Free Tales of the Knights Templar by Katherine Kurtz Page B

priory. We lived here together when I incepted and during my first regency. He was a lector then. Aymeric, too.”
    “I have heard that your Master Aymeric resigned rather than grace the perfidious council with his presence.”
    “It was a difficult choice. But the pope had sworn that he would be deposed and penanced if he did not comply.”
    “A brave man. We will need such in Vienne!” Friedrich crossed himself emphatically. “But this—this dog-hearted son of perdition, Imbert … could he grant permission to enter the Temple?”
    “Perhaps,” Eckhart replied. “If he
would,
which is another matter.”
    “Will you ask him?”
    Eckhart looked long and soberly at his childhood friend. “Very well. But it will not be easy. I shall have to find a cause.”
    “May God assist you! It was criminal, Eckhart. They put them to the test—knights, priests, serving brothers. … Even the pope protested at first—feebly—until his compliance was required by the king. Or should I say ‘purchased’?”
    “Strong words, Friedrich.”
    “It is true, Eckhart. By my oath!”
    “‘To drink and swear like a Templar,’ they say. Very well, come back in two days at this time.”
    4
    “Not many ask to see Guillaume these days,” the prior said, as he guided Eckhart to the Inquisitor’s apartment. Because of the incessant drizzle, they took the indoor route through the refectory and kitchen. “Nor does he often admit visitors. But he declared interest in seeing you as soon as it was known that you were returning. He seems to set some store by your old friendship.”
    “I could not claim that we were friends,” Eckhart said. “He was always a mystery to me.”
    “He is a mystery to us all. Without question, his favor with the king has benefited the priory materially. But I fear it has also earned us the fear and enmity of many ordinary people.”
    The Inquisitor’s rooms were situated opposite the School of St. Thomas, across the lower courtyard but near enough to the kitchens to provide easy access, as well as to the service gate and, beyond it, the city gate of Saint-Michel.
    “‘Tis an embarrassment and an affront to common life to have him thus sequestered,” the prior complained as they entered a short corridor. “But necessary, all things considered. Guillaume’s presence had a chilling effect on the student brothers in particular, when he came to choir or the refectory. Not that we saw much of him in those early years of his appointment. His interrogation of the Templars required extensive travel.”
    He rapped sharply on a heavy oaken door at the end of the corridor.
    “Entrez!”
cried a thin, metallic voice from within.
    “I will leave you now, Eckhart,” the prior whispered. “Surely some business must require my attention … elsewhere.”
    Oiled parchment had been placed over the windows as if it were already winter, so that the large anteroom where the aged friar sat hunched over a writing table, wrapped in his cloak and a fur mantle, appeared dark and somber. There was a chill in the close air.
    “Salve, Frater,”
Eckhart said.
    Guillaume Imbert lifted his hawklike face and squinted against the light that flooded into the room behind the visitor.
    “Ach, Bruder Eckhart,”
he said in Thuringian.
“Wilkommen.”
    He rose with some difficulty and approached the larger man, with whom he exchanged the ritual
pax
—the embrace of peace. Eckhart noted the deep lines in the old man’s face, the red webbing in his eyes, the scaly flush on his throat and jaw.
    “It has been a long time,” the Grand Inquisitor said, waving Eckhart to a chair and resuming his own perch. “We are honored to have you back with us. Greatly honored.”
    “It is a pleasure to be relieved of administrative duties even for a while.” Eckhart laughed. “Perhaps now I can return to my
magnum opus.
I have only managed to write three introductory passages in three years.”
    “It is a crucifixion, Eckhart. A bleak,