The King raised
brows and gestured with a hand. ‘By all means!’
‘The axiom,
simply put, is this: a bank may lend more than it holds. Shall I give you an
example, sire?’
‘Hurry up!’
‘Let us imagine
that the bank has at its disposal ten barrels of gold Byzantines, this amount
is written into the ledger as an asset. Suppose then that the King of Aragon
requires a loan of one barrel of gold Byzantines. We continue to own that
barrel of gold because it will – we hope – at length return to us
by way of a repayment. We enter it in the ledger as gold owed to us, and so
gold owned by us. We may do this nine more times, until we have no gold
whatever.’
The King sat
forward with both hands on the table. ‘But then you have run out of gold,
Tours! You can no longer lend or buy anything!’ He looked up staring at the
treasurer and a moment later he let it out all at once: ‘Can you, you
imbecile!’
John of Tours
cowered before the tempest of his king’s disdain. ‘But this is the secret . . .
to a certain degree the bank still has this gold and may lend it to others,
though now it is only on paper as a binding order that entitles the holder to a
particular sum.’
‘A binding order
is only paper, Tours!’ He thumped the table. ‘Paper!’
‘Yes, but . . .
because the Temple has a very good international standing . . . such an order
or promissory note is as good as gold anywhere in the world! The bank may give
out similar notes ad infinitum. All is entered into this ledger.’
The King took in
a breath and let it out slowly with these words: ‘But what if you wish to buy
something?’
‘I can see what
you are thinking, sire, but when the bank purchases goods from its creditors it
also uses only promissory notes, which are then entered in as expenses and
liabilities. However, it is often the case that those creditors owe the bank in
rents or taxes. In those cases all things are adjusted accordingly so that no
florin need be exchanged. Everything is recorded meticulously down to the
smallest amount. A bank may have very little gold, but wealth has been created
without it. It is all in the use of ledgers, a little gift from our Arab
friends . . .’ He ended out of breath, flat under the scrutiny of his
superior’s intense regard. ‘The bank . . . sire, continues to grow . . .’
‘Things are in a
marvellous condition?’ The King said, perusing his rings.
The treasurer
clasped his hands to prevent them from shaking. ‘It is a complex business, but
it is profitable in its own way.’
Philip gave him
an eye. ‘Without gold?’
‘Yes sire.’
‘What happens
then if all your notes are called in at the one time? What of that, Tours?’ He
raised a frigid brow and waited.
The treasurer
faltered.
‘Well?’
John of Tours
blinked, and blinked and blinked. ‘Well, sire...’ He blinked again. ‘This would
be most unusual . . .’
‘Yes, yes,
unusual, but tell me, Tours, what would happen in such a case?’
‘The bank would
be . . . well . . . it would be undone, sire.’
The King nodded
as if he had just been told that night would follow day. ‘Yes it would!’ He sat
up. ‘But this will not happen, will it, John of Tours?’
The other man
shook his head. ‘Not unless . . .’
‘Unless . .
. ?
’
‘Not unless your
Majesty takes over the running of the bank...’ He said it all at once and
paused, knowing that all had been said and that his fate was now sealed.
At that moment
Marigny returned with a short, laconic man, dark of hair and skin, whose eyes
were held in a permanent squint. In his arms he carried a myriad of parchments
and ledgers, which he seemed particularly fond of.
‘Fuinon!’ The
King’s eyes rolled from the treasurer to his secretary. ‘Your Majesty is not
satisfied!’
‘No, sire,’ the
man said, squinting.
‘Is this true,
that this bank shall be undone if I take control of it?’
‘Sire . . .’ the
man began, ‘if I may . . . an international bank is raised above the
preoccupations of kingdoms; that is, wars and petty squabbles. Its business is
based on its credentials and its impartiality . . . If France were to take over
the running of the bank it would not succeed since it would not be seen to have
either credentials or impartiality.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because, sire,
you have many enemies, England... Flanders . . .’
‘Yes . . . yes .
. . enemies, and?’
‘And, sire, the
repercussions would be twofold. Those who do not trust you will withdraw their
deposits, and where they owe the bank they shall withhold payments on their
loans.’
The King began a
slow nodding. ‘You are telling me, Fuinon,’ he looked at his assessor, ‘that I
have no gold and no bank to speak of?’
The man peered
myopically at his king. ‘Not in the usual sense, no, but if there were a way
for your Majesty to remain aloof and independent from the bank, then France
would retain the usual benefices in taxes and privileges . . .’
‘Taxes?
Privileges?’ The King’s face had moved from one emotion to another until it
finally settled on anger. ‘Taxes? I could have had those without moving one
finger! Privileges? They are mine to take without asking. I have not coveted
taxes and privileges, Fuinon! I have not toppled the Temple to acquire what was
mine all along! I have done it for one reason and one reason only: to have a
bank and a multitude of gold!’
During this
tirade the treasurer was transfixed where he stood. He dared not breathe.
The King paused,
remembering something, and his face brightened. ‘What about the towns . . . the
farms, lands, granaries, mills, manors and castles? Where are the archives and
the charters, the titles, Tours? I shall have them brought down to me. At least
those if nothing else!’
The treasurer
opened his mouth and closed it again. The words came out before he could think.
‘They have gone missing at Acre . . . all the inventory of our holdings is
missing, sire . . .’
‘Missing?’ The
King’s voice sounded as if it came through broken glass.
The treasurer
prepared himself for what would surely come.
‘Marigny!’ Philip
shouted, looking around.
The chamberlain
stepped up from his place behind his sovereign. ‘Sire?’
‘Is it possible
to take possession of Templar property in France without titles, charters and
archives?’
Enguerrand de
Marigny did not need to think on it. ‘Not without proof of ownership, sire. The
truth is that it would be unlikely even if your Lordship had the titles, for in
the event that the Order is dissolved the holdings would likely be turned over
to the Hospitallers.’
The treasurer
grew weak and a desire to vomit worked its way to his throat.
‘I see.’ The
King looked for
all the
world to be on the brink of a
murderous yell, instead he turned grave and deathly quiet. ‘This is most
unsatisfactory! I have no gold, no bank and no property! I find myself poorer
than before! Well, well . . . it is not a good day! Is it, Tours?’
John of Tours
felt a sudden, urgent need to empty his bladder. His torpid eyes moved from
this to that, looking for a way out.
The King stared
long and hard at him and stood, full with a sudden burst of activity. ‘Well
then, I shall make something useful of it!’ he said. ‘How are your legs,
Tours?’
It was the truth
that John of Tours could not feel his feet for numbness. ‘My legs . . . sire?’
‘Yes. Are they
strong, do you have a fondness for running? Or have they turned to fat from sitting
so often upon that abundant derrière?’
‘Why . . . do .
. . you . . . ask, sire?’ The treasurer’s trembling sent his ledger onto the
floor where the pages, having come loose, scattered and melted into the pile of
parchments from the table.
Philip Capet
stretched forth his own sinewy extremities, flicked a wrist and his guards
seized the treasurer. ‘You shall need them, Tours, perhaps you should not have
sat so much . . . my dogs exercise every day . . . their legs are most
becoming.’
‘But sire . . .
I . . .’
‘Hush . . .’
said the King with a finger to his mouth, as if in the other room there slept a
restless child.
His eyes were
the blue of a winter sky. ‘We are going hunting.’
T
he
King entered the tower through a secret aperture to the left of his throne and
climbed up the stone stairs, two steps at a time.
Beneath the
portholes in this part of the ducal wing he observed the turrets and
battlements, and the little courtyard with a marble fountain surrounded by
galleries. It had been snowing heavily all day and all of it lay drowned and
cold.
When he reached
the top he stood before a door and pulled a face of disdain over his
expressionless character before unlocking it.
Inside the large
room light diffused behind pale green windows fell upon a myriad of things. The
first to come to his attention was the shape of a man that immediately dropped
before his master.
Philip’s shadow
fell over it. ‘Stand up, Astrologer . . .’ Iterius rose with a limp. This day
he wore a purple robe and a velvet cap that covered his ears and emphasised his
enormous nose, his full lips and small, beadlike eyes. The King observed the
ugliness of these features and made a yawn of it.
Iterius bowed in
answer and, adjusting the satin sash around his middle, waited to be addressed.
The King looked
around. In the middle sat a long table drowned in parchments, shells, rings,
balls and vials filled with liquids and powders. Large volumes were scattered
all over the floor, and there was a pungent smell of burnt herbs and sulphur.
Philip walked over to the table, picked up a parchment then set it down without
reading it. His eyes fell on this and that and finally came to rest on the
Egyptian again, whom he examined as one examines an apple before biting into
it.
‘Iterius,’ he
said, wiping one hand with the other and raising a cold brow, ‘your Majesty
wishes to know how you have been wasting your time and his patience.’
The Egyptian’s
features turned servile. ‘Experiments, sire, computations, regenerations.’
‘Yes . . . yes .
. . but what in the devil have you achieved?’
The man fumbled
with his words and Philip turned his head and therefore his brow to one side
and observed him from out of slitted eyes. ‘I have no gold. I have no bank and
no property . . . It seems the Templars have outwitted me. My question is,
Astrologer, why did you not see it in your stars?’
The Egyptian’s
face paused a moment before the immediacy of Philip’s gaze. ‘Sire . . . I have
consulted the flames,’ he said, moving towards him, ‘and awakened the spirits
of fire. I have consulted the boiling waters and the wax shapes . . . but it
was the pattern created by smoke that has this day warned me of your . . .
disappointment.’
The King raised
a hand and the Egyptian was instantly silent. ‘You are late. Why did you not tell
me yesterday?’
The other man
looked down in deference. ‘I did not know it yesterday, sire, I only learnt of
it today.’
‘Today? You
imbecile! What good are you to me? Without the gold there is nothing! Without
the bank less still, and with¬out the property . . . well . . . I have wasted
my time!’
‘But sire, if I
may . . . there are other things . . . more advantageous to your Royal Highness
besides gold. But like gold, they must be mined in the exact right place.’
‘There is
nothing more advantageous than gold, you fool!’
‘There are . . .
secrets, sire,’ he threw in.
The King
narrowed his eyes. ‘Secrets?’
‘Today I have
learnt . . . that you . . . must direct the inquisitors to extract from Jacques
de Molay concerning . . . those.’
The King
frowned. ‘What secrets?’ He seemed to remember something – an Italian
inquisitor had come to him some years before, he had spoken something of
secrets, but Philip had not believed him. He turned a chill eye upon his
astrologer. ‘Tell me!’
The man cowered.
‘I only know of their existence, sire. You must direct the inquisitors to ask
the questions of the Grand Master. Only he –’
The King raised
a hand and Iterius was immediately silent. ‘How may they do so, you fool?’ he
thundered. ‘Clement has ruled that any Templar who is interrogated by a
cardinal need not be questioned again! Jacques de Molay was interrogated at
Chinon – all the Templar leaders were interrogated by cardinals at
Chinon! The inquisitors cannot disobey!’