thought he would understand his wish to visit us, so he was surprised at the abbot’s response. It made the abbot furious! He ranted at Matthew, angry and peevish, but Matthew thought he was just overreacting, he thought that his abbot simply wanted to forget and was annoyed to be reminded of his past. Matthew was ever a kindly man. He knew that his abbot had fallen from grace in the Church when Pope John took the throne and I think he thought it was because the new pope had found out about his past in the Order, I think that Pope John saw how de Penne had managed to become elevated and disliked it. He chose to send de Penne as far away as he could, and Buckland is almost as far as it would be possible to send a man from Avignon.
“So my old friend Matthew came to visit, and while we spoke he mentioned who his abbot was.” The knight’s face became pensive as he recollected. “I was amazed. It could only be by divine interference that de Penne had been sent here, surely – sent here to me? I believe that, in any case. Why would God have put him in my way if I was not to be his agent of justice? Ah, I was taken with a madness of desire. I felt filled with the Holy Spirit; I was thrilled that God had selected me for his will!
“Matthew stayed with us that night, and I must have seemed excited to him. I was careful not to tell him what de Penne was, for I knew that Matthew would not want to see blood spilled. He would want to let him escape and go to Buckland. But I think I had drunk too much that night in my delight for I cannot truly remember much of the evening, and I think he was worried, for, as you know, I do not drink to excess usually. On the morrow, I sent Edgar to town with the monk, to protect him on the road, but I also told Edgar to stay in the town and watch, and to come back to tell me when the monks were about to leave.
“I could not rest. I could not sleep. My revenge was so near, so close, that it seemed to burn in my soul with a holy light.” He turned and gazed into the flames again, a small smile playing around his lips.
“But then, when Edgar came to me and told me that they were on the move, I was struck with indecision. I could not convince myself that this really was the man. How could I be sure? I tried to recall all that I had heard, to make sure in my own mind that he was the one, that he deserved death, but how could I be certain? I dithered for a day, but then I decided to take him and question him. After all, surely it was too much of a coincidence that he should come here and his presence made known to me? It had to be God’s will!
“I rode off in the late morning. I could remember the roads to Oakhampton, and Edgar was sure that this was the way they had taken, so I followed alone. Edgar saw that I had gone and decided to follow me to try to stop me. When he saw that he could not, he came with me. I could not stop him, he had lost as many friends as me to the stakes and the flames.
“We came upon them, as you know, just outside Copplestone. We took him from the monks and led him into the trees. We had no desire to hurt the others, but we scared them enough, I think, to stop them from wanting to follow us. But Matthew recognised who we were, I think, even though I wore a tunic with no signs. I think he recognised my voice. Well, we took de Penne deep into the woods and tied him to a tree and I wondered what to do with him. It seemed wrong to just kill him. God in his wisdom chose to make me feel sorrow for him, as if taunting me with my own weakness. So many had died already, what would one more death achieve? I sat and looked at him and as I watched him I realised I could do nothing.
“But I had to be sure that he was the man. I had to know whether he truly was the agent of the destruction of the Temple.”
Baldwin wiped a hand over his brow as if trying to wipe away the memory. “I asked him about the Templars. I thought he would not admit if I asked him directly about his part, he seemed too fearful and nervous, altogether too callow to confess to any wrongdoing, so I accused him of being a Templar and therefore a heretic” He laughed. “He thought I would kill him for that! He confessed everything to show how he was without guilt: how he had conspired with de Nogaret to find evidence against the Order, how he had conspired to invent crimes that he knew were false, how he had gone to prisons and persuaded the Templars to admit their guilt. As proof, he told me that he had found favour with the pope! He had been given his archbishopric as a reward! And he expected me to free him for his crimes!
“It all came forth, all of his guilt and all of his misdeeds, his perjury and his lies. I knew enough to know that what he said was true. I had spoken to the men he had betrayed, and what he told me showed his guilt. It made me mad. My sympathy and my compassion left me.
“I walked to him, taking off my helm so that he could see my face, and I spoke to him. I told him who I really was. He stared at me. He did not seem able to believe it at first, he kept shaking his head with his mouth wide open as if he could not believe his own ears. And then, then, I told him that I was going to kill him in the same way that he had caused the others to die.”
He shuddered, once, as if in a sudden pain. “He stared at me. His mouth was open, his head still moving from side to side, and then he started to plead, to beg me to have mercy. Mercy! When had he shown mercy? He had killed for money, for his own prestige and wealth. He had forgotten all of his vows, disregarded his friends and ruined a noble and honourable Order. Mercy? From me? He could not bear the thought of the same death he had brought on so many others. I only hope that even now his soul is burning for what he did to the others.
“There is little more to say. We could have left him there to starve, but he might have been saved. We could have simply stabbed him, but then there would have been no point to his death. The only way that seemed right somehow was the same death he had given to our companions – the heretic’s pyre. Then there would be a reason for his death. Edgar agreed when I suggested that it would be better to leave him as a symbol, to show that he was a man of dishonour, to show his guilt. How better? At least then there would be an indication, a sign. We collected the wood and twigs and lighted the fire while he shouted and screamed at us. I think he had lost his mind by the time we lit it; he seemed to be incapable of understanding when we spoke to him. I sat in front of him and watched as he died. As his body burned. There was no pleasure, my friend, believe me. It was like performing the last rites for a criminal – in a way I suppose it was. But the smell, the stench, was revolting, so when he was dead we left the body burning and returned here.”
“You were very careful to obscure your tracks,” Simon observed quietly.
Baldwin looked up in frank surprise. “No. No, we just rode north until we came to a road, then followed it back towards Crediton until we could turn off home. I was not thinking about my own protection, after all I may have killed him but I felt no guilt – he deserved it! And it was God’s will that he should come here, that he should be made known to me. It was God that took his life away, not I. We made no effort to cover ourselves.
“I daresay you will find this tale unbelievable – I daresay I would if our positions were reversed – but I swear on my oath that this is all the truth. I decided to kill him for what he had done to the Templars and, when I could take my revenge, I took it. It was God himself who permitted it by putting him in my path. I am sure that he was guilty and that God used me to give him the justice he deserved.”
Simon stared at him, trying to make sense of the knight’s astonishing story. Baldwin was sitting now, avoiding the bailiff’s eyes and gazing into the fire again. He did not seem embarrassed; rather he looked relaxed, almost elated, as if the confession had taken a huge weight from his back so that he could face his future with peace at last. How long, Simon wondered, how long had he kept this story to himself? How long had he been searching for this man? How long had he been trying to find out all the details so that he could find out who was responsible and why? He said that de Molay died in thirteen fourteen, so for some two years he had searched, sifting the information, finding new people to corroborate or add to the tale, until he found de Penne at last. And what then? As soon as he found the man he had to give up, return to his home, and admit to himself that he had failed.
How would I feel if I had gone through all that and then, just as I had given up all hope of revenge, found that my quarry had followed me, like a lamb walking into a wolf’s lair. Would I believe it was God’s will too?
His stare hardened and he took another sip at his drink.
“What about the monk? What about Matthew? How much did he know?”
“Matthew?” Baldwin turned, faint surprise showing on his face. “He knew nothing. Not until we took his abbot and he heard my voice – I think he realised then who we were. When he found out what we had done to de Penne he came here as soon as he could. He couldn’t come immediately, but he arrived while you were here. As soon as you had gone he demanded to know why we had done that… that thing to his abbot.”
“That was why he was so sure that the murder could not be repeated. That was why he said it was a temporary madness. He knew it must be you!,” said Simon reflectively. Looking up sharply, he said, “And you told him? You confessed?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, I told him. He did not forgive me, how could he? But I think he understood.”
“He has not told anyone?”
