THE BORGIA FRAUD

By Robin Edwards

PROLOGUE - Part 1

PARIS, 1314

Two men, shackled with iron bands and chains, proud and defiant were brought to the cobbled square on a cold spring evening as the first stars twinkled in a blackening sky. In the centre, a spit had been erected upon which they would be roasted slowly like Christmas pigs until dead.
   To the consternation of their persecutors, neither showed any trace of fear despite being physically broken by months of torture. Each was at peace, confident that however malevolent the charges against him, he would meet his Maker in Heaven.
   They had been condemned on the order of King Philip IV¹, whose campaign to rid France of the Knights Templar had taken seven bloody years. Fearful of their power, disturbed by their knowledge and jealous of their wealth, Philip le Bel had contrived the election of Bertrand le Got as Pope Clement V and, through the Holy Inquisition, set about the systematic destruction of Christendom’s most powerful military and religious Order.
   On Friday, October 13th, 1311, four years after their persecution had begun, Philip launched a perfectly planned operation in which every Templar in France was taken into custody.² The wheels of Papal justice ground on with agonising slowness, trial by trial, execution by execution, until these men, the Grand Master and the Preceptor of Normandy, were the last of their kind. Their deaths in the Ile-des-Javiaux, would erase Knights Templar from history.
   Strong and unbowed, secure in their faith, they faced their tormentors.
   Men about to be roasted to death are not permitted to dress against the weather and, as the breeze that would fan the flames of their extinction tugged their flimsy clothing, each fought the urge to shiver, unwilling to give satisfaction to his oppressors by appearing afraid.
   ‘The Holy Inquisition has found you guilty of heresy,’ intoned the Bishop from deep within the folds of a heavy shroud-like garment, his face carefully hidden by the hood. ‘You have denied Christ and worshipped idols. You Jacque de Molay³ have confessed and then recanted your confession. What do you say now to the charges?’
   During his trial, the Grand Master had confessed to the false charges against him and the court had expected his meek acceptance of its punishment - harsh and perpetual imprisonment. When the Inquisition finally pronounced sentence, Jacque de Molay recanted, proclaiming his innocence and that of the Order of the Poor Knights of the Temple of Solomon. In doing so, he transformed lifelong incarceration into gruesome death by burning.
   ‘I say what I have said before,’ began de Molay in a steady voice. ‘I do not fear dying if being granted the favour of life means piling one lie upon another.’
   ‘I ask again. Will you now confess your sins?’
   ‘I will not.’
   ‘And you, Geoffrey de Charnay,⁴’ continued the Bishop, snug and warm beneath the folds of wool, ‘will you, at this last hour, confess your sins?’
   De Charnay followed the example of his Grand Master.
   ‘I will not.’
   The Grand Master and the Preceptor of Normandy remained impassive as the Bishop took a single step forward and placed his flabby, well-fed face between theirs. The illuminated pages of the Bible held open before him fluttered as if trying to flee the corruption around them.
   ‘You cannot save yourselves,’ he whispered, so low only they could hear. ‘You will burn for your sins, an excruciating death befitting devil worshippers but, on the King’s word, I have it in my power to make death easier for you.’
   He then made the mistake of looking into the eyes of Geoffrey de Charnay, and it frightened him to see only serenity without a trace of the fear and hatred he had expected. In the face of the most hideous death imaginable, the knight was strong, his iron will forcing the Bishop to cast away his eyes. When the Bishop spoke again his voice was strained.

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