The Templar Heresy

John Bottrill Ph.D. is a former professor - author of learned papers in Psychology and several books – Romance, France, Palmistry, Children’s stories. Apart from writing and genealogical research, he enjoys renovating houses, furniture and paintings. He currently lives in Spain with his partner and a naughty cat, called Porage.

This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to any living person is purely coincidental. That said, the historical events and principal characters are real.

Thanks to Linda Lowe for her stint at editing, and to Michael Tanner for his support during the novel’s gestation.

Information about living in Spain can be found at http://smallholdinginparadise.blogspot.com.es.

And a list of his books can be found at https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/contactenglish

Historical information about the Boterel family (the original spelling!) can be found at www.bottrillfamilyhistory.com

and http://bottrillfamilyhistory.blogspot.com.es/

Published by John Bottrill

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed without

permission, except for brief passages for review purposes.

© 2013 Copyright John Bottrill

Smashwords edition

ISBN

The Templar Heresy

Prologue

Part 1 The Creation and 12th Century

Part 2 The Thirteenth Century

Part 3 The Diaspora

Part 4 The Heresy

Prologue

1093 and the usual unpredictable Cornish July weather.

I'm sick of this place, and I'm sick of you. No one to talk to nearer than Launceston – when I can get there. Nothing to see – just scraggy moorland. I wish I were back in Brittany. Why did I ever marry you? Maud Boterel tugged viciously at the thread, distorting her tapestry. Blast you and blast this place. Call this a castle?

Nicholas, lord of Boscastle, cast her a haggard look. As to that, you married me because no one else wanted you. Why did I ever marry you? Didn't have much choice, did you, if you wanted to stay at court? Faced banishment for fooling around with Prince William Rufus – more use to him than you've been to me.

Gave you a son, didn't I?

Got it over with quickly, didn't you. That was years ago in 1086 – not been near me since. Too busy gallivanting off to the prince. Why don't you take me with you? I'd like to see my competition. She seethed as she thought of him with ‘the other man.’

Nicholas sighed wearily. We've been over this before. You can't take a seven year-old boy to court. Let me think a moment, for God's sake, woman! He paced around the solar. We could go to Richmond to see Uncle Alan Niger. My homage is overdue since Uncle Alan Rufus died, not that it matters, since I'm family. But, having inherited all his brother's lands, he's been my overlord since 1089. I suppose I should.

Maud looked up from picking at the spoiled needlework. To Richmond? She knew it was far away to the North and young William would be the usual pain - 'Takes after his father'! Still, she'd heard that Alan Rufus and now his brother lived in style in his new castle, as befitted the richest man in the realm. I'll believe it when I see it. Well, don't just stand there. Send a message to say we're coming or something. In fact, just do something.

In the next few weeks, a haggard Nicholas prepared to travel to Richmond with his loving wife. Maud wanted to meet the famous Gunnhilda, the nun who had been abducted from her convent by Count Alan Rufus, one of Geoffrey Boterel's brothers, and had now passed to Count Alan Niger. What's she got that I haven't? A quick glance in her new mirror, and she put it down. From her point of view, this was a golden opportunity to see more of England – anything to get away from the back of beyond. She’d been to Winchester and London occasionally; now was her chance to see the North of England.

Nicholas was at Boscastle, Maud at Talcarne manor, when finally the news reached him weeks later in late July. How fortunate – she didn't need to be told immediately, so he had some time to think what to do. Uncle Alan Niger had gone to Brittany to stay with Duke Alan Fergant, not far from Nicholas' father, Geoffrey Boterel, at Dol. Nicholas hadn't seen his uncle, the Earl of Richmond, for years but this would kill two birds with one stone.

And I need a break, he thought. Of course,I can't possibly take a young child that far. I suppose I'll have to go on my own. Oh dear. He brightened, then cringed at the thought of the tempest that would bring.Trade with Brittany was brisk as usual down in the harbour, and a cog would be leaving for St. Malo next day. Decision made, he ordered Ranulf, his squire, to saddle up immediately, and fled. The Day of Wrath would come but not just yet.

***

The journey back to Brittany was even worse than Nicholas remembered. It was one of the roughest crossings the sailors had seen in years. The ship had been blown way off course, and it had taken three days to make land at St. Malo, and an unwanted night at the port. A day's journey on sick horses brought them to Dol Castle on a drizzly evening. They made straight for Nicholas’s old chamber to clean up. The room was much as he remembered it, though somewhat disordered. Evidently one of his uncles had moved in. Well, he’d soon see about that. Left alone, Nicholas fastened the window flap down and groped his way toward the brazier, still glowing faintly at the bottom. What was he going to do?

His sire, Geoffrey Boterel, and his dam, Maria, and Conan, his elder brother as heir, would be in the great hall greeting tenants and sorting out problems. Eustache, the steward, would be with them, wrestling with his accounts and reckoning with the peasants to make sure they had rendered their services. Nicholas would certainly have to present himself as soon as decently possible - his arrival could certainly not have gone unnoticed. Well perhaps it was better this way. In a formal situation, some constraint on his part would be expected anyway. Sputtering and damp, a torch appeared in the doorway.

My lord? Oh there. Ranulf came across the room awkwardly, carrying a large platter with food in one hand and a pitcher and a torch in the other. Water will be here shortly. Such a panic there is. Everyone's in the hall, it seems, but they know we're here. The kitchen staff does anyway, and the cook said to tell you .....

Yes, yes, later. Help me off with these wet clothes will you, and then do something with this fire.

Ranulf did as he was bid, but was too excited to keep quiet for long. His master listened idly to his chatter - what a lot of news you could glean from the kitchens! Did they actually have any time left for work? Naked, he rubbed himself down vigorously and crouched before the brazier. Bring me a blanket, boy.

The servants really should not see him naked - odd that among Normans nakedness should be considered degrading, except when bathing... But then the followers of Mahound too would not uncover themselves either, at least not before an infidel. Yet the English didn't seem to care. Still, what could you expect of the English?

Ranulf brought the food over, and they champed away on the bread and cheese. "What are these? The knight picked up a wizened brown object.

Honeyed mice, Sir. A new delicacy, they say.

Really? How revolting! Here, you have them. He watched distastefully as the page tucked in with great relish. Honeyed mice, indeed! Ye Gods, what will they think of next?

***

There was no help for it - he'd just have to make a grand entrance. Peasants might be able to slip in and out of the hall unnoticed, but he couldn't. After all, he hadn't been seen here for years, and now to arrive today of all days, and unannounced. He steeled himself and strode forward. As he entered, the subdued murmuring quickly died away, catching one deaf old woman unawares, her complaints about her bunions suddenly reaching all ears - an unexpected and now unwanted audience. News of his arrival had preceded him of course as such things do, and the excitement in the air was almost tangible - cutting through the smoke and the odours of animal, human, and torch.

They all knew who it must be, and not a nudge or a shuffle stirred the scene as he walked toward the high table. All that is, except the three vague bundles at the table. Probably no one had dared tell them, or possible there hadn't been time for the grapevine to complete its work. Alerted by the sudden hush, they peered through the smoke and gloom. Hawise's face lit up. Yes, it was - she'd known, as only a mother can. It's Nicholas, in't it? she whispered, leaning forward.

Who's that? I can’t see a thing. The soft voice stopped as Nicholas bowed to both of them, still indistinct in the indoor haze despite the candles on the table.

My lord father, my lady mother! A gasp from somewhere in the crowd, instantly stifled, provided the briefest of pauses. I ask your pardon for returning thus unannounced. I'll explain later. He stopped - this was hard. Convention now dictated a reply from the other side.

Hawise rose majestically. A former mistress, she had married Geoffrey Boterel on the death of his first wife, Hawise de Dol, and had raised the legitimate Conan and the bastard Nicholas herself. She realized she would have to deal with the crisis. But her pleasure at greeting the younger son broke through her formal composure. My son, you are thrice-welcome. Your place is here. She indicated a seat on her left.

The young knight moved round the table to greet her and his father. But no - what were these bundles slumped next to her? And where was his father? The bundles rose uncertainly as his mother hastily steeled herself to deal with the situation. Nicholas….. how to tell you this? Your uncle, Alan Niger, arrived last week and…...

My page said something about it – picked it up from one of the sailors at the port. I hope that’s all he picked up, but I’ve no details. Realising he was making a fool not only of himself but of the family too, he shuffled awkwardly. When’s father coming back? The silence was so hard it hit him. His body froze as he focussed on his mother. What's happened?

Hawise controlled herself magnificently. The servants and tenants should not see her discomposed. I'm afraid he was killed a few days ago. 1093 has not been a good year here. You find us here for his funeral feast.

All thoughts of personal composure gone, Nicholas gaped. What? It can't be.

I'll tell you everything later.

But….

She quelled him with a look he remembered well. Later!

He tried to discern who the others were at the high table, but the hall was now well filled with smoke. But, who…..?

Conan here is running the estate now.

Conan? Not his father - that explained the gasp just now.

The other bundle, revealed now in fashionable clothes moved round the table towards him. Nicholas! You won’t remember me – I haven’t seen you since Durham. How you’ve grown!

Yes, I remember you, Uncle Stephen. What are you doing here?

Come to pay my respects, and I've inherited Treguier together with Alan Rufus' Earldom of Richmond. He grinned engagingly. Tell you all about it later. Tonight you’ll have to share your old room with me. It’s not very big, is it, but I expect you won’t mind. You can have it back for you and your wife when she gets here. Is she coming? But enough! You’ll be wanting to catch up on all the news with your mother and brother."

***

Silence in the hall as everyone watched to see how the returning son took it all in. For his part, Nicholas's feelings were mixed. At least he'd be spared the reunion he'd been rather dreading. But what changes would have to be made, and how would he fit in? A few tears would no doubt come later. A deep breath followed by a warm hug for his mother, a less huggy one for his elder brother, Hawise’s son, and an embrace for his uncle. The hall relaxed audibly.

And where is Aimeric and the new one – John, is it? I know father's been busy.

Hawise thought fast. Hamo, actually. Oh, Aimeric’s not well, and Hamo is only one – too young for this feast. We’ll talk about that later too. She stepped toward her son, her arms outstretched. Nicholas clasped her hands and looked into her eyes suspiciously. But his body moved forward as it had always done, and then he was hugging her again. A cheer broke out in the throng, and in an instant pandemonium reigned. Eustache, the steward, sighed and stacked up his papers. Finished or not, there'd be no more work today.

Conan! Never particularly warm, how would the relationship be now? They hugged each other warily at first, then more warmly. We’ll talk tomorrow – relief on both sides.

And where is Uncle Alan? I heard he was coming to Brittany, though I don't know why.

Then it was Maria's turn again. Your uncle arrived a couple of weeks ago, but he's not here. I'll tell you everything later.

Stephen’s turn came when they turned in. But, uncle, I still don’t really understand why you’re here. How are your sons? You don’t usually leave Middleham.I know. I love that place. You must come and see the keep. The walls are twelve feet thick. It’s one of the largest in England. It’s got three floors - with living rooms for the lord’s family - apart from the great hall, its own chapel, a big kitchen and a dovecot. Oh, I forgot, and two wells in the basement and of course a moat – one of the new defences – and a drawbridge. It’s like a palace compared with most other castles. My brother, Alan Rufus, built well when the Conqueror gave him the North. He stooped to draw breath.

Thinking of his own modest castle, Nicholas gritted out, Can’t think what could have induced you to leave it.

Oh, I needed to go to Winchester – king's business, you know. And then I didn’t feel like returning home – my wife, you know. So I’m taking a break.

What’s the problem with your wife? Doesn’t get enough attention, I suppose. It seems to me they’re all like that.

Quite the contrary - too much attention. She’s complaining about her figure –turning into a blob. What do you expect if you produce a son every two years?

Isn’t that something to do with you? Nicholas looked innocently at his uncle.

Thrown for a moment, Stephen hesitated. He’d heard about Nicholas and Rufus, but surely his nephew couldn’t be that innocent now marrried! Then Nicholas grinned and his uncle returned it. I’m sure you’re finding out for yourself,

So how many sons do you have?"

Let’s see. There’s Ranulph, then Ralph, Hervey, and Henry, and now she’s expecting again. Lands I have, thanks to my brother, but not enough to provide for all of them. I like sex too much. Do you fancy….?

Nicholas was taken aback. "Good Heavens, no – it would be like incest. He managed a weak grimace.

Later, his mother gave him the details of his father's death.

***

A few days previously, trouble had been brewing for Geoffrey Boterel, Count of Penthièvre. A visit to his brother, Stephen, and his son, young Geoffrey Boterel II, had gone pleasantly enough, even though the damp weather had made his joints ached for the comforts of his own home. Now back home with his brother for a return visit, he and his entourage could relax, though even here in August a fire could be necessary in the Great Hall. Hawise was away visiting her mother, so he was taking full advantage of the brazier in their chamber when a soldier came running down in haste from the battlements. My lord! A dozy Geoffrey roused himself. Yes, what is it?

Something is happening at the Great Stone. There is a squad of men, some armed, who appear to be digging.

Digging?….what…? Stephen also struggled to his feet, uncomprehending.

I couldn’t see from here, but belike mischief is afoot.

Don’t disturb yourself, Stephen – I’ll go. Geoffrey lurched to his feet, swaying. Ho there, rouse my men! Where is my squire?

No, we’ll both go, from Ralph de Gael, who happened to be there.

Geoffrey’s squire came running in. My lord, it seems the party is flying the banner of the Duke of Brittany.

The devil, you say. What does he think he’s up to? To arms!"

Actually, Sir, he seems well supported.

Why should they be bearing arms against me? And why now? To arms, I say! The count came to his feet roaring defiance, and threw the nearest thing to hand – a pitcher of wine – at the unfortunate messenger.

This was getting worse, and