Free Tales of the Knights Templar by Katherine Kurtz Page A

driving a wedge between the Inquisition and the pope. That would permit the king to dictate its policies and guide its actions through his good friend and confessor. Thanks to Nogaret, the Grand Inquisitor of France is in fact accountable more to the crown than to the weakling pope in his new palace at Avignon. Twice Clement attempted to censure Imbert over the Templar travesty, and even suspended him and everyone else connected with the original process. Nogaret quickly assured that it all came to nothing.”
    Eckhart’s voice was low as he said, “This is distressing news, Nicholas.”
    “As I said before, things have changed greatly since you were last here, Eckhart. The university has changed. Paris has changed. The world, I fear, has changed. Mostly for the worse.”
    “What lives, changes, old friend,” Eckhart replied.
    The gate bell sounded in the distance. A moment later, a lay brother approached.
    “Pray forgive my intruding, masters,” he said, kissing the hem of his black scapular to ask pardon. “But there is a ragged student at the gate seeking Friar Eckhart. Shall I send him away?”
    “No, Brother. Never neglect to show hospitality to strangers—”
    “For some have thus entertained angels unawares,” Trevet concluded with a sanctimonious wink.
    Robert delivered the message while eyeing the spacious interior of the priory grounds through the wicket gate.
    “From Hochheim?” Eckhart repeated. “Are you sure?”
    “I am sure. Later, a sergeant of the guard said he was a Templar. Could that be true? He has a scar on his face and only one good eye.”
    Eckhart gazed at the boy stolidly for a moment. “Yes, it could be true. Tell him I will be in the church.”
    Robert touched his forehead in salute and disappeared into the mist and rain, leaving Eckhart staring after him.
    “Graf Friedrich?” he murmured aloud.
    The pilgrim was no longer at the Blue Coquille when Robert returned, hurrying so as to reach his lodgings before the Maci bell tolled. The patrons regarded him coolly and the tavern-keeper quickly showed him the door again. He did not linger to inquire further about his benefactor.
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    It took several moments for the shock of recognition to pass.
    “We have both grown old,” Eckhart said at last, from the relative seclusion of the arched colonnade in the north aisle.
    “The years have been kinder to you since we parted at Erfurt—you for the Preaching Friars, I to win my spurs and make a great name for myself.”
    “I received word in Cologne that you had entered the Poor Knights of Christ,” Eckhart said.
    “It is a long story.”
    Eckhart surveyed the merchant’s simple but finely tailored clothes.
    “Your young messenger said you were a pilgrim.”
    “The pilgrim went on his way to Compostella. I regret having to shave my beard! But it was no longer safe, thanks to that false Beghard in the tavern. Paris crawls with proponents of the Free Spirit.”
    “Some say there are Templars about as well. Come.”
    Eckhart led the way through the church to the chapel of the Passion, where they could speak more freely.
    “You are at risk, then?” Eckhart asked.
    “I signed no confession, nor renounced my vows.” Friedrich gazed up at the outstretched arms of the dying Christ. “In the Rhineland, the Order was declared innocent. But here, my very life is at stake.”
    “Why have you jeopardized it to visit me, Friedrich? Not out of old friendship, I trust.”
    “I need your help. I must gain entrance to the Temple. I am sure that Jakob von Molay is imprisoned there. I must see him.”
    “The Grand Master? He is known to you?”
    “We served together in the Holy Land for ten years. But this is not a personal visit, Eckhart.”
    Years spent negotiating difficult diplomatic assignments alerted the friar to the nuance of mission.
    “I am told it is under royal protection. How could I help?”
    “The Inquisitor General, Imbert—is he not known to you?”
    “He is a son of this