Grand Master DeMolay held his hands high. Death should come with honor by the sword, not upon the Inquisition’s rack! He accuses us of heresy and orders our arrests so he may rob our treasury.Ī clamor arose. Now, Philip the Fair seeks our eradication. Knights of the Temple of Solomon, for two hundred years we have fought in God’s name. He squeezed his sword’s hilt and spoke in a resonant voice. A single command would hurl them into war against King Philip, but such an act also meant the Order’s death. The loyalty in their eyes made DeMolay struggle with his decision. At the rear of the cathedral, the Beauseant, the white and black banner that had led these brave men into battle, waved from a tall lance.

They stood in silence, their battledress mantles forming a sea of white and red. He gazed at the assembled knights as he took the sword and shield from his aide. Its fine craftsmanship made him almost expect to hear moans pass from Christ’s lips.ĭeMolay rose, straightened his white mantle, and gently touched the red cross emblazoned over his heart. He leaned forward, kissed the Holy Bible on the altar and looked to the life-sized crucifix on the wall. Men of God, soldiers of Christ.Īmen, DeMolay said. Gaunt-faced, the aide glanced at the chaplains about him, to the gold crosses they held and the swords on their belts. Within the magnificent cathedral Solomon of Avorone stood behind Jacques DeMolay, holding the Grand Master’s sword and shield while he knelt in prayer.

Across the courtyard horses pawed the ground and tossed their heads, rattling bridles that broke the unsettling silence. Some shivered at times from the midnight air and with each breath, small vapor clouds rose. On the steps of the Templar cathedral a contingent of solemn knights kept vigil, barring entrance to all but members of their Order.

The moon hung in the clear sky like a perfect white orb, bathing the town with brilliant light.

Solomon's Men by Glenn Starkey