing bodyguard to De Molay for the duration of this damned business." He grumbled.

"I am afraid your revelation has in the same vein made you and your men indispensable to the King for the time being. He expects an attempt to rescue the Grand Master."

"I suppose it is no harm," De Floyran said airing his concerns, "besides we may have to watch our backs. I may have messed up with Galeren."

"How so?" De Nogaret said worriedly.

"De Molay is convinced he lives, father and son bond." He added when he saw De Nogaret about to comment.

"He is a strong bastard. I should have used my wits and had him followed and finished off instead of trusting my plan's success. Still what's done is done. She will let us know." He motioned to Catherine. "Besides, we have all that he cares about within our hands." He smiled as he saw De Molay being brought into the bailey. Botolf and Huguard directed him to the mount that Ourri Venois sat upon, guarded by Caradas and Armin. De Floyran began to walk towards them and motioned for De Nogaret to join him. He laughed as he saw his men assist De Molay into the saddle behind De Villiers' son.

"Now isn't that a fine sight!" De Floyran remarked cheerily. "A symbol of the Templars' commitment to poverty and service, two knights sharing one mount. What a hypocrisy that has been, but now see how fitting it is, your humble beginnings denote your dismal end."

"The end is not yet upon us De Floyran and when it is, then you will surely be joining us." De Molay said.

De Floyran shrugged. "Whatever helps you to sleep," he jibed unperturbed. "Hood them." He commanded and Botolf pulled forth two black hoods which had been slid through his sword belt and proceeded to place them over the two Templars' heads. De Molay managed to cast Catherine a sorrowful look before his face was shrouded by the hood.

"Finally, are we ready?" De Floyran asked to no one in particular as he grabbed the reins of his horse from Caradas.

"Where is Beaumanoir?" De Nogaret commented, as he looked across the bailey briefly in search of him, "I have not seen him since I broke my fast."

"He's dead." De Floyran said unemotionally. He flexed his hands and caught the horrified look of Catherine as he did.

" _What?_ " De Nogaret said equally horrified.

"Dead. I killed him. He went to see Catherine in secret and planned to get a message to her father about her predicament. He was about to betray us and the King."

"Christ Esquin, when did all this happen?"

"Yesterday, but I didn't kill him until just now.

"Jesu, couldn't you have just brought him to the King, at least let him explain himself!"

"I had my hands full," he smiled apologetically. "I did you a favour. We can't risk having traitors in our midst." He reasoned.

"I suppose, but the King will not appreciate it, not without his command."

"We'll think of something to tell him." De Floyran smiled reassuringly and then jumped into the saddle of his mount behind Catherine.

"You evil swine!" she said to him, her voice choked with emotion. "He only came to see me. He would have told no one."

"I know that, but I warned him to stay away from you and he chose to ignore my threat. I had hoped to start the day without upsetting you," he sighed with feigned remorse. "However, it was not to be, but it is Beaumanoir who is to blame here not me." He said with self justification.

She tried to wrestle out of his grasp but he pulled her close to him and motioned with his free hand to his retinue to move out. De Nogaret made his way to his own horse shaking his head incredulously and they finally left Montlhéry with De Floyran watchful and cautiously in the lead.

****

Galeren lay in wolf form in a stream a few miles north of Montlhéry. He was more in discomfort than in pain, as he let the icy cold water run over his body and, more importantly, De Floyran's grievous wound. Knowing the effects of wolfsbane but unsure of how his wolf blood would deal with the dose, he had wasted no time in riding as far as he could from the château, lest they come searching for his body, and had let his horse go. He had almost felt drunk on the wolfsbane and quickly sensed that its effects had not poisoned him but rather had acted as a dwale and deadened the pain of the dagger's gouge.

He knew that wolfsbane could prevent metamorphosis but he had attempted to change nevertheless and fortunately had had success. This would quicken his healing and to assist it, he set about finding water. The stream had been perfect and he had submerged himself within it. His aim was to prevent further blood loss and to attempt to wash the poison from the wound, though he knew a good amount of it was already within his bloodstream. It had not been detrimental though and he exhibited none of the symptoms of a lethal poisoning.

His major concern had been with the dagger wound itself. De Floyran was a witless cad, what he thought he knew about wolfsbane had not been well researched. He obviously knew nothing about lethal doses of poisons. In addition, De Floyran had relied on the poison to do its worst and had not pierced any vital organs. Galeren's survival through the night had indicated that he had been fortunate on that score too. Luckily for Galeren, De Floyran was in favour of the dramatic rather than the practical.

He hoped that he would be back on his feet and on his way to Chinon in a few hours, though he was yet to formulate a sensible plan. He knew his worry and desperation to find his mate would make him irrational and he knew that would not help. Through the night he had tried to rest, but his mind could do nothing but torment him. He knew that De Floyran would have wasted no time with Catherine now that he thought his revenge on him had been meted out.

He knew it was pointless to think of Catherine's sacrifice and dwell on painful scenarios; nevertheless he had tortured himself with it throughout the night. Though he could not change what was done, he told himself that she was strong and that what was important now, was to get her back; away from De Floyran's sadistic hands and to make the bastard pay for all that he had done, once and for all.

With that determined thought, he came out of the freezing water and shook himself thoroughly. He lay for a while to dry and see the effects of his therapy. He allowed himself to fall asleep, knowing that he had had precious little of it during his uncomfortable night and that he would need all the strength he could muster for the journey ahead.

When he awoke some hours later, it was with a clear fresh head and renewed strength. He got to his feet, shook himself down and with a solid plan now fixed in his mind, he turned and headed not to Chinon, but back towards Montlhéry.

### Chapter Twenty Three

There was a thick fog that hung low around the countryside, engulfing all that it touched in a white haze. The early morning sun shone through the mist with beams of golden light and made the forest appear ethereal and somehow magical. Catherine could not embrace its magic though as she rode pillion with De Floyran holding her possessively, knowing that there was no respite from his cruelty. He had brutally killed Beaumanoir and she was racked with guilt over it. She knew that she had not asked him to come and see her and even if she had warned him that De Floyran would sense his visit, it would not have saved him. However, she knew that the risk he had taken was because of her and now he was dead.

Despite De Floyran telling her that he had not wished to hurt her, his lying to De Nogaret about a message to her father confirmed that he had killed Robard for that very reason. He knew that Beaumanoir was no threat to him and if Robard had confessed to agreeing to send a letter of warning to Temple Bruer, then why would De Floyran have said it was a letter to her father? He was lying; Beaumanoir had told him nothing. He had killed him simply because he enjoyed the act but also to remind her that that would be the fate of anyone that she might care for other than him. She could sense his jealousy and knew that he had wanted to kill Beaumanoir to destroy any connection, past or present, that he had shared with her.

While she thought on the death of Beaumanoir, her grief quickly turned to fear for Galeren's safety. Beaumanoir had been part of her past and he had betrayed her once, there was no bond between them, not like the one she shared with Galeren. She may have seen him ride out of Montlhéry alive but she had no idea what happened after that. Despite doing what De Floyran wanted, he could still have sent his men after Galeren to kill him. She could not trust De Floyran's word and the more she thought on it, the more she was convinced that something terrible had happened to Galeren.

Catherine reached out with her mind, trying to make contact with him. Yet as she feared, there was nothing and no matter how hard she tried all she got was emptiness. Why could she not sense him? She looked around her surroundings desperately as if for a sign of something, anything, but there was nothing. Suddenly she felt dizzy, queasy and lunged forward putting her hand to her head as a sharp pain shot through it. De Floyran sensed her distress and hoping it was to do with Galeren said:

"Are you well?"

"No," Catherine said, "I may be sick, I need you to stop."

"We don't have time to dilly dally Catherine, are you really sick?"

"Well, if you do not stop forthwith you will find out." She said sounding weakened. Her state appeared genuine and so De Floyran drew rein and motioned for his troop to do the same. He dismounted first and helped her down.

"I'll have to escort you, I can't very well have you disappear into the mist, change and run away from me."

"Whatever you wish," she said despondently and quickly walked towards the refuge of the trees. He caught up to her and took hold of her arm and they disappeared into the mist together. He only let her go when she lent up against a tree and began to wretch.

"I hope this is not for the sake of Beaumanoir." He said pitilessly.

She shot him a venomous look, as she wiped her mouth and breathed deeply.

"He is not worth your grief," De Floyran reasoned, "do not forget that he was happy to abandon you to your fate when his situation was compromised by your father's wishes."

"You did not have to kill him!" Catherine spat. "There was no message to my father." She added.

"I know," he said casually, "but I told him that I would kill him if he went near you. It is done now. I cannot change it."

"Did you kill Galeren too?" she said, her voice trembling in fear of the answer.

"What makes you think that?" De Floyran said, suddenly very interested in what she was saying.

"I . . ." she began and broke off.

"Tell me," De Floyran encouraged, "I won't punish you for whatever you say." He smiled reassuringly.

"I cannot sense him," she said looking down despairingly, "is he dead?"

"How would I know?" De Floyran shrugged, "I know as much as you. I saw him the last time you did."

"And your men?"

"I swear they did not leave the château." He said truthfully. "Do you think I would break my word?"

"I think you have no reason to let Galeren live. Beaumanoir did nothing to you and you killed him, for nothing. Why would you let Galeren live?"

"For you," De Floyran stepped closer to her, "all for you. I killed Beaumanoir because he hurt you; I let Galeren live because I want you. My desire for you is greater than for Galeren's death."

"I don't believe you." Catherine said, stepping away. But De Floyran closed in on her and pulled her towards him.

"Did I not treat you well last night?" he said searching her face, but she averted her eyes from him. "Did I hurt you, Catherine?"

She shook her head reluctantly but still refused to look him in the eyes. "I know you don't want to admit it to yourself, but you felt the bond between us last night."

"No!" she said aghast, finally meeting his eyes.

"I know it is hard to accept now and you feel guilt for allowing yourself to feel desire for me but –" he stopped short as he felt Catherine's hand hard across his face.

"That hurts." He said with a wry smile.

She looked at him with loathing. "I will never desire you! Willingly means without resistance and that's all you got." She said and tried to walk away but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

"I know you fight it. I know deep down, you like me. Your body betrayed that fact last night."

"No! I hate you! _I hate you!_ " she screamed and tried to slap him again. He grabbed her hand.

"Convince yourself of that, not me." He grinned. "Much has happened, but believe me I would not entertain such wilfulness if I did not sense our bond deep within you."

She shook her head defiantly. "You are mistaken. I'll save you your time, my wilfulness will never cease! There is no bond. You have had me, now you can kill me."

"I know you want me to because you believe Galeren is dead," he smiled and pulled her close to him, "but this is not about what you want, is it? Remember, there are others that you care about in our midst, how they are treated depends on you." He kissed her swiftly on the lips, before she had the chance to react.

"Now come, no more delays, we have a journey to make." He said and marched her back to his waiting retinue.

Galeren returned to Montlhéry as a wolf. He had tried to contact Catherine but the effect of the wolfsbane seemed to have dampened his senses and his single attempt had made him feel extremely nauseous. He didn't persist, not willing to waste what precious time he had; he just wanted to get to her. But first, he must free the others. This time he knew his entrance into the château would be easy, there were only men now guarding its entrance and passageways and a dungeon full of werewolves whom he meant to release. He was confident in his plan and although the wolfsbane poisoning may have dulled his senses, they were still sharper than any man's, especially the dullards who were here.

The gates of the bailey were still open and the château doors were flung wide and Galeren could see that a massive clear up of the château, inside and out, was taking place. Having played host to the large numbers of men that had been in the King and Pope's retinues, it would need to be put back in order. Servants were sweeping the château steps and several men were raking over the earth in the bailey, levelling it out after it had been severely chewed up by all the comings and goings of the numerous wagons and horses. Galeren, now a man and naked, boldly walked across the bailey hoping he would be noticed immediately, he was.

"Halt there!" a gravelly voice called out, "where the fuck do you think you're going?" the sergeant, who should have been watching the postern gate, marched forcefully over to him.

"Inside," Galeren shrugged.

"What?" the man said, shaking his head in disbelief as he took in the state of the intruder.

"I am a Templar."

"You are an idiot," the man said, losing patience, "we're arresting Templars around here." He added raising his eyebrows at the young man, whom he reasoned was probably dim-witted.

"Well, I've come to the right place then." Galeren said. "Arrest me." He held out his hands to be bound.

"Are you completely witless? Fuck off and stop wasting my time." The sergeant said and made to escort him out of the bailey.

"Stop wasting mine," Galeren said and struck him hard in the face. The sergeant stumbled backwards with his hand raised to his bloody nose. He stared at Galeren furiously and a little dumbfounded.

"Like it?" Galeren said, "want some more?"

"Guards!" the man yelled out and Galeren was promptly surrounded and seized. "This lack wit fancies to be incarcerated with the Templar scum that are here, see that he is!" he spat and back handed Galeren across the face in return.

Galeren remained patient while he received a half-hearted beating from the guards. Three of them then led him into the familiar château and rapidly took him down to the entrance of the dungeons, where he was swiftly and securely bound in chains. Confident that he was no further trouble, they left him with the guard on duty at the dungeon door who, fumbling with his mass of keys, finally unlocked it. He shoved Galeren onto the top of the stairs as he set about locking the door behind them and Galeren was immediately hit by hundreds of different scents, each telling a bleak tale. He could smell old torture and suffering, his father, Catherine and even himself amongst the enduring odour of history that lingered in the putrid darkness. He could also sense that there were eleven Templars still living and he was going to get them all out.

The guard pushed him down the steps ahead of him, and upon reaching one of the cells he began to fumble with his ring of keys once more. He swore softly in frustration and was so engrossed in the task at hand that he didn't notice the young man beside him disappear. When he found the key he was after, he put it into the lock of the cell door and then paused before turning it as he heard the low guttural growl of a creature behind him. He turned slowly and saw to his horror that his bound prisoner was no longer there but instead was a huge white wolf.

"Sweet Jesus!" the man uttered briefly but Galeren did not give him grace to digest the situation, time was against him and so swiftly he took the man's throat. He changed back into human form before the guard's body hit the floor. He reached for the key in the door but heard the startled voices of two others and saw another guard come rushing at him from out of the darkness.

Galeren side stepped the portly guard and slammed the flat of his hand into his advancing nose. The bone shattered and made its way into the man's skull. He dropped to the floor, his body juddering spasmodically in the throes of brain death. The other guard managed to draw his sword and thrust it towards Galeren. Galeren parried to the side once more to avoid the blade. As it slashed past him, he grabbed the guard's arm. Avoiding the sword, he pulled the man forcefully towards him and head butted him, again connecting with the nose. The guard fell to the floor but he was not dead. Quickly, Galeren put his foot on the man's neck and with little effort broke it cleanly. It was more mercy than they had shown any of his brethren.

Certain that there were no more guards, he turned the key in the lock and opened the door of the first cell. He took the keys and proceeded to unlock the doors of every cell. The men inside had stirred in the commotion and were sat upright having watched the scene unfold before their disbelieving eyes, daring to hope that there was now a way out of their gruesome fate.

"I am Galeren de Massard." He bellowed out so that all could hear him. "How badly injured are you all?" he asked.

"We are mostly fine," one of the Templar prisoners said, "the torture ceased some time ago, but we have acted on our suffering to save us from more attention from the bastards. We have conserved what strength we have for a chance such as this. Others died though."

"I know." Galeren said as he unlocked the last dungeon. He went to check the torture room and the room that his father had been left in. They were both empty. The men in the cells left them and joined Galeren in the centre of the main dungeon area.

"I am John St Clair." The Templar who'd first spoken said. "You're De Molay's son, you were in the oubliette. We thought De Floyran had put pay to you."

"He tried." Galeren said. "The woman that was here, Catherine, is my mate and De Floyran has her. I need some help to get her back and finish De Floyran and his men off, once and for all. Will any of you help me?" Galeren asked, but he knew well that his brothers would, and without question.

"Of course," John said and the others echoed his willingness. They all had revenge of their own to mete out, for their suffering and for the deaths of their brothers. Their target would be the traitors De Floyran and his men.

"They are on their way to Chinon, with the Grand Master. I know that De Floyran travels with four of our race and there is likely to be a retinue of King's men too, but I don't know how many. There is a thick fog in the woods and I think to ambush them as a pack. Kill everyone," Galeren said unfalteringly, "except of course Catherine and my father."

"We are with you, brother." John St Clair said.

Galeren nodded and took the dungeon keys and unlocked the main entrance.

"The bailey gates should still be open." He said and changed back into wolf form.

_There is no reason to hide our secret anymore_ , Galeren said and watched as his brethren took his lead and changed. With the cells emptied of Templars, the eleven wolves swiftly followed their white leader out of the dungeon, up the stone steps and through the château's passageways with savage determination. They were not stopped and the château guards and servants merely froze in terror and awe as the pack of wolves raced suddenly past them, hardly believing what they were witnessing.

They ran out of the château's entrance and across the bailey towards the gates and Galeren paused briefly, letting his brethren pass him, so he could fix eyes with the sergeant. The sergeant looked into the white wolf's eyes and was sure that he recognized the cool blue look that came back at him. The frigid stare was that of the young fool, who had moments before assaulted him and gotten himself arrested. The sergeant shook his head in disbelief and the wolf turned his gaze from him and broke into a run as he sought to catch up with his pack.

The sergeant's eyes followed the wolf's passage out of the bailey and down the road into the misty distance. Stunned, but regaining his senses once all the wolves were out of sight, he wasted no time and immediately commanded that the postern gate be lowered. He quickly ran past his dumbstruck men and into the château and made his way down to the dungeon. He didn't really believe in what he was going to find but as he approached the entrance he saw that there was no guard and with dread in his bones he cautiously descended the steps into the dungeon's depths. He at once saw that all of the cell doors were open and not a single Templar was left within them. He stared at the bodies of the slain guards and crossed himself.

"God's blood!" he swore and then wondered how the hell he was going to explain this to the King.

"Fuck!" De Floyran cried out but it was too late, no sooner had he sensed their approach, then they were upon them. De Nogaret stared about him and gasped as he saw several pairs of eyes gleaming out of the mist at him.

" _Caradas!_ " De Floyran screamed and motioned to him to go just before the first wolf flew out of the white haze, slamming into the side of De Nogaret's horse. The horse whinnied in panic as it was toppled by the force of the impact. It struck the ground, crashing down on De Nogaret's leg which was pinned beneath his mount's bulk. De Nogaret heard and felt the crack of his thigh bone as it snapped and the horse rolled off him. He screamed out as a searing agony assaulted his senses and his vision blurred as the horse rose, uninjured, and rapidly made its escape. He screamed out for help but his painful wails were lost amongst the cries and shouts of others as the wolf pack attacked in force.

Ourri's nibble fingers worked on the knot of the cord that bound him to De Molay, as their horse raced away from the scene, led by Caradas, at full gallop.

"Done, _done!_ " he cried, as he wrestled his hands free and ripped both their hoods off.

"Change!" De Molay cried and pushed Ourri out of the saddle. Ourri hit the ground rolling but was a wolf before he came to a stop. He stood up and looked after the Grand Master whose head was turned and his eyes were locked on Ourri's.

_Jump, you're free_. Ourri said, as he saw him receding further into the distance but the determined look on De Molay's face told him that he was not coming with them. Powerless, Ourri reluctantly turned his attention away from the Grand Master and back to the fray that was underway and quickly joined in. Wolves were seemingly everywhere, tearing the King's guards off their horses and laying waste to them on the ground. The men were powerless in the assault and completely unprepared. They swung their swords desperately at the unrelenting attackers but it was a one-sided bloody slaughter that only the horses were being spared from.

Galeren shook his ringing head as he recovered from the collision with De Nogaret's horse and, ignoring the injured councillor writhing on the ground in agony, immediately looked for Catherine. He could see her wrestling with De Floyran still upon his mount and started towards them, but his path was suddenly blocked by Huguard Parry. The dark grey wolf bared his teeth at Galeren and issued forth a challenge.

_Damn you Parry!_ Galeren said as he charged at his foe with relentless fury.

Catherine fought with De Floyran on horseback; she was desperate to be out of his clutches and on the ground with the others. She had seen Galeren come flying out of the fog and her heart soared with relief that he was alive.

"Catherine, Catherine!" De Floyran cried. "Don't be stupid!" he said as he tried to restrain her, while urging his mount onwards and away from the danger. She was strong though and he hoped that he could hold onto her, to prevent her from changing.

"Let me go, Esquin," she screamed at him, "it's over."

"No!" he said, determined not to. He could not lose her to Galeren, she was _his!_ She clawed at his face and he pulled back momentarily in shock and lost his grasp. It was all that Catherine needed. She flung herself from the saddle and landed hard on the ground. She cried out as she hit it but without even willing herself to, she changed and rolled in the dirt desperate to get away from De Floyran and his horse.

" _Arhhhh!_ " she heard De Floyran scream as she scarpered away and looked for safety. There was such a blur of chaos before her eyes she was not sure who was on whose side.

De Floyran cried out again in rage as he saw Catherine's grey form disappear into the mêlée, but there was nothing he could do about it. He quickly realized that if he didn't get out of there at once, he would be swiftly slaughtered. Caradas had gone and hopefully still had the Grand Master with him. De Floyran called out to his men and then turned his mount to flee but spotted De Nogaret lying in the dirt in amongst the fray.

" _Help me, Esquin!_ Don't leave me here!" he cried out desperately, locking panic filled eyes with De Floyran. De Floyran hesitated momentarily and considered his options. He knew De Nogaret would be savaged if he left him here and he didn't really care if he was. However, he reasoned, he may yet need the vile little councillor, especially as a buffer between him and the King when this event came to light. Galeren had survived his attack and gone back to Montlhéry, freeing the remaining Templars that were there. Quickly, De Floyran reined his horse over to the injured De Nogaret and swinging out of his saddle he offered him his hand.

"Give me your hand, I'll pull you up!" he said, "quickly!"

"My leg is broken!" De Nogaret whined pathetically.

"I don't give a shit, take my hand or I will leave you here."

De Nogaret gritted his teeth and reached up to grasp De Floyran's outstretched hand. He screamed profusely as De Floyran hauled him up into the saddle in front of him and spurred his horse onwards and out of the conflict. De Nogaret continued screaming in agony.

"Shut up or I'll throw you off!" De Floyran said unsympathetically and De Nogaret, terrified that he would make good his threat, immediately shut his mouth and suffered the excruciating pain in silence.

Catherine watched the bloody scene unfold around her. She was transfixed momentarily, remembering that she had seen something like this before. However, this time there were more wolves, more men and more limbs to be torn and ripped from bodies; this time she was one of the wolves. She searched for Galeren and quickly saw the bloodied white wolf locked in a savage battle with another. Both were bitten and bleeding and they backed away from each other for a moment's respite before charging again.

Galeren bared his teeth and backing away from Huguard, to give himself more ground, he charged. The two wolves collided and the force of it caused Galeren's legs to skid in the dirt and end up on his side with Huguard above him. Huguard took his chance. Pre-empting the strike, Galeren lowered his head to protect his throat and instead felt Huguard sink his teeth into his shoulder. The teeth crunched down and Galeren fought his instinct to pull away, knowing that it would only cause more damage. It was his throat that needed protecting and he knew he was in a precarious position, trapped beneath his foe it need only take lightening reflexes from Huguard to withdraw and go for his throat.

Galeren's own mouth snapped at Huguard's muzzle in an attempt to get him to release his hold. Suddenly, he let go and yelping rolled off Galeren as he was struck in the side by another wolf. It was Catherine. They rolled over several times together in the dirt but she was quick to regain her feet and senses. Wasting no time, she leapt on the winded Huguard and tore out his unguarded throat. The taste of blood was new to her. She had tasted her own before when she had pricked her finger with a needle, but this was different. There was a lot of blood and flesh in her mouth and she quickly spat it out in horror at what she had done. Yet, at the same time she felt immensely powerful and knew that her actions were justified. She looked up and surveyed her surroundings in search of more foes but saw Galeren approaching her and was immediately conscious of her bloodied mouth.

_Are you hurt?_ he asked.

_I've never killed anyone before_ , she answered, surprised by her action. She looked at Galeren's expression and realized that it should come as no surprise, tearing out the throat of her mate's attacker.

_It's alright_. Galeren nodded and then looked around and saw two more wolves had suffered the same fate, but they were his men not De Floyran's. The King's men had been totally slaughtered and lay in bloody heaps on the road. But there was no sign of De Floyran and the rest of his men, or his father.

Christ! How could they have gotten away!

There had been about thirty of the King's guards and all the Templar wolves had been busy putting pay to them, or battling with De Floyran's other men. Even so, Galeren was unsatisfied with the outcome.

_There were fourteen of us and we only managed to get one of De Floyran's men?_ he said exasperated. Ourri Venois approached him and Catherine.

_Your father could have escaped with me, but there was a look in his eyes, like he did not want to be rescued, sir_.

_He is fool! But it should be of no surprise to me_. He shook his head. _Your father will be pleased to see you, Ourri_. Galeren said and then looked at Catherine. She could see that there was immense relief in his eyes but also a little dread and she knew the reason for it.

_We should get out of here_ , he said and she knew that this was not the time for an emotional reunion; that would have to wait. He turned from her and went over to the two dead men John St Clair was stood by.

_Alain Roullion and Paul de Chinois_. John said. _They would have rather died this way than in that rotting dungeon, Galeren_.

_I know_ , he lamented, _but we have lost enough of our men_. He shook his head bitterly, _De Floyran is as slippery as an eel and I wanted that snake De Nogaret as well!_

_Another day_ , John said, _they will not get away with this_.

_Oath_ , Galeren confirmed.

_What are we going to do now?_ Catherine asked, joining them.

Galeren looked around and sighed. _Go to England. We need to get catch our breath and draw a plan together_.

He changed form and walked over to look the King's slaughtered men. Catherine wanted to change too, but aware that she would be naked and in the company of males, she decided against it. She watched Galeren as he strode confidently around, inspecting the fallen guards and felt her heart tighten. He had not said much to her. Though she knew the time was not right to be selfish for his attention, she could not help fearing he may feel differently about her, sensing as he must what had occurred the previous night.

"Some of their undergarments are not too badly stained. We can use them." He called out and began to undress the remains of one of the dead men. The other Templars changed and followed suit.

Catherine looked back at the wolf she had slain and saw that it too had changed into its human form. Huguard Parry. Puzzled, she nevertheless looked away from him, not wishing to dwell on what she had done. De Floyran had escaped, which gave her the ominous feeling that her fate with him was far from over. Galeren marched over to her dressed as one of the King's guards carrying some clothing in his hands.

"Feel like being a man for a while?" he smiled at her. She nodded smiling back and made her way into the bushes to change. Galeren followed her and lay the clothing within easy reach.

"They were the smallest I could find. It will do for now." He said and left her to change while he helped round up the remaining horses with the others. When changed and clothed, she rejoined him and was aware that all eyes were on her. She knew it was merely curiosity. These were the men who had been at Montlhéry and they all knew who she was and her relationship with Galeren. These men had helped him to rescue her. She lowered her head modestly and approached the horse that Galeren held ready for her. He helped her into the saddle and then went to his own mount.

"Let's get out of here!" he said leaping into the saddle, and spurred his horse onwards.

****

"I've been desperate to touch you." Galeren said, as he pulled Catherine towards him and held her tightly.

The group had swiftly reached the French coast and had secured passage on a merchant ship that was due to cross the narrow sea at dawn, weather permitting. They found lodgings close by and managed to find some more suitable attire, using the coin they had retrieved from the dead guards. They agreed to rest and gather the latest news at the preceptory in Dover, before heading north to Temple Bruer.

Catherine felt relief flood through her as she felt Galeren's grip, "I thought . . ." she broke off.

"Thought what?" he prompted looking at her sorrowful face.

"I know we were in amongst chaos and could not fuss, but I feared you may feel changed towards me."

"Never," he said shaking his head, "I just wanted to be away from there and quickly. We are still not safe, but I need to be with you now."

"De Floyran killed Beaumanoir." Catherine said. "When I couldn't contact you, I was terrified he'd killed you too."

"Oh he tried, with a dagger doused in wolfsbane thrust into my side before I left. He didn't want you to know, for obvious reasons." He said bitterly. "I am sorry about Beaumanoir." He added and then turned away from her. He sat on the bed, putting his head in his hands. Catherine hesitated before going to him. She knew that he both delayed and dreaded asking the question he had to, just as much as she dreaded hearing it and having to give him the answer.

He looked up at her, his eyes haunted and asked, trying to keep his tone even.

"Did he touch you?"

Catherine blinked slowly. "Yes," she answered in a whisper.

Galeren grimaced and nodded slowly.

"Did he hurt you?"

It was as simple a question as the first, but this time she feared the answer she had to give. How would he interpret it?

"No," she answered truthfully. Galeren looked up at her. "He was not cruel," she began but did not know what else to say. "It is over now." She added quickly.

Galeren swallowed and shook his head. "I shouldn't have let it happen." He clenched his fists. "If I could have –" he stood up angrily.

"There was nothing you could do," she cut him off. "You were in a torture chamber Galeren. It was my doing, my choice and we are reunited. It is one night to forget."

"One night! It is enough." He said wounded.

"Aye 'tis, but I survived and you got me back, before he could cause any more harm. It is pointless to torment ourselves with it. It is done, please!" she pleaded.

"I am sorry," he said and went to her. "I was meant to protect you and I failed. Twice now you have saved my hide."

"And you have saved mine in more ways than you know. I want to look to the future now and leave this in the past. Let's not speak of it again, it can only hurt us and we must not let it, or he wins."

Galeren nodded and smiling reassuringly took her into his arms again, though he knew it would take a long time for him to let it go, if he ever could.

### Chapter Twenty Four

"W _hat?_ " Philip screamed in horror when De Floyran had finished recounting, a severely edited version of, what had occurred the day of the attack by Galeren and the escaped Templars. He had contemplated sending one of his men to see Philip, but given the news they would be giving the King, he decided it would look better on him if he delivered it in person.

Himself, De Nogaret, and his remaining three men had made it to Chinon without further incident and, fortunately, the Grand Master was now securely locked up with the other members of the Templar council. It was extremely lucky for all of them that De Molay had felt duty bound to remain in custody with his brethren and hadn't taken the opportunity to escape.

Although De Floyran was grateful for that small mercy, it did not make up for the fact that Galeren was still alive and he had lost Catherine. It was this which caused him internal unrest. Though angry at the time, he had not realised the depth of the affect Catherine's loss would have on him. He wanted her back and was determined to get her.

In the meantime, he was minding the Templar dignitaries at Chinon and among others, the badly injured De Nogaret who was wearing thin on his patience. Money and wealth may be coming to him but he could see that he was going to be stuck in this for some time yet. For now, however, he had to temper the King's anger, put his anxiety to rest and gain his confidence once again.

"How could this happen?" the King said almost painfully. "More importantly, how did it?"

"Beaumanoir," De Floyran said slyly.

"Beaumanoir?" the King shook his head bewildered.

"I am afraid so." De Floyran said solemnly. He had swiftly dispatched Botolf and Armin to Montlhéry, to make sure that the witnesses to Galeren's rescue rapidly forgot the wolves that had raced through the château's passageways to their liberty. Instead, a new version had been set in their minds which they would recount to whoever asked, on pain of gruesome death if they did not. De Floyran explained to the King of Beaumanoir's connection to Catherine and that he had made a trip to the dungeons before their departure and left the door to Galeren's cell unlocked, after she had begged him to do so.

"Women!" the King spat furiously, "they are nothing but trouble. I should never have agreed to your request. I _should_ have had them all executed immediately, including her!"

"At risk of the Pope's fury?" De Floyran pointed out.

"And what do you think the Pope will make of this, you arrogant whoreson!"

De Floyran clenched his jaw and tried to let the King's insult wash over him. "The Pope need not know. We have done everything to minimise any damage caused and we still have the Grand Master." De Floyran said evenly, maintaining his calm.

"Yes that is a small mercy, though I am sure it has more to do with De Molay's stubborn loyalty than to your deft action. I thought you were going to kill De Massard."

"I thought I had." De Floyran said with bitter sentiment. "But I could not foresee that wolfsbane would have little effect on him or Beaumanoir's intervention for that matter." De Floyran shook his head and then added. "I lost one of my men."

"And I lost over thirty, including Beaumanoir!" the King snapped back, "and now we risk having the secret of the Templars revealed."

"Trust me, no one will talk. I have seen to it. We have emerged from this relatively unscathed, apart from the loss of your men."

"I suppose it is foolish to enquire whether any attempt was made to go after them."

"We needed to secure the Grand Master at Chinon as you requested and see to De Nogaret. Besides, we were outnumbered." De Floyran said lowering his head.

"Mmmm," the King mused irritably. "How is De Nogaret?" he asked as a secondary thought. It was the first time he had enquired after his trusted councillor, despite De Floyran telling him he had been injured when he first recounted the incident. "I trust he is receiving the best treatment possible."

"Aye, a break to the leg is serious, especially the thigh bone. But mercifully it was a clean break and he will not lose the leg, which is often the case. I fear it will leave his mark on him though. He may need an aid to walk with and will at least suffer a severe limp."

"Well as long as his wits are still sharp." The King said unconcerned. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Well Templar, I don't have to warn you that I will not let you get away with a mistake like this again. I will not hesitate to have you strung up with the rest of your heathen kind if you do."

De Floyran was unaccustomed to receiving threats from anyone without retaliating and found it almost impossible to take, even from the King of France. It was even more difficult to stomach seeing as he despised the pompous King and loathed being answerable to him. It was a situation he had not foreseen being in when he started this. Nevertheless, trying to contain the anger that simmered evenly within him, De Floyran merely bowed respectfully to show he understood.

"So how can you make certain that something like this never happens again? I mean they only need someone to open the gate for them and they are unstoppable. Templars could be walking into prisons all over France as we speak, handing themselves in with aim of helping their brethren escape. Imagine?" Philip said with concern spreading rapidly across his face. He was only just beginning to comprehend the potentially serious consequences of the situation they were all now deeply embroiled in. He may want to destroy the Temple, but it wasn't that simple anymore. They were not just men, they were a powerful force and he had not realized just how powerful until now.

"I have had some thoughts on this." De Floyran said earnestly. He had not preempted such a bold move on behalf of Galeren, primarily because he thought he had killed him. But in hind sight, any Templar could have gained access to Montlhéry in such a way and caused the same devastating consequences. It was so simple he chastised himself for not having anticipated such a strike.

"And these are?" the King pressed, chewing on a thumb nail ferociously.

"It may seem like a foolhardy notion, in these circumstances, but keeping one's eggs in one basket may be prudent. Having Templars scattered all over France makes it hard to keep an eye on them and have sufficient guard of them. They are dangerous and need but opportunity to make short work of escape. We could tighten up security on one or two places of incarceration and limit access."

"But having them all together could be perilous in itself. I have witness to the devastation the wolves can cause." The King pointed out, though he could see sense in De Floyran's overall idea.

"True, but remember we can only shape shift. Wolves cannot escape from dungeons by themselves, only if somebody opens the door for them. Barred cells are just as good at containing wolves as men, provided the right person has keys to those dungeons."

"I suppose you are right," the King said contemplatively.

"Also if they are in one place, my men can act as guards." He said, but Philip merely frowned doubtfully.

"You have but three men and five of you had trouble with only thrice your number, let alone the several hundred Templars that we presently hold captive!"

"Ah, this is where my other ideas come into play."

"Explain."

"We may need to, how shall I put it, reduce some of their number."

"You mean execute them?" Philip said surprised.

"Yes, and without the Pope's knowledge. He is not certain of how many Templars were arrested and records can be altered. But not all need be murdered. Some of the Templars in French gaols have been tortured, some have been threatened with it but they have all suffered miserably. I may be able to persuade some to come over to our side."

"Is that possible?" Philip asked, suddenly very interested.

"Anything is possible. It is amazing what a man will agree to, to escape his misery and grisly fate, especially those who are weak."

"Is there such a thing as a weak Templar?" Philip queried.

"Not in the conventional sense, but we have a strong will to survive, regardless of how that may be. No man likes to be in a cage and a wolf can barely stand it, its spirit is quickly broken when caged. They will be offered the option to join us in the first instance; those whom I think will not be persuaded will be executed in front of those I think may change their minds. Watching your pending fate can have great influence on the decisions you make. The ones most loyal to the Temple will die, which is a good thing. When I have a sufficient retinue the rest can be transported to Chinon and perhaps to a couple of locations in or near Paris. The Pope can then conduct his papal inquiry and then they can be tried and condemned."

"Do it then, if it can be done. You have my permission to use whatever methods necessary but I warn you to be discreet. The Pope must not get wind of this." Philip said waving his finger in warning.

De Floyran smiled and then said, "Of course, your Majesty, you can trust me on this."

"Good," Philip said, "now go." He waved him away.

"I need a list of Templars and their places of incarceration throughout France."

"See De Plaisians." Philip said curtly and then turned his back on De Floyran.

De Floyran nodded and knowing that his meeting with the King was over, he bowed graciously and left the room.

25th November 1307, Château de Chinon, Chinon

De Floyran stared out of the chamber window into the gloom of the rain, trying to ignore De Nogaret's complaints and cries as the bandaging was removed from his leg and his wound was inspected by one of the King's best chirurgeons. De Floyran was not used to being anyone's man but it seemed that he was unwittingly becoming Philip's. The money was welcome but he had rather hoped to be residing at his own estate now, sitting back on his laurels and enjoying Catherine.

_Catherine_ , he thought, with a fervour that itched at his bones. He wondered how he could get her once again from Galeren. He knew that it would be almost impossible now, given that Galeren and his troop would be safely back on English soil and in the company of more Templars. Besides, Galeren would take no more chances where Catherine was concerned. He would not let her out of his sight. De Floyran allowed himself a thin smile as he thought of his night with her and how Galeren could do nothing to change that. The victory was still his, however small, and he would find a way to get her again, but for now he had to concentrate on the task of assembling a retinue of turned Templar Knights for the King.

After he had been re-bandaged and the chirurgeon had left, De Nogaret stretched and looking at De Floyran's wistful expression as he stared out into the rain, said rather venomously:

"Brooding over the loss of your little whore?"

De Floyran felt every hair on his body bristle at the remark and he was tempted to break the bastard's other leg. However, he was loath to admit that he was attached to Catherine, weak as it would seem and so instead took a deep breath for calm and said:

"There are plenty of whores to be had. The point is that I had her."

"I thought you wanted to keep her." De Nogaret persisted in the same conceited vein. De Floyran scratched his chin absently.

"It suited me then but now things have changed."

"What did Philip say?" De Nogaret said, wincing as he tried to sit more upright.

"He was not best pleased as you can imagine, but I blamed it all on Beaumanoir. It helps explain his death too, rather fortunate really." He turned from the window and smiled.

"Did he believe you?"

"Of course," De Floyran said.

"Genius!" De Nogaret grinned.

"Yes, you are not the only one with sharp wits. Besides, I have promised to create a retinue of werewolf knights for him."

"Really!" De Nogaret said excitedly and tried to sit up again. He cried out pathetically and De Floyran lost his cool.

"Can you not take your suffering like a man instead of whining like a pig before it is slaughtered?" he snarled contemptuously.

"Have you ever suffered with a broken leg?" De Nogaret snapped defensively.

"No, our bones are stronger than men's. But I lay while a battle raged around me with my innards hanging out of my belly for hours after Galeren ran me through and did not complain like you."

De Nogaret's lip curled angrily but he decided to use wits for his retaliation. "Speaking of Galeren, what do you plan to do about him?" He knew mention of his foe's triumph would rile De Floyran.

"What do I plan to do about him?" De Floyran said, shaking his head as if perplexed.

"Well, he out played you. He went back to Montlhéry and helped the Templars incarcerated there escape, he attacked us, relieved you of your prize, rescued a Templar spy, killed all the King's men and one of your own. Surely you don't plan to let him have the better of you?" De Nogaret finished, folding his arms ostentatiously.

De Floyran felt the bile rise in his throat and envisaged breaking the councillor's neck, but he knew that what De Nogaret had said was only what he'd been telling himself these past days.

"And don't forget," De Floyran added with his own measure of venom, "he broke your leg. He was the wolf that struck your horse. It was no coincidence." A faint smirk broke across De Floyran's face. De Nogaret's eyes narrowed furiously but he remained silent.

De Floyran sighed heavily. "I have no intention of letting him sit back on his laurels. But I do not plan any rash action. First I need my army."

"You mean the one you plan to assemble for Philip." De Nogaret reminded him.

"Yes, but they will be under my command." He raised an eyebrow provocatively at him. "I am sure we have not seen the last of Galeren in France in any case. He is persistent and I am sure he thinks to rescue more of his brethren."

"Do you think?" De Nogaret said amazed.

"Anyway," De Floyran murmured vaguely. Wishing to be away from the irksome councillor, he turned to leave.

"Don't leave," De Nogaret pleaded, sensing De Floyran's irritation. "Not yet anyway, I could do with the company."

"You need rest, not distraction."

"I am going crazy in this room, Esquin. I am not battle hardened like you and I've never been injured before."

"I told you I have business to attend to." De Floyran said coldly and began to walk away.

"You could give me your mark now." De Nogaret said suddenly.

"Don't be ridiculous." De Floyran's tone was full of derision.

"It may help me heal, make me stronger."

"It is not a good idea."

"Why not? The King will not expect me to be recovered for weeks, knowing how badly I am injured. I have time to make the transition."

"It is not the time." De Floyran said plainly.

"It is never the time!" De Nogaret spat resentfully. "You do not plan to mark me! I saw your face when I asked for your help during the attack. You hesitated, you considered leaving me there!"

"Of course I did." De Floyran said honestly. "My own safety was my primary concern. When I weighed up the risk I did come back for you and you are alive because of that. If I mark you now you could die. Your body needs to be strong, and the shock it has already received due to the break in your leg means that my mark would likely kill you.

So shut up and be patient. I will mark you when I see fit to and not before. Now rest or you will end up a cripple and then I will never mark you." De Floyran said turning to leave. He stopped halfway to the door then turned back suddenly.

"Oh, I almost forgot," he said pulling a folded, sealed document from the pocket of his tunic. He handed it to De Nogaret.

"It is a copy of the Pope's Bull issued on the twenty second. De Plaisians was good enough to see that a copy found its way to you." De Floyran smirked as he saw De Nogaret's face grimace at mention of the name of his rival. He was nevertheless thrilled to see the Bull.

"The Bull _Pastoralis praeminentiae_." De Nogaret almost sung, as he broke the seal and opened up the document. "You might have handled it more carefully." De Nogaret scolded, as he looked over the crumpled leaves of the precious Bull.

De Floyran shrugged unperturbed and said, "'Tis everything that you wanted, Guillaume. The Pope supports the King and now the leaders of Europe should follow the King's example."

"Thanks to you." De Nogaret said more humbly. "I have not forgotten what you did. My mood is sour because of my leg. You know how I hate to be out of things."

"I do, but fret not. Now is the time for watching. The time for more action will come, but you need to rest for it." He nodded curtly and with that left the room.

After leaving De Nogaret with the Bull, De Floyran went to find his men. They were languishing in the main hall of the château, drinking wine and fooling around with several of the serving wenches, all of whom seemed more than happy to receive their boisterous attentions. He motioned for his men to relax when they quickly stood as they saw him enter the hall. Only three of them remained now, but that was about to change.

"Continue with your pleasure for this evening," he said to them, "but we leave at first light on the morrow."

"What is the mission?" Raymond Caradas asked.

"Recruitment," De Floyran answered with a smile. "Have your things ready and your heads clear." He said and turned to leave.

"You do not wish to join us?" Caradas asked, motioning to the women.

"Not tonight." De Floyran said and left them to it. He felt piqued as he thought of them enjoying their pleasures with the women and wished that he too was inclined to relieve some of his heated blood with a wench this eventide. But there was only one who could satisfy his hunger and she was beyond his grasp, for now.

****

The gates of the great gatehouse at Temple Bruer were closed and Galeren raised his hand to halt the others as they came into sight. Temple Bruer ordinarily had a tranquil feel to it and despite the preceptory being located within a walled enclosure, with sergeants routinely keeping watch from the battlements, the gates were often open. Galeren didn't sense anything untoward however, and felt that the usually open feel to the place had been replaced with caution owing to events of late. Ever vigilant though, he continued towards them alone and when close enough he dismounted and walked up to the gatehouse.

"Who are you and what is your business at Temple Bruer?" a brusque voice called from above.

"I am Galeren de Massard," he replied and looking up at the battlements saw two Templar guards at each. They looked down at the caller and quickly recognised him as one of their own.

"Sir Galeren?" one of the guards queried.

"Yes and several brothers from France. Is Bertrand still here and De Villiers?"

"Aye," the guard said, "but not for much longer. Wait here a moment and I'll let them know you are here."

Not long after, the gates were opened. Galeren motioned for the others to join him and they entered the bailey together. He looked back and smiled as Catherine dismounted and came to his side. He took her hand.

"Are you glad to be back?" she asked him.

"Yes, for now. It feels safer here but I don't know how long that will last, by the sounds of it, not for long."

Galeren smiled modestly as he saw his old master come out of the preceptory entrance accompanied by Gerard de Villiers, Richard de Gosbeck, Parsifal and several other men whom he was unfamiliar with. Parsifal grinned from ear to ear and the faces of the others showed their utter amazement, but delight at seeing their old comrade return.

"I don't believe it!" Bertrand le Roux said shaking his head in wonder. He strode towards Galeren and embraced him strongly. "I thought not to see you again my wayward lad, but I am truly glad to."

"Ourri!" De Villiers cried out suddenly and ran towards his son, as he saw him emerge from amongst the group of French Templars.

"Jesu Galeren," Bertrand released him and looked at the happy reunion between father and son. "You are full of surprises. De Villiers feared he would never see Ourri again," Bertrand said as he looked at Catherine and smiled, "especially when we received your letter, Catherine." He reached out his hand and she tentatively offered him her own, he bowed his head and kissed it graciously.

"You _did_ get it." Catherine said smiling with relief and pleased that Beaumanoir had made good his promise.

"A good friend of Catherine's died getting that letter to you." Galeren said solemnly.

"I am sorry, but we hope it was not in vain. We have taken on board its message and have made plans to leave here and soon." He looked at the Templars that had arrived with Galeren and raised his eyebrows in query.

"Prisoners from Montlhéry. Not all of them though, I regret. Some died in their suffering."

Bertrand shook his head bitterly. "De Floyran has a lot to answer for."

"And the French King and his councillors. They will pay too, mark me on that. This is not over." Galeren swore.

"But for now at least rest, all of you." He said, motioning to the men who had arrived with Galeren. "There is plenty of food here and beds to rest your heads. Be welcomed brothers." He patted Galeren on the shoulder and said as he turned to go back into the preceptory. "I will tell you of our plans here later."

De Villiers approached Galeren with Ourri in tow. "I don't know how to thank you." He said.

"You don't have to Gerard."

De Villiers nodded, "I know, but still, I owe you brother. We'll talk later." He nodded assuredly and then said. "Let's get you all inside, it's freezing out here."

Following De Villiers, Galeren motioned to the others to join them while their horses were taken from them by the grooms and led to the stables to be cared for. Seeing Parsifal's smile Galeren approached him and grabbed him in a head lock and ruffled his hair.

"I knew you'd be back!" Parsifal beamed enthusiastically and wrestled his way out of Galeren's grip.

"Hoped more like!" Richard de Gosbeck's voice boomed out. "You have been too soft on this one," he continued, shaking his head as he thumped Galeren twice on the arm in greeting, "I've never heard a sergeant complain and squeal so much!"

"Now that _does_ surprise me." Galeren said sarcastically and winked at Parsifal.

Richard cast an admiring glance over Catherine, which didn't go unnoticed by either Galeren or Parsifal.

"This is Catherine," Parsifal took liberty in saying as he bowed graciously to her. "Galeren went to France to save her." He said full of awe for his master's fearless courage.

"I can see why," Richard said, winking approvingly at Galeren. He held out his hand to her.

"This rogue is Richard de Gosbeck," Galeren said, as Richard took and kissed her hand, "don't be wooed by his charms."

"I'll try not to be." Catherine said and gave De Gosbeck a warm smile as they walked towards the preceptory's entrance.

"How are you Parsifal?" Catherine asked.

"Well, but better for seeing you back safely." He said with genuine sentiment.

She laughed. "It is good to see you too." She replied and took Galeren's hand again as they all entered the warmth and, no matter how temporary, sanctuary of the preceptory.

Galeren looked around the main hall of Temple Bruer. A fire was roaring and English and French brothers were exchanging news and tales of what they had seen and heard on both sides of the narrow sea since the French King's offensive against the Order. There was a general mood of calm and merriment, not least from the men who had been incarcerated in Montlhéry, while everyone tried to find respite from the trials that were yet to be overcome.

Over supper and a few flagons of ale, Ourri passionately recounted the tale of his seizure by De Floyran's men at Montlhéry and Galeren's attack on De Floyran's troop on the way to Chinon, which had resulted in his own and Catherine's rescue. Galeren watched as Parsifal absorbed the tale with great interest, but didn't fail to notice the occasional flicker of regret and disappointment entering his bright eyes, at once again being left out of the action. Galeren winked at him for reassurance and then cursed his father's stubborn refusal to seize his chance of freedom.

"Did you expect anything less of him?" Bertrand asked intuitively.

"Of course not." He answered, finishing his goblet of ale.

"He could not stand to be free, knowing his men weren't and what they faced. He will go down with his ship, it is Jacques' way." De Villiers added.

"I know," Galeren said.

They spoke some more on what had come to pass at Montlhéry, the bones of which had been in Beaumanoir's letter and then the conversation slowly petered out. Galeren sensed that it would resume once again but in quieter quarters and within a more intimate group. He turned to Catherine when he sensed her weariness and said:

"Have you had enough?"

"Yes, I am tired and I am sure you have much more to talk about with your peers." She smiled at him knowingly.

"The future must be discussed but don't feel left out. Believe me, it will consist of a lot of arguing if my experience serves me well and you will have the benefit of a calmer version of events when I return."

"I know," she said. "Do you think your ideas will be considered now after everything that has happened?"

"I hope so, but they are not without risk themselves. We will see." He smiled at her and turned to Bertrand and said:

"Excuse me for a moment while I escort Catherine to our quarters. I trust there will be more to discuss before I retire?"

"Absolutely, if you are up to it tonight. I know you've been through much and may need the benefit of peaceful rest." Bertrand said sympathetically.

"I'll be up for it." Galeren said resolutely and stood up and took Catherine's hand.

"I thought as much," Le Roux said with a perceptive smile. "My rooms then, when you are ready. Good evening Catherine, it was a pleasure to meet you." He stood and gave her a courteous nod.

Catherine curtsied respectfully. "Likewise, Master Bertrand." She answered.

"Bertrand, please." He corrected gently.

She nodded, and the others at the dais table stood graciously as she bade them all good night and Bertrand smiled as he watched Galeren escort her from the hall.

### Chapter Twenty Five

"De Floyran's mark is barely traceable on her. If I hadn't have known the history I doubt I would have sensed his scent upon her at all."

Galeren turned to Bertrand, as he placed two dried figs into his mouth, and smiled confidently at his old master.

"That is because he is nothing to do with her." He said swallowing the fruit quickly. "She is strong in the wolf spirit and as you well know, he is not. His bite merely made her but it has no bearing on who she is or her future."

"Mmmm," Bertrand mused contemplatively, offering Galeren some wine. They were in his private rooms and, while waiting for the others to come, had taken the time to have a more personal conversation.

"I did not think those who were marked could be stronger in one half. I thought it was a trait only those born of werewolf blood could possess."

"Apparently not. As you know the balance is usually even, with exceptions."

"Even so, her initiator is dominated by his human half and yet she is more like you. No wonder you recognized her as your mate." He paused and then added. "She is lovely as well."

"That she is," Galeren smiled and took the wine from Bertrand. They struck cups in a toast and drank down the delicious liquid.

"Not much of this left," Bertrand said sighing regretfully, "still there are more important things to think about than good Gascony wine. I didn't think I would see you again, but once again you have more than surprised me."

"I am surprised myself, but Catherine was responsible for my freedom."

Bertrand raised his eyebrows inquisitively and Galeren continued after taking another gulp of wine.

"She gave De Floyran what he wanted." He shrugged when he saw Bertrand's expression hadn't changed and then continued. "He wanted her for his mate and struck a bargain with her; my life and freedom for her willing compliance."

The talk at supper had been a lighter version of events, omitting the more gruesome and harrowing aspects of what had occurred in Montlhéry. Bertrand listened intently as Galeren explained in detail, from start to finish.

"I'm sorry," Bertrand said, noting the grief in Galeren's eyes.

Galeren shook his head, "Her sacrifice may have been in vain if I'd succumbed to that poison. I was lucky, but I would never have gotten out of that place if not for her and neither would any of the others."

"She has strength of spirit. I sensed that as soon as I saw her. And the letter?"

"One of Philip's councillors was a past acquaintance of hers. He was one of her father's squires and married her sister. He tried to help and De Floyran killed him."

"I am sorry for that too," Bertrand said and was about to continue when there was a knock on the door.

"Come," he called out and Gerard de Villiers entered the room followed by Richard de Gosbeck, John St Clair and three other men that Galeren did not know. De Villiers beamed a smile at Galeren as they all entered the room and Bertrand poured wine for them all.

"Gentlemen," he said when all had a cup, "first let us welcome our brother back and thank him for his bravery." They all echoed Bertrand's sentiment and Galeren winced.

"Thank you brothers but such accolade is not deserved. I was the Templar that changed from wolf to man before the King and Pope's eyes. Others died rather than reveal that fact."

"I'll warrant that your change was nothing to do with your own torture, eh?" Richard de Gosbeck interjected, "but that of others, Catherine's in particular I'm guessing."

"You would be right. I was not willing to bear her suffering, so condemn my weakness, do not commend it."

"I'll do nothing of the sort." De Gosbeck said forcefully. "It is easy to suffer yourself; not a man here would have acted differently if in your stead."

"He's right," Bertrand said, "the King would have his proof, however it was obtained and I think with the least suffering, the better. What is important now is to hammer out a future for us, Templars or not." The room hummed with agreement.

"Galeren, this is Guy Auvrey, Simon Carnet, and Paul Le Gras. They came over with Gerard before the arrests. We appear to be the most senior," he sighed, "or at least the most experienced of our kind on English soil at present. The preceptors of other Temple estates remain on them and await our advice. We have been entrusted by all of our brethren and our Grand Master to make best the decision on our future. I know that some of you have different ideas and tonight we will hear them."

They sat around the meeting table and Galeren grabbed a handful of dried figs before he broke the silence, "What have you decided to do in the short-term?" he said popping one into his mouth. Despite eating heartily at supper he was still hungry.

"Pierre D'Aumont, Gerard and many of the men who came over from France with them will be moving what is left of the Templar fleet up towards Scotland. There are many small coves and bays along the coast that are secluded and within them the ships may remain hidden until we are granted safe haven." Bertrand said.

"How many ships are there?" Galeren asked, devouring more figs.

"Twenty came from France and there were three ships in Dover and two in Bristol."

"Twenty five." Galeren nodded thoughtfully.

"Several ships went with brothers to Cyprus in preparation to evacuate Templars there if things turn bad, which they look to. A few went to Spain. We sold the rest, discreetly and mostly to merchants, some in Lisbon, some in Gascony, and several to the Teutonics."

"Did they know they were Templar ships?" Galeren asked.

"The fact would not have been made known, but the buyers would have drawn their own conclusions." Gerard shrugged. "The rest were nothing more than a battle weary flotilla of junk, so we left them for Philip."

"How many?" Galeren asked.

"Ten in total. We didn't want the King benefiting from any of our ships. The shit that was left will serve to frustrate him and keep him guessing."

"Absolutely," Galeren said, but a frown formed on his face as he fell deep into thought.

"You think Scotland will give us the sanctuary we need if the leaders of Europe act on the Pope's Bull?" John St Clair asked, looking at Bertrand.

"I think the Bruce may well indeed offer us sanctuary in return for our services as he continues to wage his war with England. He'll not care for Philip's ranting or the Pope's for that matter, he has his country to think of and we have our race. Nationality will have to be put aside for the survival of our kind." Bertrand said.

"I am in agreement," Gerard de Villiers said and the others murmured their accord contemplatively.

"What think you Galeren?" Richard de Gosbeck asked, noting the brooding look on his friend's face.

Galeren looked up and smiled, "I agree too. Scotland is ideal, in the interim," he added.

"Would you like to elaborate?" Bertrand said, with a knowing look in his eyes.

"I don't doubt for a moment that the Bruce will offer us sanctuary and in return he will expect us to fight his battles." Galeren said. "In the short term it will suffice but it will do nothing for us in the long term. Our women will still be confined to Templar convents and even if we disband and lose our mantles, Scotland does not offer us much for the future, not if we are large in number and wish to stay united. Suspicion will always surround us and if we are to disband then we run the risk of being divided and lose what we have become. Do we wish to end up being swords for hire?"

Galeren shook his head. "I, for one, do not. I want to be far from the Pope's sphere of influence and that of the King of France and any other would be leader who wishes to lead a witch hunt." He sighed. "Don't forget that they know what we are now. I do not trust my future in the hands of Kings and rulers whose petty squabbles and greed are likely to land us in hot water again. We cannot hide what we are and I do not wish to any longer. The Holy Land is not the answer and neither is Christendom. If we have been forced to change our manner of existence then I say, let us embrace that change."

"What options do we have?" John St Clair asked.

Galeren looked around the room and noted the expressions upon the faces of every man in it, some like Richard, Gerard and Bertrand were well aware of what was coming next. Others may have heard such ideas before, but not from his mouth and if ever there was a chance for him to make good his case, then it was never greater than right now. Galeren took a sip of wine and then said:

"In the eleventh century Vikings are known to have made successful voyages across the Atlantic and found land far beyond the shores of Greenland."

"Vinland?" John St Clair said enthusiastically.

"Yes," Galeren said, hoping that he may have an ally in this.

"I have read about those voyages."

"Have you seen the maps?" Galeren asked, rubbing his chin zealously.

"I regret not." He said. "Dare I ask where they are?"

"Thankfully, not in the Paris Temple. They are for the nonce in New Temple and we can get them, if we act now."

"What do you propose?" Guy Auvrey asked, somewhat intrigued.

"'Tis much to swallow, but I think that some of our futures lie in new lands."

"That would be starting from scratch, Galeren." Bertrand said, but not in a tone that was discounting.

"Aye, completely from scratch. But if any race can do it, then it is ours. Think of our knowledge and skills, think of our strength and our hardiness. I am not saying it would be easy but it is a future away from our enemies, away from suspicion and scrutiny. In a new world, we may be able to achieve what we have always wanted to."

"These lands you speak of though, are not uninhabited," Paul Le Gras began, "I too have read the Viking histories and they did not colonise these lands successfully and they did not stay. They had their fair share of trouble with the inhabitants too."

"The Skraelings, or so they called them." John St Clair said.

"I don't deny they did, but they are not us. The Vikings were often heavy handed and they were wont to fighting, more readily amongst themselves than with the Skraelings, over women mostly. My point here is not to discuss the success of the Vikings but to talk of our future possibilities. We need not settle where they did, we can traverse the coast. We can set up camps from which to conduct explorations. If the land is hard then we can always live as wolves when times are difficult."

He saw the others exchange glances but he did not get the sense that his ideas were falling on deaf ears.

"What I am proposing may not be easy but at least we have the opportunity to be ourselves. This is a real chance for freedom, away from Europe's warring leaders and the repressive cloak of Christianity. We can live freely with our women and children, build our own societies and perhaps learn from the inhabitants. I have read the descriptions of the so called Skraelings. They sound nothing like the men from these climes. They may have great wisdom to impart and we may find them better company than the men of Christendom.

Remember how much we learned from the so called infidel? There may even be those of our race amongst them, as we also found in the Holy Land. I have long dreamed of change and perhaps adventure too, but without the killing. We will never be able to be what we once were here, not anymore." He paused and then looking around the room at each of the men he said:

"Since I first read of the Viking expeditions to Vinland, I have felt that we have a connection with this new land, from centuries past perhaps. It is hard for me to explain, but it is instinctual, as if something in my wolf spirit recognises an ancient association with this land. Maybe our ancestors went, or maybe some of our ancestors came from this land. I don't know, only that I feel it is the right place for us and that given time we will prevail. We have the ships and we have the means and endurance to do this. I for one think we should."

"I do too." Gerard de Villiers said resolutely and gave Galeren a nod of assurance.

"And I." John St Clair said, "I think it is a viable idea, maybe it is time we found our own place in this world, perhaps our true place."

Galeren smiled at St Clair and then looked over at Richard. His friend had a pensive look on his face and when he saw Galeren look at him he said:

"Hell, I'm there too!" he knocked back his wine as if in affirmation of his commitment and then added, "can't let you have all the fun."

"There'll be no conquering, Richard." Galeren warned. "We'd be settlers, farmers. Can you handle a scythe in your hand instead of a sword?"

"My sword has rusted in my hand these past years; I'd rather a scythe than naught. Besides, maybe I should settle down, find a wife and enjoy my twilight years."

"You're not done yet!" Galeren said laughing, but caught Bertrand's gaze and looked at the other men who had not said anything for or against, his face became serious again.

"I realize that not everybody finds this idea appealing. But I don't mean for all of us to go down this path if it is not wished. We don't yet know how the rest of Europe will react to the Pope's Bull. If more arrests seem imminent, our brothers may already be dispersing. I fear that the Pope will dissolve the Temple and then we will truly be divided.

Travelling to a new world is an opportunity to stay united. But those who wish, can stay in Scotland and survive in their own way, or even go back to Palestine and eke out an existence there. Whatever happens though, I fear we will be forced into dispersal and I wish for our race to stay as united as possible."

"I agree with you on that front." Bertrand said. "And I think your idea has serious merit. In truth many, such as myself, may not wish to embark on such a journey of change. I would want to stay here and watch what happens. I cannot see myself leaving these shores, and who knows? Perhaps things will change in time and we can reunite here. I think many will stay, but many will want to go too."

"This is a wise approach," Simon Carnet said. "Some should stay here and some should make the venture. We do not know how the Templars in other parts of Europe will be dealt with or how they view their futures. If Scotland can provide us with sanctuary then perhaps we can make it a point of gathering, somewhere others may come to escape persecution. They can then decide whether to stay or try their fortune with Galeren and others in the new world."

"That is an excellent idea." Galeren said.

"Good," Bertrand said, sounding relieved. "First Scotland then and temporary sanctuary, from there we can watch and make plans. We can decide when to embark on this voyage when we find enough who are willing to do so. I imagine it will be a young man's venture." Bertrand smiled as he heard De Villiers clear his throat in protest. "With some much needed guidance from the more wizened and wise among us." He reached for the flagon of wine and made his way around the room refilling the empty cups. When he was finished he raised his own cup and said:

"A toast to the future then!"

As they all echoed his sentiment and drank down their wine feeling better about their prospects, Galeren had to darken the tone and remind them that they had a duty to those of their kind imprisoned in France.

"Before we embark on that future though, we have the past to contend with." He said seriously.

"Meaning?" Bertrand wiped his mouth as a feeling of foreboding crept over him.

"I do not intend to sail west while there are still those of us rotting in gaols, waiting for Christ knows what fate, the stake probably, if Philip and De Nogaret have their way."

"Galeren," Bertrand said, knowing and half dreading where he was going with this.

"We cannot ignore the suffering of our race and I wish for those who are at present in stinking dungeons to have the same choices and opportunities as we do."

"You cannot mean attempting to free them from their incarceration, can you?" Bertrand said.

"That is exactly what I mean." Galeren replied seriously.

"It is madness. Impossible!" Bertrand said. "As always Galeren, you follow sense with nonsense."

"It is easy, if executed correctly." Galeren said, ignoring Bertrand's reprove.

Richard pulled a reflective face and Gerard watched Galeren's expression intently. He was immensely grateful for what Galeren had done for his son and the other Templars at Montlhéry, but rushing back to France could be folly, especially now that he had foiled De Floyran once and killed thirty of the King's men. But he knew when Galeren had set his mind to something, he would not change it.

"I do not wish to devalue your recent efforts in Montlhéry but you were lucky. You had the element of surprise on your side. Do you think you could walk into every Templar gaol in France and have the same success? Our enemies will not allow such to happen again. Remember you went to France for personal reasons. Coming home with Catherine, Ourri and the others was a great triumph, but it may be our last in this fight."

"Are you happy to abandon hundreds of our brethren to their deaths?" Galeren snapped angrily.

"No, not happy. But I am not prepared to send any more to theirs."

"You don't know that!" Galeren persisted. "It only needs a handful of us. I don't mean to race over to France tomorrow, I mean to watch and wait for an opportune moment to strike and get as many of our brothers out as possible. You are right that De Floyran was caught off guard and yes, they will undoubtedly be taking measures to ensure they are not caught out again. But an opportunity will arise again, I just know it, and we should be ready to take advantage of it."

Bertrand sighed wearily and looked around at the others. "What are your opinions on this?"

"Well," Richard de Gosbeck started, "I would race to France tomorrow and give the bastards some grief, but I like Galeren's approach too." He said winking at Galeren. "I think we can afford to watch and wait. Philip and the Pope may think we are monsters, but I doubt they wish the masses to know the truth. They will conduct a trial in proper form, or so it will seem to the outside world. To our advantage then may be that they need to move prisoners and such like, or there may be a time when they are all in one place, who knows?"

"Exactly!" Galeren said. "De Floyran knows that with Templars incarcerated here and there all over the country, he cannot maintain fail-safe security and what happened at Montlhéry will have pointed that out to him like a lance through the balls."

"I doubt they would put all Templars in one place, the risk would be too great!" Paul Le Gras said.

"Not if De Floyran thinks he can handle things. They could put a lot of Templars in a château like Chinon and make it impenetrable."

"But if it is impenetrable, then how are you going to get in?" Bertrand asked.

"There is always a way, we just have to wait for the right opportunity."

"This may be foolish to ask but I suppose you would be in the forefront of such an undertaking."

"Of course." Galeren said doggedly.

Bertrand rolled his eyes. "And who would lead your expedition to the new world should you be killed?"

"You don't need me to lead anything. I just put the wind in the sails. I _would_ , however lead a mission to free our brothers. Gerard could take the lead in the new world venture, should I die."

"Not so," he said, "for I would die by your side in France. What Galeren says is right. I can't imagine what they would have done to Ourri if they'd gotten him to Chinon. If we wait and plan such a mission then it would be worth a few of our lives for what it could achieve. We owe our brethren that at least."

"I know what you say is right but I am just loath to lose any more of us, especially from this group and on an undertaking that is so dangerous."

"Don't worry Bertrand, it will not be like before. We do have the benefit of time. It will be planned and we would only conduct such an undertaking at an opportune moment."

"Fine, but I know how impatient you are Galeren and how you fret. Our brothers may be in prison for some time before such an opportunity presents itself, if it ever does, can you wait? Can you truly?"

"All of our futures are at stake and yes it will be hard for me but I know how important this is. I will sit on my hands and wait until the last possible moment if I have to."

****

"How did it go?" Catherine asked sleepily, as Galeren sat on the edge of the bed and began to remove his boots. The meeting had ended cordially and Galeren couldn't have hoped for a better outcome, now he just had to be patient.

"Well actually." He said smiling at her. "Really well."

"Tell me," she murmured as she sat up and stretched.

"It can wait for tomorrow if you are tired. It is late." He said.

"I am awake now and I have missed you." She nudged her face into his hand as he touched it. "Besides you seem in good spirits and it makes me happy to see you so."

"Ha," he said climbing into the bed beside her. "I have been a miserable bastard these past days I know, but you know why."

She nodded soberly. "But," he continued, "so much has happened in such a short space of time. We only met in September and yet it feels like a lifetime ago. I feel like I have found and lost you time and again, yet here we still are."

"Stronger than ever." Catherine affirmed.

"Aye, 'tis because we are alike. You are strongly allied to your wolf half, like I am."

"I am?" she said thrilled at the prospect. "Your father told me you were dominated by your wolf half and that De Floyran is dominated by his human side. I am like you then?"

"Yes. It is why our bond is strong despite De Floyran's mark."

She smiled. "Does he know that?"

"I don't know. He will though, before I kill him."

"Tell me about the meeting." Catherine said, swiftly changing the subject as she saw a dark shadow cross his face as De Floyran's mark came back to haunt him.

He pulled the blankets over them and began to tell her of their plans for the future. He told her about the Viking expeditions to Vinland and his hope for a future there, away from the oppression of Europe and its religion.

"So what do you think? Would you like to go?" he asked, but he could see the answer in her eyes even before the smile beamed across her face.

"I would love to!" she said passionately. "What an adventure! We would be free."

"I hope so. It would not be easy settling a new and distant land. We know little about what the Vikings endured, only about the infighting and difficulty maintaining supplies and contact with their homeland. It would be different for us though.

I hope we would go in great number. Our instincts and survival capabilities should ensure our success. I believe many of our women would want to go, if for anything their freedom to be with their men and not hidden away in convents."

"Where are the women that came over from France?"

"They are scattered amongst our convents here, at the moment. It will be difficult to maintain this pretence in Scotland." He said cynically. "Our presence there has always been minimal. We may have to shed our mantles and disperse a little. Many knights who chose to stay and weather the storm sent their families over here with De Villiers. There are several hundred of us dotted about England now and half of them are women and children. We are not an easy group to hide with our garb. It may be time for us to disappear in terms of name. The Temple is over but the werewolf is not."

"What about those still in prison. What about your father?"

Galeren told her of his plans on that matter too and she listened to him with both pride and trepidation in her heart.

"You didn't think I would forget about them, did you?"

"No, not for a moment but if you go back to France you know I will come with you."

"Don't be foolish, you know that I will never allow that."

"And you know that I will not wait here and fret." She returned stubbornly.

"I will not risk you getting into his hands again. I may not be able to get you back. He may claim to desire you and want to keep you for his mate, but mark me he would sooner kill you than allow you to be forever free of him. He will do it to spite me. If he cannot have you, he will make sure that I cannot either.

I am not willing to take any chances on that score. I will tie you up and put you in a dungeon here myself to prevent you from coming. Don't test me on this." He said seriously.

She knew his mood well enough to not press him any further on it. It would only lead to a fruitless argument and she didn't want to give him any cause for grief, she knew that he was still devastated by what had already been done by De Floyran.

"Enough said." She smiled. "I am no longer tired, let's go for a run."

He looked at her and the light returned to his eyes. "Really?"

"It seems so long ago since we had that freedom, let's do it before we have to leave this place."

"It is a good night for it, come on then." He said and jumped out of bed enthusiastically.

They dressed simply and made their way out of the preceptory and across the bailey to the gatehouse.

"You make me feel like a girl on her way to a secret tryst." She said, her heart beating with excitement.

"You are a girl on her way to a secret tryst," he smiled. "We wish to leave for a run, 'tis not a problem?" Galeren asked the guard on duty.

"Not at all," the guard smiled and nodding released the bolt on the gate and slid it free. "It seems that the whole of Temple Bruer is on a run tonight. If we are besieged, there'll be no one here to take up arms."

"Oh don't worry," Galeren said, "we'd be back before swords were drawn." The guard swung the gate open just wide enough for Galeren and Catherine to slip through the opening. They moved quickly across the estate and towards the cover of the trees. A wolf's howl pierced the night's quiet and Catherine turned to Galeren.

"Richard," he said, "he can't help himself."

"You could tell that was Richard?" Catherine said amazed.

"Of course," he smiled, "I've known Richard a long time." But Catherine still looked perplexed.

"Stop thinking like a human when you are in the wolf's domain."

"But I am in human form." She said puzzled.

"Yes, but you need not rely on your human senses when your wolf's are stronger. To a human one wolf's howl is as indecipherable as another's. But you can recognize a wolf's howl as well as a human can recognize someone's voice, you can do both of these things. You know my voice."

"I know your howl too." Catherine said smugly, raising her eyebrows to remind him of the night she had come looking for him when they were in Ashby.

"Mmmm," he teased, "that was a lucky guess that time."

"'Twas not!" she protested. He laughed and pulled her into the trees and threw off his cloak.

"Do you want to join the others?" his eyes were bright with anticipation.

"Are they hunting?" she said almost whispering.

"Yes." He answered with an eager edge to his voice.

She looked around unsure but full of excitement. "Won't they be cross if we interrupt them?"

"Not at all. Besides, we're not going to interrupt them. We're going to help them." Galeren said removing the last of his attire and changing. She quickly followed suit and with a keen look in her eye they made off through the trees towards the direction from which Richard's cry had come from.

The night was crisp and clear and the moon was a waxing gibbous, lighting the forest with a pearly white light. Catherine raced to keep up with Galeren, his white form only a few steps ahead of her with his tail swishing as he ran. She felt her body released from the shackles of its two legged prison and felt every muscle and sinew stretch out beyond their confinement as the blood pumped through her wolf body.

She could feel the rhythm of the Earth beat in time with her heart and felt relief as the weight of her human existence and the trials she had recently endured lifted and almost dispersed into the white light of the night.

Her paws crunched over the litter of the forest floor and her ears prickled at the faintest sounds that radiated through the forest. Her nose smelt the night and was acutely aware of Galeren's scent ahead of her. How comforting it was to her, such a unique smell, difficult to explain in human terms, but it was him. She could identify his scent when she was human too but it was stronger when they were in wolf form.

_You must hone your senses as a wolf so you can use them when you are human_. Galeren interrupted her thoughts and slowed to run alongside her.

_You rogue_ , she scolded, _my thoughts are private!_

I told you before I cannot read your thoughts. I was merely imparting advice. Why? What were you thinking?

_Of how you stink!_ she mocked and knocked into the side of him, throwing him off balance. Sure now of where they were heading and trusting her wolf senses, she made to escape him and have him chase her. He did what she expected and she revelled in the thrill of it. She had not gained much of an advantage and he was fast, she could feel him snapping at her heels as she ran for her life.

She knew the human Catherine could never have lasted at this pace and would have collapsed into a heap after just a hundred feet or so, but as wolf she knew that she could keep this up for quite some time, provided that Galeren didn't catch up to her. Foolishly, she looked round to gauge where he was when she sensed he had dropped back. But it was a mistake. It slowed her down just enough for Galeren to make a lunge forward and grab her hind quarter with his mouth.

He bit down on it, not enough to hurt but enough to stop her in her tracks and lose momentum. She lost her feet and fell clumsily to the ground. As she hit it, she realized that they were upon the edge of a steep verge and with Galeren still attached to her they slid awkwardly down it. Galeren released his grip and they rolled over each other several times and came crashing through the trees and shrubs at the bottom of it. Regaining her feet as she came out of the roll, she stopped to find she was faced with a pack of about twelve wolves just as Galeren skidded into the back of her, knocking her off her feet again.

_Great_ , Richard said irritably, _that's the element of surprise gone then!_

_Oh cheer up_ , Galeren retorted as he got to his feet, _didn't you eat enough at supper?_

_That's not the point Galeren and you know it_. Richard grumbled.

_Sorry_ , Catherine said sincerely. She certainly did not want to become unpopular with the pack and it appeared that they had just ruined their hunt.

_It doesn't matter_ , Richard said, his irritation dissolving. _There is plenty to hunt this evening. Are you joining us?_ he directed the question at Galeren.

Are we welcome?

_As long as you behave yourselves!_ Richard growled and then turned to direct the pack.

Later, after the hunt and after they had left the others Catherine found out just how seriously werewolves took hunting.

"You take it in turns to lead the hunts?" she asked, as they went to find their clothes.

"Yes, we all have different strategies and it is good practice to lead and coordinate the hunt. Richard is particularly good at it. As pack animals we work well as a team and this has resonance in our human lives. It is the very reason why the Templars have always had such a fearsome reputation on the battlefield and why we are so difficult to defeat. We are stronger than humans but it is how we synchronize and fight as a team that has made us unbeatable." He said modestly.

They dressed and made their way back to the preceptory.

"Did you enjoy the hunt?" Galeren asked.

Catherine thought back on it and revelled being part of the pack, her input as important as any other members. Though the quarry of rabbits, having changed from the original deer that she and Galeren had put pay to with their fooling around, was not the preferred choice of the pack, it had still been exciting to her. Even eating part of one of the freshly killed and still warm creatures had been an experience that she could only term as exhilarating.

"Yes," Catherine said enthusiastically, "I loved it, I . . ." she broke off as they reached the gatehouse.

"You what?" Galeren asked, stopping to look at her.

"I felt like I didn't want to change back," she lowered her head as if she felt ashamed. "Is that wrong?"

"No!" he said raising her chin so he could meet her gaze. "I feel like that too sometimes. But much as I love you as a wolf, when I see you thus," he motioned to her present state, "I would miss your human form." He pulled her against him.

"I would miss yours too." She smiled and accepted his kiss.

"We'd better get back inside before we get into more trouble." He said and wrapped his knuckles against the gate. As the gate swung open they walked back into the preceptory bailey hand in hand.

### Chapter Twenty Six

29th November 1307, Château de Beynac, Beynac, France

"What do you think?" the captain of the garrison said to De Floyran as he saw him approaching. He pointed to the berm upon which four stakes had been erected and where his men were piling up wood and kindling in preparation for the macabre event that was to take place.

"Well that didn't take long!" De Floyran said jovially as he stepped up onto the berm. "Let's see if you've made a good job of it."

He had arrived at the Château de Beynac just three days before, with his men and ten of Philip's Royal guards. Thirteen Templars were being held in the château and with a letter from the King securing his authority on the matter, De Floyran had immediately, upon arrival, ordered the construction of an execution berm.

He had a list of the names of the Templars that were here and had chosen this place to begin the process of assembling his renegade army because it was far from the capital, only had a few prisoners and the austere château afforded him adequate privacy in order to carry out his grisly deed. It was a good place to trial, and if necessary, he could have every one of the Templars here executed. He was determined though to make a success of his recruitment campaign. Apart from the practical advantages of the château's location, Beynac itself was a pleasant village. It was situated on the banks of the Dordogne river and De Floyran was keen to be as far away from Paris, Philip and De Nogaret for as long as possible.

He thudded his fist against one of the stakes, testing its strength and then grasped it with both hands and gave it a shake to make sure it was well anchored. He was aware that in the agony of being burned alive, the victim was wont to thrash about in an attempt to escape from the unbearable torture, therefore the security of the stake was paramount. No one had, of course, ever broken free from their shackles or ripped a stake from the ground no matter how desperately they may have tried to. He was, however, not so sure how this would play out with a werewolf tied to the stake. Their strength, being several times that of a human, could not be underestimated here.

In addition, he would have to burn two at a time for they would have to be securely bound together in order to prevent them from changing forms. Contact with living flesh was the only thing that prevented a werewolf from changing states. Though the correct dose of wolfsbane could also prevent a werewolf from shape shifting, his recent experience with the effects of the poison made him immensely mistrustful of such a method and so he decided to stick with what he was certain of.

He inspected each of the stakes and saw that they were good thicknesses as he had requested and they all appeared to have been securely anchored to the ground.

"This should be interesting," he muttered to himself as he jumped down from the berm.

"Sir?" the captain asked.

"I just said that this will be interesting. Now," De Floyran began more seriously, "I don't have to remind you of what we spoke of yesterday."

"Of course not," the captain said resolutely.

"You are responsible for your men's tongues also, so make sure they keep them tied. What occurs here is not to be spoken of without these walls, not to a soul. I am trusting you to ensure this. If you fail me, you will find yourself upon a stake of your own and believe me, your burning will be a relief compared to the agony I would have put you though before it, do you understand?"

The captain felt a shiver enter his soul as he stared into De Floyran's eyes. The knight's eyes were green, but they almost turned black and soulless as he uttered his chilling threat. The captain knew all too well how to turn a blind eye to goings on, especially when requested to do so by the King of France and he was not about to give his man, De Floyran, reason to doubt his fealty or cause to carry out his gruesome threat.

"I do, sir, be assured of that." He swallowed hard, nevertheless, trying to get rid of the nervous lump in his throat.

"Good," De Floyran said merrily, "and be prepared to erect more stakes. I don't think these will be enough. We'll see how it goes." He dismissed the captain as he saw Raymond Caradas walking towards him.

"What do you think?" De Floyran said proudly.

"A good job." Caradas said evenly but grimaced as he looked at the stakes stretching up to the heavens like pulpits of death. De Floyran noted the look of distain on Caradas' face and frowned.

"You don't seem very happy, Raymond. Do you not have the stomach for this?"

In truth he didn't, the stake sickened him. Caradas was no saint and had dished out his own brand of cruelty over the years. He certainly had no qualms about running anyone through with a sword, breaking their neck or beating them to a bloody pulp, but being burned at the stake was a fate that no one deserved.

He had his gripe with the Temple, but not with those individuals who were about to receive this as their end. He had no quarrel with them and they were of _his_ race. It was something he had never considered before, but looking at the wooden stakes that were now before him made him feel compassion for his brethren. They were unique, gifted and Templars or not they were still his kind. De Floyran's cruelty knew no bounds and he seemed to be becoming even more brutal in his objectives, enjoying the suffering of others more and more with the passage of events. This latest venture of his was beyond redemption.

Caradas could always tell himself that he had played a part in denouncing his own race to the French King and Pope and that it was _their_ decision to burn the Templars, but this was different somehow. De Floyran had taken things into his own hands. They may have come here to recruit Templars to their side but they had also come here to eliminate the threat that concerned the French King. Now, he was directly involved and he wondered if he had bitten off more than he could swallow.

"If this is the best method to see that the mission is executed successfully, then it must be done."

"But you sound unsure of the method." De Floyran said, his eyes narrowing to snake like slits.

"I do not like the stake." Caradas said truthfully, at least if he made his feelings known it may relieve some of the guilt he would later feel.

De Floyran threw his head back and bellowed out a sinister laugh.

"Oh Raymond," he said wiping the tears from his eyes when he'd finished, "you do make me laugh! Did you think that we would not have blood on our hands? We are in too deep not to." He said, inclining his head knowingly.

"But this is not the King's idea, it is yours." Caradas said boldly and almost with a note of scathing in his tone.

"Are you judging me, Raymond?" De Floyran asked menacingly.

"No, Esquin," Caradas answered evenly, "I had just hoped that this would have been over with sooner and we would be enjoying our spoils far from this dirty work."

De Floyran smiled and patted Caradas on the back. "I did too, but it hasn't turned out that way. Huguard is dead, Catherine has been stolen from me and we must at least prepare ourselves for a strike by Galeren and his minions. He will not run or hide. We need to protect our interests, Raymond, and our future. We have been friends for a long time, have we not, and weathered some severe storms. Do not go soft on me now."

"I am not, Esquin."

"Good, because I want you to help me with task in hand." He smiled, and motioned with his hand towards the direction of the dungeons. "Shall we then?"

****

Caradas ingrained the back of his hand across the severely battered face of one the Templar prisoners they were trying to persuade to change loyalties, while Botolf did the same to the other that he was tied to. De Floyran wasn't taking any chances and had them bound back to back to prevent them from changing. These prisoners had no reason to guard their secret from their tormentors who, being brethren themselves, knew exactly what they were. Keeping them bound together was necessary to prevent them from changing and causing carnage.

De Floyran sighed for he had been in this stinking dungeon for what seemed to be an age and seemed to be getting nowhere with the two they were presently working on. But he knew it would not be easy, there was not a Templar alive that couldn't take a good beating over and over again.

"I have the authority to have you burned at the stake, whenever I choose. In fact the King wants to start getting rid of you, sooner rather than later." De Floyran said using his trump card.

" _What?_ " one of them, Guillaume de Tour, said sounding panicked, "we haven't even been tried! The Pope would not allow it, not without a papal inquiry! We come under the authority of the Pope, not the King."

"Don't make the mistake of relying on the Pope for your salvation, for along with the King, he knows the true nature of the Temple." De Floyran said glibly.

"Lies!" the other, Raoul de Hanivell, cried resolvedly.

"'Tis not lies, brother." Raymond Caradas said solemnly. "What we offer is your only chance to escape a fiery death. The King plans to have some Templars burned now, save those that choose to serve him and the others publicly with the Pope's authority when the Temple is tried and abolished. Not every Templar will be offered what you are now being offered, take it and live or else you will perish in fire."

"Go swive yourself you treacherous bastard! You think I would betray my kind as you have and preside over their deaths to save my own skin? Such treachery does not course through my wolf blood. I would rather die in the flames as a werewolf, true to my blood and brotherhood than become a man like you and live as a traitor!"

"Brave words," De Floyran said, "I commend you for them but think on your decisions for a time for they may not seem so compelling when you feel the heat of the flames rise about your bodies, and it will be too late to do anything about it then.

I intend to leave here with some men for my retinue. Do not see it as treachery; it is the Temple that is being destroyed not all werewolf-kind. It is merely a name! All I ask of you is to swear fealty to a different master, one who has a future. The Temple dwindles and has long lost its direction, it lets our kind down. We have become both unpopular and of little use and now the King wants an end to it. But if you choose to serve him, then you will live and be as werewolf as I am, but free from the constraints of the Temple's façade."

"I need not think on my decision," Raoul spat, "I'd rather die as a Templar, with its name engraved on my heart and soul than be a hired hound for the King of France!"

De Floyran inclined his head contemplatively and then motioned for Caradas, Botolf and De Merle to leave the torture room with him. Outside and when they were sufficiently out of earshot, De Floyran said:

"What about the other, the one who kept quiet?"

"Much is given away in silence." Caradas said intuitively.

"You think he could turn?"

"Perhaps," Caradas answered. "I can smell his fear."

"Good," De Floyran said scratching his chin. "Throw them back in their cell together for now and work on some of the others. This is how we will play it; the resolute bastards, who won't be turned, can burn together while the weaker, undecided ones watch. If watching their comrades being reduced to ashes doesn't turn them, than nothing will." He smiled at his men. "Get on with it then!" he said and turned to leave.

"Where will I find you?" Caradas asked.

"In one of the taverns in the village, enjoying some entertainment. Don't bother disturbing me unless you have some good news." He said seriously and walked away from them. Caradas watched him as he strode purposefully away before he motioned Botolf and De Merle to return to their unsavoury assignment.

It was much of the same process over again with different pairs of bound Templars; a severe beating, some cajoling and threatening, more beating, all the while attempting to determine who would turn and who would not. De Floyran was counting on finding other likeminded Templars, whose loyalty to the Temple was questionable. He sought those who were without conscience or care, who would be eager to take what he offered, those as treacherous and malign as himself.

Caradas knew that out of thirteen men there was only one who fitted that profile and a couple who may turn through fear and self preservation, but he knew the Templar resolve was strong in the face of adversity and in the midst of suffering. It did not sit well with him, for he knew what the grim outcome was and that he would be witness to it. Several days had passed and De Floyran had come and gone, enjoying the torture while it was administered but then he would get bored with the effort of it and would disappear again to take his pleasure in the taverns of Beynac.

Caradas was sure that De Floyran was testing him, as his prior comments had angered him and his foolish mention of his unease with the stake had now made sure that he would have to deal with every gruelling detail of this mission, even lighting the kindling on the pyre itself no doubt. In any case, a list of the names of twelve of the Templars had now been split into two groups. There were those who resisted staunchly and they would be sacrificed to the flames. There were others who said nothing and how it would turn out for them was anyone's guess. These men would be tested on the suffering of their comrades before judgement was passed. Caradas sensed that some may lose their resolve as they saw their comrades die in agonising circumstances, which is what De Floyran hoped for, and would then take up his offer.

There was one other, however, that had agreed to join the King's retinue before a single blow had been struck. He felt no loyalty to the Temple and certainly did not wish to martyr himself for it. This was the type of man they were looking for, if he was genuine.

Pleased with at least completing his work successfully and preventing his own hide from being bound to a stake, Caradas went in search of De Floyran with his list. He did not want to wait for Esquin to return to the château, preferring instead to escape its confines and clear his nasal passages of the stench of blood and foreboding.

The evening was chilly but nevertheless pleasant and Caradas made his way into the village and began his search for De Floyran, albeit casually. He planned to take his time, as De Floyran had not long been gone and he wanted to enjoy the solace of a drink or two alone before finding him and delivering the news that condemned at least seven men to the stake. He found it ironic that a place of such charm and beauty would soon conceal a dark chapter of evil within its walls and one that perhaps would never be revealed to the outside world.

After several ales in one pleasant drinking abode Caradas resumed his search but need look no further than the second tavern he went into. This tavern was not as amiable as the first. It was dark and grimy and filled with drunken men and wanton women, whose roles as both serving wench and whore were performed with equal aptitude. This was the type of tavern that he was more familiar with, having frequented such places with De Floyran and the others. Although Caradas never gave much thought to where they drank or wenched, tonight he felt more disposed to drinking in the first tavern that he had been in. Its quiet civility had soothed his troubled mind and he had watched normal folk enjoying their drink and conversations.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and wondered to himself whether he was indeed going soft. He wanted to be rid of the burden of guilt that had laid itself upon him and this sudden change in his perception of events. Why should he care if men burned; werewolves or not? Nothing had ever bothered him before, murder, rape . . . nothing. He saw De Floyran spot him and smiled as he was waved over. De Floyran was sat with a dark haired whore who was lavishing her paid-for attention upon him.

"Raymond!" De Floyran said cheerily. "Join me for a drink? I trust we have something to celebrate?" he raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

"We do," Caradas said evenly and reached under his cloak to retrieve the list of condemned.

"Later," De Floyran said and waved for another flagon of ale to be brought over. "This is Catherine," he said, introducing the whore at his side. Caradas nodded politely at the women whom he doubted was really called Catherine. He sat down and was thankful when the flagon was brought to their table with an extra cup. He waited patiently as the ale was poured for them and then gulped down his portion and quickly refilled his cup.

"Isn't she lovely?" De Floyran purred, pulling the woman closer to him. "Doesn't she remind you of _my_ Catherine?"

Caradas smiled and nodded agreeably, though she was dark and of slight build she held nothing to the beauty of the Catherine Esquin was referring to, however, wary of De Floyran's obsession he said, "The resemblance is uncanny."

"Leave us," De Floyran said to the whore, his light mood suddenly souring. "Come back later and with a friend for Raymond." He commanded and the girl nodded and quickly slipped away.

"You look like you could do with a good fuck." De Floyran remarked, as he stared after the whore until she was lost in the crowded room.

"You may be right," Caradas agreed genuinely. It might not be such a bad idea. A few flagons of ale and an obliging whore may indeed give him the mettle that he was missing and in fear of misplacing for good. De Floyran winked and then outstretched his hand and Caradas quickly retrieved the list of Templars and placed it into it.

"So it begins," he said as he studied the list, his eyes flickered up to Caradas. "Good work. We'll burn six tomorrow and see what we end up with. What do you think the outcome will be?"

Caradas took another slurp of ale and felt his stomach growl as he caught the aroma of a bowl of mutton stew being served at the table next to them.

"I think there may be four that will do it. But even so, we will have to be careful. There is nothing to stop them from turning tail and escaping once they have the chance. How will you keep them loyal?"

"I know an opportunist, when I see one." De Floyran said assuredly. "I am looking for those who want a turn of fortune, not means of escape. The way I see it is, you've got the martyrs who will want to go down with the Templar ship, and then there are the devious ones who will tell you anything in order to save their hides only to make off at the first opportunity. Then there are those who were ripe for a change even before this whole business began. These are ready to shed their Templar skins and become wolves of their own destiny. We simply offer them an alternate future; werewolves not Templars. It is time that they accepted the difference."

"Then we will be successful. There is one on the list who has already forsworn the Temple." Caradas said and then added when he saw De Floyran's eyebrows twitch inquisitively. "Germain Otricourt." He pointed to the name on the list.

"Genuine?"

"I believe so. He is of course eager to be free of his shackles but I sense that he is no Templar saint. Like you said, it is just the name to be shed, not the nature."

"Excellent, I will speak with him tomorrow after the others have been burned." De Floyran said and knocked back his cup of ale. "You look hungry, Raymond." He said, as he noted Caradas' eyes darting back and forth to the table of mutton stew.

"I am ravenous as it goes." He confessed.

"Then let's eat and enjoy the evening. We have a big day tomorrow." De Floyran grinned darkly and waved for service.

Caradas shielded his eyes from the noonday sun and tried to ignore the thudding in his head. He had been well in his cups by the time they had left the tavern the previous night but equally sated in both appetite and lust. Now, however, was an entirely different matter. The few hours snatched the previous evening had sufficed in repressing his thoughts of discomfort at the task that, once again in the light of a new day, was at hand.

He stared up at the berm and to the freshly constructed stakes to which the six loyal Templars were shackled and bound to. Two were bound to each stake, back to back, upright and firmly together. Their close bodily contact ensuring that any attempt to change was futile. With three stakes in use, this left one stake free which would serve to remind those, that may otherwise give their loyalty to Esquin de Floyran, what awaited them if they did not. These others Templars were also assembled, and bound together in a line beneath the berm with a clear view of those upon the stakes.

De Floyran looked around the bailey and eyed the captain and his men who all looked upon the scene with trepidation. He was pleased that they viewed it with such, for it was to remind them also of what would be their fate should their tongues slip. Happy that everything was in order, De Floyran motioned to Raymond Caradas who stepped forward in front of the berm and spoke, reading from a parchment that he held in his hands.

"Thierry Montfaucon, Andre Choisi, Gobert le Mez, Marcel le Breton, Olivier Vallet and Raoul de Hanivell, you are condemned for your acts of heresy and refusal to accept and swear loyalty to your one and true master, Philip IV, King of France. You have therefore been sentenced to death for your heretical acts and treacherous denial," he paused and looked around at the Templars who stood looking up at their condemned comrades and then added, "and may God have mercy on your souls."

"'Tis your soul that he need have mercy on!" Raoul de Hanivell screamed, "I'll see you in hell Esquin de Floyran!"

De Floyran kept his head bowed low, he would normally have offered some rebuke but he wanted to look professional in front of the garrison of the château. Caradas rolled up the parchment and then nodded at the two guards whose duty on this day was to ignite the fire.

They stepped up onto the berm and went before the stakes. One struck two pieces of flint together, while the other waited patiently for the spark that would ignite the cloth soaked in oil bound to the wooden baton he held. On the third attempt, the rag caught fire and the guard swiftly went to the first stake and lit the kindling that was piled high around the men. As it caught fire he rapidly went and did the same to the two remaining stakes. The kindling was plentiful and tinder dry and so began to burn in earnest. The brisk breeze that blew through the courtyard fanned the flames and the fire began to grow like a monstrous demon consuming the men's legs and lower bodies.

It was not long before Caradas' sensitive nose picked up the scent of burning flesh and he looked across to De Floyran who gazed up to the burning men with a look of zealous delight. He sensed Caradas' stare and looked across at him and smiled. Caradas turned his gaze away and back to the men whose cries now began to echo around the bailey.

The wood piled around them had now caught and the intensity of the fire was now striping the men of their dignity as it devoured their mortal flesh. They may have had a higher threshold of pain than human men but the heat of the fire could only give them what it gave others, indescribable pain, unable to be escaped from, only endured. Neither wolf nor man could survive fire, and bound to the wood that burned with them they could only writhe in agony, scream for relief and curse those who had put them there.

Their faces contorted grotesquely, illustrating the pain that they suffered and their screams, neither human nor wolf like, made Caradas' entire being tremble within. But he could only watch with cool composure as he was aware that De Floyran was watching him carefully. Whatever crimes and heinous acts he had committed in his life, he now knew that he could tell himself that there was just the smallest amount of pity and mercy in his heart, for he found this hard to witness.

It was especially difficult, as it was he who had personally selected the men that now, roasted, blistered and blackened in the flames on this crisp but beautiful December day. He could tell himself, when he went to hell, that there had been a limit to his cruelty; and that had been burning men alive. Before coming to Beynac he would have doubted such a notion, he had been happy to leave many in his wake of destruction, not giving them a second thought. But now, as the screams died within the flames that rose high above and beyond the top of the stakes and the Templars charred remains slumped forward indicating their death, he could not forget and knew that there was darkness upon his soul that he would never be able to escape from or ever deny.

Once again he caught the eye of De Floyran who looked smug in his accomplishment. Though the worst was over, he did not motion for anyone to move from the spot that they found themselves rooted to until the men had been reduced to ashes and broken into pieces amongst the smouldering embers that had been their lives. When all was quiet and the diabolical exhibition was over, the living Templars were marched back to their dungeon cells and the guards were ordered to clear up the debris.

"Who will be the lucky two?" De Floyran said in high spirits, as he motioned to the unused stake.

"Would you like me to find out?" Caradas said unemotionally.

"No, not yet. I would leave them to think on it through the night. If we leave them, they may think that they are all to burn. See in the morn if they are not begging to join us! Well done." He said clapping Caradas across the back.

"What a privilege! We have been the first to burn Templars. Many more will follow and Christ, I hope that Galeren and the Grand Master will be amongst them. What a delightful spectacle that would be!" he said, his white teeth gleaming in the afternoon sun.

"Indeed," Caradas agreed equably.

"Fetch our new recruit, Germain, and have Armin and Botolf meet us in the tavern of last night. Let's see how he measures up, besides I fancy more of what we had yester eve and perhaps a hunt later. A run in the valley would be the perfect end to this day and allow us to break in our new comrade, if he is indeed destined to be one."

"Sounds good." Caradas nodded in agreement and then turned and left De Floyran standing in the bailey. Staring up at the stakes with a look of immense satisfaction across his face, De Floyran felt no pity for the burned Templars only pleasure in being instrument in their destruction. They deserved to die for their stubborn misguided loyalty. He would build up his mesnie of likeminded werewolves and then go in search of his quarry; the woman who would be his mate and the Templar he most desired to see burn at the stake. On that thought he smiled, certain of his victory in light of the day's events. Turning away from the ashes, he almost wished that De Nogaret had been here to share it with him.

### Chapter Twenty Seven

15th December 1307, Aberdeenshire, Scotland

On a cold and misty morning in mid December, Galeren de Massard, Gerard de Villiers, and Bertrand le Roux, arrived at the Peel of Strathbogie. With them were the Preceptors of Faxfleet, Balantrodoch and Maryculter; William de la Fenne, Walter Clifton and William Middleton. The earth and timber castle sat in the heart of the Aberdeenshire countryside, its large circular motte rising up impressively before them, forming an excellent vantage point from which to admire the beautiful green landscape but also, and more importantly, to spot approaching enemies. Within it waited Robert the Bruce, the King of Scotland and the Templars' potential ally.

The Templar migrants had left Temple Bruer preceptory several weeks before and journeyed to Scotland. Those from other preceptories in England and Ireland, who had decided to seek sanctuary, also made their way to the two main preceptories there; Balantrodoch, just south of Edinburgh and further north to Maryculter in Aberdeenshire.

Only a few knights, who were werewolf kind, remained at their preceptories. Some of these knights were ill or too old, and were unwilling to leave the homes that were to become their final resting places. Some that stayed were preceptors, prepared to remain at their posts for ceremony along with many more servants and chaplains, who, not being of werewolf blood, knew nothing of the real reason behind their superiors' flight to Scotland. These members of the Temple were still certain that the Pope would dispel the lies and accusations that were abound and absolve the Order.

The werewolf brethren were not callous in their abandonment of the other members of the Temple. They were certain that the Pope would not allow any harm to come to those who'd served the Order, but were not of supernatural being. Clement was not cruel and while he would be bullied by Philip to hunt down and destroy the monstrous knights, he would not allow the innocent minions of the long and loyal serving order to suffer.

Most preceptories had now been stripped of their valuables and this would give the wayfaring Templars finance for survival and funds to build a future, but also it served to keep their most treasured possessions out of the greedy hands of Kings. The Templars were unsure how Edward II would react to the Pope's Bull, but even though the English King did not appear to be in any hurry to arrest his country's Templars, his sentiments could not be counted on, seeing as he was Philip's future son-in-law.

Many Templars had travelled up the coast with the Templar fleet, boarding ships that had docked at Dunwich, while others had journeyed overland. Prior to their departure, a letter had been sent to Robert the Bruce requesting an audience with him to discuss the future of the Templars in Scotland. The Bruce had recently fallen ill which was thought to be a result of his relentless and lengthy campaign against the English, but his reply was encouraging and he was willing to meet with those who now constituted the remaining hierarchy of the Temple.

Those who had been selected to go and speak with the Scottish King had made their way from Maryculter to the Peel of Strathbogie, where Robert was currently a guest of the Fife of Strathbogie while he recuperated from his exertions of battle. It was likely that the services of all the able bodied Templars of the British Isles would soon be retained by the Bruce, for this is what they planned to offer him. King Robert was passionate in his quest for Scottish independence and also no fool. He was not concerned with the King of France's whims and schemes and having been excommunicated by Clement only the previous year for the murder of John Comyn, Lord of Badenoch, his rival to the Scottish crown, he would care even less for what the Pope commanded of him.

Instead he may be only too keen to have Templars in his retinue, for who would not wish to have the loyalty of such a formidable fighting force? In return they would require a guarantee of perpetual sanctuary, out of the reach of papal condemnation and the scorn of the Kings of Christendom. With assurance from the Bruce, they would at least have breathing space to watch Europe and plan for the next chapter in Templar history.

As the men drew near to the gate of the bailey, it immediately opened and they were quickly surrounded by foot soldiers. Though dressed immaculately in Templar attire, it was clear that the Bruce took nothing for granted and had many enemies, which may or may not include English Templars. A man on horseback approached them.

"State your names and business at Strathbogie." The captain of the guard said.

Gerard de Villiers cleared his throat and after announcing all who were in his company first, he concluded, "and I am Gerard de Villiers, former Master of the Paris Temple. We have been invited to speak with Robert the Bruce on Temple business."

The captain looked at the Templars and nodding his head, satisfied that he had heard the names he was supposed to, he motioned for his men to stand down. He then waved for the Templar Knights to follow him into the bailey.

The Peel of Strathbogie was a modest but nevertheless striking fortress and immaculate in its presentation. In the main hall, a fire was roaring and the warmth of it gave the Templars confidence in their mission. Upon the dais table had been placed a feast and the smell of hot food and spiced wine increased their faith further.

"We'll have to swear fealty to the Bruce," Gerard remarked to Galeren.

"Instead of the Pope?" he replied, his tone indicating that he was happy to remove their allegiance from a man who had been happy to abandon them.

"Clement hardly had a choice. Do you think the Bruce would protect us if he knew the truth as the Pope does?" Gerard pointed out, raising his eyebrows.

"I think he may turn a blind eye if we were to help with his cause but after it was achieved, who knows? 'Tis the very reason I believe our future lies far from these shores and away from any overlord, Pope or King."

"Mmm," De Villiers brooded, "still, we are not yet at that fork and need time to implement such ideas. For now we must take sanctuary where it is offered."

He looked up as the oak doors of the main hall opened and the Bruce strode confidently inside, flanked by several guards. He fiddled with the sleeve of his tunic as if only recently dressed and stopped before the Templars and smiled. He was about Galeren's age, though his features appeared more wizened than the werewolf knight's. This was probably owing to his tumultuous rise to power and his relentless feats on the battlefield.

The Bruce was reputed to be an excellent swordsman and did not shy away from the thick of the battle, rather wishing to be in the brutal centre of the fray. He was nevertheless handsome, his beard was cropped neatly and his dark hair pushed back from his temples. His eyes were a pale blue and showed that he was a man of both experience and intelligence.

"Welcome," he said with genuine sentiment. "I hope you are hungry. I am sure you broke your fast after matins, but this damned fever I have had has been hard to shake off and has made me slovenly. I would be happy if you would join me for a late breakfast or early lunch, as you prefer."

He opened his hands in welcome and pointed to the dais which he then continued towards. The Templars followed him and seated themselves at the table, wine was poured and the Bruce gestured for them to take advantage of the delicious spread. He appeared to be in no hurry for the meeting to commence not until, it seemed, he had gotten some hot food inside him. Galeren and the others weren't complaining, it had been a cold journey and the meagre portion of bread and honey that they had scrammed down before setting off from Maryculter had done little to sate their hunger. This feast was therefore well met.

When the Bruce appeared to have stilled his hunger pangs, he looked at all the impressive looking men sat before him and said,

"Which of you came from France?"

"I did," De Villiers replied, "with many others."

"You were amongst the lucky ones then," the Bruce said, "it is not a good time to be a Templar in France."

"Indeed," Bertrand agreed, feeling Galeren stir uncomfortably beside him, "and how about in Scotland?" Bertrand asked boldly.

The Bruce smiled slowly, "I have no argument with the Temple. You are all welcome in my country." There was an emphasis on _my_ and he raised his cup of wine as if to reinforce the statement.

"We thank you," Bertrand said.

"Your coming here is timely. I have heard that mandates relating to your arrests and seizure of Templar properties have been dispatched to county sheriffs in England."

"Edward has no quarrel with us but with pressure from both his future father-in-law and the Pope, we could not count on his support, but we pray we can on yours." Bertrand bowed his head respectfully.

"Templar presence has always been minimal in Scotland and of what there has been, has been debatable as to whether or not it was in Scotland's favour."

Bertrand looked at the others, grimacing in turn at the mention of their unsavoury reputation in Scotland.

"Brian de Jay was a –" Bertrand began fervently in their defence but the Bruce cut him off.

"I know all about Brian de Jay and his renegades and I care not. It is in the past and what is important here is the future, yours and Scotland's. I will not beat about the bush and spend hours exchanging cryptic conversion with you, it is not my style. Instead, I will tell you how you can help me." The Bruce paused and took a swig of his wine. He licked his lips and continued.

"You will not be ignorant of my desire to have an independent Scotland. Edward the first gave us little to celebrate over the years, but his son does not have the same mettle as he did. If Templars need sanctuary then let it be in Scotland. I guarantee your safety here. In return I would ask that your best and most able knights stand by my side when called upon and until then, train the rest of my army in the combat skills that you have made your name with.

I have neither care for, nor fealty to the King of France and, as you know, the Pope excommunicated me not a year ago, so I have no need to bend to his commands. We can serve each other well. However, I see that most of you here are English, how do you feel about spilling the blood of your own for a Scottish cause?"

"We are Templars first and as such do not care for nationality. French, Spanish, or English matters not to Templars, it is a brotherhood and it is that which we wish to preserve, not our individual identities."

It was true what Bertrand said, but of course he did not mention that the brotherhood was one made up of werewolves, not religious warriors. But as his sentiment was genuine, the Bruce accepted his explanation and nodded satisfied.

"I understand, but do not abandon me, even if the Pope does decide to save your hides from Philip. By allowing your presence in Scotland, I have already adhered to my part of the bargain, as of now you owe me."

"You have our word and our swords. A Templar has never broken a vow he has made with a true heart." Bertrand said.

"I believe that." The Bruce said and proposed a toast to their alliance. They drank and their cups were refilled.

"Now," the Bruce said, looking straight at De Villiers, "tell me of your escape from France."

With their business over and quickly so, the Bruce was keen to enjoy the company of his new allies. It seemed that Robert was fond of tales of bravery and heroism in the face of adversity and it was clear that he planned to carve out his own legend, as his desire for independence was achieved.

They stayed drinking in the main hall long after their late breakfast had been cleared away and the lunch, which had then been provided a few hours later, had also been cleared. After the reason for their visit had been stated and their alliance cemented, they had found each other's company enjoyable and informative. The Bruce was dandy and determined and was not willing to step lightly on matters that were of concern to him. His very nature made the company of Templars secure in their pact with him. They could at least, now relax a little and watch how things in France progressed.

The freezing fog had lowered and now held onto the ground with bitter determination. Galeren was by the stables leaning against the timber door frame staring into the mist. Earlier, the Bruce had finally taken his leave of them to attend to other more pressing matters. He bid them stay for the night and enjoy the Fife's hospitality, while he tried to rest and shake off the remnants of the bout of fever that had battered him over the last few weeks. He would not see them again, not on this occasion in any case, but plans for another meeting to discuss the Templars' new role in Scotland had already been laid. He knew where they were.

"Pining for that lady of yours?" De Villiers asked, as he approached Galeren.

Galeren smiled slowly. "She is in my thoughts, yes. I admit I was not comfortable leaving her at Maryculter alone."

"She is hardly alone Galeren! Richard and Parsifal won't let her out of their sight and the preceptory is bursting at the seams with Templars."

"I know, but still," he shrugged, "I need not have come."

"Always brooding, aren't you?" Gerard shook his head. "I know De Floyran haunts your thoughts and also the fate of our brothers in France but you were needed here today, even if you thought not. You are now one of the Templar council, your opinions matter and it is you that may lead us to a new world and life."

"I suppose you are right." Galeren admitted.

"Indeed I am. Now we can concentrate our efforts on determining our future and helping our brethren."

"Don't forget we have a Scottish army to train." Galeren reminded ruefully, tilting his head. He was concerned that, with sanctuary granted and a new commitment to be fulfilled, the quest to save their brothers in French prisons may be put off, its priority fading with the passage of time.

"There are plenty of men for that task, brothers who are only too keen to feel the weight of steel in their hands once more. It is the council that must decide on our future and what is to be done about the French prisoners."

"Well, then I pray that the council has the courage for it."

"How do you mean?" Gerard frowned.

"It would be easy to settle here and slip into new roles. We may have to wait a while for a prime opportunity to rescue our brethren, people forget that which is far from their sight and faded in their memory."

"Not I!" Gerard said, "I have you to thank for my son's life. I will walk away from a comfortable hearth and into the fray to help our kind in an instant, you need only ask."

"I know I can count on you Gerard and Richard will be only too willing to race headlong into the fire. I understand we must make a strike when it is most advantageous, but I fear we will lose more of our brothers before we get the chance to help them."

Gerard nodded as he caught a sense of what was really eating at Galeren. "You are growing impatient my friend. You don't really want to wait; you want to strike while the iron's hot and fresh in everyone's mind."

Galeren sighed. "You know me too well. I don't want to be hasty but I have a bad feeling about things. We don't really know what is happening in France. It is hard for me to sit and wait when our kind are suffering in putrid gaols."

"I agree, but we must be patient Galeren, however hard it may seem. We could strike now but we may only be partially successful and we would have lost the element of surprise." He shrugged and then added. "Does this have anything to do with De Floyran?"

"Of course, but don't think I would put anyone in jeopardy for my personal vendetta. De Floyran concerns me for other reasons. The longer we leave him to his own devices the more dangerous he becomes for all of us. I sense he is up to something." Galeren shrugged. "Arghh, I don't know. Perhaps, I _am_ just being impatient but Christ Gerard, we are werewolves!"

"In a man's world," he pointed out regretfully.

"Precisely! We have greater power and intelligence, if our nature is known to these bastards then let us show them the full force of it and then we can disappear while they are left reeling."

Gerard patted his friend on the back. "Your passion will lead us to a prolific future, but do not let your impatience be your folly. We will show them our force but when the time is right. Nobody will forget what needs to be done and it will be done, I promise you that. But we must wait."

Galeren nodded as he tried to still his blood and cool his fervour. He knew Gerard spoke sense and that he would, against his very nature, have to learn patience. He could not do it alone and needed the support of his peers, if he was to help his brothers and destroy De Floyran.

"We will need to find spies then." Galeren said and noted a slight wave of concern cross his friend's face. "I did not mean Ourri." He said in reassurance, certain that Gerard would not be keen to have his son back in the lion's den. "They will have to be human, of course."

"I know," Gerard said. "Ourri would not hesitate to play his part though; he is as reckless as you."

"He is young," Galeren said, "and I am _not_ reckless. Would you not wish to be in the thick of it, rather than sit in the dark at home?"

"You know I would." He sighed and then smiled shaking his head. "What a world we live in? I pray for better times, freedom to think and do, to love and celebrate. I look with hope to your new world."

"It will bring its own hardships but those that with spirit and determination we can overcome."

"Come back to the fire and drink some wine. Let's let our troubles go for a time. Practice patience my brother, you have already done much for your brethren. You will have the support of many when the time comes, but only when that time comes." Gerard reassured him and smiling, with a feeling of half met satisfaction, Galeren returned with him to the warmth and comfort of the keep.

****

Catherine's scream pierced the serenity of the night and Galeren jolted awake. Instinctively, he changed and stood on the bed, teeth bared ready to attack. He quickly turned to look at Catherine. She was sat up, hugging her knees to her chest and shaking frantically. Surveying the room and sensing no danger within or without their chamber, Galeren changed back and reached out to comfort her.

"Christ Catherine, you near killed me with fright. What is it?"

She continued shaking and he pulled her close to him. "He was burning Templars." She said, her voice trembling with horror.

"Who was?" Galeren asked, trying to soothe her.

"De Floyran," she said and felt Galeren stiffen.

"A bad dream?" he half said, half asked.

"No," she said resolutely, "'twas like before, a vision, he sent it to me. It was a vision of a truth."

"The future?" Galeren frowned, suddenly feeling an unease enter his own soul.

"I cannot be sure. Before, it was of the future. But this felt so real, so now."

Galeren shook his head to comfort her. Despite the Pope's Bull, not a Templar had been arrested in England. The Pope had not yet begun a papal inquiry into the matter in France, they couldn't be burning Templars. Even though he did not doubt that they would, it was too soon to be now.

"'Twas a vision of the future. A future that will not come to pass." He said reassuringly.

"Perhaps," she wiped her eyes and then said, "Galeren promise me you won't go back there, promise me!"

"You know I cannot do that."

"I could smell their flesh burning, I still can. You will die if you go back to France."

"I won't," he assured her, "I promise. I won't be going unless we have a failsafe plan and I won't be going alone."

She sighed and lent into him, "I thought I may be free of him. All I can think of is the new world but I know I cannot enjoy the thought of it when I know that you will go back to France and he will be waiting for you. I wish this was over, I wish we could just leave."

"De Floyran does not frighten me, only when he has you and I promise he will not again. If you are safe then be assured that so am I. Think of the new world and enjoy it, for we will share it together."

She nodded and lay back down with him. Galeren had returned from Strathbogie to Maryculter with the others just a few days earlier but, refusing to settle Catherine into lodgings with the other Templar women, they would soon be leaving to live as tenants on the Templar estate.

Although Philip would be pressing the Pope for it, the Temple had not yet been dissolved so it still had a reputation to uphold. This was especially important for the Templars in Scotland for the benefit of their new patron, the Bruce. It was still too soon for them to shed their mantles but Galeren had already shed his. He planned to marry Catherine and relinquish the white mantle of a Templar Knight, for the sake of observation. He was still on the council and was included in all matters that were of Temple concern.

His sights, however, were still firmly fixed on France. He was eager to return there and settle his score with De Floyran and attempt to get as many of their brethren out of French dungeons as possible; however he was not going to be reckless. He had promised Gerard this and knew that in return he would have his support when it was needed the most. In the meantime, he was determined to keep his emotions in check and think of the future. The right time would come and when it did he would be ready for it.

### Chapter Twenty Eight

28th January 1310, Avignon, France

Brother Michael raced up the stone steps towards his master's private chambers. He paused when he finally reached the top step to catch his breath. Placing the letter which bore the Royal seal of the King of France under his arm, he retrieved the small handkerchief that was tucked in the sleeve of his habit and mopped his sweaty brow. It was a cold morning but he had been so eager to deliver this latest letter from the King to the Pope that he had raced across the courtyard and up the several flights of stairs to this point. Now he tried to regain his composure and present himself in a respectable fashion to his revered superior.

"Saints preserve us." He muttered as he straightened his attire and walked slowly down the passageway to the Pope's rooms. He knew that Clement was feeling the strain of the last couple of years and that his illness had not abated but rather had gotten worse. His struggle with the King concerning the Templar affair was taking its toll.

By early 1308 all Templars in Christendom had finally been arrested. Many of Europe's leaders had been unhurried in their actions, either through disbelief in the accusations or lack of care for them, however, eventually it had been done. But since then there had been much arguing between King and Pope. Though, as Michael himself had witnessed that terrible night in Montlhéry, the Pope knew the true nature of the knights that called themselves God's warriors, he continued to condemn the King's handling of the matter. The papacy had called into question the legality of Philip's actions and so while the Pope tried to convince them that they were justified, he also had to persuade the impatient King to do things by the book.

Both the King and Pope wanted to keep the Templars' secret nature from the papacy and other leaders in Europe. Those that had witnessed the horror at Montlhéry had been sworn to secrecy on pain of death. The papal and diocesan commissions within France, and papal commissions without, were therefore unaware of the maleficent truth and so sought to investigate the matter thoroughly. The Pope had set out a dual process in his Bull _Faciens misericordiam_ issued mid 1308, whereby diocesan commissions were charged with investigating each of the Templars individually and papal commissions with investigating the Order as a whole.

The Templar dignitaries had played this to their advantage and when Clement had sent two cardinals to hear their confessions, they had retracted them outright, complaining that torture and abuse had led them to confess to lies in order to cease their mistreatment. With the truth hidden from the papacy and rulers of Europe, there had still been the chance that the Temple would be absolved.

While Philip was enraged by the retractions, Clement remained dispassionate trying not to be bullied by the King who was losing patience with the matter. It seemed to Michael that the Pope was happy to let things play out, doing what was required by the Church and not forcing the King's cause, as if by some madness he sought to protect the Templars with a passive voice.

The King, however, regained his control when some seventy Templar prisoners had been brought to Poitiers in July 1308. Here they had made confessions that had satisfied the bulk of the papacy, who finally conceded that the Order was in disrepute. Since then, while diocesan and papal commissions continued their investigations, albeit slowly, Clement still continued his quarrelling with the King. The latest subject was the fate of the Temple's property and possessions. Michael reached the door of his superior's rooms and rapped upon it purposefully.

"Come," a weary voice said. Michael entered and was shocked to see how dishevelled his reverence appeared. Still in his night gown, his face was wan and riddled with evidence of stress and pain.

"Your Holiness, are you well?" Michael rushed towards him.

"A bad night is all," Clement replied, waving him away.

"Should I leave you to rest?"

"I expect you have news from the King," Clement said, filling up a cup from a pitcher of water. He took a sip from it and poured the rest over his head, shaking it as if cleansed with its coolness. He reached for and took the linen towel that Michael quickly fetched for him.

"It is from the King," Michael said and took the towel from Clement when he had dried his face and exchanged it for the letter he carried. Clement broke the seal and read from it. He sighed and crushing it in his hands threw it into the fire.

"What did it say?" Michael asked curiously, noting that it must have been brief in its message.

"Nothing, except I am to expect his lap dog, De Nogaret, in the next few days. We have much to discuss apparently." Clement raised his eyebrows at Michael, stretched and then sat back down on his bed. It was true that he was weary of this business and alone in its burden. He looked up to Michael, his trusted scribe, and realised that this was not entirely true. Michael was so discreet and faithful, that Clement often forgot that he had also witnessed the truth at Montlhéry.

"What think you of the Templars?" Clement asked suddenly.

"Me, your Holiness?" Michael sounded shocked.

"Yes, you and be mindful that I wish for the truth. Do not say what you think I would want to hear."

"You wish me to be honest?" he asked dubiously.

"I _need_ you to be honest." Clement said his sentiment was heartfelt.

Michael sighed. He didn't really know what to make of the whole business. All he knew is what he saw; a wolf ripping out one man's throat and yet not harming the woman who was thrown into the pit after him, then seeing that wolf change into a man. It was proof that these werewolf creatures existed and that the Templars were an order of such beings, but was it proof of their evil as the King argued? His head told him that the very nature of the Templars was against God's creation and will and that therefore they must be of the devil's design. However, his heart told him something different. The werewolf knight had been tortured and so had his brothers; some to death. He merely took the revenge that any man would have exacted on the perpetrator of such cruelty, could he condemn him for that? In addition, there was, he was loath to admit, some admiration there. What man would not admire such a force, such magic and be drawn to it? But magic, by the very teaching of the Church was evil and so he must be ruled by his head.

"They are an abomination of nature, of God's creation. The Church cannot sanction such evil."

"Is that your head or heart speaking?" Clement asked perceptively.

Michael faltered for a moment but staring into the tired eyes of his mentor he decided to speak the truth and give him what he wanted.

"My head."

"And what does your heart tell you?"

"It tells me that the Templars have ever been Christendom's ally. They have never given us reason to doubt their fealty to the faith, until now."

"Until now?" Clement frowned. "Why? Because they are an unnatural race?"

"It _is_ monstrous." Michael said.

"What is? Their nature, or that they have lived amongst us for centuries and have caused us no harm, in fact have only protected our faith and most precious facets of it."

Michael bowed his head, "I am confused, your Holiness."

"So am I, Michael," the Pope said rubbing his tired eyes.

"You have the confessions of some seventy Templar Knights, confessions of diabolical heresies."

Clement nodded agreeably, even though those confessions seemed dubious to him. De Molay and the other members of the Templar council had taken advantage of the fact that the real truth would never be revealed beyond Philip's egocentric grasp and so henceforth, all he would have to condemn them with was De Nogaret's spurious indictment. With that they could defend their honour and lay waste to the King and his councillor's claims, and when Clement had sent the cardinals to meet with the Templar dignitaries they had done just that. The King's counterattack with the seventy Templars who readily confessed to all charges did not sit well with him. At first the spectre of torture loomed but upon seeing the men himself, they looked neither mistreated nor fearful. The fact that Esquin de Floyran, the treacherous renegade Templar, was present and ever watchful made Clement mistrustful of the men's confessions. He suspected that the confessions were coerced from the men but not through threat but rather promise.

He did not trust the King, or those whom he chose to surround himself with. There was evil at large of that he was sure, but it was not from the Templar camp. Nevertheless, he knew that his powers were limited and that if he made an obvious move for the Templars' cause he may very well share their fate.

"What is to be done?" Michael asked, noting the concern etched into the Pope's brow.

Clement sighed, "I must get dressed." He said simply and rose to begin the process.

De Nogaret arrived a few days later. He complained at having to climb the flights of stairs up to the Pope's private rooms, his walking stick evident of the permanent damage that had been caused to his leg. Michael clarified that the Pope's ill health made it impossible for him to leave his rooms at present and De Nogaret grimly had to lump it. Of course, Clement was not so ill that he could not descend several flights of steps but he loathed the King's spiteful councillor and would take his victories where he could.

"Welcome Guillaume," Clement said, as De Nogaret was shown into his solar huffing and puffing. He extended his hand towards the councillor who, catching his breath, kissed his ring.

"I am sorry you had to come to my rooms, I had no idea of your injury. I have been exhausted these last days and fear to exert myself lest I prompt another episode. How did you injure your leg?" Clement asked genuinely. He had not yet heard about the escape from Montlhéry or Galeren's attack on the King's cortege.

"A riding accident," De Nogaret said smarting at the pain in his leg. It ever reminded him that he too had an axe to grind with the elusive Galeren.

"I am sorry to hear that," the Pope said and gestured for him to sit and relieve his obvious discomfort. "Wine?" he offered and signalled at Michael to acquire some when De Nogaret indicated that that was exactly what he desired.

"How is the King?" Clement asked when they had their wine. Michael remained to record the meeting in writing.

"Anxious, disappointed, angry." De Nogaret said.

Philip was indeed all of these things and De Nogaret found it hard to take his tantrums these days, especially with his disability. De Floyran seemed to have become the King's personal bodyguard and flaunted his new status now he was backed by his retinue of turned Templar Knights. Many knights had turned their back on their brethren who, loyal to their honour and code, were burned before them. De Nogaret had to admit that Esquin had been meticulous in the implementation of his objective. Some two hundred werewolf Templars had been reduced to ashes at the stake, while seventy had now become loyal to De Floyran and the King.

"Is he not always thus?" the Pope said derisively.

"You know him well."

"What is it you wish to discuss with me on his behalf?" Clement asked trying to hurry to the point.

"There are several matters that are of concern to the King. I will start with the possessions of the Temple order."

Clement sighed and gestured for more wine to be poured for he felt he would need it. Michael set down his paper and quill and quickly refilled their cups.

"I cannot argue the matter with the King. If there were to be another crusade, then the possessions of the Temple would be used to fund it, but what good would a crusade be without the Temple?" Clement added forgetting himself. He waved his hand absently and then continued, "I fear the King's greed governs his reason. Isn't this supposed to be about heresy and righting a great wrong?"

"Of course," De Nogaret assured. "The King's actions are sincerely pious in the first and you yourself have seen what we are up against. But," De Nogaret paused and took a sip of wine, "the King's treasury is empty and the Templar riches are not what were expected. Even the Templar fleet is in a sorry state. There were merely a handful of ships at port in La Rochelle and Marseilles, and they were in disrepair."

Clement merely arched his eyebrows questioningly.

"What was left in the treasury at the Paris Temple was paltry compared to what we had seen there not one year before the arrests. That which was scattered around preceptories all over France has hardly been worth the effort of retrieving." De Nogaret continued. "The King is convinced that the Templars were forewarned and made off with their treasures in their ships."

"Have you ever considered that such treasure was myth? Maybe the Templar treasure was their very being, their power and supernatural nature."

De Nogaret shrugged, "I know what I saw at the Paris Temple and how do you explain the poor condition their fleet?"

"The Templars dock in many ports, perhaps their fleet is scattered about Europe." The Pope offered.

De Nogaret shrugged again. "In any case, if you think the King will hand over the meagre assets of the Temple, that have thus far been confiscated, to the Hospitallers at this point in time, then you are gravely mistaken."

"Perhaps," Clement said casually, "I just think that it would put Philip in a better light. To be seen to be giving the hoards of an evil order to an order that is highly respected would make his actions appear more devout. Coveting the Temple's lands and wealth makes him look greedy and his cause financially driven."

"He only means to take advantage of some of the wealth acquired by the arrogant order; wealth that he believes is rightfully his as King. Philip, as you well know, does not like anything to be out of his control and the Temple was." A sliver of malice entered the councillor's dark eyes and he continued rather glibly. "Remember he is not reserved in his convictions, even Popes are not beyond his criticism. I believe that the untimely death of Boniface, before he could be brought to trial for his crimes, has eaten away at Philip and he has since bayed for the blood of another enemy to alleviate his disappointment. Between you and me your Holiness, I believe the King thinks that you somehow wish to defend the Temple and ally yourself with the supernatural knights. He may have lost one Pope but do not be mistaken to think that he will not go after another."

The flagon smashed on the floor as it fell out of Michael's grip and he gasped in horror. De Nogaret and Clement looked at the dismayed scribe but after the shock washed over his face it suddenly took on a visage that Clement had never seen before.

"How dare you threaten his Holiness? Do you forget whose house you are in?" he screamed at De Nogaret, passionate in his anger.

"It is alright Michael," Clement said calmly, though he too was angered by De Nogaret's menacing threat, however, it was in his nature to remain composed and dignified when met with such malevolence. Michael's face softened and he nodded curtly at his master and quickly sought to clear up the mess he'd made. Clement turned back to De Nogaret and through gritted teeth said:

"I am not one to be intimidated by baseless threats. Philip uses the spectre of Boniface all too often to pressure me, but don't let him count on it." He sighed and then said. "I have no desire to ally myself with the Templars. I have seen as well as you what they are, but short of exposing the truth to all that it concerns, you must let the papal commissions conduct their investigations in their own way. Philip has to learn patience."

"Aye, but you know that he has neither the will or care for it. He wants the Order dissolved and all the knights executed."

"And what of the other members of the Order, those not of the race of werewolves who are unaware of their former master's deceptions?" Clement asked warily. He was concerned for members of the Order that were above suspicion. Surely they would not be condemned for their ignorance.

"Philip is not worried about them. We have confirmed they know nothing of their masters' true natures."

"Some have been tortured?" Clement asked, though he already knew the answer.

"It was necessary." De Nogaret shrugged. "But only a few suffered for what we already suspected. The good of that is that they are now at your mercy. You may decide the fate of the Temple's servants." De Nogaret smiled conceitedly. Though Clement wanted to wipe the smug look off the councillor's face, he was nevertheless relieved at the judgement.

"They can make an act of contrition, once done they will be absolved and reconciled with the Church. They may find homes amongst the monasteries."

"A wise and merciful decision," De Nogaret bowed his head.

"What other business is there?" the Pope asked sharply, wishing to be rid of the snake that was in his solar.

"The abolition of the Order." De Nogaret said.

"It cannot be done!" Clement stressed and then added, "not yet anyway. The papal commission wishes to continue with its hearings."

"The papal commission has invited a Templar defence to commence. Any free Templars have been invited to Paris to defend the Order. The King is most displeased!"

"It is out of my hands," Clement defended. "Anyway, is it not to your advantage to have any waifs and strays walk into your snares?"

"I doubt any knights will turn up, by now the whole werewolf brotherhood will know that their game is up. I expect only the ignorant minions of the Temple will make a show. However, Philip is afraid that the papal commission will absolve the Order, especially after the retraction of confessions by De Molay and the other dignitaries. Can you imagine the retribution if that happens?"

Clement sighed, "I do not like to, but doubt it will happen. You still have the confessions of some seventy knights. Besides, Philip must know that he has an ally in me. Allay his fears and make it known to him that I will act in his interest when the time is right. Let the commission have its hearings and let us see what comes of the Templar defence, if anything." The Pope sat down, the strain on him evident. Michael took the fresh flagon he had returned with, filled a cup and quickly took it over to him. Clement drank thirstily enjoying the wine's sweet taste on his bitter tongue.

"Offer our guest some," he said with a husky voice.

"Thank you, but there is no need." De Nogaret replied quickly. "We are done here and I have other business in Avignon to attend to before I return to Paris. I will relay your assurances to the King." He stood and limped towards Clement who held out his hand to be kissed.

"I hope you feel better, your Holiness." De Nogaret said and then turned and followed Michael who escorted him from the room. At the top of the stairs De Nogaret paused and turning towards Michael he said, "I know my way out, you need not accompany me." His eyes narrowed and he added:

"Keep your scribe's tongue firmly in your head. Remember you know a secret that is worth more than your pathetic life. I will excuse your fervent outburst this time, but do not expect such charity again. The King will not deal to lightly with the likes of men who defend heretics and monsters. The less who know about it the better, your existence hangs in the balance, pray it tilts in your favour."

Michael kept his eyes downcast, though they were full of vitriol and nodded his compliance.

"Good," De Nogaret said and turning made his way down the steps. Michael hurried back to the Pope's rooms lest he be tempted by the devil to push the crippled councillor down the rest of them.

****

"So what did the old goat have to say?" De Floyran said with half an interest, as De Nogaret limped into the inn where they were all lodging for the evening. De Floyran was accompanied by the usual suspects and on the table before him sat three flagons of ale, a savoury pottage, a generous hunk of bread and some meat pasties.

De Nogaret curled his lip showing his displeasure at having had to make his way to the Pope's residence virtually alone, with only the help of one of the King's guards as he struggled to mount and dismount his ride. In the meantime, De Floyran had been wasting time getting drunk and wenching as he always did these days, while always looking busy to the King. His murder of some two hundred Templar Knights and creation of the army that he'd promised the King had put him in favour. In addition, other advisors such as De Plaisians and Philippe de Marigny, Archbishop of Sens, seemed also to have risen in status with Philip, while he, cripple that he was, was sent on pointless errands.

He knew the King was fickle but was resentful of the fact that much had been forgotten since his injury had kept him out of matters for several months, such as the indictment that he had so beautifully written condemning the Temple. He wanted his rewards and he did not forget that De Floyran still had not made good on his promise to mark him.

"The usual trollop," De Nogaret said, sitting down and rubbing his thigh.

De Floyran poured him some ale. "Here, get that down you. Are you hungry?"

De Nogaret looked at the food that De Floyran and his men were tucking into and wrinkled his nose.

"No, I am not." He replied drinking the ale. "Clement is bowing to procedure. He wants to let the papal commission continue with their investigations so that he has their backing when a final decision is made. It is true what he says, they don't know what you are so have no urgency on the matter. They are simply conducting an inquiry to discover the truth."

"At their leisure," De Floyran pointed out breaking up some of the bread, "Philip is getting impatient."

"I know very well how impatient the King is!" De Nogaret spat irritably, "what would you suggest? That you put more Templars to the stake in secret? Imagine the papacy's reaction to that? You have about halved the number of original prisoners as it is!"

De Floyran raised his eyebrows but merely smiled at De Nogaret's outburst and said: "Someone's tired."

"Don't patronise me," De Nogaret returned, "your conceited attitude makes me sick and yet you have nothing to be so smug about. Your desire for revenge on Galeren is killing you and I know you still ache for his woman, and yet you have done nothing about _that_ these past years!"

"Still your spiteful tongue, before I cut it out!" De Floyran warned but then smiled, quickly forgiving the councillor. He knew all about De Nogaret's frustrations and liked to tease him. His feathers were too easy to ruffle and for that reason, his scathing attack did not anger De Floyran like it should. Instead he chuckled and said:

"I have been rather like the papal commission when it comes to my revenge; there is no urgency in the matter. Besides, I have been laying a cunning trap. Why would I risk my neck and go after _them_ , when I know that Galeren, the fool, will come to me and it may be sooner than you think my irritable little friend."

De Nogaret folded his arms and offered De Floyran a half smile. "Explain your meaning." He said and took more ale.

"Think about it," De Floyran said mysteriously, his eyes boring into De Nogaret intently. De Nogaret shrugged and then began to think in earnest. In nearly two years since the arrests of the Templars not that much had happened except the retraction of the confessions of the dignitaries. The diocesan and papal commissions seemed to delay on matters and the King's hunt for hidden Temple treasure had come up with nothing.

However, De Floyran had put to death several hundred Templars and made loyal to the King seventy others. The remaining Templar prisoners were now in three locations; Chinon, the Paris Temple and Gisors, making the guarding of them uncomplicated for De Floyran's new army. Some other Templars, who were mere servants and not of the supernatural race, remained in various prisons throughout the country. However, they were cared less about and soon to be released and reconciled with the Church to live out their lives as penitents in monasteries. De Nogaret mulled over events and then was struck by what De Floyran was hinting at.

"The call for the Templar defence!" he blurted out. De Floyran smiled and looking at Botolf, Raymond and Armin nodded his head.

"Exactly! You see, you are clever! I was beginning to think that Galeren's attack had injured your wits as well as your leg."

De Nogaret frowned but De Floyran continued. "If Galeren and any other would-be heroes are planning to save any of their brothers then, trust me, they will have been waiting for an opportune moment. Knowing that the papal commission has called such a proceeding and suspecting that all eyes will be on events in Paris, they will be preparing a strike."

"But most of the Templar Knights are incarcerated in less than a handful of locations, Esquin. Having them all so concentrated is dangerous; it gives them fewer targets to strike. Don't forget what happened at Montlhéry."

"Don't worry, I haven't. It is actually better than having them scattered, besides Galeren and his troop will be coming to Chinon, 'tis where the greater number reside and of course his father. This is exactly what I am counting on. What they do not know is that my own troop has swelled from four to seventy four. I have plenty of men to watch over our prisoners.

Believe me; they will not be coming in so great a number. All we have to do is wait for them, their plan will be thwarted and they will be rounded up by my men, arrested and locked up with the others to await the stake."

"It sounds promising if you have predicted Galeren's strategy correctly." De Nogaret conceded. "But what of your little whore?" he couldn't help himself adding.

De Floyran bristled. "You will refrain from calling her that, Guillaume." He waited, staring coldly at De Nogaret and only continued when the councillor bowed his head apologetically.

"Fortunately, Catherine is a fool in her love for Galeren, wilful and disobedient. She will follow him here, despite him ordering her to remain safely behind in Scotland. She will be swept up in the fray and find her way back to me. Willing or not this time, she will be mine."

"Do you think they really will come?"

"I guarantee it. I am sure that you will want to exact a little revenge on Galeren after what he did to you."

"Indeed," De Nogaret agreed, "it is a shame that you are not willing to share Catherine with me. That would serve me best to torment him."

De Floyran shook his head. "I don't know how many times I have to tell you, she is mine and mine alone. I urge you not to mention it again." He took a swig of ale and then said. "I'll let you break Galeren's leg before he goes to the stake if you like."

"I'll ask for something better." De Nogaret said seizing his chance.

"Go on then." De Floyran said.

"If this trap of yours works and you have Galeren behind bars and the Templar defence is smashed outright, then I want you to mark me, as you have promised."

De Floyran smiled and without hesitation said: "Alright then."

"Do I have your word?" De Nogaret asked, trying to quell his excitement as he caught the sideways glance of caution that Raymond Caradas slid his master.

De Floyran nodded. "I give you my word. Your patience has prevailed and you have proven your worth." De Floyran raised his cup in a toast.

"To the Templar defence!"

De Nogaret struck De Floyran's cup with his own. "To the Templar defence!" he echoed with a controlled smile, while inside every fibre of his being was ready to burst with elation.

### Chapter Twenty Nine

16th February 1310, Fontainebleau Palace

De Nogaret's face immediately showed his displeasure as he entered Philip's rooms and spied De Plaisians and Philippe de Marigny already with their feet under the table, so to speak. They were drinking wine and laughing at ease with the King, enjoying the platters of dried fruit and sweet pastries that had been provided for them. It was even worse for De Nogaret now that he was lame. He had always envied De Plaisians' good looks and today he seemed even taller and more comfortable in his comely skin, while in contrast De Nogaret knew that his disability and walking stick made him stoop and appear like an old man.

The Archbishop of Sens, on the other hand, was neither handsome nor ugly but had a pious cruelty etched into his pinched features. He was older, but dressed in glorious and expensive robes he appeared impressive, rather like Pope Clement aught to. De Nogaret's resentment and jealousy was short lived though when he remembered what De Floyran had promised him. He would leave them all for dust when he became werewolf kind and all his needs and desires were finally realised, besides he still knew how to get the King's attention.

"You look well!" De Plaisians said and De Nogaret gave him a brief scathing smile as he lurched into the room. Philip rolled his eyes and then motioned for a cup of wine to be taken to his councillor.

"Guillaume makes much of his ailment, I sometimes wonder if he really is as injured as he makes out."

"Your Majesty," De Nogaret said sounding deeply hurt but Philip merely waved at him and smiled almost choking on the mouthful of wine he had just slurped.

"I am only teasing you." He turned to the other men in the room and motioned for them to sit at the table. "Guillaume was injured during his service to me and I will never forget his loyalty. Your leg will not bother you when you receive your rewards," he paused and then added, "when this business is over."

"Ah yes," De Plaisians started, "the papal commission is adamant in their decision to call for a Templar defence and Clement has done nothing to dissuade them."

"No, he has not. Like Boniface he dances too close to the fires of heresy. I worry about his true purpose for his passive approach to the Templar dilemma." Philip said scornfully.

"With all due respect, your Majesty," De Nogaret began, "the Pope cannot pressurise the commission. They have called into question your motives and the Pope must remain impartial lest he appear under your influence."

"He should be under my influence!" Philip spat, "if it had been up to me, this matter would have been resolved early in thirteen-oh-eight. They have had over seventy confessions! What do they want?"

"A detailed inquiry. They must follow procedure. Do not forget that the Templar masters retracted their confessions to the cardinals Clement sent, this has cast doubt over the matter and the way it has been conducted by the secular arm."

"Whose side are you on?"

"Yours, your Majesty, as always."

"He is right." Philippe de Marigny said. "There are procedures and standards and neither commission will take short cuts. If you press them they will suspect a personal vendetta like with Boniface and the trials will collapse. I am afraid that you must be patient your Majesty, or you could lose this battle."

Philip threw his arms up into the air and swore, "Mayhap I already have. The Temple treasury is pitiful and the monsters may yet be absolved and I will have to return their estates and what money I have gleaned back to them. Imagine the shame, imagine their arrogance? Imagine allowing their freedom when _we_ know what they are? They could destroy us!"

De Nogaret raised his eyebrows warningly at the King and tilted his head towards De Marigny.

"He knows!" the King snapped.

"I thought we were to keep the matter between those who were witness at Montlhéry." De Nogaret said unemotionally, even though inside he was seething. He had been the first to know, it was his secret and now Philip told whomever he chose or rather whomever he thought would serve him best. De Nogaret was furious but bit down on his tongue to quell his anger.

"I will tell whom I think needs to be told, councillor!" Philip said angrily. "At the moment there are more people on the side of the Templars than mine, including the Pope! Philippe understands the delicacy of the matter and he is one representative of the Church that we can count on at present."

De Nogaret nodded his understanding even though he was still incensed. It was clear to him that Philip thought he had outlived his use and that he was just here for ceremony. He knew Philip would reward him, true to his word but he was no longer the King's favourite. Such a fact may have devastated him once, but he knew how to regain the King's favour. Besides, his eye was on a new future with De Floyran and his kind and he knew that Philip would need him again before the end.

"And what of this defence?" Philip continued with his ranting. "With the masters' confessions retracted the knights will surely follow their lead. We only have the confessions of De Floyran's men to count on. There have been no confessions from England!"

"There _are_ no Templars in England, are there?" De Plaisians made comment.

De Nogaret waved his hand dismissively at him. "The Templar defence will fail." He said assuredly. The others all looked at him. He smiled within, knowing he could still command an audience.

"They may call on any free Templars to come to Paris to defend the Order but no knights will come. Those that weren't arrested will have dispersed and will have been warned to keep away. Remember, only the knights of the Temple are werewolves, only we know that truth. It is not our purpose to send the innocent minions of the Order to their deaths and that is why in the inquiry we have tried to make clear that it is the practices of the knights and hierarchy of the Temple that are heretical.

The servants and chaplains are not under investigation and the Pope plans to absolve all these members and reunite them with the Church. They will prove their fealty to Christianity by living out their days in monasteries. Word of his plan can be spread and trusting in the protection of the Pope, perhaps some of these fools will come to Paris in order to defend the knights as they, like the rest of the world, are unaware of the reality of their heinous nature."

"And?" Philip said impatiently.

"Well, the commission may have their paltry defence but in truth, I doubt many would come after being absolved. If they are smart they will want to dissociate themselves from the Order. So do not worry about the defence. The knights _have_ been retracting their confessions, but surely this is a good thing," he paused and looked slyly at Philippe de Marigny, "I am sure the Archbishop understands why that could be."

Philippe looked to the others in the room and frowned trying to work out De Nogaret's meaning. The King shook his head.

"Stop with the guessing games Guillaume. We all know how clever you are, just spit it out!"

"They can be condemned as relapsa," De Nogaret shrugged.

" _Relapsa?_ " Philippe de Marigny said.

"Yes, you do know what it means, don't you?" De Nogaret asked facetiously.

"Of course I do!" the Archbishop snapped defensively. De Nogaret caught sight of the King's expression and saw the spark of delight beginning to enter his eyes. De Nogaret knew he never need worry about having Philip's esteem, he was far cleverer than these other fools the King surrounded himself with. He knew it and so did the King.

"Come enlighten us Guillaume!" Philip said, his tone had changed and was much warmer towards him. De Nogaret had these past weeks, since his meeting with Clement, been looking closely at both of the commissions' inquiries. While De Marigny and De Plaisians may have topics of conversation in common with the King and amused him with their pathetic tales, he worked relentlessly to ensure the King's mission was on the path to success.

"I am talking about discrepancies between the testimonies of Templars before each of the commissions. In certain provinces Templar Knights retracted the confessions of guilt they had made to the diocesan commission when they came before the papal commission. These knights which have now been brought to Paris, along with others that were previously incarcerated in the provinces, are surely considered relapsed. A relapsed heretic is the worst kind and must meet a fiery death, do you not agree Archbishop?"

Philip smiled. "Well?" he looked at Philippe de Marigny and folded his arms.

The Archbishop nodded his head. "He is right."

"Well what can we do?"

"There are several things we can do. We can either persuade the Templar dignitaries to go back to their former admissions and explain the consequences of if they do not or –"

"The Pope has reserved the right to judge the Templar masters." De Plaisians interjected.

"Let me finish," De Nogaret said casting a dark look De Plaisians way. "If the masters return to their prior confessions then their knights will follow suit, they are a brotherhood of werewolves and operate like a wolf pack. Believe me they will adhere to their leaders' will. If this is the case, the papacy will have all the proof they need and their fate will be sealed. If they hold true to their retractions then we will have hundreds of relapsed heretics and I am sure that the Archbishop would find a way to aptly dispose of them."

"Indeed. Paris is a suffragan bishopric in the see of Sens. If all the relapsa are in Paris then I could indeed condemn them as such and put them to the stake." The Archbishop remarked.

"Excellent!" Philip said enthused. "Either way we look to win."

"There's more." De Nogaret said quietly.

"More!" Philip gulped down his wine.

"De Floyran believes that some of the English Templars may return and attempt to rescue their brethren."

"Really?" Philip asked, but his voice carried an edge of unease, "De Molay's son?"

De Nogaret nodded his head. "Yes and I doubt he will be alone. They may try to coincide the rescue with the assembly of the Templar defence. No question they would have heard of the calling and may think it an apt time to strike, especially as the masters and many of the knights are in Chinon. He may have in mind to attempt the same tactic as before."

"What is De Floyran's take?"

"He is sure the attempt will be foiled and those that come will soon find themselves in French dungeons."

"Be mindful. Remember the carnage they caused last time. If they opened the dungeons of Chinon, the whole of France could lay in waste."

De Nogaret knew that that was unlikely. Much as he didn't want any of the Templars to escape, he was tempted to remind the King that they were not mindless monsters. They may kill some of the King's men and De Nogaret did not doubt that he would be in their vengeful sights but he seriously doubted they would savage the innocent masses of France. However, he knew such sentiment was lost on the King, he had made up his mind about the Knights Templar and none could sway it.

"It is unlikely that Galeren de Massard or any of the others know about the new sum of De Floyran's men. Any brazen attempt will be crushed and the heretics can be burned at your leisure."

"Mmm," Philip mused, "I will certainly not underestimate Galeren De Massard again. De Floyran was a fool on that count. I hope he has learned his lesson."

"I know he has."

"Then let's hope there is an end to this and soon."

"I will make sure that the Templar servants are aware that by confessing to certain practices within the Order, which were not of their making, they will be gaining their freedom. As the diocesan commissions are dealing with the individuals of the Order, I will have the Pope instruct them to set free those who have stood by their confessions. However, the retraction of any confessions will have to be reviewed and any it concerns must remain in prison, they will soon change their minds. This will spur the English knights into action. They will fear for their brethren when they find out that the servants of the Order have been set free. We only need wait for them. They cannot operate undetected under De Floyran and his men's noses. Everything will turn out just as you wish, your Majesty." De Nogaret smiled.

Philip smiled back at him, "You never disappoint me De Nogaret."

De Plaisians tensed angrily. "And what do you plan to do with the masters again?"

"Ah yes, you were concerned about the Pope's role. Well, I think it may be best to try and get the masters to go back to the original admissions they made, if you want them put to the stake."

"I want every last one of them put to the stake." Philip said adamantly.

"Leave it to me." De Nogaret smiled.

24th February 1310, Château de Chinon

De Molay's eyes narrowed as he heard the bolt on his cell door slide back and waited for De Nogaret to enter. It had been a while since he had last seen the devious councillor but he knew that he had been left maimed and weakened by Galeren's attack. It gave him much pleasure. De Molay did not bother to stand when De Nogaret entered, instead he merely closed the journal he was reading and smiled at the man as he limped into the dungeon cell.

De Nogaret noted that De Molay's conditions of incarceration had improved substantially since his time at Montlhéry. In the corner there was a good sized pallet with a thick straw mattress, pillows and plenty of blankets had been provided. There was a small fire place full of burning wood which provided ample heat, a healthy wood pile and a desk where several books and some writing materials had been made available.

"Enjoying your comfort?" De Nogaret remarked.

"Not as much as I would my freedom." De Molay answered honestly.

"You will never be free. You have my word on that."

De Molay nodded. "And you will never get what you desire."

"Do not count on that."

"I am sorry but I do." De Molay said confidently. "You are a fool if you trust De Floyran. What you do not know is that he has a terrible weakness."

De Nogaret inclined his head curiously and De Molay gestured for him to sit down. De Nogaret sat and rubbed his throbbing leg.

"What weakness?" he couldn't help but ask though he wanted to act indifferent to the notion.

"De Floyran has human weakness." De Molay said.

"Who hasn't?" De Nogaret shrugged.

"I do not speak in human terms but in the requisites of a werewolf."

De Nogaret knew nothing of the physiology of werewolves, and did not really have a care. All he wanted was their power.

"Speak plainly then," De Nogaret urged, "or you will lose my interest."

"De Floyran was born of parents who were both werewolves, so he is purebred and therefore supposed to be amongst the strongest of our kind. However," De Molay continued, smiling, "though the spirit of wolf and man is usually shared equally in a werewolf, De Floyran is dominated by his human half. It makes him a weaker werewolf. De Floyran loathes weakness because of his own affliction and therefore will not tolerate it. He tries to counter the truth that he despises by crushing weakness around him. That is why he will never mark you. You are a cripple, and as a werewolf you will be no different."

"That is not true! You lie just to rile me. De Floyran _is_ powerful. I have seen how others are drawn to him."

"They are drawn to his evil," De Molay countered, "he is cruel and therefore relies on the fear of others for his power. Besides, De Floyran condemns the marking of humans. He believes a werewolf should be born of the blood. Though he has bitten many people, he has never let any live to become werewolf kind, well, with one exception."

"You are wrong. I will be another exception. He has promised me and will hold true to that promise when your son is back in a French dungeon."

"You are wrong on that count too. My son will never be back in a French dungeon."

"Ah no Grand Master, it is you that are wrong." He smiled sinisterly and De Molay felt dread enter his soul.

"Most of your werewolf knights are here under the watchful eye of De Floyran and his new army." He saw De Molay frown quizzically.

"Your powerful mind has failed you. Did you not hear the screams of your brethren as they perished in flames?"

De Molay's face turned ashen. "Of what do you speak?" he demanded, but now he knew. He _had_ sensed great suffering amongst his brethren. Its burden had drained and withered him though he had been unsure of the detail of the agony.

"After Galeren's rescue attempt, it was deemed that it was too dangerous to keep the Templar Knights scattered in dungeons around France and that they must be kept in one or two places watched over by an army of their own kind. But how to create such an army?"

De Molay listened and his heart sank as De Nogaret recounted De Floyran's methods and success.

"You will all pay for your evil." De Molay said bitterly and could say no more as he felt the loss of his brothers weigh heavily on his soul. Had he brought them to this end? If only his pride hadn't gotten in the way and his faith in Clement! If he had listened with an open mind perhaps none would have suffered.

"You must not blame yourself." De Nogaret said with false sentiment. "Once again, it is your reckless son that forces these measures. Galeren will feel as you do about the loss of his brothers and will want revenge. When he gallantly returns to attempt to rescue the rest of his brethren, including you, then De Floyran will have him."

De Molay tried to control his anger and his hatred. "What have you come here for? Is it just to torture me?"

"No. As always I mean to assist you where I can." De Nogaret said but De Molay sensed his deception.

"You are aware that many of the Temple's servants are also in dungeons. They are scattered but as they are only human fools they pose no threat. The Pope would like to absolve them and set them free. I am sure you would wish to see this done as well. However, you know how the King is. He feels that no Templar is truly innocent and would see them condemned along with your knights. I know that by the retraction of your confessions you believe that the papacy may absolve you but you know that neither the King nor Pope will allow that to happen.

Your retraction only hurts your brothers more. The King and Archbishop of Sens are working on a way of declaring those who went back on their former admissions as relapsed heretics. You know what that means." He smiled sympathetically, but all that De Molay could do was turn his gaze from him.

"I don't know why you provoke me with such ease when you know that I could rip your throat out in an instant."

"True that you could, but I do not believe that you would. You are not a savage and though you may wish for revenge, killing me would not ease your suffering, rather it would only make it worse and you know that."

De Molay was not sure whether it would be better or worse if De Nogaret was dead but he refrained from ripping his throat out, simply because it would be too good a death for him.

"I am not sure that I do. I choose not to kill you because I gain pleasure from seeing you limping around and knowing that my son was the cause of your maiming."

The corners of De Nogaret's mouth twitched irritably. "Your pleasure will be short lived and so will your son's." He clenched his fists. "Now back to the matter at hand. If you and the other Templar dignitaries return to your original admissions then none of your knights will be declared relapsed and will be kept from the stake."

"For now." De Molay said derisively.

"For now, yes. But the papacy could still absolve you and there is the slightest hope that your foolhardy son may yet free you. Besides, the best part of this is that by doing so Philip will allow the diocesan commissions to find the Templar servants innocent and after an act of contrition they will be freed. He would rather have the confessions of the knights, and for that he will allow the Templar minions to be absolved, but the decision is up to you."

"Yet another trap," De Molay spat. "Either way we are condemned."

"Yes. Whichever way you look at it, you and your kind are damned but your former servants need not be."

De Molay nodded. In truth he knew that even with the retraction of confessions, he had merely been buying time. Clement may not, in his heart, wish to condemn them but he would have to as Philip would destroy him if he did not. Confessions or not, the papacy would eventually pass severe judgement on them. He could at least save their loyal servants who had been in the dark about the truth for centuries and free them from any suffering and death.

"How will I know that the men have been freed?"

"I will have the Pope draw up a letter for you confirming the fact."

De Molay sighed, "I suppose you have the appropriate papers for me to sign?"

"Of course," De Nogaret said rubbing his temples before calling in his assistant. There was another reason De Molay refrained from ripping out the whoreson's throat. The searing headaches he was able to send De Nogaret could, over time, kill him, albeit slowly and after madness had set in. With every meeting he could probe deeper into De Nogaret's mind, establishing a connection with it. Knowing his fears and desires he could draw on them and crush his psyche. It was only possible if he remained close, distance weakened the link. If De Nogaret remained at Chinon it would be possible.

Telepathy was a gift that all werewolves possessed but some could take their powers further. His mother had been a powerful seer and De Molay had learned from a young age that his mind could be used as an effective weapon though he had never, until now, used it for ill. As he watched De Nogaret wince as he sorted through the papers with his assistant, De Molay told himself it was nothing more than the wicked councillor deserved.

### Chapter Thirty

17th March 1310, Aberdeenshire

T _o the left, to the left!_ Galeren called out. Catherine immediately skidded in the undergrowth as she tried to reposition herself and ducked as the stag's antlers swished in her direction.

_Watch it!_ Galeren warned. Catherine snapped at the stag's forequarters in retaliation and the animal veered to its left.

_Hold him Parsifal!_ Galeren commanded and Parsifal pushed forward snapping at the stag's left front leg to hold it between them and prevent it from escaping.

_Good, good he's tiring_. Galeren said bringing up the rear. _I'm taking him down, be ready_.

The white wolf surged forward feeling the stag's adrenaline drain as fatigue took over. The animal stumbled but regained its balance as it tried desperately to escape, but it was too late.

Galeren timed the rhythm of the animal's steps and swiftly grabbed the stag's back left hoof as it left the ground and brought the creature crashing down. He released it immediately and rolled in the undergrowth as his momentum kept him going. Catherine quickly took advantage of the animal's fall and wishing to end its distress she quickly pounced upon it and grabbing its throat crushed it in her powerful jaws. It was over in seconds. Catherine released the stag's throat and looked at the whites of its rolled back eyes and motionless body. She felt a stab of regret and guilt momentarily but lost her train of thought as she felt Galeren crash into the side of her.

_Well done_ , he said.

_That is the fastest yet_ , Parsifal added joining them.

_Take your spoils_ , Galeren encouraged and Catherine looked at her prize. Galeren had made her fast all day for this; he had said it would increase her drive. Indeed, there was nothing better than an empty stomach to ensure the success of a hunt. They had been on numerous hunts before of course, but often in bigger groups and Galeren wanted Catherine to be more confident in her own hunting skills.

Licking her chops enthusiastically, Catherine tore into the beast's belly and felt immediate satisfaction as the stag's warm flesh and blood entered her mouth and slipped down her throat. It seemed strange to her sometimes that eating a freshly killed stag raw was so natural and something she enjoyed, especially when the kill was hers. The warm meat tasted divine, though she knew in human form it would not have been so appealing. As the wolf she was still Catherine, but her needs and desires were different. She was a beast of nature, wild and free and it was a magical state to be in.

She looked over at her mate and attempted to clean her bloodied muzzle with her tongue. Once she had sated her initial, ravenous, hunger she motioned for the others to join her. This was a rare treat to have first taste of a kill. Usually she had to wait until more important members of the pack had satisfied their hunger. She had learned much about the pack over the last two years and Galeren had made it his quest to have her become fully tuned to her werewolf life and forget her former solely human existence. She had become stronger and her dominant wolf half had made her powerful.

Although they lived primarily in human form, they took every opportunity to enjoy their wild natures. It was a welcome distraction from the concerns of the Temple's future as Galeren had struggled to maintain patience as the months stretched into years. He had even taken to training Catherine to become skilled with a sword and that too she had mastered.

Of course as her confidence and power grew she became ever more certain that when the call to France came, she would be allowed to join the group who went. She did not broach the subject with Galeren as he was always adamant that she would not. The spectre of De Floyran's damage would always resurface and Catherine preferred to keep it far from Galeren's thoughts, though she knew that it was a fire that smouldered deep within him. She knew it was hard for him to wait and do nothing and her recurring dreams of burning Templars concerned them both. Yet without the support of the others, Galeren was powerless to do anything and to his frustration could do nothing but wait.

When they had eaten to their fill the three wolves collapsed on the grass and dozed in the spring sun. When at last it became low in the sky, Parsifal stirred and got to his feet.

_I am back to Maryculter_ , he said.

_Tell the others there is a fresh kill if they are interested_ , Galeren said sleepily. Though in truth there was not much left of the animal they had slain.

_I will. 'Twas a good hunt. I will see you soon_ , he said and disappeared into the forest.

When they were certain he was gone, Galeren and Catherine immediately changed and he pulled her close, kissing her desperately as he rolled on top of her. She laughed and returned his affections with enthusiasm and let the pleasure of the afternoon overtake her. Afterwards, he remained upon her and studied her face. He looked at her black hair which had grown long and now fell past her shoulders and smiled.

"What?" she asked.

"I was just thinking of when we were in the oubliette in Montlhéry. I thought I would never see your hair grow long. But I was wrong."

"I am glad you were wrong." She said.

"Did you enjoy the hunt?" he asked twirling a lock of it around his finger.

"I did, I always do." She said and then smiling asked, "You'd live as a wolf, wouldn't you?"

"If you would." He answered honestly, "I would, of course, change for some things," he said with a mischievous grin, "I would miss this face."

"What do you envisage when you think of the new world?" she asked. They had spoken on the subject many times over the last couple of years but hearing him speak of it made it feel real.

"Mmm," he mused as if in thought, "I see big blue skies and I see forests, plains, mountains and the ocean. I see freedom and a joining with nature that I think we may not as yet have experienced."

"How not?" she asked curiously.

"Well, I will not fear that a troop of hunters is coming over the ridge looking for wolf skins and I will not fear witch hunts or inquisitions."

"What about the Skraelings? How do you know that they do not hunt for wolf skins?"

"I do not know for certain, but they were described by the Viking explorers as being primitive. It depends how you interpret the Viking description but I take it as meaning that they live by simpler means and that they are probably more in tune with nature.

If they do hunt for wolf skins, it will be for survival, not so they can line their collars and cuffs with it to elevate their status. We once lived like that before Christianity wiped the light from our lives. Pagans gave thanks to the Earth for what they took from it and were never greedy. Christianity teaches that God will provide, and when he does not someone gets the blame for it and suffers."

"It was over three hundred years ago, perhaps they too have been corrupted by a religion." She said pessimistically.

"Perhaps, but it is the chance we will have to take." He smiled, "But I don't think it will be like that. I dream that we will have space to breath."

"Will we stay with the others or disappear into your space?"

"Mayhap a bit of both, we will see." He grinned but then tensed immediately as he sensed someone's approach.

It was Parsifal, but he was on horseback and leading a second horse behind him. "It is time." He said seriously and threw some clothing down to them.

Catherine waited for what seemed to be an age for Galeren to return to the small cottage they shared on the Maryculter estate. Parsifal had been reticent in what he meant by "it is time" but what was clear was that it had something to do with going back to France. It was the words she had both yearned for and dreaded. On the one hand their future could not start until the Templar brothers that were imprisoned in France were freed. Galeren was impatient for the chance to make it so and finish De Floyran for good. Once this was done they could plan their future and make their way to the new world that offered hope and freedom.

On the other hand, however, she feared for what would happen when Galeren and the others returned to France. Catherine was sure that he would not let her accompany them and so she would be forced to face an agonising wait. Her visions of burning Templars seemed prophetic and she did not know how she would manage to keep from going insane as she was left to wait in the darkness of ignorance.

The door opened and Galeren strode in, his face was taut with concern but as he spotted Catherine sitting in the candlelit room his expression softened and he said, "I did not expect to find you still up."

"You expect me to sleep when I know what is coming?" she said sounding a little offended.

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I am sorry. Rather I mean that I wish you were asleep, with no cares." He went and joined her at the table.

"They are the cares of us all." She commented, as she poured him and herself a cup of mead. "So what is the news?" she asked with a heart full of trepidation. He drank his mead quickly and then said:

"The Templar servants that were incarcerated have all been released, reconciled with the Church and absolved on the premise that it is the knights that are the channels of evil in the Temple, and we know why that is."

"But that is good, isn't it? I know they are not brethren but they do not deserve to suffer." Catherine said.

"Of course not and it is indeed a good thing." Galeren stressed as he poured more mead. "They are still loyal brothers and it is one less concern to trouble us. The papal commission has called for a defence of the Temple to commence."

"A defence?"

"Yes, a chance for any free Templars to journey to Paris to offer a defence for the Order."

"Surely it's a trap!" Catherine said with apprehension spreading across her face.

"The commission, I'll warrant, does not know the truth and so it will be a genuine proposal. However, no knight will risk it because the King is liable to arrest any who would be foolish enough to go but our spies have told us that many of the freed servants will be going to champion the cause of the knights.

We think a gathering of brothers at the defence may be our only opportunity to strike. The King will be nervous and all eyes will be on Paris. Most of our knights are now imprisoned at the château in Chinon and some are at the Temple in Paris. This is a prime opportunity to make a move, we must take it. It is a dangerous time for us. My father and the others have gone back to their original confessions."

" _Why?_ " Catherine said sounding perplexed.

"No one is sure, but I'll bet that the King and De Nogaret have cooked up a scheme to make it happen."

Catherine frowned in thought and then said, "Philip may have panicked, thinking the papal commission may absolve the Temple after the retraction of confessions. He may have pressed Clement into declaring those who retracted their confessions as relapsed heretics."

"The stake?" Galeren asked grimly and then cursed himself quietly. Catherine was clever and he instantly regretted saying more to her on the subject than he should, despite the fact that he valued her opinion and sharp mind. However, on this matter he reasoned that the less he said about it the better. She would worry; she may even try to follow them. He could not risk having her on French soil again. He must allay her fears, not add to them.

"Yes! My visions, Galeren."

"I doubt Clement would do that, seriously." He looked at her intently. "Besides the information we have received is vague at best. It is not like before; the King and Pope are more guarded and trust no one outside their tight circle. The point is that the defence will distract the King and if we can get our brethren out of Chinon then we will have the force to move on the places where Templars are incarcerated in Paris. The King, Pope, De Nogaret and even De Floyran will be powerless to stop us. We may never get another opportunity like this."

"What exactly is the plan then?" she asked, chewing nervously on her lip.

"Eight of us are to go," he paused and then continued. "We'll sort out the details when we are in France."

Catherine folded her arms, "What are you hiding from me?"

"Nothing," Galeren said defensively.

"I don't believe you. Bertrand said he wouldn't let you go to France unless you had a watertight plan."

"The plan is watertight, but the less you know the better."

Catherine's face crumbled, "Why are you shutting me out? You said you would share everything with me!"

"I do share everything with you," Galeren said angrily, "but not this and you know well why!"

"De Floyran," Catherine said, shaking her head.

"Yes De Floyran! Don't you understand?"

"Of course I understand! But why can't you let me help you, don't you think I have revenge of my own to be mete out? I am strong in the wolf, stronger than him. I have learned so much these last few years. I am not afraid of him!"

"I know, but your presence would weaken _me_. My thoughts would be more concerned with protecting you than on the mission and that could put everybody in jeopardy. I have told you time and again that I would not take you, why can't you just leave it at that!"

"Because I fear to lose you! Have you not thought that I may seek to protect _you?_ "

Galeren smiled at the sentiment, "I do not need protecting, have I not proven that?" he watched her face sadden. "Christ Catherine, I trust you with my life but you must let me go and do this. If I am in sound mind that you are safely here then I can get this done and return home to our future."

She looked down and then slowly and reluctantly nodded. "So I must wait in darkness."

"Only for a little while." He said trying to sound upbeat, "I hate to be parted from you but it is something that I must do without you. I must know you are safe here with Parsifal."

"Parsifal's not going either?" Catherine asked incredulously.

"No," Galeren said sternly.

"Does he know?"

"Not yet and he will accept my decision as you should."

"I think not! He will feel left out and unworthy and he doesn't deserve that!"

"He will have to accept my decision!" Galeren cried and slammed his fists down hard on the table. "This is hard enough for me without you making it harder! I need your support not your criticism. You are the two people I care about most in the world. Do you think I do this to hurt you?"

Catherine looked at him, her expression was unforgiving. Galeren sighed and threw his hands up into the air.

"I care not, but know that I will not speak on this matter again." He stood up and waved a finger at her warningly, "I will have you gagged and bound in chains if you broach the subject again." He said and stormed out of the room just as the candle burned out and left Catherine in darkness.

19th March 1310, Maryculter, Aberdeenshire

Catherine caught her tongue and tried to remain silent as she watched Parsifal kick the dirt repeatedly and curse Galeren.

"It isn't fair!" he cried furiously. "He does this to me time and again. I am eighteen now. I should be knighted! I should be going with him! Why does he hold me back? He says he trusts me, why won't he let me prove myself?"

Catherine sighed and clasped her hands together. She understood well Parsifal's frustrations but had resolved herself to support Galeren's decision, instead of battling against it. The seven who were going with Galeren included Richard de Gosbeck, Gerard de Villiers, John St Clair, Guy Auvrey, Hugo de Chalons and two other knights whom Catherine did not know that well. When Parsifal had found out that he was not among the eight he had been devastated. By all accounts Galeren had been curt in his reasoning and probably not in the mood to undergo another ear bashing like the one he had received from her.

Parsifal looked at Catherine and shook his head. "He wants me to stay here to protect you, but you don't need protecting, do you? I told him this and that you would rather come too."

Catherine winced, imagining Galeren's reaction but Parsifal soon told her of it. "He said he would lock me in a dungeon if I mentioned it again!"

Catherine smiled. "It is because he loves us." She offered and it was the truth.

"It's alright for you. You've been there! You ripped out Huguard Parry's throat! Where was I? Here, waiting as usual!"

"It's not alright for me, not when I fear for Galeren. Do you think I took his decision well? But I would hate to be a burden to him when he needs to have a clear head. This mission is not about glory Parsifal, men will die, maybe even Galeren. We will serve him best by staying here, no matter how hard that is. He doesn't mean to hurt you, but he would rather that than worse to happen."

"You don't understand." Parsifal said bitterly and walked away from her. Catherine sighed heavily and bit down on her bottom lip. She did understand but if she conveyed that to Parsifal then he was like to do something rash. She had promised Galeren, when they had made up after their fight, that she would try to make Parsifal see sense and support his decision, but it was hard. Like Parsifal, she too had faith in her own abilities. She understood Galeren's sentiment, but she was different now. She was changed from the confused, newly marked girl she had been two years before. Back then, in little over a few weeks she had been attacked, marked, and abducted by De Floyran. All scars had faded and she had emerged stronger.

She was a werewolf like De Floyran and also not, for she was stronger in her wolf-half. Why could she not face him? Why could she not face De Nogaret and others? The Templar men may argue that they viewed their women with equality, but where were their women now; waiting in safe places for their men to collect them for their future. None were going to France that was for sure.

20th March 1310, Maryculter

Galeren broke from his troubled thoughts at the sound of a rapping on the door. He was gathering his things and preparing for the journey ahead.

"Come," he said a little irritably. It was Gerard and he smiled sheepishly as he entered and was met by Galeren's stony expression.

"Is this a bad time?" he asked.

"'Tis as good or bad as any," Galeren shrugged, "but you are always welcome brother." Gerard entered the room.

"What is it?" Gerard asked.

"The usual," Galeren answered laconically.

"I am sure Parsifal will come round, in time he will understand."

"Will he?" Galeren said not sounding sure. "This may be the most important mission of our time and I have once again excluded him."

"And now you are not sure it is the right thing to do?"

"What do I know?" Galeren remarked pessimistically. "Only that I want him to have a future and not throw his life away on –"

"A foolhardy mission of honour and brotherhood?" Gerard finished poignantly.

Galeren looked up and frowned. "It is for the best, do you not think?"

"I do the same for Ourri, but remember he has had his adventure and played his part. Parsifal has long waited in the wings, patiently, for his time to come. You have to ask whose benefit you really do this for, his or your own."

"Hmm," Galeren mused and stared at his sword that lay on the bench before him. Honour was important to men, their hearts full of the love and courage that each sacrifice was made for and their valour passed down in tales of history. Parsifal had grown up with such tales, knew of his own father's heroic demise and pestered every knight of age and wisdom for stories of fearlessness on crusade, even Galeren's own past he had yearned to know about. He was a man now and wanted to carve out his own legacy, not that of a pioneer but that of a warrior. How could he deny Parsifal his chance, how could he deny him his very nature?

"I am sure you have not come to discuss Parsifal's future with me, Gerard. What is on _your_ mind?" Galeren said changing the subject and putting on his sword belt.

"Merely, the answer to a simple question." He shrugged and then said: "Will this work?"

"It will work," Galeren said, picking up and sheathing his sword.

"You are certain?"

"No one can ever be certain. We may all yet burn in the King's fires, but I have to believe that we will prevail. We are werewolves and we will not hide in the hills and wait for them to come with sword and flame to be buried forever in the darkness of history. We will show our enemies that they should have left us alone and we will leave them uncertain and wary of shadows and moon light." Galeren turned to Gerard and smiled. "Does that answer your question?"

"Oh yes, my friend it does."

Both men turned as the door opened and Catherine entered, "I am sorry, I –"

"It is alright. I was just leaving." Gerard said.

"If you see Parsifal, then tell him to come and find me in the stables."

"Aye," he said and bowing courteously to Catherine left the room.

Galeren turned to Catherine and rolling his shoulders, as he tried to get comfortable in the armour he was wearing, he straightened up to his full height.

"Do you need such armour if you are going to storm the château of Chinon as wolves?"

"We still have to cross the narrow sea as men remember, we leave nothing to chance."

She nodded. "You look very handsome." She remarked but cast her eyes downward to hide her fear, for she knew he was leaving in a few hours.

"It will be alright, I promise." He said raising her chin so he could meet her gaze.

"Yes, I know." She said trying to sound confident. "But it is still dangerous, you cannot deny it."

Galeren picked up the leather satchel he had packed and swung it over his shoulder. "It is like before and carries the same risks." He said taking her hand and leading her from the room.

"Is that supposed to comfort me?" she said discontented.

"Nothing would comfort you this hour, my love." He tilted his head perceptively but Catherine merely shrugged.

"Bertrand has said you can stay here while we are away. You will be safe and so will I in that knowledge."

She nodded and then said. "What do you wish to speak to Parsifal about?" she asked as they crossed the bailey and headed towards the stables. "He is hopping mad at you and doubt he will meet with you."

"Well if he doesn't, it will be to his regret."

"You've changed you mind about letting him go?"

"Perhaps," Galeren answered reticently.

"And you won't change your mind about letting me go?" she said stopping and folding her arms.

"Catherine," Galeren said wearily, "it is different and you know it."

"Because I am a woman!" she said angrily.

"No, I do not doubt your strength but you bear De Floyran's mark. He will sense you and he will come for you. Now let that be the end to this. You will stay here in safety. Please Catherine I do not wish to quarrel when . . ." he broke off and shook his head.

"When what? You might not see me again?" her eyes filled with dread.

"When we are to be parted," he corrected and smiled slowly. "Don't make it any harder for me, please."

She nodded and offered him a thin smile.

"That's better," he said and looked up to see Parsifal making his way towards them, he was dragging his feet like a petulant child and Galeren shook his head.

"Where is your sword?"

"What need have I for a sword? I don't know why you bothered teaching me how to use one as I will never have to." He said bitterly.

"Come here fool!" Galeren said but the tone of his voice was not stern. Catherine stood aside and gave them room.

"How old are you?" Galeren said.

"I have eighteen winters." Parsifal answered.

"You think you are a man, do you?"

"Yes, I do." Parsifal answered assuredly.

"Then you will have to prove it. Kneel before me sergeant."

A spark ignited in Parsifal's eyes as they darted towards Catherine who nodded at him encouragingly. He looked back at Galeren.

"Come on, we haven't got all day!" he snapped.

Parsifal quickly fell to his knees before his master. Galeren unsheathed his sword and said: "I am afraid we don't have time for proper ceremony, but we have no need for it. Sergeants of the Temple have been knighted amidst the chaos of battle before." He placed the blade upon Parsifal's left shoulder.

"You do not need my protection because you have had my instruction and it will serve you well." He lifted the blade and crossed it to his right shoulder. "You have a duty to your brethren and as a knight of the Temple you will honour that duty. I dub thee Knight of the Order of the Temple of Solomon." Galeren said and re-sheathed his sword and then slapped Parsifal hard across the face as was customary. "Now, arise! Sir Parsifal Bondeville." Galeren said with genuine pride in his voice.

Parsifal got to his feet albeit awkwardly, his eyes glistened with tears though he did not let one drop.

"Thank you," he said, his voice was choked with emotion. "Does this mean . . . ?" he began but Galeren nodded his head before he finished his question.

"Now we are nine." Galeren confirmed. "Now hasten and gather your things, we leave in a few hours."

Parsifal nodded and looked at Catherine who smiled and bowed her head respectfully. She rejoined Galeren and squeezed his arm and they both watched Parsifal race back across the bailey, excitement replacing the lead that had been in his boots only moments earlier.

"I hope I have done the right thing." Galeren said and took a deep breath.

### Chapter Thirty One

26th March 1310, Château de Chinon

"Arrgghhhh!" De Nogaret screamed into the night jolting upright in his bed, his eyes peeling back in horror. The sweat streamed down his face and his temples pounded with a mind crunching pain but the real terror stared out at him from the corner of the room. The cold steel blue eyes watched unblinking and he could see the shape of its ears as it crouched in the darkness.

"What do you want? What do you _want?_ " he sobbed pitifully, as fear gripped every inch of his being. He raised his hands to hold his head as the pain intensified and he scrunched his eyes closed, as if to gain some relief by doing so. He sensed motion and opened them immediately. But there was nothing there in the dark corner, nothing but a cloak that had been flung over a chair with ruffles and a bend in its hood which could have been mistaken for the ears of a wolf. He blinked again and saw how he could have been mistaken. He rubbed his aching head and the door to his chamber flung open and his servant rushed in panting.

"Forgive me, master." He said as he waved the candle he was holding in the direction of De Nogaret's bed. "I heard a terrible scream and . . ." he said out of breath.

"Just a dream, Gaston." De Nogaret snapped, feeling no better.

"Can I bring you anything?" Gaston asked.

"Some wine," De Nogaret said. Gaston rushed off to do his bidding while De Nogaret stared back into the darkened corner.

"A waking dream." He said to himself and why should it not be of a wolf, considering he slept in a chamber within a grand château whose dungeons were bursting with imprisoned werewolves and its halls were littered with others who roamed free. Though the shadows seemed haunted to him these days, he doubted that De Floyran or any of his men were playing games with him. It was his own mind; it tormented him with uncertainty and fear. The King blew hot and cold and grew ever more irritable and nervous as time passed, fearful that the Temple would be absolved by the papacy. De Nogaret did not mind if Philip excluded him from daily matters or even if he had fallen in favour, the King's moods were best avoided and better that De Plaisians and others bear the brunt of them. He knew the King would reward him for his service but beyond that De Nogaret saw no reason to stay within the King's favoured circle of advisors. He would be happy to assume a more moderate post away from the King's unstable temperament. It was his future with De Floyran that concerned him the most.

He had become sickly and his frequent headaches crippled him and sometimes kept him locked in the darkness of his chamber for days on end. He put on a brave face for those around him, especially De Floyran, whom he needed to give him the gift. The Grand Master's words often came back to haunt him; would De Floyran mark one whom he thought was weak? He was sure De Molay only meant to torment him in an attempt to relieve his own suffering, but sometimes De Floyran gave him reason to doubt his promise. He surrounded himself with his new minions and was wont to tease and belittle him in front of them. There was a modicum of camaraderie about it but it still infuriated De Nogaret. He hoped that De Molay's son would soon make his foolish move and be rotting in a French dungeon before De Floyran found another reason to delay his marking.

"Thank you," De Nogaret said, taking the cup of wine from Gaston. "Leave it there." He instructed and his servant obediently placed the flagon on the table beside him and left as De Nogaret waved him to do so. He found it hard to trust servants since Ourri's betrayal, not knowing if he had another werewolf spy in his midst. De Floyran assured him that no werewolf would get within several leagues of the château without him or his men knowing it, but he could not root out human spies so easily.

It was of course entirely possible that the werewolf knights had human spies loyal to their cause. They were, most probably, loyal to that of the Temple and were unaware of the truth. There was a rumour growing that there was indeed many that were loyal to their cause who were outside their diabolical circle. These were of course others who had served in the Order of the Temple, the servants and lower ranking members. These it was said were amassing slowly in Paris and had come, as De Nogaret had suspected, to defend the Order. It was, he supposed, good news. If the defence was gathering, then the English Templars may indeed strike as De Floyran had said and the sooner that occurred the sooner he'd become one of them. Whatever the case De Nogaret remained guarded, preferring to trust no-one. He drank back the wine and savoured its taste as it eased some of his suffering.

The next morning, sandy eyed and shattered De Nogaret went in search of De Floyran but to his surprise found that the château was a bustling with activity. He grabbed a young squire by the arm as he went by.

"What is going on?" De Nogaret demanded irritably.

"They're moving the dignitaries." The young man answered, staring at De Nogaret's hand which was still gripping his arm.

"Who is?" De Nogaret asked, removing it.

"De Floyran and his men. They are taking them to Gisors." He said making to leave.

"Gisors?" De Nogaret said incredulously.

"Aye, to the château." The squire added over his shoulder as he began to hasten away to continue with his duties.

De Nogaret's mouth curled angrily. What was De Floyran up to? How dare he not be informed of this! He saw one of De Floyran's men crossing the hall and hobbled towards him.

"Where is De Floyran?" he commanded when he reached the man.

"Breaking his fast in the main hall." He answered languidly.

"Really," De Nogaret said incensed and steadying himself with his walking stick turned and made his way to the main hall. De Floyran was indeed there, sat with Caradas, De Merle and Wardard laughing and enjoying the food that had been provided.

"Why wasn't I informed of this? Why was I not consulted?" De Nogaret said furiously as he approached the dais.

"You look awful," De Floyran said casually and rammed a hunk of bread into his mouth. "Join us." He invited as he chewed on it.

"I am not hungry!" De Nogaret snapped.

"You look in need of a good meal." De Floyran continued glibly, smiling to the others.

De Nogaret felt a stab of pain enter his skull. "Answer my question!" he demanded.

De Floyran sighed wearily. "It was a last minute decision. I came to see you last night but your servant told me you had a headache and had long retired."

"It was nothing," De Nogaret said quickly, "I was just tired and didn't want to be disturbed."

"Well then," De Floyran said with justification.

"You do this on whose authority? The King's?"

"No," De Floyran answered. "I do it on my own."

"You have none!" De Nogaret cried, trembling with emotion.

"Sit down Guillaume," De Floyran said intolerantly, "before you fall down." He folded his arms and waited for De Nogaret to comply. De Nogaret knew it was useless to get into a battle of wills with him and he wanted some answers. Sighing he went and sat at the dais table opposite De Floyran.

"As captain of the King's new guard I am charged with responsibility in all matters that concern the Templars, be it as no one knows a werewolf's mind like I do. I must protect the King's interests and at the moment that means moving the dignitaries to another location."

"But why? This is an impenetrable fortress! I thought you wanted to keep the majority of Templars in one place."

"Indeed, but Galeren de Massard is on the move." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

"How do you know?" De Nogaret asked, trying to keep the sudden excitement from his voice.

"I still retain a link with Catherine." He said clearing his throat. "It becomes stronger when he is away from her. I sense fear and uncertainty in her. It leads me to conclude that Galeren is on his way here. He will strike the château. My decision to move his father and the other masters is purely precautionary."

"You think he may have a chance of success?" De Nogaret asked incredulously and then a thought struck him, again something De Molay had said.

"No," De Floyran said dismissively. "I said the move is a matter of precaution. Better to have the dignitaries closer to Paris for the defence and if any relapsed are to be burnt . . ." he paused and then shrugged his shoulders.

_That's not the reason_ , De Nogaret thought but kept the sentiment to himself. "But you move them closer to the English coast. If De Massard finds out –"

"He won't. Besides, distance doesn't concern wolves. Whether they are here or in Normandy bears no odds. The château at Gisors is as impenetrable, if not more so, than here. Believe me, this affair is coming to an end and the closer we all are to Paris the better."

"What about the other Templars here?"

"They will stay here. When Galeren and his men arrive they will not suspect my men to be waiting for them. There will be no tricks, they will simply be overcome and imprisoned to await their fate."

"And where will you be when all this is happening?" De Nogaret asked.

"Here, of course."

"What if something goes wrong?"

"Nothing will go wrong. Have faith Guillaume!" De Floyran said jovially. "Your time is coming, a new future awaits you. I want you to wait at Gisors for me, until this is done."

"At Gisors! Why can I not remain here with you?"

"The King may need you and you must assume charge over the rest of my men there. You will be responsible for the dignitaries. Who else can I trust?" De Floyran said with a sly smile.

"But what if De Massard knows? What if he attacks the retinue like before?" De Nogaret said sounding worried; he did not easily forget the outcome of Galeren's last surprise attack.

"This move is made without the knowledge of the King, Pope or any of their advisors in Paris. Even if there are spies amongst us here, no one is to leave this château unless I say so. Your cortege will be made up of thirty of my men. Not a servant or squire will accompany you. It will just be you De Nogaret, the only human in the company of wolves."

De Nogaret inclined his head and nodded to show he was reasonably happy. To be escorted by thirty werewolves was comforting and De Floyran had assured him that the Templars who had fled to Scotland had no idea that De Floyran had amassed an army of their kind.

"And when De Massard is behind bars?" De Nogaret prompted.

De Floyran smiled. "Then I will give you the gift, if you are sure it is what you really want."

"Of course!" De Nogaret stressed.

"Then so it will be my clever little councillor. Now you had better get yourself packed, you leave in the next hour. Botolf and Armin will help you." He looked at his two men and they nodded their acknowledgment of his new instruction. "Don't worry, Guillaume, nothing's going to happen."

"Very well," De Nogaret smiled. "I will be off then." He nodded curtly and turned and limped out of the main hall.

"It's all going to work out perfectly," De Floyran said and winked at Caradas who nodded astutely in agreement.

4th April 1310, Aberdeenshire

The grey wolf was dozing in the bushes when its nose caught scent of something that was both familiar and foreboding. Catherine was quick to get to her feet and shake herself rid of the lethargy that had overcome her. She knew that she was not supposed to venture out of Maryculter alone and that Bertrand would tan her hide if he found out and lock her in her room. However, she needed her freedom and had found the cool, calm quiet of the forest a place of refuge and somewhere she could connect with Galeren. Their bond had strengthened and though she could not converse with him, she could sense his rhythm, his movement and feel his life force.

It had been enough these last days to doze in the sun and feel the comfort of their bond, but this morning it appeared weakened and now she sensed danger. Since Galeren had gone she was aware that De Floyran was trying to re-establish his connection with her. She feared that she had unwittingly betrayed Galeren's movements to him, knowing as she did that De Floyran's connection grew stronger with Galeren's increasing distance from her.

She quickly retraced her steps to the spot where she had changed and returning to human form, she dressed hastily and started to make her way back to Maryculter. The scent caught her again and now she knew she was being followed by another werewolf. She sped up trying to remain calm and recalling everything Galeren had taught her. Though the weaker sex in both the world of man and werewolf, she was strong in wolf spirit and that gave her an advantage. She knew it was not De Floyran who tailed her but it was the scent of one she knew and who was no friend. She was far from the preceptory and knowing that running would be to no avail she instead turned to face her would-be assailant. A shadowy figure, in human form, took cover behind a tree.

"Show yourself coward!" Catherine screamed, her fear transmuting to anger in her voice.

"I will, if you promise not to run."

"Do I have need to run?" she asked, as she tried to work out to whom the voice belonged. It was familiar but his identity was beyond her grasp.

"No, and you have my word on that. I am not here to hurt you, only to bring you warning."

"I will not run, but if you break your word I will have out your throat." She said keeping her voice steady and full of confidence. The figure emerged from his cover and took a few steps towards her. When his face left the shadow of the trees and the light hit it, Catherine gasped. It was Raymond Caradas. She wanted to run, she wanted to change but something about him made her hesitate and he raised his hands to reassure her.

"Is he with you?" she asked though she sensed he was not, at least not in the near vicinity.

"No, he is in France waiting for Galeren." He answered as if concerned.

"What are you doing here?" Catherine asked, standing her ground as he approached her.

"To warn you that Galeren and the others are walking into a trap, they have no hope of rescuing the other Templars, they never did."

"Why are you telling me this? Why should I trust you? You are De Floyran's man, what do you care?" Catherine was naturally suspicious, but something about his manner made her curious.

"I didn't expect it to be like this." Caradas began. "A little revenge never hurt anyone but the things I have seen make me doubt that now."

"I find it hard to believe that you have had a sudden change of heart." She said dubiously. "You were happy to have your own kind tortured not that long ago. Their suffering and death did not bother you then. You are as cruel as he is."

"No, I am not. I am no saint and will go to hell for the suffering I have caused but when he started burning them . . ." Caradas broke off.

" _Burning?_ " Catherine said in horror but she knew it was true. "When?"

"It began shortly after your escape."

Catherine felt her stomach turn and pressed her hand against it. Caradas sighed heavily then continued,

"De Floyran wanted to make sure nothing like that ever happened again. He proposed the acquisition of an army of Templars loyal to the King and requested that he be allowed to exhaust any means to achieve it. The King, having lost thirty of his guards, was happy to support him. Those imprisoned were offered a choice, either swear fealty to De Floyran and the King and forsake their brothers or face death at the stake."

Catherine covered her face with her hands remembering the dreams in all their gruesome clarity. "You helped him." She said.

"I had no choice. The aim was murder as well as recruitment. As I said before I am no saint but I cannot forgive what I did. No one should suffer like that."

"Why come now?" Catherine asked. "You could have left any time."

"I had nowhere to go. If I had come here before, Galeren would have killed me, even if he'd given me the chance to explain myself. I come now because I know that Galeren and his men are making their strike and I can at least offer some help. They do not know that De Floyran has seventy odd Templars loyal to him. How many have gone?"

"Nine," Catherine said hopelessly.

"It is a small number in any case but they stand no chance against their own kind."

"Why come to me?"

"Because I know you have the good sense to hear me out before you make up your mind and you are the only one who can help them."

"We could tell the others at Maryculter." Catherine suggested. "They could send more men to help them."

"You know they will not. The enemy is too many, you know they will not want to risk any more lives. If you go to tell them this they won't let you out of their sight. Your only chance is to come with me now."

Catherine knew that what Caradas said was true and that she could not risk being locked up in her room for her own safety. Of course she must go to Galeren, of course she wanted to. But could she trust this man who had, so far, given her no reason to?

"How do I know that this is not a trap in itself? Just a way to get me back into De Floyran's hands. It is what he wants, isn't it?"

"You are his obsession. You do not know that this is not a trap. You just have to trust me. What do you sense?"

Catherine thought about it. It was foolhardy to go with a man whom she only knew as cruel and wont to do his master's bidding. Maybe De Floyran had sent him. It may be nothing but a cunning ploy. It would be much easier getting her into France by having her walk in willingly straight into a trap than trying to take her by force. On the other hand, his sentiment seemed genuine. Her visions had been harrowing and she could not imagine witnessing such horror in the flesh. Perhaps seeing his brethren burn at the stake had changed the brutal heart of Raymond Caradas. But all things considered, Galeren could be in danger. There was no room for hesitation on that score; she had to go now no matter what she risked.

"I sense you are telling the truth, but even if you are lying I cannot let my mate walk into a trap. I'd rather die with him and the others."

"Then we should make haste." Caradas said. "Galeren is already in France and preparing to strike the château at Chinon."

****

Galeren stood at the edge of the forest and stared out across the river Vienne which snaked its way passed Chinon and then looked beyond its banks to the château that loomed above it. He pulled up his hood as it started to rain and considered the mighty fortress. It was impenetrable; to men but not to werewolves. It was easy to doubt this after having lived in the world of men for so long. There were always boundaries and limitations, the impossible and the hopeless. Men set themselves these boundaries because they did not see things simply. Life meant struggle because anything else might lead to freedom and freedom was hard to control. Those who set the tide would crush any who challenged the premise of life and destroy their difference. This world was ruled by fear, fear of loss; loss of power, loss of possessions, loss of status. Galeren looked at the city that appeared shrunken in the shadow of the fortress and thought of all the fear within it.

"Considering our options or brooding about our potential failure," Gerard de Villiers said lightly as he approached Galeren.

"Why do you speak of failure?" Galeren asked annoyed. "You talk like a man."

"I am a man," Gerard protested and then added, "among other things."

"'Tis the other things you should concentrate on. We are neither man nor wolf but a union of both. We are supernatural and that is why there should be no possibility of failure. It is only when we forget this that we stand the chance of failure."

"Ever deep, Galeren." Gerard observed and folded his arms and too looked at the fortress of Chinon. "What is it that troubles you then?"

Galeren sighed, "I cannot sense my father's presence. I think they have moved him and the other masters."

"You think they anticipate our strike?" Gerard asked concerned.

"De Floyran would have anticipated it since Montlhéry." He shrugged.

"You think it could be a trap?"

"This whole thing has been a trap." Galeren paused and then said: "Nevertheless, there is no going back now. We have waited in the shadows too long and there are plenty of our brothers in Chinon, besides we may never find out where they have taken the masters if we don't strike. If we are foiled then we will have to suffer the same fate as our brethren and Bertrand and the others will have to continue without us." He shrugged. "I don't believe that is going to happen. We have to have faith in our abilities."

"Then we shall and out of the shadows we will come. When shall we attack?"

"Tonight." Galeren said and noted Gerard's surprised expression. "There is no advantage in waiting and no point in delaying. I want the Templars of Chinon on their way to Paris and De Floyran's body beginning to rot by dawn. Let's finish this and away to our futures."

Gerard nodded, "I'll let the others know." He said and began to walk away. Galeren remained and watched as the greyness of the day darkened with the setting sun and the château descended into the blackness of night.

### Chapter Thirty Two

An hour past midnight the nine wolves made their way to the château. They swam swiftly across the river, and under the cover of darkness they padded through the narrow streets of the town unnoticed. When they reached the outer wall of the fortress, they stopped and breathed in the still of the night, searching for scents that would encourage them onward or make them go back.

Richard made to carry on but Galeren hesitated, his nose raised high in the air taking in its stillness and reticence with concern.

_What do you smell?_ Richard asked perplexed.

_Nothing_ , Galeren answered, _but such quiet disturbs me_. There was nothing in particular that Galeren could pinpoint that caused his feeling of unease. The night was serene and why that should bother him he did not know. But he was not wont to ignore his senses, no matter how elusive. He would keep his wits sharp and take nothing for granted.

_Don't get spooked Galeren_ , Richard said.

_I am not, but I think we should be cautious_.

_Good idea_ , Gerard said.

They traversed the high outer wall guardedly until they reached the location of the keep, Tour de Coudray, and dungeon where their brethren were being held.

_What do you sense now?_ Richard asked as they stopped.

_That we should get on with it. We only have one chance_ , Galeren answered. His unease had left him and now his mind was fixed on the mission in hand. He had noted there were embankments in various places, where the walls appeared sunken into the prominence of earth upon which the château had been constructed.

_A bit of a leg up_ , Galeren said, inclining his head to the embankment they were presently stood on.

_I'll warrant it's a long drop the other side_. Richard de Gosbeck pointed out.

_You don't think we can do it?_ Galeren asked, but he didn't care for the answer for he knew that they could. Richard's eyes remained neutral as he looked around at the others for opinion.

_What do you think Parsifal?_ Galeren asked.

_Easy_ , the young knight replied confidently.

_Oh to be young and foolhardy again_ , Richard said, half sarcastically, half whimsically.

_You don't have to be young to be foolhardy_. Gerard aptly noted looking at Galeren and then said,

Who's up first?

_Me!_ Parsifal grinned enthusiastically.

_Not so fast young scamp, let my old bones test the height_. Galeren said and before anyone had time to protest, he ran up the embankment and leapt. In seconds and as if he had only jumped a few feet, Galeren was on the ledge of the wall looking down at them all.

_Fool!_ Richard scolded looking at Galeren's snow white silhouette. _You're like a fucking beacon up there!_

Galeren promptly crouched down and looked into the westernmost enclosure below him. There were two guards at the entrance of the keep and several others dotted about the courtyard. He motioned to the others to join him and stayed low while he considered their next move. The nine wolves were soon assembled on top of the wall and were peering down into the bailey.

_Surprise attack?_ Gerard offered.

_Yes. It must be swift_. Galeren said.

_There are only six of them_ , Parsifal said complacently.

_Six that we can see_ , Richard warned. _There could be dozens inside the keep_.

_Like I said, swift_. Galeren reiterated. _But Richard is right, we have to be vigilant_. Though he did not doubt that if tens of dozens of guards swarmed the courtyard they would be swiftly dispatched, he preferred not to have a bloodbath. They were here to rescue their brothers, not savage hapless guards.

_Who's first to break a leg?_ Richard smiled.

_I suggest we hit the ground together_ , Galeren recommended.

_On your mark then_ , Richard said.

They all spread out along the edge of the wall, each marking the guard they would take out and waited for the opportune moment. Synchronised and on Galeren's signal, they all leapt from the wall and landed with a feather light touch on the dirt floor of the courtyard. The guards had barely the time to comprehend what was happening, and the wolves, exercising both haste and mercy, took their throats and quickly regrouped; their eyes fixed on the entrance of the keep.

_All too easy_ , Richard said and began to move.

_Wait!_ Galeren warned, his nose picking up the scent of both danger and the familiar. But before he could think or act, he saw that they themselves were being swiftly surrounded. Like the guards, they had no time to comprehend the turn of the tide, for it was not men that encircled them, but wolves. Dozens came as if from nowhere, swift and purposeful from across the dry moat that separated the enclosures of the château and from within the keep itself.

_Fuck!_ Richard cried out, as he stared in disbelief at the situation unfurling before them. The realisation, that they were not friends come to aid them but traitors come to destroy them, hit them all like a mace in the face.

_Reckless and over confident, as I knew you'd be Galeren_. The black form of De Floyran said, as he emerged from the keep. _I thought there'd be pitifully few of you but at least in double figures!_ he continued scathingly. _I am so glad that you came, Gerard. Your flight bothered me and I am sure Philip would like to talk to you about the diabolical state of the Temple treasury_.

_You can go swive the King up the arse_ , Gerard said, baring his teeth.

De Floyran bared his own teeth and then looked at the rest of the enclosed men.

_De Gosbeck, De Chalons and St Clair! After your time at Montlhéry John, I doubted you'd be keen to see the inside of a dungeon again!_ He fixed his gaze on Parsifal and then said: _You're James Bondeville's son_.

Parsifal didn't answer. De Floyran cackled. _Only nine, but what a fine nine! I couldn't have picked a better group to have at my mercy if I'd picked you myself_. He looked at Galeren, whose gaze roved around the troop that had them surrounded.

Nothing to say for once Galeren or are you struck dumb?

Galeren grimaced but knew it was pointless to entertain De Floyran's conceit, besides he was right, he had been struck dumb by disbelief. They were severely outnumbered and Galeren was loath to believe that so many were happy to betray their own kind and join De Floyran. Anger and disgust replaced disbelief and he looked around at De Floyran's pack, his eyes full of resentment.

_What were you offered?_ he cried out in revulsion.

_What you will never be_ , De Floyran said joyfully. _Freedom!_

_We offer the same!_ Galeren said, desperately searching their faces. _We can all get out of here, now. You need keep up this pretence no longer!_

_Hopeful to the last, Galeren_. De Floyran said with scathing sentiment and hung his head low and shook it slowly. _What you offer is the wilderness, a struggling existence, a disbanded group of the fallen. These werewolves don't want that, they want leadership, power, wealth and purpose. This they now have and with the King's blessing_.

_The King?_ Galeren said perplexed.

_Aye_ , De Floyran said. _These are the King's men, under my command. There is no getting out of this one Galeren. Now become your human selves and I will take you down to join your brothers_.

Galeren's hackles raised and his fur bristled and his troop closed tightly together as if ready to attack.

_Don't be foolish!_ De Floyran said. _You have no hope of coming out of this alive if you mount an attack. Suffer your fate or die now_.

Galeren considered this. He had sworn to himself that he would not become a prisoner of De Floyran again and would fight to the last to prevent it, but the spectre of hope stung him once more. By surrendering now they may still have it; if they fought, it would be brave but hopeless. He tried not to think of Catherine, there had been hope once before but there was always a price. He conceded, his hackles went down and his fur smoothed. The others followed his direction and when all who were there understood the decision, Galeren changed and stood unmoving as the black wolf became the human form of his hated foe.

De Floyran grinned from ear to ear as he locked eyes with Galeren, his smug countenance purposely reminding Galeren of what he had taken. There was a moment when Galeren wanted to foreswear hope, lunge forward and rip out De Floyran's throat with his bare hands. But instead he raised them in the act of surrender and said:

"Take us down."

It was of no surprise to Galeren that he had been separated from the others. He was sure that De Floyran meant to taunt him once again and so he had been put in what he surmised to be another torture room. The room was split in two, the back part of the room being separated from the front by iron bars and a gate. In the front portion of the room, there was a rack and a table upon which various instruments of torture had been purposefully arranged to cause distress to waiting prisoners.

Galeren sat behind the bars in the back of the room and waited for his tormentor to arrive. The dungeons of the keep were extensive and as he had been led to this room, he estimated that just over a hundred of his brethren were being kept here. So few surprised him, as he expected many more to be incarcerated here, but then again he hadn't expected forty of his brethren to turn against the Order and put pay to his rescue attempt. Perhaps they had been former prisoners of Chinon, willing to trade their allegiance for freedom.

His father and the other dignitaries were not here and Galeren suspected that they, and other Templars, were scattered about Paris. The information they had received from the spies was wrong and they had either been deliberately betrayed or their spies had not the chance to discover the truth. The door to the room opened and De Floyran entered, he carried a linen tunic which he shoved through the bars to Galeren who immediately stood up.

"For decency," he smiled as he looked over Galeren's naked form. "Well, here we are again, except this time there are no fair maidens whose virtue I am willing to besmirch for your freedom." He licked his lips as if savouring a taste and pulled a chair from the corner of the room. Swivelling it round, he placed it in front of the bars and sat on it backwards.

"You really are predictable, Galeren. You should have stayed in Scotland." He lent forward on the chair teetering upon its two rickety legs.

"And leave things unfinished?" Galeren slipped the tunic over his head. "I came here to kill you De Floyran."

"I am flattered but you underestimated me."

"Those men won't stay loyal to you. It is only a matter of time. They will soon realise that your promise of wealth and purpose is empty. The King wants all Templars dead! He would never risk leaving an army of them under your command."

"You may be right but their purpose is practically served, now that I have you back where you belong. You are going to burn Galeren de Massard, along with your father and all your most beloved brothers. This thing is almost over. Some five hundred of your former servants have marched on the capital to rally for the Templar Knights defence. The papal commission is interested in what they have to say and wish to re-examine the retracted confessions of some, who did not adhere to your father's advice and return to their original confessions.

The King is furious but he has found a way to see his will done. Relapsed heretics are burnt at the stake. I already have your signed confession and retraction, falsified of course but that's just between you and me." De Floyran smiled maliciously. "The defence will soon disperse when the fires are lit."

Galeren shook his head. "Clement may be weak but while the papal commission still investigates these ridiculous charges, he will never allow it."

"It will happen without Clement's knowledge and you'll be ashes before he can stop it. Don't think you'll be the first. I've been burning Templars for the last two years."

Galeren's cool demeanour crumbled and he shook his head in denial. "You're lying, it's not possible!"

"The papacy has no idea what has been going on within walled baileys across the country. How do you think I amassed my army?" He smiled as he saw Galeren's composure disintegrate. "They were offered a choice, those undecided watched the loyal and resolute burn alive. I thought Catherine would have told you." De Floyran chuckled, "I hope it didn't upset her too much. It was a harrowing sight, even for someone as hardened to violence as me."

Galeren lunged forward trying to grab De Floyran whose position was just inches from his reach.

"You are far too emotional. I would concentrate on your own fate, their agony is over but yours is yet to come."

"Where is my father?" Galeren screamed.

"I had him and the other masters moved to Gisors. It was partly precautionary, in case I underestimated you, but I needn't have bothered. It was also to give De Nogaret something to do. He has become particularly irksome since you injured him. I promised that I'd let him break your leg in retribution for his own."

"I'd like to see him try." Galeren snarled.

"So would I," De Floyran laughed, as if he were sharing a joke with an old friend. He stood suddenly and moved the chair aside. "I would stay and talk further but I have to get back to Gisors, I am expecting someone." He turned and smiled provocatively. Galeren backed away from the bars and felt an old dread return.

"Don't you want to know who?" De Floyran continued in the same vein.

"If you think to taunt me with Catherine, then save your breath. I know where she is and with whom." Galeren said, trying to believe his own confidence in the fact.

"Then you would once again be mistaken. Catherine is on her way to Gisors under the escort of Raymond Caradas."

"No," Galeren shook his head. "You lie to provoke me. She is safely at Maryculter under the watchful eye of Le Roux."

"Wrong." De Floyran said assuredly. "We both know how wilful and disobedient Catherine is. 'Tis part of her allure. She is also far too trusting. Raymond went to convince her that, upon seeing his brethren burnt at the stake, he had a change of heart. He has told her of my trap and that like the others you face a fiery death. She comes with Raymond because she thinks to save you."

"No!" Galeren screamed. "She would never trust Caradas!" but his heart told him that she would need little excuse to rush to France to his aid.

"Raymond is very convincing, no less because he did find the burnings difficult to stomach and Catherine is in love. Fools rush in, Galeren. But trust that I will take good care of her. I have missed her and have longed for our reunion, which is well overdue." He smiled slowly, as he watched Galeren's expression become stricken and added as an afterthought,

"Yes, we have not spoken since the night of your exit from Montlhéry. My time with Catherine was most pleasing, even if it only amounted to one night. I certainly made the most of it and no matter what she told you, I can assure you that the pleasure was not all mine. I know she fought it to begin with, but our bond made her body betray you."

Galeren could not prevent his change, his emotion and agony at the thought took over his senses. The white wolf charged at the bars and battered against them. His muzzle and gnashing teeth thrust through them in a wretched attempt to get at his tormentor. He drew back and charged at the bars again and again until his muzzle bled and his forehead tore. De Floyran watched the fruitless attack, knowing that it was the only way Galeren could deal with his torment.

He shook his head and sighed as he left the room. "I'll have to get you another tunic now."

7th April 1310, Gisors

"I thought we were going to Chinon?" Catherine said, as they entered the town of Gisors and made their way towards the château. She may not have been a native of France but she had gleaned enough information from Galeren to know that Chinon was in the Loire valley and that they were still in Normandy.

"We have to stop at Gisors first Catherine. We need supplies and –"

"We are wolves we have no need for supplies," she cut him off. "This is a waste of time."

"We need men, Catherine." He drew rein and turned in his saddle towards her. "There are those here that are loyal to the Order. Going to Chinon alone would be a fool's errand. De Floyran's men are everywhere."

She nodded reluctantly and urged her horse onwards. During the journey to France with Caradas, Catherine had learned in explicit detail of De Floyran's recruitment methods and of De Nogaret and the King's plans to burn Templars that they considered relapsed. She knew that De Floyran had some seventy men at his command and that Galeren and the others had walked into a trap. She had trusted Caradas thus far but she was wary about entering the château at Gisors with him, all the while she was in the open she had chance to escape, but once inside she was trapped.

Nevertheless, as before she had no choice but to trust him and catching her horse up to his, they entered the château bailey together. Catherine's heartbeat quickened as they approach the keep and she saw that the bailey was full of men and that most of them were werewolves. She kept her head and tried to remain confident, but her resolve failed when she saw Armin de Merle leave a group of men he was conversing with and approach them with a broad smile on his face.

"We thought you'd abandoned us!" he said jovially, as he took hold of the reins of Catherine's horse. Her heart pounded in her chest and her stomach turned.

"Just on a little personal business of De Floyran's." Caradas said casually, as he dismounted.

" _Raymond!_ " Catherine whispered with urgency in her voice, hoping that he would give her some reassuring sign that this was part of some façade.

"Shut up!" he said viciously, his tone was suddenly brutal and unrecognisable from what it had been the last few days. Catherine's pupils dilated and Caradas quickly grabbed her out of the saddle to prevent her change. She screamed and struggled with him but he was in no mood for her resistance and struck her hard in the face. The blow was not sufficient to knock her out, but it was enough to stun her and render her senseless.

"Oooh, better not let De Floyran find out you hit his _mate_." De Merle teased.

"She fell!" Caradas said and joined his comrade in laughter as it bellowed out across the bailey. Caradas swept Catherine off the ground and throwing her over his shoulder he started towards the château's entrance.

"She believed you then?" De Merle said, though the answer was obvious.

"It was too easy." Caradas said dismissively. "Is the toad De Nogaret still here?" he asked.

"Christ yes," De Merle said and spat on the ground. "He limps around constantly badgering whoever he can on news from Chinon. It takes all my strength to prevent myself from throttling the bastard."

"Now, now," Caradas said but his tone was sardonic, "he is a cripple."

"I may hate De Massard, but at least he did us that service."

"De Floyran wouldn't have marked him anyway. He has never marked anyone before and let them live, except this one." Caradas said, slapping Catherine on the behind.

"And we can all see why. 'Tis a shame he is so possessive of her. I'd like a go."

"Be my guest but you would lose your balls. De Floyran would take you apart in small pieces. Better not risk it."

"Mmmm," De Merle mused.

"Speaking of wenches, are there any here?"

"Yes, but not of her standard." De Merle grumbled. "There are too many men to service. Even the whores in the town are stretched."

Caradas laughed as they mounted the stairs and entered the hallway. "Where does he want me to put her?"

"There is a secure room with no windows and a thick oak door. She is too good for a dungeon of course."

"Of course." Caradas agreed with a knowing smile.

"Come on, I'll show you." De Merle said, and led him down the hallway and then up a narrow flight of stairs that was just down from the main stairway. At the top, Caradas followed De Merle along the tapered passage to a doorway that was at the end of it. He turned the key in the lock and pushed the heavy door open.

"There you go. I'll go try and find some entertainment for a task well done." De Merle said, as he walked back down the passageway.

"Some good wine for a start!" Caradas called after him and then carried Catherine through the doorway. The windowless room was dark but appeared comfortable enough. There was a bed against one of the walls that was covered in various furs and he carried his charge to it and lay her down.

Catherine blinked as she came to her senses and Caradas paused momentarily to look upon her. Her grey eyes met his golden brown ones and the despair in them gripped him. She raised her hand to wipe the blood that trickled from her mouth and said:

"Raymond, don't do this. You may have come to entrap me but I felt your sentiment. 'Twas real anguish you felt at the stake. We can still help the others and save them from the same fate."

Lost momentarily, Caradas quickly came back to himself and shook his head. "It is too late in the day for me to change. I was born to murder," he said, "'tis my very nature." He stood and looked down at her.

"Please Raymond, help me," she said softly, "I beseech you."

"I am sorry," he whispered as he left the room and it was perhaps the most genuine thing he had ever said in his life.

"This is fucked," Richard de Gosbeck grumbled, as he paced the length of the communal dungeon he and the others had been put in.

"Don't you mean _we're_ fucked?" Gerard pointed out.

"How come we didn't know about this . . . this army of De Floyran's?" Richard continued perplexed.

"It's not like the old days Richard, our spies were once incomparable. It's all out in the open now. The information we received was vague at best, besides human spies cannot tell the difference between man and werewolf. They don't even know we exist, for Christ's sake!"

"Still," Richard growled, "we're better than this, it was a trap and we leapt straight into it!"

"Most of the guards here are of our kind." One of the other prisoners said. "The human guards you killed were merely pawns to draw you in."

"So much for our rescue attempt," Richard spat angrily.

"Your attempt is appreciated, nonetheless." The prisoner said.

"Are all these men really loyal to De Floyran?" Gerard asked. "What the hell happened?"

They all listened, as the young Templar prisoner explained in detail De Floyran's brutal recruitment tactics to them.

"I understand their motivation," Parsifal reasoned, "I'd agree to anything to save myself from the stake. But it would merely be pretence. Last night they could have turned on De Floyran, like Galeren said their freedom was there waiting for them. There was nothing for them to fear, but they chose to betray us and they were happy to."

"Not all Templars are saints, I think we know that. De Floyran rooted out all the rotten apples. The burnings were part of his sadistic pleasure and a way of getting rid of a good number of us under the Pope's nose. Most who joined him wanted to, they didn't need the stake to persuade them."

"They can't all be against us!" Parsifal insisted.

"I imagine that there are some who aren't but with treachery and the threat of fire abound, those few _are_ probably too afraid to break the pretence when they know not who to trust."

"They can trust us!" Richard said. "We only need one to open the gate, and heaven help those with the stench of De Floyran on their hides, for brethren or not, traitors will feel my teeth or sword!"

Parsifal sighed, "I wonder what they've done with Galeren."

"De Floyran is probably giving him a good beating." Richard remarked but added when he saw Parsifal frown with concern. "Don't worry, Galeren can take care of himself, besides I am sure De Floyran has a more gruesome end planned for us all."

"Is there a way out of this Gerard?" Parsifal asked, the frustration was evident on his young face.

"I don't know, but it is not our nature to give up hope. Templars have been in tight spots before and have managed to get themselves out of them. Look for opportunity and take it, no matter what the risk."

Gerard said this with a stout heart, but with a garrison of traitorous werewolves guarding them, he realised that they were actually in a very deep hole rather than a tight spot.

### Chapter Thirty Three

11th April 1310, Château de Gisors

Raymond gulped his wine down, hoping it would dull his senses as he was forced to listen to De Merle once again chatter enthusiastically about the merits and skills of some whore whom he'd frequented while Raymond had been on his mission to Scotland. Raymond smiled and grunted at the appropriate times but found his thoughts drifting unwillingly back to Catherine. His undertaking had required him to be changed and repentant. He had, therefore, been obligated to practice chivalry in her presence in order to maintain the charade, something that was foreign to him. It had worked, she had trusted him and he had become honourable, even though he knew it was a sham.

He'd participated in the rape and murder of countless women in his time with De Floyran and knew he should not give a care to the fact that he had tricked and betrayed this one. But since the burnings, he found his brutal resolve _had_ been shaken and he wondered if there was a way back for him. Though he had gone to trap Catherine and deliver her into De Floyran's hands, he'd found himself almost wanting to believe that his concern and repentance was genuine.

He had never been in the company of a woman in such a way before. Most whom he had encountered had either been whores or hapless victims and his intentions towards them always base and lust driven. But the pantomime that he had recently engaged in had forced him to dig deep into his simple nature and practice humour and kindness. As he tuned in and out of De Merle's conversation, the basis of which involved descriptions of various crude sexual acts, he found his countenance sadden and felt a profound loss; loss of his former self. How simple things had been before conscience found him.

"Oh Christ!" De Merle cursed, splattering wine in Raymond's direction. "It's the cripple."

Raymond looked up to see De Nogaret limp into the main hall. It was supper and the hall consisted mostly of De Floyran's men but there were also regular men from the garrison of the château, though they kept themselves apart from the boisterous and arrogant ex-Templars.

Raymond had been here for several days now and had managed to avoid being trapped in conversation with De Nogaret by making himself appear busier than he actually was. In truth, he had been wrestling with his newly discovered conscience and found himself often seeking solitude, where he slipped deep into thought. Strangely, now he was back with his comrades he felt that he was performing a new charade; one to ensure they didn't sense a change in him. No one would expect him to change, but nevertheless he found himself being mindful of his actions and conversation. Werewolves were as adept at perceiving change in thought, mood, and character as they were at distinguishing different scents and emotions.

He had exchanged few words with De Nogaret since his return but seeing as he was heading straight towards them and food was only now being placed on the dais table, he knew that this time he would have to endure the wretched councillor's company.

De Nogaret's usually gaunt and sickly face had a healthy glow and he was smiling as he lurched up to the table.

"He has him!" he said voraciously.

"Elaborate De Nogaret," De Merle said, refilling his wine cup and that of Raymond's.

"De Massard and several others, including Gerard de Villiers. They are in the dungeons of Chinon!" he paused and pinched his nose briefly as if in discomfort.

"Are you well?" De Merle said.

"Yes, yes." De Nogaret replied. "Some wine would be well met."

"Of course," De Merle said and rolled his eyes at Raymond as he reached for an empty cup and filled it.

"Ahhhh," De Nogaret said after he'd taken a sip and pulled out a chair to sit opposite Raymond and De Merle. "'Tis good news, is it not?" he beamed as he sat down.

"Aye," De Merle grumbled, "it means we can burn them and get on with enjoying our spoils. I am sick of this waiting and watching."

"De Floyran is returning here as we speak, just a day behind the messenger. I am sure he is keen to get back to his prize and honour his promise to me."

"Mmm," De Merle said resentfully, "his prize. It annoys me how he covets Galeren's bitch. She should be for the use of all his enemies."

"I agree," De Nogaret said zealously, licking his lips.

"You've said nothing Raymond." De Merle said, turning to his friend with a curious look on his face. "What do you think?" he prompted.

Raymond pinched the bridge of his nose, mirroring the action that he'd seen De Nogaret perform several times since his arrival.

"I have a bad head. I need some air." He stood and made to leave.

"But you haven't eaten!" De Merle said.

"Later," Raymond growled and strode quickly from the hall. De Merle watched him with a bemused and slightly disgruntled expression.

"Something is up his arse." De Merle said frowning. "He is acting strangely."

"Perhaps he too is keen to get back to the way things were. These past years have been frustrating for all of us. However, now we can all look forward to enjoying our rewards." De Nogaret said, his excitement was barely containable and he had an optimism that he had not felt since before Galeren broke his leg. De Floyran had made a promise to him and now that needed to be honoured. He would become one of them and he hoped that he would be born anew and that all his complaints would soon leave him.

"You may be right there." De Merle said and then shrugged. "More wine and food for us then!" he poured them both another cup and chipped his against De Nogaret's as he realised that he now had a new ear and one that was perhaps more interested.

"Have you been to the tavern called la Sirène in the village yet?" he began again his tale of debauchery.

Raymond's head was aching, not with physical pain but instead with opposing thoughts that were vexing. He left the château and walked briskly through the town. It was dark but he carried on until he had left it behind him and was under the cover of forest, only then did he remove his clothing and change.

He then ran, and ran and ran and ran trying to recapture his old rhythm, but it was gone. De Floyran was returning and as De Nogaret had said, he would claim his prize and then more of his brethren would burn in the King's fires. He must have lost his self, he thought, because he couldn't allow it, any of it. Was it just witnessing the burning and suffering of his kind that had given him a conscience? Was it the valour of Catherine, and the love she had for her mate and the brotherhood she had only just joined? What he had said to her was true, it was too late for him to join the ranks of the just and the bold. He knew that even if he acted honourably, he could never come back from all the evil he had done. Like a catholic in purgatory, he would instead linger in a netherworld of neither good nor evil. But, he reasoned, at least he would no longer be in hell. He stopped and gathering his nerve returned to where he had come from, with his decision finally made. He had already been a traitor and now would be one once again.

Catherine awoke and groaned as her reality closed in on her. Her dreams had been light and pleasant, though now in waking thought she could not recall them. She had been a fool to trust Raymond Caradas. With a history so violent and pitiless how could she have believed that there had come a limit to it? His sentiment had seemed genuine but she still should have been more cautious. Her concern for Galeren and the others had made her forego good sense and she had rushed recklessly to her doom. Now it looked like none would be saved. She sat up as she sensed someone's approach and knew that it was her betrayer. She quickly slipped off her linen gown, changed and crouched in the darkness waiting for the opportunity to alter the chain of events.

He who approached stopped outside the door and all was silent for a moment. The key in the lock turned and the door handle slowly moved and then there was silence again. She heard movement suddenly and rustling and then the door swung open very slowly. No man entered, but instead another wolf. It was indeed Caradas but he must have been mindful of her intent. She pounced nevertheless, but he was ready for her and his strength and experience prevailed. He dropped, rolled and kicked out with his back legs catching her in mid flight, winding her. Catherine cried out in shock as he got on his feet and leapt upon her.

_You were right!_ he said, as he fought to still her. _Give me another chance_.

_How can I trust you?_ she struggled beneath him.

_How can you not?_ he countered. _You have no choice but to. De Floyran is on his way back here and once he has returned no one will be allowed near you. Galeren and the others are imprisoned in Chinon. I offer what I did before. I will take you to Chinon and we will get them out. Think about it, you are trapped here, why would I offer you this option now?_

_To taunt me, to give me hope and then take it away!_ she screamed in his head. He stared into her wild eyes and then nodding, he released her.

_If you believe that, then kill me_. He said backing away. _Do what you planned to do when I entered_.

Catherine got to her feet and looked at him, her eyes still glowered but her hackles lowered. _I don't know what to believe anymore_ , she said miserably.

_I am sorry_. He offered. _I have known only cruelty and selfishness for all of my thirty four wretched years. It is difficult to change what is engrained in your nature. Could you become cruel and merciless when for all your life you have been kind and compassionate?_

_I could_. She answered assuredly. _Towards you and your comrades. I could kill you and think nothing of it. I would be glad of it, proud of it, when you have threatened all that I love._ She sighed _. I witnessed Galeren slay five men on a country road because they wanted to hurt me. Was it wrong?_ she asked rhetorically. _I did not understand love then and was shocked at his ferocity, but now I do_.

' _Tis different_. Raymond said. _I think you would kill me to protect and defend that which you love, but you would not practice cruelty and torment. The path of evil is not one you can easily return from. I will never be able to be purged of my sins or find excuse for them. As it is I do this because I cannot let my race be destroyed by the scourge of humanity. There must be a thread of my soul that connects me to them and it became wound tight when I saw them burn. I do not ask for forgiveness and expect to lose my throat the moment Galeren is free, but at least . . ._ He did not finish but instead shook his head. _My fate belongs to you_.

Catherine nodded. _So what is next?_ she asked. She would practice caution in her trust of him, but she had been right about his sentiment.

_We must make haste. De Floyran is but a day behind the messenger he sent. I have to get you out of here and then to Chinon. I am one of De Floyran's most trusted men. There are over one hundred of us imprisoned in Chinon and with that force De Floyran's army will be outnumbered. It is then up to Galeren and the others but I imagine they will descend on the dungeons of the Paris Temple and then to here_.

Catherine went to the bed and finding her gown on the floor she changed and slipped back into it.

"Then let's go." She said.

_Sshhhh_ , Raymond cautioned, as he raised his nose and sniffed the air. He changed and went swiftly to the door. Shaking his head he opened it, to reveal De Nogaret stood on the other side.

"What are you doing here?" Raymond demanded angrily.

"I heard voices and thought . . . " he broke off and his eyes widened as he took in the sight of Raymond's appearance.

"Voices from where? Down the bottom of the stairwell?" Raymond challenged, frowning doubtingly. "You have no reason to be up here unless you were planning on mischief, but you are a fool if you think you could mess with this lass, she would tear your head off!" he snarled but then realised from the look on De Nogaret's face that it was his own presence here, and in what manner, that now was in question.

"What are _you_ doing here?" De Nogaret said, looking through the gap in the doorway to see Catherine. He was no fool and he could see that she was not in any distress and he very much doubted that this was a tender tryst between them. De Merle had aired his concern about Raymond's strange behaviour and his presence here could only mean one thing.

Raymond caught the flicker of understanding in De Nogaret's eyes and seeing that he was about to scream out for help at the top of his lungs, he promptly slammed his elbow into the councillor's nose and dragged him inside the room. De Nogaret's nose exploded and his scream was muffled by the amount of blood that entered his mouth.

"Christ, I've wanted to do that since I met you!" Raymond spat as he threw De Nogaret onto the floor.

"What are we going to do with him?" Catherine asked, as De Nogaret writhed at her feet.

"There," Raymond said rushing to the bed. He ripped the linen sheet from the mattress and began to tear it into sheds. First, he gagged De Nogaret as he tried to protest through a mouthful of blood and then adeptly hamfasted him. De Nogaret attempted a muffled scream as Raymond wound the linen tightly around his ankles and yanked both of them upwards, winding the bindings around each of his thighs. He then pulled his arms behind him and in turn tied his wrists to each of his ankles which were now bound to their respective thighs. De Nogaret now lay with his wrists bound behind him, lashed to his ankles with his heels against his buttocks.

"You can't leave him gagged. His nose is broken; he won't be able to breathe."

"You see," Raymond pointed out, "compassion, you can't help it. This is the man who wrote the indictment against us, he relishes the thought of burning Galeren and the others. If he drowns in his own blood, I care not. It is no more than he deserves."

Catherine nodded and turning from the hamfasted councillor, she followed Raymond to the chamber door.

"Better grab your cloak. You are far too conspicuous like that." He remarked. Catherine quickly grabbed her black woollen cloak, threw it round her shoulders and pulled the hood over her head. Raymond nodded approvingly and leaving the room, she closed the door behind her and turned the key in the lock.

"Get ready for fight or flight if this doesn't work." Raymond said, as he gathered his clothes and redressed.

The château appeared deathly quiet now, deep as it was into the night. The passageways were dimly lit, the torches were burning low and their greasy scent made Catherine's stomach lurch, but she wondered whether that was just her nerves. As they made their way to the bailey, the odd servant crossed their path. Fortunately, none were aware that Catherine was of any importance or that De Nogaret was hamfasted in the very room where she was supposed to be imprisoned. They merely glanced in interest as they saw Raymond and the young woman pass by. It was De Merle and the likes that Raymond hoped they did not encounter. They moved swiftly across the bailey and to the stables, where Raymond quickly saddled up one of the stallions. He pulled Catherine up into the saddle behind him and rode towards the gate.

"This one's long overdue home!" Raymond said, winking to the watch guard who approached them.

The guard cast his eyes over Catherine briefly and nodded in understanding. Yawning, he motioned to the others on duty at the gate who began to open it in a leisurely fashion. Casually Raymond trotted out the château bailey and down the road. When they were out of the town, they left the road and went into the forest. There they abandoned the horse and changed knowing that both their speed and stamina outmatched that of the stallion and with time against them, they wasted none of it.

12th April 1310, Chinon

When they reached Chinon, dawn had just broken and Catherine was opposed to Raymond's suggestion that they wait until night fell again before they entered the château. But she soon accepted his decision; if rescue was to be a success, then it would need to be conducted under the cover of darkness when the château was asleep but for a few watch guards. Though he did not doubt those within would soon awaken when the commotion ensued, it was better to surprise them when most were abed. In any case, he needed to get both himself and Catherine some suitable attire and obtain another horse. Raymond was experienced in such matters, having often found himself in need of both at awkward times and they would have to enter the château as humans. He was still De Floyran's man and once he took his "prisoner" to the dungeons, freeing the others was just a matter for course.

And so it was. With patience that was difficult for Catherine to maintain, they waited for the witching hour to arrive. Their clothing was plain and the horse he'd stolen was less than what was expected of a knight of Raymond's standing but he would be recognised nonetheless and admitted inside on that factor alone. They rode towards the Château de Chinon and on approach Raymond spurred the mare into a healthy gallop as they approached the postern gate.

"Come on! Open up!" Raymond screamed, making himself sound angry. The guards, all werewolves, were well known to him and so his new charade began.

"Sir Raymond," Guy de Lance looked down from the battlements. "What is the trouble?" he asked as he gestured for the gate to be opened.

"No trouble now that I'm here," Raymond replied gruffly, shaking his head as if at wits end. He rode purposefully through the gate and into the large bailey. He dismounted and shoved the reins of his horse into the hands of the groom that rushed to aid him. He then pulled Catherine out of the saddle and held her fast. She struggled against him, but this time, knowing their plan, she was merely helping to authenticate the farce.

"It may be a grim task, but I ask you to go and rouse De Floyran if he is asleep. I have battled with this hellcat since Scotland and am only too eager to rid myself of _his_ prize. I lost my horse and armour thanks to her antics. Now quick to it! I need to rest my beaten bones."

"De Floyran is not here," Guy de Lance said.

"Not here!" Raymond bellowed in surprise.

"Nay, he left yesterday, in the afternoon."

"Where to?"

"Gisors, he expects you there I am sure."

"No, he said to bring her here. Why has he left for Gisors . . . unless . . ." he broke off as if in thought, "Galeren de Massard, is he here?"

"Aye," Guy replied smiling. "The night before last they came. It was quite something. De Villiers and several others were with him. Not a drop of blood was spilt, well except that of the human guards De Floyran sent to dupe them." He laughed.

"Good," Raymond grinned, "good, but damn it! I had hoped this trial was over." He said shaking Catherine. "I will have to follow him tomorrow, at least after I have fed and rested some."

"Of course," De Lance agreed, looking over Catherine whose grubby face and dishevelled appearance was in keeping with one who had put up a relentless fight. "Where do you want to put her?"

"Out of my sight!" Raymond answered, "at least until the morrow. A night in a dungeon may cool her hot blood."

"I'll see to it."

Raymond clucked his tongue and raised his finger. "She is stronger than she looks. Best let the responsibility be mine. Believe me, I would like nothing better than to give her the hiding she deserves but De Floyran would have my guts for garters, that much he values her. Christ knows why! I'll see her secure before I take rest. If you will take me to the dungeons," Raymond prompted.

"Mmm," Guy mused, not wishing to become embroiled in something that he might live to regret. "As you wish, follow me."

Raymond squeezed Catherine's arm encouragingly and pushed her forwards, following Guy as he sloped across the bailey and led them through the adjoining courtyard towards the Fort du Coudray. With each step closer to the dungeon keep, Catherine could sense Galeren and that he was alive. She had never been filled with such hope or fear in all of her life. She was just moments away from freeing him and the others.

Raymond pushed her onward, roughly and in character and Guy kept looking back at her, with eyes full of suspicion and curiosity. Catherine fixed him with a scathing gaze in return and this was not part of the farce, it was with genuine sentiment for one who had betrayed his brethren and had watched them burn.

As they approached the keep entrance, Guy stopped them and continued towards the guards on watch on his own, he spoke to both men motioning to Catherine and exchanged banter for a few moments. Raymond's grip tightened and Catherine could feel his anxiety. Guy laughed and then motioned for them to join him. The guards unlocked the thick set doors and admitted them into the keep. Raymond nodded courteously and noted that they handed Guy a ring of keys. They followed him onward and down a long passageway at the end of which was a large iron gate.

Catherine could smell the putrid aroma of the dungeon rise up to torment her senses. The memory of the horror of Montlhéry came back to her and with it the smell of death and torture. She let out a little cry of distress that was half false and half genuine. Guy fumbled with the keys and tried several until he found the right one. The lack of conversation made Raymond nervous so he yawned and mumbled some unintelligible curse. The gate opened and they descended a wide flight of stairs into the first level of the dungeon. There were many cells and each was full of men who stared out at them through hollow eyes.

"Their spirit is broken," Guy said callously. "Some of these men have been in dungeons for over two years now. You cannot cage a wolf and expect it to live for long, eh? It is the human spirit that hangs on to hope, 'tis why they languish. The lucky ones are those that are already dead."

"You think?" Raymond said, pushing Catherine away from him. Guy looked puzzled at the action and tilted his head at Raymond for explanation. Raymond just shook his head at him grimly.

"Guy, like me you chose the wrong path. I cannot help you or change what is about to happen, only to tell you that you should have held true."

" _What?_ " he said even more confused and looked back to where Catherine had been, but she was no longer there. It was too late, he fell down and a gurgle of a cry was uttered from his mouth, but with no throat it had no chance for escape.

"Quickly!" Raymond urged, as Catherine changed back and pulled the cloak from Guy's body to cover herself. They raced through the dungeon chamber, trying every key in every lock until it opened each cell door. Attempting to quell her impatience and growing concern, Catherine scanned the faces of the occupants of each cell desperately trying to find a familiar face. The freed Templars swiftly exited their abodes of incarceration and both dazed and overwhelmed they waited for the rest of their brothers to be freed. Raymond and Catherine raced down the next level of steps and into another dungeon room, where more cells and the faces of hapless prisoners met them.

" _Catherine!_ " an excited voice cried out. It was Parsifal and with joy Catherine grabbed Raymond's arm and pulled him over to the cell where the young knight now clung excitedly to the bars. Richard, Gerard and John St Clair joined him; the look on their faces was that of utter astonishment.

"He's here to help!" Catherine said, as she noted their expressions change to that of mistrust and loathing when they caught sight of her accomplice. He was well known to them and their concern was justified.

"Please trust him." She implored and then with urgency said, "where is Galeren?"

Parsifal embraced her as the cell door swung open. "He is here somewhere," Parsifal reassured her. "De Floyran took him somewhere. Come on." He looked around and saw a narrow passageway leading off to the left of the main dungeon room. Raymond joined them as they ran down it and entered yet another room.

"There!" Catherine said, pointing at the door of an enclosed room. Raymond searched on the ring of keys for the right one.

"Hurry!" Catherine cried impatiently, knowing that he was inside.

The key slipped into the lock and Raymond turned it. The door swung open and Catherine ran inside.

"Galeren!" she screamed, seeing the white wolf standing alert and pressed up against the bars of his cell. She saw the relief enter his blue eyes and grabbed the keys from Raymond.

"It'll be the same key." Raymond said and backed up as Galeren changed and glowered at him.

The door opened and Galeren grabbed Catherine in one arm, "Catherine you fool!" he cried.

His whole being was ready to explode with relief but the sight of Caradas filled him with trepidation. He knew nothing of his motives and could not be certain that this was not just another part of De Floyran's elaborate trap and an opportunity to cause more torment.

"What the fuck is going on?" he demanded. He looked at Parsifal who stood in the doorway and then back at Caradas.

"He helped me Galeren," Catherine said.

"He brought you here to give you to him. It is a trap!" Galeren said, but he sensed fear and passivity in Caradas.

"It was a trap but now he is here to help."

"She speaks the truth," Raymond said. "I will not waste time explaining, as we need to get out of here before we bring the whole château down on us. I know it is hard, but you have to just trust me."

"Trust him!" Parsifal said, nodding his head. Galeren shook his own still wary, finding it hard to accept but he knew that they wasted precious time floundering.

"Are the others free?" Galeren asked.

"Not quite," Raymond said and cautiously holding his hand out to Catherine he took the keys back from her. "We must hurry," he said and left the room.

"He is right." Catherine stressed and took Galeren's hand and led him from the room. In the main dungeon Galeren saw what he had hoped to see just days before, over a hundred brothers freed from their cells and ready to free others. He relaxed a little then and allowed himself to savour the sight. He nudged Catherine and shook his head at her.

"You are trouble, lady."

"Me?" she protested, "you are the one who is wont to getting himself into hopeless situations."

"We'll discuss this and your wilfulness later," he smiled at her briefly but his expression hardened as Raymond approached them. It was still too hard for him to trust him.

"It's done." Raymond said. "The next call is yours."

"Damn right it is." Galeren said with an edge of warning in his voice. Gerard, Richard and the others he'd come with moved to his side.

"Nothing like a bit of female intervention," Richard said heartily, grinning at Catherine.

"The goal remains the same." Galeren said, keeping his tone serious. "We still go to free the others." He looked at Raymond. "The Temple and Gisors are where they are being held. Is there anywhere else?" he demanded.

"That is it." Raymond answered. "It was convenient to keep everyone contained in only a few places for De Floyran's men to keep guard."

"His men include you," Galeren said angrily. "Don't dare to put yourself in our camp, traitor."

"I wouldn't be here if not for him." Catherine said, trying to pacify Galeren even though she understood his sentiment.

"I appreciate that, but he has caused the suffering of many and with great pleasure over countless years. I may be grateful for this act but you will always be my enemy and you are not beyond my wrath."

"Fine," Raymond said neutrally, "but first let me get you out of here."

"I agree," Gerard said hurriedly, "we can settle personal matters later when we are on less hostile ground."

"The doors of the keep are guarded and were locked behind us." Raymond continued, "I doubt they will open them for you." He looked at Galeren, raising his eyebrows.

"Understood," Galeren snarled, "but I will be right behind you and if I smell a hint of deception you will go down."

Raymond nodded and Galeren and Catherine followed close behind him, while Gerard and the rest of Galeren's troop briefed the other Templars of their plan. They retraced their steps and approached the doors of the keep.

"Better keep back," Raymond warned, "if they sense you, the doors will never be opened and we are not free until we are on the other side of them."

His point was valid but this was the very thing that concerned Galeren, they may be out of their cells but they were still within the dungeon. Could he trust a man that he had no reason to and with whom he shared a bitter history?

Raymond banged on the door. "We're done!" he shouted forcefully and with anticipation in each of their hearts they heard the key turn slowly in the door. Galeren pushed Catherine back against the wall out of the way. The door open and Raymond immediately wedged his boot into the opening to prevent it from closing.

"Now, to some well earned food and rest!" he said jovially passing through it.

"Where is Guy?" one of the guards asked, looking over Raymond's shoulder into the obscurity of the dungeon.

"Right here," Galeren said coming out of the darkness. He grabbed the curious guard by his throat and Raymond reached out for the other, but he was too swift and made his escape down the steps.

"Breach!" the guard screamed repeatedly, as he took flight across the bailey.

"Damn!" Galeren said as he broke the other guard's neck. "Let's go!" he yelled back into the dungeon keep. "Stay out of any trouble." He said to Catherine and then changed.

Catherine followed suit and watched as Raymond caught up with the fleeing guard. Both had also changed but Raymond had the upper hand. The tussle was brief and victorious for him but at that moment several other guards came spilling into the bailey to witness the assault. Four of them changed and raced towards Raymond while the other two retreated and cried out warnings of their own.

"The dungeons have been opened! The dungeons have been opened!!!"

_Help him!_ Catherine cried as the four wolves closed in on Raymond. Galeren was already on his way and slammed into one of them, they both hit the ground in a skid knocking the back legs out from under another. Catherine raced to join in the fray, ignoring Galeren's warning to stay out of it. Raymond had engaged the third and she found herself faced with the fourth, who raced forward and then paused momentarily to consider his challenger.

_A bitch_ , _this should be easy!_ he said, lowering his head ready to pounce. She cocked her head at him as if a little dumbfounded and unsure, but this was merely to give him the false security of an easy victory. He leapt, teeth bared and she stood as if frozen by fear until the last possible moment. She then dropped, rolled and reared up as he sailed over her head and sank her sharp teeth into the softness of his belly. She tore at him viciously and he howled and fell out of the air.

Catherine leapt, crushing his fallen body beneath her and then stood over him as he writhed with his innards spilling from his abdomen. Her bloody teeth snapped at him as she snarled. _Never underestimate a bitch_. She took his throat out and then looked up to see a mass of fur descending from the steps of the keep. Galeren skidded up to her, having dispatched his own two foes.

_I told you to stay out of it!_ he said looking over her angrily.

_You told me to stay out of any trouble, this was no trouble_. She said conceitedly. _We can discuss it later_.

_Impossible woman_ , he said shaking his head. But had no time to argue as more of De Floyran's army of werewolves descended into the bailey to meet them. Raymond backed up to join them and De Villiers, De Gosbeck, Parsifal and the others formed a wall ready to break the charge of the Templar traitors.

_Be careful_ , Galeren stressed to Catherine but she just nodded with her eyes fixed forward. He had obviously decided that ordering her to go to the back of the group or to stay out of it was pointless, for she would always disobey him. Therefore his words were heartfelt and she would do her best to heed them. For a moment a standoff ensued, with neither side knowing whether to make the first move. Galeren stepped forward, isolating himself from the others.

_You cannot possibly want this!_ he said looking about the group that stood before them. _I know you had little choice then but now you do have a choice. Let no more blood be spilt_.

_We have made our choice_ , one of them, Germain Otricourt said resolutely. _The Temple is finished; we know your foolish idealisms Galeren. All you offer is hardship and poverty. You think we will give up our status to live in the bushes with you. We wish to remain in rank and with comfort, wealth and the spoils of battle as we always have_.

_You are a fool if you think that this pretence will hold_. Galeren threw back at all of them. _Do you think the French King will let you live, he knows it would be too dangerous. You will be destroyed when your purpose is served and that is now brothers!_

_We have the word of De Floyran and he has assured us that the King wishes to keep his powerful army. Perhaps there are those amongst your group who would rather come to this side of the bailey!_ Germain said in the same confident vein.

Galeren shook his head _. If there are any among you who hold this deception against their nature then now is your chance to be free of it_.

There followed a deathly silence as Galeren once again surveyed the unmoving group willing some of them, any of them to break from the ranks and come to his side. It was still hard for him to stomach such betrayal and yet one had already broken ranks and it was a man he would have thought would rather die than join with him. He looked over to Raymond Caradas but then his head snapped back to the group when he heard the descent of one.

A young wolf moved forward. _I never wished this!_ he said, as he pushed through the others but they were his last words, for Germain Otricourt uttered the command and the others set about him.

_No!_ Catherine cried looking away in horror as the lone wolf was torn apart. Galeren curled his lip in disgust, _Kill or be killed. Then so be it!_ he said with fury and with no more hesitation or need for conversation he surged forward. With teeth bared and his eyes filled with savage determination, he initiated the assault. In sync, his group joined the charge and their enemies took the challenge and advanced against them.

The clash knocked Catherine onto her back, as bodies and gnashing teeth fell about her. She struggled to regain her feet and find a foe to fight but the mêlée was chaotic. Blood sprayed through the air, hitting her muzzle and blinding her vision. The sound of snapping jaws, tearing flesh and the guttural growls and painful yelps resounded in her sensitive ears, destroying her coherence. She turned in the confusion and suddenly felt teeth sinking into her hind quarter. She quickly turned to fend off her attacker but he pulled her down and towards him and she heard her flesh tear. Crippled by his bite, she tried to lunge forward and snap at his muzzle to make him release her, but he continued to drag her and she could not find the leverage to reach him.

Voices in her mind and cries confused her and she looked about the carnage to see if there was any she knew who would come to her aid. She clawed at the ground to stop him from dragging her but it served only to cause deeper lacerations to her flesh rather than to slow him down or render her free of him.

Get off her you bastard!

Relief flooded her as she saw Galeren upon her tormentor's back, his bloodied jaws clamped around his neck. She felt the release of her leg and then heard the chilling crack of bone as Galeren broke his neck with his mouth.

_Now do you understand why I asked you to stay out of it?_ he flashed her with a told-you-so look and then screamed. _Down!_

Catherine obeyed, ducking as a large wolf leapt over her and crashed into Galeren knocking him out of her sight and back into the madness of the fray.

_Galeren!_ she screamed as she searched for him in the mayhem. She felt another close beside her and bared her teeth as she made to bite the would-be assailant but drew back instantly as she recognised the wolf beside her.

_Let me help you out of this_ , Parsifal said.

_But Galeren_ , she protested.

_You are injured_ , he said. _You will help him better if you are out of harm's way. Galeren can take care of himself_.

Reluctantly and still searching for sight of her mate she allowed Parsifal to escort her away from the conflict and to a safe haven, in the lee of the keep steps.

_Now stay here and rest_ , he commanded.

Catherine watched Parsifal race back into the fight and was amazed at how much he had matured. She searched the bedlam that was before her and tried to find Galeren once again. She hated being helpless and useless but her badly torn leg meant that there would be no more battling for her, not on this day in any event.

The bailey was a scene of bloody slaughter. The wolves fought ferociously with each other, leaping upon one another with gnashing teeth and rolling in the dust of the courtyard. She could see the blood spray and hear the cries of agony and howls of vengeance as flesh tore and bone broke. It was so brutal she could not understand where the viciousness came from. Her senses told her that was unnatural for wolves to fight like this, and so the fighting was savage in a way that could only be described as human. She should not be surprised that werewolves would turn on each other, men did and even if they were in the same precious number as the race of werewolves were, they would still try to destroy each other. It was the human side of their nature that was at work now.

Bodies of wolves that had fallen were everywhere, but there were those of men too which was bewildering. Some human guards had rushed into the bailey, but upon seeing the madness that was unfolding, had just as quickly fled from it. She shook her head as if to regain her wits, as she saw that the numbers of men's bodies were beginning to outnumber those of the wolves. Then it hit her. The fallen in the bailey were all werewolves and they were changing back, in death, to their human form. She remembered Huguard Parry's fallen body doing the same after she had slain him. She suddenly saw a flash of white and focused on it to see Galeren.

Galeren looked about him to assess the damage. Some of De Floyran's men were beginning to disperse, realising that they were outnumbered and some had decided to switch sides.

' _Tis over_ , Galeren said to Parsifal as he ran over to join him. _Where is Catherine? Is she safe?_

_She is. She is in the lee of the steps. Despite her injury she did not wish to leave you_.

Galeren shook his head. _Only I could have the misfortune to have both a sergeant and a mate so reckless and wayward in their nature_.

_I call it luck_. Parsifal said _. Go to her or she'll do something rash_.

Galeren looked around the bailey to ensure that it was secure and then made his way over to where Catherine was hidden. She watched him pad through the carnage towards her, with his head held low and his eyes looking cautiously about him. His coat was drenched with blood and he looked like a hound from the deepest recesses of hell, but she could smell that the blood was not his. _Galeren!_ she cried with relief.

He nudged at her injured hind leg. _Christ Catherine! Could you be any more injured?_ he snapped irritably.

_I'm fine! Could you be any more sympathetic or pleased to see me?_ she retorted.

_You cannot imagine how pleased I am to see you, but as always we are reunited when a battle is about to break out. I thought Caradas was about to deliver you into the hands of De Floyran and I wanted nothing more than to die. I wish you would not be so reckless!_ he shook his head and then added, _but then where would I be without your recklessness?_

_Better_. She said praising his sentiment. _What now?_

_I need to get you out of here and then we need to go to Paris_.

_De Floyran will soon know what has happened. De Nogaret came upon Raymond and me as we made to escape_.

What became of him?

_Raymond broke his nose, gagged and hamfasted him_.

_Still alive then?_ Galeren noted, shaking his head. He looked around the bailey. _Come, we must tend to your wounds and those of others before we go to Paris_.

Slowly Catherine got to her feet and, with Galeren at her side, limped across the bailey to rejoin the others. Confident that they were not going to meet any further resistance they paused in thought momentarily for their fallen, and then helping the injured they began to make their way out of the château.

### Chapter Thirty Four

12th April 1310, Château de Gisors

De Floyran's suspicions were roused in the first instance when he entered the bailey at Gisors and found that neither Caradas nor De Nogaret were there to meet him. He expected Raymond to be long back from Scotland with his mission completed successfully and De Nogaret had never failed to greet him on his return, eager and hopeful as he ever was that he was about to obtain his greatest desire. Mayhap he was ill, which upon reflection was preferable, as it gave De Floyran yet another opportunity to delay bestowing the gift that he had no intention of bestowing.

But where was Raymond? They all knew that his arrival was imminent and he had expected a rapturous welcome after the news he had sent just a day before. Mind you, he had arrived a little later in the day then planned. He had dallied on his way back to Gisors and had sought to rid himself of any pent up fervour that may spoil his reunion with Catherine. A couple of enthusiastic whores at a tavern along the way had sated his rampant lust.

He relaxed as he saw Armin de Merle and Botolf Wardard emerge from the château entrance and hasten over to him.

"Better late than never!" De Floyran said derisively, as he slipped out of the saddle and flexed his hands. Only five men had accompanied him from Chinon and Armin raised his eyebrows curiously as he noted the fact.

"So few men?" he made comment.

De Floyran rubbed his jaw. "Our enemy is detained, or did you not get my message?"

"We did, but I thought you would not have left to chance the possibility that some may have lain in wait for you."

"Left to chance? I leave nothing to chance as well you should know. Obviously you do not know Galeren as I do. He is not wont to risk lives as I am. He came with a small troop, as I predicted. I have left the majority of men at Chinon to make sure his escape never comes to pass. These few were just for company on the journey." He swept his gaze around the bailey once again.

"Where is Raymond?" he snapped. "I expected him to be the first to greet me. I was expected, was I not?" an angry edge entered his voice.

"Indeed you were, Esquin. Our tardiness comes from the fact that I was looking for Raymond and Botolf was searching for De Nogaret. We could not locate either of them." De Merle shrugged, not sure what to say next.

De Floyran's eyes narrowed. "He did return with Catherine?" his voice was thick with menace and De Merle was thankful that his answer was the one that De Floyran wanted.

"Good." De Floyran said, his mood lightening. "He will have a good reason for his absence, I am sure." He paused for a moment and then said, "but where is our faithful councillor?"

"He has suffered from bouts of melancholy and illness but was not to be found in his bedchamber; at least he did not answer to my call." Boltolf said.

"Mmm," De Floyran mused but then shrugged unbothered.

"We have a fine feast prepared to welcome you back and celebrate your triumph." De Merle said jovially, changing the subject as De Floyran advanced towards them.

"Later," he said decisively. "I have something better to feast upon. Take me to Catherine. I will join you when I have satisfied a craving that I have been forced to curb for over two years."

"Of course, Esquin." De Merle said.

De Floyran's suspicions were roused in the second instance as they approached the door of Catherine's place of confinement, for he could not sense her presence and a feeling of intense foreboding struck him. He pushed De Merle aside and turning the key impatiently in the door, he swung it open and met the pathetic sight of De Nogaret hamfasted and unmoving on the floor of the room.

De Floyran fell to his knees, clenching his fists in the air as he cried out in indescribable rage. De Merle's heart sank, for he knew by the sight that greeted them, the reason that Raymond could not be found. He shuddered, for he also knew that those who were left behind and had allowed it to happen would bear the brunt of De Floyran's fury.

"Christ on the Cross!" De Merle cried out and ran to De Nogaret's side. The councillor was lifeless, his features a deathly white and De Merle immediately pulled the gag from his mouth. He shook De Nogaret and tried to wake him.

"Don't bother!" De Floyran screamed getting to his feet. "He is one less fool to hinder me!"

"But we need to know what happened?"

"Can you not guess?" De Floyran said, moving to De Nogaret's side. "He wanted Catherine, thought I would share her with him. I warned him! But it looks like he chanced his arm and my wrath. The stupid fuck forgot that she can flatten any human and by the looks of it, she has." He slammed his boot into the councillor's side viciously and to his surprise De Nogaret's eyes shot open and he gasped for breath as if drowning.

"You lack witted treacherous fuck! I told you to leave her alone! You will wish that she had finished you off when you taste what I have in store for you."

De Nogaret shook his head as he tried to come to his senses and protest his innocence through a mouth full of congealed blood.

"Raymond's probably gone after her, 'tis why we could not find him. I did not think to check here." De Merle offered innocently, though his heart told him that Raymond was somehow involved.

" _Nooooooooo!!_ " De Nogaret finally managed to expel. "Fools! It was not I! 'Twas your man Caradas! I tried to stop them. He has helped her to escape!"

De Floyran reached down and grabbed De Nogaret by his collar. "Liar! I know you wanted her."

"'Tis true," De Nogaret spluttered. "What man would not? But I would never betray your trust when there is so much you have to offer me. What madman would that make me, to do such on the eve of you delivering your promise to me? Think about it!"

De Floyran dropped him. He was right. De Nogaret may be a slimy toad but he would not risk De Floyran's wrath and jeopardise the gift he so desperately wanted. He turned and looked at De Merle.

"What think you of his accusation?"

De Merle shook his head, "I would not have thought it possible but –"

"But what?"

De Merle conceded, "Raymond has been here for days now and has been conspicuous by his absence. He has not been himself and has been distant and withdrawn."

De Floyran howled in anger and looked for something to strike. De Merle tried not to cower while De Nogaret writhed helplessly on the floor.

"When? When did this happen?" he demanded looking at De Nogaret.

"L . . . last night," De Nogaret spluttered.

"When last night?" De Floyran screamed impatiently.

"Not long after supper." De Nogaret managed, struggling for breath.

De Floyran turned from them both and dug his nails into the palms of his hand until blood was drawn.

"Do you know what this means?" he turned back to them with his teeth exposed in a demonic expression. De Merle knew alright, but he was not about to utter it.

"Do you know what this means?" De Floyran bellowed again, his face becoming even more maleficent.

De Merle sunk to his knees submissively and said in almost a whisper, "no, my lord."

"Don't be such a coward Armin! Answer my question!"

"They have gone to Chinon to free the others."

"Yeeeessssss!" he screamed and kicked him square in the face. "And you fucking let it happen!"

De Merle took the blow but remained on his knees in order to receive another should it be served. He knew weakness was what De Floyran despised the most, this way he would take a beating but if he fell then De Floyran would kill him. The second blow did not come. De Floyran turned his back on him and De Nogaret and folded his arms. Silence ensued and then, after what seemed to be an eternity, De Floyran turned back to them.

"I will have that feast now."

De Merle looked at him in shock. "Should we not go after them?"

"It is too late you idiot! Dusk has fallen. They will be making ready to strike. There is no way to stop them. Raymond will be granted entry to the fort and he will betray us."

He was still surprised at the treachery of his old friend and would have more readily accepted that it was De Nogaret's unchecked desire that had led to Catherine's escape. He'd have preferred it also. Catherine would have poor chance of getting into Chinon alone, but if Raymond had turned against him then entrance would be easy.

Raymond had only once given him cause for concern and that was at the first Templar burnings at Beynac. Since then he appeared to be the same old Raymond and De Floyran had thought nothing more of it. He must have hidden his feelings well or been battling with his demons. He had still brought Catherine here, but maybe she had gotten to him. Christ knows there was something about her. De Floyran now realised that his obsession with her may have been his folly.

"I will eat and drink and try to figure a way out of this mess. I don't want the men to know, not yet. Only tell Boltolf and come and join me in the hall when you've untied _him_." He motioned with an air of disgust towards De Nogaret and then swiftly left the room.

Waiting until De Floyran had gone De Merle crawled over to De Nogaret and began to untie him.

"Careful you dolt, I am in agony. I could barely breathe this night past. If you had not come in just now I am sure I would not have made it."

"Shut up!" De Merle said angrily. "Christ, how did this happen? How could this happen?"

"I was suspicious of Raymond, so I followed him." De Nogaret quickly thought up the lie.

In truth he _had_ been curious about Catherine and had gone to the room where she was being kept. He wouldn't have touched her; he had just wanted to see her fine features again and innocent allure. Thank the Lord he had not been successful, for he had in fact forgot that being a werewolf herself made her dangerous to any human. As it was Raymond had gotten there first and despite his ordeal he was, at least, still alive. De Floyran may be incensed now, but he would soon see merit of his faith when he explained his attempts to thwart their escape.

"I heard voices and tried to raise the alarm but was discovered, beaten and left for dead."

"Well, now we are all in the shit. If they are successful everything could unravel. Imagine the King's wrath? If De Floyran thinks he will lose everything he has strived for, believe me we will all pay dearly."

He pulled De Nogaret onto his feet and the councillor whimpered. "Keep your pain to yourself, if you want De Floyran's favour." He warned as he helped the councillor along. "We are all perilously close to death; do not give him a reason to deal it out."

****

Deep in the forest and far from the château and Chinon the wolves regrouped and tried to figure out a strategy.

"We need not all go to the Temple." Richard de Gosbeck said. "There is that many of us now, we can split up and do more damage that way." He grinned.

"It is a good idea," Raymond Caradas said. "De Floyran's men were just over seventy in number and we have already dispatched nearly forty of them."

"No one asked you!" Galeren spat vehemently. "I do not ask for or need your advice, betrayer of betrayers. The only reason you still stand is because Catherine has asked me to spare you and I honour her request, but that does not mean I have to stomach the sight of you, now fuck off out of it."

Raymond hesitated for a moment. Richard folded his arms and inflated his chest before he said, "Catherine has not asked me to honour any such request." He stared coldly at Raymond who nodded slowly and then left the group.

"Watch him Parsifal," Galeren commanded. "I don't like the bastard anywhere near her; make sure he keeps his distance."

Parsifal nodded and casually followed after him. Satisfied, Galeren turned back to the group.

"It is likely that when he discovers what has happened, De Floyran will concentrate his forces at Gisors, as this is where the masters are being kept. But even with half our number here, he will still be outnumbered. I propose that fifty of us go to the Temple and free those that are there and perhaps seek out any others that may be scattered about Paris. Caradas reckons that there aren't but maybe someone at the Temple knows differently. Better to be safe than sorry. The rest of us will go to Gisors. We will leave the King with nothing. Enough have already suffered; I want none left in his grasp."

"What about the injured?" De Villiers asked.

Galeren looked round and sighed, "They will have to stay here and rest up. They have done enough. They can make their ways to Scotland if they so wish, or wherever their future calls them. They are free now."

Later, Galeren sought out Catherine and found her resting against a tree, thankfully in the company of Parsifal. He was crouched next to her and they laughed and chatted happily together. Galeren watched for a while noting how much Parsifal had matured in just the last few weeks. He felt no threat or jealousy towards their companionship as their fondness was akin to that between a brother and sister.

Nevertheless, he cleared his throat to announce his presence and Parsifal looked up and then tactfully made himself scarce as Galeren approached. It was amazing to Catherine that the men were happy to stand around discussing matters of great importance, conducting themselves confidently, whilst being completely naked. She was not about to do the same, and was sure that Galeren would not encourage her to walk amongst so many men without a stitch on. As it was, she was covered by a blanket that Parsifal had scrounged from somewhere and she looked up and beamed a smile at Galeren as he folded his arms and towered over her.

"Is something on your mind, my lord?" she said innocently.

"Yes. You, as a matter of fact," he said and crouched down. He gently grabbed the ankle of her left leg and pushed back the blanket to inspect her injury.

"I know not what to do about your wilfulness."

"I'm afraid you are going to have to live with it." She said boldly.

"I expected such an answer." He growled softly and covered her leg up but retained control of her ankle. "You will be the death of me."

"I think not. I may have been foolish to trust Raymond initially but in the end it paid off."

"Yes, fortunately for all of us."

"Galeren, you can no more expect me to stay and fret in safety and leave those I love to their fate than anyone expects you to. If I am reckless then we are alike and perhaps it is that which attracted you to me in the first place."

"'Twas not that I can assure you," he smiled, rubbing her ankle gently with his thumb.

"Don't you dare say that I have to stay here while you go on to Gisors?"

"That is exactly what I am going to say and it is only because your injury will be a hindrance."

"A valid excuse for once," she agreed.

"You mean you will stay without a fuss?" Galeren asked, daring to hope that she would comply for a change.

"No," she replied. "I merely recognise that it is a valid reason, only I will be ready to travel by the time you are prepared to leave and fully recovered by the time we reach Gisors."

Galeren sighed but experience told him that it would be fruitless to argue. "Very well but you had better be ready before dawn for that is when we will be leaving." He sat down next to her and pulled the blanket over both of them and then drew her into his arms.

"Now get your rest trouble." He said and was asleep and snoring before she had time to think of a clever reply.

****

De Floyran ate in silence, his eyes dark and deep in thought. Botolf, Armin and Guillaume all sat with him and shared his silence, thinking hard themselves of a good idea just in case he called upon them to suggest one. He did.

"Come on then," he suddenly said, "let's hear your suggestions." His eyes darted from one to the other expectantly.

"We should move the masters." Armin de Merle said.

"Not necessary." De Floyran said.

"But they will come here for them." De Merle said making his case. "Galeren will not leave his father to rot in hell."

"No, he will not." De Floyran agreed. "But I don't believe the masters will take the opportunity to escape. De Molay has forsaken the chance before, has he not De Nogaret?"

"You are right." De Nogaret said, "The masters are like the captains of sinking ships. The institution of the Temple is engrained in their nature; they will prefer to die with it so they are forever bound to its memory and legacy.

Besides, if we move them then it will cause Galeren to go on a wild goose chase looking for them, and surely we want him to come here and finish it here." De Nogaret concluded looking at De Floyran. De Floyran smiled at the councillor, he had taken a beating over the last few years and physically he had suffered but his mind was still as sharp as a blade.

"Precisely," De Floyran said. "It is likely that Galeren's new troop will split into two groups. I am sure Raymond has given them the Paris Temple as the other locality where their brethren are being held. I do not doubt that they will be successful, for they are too many in number, just those freed at Chinon outnumber my ranks and those that did not die fighting will likely have taken their chance to join them. What concerns me at present is damage limitation with regard to the King. How do we emerge from this unscathed from both Galeren's attack and the King's wrath?"

"If the masters choose martyrdom out of devotion to the Order all well and good, but you will still likely lose all the other prisoners. Some fools may decide to become martyrs and stay but the King's dungeons will be empty of Templars. He will not be happy about it." Botolf offered.

"Of course not, but there is little he can do about it and when he realises that, his focus will change. The King wants the Order destroyed, its name, its power and status." De Nogaret said. "Its destruction is a mark of his autonomy and a warning to others that he is an absolute monarch and not to be messed with.

If the Pope comes to his senses and dissolves the Order quickly, then the King will have his wishes. Clement will wash his hands of the matter and will not be concerned with how many were burnt, how many died in prison or how many remained there. He will just be eager to be out of Philip's sights and have the Church's future secure. Events can be recorded as we see fit. Some two hundred Templars have already been burned at the stake at the King's pleasure, the Pope and others need not know when this actually occurred." De Nogaret pointed out.

De Floyran's eyes lit up in understanding and he nodded his head eagerly and motioned for De Nogaret to continue.

"Philip will still have the masters to show for his triumphant elimination of the arrogant and heretical Order of the Temple. His strike has not made him as wealthy as he would have liked, but he has demonstrated his authority over those that may believe they are beyond the limits of it. As long as he looks like the hero then he will be happy enough, believe me. History will not know about the details. History will record what we wish it too."

"Well, that is the Pope and the King taken care of, I hope." De Floyran smiled at De Nogaret. "I trust I can let you explain all to our petulant King when the time comes. You have a way with words that a simple soldier like me could only dream of possessing." De Floyran said smoothly.

"Of course," De Nogaret said compliantly.

"Good," De Floyran said rubbing his fingers together. "Now, of this imminent attack, there are still thirty of us."

"But you said there could be no doubt of their success." Armin pointed out, a little bemused.

"I did," De Floyran said. "But I care not about that. Like the King my focus has to change. I care not if all the Templars escape to their freedom, 'tis the way it has worked out. But there are those that cannot leave France alive. I can admit defeat in this if I have both the heads of Galeren and Caradas." He looked at each of the men in turn. "I have sworn to destroy Galeren for the last sixteen years, I cannot let him have the victory and enjoy the rest of his life and Raymond has betrayed me. None of this would have happened if he had not, so he must suffer my vengeance."

"What about the girl?" De Nogaret said.

"Mmm," De Floyran pondered. "She is a tricky one. If I possess her then a modicum of my triumph will still be intact, but on the other hand she will be a constant reminder of the failure. I am not sure whether her merits outweigh the negative."

"But with Galeren dead, two hundred Templars burned and the Temple destroyed, surely there is little failure to dwell on." De Nogaret offered shrewdly.

"Well put!" De Floyran said. "So our efforts will be concentrated on bringing down Galeren and Caradas, thirty of us _should_ manage that. Anyone else can also be taken down, the more the merrier of course, but our goal is more refined now. There is no use sacrificing ourselves on a futile cause. De Nogaret with his silken tongue will convince the King that he has been successful in his exploits and so we should still come out of this with what we came into it for."

"Mmm, I do hope so." De Nogaret said, raising his eyebrows at De Floyran to remind him of his own pledge. De Floyran smiled understanding his meaning immediately.

"Don't worry. My promise still holds true, but in light of the turn of events we must once again delay. I need you De Nogaret, 'tis not the time for transition now. Let the dust settle first."

De Nogaret nodded but said, "what if Galeren should kill you before you fulfil your promise to me?"

"Galeren kill _me_?" De Floyran said, sounding almost insulted.

"He has reason plenty to." De Nogaret reminded him.

"True, but I too have reason plenty to want his head, and have it I will. His men will be focused on setting free other Templars and the masters while dealing with potential resistance. However, my men will simply be focused on getting him. I wish him only grievously wounded mind," he pointed to Botolf and Armin, "not dead. The pleasure of taking his life will be mine. Make sure the men know that. Have him brought to me in any state, but he must be alive. Leave Catherine to me, no one is to touch her. I will decide her fate when she is in my possession."

"What about Caradas?" Armin asked.

"The same as Galeren. I want to save him for the stake; it was his undoing so let it be his end." He looked at De Nogaret and smiled. "Have faith my gritty councillor! I do not plan to die. At least one thing is for sure, this will be over a lot sooner than we anticipated and perhaps that is a good thing. We are all weary of this, are we not?"

Everyone grunted their agreement and as the conversation appeared to be over, Armin and Botolf took their leave and went to brief the rest of De Floyran's men. De Floyran and De Nogaret sat in silence for a while. De Floyran drummed his fingers against his face and slowly drank his wine. De Nogaret felt the swelling across his nose and cheek bones and winced as he felt the broken bone in his nose. De Floyran looked up and smiled wryly.

"You have had some bad luck," he noted. "Galeren broke your leg and now Caradas has broken your nose."

"A disadvantage of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I guess." De Nogaret shrugged unperturbed.

"Mmm, well that's why I want you to leave here as soon as possible, after that drink preferably." De Floyran said.

"Leave, why?"

"To prevent you from suffering another breakage. It could be your neck next time. It will be ugly, besides I need you to go to the King and give him the news now. Prepare him for the worst, and hopefully it won't be that bad." De Nogaret was about to protest but De Floyran cut him off before he could open his mouth.

"There is nothing you can do here, except get yourself killed. Broken bones are the least of your worries. I am relying on you De Nogaret to placate the King and smooth this mess over."

De Nogaret relented knowing that De Floyran was right. Still, he did not like the thought of not knowing what was happening. If De Floyran was killed, he would never receive his gift, but if he stayed here, he may be injured further or worse.

"I know what you are thinking," De Floyran said, "but worry not. I will survive to make you one of us." He smiled reassuringly.

De Nogaret nodded, "I must admit you have handled this whole situation better than I thought. I thought your rage would be unrelenting."

"I have had time to digest events. My rage was sincere however. To lose Catherine once again from practically under my nose, find that my oldest comrade has betrayed me and that Galeren and some hundred Templars are to be freed from Chinon was all just cause for my rage. Our hard work seemed to be in ruins De Nogaret, but serious thought and your wise words have made me see that all is not lost. The game has just changed and we can still all have what we set out to obtain."

"Indeed," De Nogaret agreed. They shared one last drink together and when all that needed to be said had been, De Nogaret stood slowly and prepared to leave.

"I had better be on my way then. I trust I will be able to take a handful of the regular garrison with me for escort."

"Of course, as many as you like. They will be useless to me here."

"Good luck then."

"To you too, De Nogaret. I will seek you out at Fontainebleau when this is over." De Floyran winked slyly at him.

De Nogaret turned and began to limp across the floor of the main hall. As he got to the door he stopped and then turned and said:

"How many regular men are here?" he asked.

"About twenty five," De Floyran answered.

"And at Chinon?"

"About the same, give or take." De Floyran said, raising his eyebrows inquisitively. "Why?"

"Just curious," De Nogaret answered and bowing courteously he left the hall.

### Chapter Thirty Five

13th April 1310, Gisors

The werewolves from Chinon had divided into three groups; those too injured to journey onwards into further battle, those who would go to the Paris Temple to free any brothers there, and those who would go to Gisors. The injured remained hidden to recover and when ready would make their separate journeys to freedom. Some would go to Scotland but others who had families in different parts of Europe would seek out their new futures with them.

John St Clair led the troop of about fifty to the Paris Temple. Because of their number in force now, they were confident that resistance would be minimal and it would therefore lead to less bloodshed. Those who had turned to De Floyran's side would likely take flight when confronted with such powerful opposition or if they had been living under pretence, choose to become free of it and join again their true brothers. It was doubted that any of the King's men, if present, would involve themselves in the tussle they may witness. They would be left unharmed unless they were foolish enough to interfere.

Galeren led the larger troop to Gisors because the Templar masters were there and with De Floyran's presence they expected more trouble. Nevertheless, they hoped that any bloodshed would, for the most part, be minimal, having brothers join them rather than fight against them. Only a few, such as De Floyran's original men, were marked to be targeted and dispatched.

Although Galeren was less than pleased about it, Catherine had journeyed with them to Gisors. Her leg injury had been nasty but superficial and with no impeding effects, she had insisted on joining them. He reasoned that it was better to keep an eye on her than worry what she was up to when out of his sight, however, he was well aware that they were heading into De Floyran's territory and would have to be extra vigilant.

"Do you think he will still offer resistance when he realises how outnumbered he is?" Catherine had asked before they left.

"All I know is never to underestimate De Floyran. Even at his lowest ebb he still manages to have a few surprises up his sleeve. 'Tis why you must be wary Catherine, you must do what I ask. The tide may be in our favour but he has nothing to lose now and that makes him even more dangerous."

"I understand." She answered, knowing that they did have everything to lose now. They were very close to their goal and if successful they could soon be on their way back to the safety of Scotland and their future.

When they'd reached the outskirts of the town of Gisors, Galeren had briefed his troop one last time on the plan of attack. It would be swift and clean and the objective was to free the prisoners, get the masters safely to Scotland, and take De Floyran and his henchmen out.

Galeren had successfully persuaded Catherine to wait without the walls of the fortress and had instructed Parsifal to remain with her and play bodyguard. Catherine knew that if she interfered she could place Galeren in danger and she had witnessed enough vicious battling to last a lifetime. She was at least assured that this time Galeren was entering De Floyran's territory with more than adequate backup. He promised her that it would be over quickly and with minimal fuss. Unbeknownst to him, however, members of his troop were concerned for _his_ safety.

_I don't know what you think_ , Richard de Gosbeck said to De Villiers and company of the original nine that had gone to Chinon, _but I think we should stick close to Galeren. De Floyran must know that he has lost. He will then, be hell bent on getting Galeren. It's likely his men have been instructed to target him_.

_I agree_ , De Villiers said. _We should shadow him and protect him from assault. There are plenty of us to afford such measured defence. We cannot afford to lose him now. We should watch Caradas as well, who knows if his loyalty will remain with us_.

With stealth and zeal for the mission at hand, the wolves took to the streets of Gisors. Again they had waited for the darkest part of the night to traverse its quarters, knowing that most of its residents would be long abed and would therefore miss the historic assault. When they reached the château they mounted its outer walls in groups one after the other, after the other.

A seemingly endless number of wolves spilled into the fortress and within the bailey they were met by the horrified stares of the human guards on watch. The hapless guards could barely believe what their eyes were seeing as the wolves leapt down from the walls in their dozens.

_De Floyran sends humans to the slaughter first_. Galeren said contemptuously, as he surveyed what resistance was present in the bailey. He saw that the men were frozen in fear, their swords drawn and their cries for backup leaving their voices hoarse. Galeren changed and marched up to one of the watch guards, flanked by several of his wolf comrades, and commanded:

"Take me to the Templars you have imprisoned here, if you do as I say you have my word that none of your men will be harmed."

The guard began to stutter an answer which sounded compliant but at that moment the remaining army of De Floyran's came to offer their resistance

"Take my men to the prisoners!" Galeren demanded and then changed back into wolf form, while the wolves at his side changed into men and escorted the stunned guard rapidly out of the mêlée that was about to begin. Galeren looked for the black wolf that he knew he was meant to face in this final chapter. However, he could see no evidence of De Floyran, but instead saw the snarling muzzles of dozens of other wolves all heading towards him.

_I knew it!_ Richard screamed. _Shield him!_

Immediately Galeren found himself surrounded by his own men, who deftly fended off the assailants whose purpose was clear. Galeren looked around desperately to see that others in his group were not faced with any resistance and were either following the escorted guard to the dungeons or hastening to protect him.

_What the fuck is this?_ Galeren cried out angrily.

_Your old friend knows he is outnumbered. He cares not for the release of the men here. His goal is to get you, 'tis all that matters to him now_. Richard answered, snapping at the hind legs of one of the assailants as he made to retreat from the fray.

_Catherine!_ Galeren cried out, realising that if this was De Floyran's aim, then she too was just as at risk as he. De Floyran was not here, and with dread Galeren knew why.

I must get to her!

_Stay with us if you want to stay alive! I am sure she is fine where she is. We'll go when we've dealt to this lot!_ Richard stressed, as they fought to fend off the assault.

_I hate waiting_ , Catherine said as she looked up to the top of the walls. She and Parsifal were stood in amongst some trees, just outside the château and they could hear the bedlam that was resonating from within the fortress, _but I know that I would be a burden if I were inside. The fighting is vicious and not in my nature to sustain_.

_You fought well_ , Parsifal observed, _as well as any of us. But if you lack the stomach for it, then it is not because anything is lacking in your wolf nature, it is because of your sex. It is men that are the vicious and cruel creatures of this world, not women and not wolves_.

_A wise observation_ , she said but then fear pierced her soul as a familiar voice invaded her mind.

_Well, well my little she-wolf how beautiful your pelt is_. It was De Floyran. Catherine whirled to face the evil menace but could not see him.

_What is it?_ Parsifal said, looking at her.

De Floyran. He is close, very close. Can you not sense him?

_No!_ Parsifal said sounding concerned. _Are you sure?_

_Yes, she is_. De Floyran said and emerged out of the black night flanked by Armin de Merle and Botolf Wardard. _There is a hell of a tussle going on in there. We thought we'd take a stroll until it abated. Fancy finding you here?_ De Floyran's wolf muzzle offered the form of a smile that even in its bestial expression was uniquely his.

_Three against two, mmmm_. De Floyran teased provocatively.

_Don't hurt him_. Catherine pleaded. _'Tis me you want and I'll go with you_.

_Always thinking of others Catherine, 'tis why I am so fond of you. Now, here is how it is going to be. Armin and Botolf are going to sort out your little protector, while you and I get down to some unfinished business_.

_Don't worry about me_ , Parsifal said with passion.

_Brave words young Bondeville, so like your father_. De Floyran sneered. _You have not said much to me, and since your hatred seems un-personal I can only imagine that Galeren never told you what happened to your father_.

Parsifal's eyes narrowed but he nodded his head confidently. _He did. My father died at Acre, fighting to protect fleeing citizens_.

_He did die fighting_ , De Floyran said darkly, _fighting me_. He exposed his teeth at Parsifal in a macabre grin.

Parsifal baulked as he sensed the truth. Galeren had been sparing in the details of his father's death and now he knew why. He bared his own teeth at his tormentor and screamed,

_Run Catherine!_ as he leapt at De Floyran. De Floyran maintained his position casually, as Boltolf and Armin moved to protect him. They tore Parsifal down in mid-flight and began to rip into him.

_No!_ Catherine screamed moving forward but De Floyran turned and lunged towards her, his white teeth gleaming in the blackness.

Catherine quickly turned to escape his snapping jaws. She ran as quickly as her legs would carry her in attempt to get away from him. She knew that she was powerless to help Parsifal and remembering Galeren had said De Floyran would kill her if he couldn't have her, she ran because her life did depend on it.

_I must go to them!_ Galeren screamed and attempted to break through the circle of wolves who were trying to protect him from the attack.

_What are you doing, you stubborn fool?_ Richard cried, as he was forced to follow him. _It is you he wants!_

_You're wrong! He'll go after Catherine to spite me_.

_These men, his men, are after you! He'll want you battered but alive so he can administer the final blow_. Richard cried, struggling to stay alongside Galeren.

_Then where is he?_ Galeren continued.

_Waiting within for your hide to be presented to him, I expect! Form a line!_ he commanded their troop, as Galeren broke through the ranks and raced away from the fray heading towards the postern gate that had been opened.

_Wait for me!_ Richard screamed after him but he had already disappeared through the gate. Richard tried to follow but was slammed down onto the ground. He felt teeth sink into the back of his neck. _Shit!_ he thought, as he now tried to defend himself. Galeren was on his own.

Frantic, Galeren swiftly reached the spot where he had left Catherine with Parsifal, just beyond the walls of the fortress. Immediately, he saw Parsifal in a bad way with Armin and Botolf.

_Parsifal!_ he screamed, praying that he was not too late. He threw himself into the two brutes who had Parsifal pinned to the ground and were tearing him apart. Fear and anger made him ruthless as he tore into the flanks of his two hated foes, remembering every evil that they had done, not least their latest assault.

Astride Botolf, who on his back was struggling to get up, Galeren attempted to make the killing blow. He tried to grab his throat but it was impossible as he thrashed about in a frenzy, gnashing at Galeren's muzzle in defence. Galeren felt the muscles in his shoulder rip as Armin crunched his teeth down on his flesh and pulled his head back to cause maximum damage. Both seemed to relish battling with Galeren as he lost the upper hand and they overwhelmed him. Despite his predicament, Galeren did not feel the pain of it or doubt his eventual success, so driven was he in his purpose. Botolf twisted and his biting jaws got perilously close to Galeren's throat.

_Don't kill him!_ De Merle reminded Botolf, laughing in his enjoyment at dominating his long reviled enemy. However, it was his last command as he felt the attack from behind. Richard came out of nowhere and leapt onto his back. He sank his teeth into him and dragged him off Galeren.

Crushing him with his weight and finding Armin still a little stunned, Richard found his throat was unprotected and with no hesitation had it out. With only one to contend with, Galeren wasted no time in gaining the advantage and rolled over with Botolf in the dirt several times. He finally restrained him and without a clear strike at his throat, he tore open his exposed belly instead. He rolled off the howling wolf and left him to bleed out while he raced to Parsifal's side.

_He's still alive_ , Richard said, looking down at him.

_Parsifal!_ Galeren cried.

_De Floyran_ , he managed weakly, _he's gone after her_.

_Go_ , Richard said, _I'll stay with the lad_.

Galeren nodded and turning began to search for the trace of a scent. Within a few feet he had it and raced off in the direction of the pursuit.

Catherine flew through the streets of Gisors, dodging down every side alley she could in an attempt to evade De Floyran. Though she knew she could not outrun the huge wolf, she was agile and quick witted and was relying on this to keep just ahead of him. How long she could keep this up, she did not know. She wondered if she left the confines of the town and headed into the forest whether she would be able to escape him there.

She knew that she would soon tire and De Floyran's nose would find her if she tried to hide. It was almost hopeless, he would catch up with her eventually and only then would she realise her fate at his mercy. She had wanted to face him but now feared that the strong wolf spirit she possessed was still no match for his size and experience.

She darted round a corner into a narrow street and skidded to a stop immediately, as she came face to face with one of the villagers. The woman carried a pale of water which she dropped as she let out a scream of absolute terror. De Floyran ran into the back of Catherine and she hit the dirt. The woman continued to scream and realising that De Floyran had not yet gotten hold of her, Catherine quickly got to her feet and regained her pace without looking back.

_To the forest then_ , she thought. The decision had been made for her, as she expected the streets soon to be full of villagers looking for marauding wolves. De Floyran was on her tail again in seconds and as she headed for the trees she heard him.

_Why are you running? Why are you running?_ he was laughing, teasing her, as was his way.

She ignored him and tried to think of how to escape him. She could keep up this pace for some time but did not want to put too much distance between herself and the château. There were dozens of wolves on her side and they were all there. Fool! she thought suddenly. It was exactly where she should be heading to, not running from! She changed tact and decided to head back to the château. She attempted to run in a circle to redirect herself but De Floyran was not about to lose his quarry.

_I know exactly what you are thinking, and I can't allow it_. He said gaining on her rapidly. _I have just been playing with you, you cannot out run me!_ As she heard his words, she realised that he _had_ been playing with her and felt the full weight of him as he knocked her off her feet and pinned her to the ground.

_See!_ he said, his green eyes gleaming down at her. She struggled fruitlessly for a while and then surrendered.

_I have a question for you_ , he said. _You always offer to go willingly with me when someone's life is at stake. So I ask you, will you go willingly with me now when there is no-one to save but yourself?_

Catherine considered her answer as she caught her breath. She could lie to save her life or to create delay in hope of rescue, but she knew De Floyran could tell a lie when he heard one. So she decided to give him the answer he already knew to be true.

_No_. She answered.

The black wolf smiled, _I appreciate your candour. It is difficult to know what to do with you Catherine. I wish it had not come to this. If Galeren had died like he was meant to and you had not escaped, perhaps you would have accepted your role at my side and things would be sweet between us_.

_That would never have happened!_ Catherine retorted. _Be thankful things turned out this way, for if you had killed Galeren I would have taken your throat while you slept!_

_Full of spirit as ever! But while you think things have gone in your favour, you are wrong. As we speak Galeren is being attacked by my men. They were instructed, them all, to focus on him and ignore the others. I am sure it was over quickly for him and poor Parsifal will be in pieces too by now. Armin and Botolf are vicious bastards. So you are left with nothing and your life is in my hands, once again_.

_Then take it!_ she challenged, _if what you have said is true then why would I want to live? And know that I would take every opportunity to kill you if you tried to keep me_.

_So tempting an offer_. De Floyran said, though he did not specify to which he referred.

He revealed his teeth to her and moved his muzzle close to hers, so that they touched. Catherine immediately felt the same terror as she had on the night they had first met. She tried not to betray her fear to him and instead stared back at him as defiant as possible. But he did nothing except keep his green eyes fixed on her grey ones, as if delaying what he knew to be regrettable but inevitable.

_De Floyran!_ Galeren's voice dissolved Catherine's fear momentarily and shattered De Floyran's concentration. Running towards them he came to an abrupt halt and then began to approach them more slowly.

_Stay where you are!_ De Floyran commanded, as he took Catherine's throat between his teeth. She froze and closed her eyes as her fear returned. He would kill her in front of Galeren. It would be the ultimate revenge, perfect in fact.

_Don't!_ Galeren said, his panic was evident and he tried to get closer.

_I said stay where you are!_ De Floyran warned, closing his jaws tighter. Catherine yelped, feeling his bite and Galeren backed off.

_You can't do it_. Galeren said desperately _. Even if you want to spite me you can't, because you love her_.

_I've never loved anything in my life!_ De Floyran threw back at him. _I hate women, they have but one use and I have had that use of her, as you well know_.

_You love her, Esquin and you know it in your black heart. If you kill her and then survive me, it will destroy you. Kill me and let her go, you will never be able to live having killed that which you love_.

De Floyran's eyes narrowed as he looked at Galeren, anger swelled within him but he could not take the bite. Catherine slowly opened her eyes to find De Floyran looking at her, the malice and coldness in them had gone and instead was replaced by a wistful look.

_You're right_ , De Floyran said bitterly, staring down at Catherine, _I do love her_.

He released her throat and instead slammed his head sideways into hers, knocking her out cold. Certain that she was unconscious he walked away from her and went to face his real enemy. Relief flooded Galeren's senses as he saw Catherine's chest rise and fall as she breathed.

_She has ruined everything and yet_ , the black wolf shook his head in disbelief, _I still can do her no harm_.

He then looked at his opponent and smiled. Galeren's white pelt was covered in blood and De Floyran could smell that, while some of it was Armin and Botolf's, the majority was Galeren's own. He could see the massive injury to his shoulder and that blood still flowed from the wound. He was battle beaten and the loss of blood would weaken him further. This would be easy, he thought, though he would practice caution, for he knew the power of Galeren's wolf half.

They circled each other slowly keeping their distance, their eyes each fixed on each others, heads lowered and hackles raised.

_You look worse for wear Galeren_ , De Floyran remarked casually, _are you sure you want to do this? I could kill you mercifully if you choose to forgo the barbarity of a wolf fight_.

_Very tempting_ , Galeren said sarcastically, _but I prefer a fight and have plenty of it left in me. You have much to pay for and pay for it you will_.

_Even if you manage to kill me, you will still live with the memory that I murdered over two hundred of your brethren at the stake and had your woman. I have caused mischief and mayhem and have destroyed the Templar Order. Even this little victory you celebrate only means that a few more of you can run to the hills and hide. My work here is done my old_ _friend. I care not about the King or the others' wishes. I consider my revenge justly served_. De Floyran said malevolently.

Galeren bared his teeth in anger and moved closer to his quarry. _And 'tis why you must die!!_ he screamed and charged at his enemy.

De Floyran drew back his gums in a vicious snarl and in turned charged towards Galeren. The speed and ferocity at which the two huge wolves collided caused them both to be thrown onto their backs and away from each other. Galeren felt his shoulder tear further and the warmth of his blood as it renewed its flow from the wound.

Both wolves got to their feet rapidly and were at each other again, clashing hard and snapping at any piece of flesh or limb that came within reach of their powerful jaws. De Floyran deftly sank his teeth into Galeren's injured shoulder but Galeren rose his muzzle up and came close to taking De Floyran's throat. De Floyran quickly released his grip and lowered his head and backed away. A guttural cry came from Galeren and he moved in on De Floyran not wanting him to put any distance between them.

He leapt and brought De Floyran to the ground, sinking his teeth into his left foreleg. His bite gained the desired effect and De Floyran cried out, as Galeren ripped into it. De Floyran rolled worsening the tear and snapped at Galeren's face catching the side of his muzzle and taking a chunk out of it. Galeren let go but then jumped onto De Floyran's back as he tried to get to his feet. With the advantage once again, Galeren bit down into the back of De Floyran's neck and the black wolf bucked and twisted in an attempt to shake him off. Galeren held on with his teeth for as long as possible before De Floyran threw him off, but he managed to leave with his mouth full of his flesh.

_Fucking bastard!_ De Floyran screamed in rage and pain, as he tried to create distance to gather his wits.

_I could kill you mercifully if you choose not to continue with the barbarity of this wolf fight_. Galeren smiled conceitedly, advancing on De Floyran again.

_Fuck you!_ De Floyran said flying at him in torment. He tried for the throat but instead connected with Galeren's chest and tore at muscle and sinew. Galeren tried to ignore the agony and instead grabbed at De Floyran's torn ear, the one he had sliced some sixteen years earlier with his sword. He managed to grip the ear at its base and this time ripped the whole thing off. De Floyran howled and once again broke away from Galeren. He stared at his adversary with indescribable rage in his eyes but Galeren viewed him calmly.

_Let's end this!_ Galeren said vehemently.

_She will think of me from time to time, remember me, what it was like with me_. De Floyran sneered.

_Don't be so sure. I said you loved her, not she loved you_.

_Ah, but she knows that now, that I loved her and could not kill her. I spared her life because I love her. She will remember that and think on it when you cause her sadness_.

Galeren surged forward and knocked De Floyran to the ground in anger, their bodies locked together and their eyes met as they rolled over each other, the hatred from years of torment spilling out of them. De Floyran reared up and saw his chance to end it but Galeren anticipated his move and struck him with his hind legs knocking him off balance and backwards.

It was the opportunity that Galeren needed, he lunged forward and grabbing De Floyran's throat he tore it swiftly from him. De Floyran's eyes widened and met with Galeren's for the last time and an understanding resonated from deep within them; it _was_ finally over.

The black wolf fell to the ground and Galeren dropped the bloody remnants of his throat. Cautiously, he watched his fallen foe for a time to make sure he was dead. No breath entered or left his body and though Galeren was sure that De Floyran would not survive without a throat, his past haunted him still. He would never make the same mistake again, so he waited and watched. De Floyran's black fur did well to hide the evidence of the vicious fight that had taken place and assault to his body; while Galeren's white fur was hidden beneath a bloody coat of red.

Finally, the black body of the wolf disappeared and was replaced with the bloodied and naked form of De Floyran, the man. It was the certainty that Galeren needed. He was dead, there could be no doubt. Satisfied and relieved that his enemy had been slain and that Catherine was finally free of him, Galeren rushed over to her side.

_Catherine!_ he nudged her twice. She was alive but the crack on the head De Floyran had administered meant that she could be unconscious for a while. _Catherine!_ he said again and was grateful when he saw her eyelids flicker weakly. Catherine slowly opened her eyes, her vision was blurred but there was no doubt in her mind who was stood over her.

_Galeren_. She said, trying to clear her vision and come to her senses. As she came to, she looked in horror at Galeren's blood stained visage.

_You are terribly injured!_ she said, trying to get up.

_I'll be alright_. Galeren said calmly.

Where is De Floyran?

_Dead, over there_. Galeren said coldly, motioning to the spot where his enemy lay fallen.

Catherine got to her feet and shakily walked over to De Floyran's lifeless body. She looked down at him and could see the fatal strike that Galeren had made. Despite all the cruelty he had administered his dark features looked peaceful, almost gentle. He was her maker and had pursued her relentlessly. He had caused her loss and distress and yet had confessed to loving her in the final moments. He had even given up the chance to have a spiteful victory over Galeren by not taking her life. There was that, but she could not mourn him for all he had done; she could only pity him and the life he had chosen. She was thankful that she no longer had anything to fear. She looked back at Galeren who watched her judiciously.

_How did you know?_ Catherine asked. _That he cared for me?_

_He hesitated_ , Galeren said, _if you'd meant nothing to him, he would have killed you as soon as I arrived to see it_.

_It's over_ , she said, turning away from De Floyran.

_It is. He cannot hurt you now_. She nodded and once again became concerned by the state of Galeren.

_I am fine, I can recover later_. He said allaying her concern. _We have to get back to the château and get what we came for_.

They cautiously navigated their way back through the village of Gisors, noting that many of its inhabitants had since come into the streets with talk of wolves on the loose and something happening at the château.

_Parsifal!_ Catherine screamed as she saw his fallen body as they raced back towards the outer wall of the fortress. Richard was still by his side.

_He's still alive_ , Richard said. _And so are the both of you, thank Christ. God's blood Galeren!_ Richard remarked taking in the harrowing sight of him. _You look like you've been skinned_.

_Almost_ , Galeren said. _But I still have my throat_.

_You saw to him then_? Richard asked but had no doubt.

_Aye_ , Galeren nodded.

_I wanted to help but I didn't want to leave him like this_.

_No, you did right. I wanted you to stay with him. I needed to deal with De Floyran on my own_.

Richard nodded, understanding only too well why. _We'll need horses and uniforms to get out of here. He won't be able to walk, let alone run_.

_I will see to it_. _There is some interest stirring in the village and we'll need to go home in human form in any case. I need to get back inside. I must get to my father. Stay together, this will be finished soon_.

_Be careful!_ Catherine stressed.

_Always_ , Galeren said as he sped away.

_Christ on the Cross Galeren!_ De Villiers said, as he saw him racing back into the bailey. Galeren looked around warily but from the looks of it, the resistance was over. Wolves that were obviously on their side were lying around the yard resting and others were busy helping those who had been wounded.

_What happened here?_ Galeren asked approaching Gerard.

_It folded almost as soon as you left_. _Most of De Floyran's men fled. I don't think they gave a shit about what was going on and with no direction from their absentee leader they used what sense they still had and made off to save their own skins. Speaking of skins_ . . . De Villiers noted as he looked over Galeren's appalling state.

_It's just superficial_ , Galeren answered dismissively but winced as the gravity of his injuries started to become painfully evident, now that his adrenaline had waned.

De Floyran?

_It's over with him_. Galeren nodded assuredly and then quickly changing the subject said: _My father, he is here I pray. Have you seen him?_

_Yes, I have seen him and he is fine under the circumstances, but there is a problem Galeren_. De Villiers said with a note of caution in his voice.

What do you mean?

_You should talk to him_. De Villiers urged.

_I intend too, if it's what I think . . ._ he broke off angrily, wincing again in pain.

_Just talk to him. And don't let him see you like that. Change and we'll get some clothes on you_.

Galeren nodded. _We'll need more clothing and horses, as many as we can find. Find out what all these men want to do. Not all will want to come to Scotland with us, though make sure they all know they are welcome to_.

When he had changed and become heavily clothed to hide his injuries, Galeren made his way into the dungeons of the château. He tried to not to limp and attempted to keep his senses sharp though he knew he was weakening through loss of blood. He saw the remaining masters sat in the main room of the dungeon, all except Raimbaud de Caron. The dank and rancid smell of the place piqued Galeren's nose causing him to almost swoon in his weakened state. However, his indomitable spirit soon returned when he saw his father, sat calm and resolute with his eyes fixed on him as he approached.

"What are you doing?" Galeren said sharply, already guessing the extent of his father's stubborn will.

"'Tis good to see you, son." De Molay said and smiled as Galeren folded his arms and raised his eyebrows waiting for the answer to his question.

"I will speak to my son alone." De Molay said to the others who were already stood, sensing a need for privacy between father and son.

"We can talk later when we are all in safety." Galeren said adamantly. The other dignitaries still took their leave and Galeren was left staring into the eyes of his father, the Grand Master of the Order of the Temple.

"Where is Raimbaud de Caron?" Galeren demanded.

"He died in Chinon, just before we were brought here. He spirit found incarceration hard. He caught a fever and he did not have the will to fight it. He did not want to."

Galeren clenched his jaw in anger. "I am sorry." He said with genuine sentiment. "We can hold a vigil for him and all the others who have died when we are away from this place."

"That will be an extremely honourable gesture. But we cannot join you because the others and I are not leaving here."

"You stubborn fool!" Galeren said angrily, "I knew you'd do something like this. After all that has happened you still wish to play the martyr! Do you know how many of your men have risked their lives to save you?"

"I do, and I think they did not come just to save me. I have already spoken with Gerard, and I know your part in this. You have achieved your mission, but I must remain here." He said standing up.

"Why?" Galeren cried. "What is the point? You know that Clement will not absolve the Order. You know Philip has sanctioned the burning of hundreds of Templars already and mark my word he wants you put to the stake, you and the others here. It is a meaningless sacrifice!"

"I know it is difficult for you to understand because you are young and you have always had another vision for us, but I must die with the Temple. I must perish along with its name." He opened his hands in a gesture that begged for understanding.

"No! Live, adapt to the future. Why do you want to do this? I _don't_ understand!" Galeren's frustration made his injured body smart and he clenched his teeth.

"I am Grand Master; I have given my life to the Order. How can I leave it to disintegrate without a champion to defend its honour in its last hour?"

"This is martyrdom at its worst!" Galeren roared. "There is no cause to champion, we are werewolves, the King and his council know this. They want our destruction and nothing more. The Temple may be destroyed but we have still saved hundreds that may have perished in flames like the others. We have prevailed. I will not let the King have the satisfaction of murdering you. Forget the Temple, it is over!"

"It is not over for me or the other masters. If we just disappear, how will history judge us? If I abandon my ship, what master would that make me? The sacrifices that others have made for the Order, those that have died defending or honouring it, not just now but through the centuries. If I leave the Temple all those sacrifices, and the ones I myself have made for the Order, would have been for nothing. That I would so glibly turn my back on it to save my own skin? I think not, my son."

"It is sentimental horseshit!" Galeren said, refusing to budge.

"What would your mother think if she were still alive?" De Molay said and saw Galeren's eyes flicker with the memory of loss. "That I sacrificed a future with she whom I loved and a good relationship with my son, for a cause, that when it came down to it, I was happy to abandon when I felt the heat. If I do leave here and sail to safety, all I have given up would be for nothing. I made my choices, the Temple is my life and I choose to die with it, I must!"

Galeren blinked several times to keep the emotion from swelling up in his eyes. "What about your son now? Do you not still want the opportunity to have a good relationship with him?"

"I could not be prouder of my son. He is a far better man than I."

Galeren shook his head, uncomfortable with his father's emotive words. He had never spoken to him this way before and Galeren was unsure of how to deal with the sentiment but De Molay continued,

"The future lies with you Galeren, you must go to your new world. You must build again our strength and you will adapt it to fit the time. I have no doubt it will be a success and we will prevail as a race."

"No one will think any less of you if you come with us. History will make up its own mind." Galeren attempted to persuade him one last time but De Molay just shook his head.

"I want to do this, please understand and think well of me."

"Of course I think well of you." Galeren said, feeling his voice choke with emotion. "The others, they are as stubborn as you in this?"

"They are. We are the end of something that was once great. If we die for it, the Order will be remembered valiantly and our persecutors judged harshly. That is what I desire now, more than anything."

Galeren sighed heavily and tried to compose himself. "I cannot carry you out of here and I haven't the strength to. I'm sure Gerard has tried to persuade you but I must, though I am loath to, respect your decision and I must leave you now."

"Thank you Galeren, my son." De Molay said with genuine sentiment and opened his arms in a gesture of embrace. It was an act that was both too late in coming and perfect in its timing. Galeren strode towards his father and embraced him strongly.

"You will have a son one day, and he will despair at your decisions as you have at mine but you will love each other none the less." De Molay said as they broke apart. Galeren smiled his understanding and nodded at the other masters as he made to leave. As he did De Molay said,

"Give Catherine my love."

Galeren nodded as he walked free of the dungeon, unable to turn around and see his father for the last time, unable to prevent the hot tears from spilling down his cheeks.

### Chapter Thirty Six

18th April 1310, Fontainebleau Palace

Philip stared out of the window of his lavish rooms at Fontainebleau and into the gloom of the afternoon that looked likely to develop into a heavy rain storm. He gripped the empty goblet of wine that was in his hand tightly, as if trying to suppress the rage that boiled up inside him. De Nogaret stood silent as a church mouse and waited for the King to throw it at him but he did not, instead he sighed and said:

"All escaped then, not a trace of any of them except for the masters and those who were slain?"

"That is what I have learned." De Nogaret said gravely. "One of De Floyran's surviving men gave me a detailed account of events in exchange for enough funds to secure his future."

"They have all abandoned me then?" Philip asked sounding surprised. "And De Floyran?" He turned as if he genuinely hoped the treacherous Templar survived. De Nogaret frowned.

"I am still waiting to hear from him. All I have heard is rumour; some say that De Massard killed him, others that he escaped during the fray. He is wily, and I am sure that the latter is the case."

Despite his conviction, De Nogaret was very concerned. De Floyran had either simply disappeared, wishing to avoid the wrath of Philip or he had indeed been killed, and where did that leave him?

"I imagine the surviving traitorous Templars were not keen to risk the possibility of your wrath and being leaderless in De Floyran's absence they have dispersed."

The King shook his head but seemed to digest the information with an unusually calm acceptance. De Nogaret had prepared Philip for what was to be the disastrous news to come when he had arrived several days ago on De Floyran's instruction.

De Nogaret was sure that De Floyran wasn't foolish enough to get himself killed and he had been right when he predicted that De Molay and the other members of the Templar hierarchy would choose to remain and meet the fate of their Order. However, it was vexing to De Nogaret that De Floyran had not come to Fontainebleau like he had said he would.

Germain Otricourt had told De Nogaret what had occurred at Chinon, but he had fled during the mêlée. He was not at Gisors and so was unsure of the fate of De Floyran. However, he had been able to inform De Nogaret that Boltolf and Armin had been killed, De Massard had escaped with his mission accomplished and De Floyran and Caradas were missing. Perhaps Esquin would return when the dust had settled. He owed him the gift but De Nogaret had a sinking feeling that as De Molay had said, De Floyran never intended to mark him.

The news that De Nogaret had just reported to the King was that all Templars incarcerated at Chinon, the Paris Temple and Gisors had now escaped. Philip had been surprised that the vicious Templar werewolves had not laid siege to Paris or at least killed all who were unfortunate enough to cross their paths. In fact, very few had been killed at all. The largest group of casualties were at Chinon and these had all been De Floyran's traitorous men, whom some may have thought got their just desserts as they had turned against their own race and attempted to thwart the rescue of their kind.

Philip had been furious at first upon hearing that the escape was imminent but when he heard that one of De Floyran's own men had turned against him, he realised that there was no-one but Caradas who truly deserved his wrath and who could really be surprised at the treachery of a traitor? De Nogaret had painstakingly explained to Philip that he was still the victor in all of this and that now this monstrous escape had occurred he could push the Pope to dissolve the Order and have done with the affair. Philip was no fool and understood well that upon revelation of this news, Clement would be keen to wash his hands of the matter.

"At least we still have the masters." De Nogaret offered optimistically.

"'Tis something," Philip agreed.

"And the Order is disbanded. Dissolution of it by decree of the Pope is merely for ceremony. They are scattered, in hiding, they have no power anymore."

Philip turned and eyed De Nogaret gravely, "I don't think I like the idea of them in hiding. I wanted all, but a few loyal to me, burned!"

"De Floyran saw to the deaths of many." De Nogaret reminded him.

"I hoped to see a few relapsed burned here in Paris! It would be a grave warning to any other would-be heretical groups to mend their ways and remember their place. I wanted to make clear that no one is above the monarch and even a group as powerful as the Templars could find themselves put to the stake."

"There is nothing to stop you from still making that example." De Nogaret said suggestively.

"How do you mean?" the King looked at him through suspicious and narrowed eyes.

"There are many of your men both from Chinon and Gisors who perhaps saw too much. It is difficult to stop so many tongues from wagging and the less who are informed on this matter as a whole, the better. The Pope and the public need not know that they are not relapsed Templar heretics."

"How many men are there?" the King asked.

"About fifty, give or take." De Nogaret replied.

"Excellent!" Philip said. "We should keep all this business from the Pope's ears until after we have had our fire. Then we can inform him of the escape and press him for the dissolution of the Order."

"Absolutely." De Nogaret smiled and the King nodded with a spark of cruel delight evident in his eyes. He would have his bonfire; he could still send his message.

13th May 1310, Avignon

Clement coughed several times and grabbed desperately at the cup of water that was offered to him. When he got his breath back and soothed his throat he looked at Michael with a mixture of surprise and strange delight upon his face.

"You are sure?" he asked, still finding it hard to believe.

"It is what it says in De Nogaret's letter. It sounds like it was a most heroic affair," Michael said excitedly, though he was sure that the King and De Nogaret did not view it as such, "and one that was led by the very Templar that we saw in the pit at Montlhéry, Galeren de Massard, the Grand Master's son."

Clement nodded remembering the hapless knight trapped in the oubliette with his lover. Tortured and tormented, he had still managed to escape and save his brethren, but not just once it seemed; he had returned to France for a second time to complete his ambitious objective. A pity that he was a werewolf, his valiant deeds would go unrecorded in the vials of history, but Clement was sure that it was not a concern of the young knight's.

"It was Raymond Caradas who was responsible for the turn of the tide." Michael continued, taking delight in recounting the details of De Nogaret's sober letter to the Pope, though he did not fully know why that was. This was supposed to be catastrophic news for them and yet it did not feel that way.

Clement shook his head as if confused. "You said all the werewolves escaped."

Michael nodded fervently. "Then who did Philippe de Marigny have burned at the stake yesterday?" Clement asked.

"It was the King's own men. Fifty four of them, all dressed as Templars. They were survivors of the château sieges and were deemed to have seen what they should not. De Nogaret explained in his letter that it was meant to be a warning to any who might think themselves above the King's authority." Michael raised his eyebrows at the Pope.

"Including me I suppose!" the Pope spat. "The cruel, pitiless bastard!" he cursed and then crossed himself several times when he caught sight of Michael's shocked expression. "Well, he is. They should not have acted without my knowledge or authority! This whole thing has been a travesty from start to finish. One man's selfish and diabolical ambition and as always the innocent have suffered."

"What will you do about the masters?" Michael asked.

"Only what I can. Though I am sure Philip will be hell bent on putting them to the stake, seeing as he has lost all his Templar prisoners and has resorted to burning his own men in their stead. He is petty and vindictive. We still have to wait for the commissions to reach their decisions and then I suppose that Philip will press for the Order's dissolution. No matter what the final judgement of the commissions, the Order of the Temple is over. Dissolving it can do no harm to them now, except in tainting their exemplary two hundred year service to Christendom."

"You are pleased, aren't you?" Michael asked boldly.

"Pleased?" Clement frowned.

"That they escaped."

Clement smiled and then nodded, "Yes I am. In fact no better news could have reached my ears this morning after yesterday's wicked event, except of course the coming of our Lord Saviour, Jesus Christ."

19th May 1310, Château de Gisors

De Nogaret tossed and turned in his sleep, his dreams were nightmares. He dreamed he was fallen, fallen from grace. Philip had no further use for him and had sent him to Gisors to keep watch over what was left of the imprisoned Templars, the four remaining dignitaries. His presence at court was no longer required. He was grim, a cripple, pale and weak. His nose broken and healed was now a grotesque lump on his bleak and bitter face. Philip did not wish to suffer his pathetic countenance day after day and preferred to surround himself with handsome, witty and amiable advisors.

De Plaisians and De Marigny remained at Philip's side, enjoying hunting and all the variety of entertainment that came with being at court as they waited like vultures to pick over the findings of the diocesan and papal commissions. The Pope had criticised the secular arm, the King and De Marigny, for the burning of the fifty four so-called Templars on the twelfth of May, but made no more about it. De Nogaret suspected that the Pope was secretly pleased that the werewolf knights had escaped.

So as the days passed away at Gisors, he searched for news of De Floyran. He had heard that Galeren _had_ killed him, though his body had never been found. De Nogaret was loath to believe it. However, he realised that even if it were untrue, in one way or another, his former friend had deserted him and left him with nothing but hatred and bitterness to eat away at his soul.

He had not dared visit De Molay, for he did not wish to suffer the Grand Master's scorn or his smugness when he witnessed his wretched state. His headaches worsened, they were daily, drilling into his brain until he cried out in desperation for relief. He locked himself away in his darkened room and tried to forget his suffering. Leeches and philtres did nothing to ease the pain and so he became a ghost-like shell of his former self, wondering the halls and passageways of Gisors, alone and despised, with all hope of attaining what he had so long desired lost in the void of his cruel nature.

De Nogaret awoke sweat lacquered and fear shaken. He remembered when he had woken once to find De Floyran sat in his chambers. The dark knight had asked him what he feared the most and De Nogaret realised that he was now living that very fear. His nightmares were his reality. He felt a chill enter his soul as he realised that someone was once again in the room with him. It was _Déjà vu_. He squinted in the darkness and saw gleaming eyes staring back at him. De Floyran? Could it be? The eyes were just as cold but they were not the distinctive green of De Floyran's.

"Who is there?" De Nogaret called out weakly, hoping that this was just another waking dream in which he was haunted by a silent monster whose intent he did not know.

"Who were you hoping for?" the familiar voice said. De Nogaret's heart sank as he recognised the voice of a betrayer.

"Caradas!" he screamed with vehement disgust in his voice. "What are you doing here?"

"I have come to pay a visit to an old comrade and confirm some news."

"What news?" De Nogaret said, knowing in his heart that it was news that concerned De Floyran.

"News I am sure you long to hear, perhaps it will put you out of your pathetic misery. It is pointless hanging onto hope, I expect you need some closure." Caradas said provocatively.

" _What news?_ " De Nogaret demanded impatiently.

Raymond Caradas slowly stood up and walked toward the edge of De Nogaret's bed. De Nogaret shivered involuntarily as the werewolf approached certain that this was not just a courtesy call.

"De Floyran _is_ dead. Galeren de Massard tore out his throat." Caradas said.

De Nogaret felt a pain surge through his whole being and even though he could tell himself that De Floyran had not betrayed his trust or broken his promise, the sheer disappointment of knowing that his hopes of becoming a powerful creature of the supernatural lay in tatters was devastating. It was the finality of it. He breathed in and cradled his head with his hands.

"No! His body has not been found. He escaped; he is just biding his time." De Nogaret said desperately.

"I am afraid you hang on to false hope." Caradas said. "His body has not been found because I buried it. It was the least I could do for my old friend."

"The least you could do?" De Nogaret screamed incredulously, "you dare to call him your friend after what you did? You served with him for years. You were brothers! He had De Massard in a dungeon, it was over! You betrayed us, you bastard!" De Nogaret screamed, shaking his fist at him in fury. "I don't understand why? The prize was in our hands and you threw it away!"

"What prize?" Caradas screamed back at him.

"Reward, wealth, status!"

"I wanted that, I truly did but at what price? My heart changed on the day Esquin began to burn those of my race."

"But you were happy to betray them! You saw those of your race tortured, dying from the agony of it. You were happy to oversee it and cared not that your brothers were rotting in putrid dungeons."

"Yes, I was! I have caused suffering and have been the purveyor of cruelty for more years than I care to remember. I was angry at De Massard and the Temple for expelling us, but I did not truly comprehend the consequence of what we were doing. I did not want my kind annihilated! De Floyran went too far in his quest for revenge!"

"And you betrayed him! _You_ murdered him!"

"It was not easy to betray him. But in the end he deserved what he got, and believe me his death was quicker and more merciful than those who met theirs at the stake. He had a fighting chance. The better man won is all."

"And what about me? You know well what De Floyran promised me. I have lost what I desired because of you!"

"It was never to be, De Nogaret." Caradas said assuredly. "Esquin used you for his own end. He used you to get his revenge on the Temple and secure lands and status with the King. The truth of it is, he despised you, ridiculed you. He never planned to mark you; he would never have given you such a gift."

"Liar!" De Nogaret spat his hands curling into fists of rage. "You will say anything now to spite me you traitor. De Floyran understood me, he knew my heart. We _were_ brothers!"

"You pathetic fool!" Caradas spat back. "Esquin cared for nothing in his life but himself. Even his most trusted men were expendable. You were merely convenient, he laughed at your misfortunes behind your back. At every turn he hated you and led you a merry dance so you would do his bidding and you did, like a needy hound vying for scraps from his master's table. You, clever councillor, were played."

"No, no, no, no!" De Nogaret screamed gnashing his teeth at his tormenter. He did not forget that it was Caradas who had broken his nose and left him hamfasted for hours while his mouth filled with blood and he almost choked on it. With his face twisted in tortured agony he lunged at Caradas, reaching out for him with gnarled face and hands. Caradas went to step back but delayed as the councillor stopped short, his face displaying a torment of a different kind.

De Nogaret clapped one of his twisted hands upon his chest and crying out in pain collapsed backwards onto the bed. Raymond changed and leapt onto the bed in wolf form and loomed over De Nogaret who was now gasping for breath and clawing at the neck of his linen night shirt.

"What did you come here for?" De Nogaret rasped weakly.

"To see you dead." Raymond said, baring his teeth and shoving his muzzle against De Nogaret's face. De Nogaret cried out and then gasped in a manner that Raymond mistook for fear, but when he drew back and looked at the councillor, he realised that it had been his dying breath.

De Nogaret's face was frozen in a look of complete despair and misery, twisted and tormented with his tongue protruding grotesquely from his mouth. The wolf waited for a while to make sure his quarry was dead and then satisfied that the councillor's death had befitted his cruel nature, he disappeared into the night.

29th May 1310, Maryculter

"When do you leave?" Bertrand said.

"In the next few weeks," Galeren replied, with an edge of excitement in his voice. The time had finally come to make the journey to the new world. It was several weeks since the siege at Gisors and those who had wanted to, had returned to Scotland without event. Others who had been freed from the Paris Temple had either journeyed themselves to Scotland with their rescuers or had chosen their own separate paths.

Galeren had kept his spirit intact for the journey but had collapsed with exhaustion and loss of blood as soon as they landed on English soil. He had been unconscious for the duration of the journey to Scotland. It had taken him two weeks of rest and recuperation before he was able, or allowed to leave his sick bed. Catherine had stayed at his side to tend to him and Parsifal had made his recovery in the sick bed beside him.

Since then, he had been passionately making plans for their voyage to the new world. Some two hundred former Templar Knights now wished to escape Europe and place their trust in a new leader and a new world. The old Viking maps from New Temple in London had long since been retrieved and they were eagerly preparing the ships for the voyage ahead. It was almost perfect but for the fact that Galeren could not forget that his father and the other masters remained in the dungeons at Gisors.

"It is an exciting venture for you all. You have thought of doing such for years Galeren, and you have time and again proven that when your mind is set on a quest you see it done with outstanding success."

"I thank you humbly, but you need not bestow such accolades upon me."

"Your days of modesty are long past, Galeren." Bertrand chastised him gently.

"If my father stood at my side, I may bask in the glory that all are so quick to honour me with." He said with an element of bitter regret crossing his face.

"De Molay's decision was his alone, and he would not have pushed the others to choose his path. It is what they all wanted. You have to understand that."

"I wish to understand it, but I know they will be murdered and their reputations besmirched by the French King and his minions. I sometimes wish to delay our voyage for the sake of seeing justice done Bertrand, only those who have put their faith in me are eager to sail soon. Perhaps Gerard can lead them, I cannot rest until –"

"I will see justice done Galeren." Bertrand said and his eyes showed that he was deadly serious. "Your father was a good man, and dear friend to me. Whatever Jacques fate, Philip will pay for it."

"I cannot ask you –" Galeren begun.

"You do not ask me." Bertrand cut him off. "I am telling you what I will do. There is no reason for you to delay. Jacques wants you to go to your future, the past is for your elders and former masters to deal with and you have my word that it will be dealt with. I will send word of it."

Galeren nodded and smiled. "Thank you Bertrand. I have every faith that you will see that the punishment fits the crime."

"Think on it no more." He said, nodding with certainly. "Whatever happened to Raymond Caradas?" Bertrand asked, changing the subject.

"I am not certain. He came with us to Gisors but he disappeared during the siege. After I came back from my business with De Floyran, I didn't see him again. He just slipped away like the treacherous bastard he was."

"Mmm, but without his help things may have turned out very differently."

"Perhaps," Galeren said vaguely.

"You cannot really blame him for slipping away; he would never have been accepted amongst us. He may have been thanked but never trusted."

"I suppose and it was for the best. I knew too much about his past misdeeds to tolerate him in our midst."

"Yes," Bertrand said thoughtfully. "I heard that De Nogaret met his maker quite recently."

"Really?" Galeren said, sounding surprised.

"Yes, I thought you should know."

"What happened?"

"He was found in his bed in a most disturbing manner. He was stiff as a board when they found him and frozen in a grotesque form. His hands were gnarled as if he died in great agony, one gripping his chest and the other reaching out, as if at some perpetrator. His tongue was jutting from his mouth, as if he had been crying out in pain, or perhaps fear."

"Good, it sounds like a good death for him, though I would have rather ripped his throat out myself."

"The manner in which he was found has led some to believe that something distressed him greatly, perhaps he was frightened to death. I have heard that there were muddy footprints found on the sheet covering De Nogaret's bed.

"Footprints?" Galeren said.

"Aye, of a large dog," Bertrand raised his eyebrows suggestively, "or wolf."

"And you think they may have been the footprints of Raymond Caradas?"

"I have my suspicions. Perhaps it was a final act of contrition before he disappeared for good."

"Where _do_ you get your information from?" Galeren asked surprised.

Bertrand tapped the side of his nose. "We may be in hiding but we are still watching."

Galeren smiled, "I had better take my leave, there is still much to prepare and I have to be at the helm, or at least seen to be." He laughed.

"Of course," Bertrand chuckled, "I will be very sorry to see you leave and extremely happy at the same time."

"Me too." Galeren replied and nodding courteously he took leave of his former master.

Two years later . . .

Catherine stepped out of the cottage into the bright sunlight. She squinted and then sneezed several times. The sky was big and brilliant blue and the smell of spring was once again in the air. She shielded her eyes with her hand and looked down the street of the village and spied Galeren standing talking to a group of men, all of whom she knew well. She looked at her husband in his baggy breeches, the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up past his elbows and the mud and dirt caking his hands and forearms were evidence of his day's labour.

She thought back to when she had first met him, stood proud and purposeful in his immaculate Templar attire, his icy blue eyes betraying his thoughts. He had come to tell her that her life would never be the same again and he had been right. That seemed like a life time ago and so much had passed since then. She looked at the little boy at his side with light brown curls dressed in an outfit that was similar to Galeren's. He tugged on the bottom of Galeren's shirt, trying to get his attention. Galeren smiled and crouched down, listening to what the boy had to say and then he looked over at Catherine and pointed at her. The little boy turned and looked and with a big smile on his face he waved. Galeren swept him up into his arms and began to walk towards her.

"Jacques!" she said, "what have I told you about running off without me?" she scolded gently.

"Papa!" he said chirpily. Galeren smiled and Catherine rolled her eyes.

"He is quite safe here. Everyone knows who he is and who he belongs to." Galeren said lightly and then kissed her upon the lips.

"I know, but I hate turning around and finding him gone."

"He's never far." Galeren said, ruffling the boy's hair.

"Still, he is wilful." She said firmly but with an adoring smile on her face.

"I wonder where he gets that from?" Galeren laughed and Catherine raised her eyebrows and retorted, "Yes, I wonder!" she put her hands on hips.

The clatter of hooves racing down the road distracted them and they turned to see Richard racing towards them, he brought his mare to an abrupt halt as he reached them.

"What is it?" Galeren said, noting the look of concern on Richard's face. Richard looked at Catherine as if hesitant to speak in front of her but she gave him a glare that dared him to leave her out, so he relented.

"We have visitors." He said.

"How many?" Galeren asked.

"A dozen or so. They are on the ridge. They haven't moved. It is like they've been watching us."

"Well, let's go and meet them." Galeren said and handed Jacques to Catherine.

"Can I come with you?" she said, her eyes full of curiosity.

"Not this time, you must stay here and look after our wilful son." He gave her a wink.

"Could it be dangerous?" she asked, trepidation suddenly replacing the curiosity.

"I doubt it and there are only a dozen. If they have met Europeans before they will find us very different from the Vikings. Don't worry." He said and giving both her and Jacques a kiss he went to get his horse.

Catherine watched him leave with a little concern etched on her face. They had not yet encountered the peoples of this new world, the Skraelings as the Vikings had called them and by their accounts they had not shared peaceful relations with them. Still, Galeren was right, they were very different from the Vikings and up until now everything here had gone so well. She was certain that there was nothing to worry about.

"Papa will be home soon." Catherine said to her son as they both waved to Galeren and the men that rode out to meet their visitors. With a good feeling in her heart she turned and headed back into the cottage.

"Strange looking bunch," Richard observed, as they approached the bottom of the ridge. Galeren shook his head and said, "They are probably saying the same about us."

"What are they waiting for?" he grumbled.

"They are probably being cautious. If they have encountered men from our shores before, they may think we are hostile. If not, then they may still think we could be dangerous. What do you suggest, that we go charging towards them?"

"No!" Richard snapped, "I just want to get on with it, let them know we are no threat so we can all get on with our lives. We have left trouble behind us. I am not looking for any more."

Galeren looked at Richard with amazement and delight on his face. "Listen to you!" he laughed. "I thought you were happiest with a sword in your hand. My oh my, how you've become the farmer!"

"'Tis all that home cooked food he gets from Ivette, it has made him fat and content!" Parsifal jibed.

"Watch it lad," Richard warned, as his face reddened with embarrassment, "I am still handy with a blade and will be happy to show you just how so if you continue in this vein!"

Galeren winked at Parsifal. It was easy to rile Richard about his novel status. He was newly-wed and was getting fat with contentment.

"Look!" Gerard said, pointing to the ridge. Two of the strangers had broken away from the main group and were slowly heading down it towards them. Galeren's own group of men, who had ridden out to meet the curious visitors, consisted of the nine who had originally gone to Chinon. However, Galeren was not concerned for their safety, he was instead certain that things would go very well.

"Keep calm. I am sure they just want to know what we are about. We may have a lot to teach each other, there is no reason why we cannot have a fruitful and amicable alliance with them."

The nine stared with fascination as the two strangers approached. They wore breeches that looked to be made of leather, were naked to the waist and had dark skin which was decorated with various patterns and colours, even their horses had painted symbols upon them. Both of the men's hair was long and black and sections of it were plaited. Their faces also bore markings.

Galeren dismounted as they got closer and walked away from the others in a show of leadership. He nodded as they approached him and looked up at the men who seemed to study him with a mixture of both disbelief and confusion deep set on their faces. They looked at each other and exchanged a few words in a strange dialect. One of the men, who appeared older and was more heavily painted than the other, seemed to become agitated and his voice began to become raised in volume.

He turned and looked at Galeren again and shouted something at him. Galeren shook his head to show that he obviously didn't understand and the man reined his horse away and began to ride rapidly back up the ridge towards the others shouting something to them as he went. The other man merely dismounted and stood quietly by his horse as if waiting for further instruction.

"What's going on?" Richard asked anxiously.

"I don't know." Galeren shouted back at him and although he was baffled by the other man's behaviour he did not sense anything was wrong . . . yet. They all watched as the man reached the others and began pointing and waving his hands in their direction. Suddenly they all began to ride down the ridge towards them.

"Fuck!" Richard said.

"Just keep calm." Galeren shouted behind him. "We don't want to ruin this. Don't do anything unless I instruct you to, is that understood?"

They agreed and Galeren distanced himself further from them, walking toward the group of men that were now racing towards him on horseback. Three immediately swung out of their saddles as they drew rein and strode purposefully towards Galeren. He stood his ground looking for any potential weapons they carried but all he could see were axes strapped at their waists. As they neared, however, relief and joy suddenly filled Galeren's heart.

"It's alright!" Galeren cried over his shoulder to the others.

One of the men, who wore an impressive crown of feathers upon his head, stepped forward and came right up to Galeren. He bowed his head in a mark of respect as he spoke to him in his native tongue. Galeren smiled at him and in turn bowed his own head and then the man repeated what he'd said, but this time to Galeren's mind.

"What did he say?" Parsifal called out, desperate to know what was going on. Galeren turned and smiled at them as if he'd known all along.

"The wolf is our brother." He replied.

###  Epilogue

October 18th 1314, Forest of Halatte, Pont-Sainte-Maxence, France

Philip was in good spirits. It was a crisp autumn day, the sky was clear and the sun shone brightly. He laughed and joked with his small hunting party, which consisted of three noble friends, five of his Royal guards and several hounds, having filled up with plenty of spiced wine before setting off.

It had been seven months since he had seen his goal finally achieved. De Molay had perished at the stake. Clement had dissolved the Order and all Templar estates and assets had been handed over to the Hospitallers. Though most of the Templars had escaped, Philip had still managed to achieve, in principal, what he'd set out to; he had smashed the Order of the Temple. His only regret was that he had not destroyed all the monsters that had been its beating heart.

Geoffroy de Gonneville and Hugues de Pairaud had perished in prison and only Geoffroy de Charney and the Grand Master had remained at the end. Clement had wanted to impose a sentence of life imprisonment on them but Philip wanted flames. He need not have been concerned, for De Molay and De Charney played into his hands once again by retracting their confessions and professing that the Order was innocent, having been betrayed by the King and his greedy advisors.

Weak as ever, Clement had caved in to Philip's threats and let him impose what sentence he deemed fit, so the last two masters burned. It was a shame that De Nogaret had not lived to see it and Clement did not live long after it, finally succumbing to his long illness just a month later. It was a victory, Philip told himself time and again and so he went back to enjoying the pleasures of being King.

Philip's horse jolted nervously as if spooked and the three hounds suddenly took off into the thick of the forest. One of his friends shrugged and pulled a perplexed face at him but then all their expressions swiftly froze as the hounds' painful yelps suddenly pierced the serene atmosphere. A chilling silence followed, which was even more disconcerting.

"What is going on?" Philip demanded edgily, motioning to one of his guards to go ahead and investigate. He was easily rattled these days and he looked around as if expecting an ambush. It was then that he saw it, just a flash, so quick that he wondered if he'd seen it at all. A beast in the undergrowth, it was a dog surely, one of the hunting hounds come back, but something deep within him told him that it was something else.

"I've had enough, let's go back!" he snapped impatiently.

"But we've only just got out here!" one of his noble friends remarked.

"I don't give a shit!" Philip spat, his heart beginning to pound in his chest. "This is my estate and the hunt is over!" he turned his horse and spurred it into a gallop away from his friends.

"Hold up Philip!" another cried after him, but as the King looked back he saw them; wolves, dozens of them, coming out of the cover of the trees. Their attention seemed fixed on his party whom he heard cry out in shock and warning. Ignoring them, he hastened to make his escape. He spurred his mount onwards, faster, creating greater distance but as he turned his gaze back to the road ahead, he saw one in front of him, blocking his path. It was standing there, as clear as day, looking at him, waiting.

"No, please God no!" he said in a whisper, almost to himself.

He drew on the reins of his horse so sharply that his mount reared up and he nearly toppled from it. Managing to stay on, he turned the beast around and made off in the opposite direction back to his party. He couldn't prevent himself from looking back and to his horror saw that the wolf pursued him. He kicked his horse viciously in the flanks, trying to outrun the monster and once again looked over his shoulder.

The wolf was relentless in its pursuit and effortlessly kept pace with the King's stallion. Philip turned his attention back to the road, but too late to see the low hanging branch of a tree in front of him. He struck it at speed with his head and came to an abrupt stop in mid air, while his horse continued to run at full pelt. He fell to the ground with a tremendous thud, feeling his back crack against loose rocks. He cried out in agony, as the blood gushed down his face and he realised that part of the branch was sticking out of his head.

The wolf padded casually over to him and bared its teeth, moving its jaws close to his face. Philip could not move, he could not speak and he was numb with fear. Bertrand changed and studied the wound to Philip's head. He would not last long, if God was merciful. He looked into the King's terrified eyes.

"The punishment fits the crime," he said and smiled. "Remember, we may be hiding but we are still watching."

Philip could only blink at the former Templar who then changed back into wolf form and slowly walked away from him. He could feel the agony of his injury return and was blinded as blood began to spill into his eyes. He was paralysed and could feel no pain beneath his neck but the pain in his skull was excruciating. He could hear his party calling out for him and then they saw him. Philip did not care, he merely lay and waited for death to claim him and release him from his suffering.

He waited six weeks.

### finis

### About the Author

Rebecca Blackhurst was born in Essex in 1972 but grew up in the Middle East and southern Spain. Possessing an incurable wanderlust, she travelled for years before settling back in the UK to complete a degree in Earth and Planetary Sciences and PhD in Astrobiology. Growing up on a diet of science, science fiction and fantasy, she has scribbled down stories and ideas for years and carted a huge "dinosaur" of a word processor around with her on her travels.

Rebecca currently lives in the wilds of Southland, New Zealand with partner Andy and their German shepherds, Marshal & Ripley and rats Zeb & Starbuck.

### Discover other titles by R.L. Blackhurst at Smashwords.com

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### Acknowledgements

Huge love and appreciation goes to my partner Andy, for his unwavering support and encouragement, even when I was incapable of doing any housework or cooking.

A big thank you must go to my parents, for blessing me with a curious mind and wild imagination, and for always telling me to do it. Thanks Mum for giving me a love of history and Dad for howling up the stairs at me when I was a child after I'd developed my obsession with werewolves.

Cheers to all my friends out there, old and new, who have always indulged my fantasies and will all buy a copy of this book!

A special thanks to my readers, Rebecca Ellis and Jude Breese, who freely gave their time and whose fantastic comments helped improve this book.

I must mention all my buddies at the Queenstown Creative Writing Group, who have listened diligently to my plans and schemes with regard to getting this book published. Special thanks to those who read, and gave comments on, the first chapter during our writer's retreat on Pigeon Island.

Last, but by no means least, a massive thank you goes to the incredibly talented Kirsty Bowden who put the book cover together. Her ideas and computer wizardry really blew my mind and the final product outweighed all my expectations. I also had great fun doing it with you!
