The Awful Secret by Bernard Knight Page B

flames of Hell dancing between the logs. ‘I came into possession of certain information of which only a few of the highest in the Order had any knowledge. Though I was prominent in the hierarchy, even I was not supposed to be privy to the secret. It came to me by accident.’
    ‘What was this secret?’ asked Matilda, breathlessly.
    ‘I cannot divulge that, certainly not yet, but it is a matter of the greatest import in our religious faith. I have still more soul-searching before I can decide what to do about this.’
    ‘You make it hard for me to understand your problems, de Ridefort,’ snapped de Wolfe. ‘If you cannot give any inkling of what distresses you, how can I ever help you?’
    Gilbert jerked himself to his feet and stood agitatedly before the hearth, his back to the fire, so that he could face them. ‘I am torn between the ingrained loyalty to the Knights Templar, whom I have served faithfully for fifteen years, and my anguish at deciding to reveal what I know. I cannot let this knowledge loose at the moment. There is another who shares both the secret and my torment as to what should be done.’
    Matilda was staring open-mouthed at this Norman Adonis, who had walked in and captivated her mature heart with his looks and his story of heartrending conflict of loyalties – even though she had not the faintest idea what he was talking about.
    But her husband, with more worldly-wise cynicism, wanted far more disclosure than the Templar seemed willing to provide. ‘Much as you are welcome in my house, as any knight would be, I fail to see what you want with me,’ he said.
    Restlessly, the visitor threw himself back on to his stool and hunched forward, his gaze returning to the fire as he spoke. ‘This other knight is an old and dear friend of mine, Bernardus de Blanchefort, who has been at a Preceptory of our Order in the southern part of France since we both returned from the Holy Land. He is from those parts, his family having estates in the Languedoc and on the slopes of the Pyrenees. We have met many times in the past two years and our concerns have grown as we realised that a great conspiracy has long been afoot, into which, as Templars, we have unwittingly been drawn.’
    De Wolfe, though not an unintelligent man, was a practical, straightforward soldier and the man’s words meant little to him. They went right over Matilda’s head, but she was content to gaze at him and savour the dramatic, if incomprehensible, story he seemed bent on unfolding.John cleared his throat and waited for further enlightenment.
    ‘I cannot tell you more. I must wait for Bernardus to come so that we may decide on what should be done. But at the moment I am in great peril from the Order, who suspect that I am a dangerous renegade and will do anything to prevent me staying at liberty.’
    At last de Wolfe saw a glimmer of light. ‘You want protection and a means of escape, is that it?’
    ‘Yes, John, but how that is to be attained I cannot tell. I must wait for de Blanchefort to arrive.’
    ‘But why choose such a remote place as Devon, when you fled from Paris?’ asked Matilda, looking wide-eyed at this hero.
    ‘I remembered your husband, both from Gisors and Palestine. I always felt you were a man who could be trusted, not always an easy person to find these days. You told me you came from Devon and it seemed a logical place to aim for, if I was trying to reach either Scotland or Ireland to get beyond the reach of my Templar brethren.’
    The coroner gave a scornful snort. ‘You should forget Scotland if you want to avoid Templars! The place is full of them, you must know that. Ireland would be far safer – much of the country is still under the wild tribes, though you may as well be dead as have to live outside the Norman domains there.’
    De Ridefort nodded dutifully. ‘Then we shall make for Ireland, when Bernardus de Blanchefort arrives. He should be only a few days behind me. He was going to take ship from