ABBEY DES FONTAINES
THE SENESCHAL STARED INTO GEOFFREY'S EYES AND SAW HATRED. He'd never seen that emotion there before.
"I've told our new master," Geoffrey said, nudging the gun deeper into de Roquefort's throat, "to stand still or I will shoot him."
The seneschal stepped close and poked a finger beneath the white mantle, into the protective vest. "If we'd not started the gunfire, you would have, right? The idea was for us to be killed while escaping. That way, your problem is solved. I'm eliminated and you're the Order's savior."
De Roquefort said nothing.
"That's why you came here alone. To finish the job yourself. I saw you lock the dormitory door. You wanted no witnesses."
"We must go," Geoffrey said.
He realized the danger that endeavor would entail, but doubted if any of the brothers would risk the master's life. "Where are we going?"
"I'll show you."
Keeping the gun cocked at de Roquefort's neck, Geoffrey led his hostage across the dormitory. The seneschal kept his own gun ready and, at the door, released the latch. In the hall stood five armed men. At the sight of their leader in peril, they raised their guns, ready to fire.
"Lower your aim," de Roquefort ordered.
The guns stayed pointed.
"I command you to lower your weapons. I want no more bloodshed."
The gallant gesture stimulated the desired effect.
"Stand away," Geoffrey said.
The brothers took a few steps backward.
Geoffrey motioned with the gun and he and de Roquefort stepped out into the hall. The seneschal followed. Bells rang in the distance, signaling one PM. Sext prayers would be ending shortly, and the corridors would once again be filled with robed men.
"We need to move quickly," the seneschal made clear.
With his hostage, Geoffrey led the way down the passageway. The seneschal followed, creeping backward, keeping his attention trained on the five brothers.
"Stay there," the seneschal made clear to them.
"Do as he says," de Roquefort called out, as they turned the corner.
DE ROQUEFORT WAS CURIOUS. HOW DID THEY EXPECT TO FLEE the abbey? What had Geoffrey said? I'll show you. He decided the only way to discover anything was to go with them, which was why he'd ordered his men to stand down.
The seneschal had twice shot him. If he'd not been quick, a third bullet would have found his skull. The stakes had clearly been raised. His captors were on a mission, something he believed involved his predecessor and a subject that he desperately needed to know more about. The Denmark excursion had been less than productive. So far nothing had been learned in Rennes-le-Chateau. And though he'd managed to discredit the former master in death, the old man might have reserved the last laugh.
He also did not like the fact that two men had been wounded. Not the best way to start off his tenure. Brothers strived for order. Chaos was seen as weakness. The last time violence had invaded the abbey's walls was when angry mobs tried to gain entrance during the French Revolution--but after several died in the attempt, they'd retreated. The abbey was a place of tranquility and refuge. Violence was taught--and sometimes used--but tempered with discipline. The seneschal had demonstrated a total lack of discipline. Stragglers who may have harbored some fleeting loyalty to him would now be won over by his grievous violations to Rule.
But still, where were these two headed?
They continued down the hallways, passing workshops, the library, more empty corridors. He could hear footfalls behind them, the five brothers following, ready to act when the opportunity arose. But there'd be hell to pay if any of them interfered until he said so.
They stopped before a doorway with carved capitals and a simple iron handle.
The master's quarters.
His chambers.
"In there," Geoffrey said.
"Why?" the seneschal asked. "We'll be trapped."
"Please, go inside."
The seneschal pushed open the door, then engaged the latch after they entered.
De Roquefort was amazed.
And curious.
THE SENESCHAL WAS CONCERNED. THEY WERE NOW IMPRISONED within the master's chamber, the only exit a solitary bull's-eye window that opened to nothing but air. Drops of sweat pebbled his forehead and he swiped the salty moisture from his eyes.
"Sit," Geoffrey ordered de Roquefort, and the man took a seat at the desk.
The seneschal surveyed the room. "I see you've already changed things."
A few more upholstered chairs hugged the walls. A table now stood where there had been nothing before. The bed coverings were different, as were items on the tables and desk.
"This is my home now," de Roquefort said.
He noticed the single sheet of paper on the desk, penned in his mentor's hand. The successor's message, left as required by Rule. He lifted the typewritten page and read.
Do you think that what you judge to be imperishable will not perish? You base your hope upon the world, and your god is this life. You do not realize that you will be destroyed. You live in darkness and death, drunk with fire, and full of bitterness. Your mind is deranged because of the smoldering fire within you and you are delighted by the poisoning and beating of your enemies. Darkness has risen over you like the light, for you have exchanged your freedom for slavery. You will fail, that is clear.
"Your master thought passages from the Gospel of Thomas relevant," de Roquefort said. "And he apparently believed that I, not you, would wear the white mantle once he was gone. Surely those words were not meant for his chosen one."