The Lafayette Sword Read Online Free PDF Page A

there. Every Mason, without exception, had experienced this ritual, from the most famous government officials, artists, military leaders, and bankers to the most anonymous office workers. Each had waited for the grand expert in the dark, as vulnerable as the day he was born. Marcas remembered one minister of foreign affairs, a man full of himself who had left his ignorance at the door of the chamber. When Marcas arrived, he found a man transformed by the hours spent questioning the meanin g of life.
    â€œA hundred forty-three. A hundred fo rty-four.”
    He stopped and knocked three times. Without waiting for an answer, he turned the doorknob.
    The initiate was curled on the floor. Why? He should have been sitting in the chair.
    Marcas froze as the image came into focus. The man, his mouth gaping, was lying in a pool of blood.

10
    The banks of the Seine, Paris
    March 13, 1355
    T he Tour de Nesle had a bad reputation. It was rumored that at the beginning of the century Queen Marguerite would have her lovers thrown into the Seine, which the tower overlooked, when she tired of them. The common people considered the area cursed, and the royal decision to build the pyre here fed speculation that anyone put to death in this place had committed a heinous crime possibly related to w itchcraft.
    The curious were gathering in clusters at the tip of the Île de la Cité. The guards, spears in hand, had barred access to the tower, causing a chorus of shouts. It began with teasing relayed by the women. The soldiers in chainmail remained impassive. After awhile, the more reckless paraded past the archers, shouting insults and making rude gestures.
    Men in arms had lost their prestige over the last half century. Successive defeats against the English, combined with growing insecurity in Paris and peasant revolts in the countryside, had killed any respect for men bearing swords. The soldiers knew it and didn’t respond, for fear of causi ng a riot.
    Nicolas Flamel had ended up following his neighbor. They stopped near a chapel for bargemen that was under construction. Master Maillard had friends in the boatme n’s guild.
    â€œMy dear neighbor, is this not a f ine spot?”
    Flamel didn’t answer. He had felt obliged to follow the furrier. Such spectacles revolted him, but in uncertain times it wasn’t good to stand out. If the people of Paris rejoiced in watching a Jew being burned at the stake, one had to share in the dreadful celebration or at least give the appearance of sharing. Priests even invited their flocks to participate. It was a way for the Church to show its power and the punishment reserved for those who dared t o defy it.
    â€œMaster Maillard, didn’t you say the man was sentenced by the king? So this isn’t about heresy, which is exclusively a Churc h matter?”
    The furrier leaned toward Flamel. “As I said, our good king brought this Jew from Spain into his court. It was an exceptional favor, and the man proved unworthy.
    â€œBut Jews have been banned from the kingdom for decades.”
    â€œThe king had his reasons.”
    â€œHe must have been a doctor. It’s said that in Avignon, where the pope resides, all the doctors are children of Abraham.”
    Master Maillard lowered his voice. “The truth is, the kingdom’s finances aren’t in go od shape.”
    â€œSo he’s a banker?”
    â€œEven a banker would have a hard time fixing the king’s treasury. No , he’s a—”
    The word was lost in the commotion of the guards building a pyre at the base o f a cross.
    The screaming grew louder when the executioner arrived, dressed in a black bodysuit, his face hidden under a blood-red mask. Flanked by his aides, he slowly made his way through the crowd.
    â€œThe wheel! The wheel.” The cries rose up from the crowd and reverberated off the ston e façades.
    The people were calling for the supreme punishment, reserved for the most