The curse of the Templars echoes through the centuries

That man was Jacques de Molay.

He was the Grand Master of the Order of the Poor Knights of the Temple of Solomon, generally known as the Knights Templar.

A fraction more than two centuries after the Knights of Order of the Temple of Solomon had been founded amid the rubble of Jerusalem to defend the Holy Land, it would now be ended by flame in the heart of Paris.

Betrayed by a king he trusted and a pope he was sworn to obey, in his final hours DeMolay fought fervently against the false charges which had destroyed his international network of Christian warriors.

His dying curse was powerful. And effective.

S’en vendra en brief temps meschie / Let evil swiftly befall 

Sus celz qui nous dampnent a tort; / Those who have wrongly condemned us; 

Diex en vengera nostre mort. / God will avenge our death.

Pope Clement V, complicit by design or cowardice, was dead 33 days later – from a severe bout of dysentery brought about by advanced bowel cancer.

King Philip IV of France, who had been happy to kill and defame Christendom’s defenders for their wealth and land, died within eight months. This time it was a hunting accident.

It was the final act in a power play that makes the schemes of Game of Thrones seem like mere schoolyard squabbles.

De Molay, oddly, lives on.

A contemporary source tells of a group of monks secretly swimming to his funeral pyre on an island in Paris’ River Seine to gather up the old man’s bones as holy relics. His name has echoed through history ever since.

The idea of the Order of the Temple itself refused to die.

Though formally disbanded and its assets nominally handed over to their arch rivals - the Knights Hospitaller - there were few untouched enclaves of Templars who changed their name to escape retribution.

But the black-and-white banner of the Poor Knights would rise time and again throughout history by the oppressed and those seeking association with secrets, occult and mystery.

And, as the likes of The DaVinci Code, Game of Thrones and Ivanhoe attest, it’s an idea that resonates even now.

SIGNED, SEALED – AND DELIVERED?

De Molay’s last stand was something of a surprise.

The supreme commander of more than 2000 knights, sergeants and attendants had put up a pitiful performance after the sudden arrest of his brethren on Friday, October 13, 1307. It was a date that would go down in infamy for its ill fortune.

It had been an extraordinary operation: King Philip’s sheriffs all through France had been secretly notified to conduct the coordinated arrests that same night. Once hauled forward to face trumped up charges of heresy, sodomy and sedition, the stunned church seemed powerless to defend its own. Torture did the rest, quickly extracting confessions for the most heinous of crimes – heresy.

But by 1314 the scandal had died down. The arrest and accusations against the Templars was old news. The fate of its members – and its wealth – seemed little more than a formality.

A papal commission of inquiry was appointed to pass final judgement on four of the Templar’s most senior commanders. Two of the inquisitors were considered “royal” men – being close associates of King Philip “the Fair”. The third cardinal was one of Pope Clement’s closest friends.

Naturally, the outcome was a foregone conclusion.

It was to be a public show trial, carefully scripted and conducted under the watchful eye of King Philip’s city guard and most loyal followers and performed on scaffolding erected in front of the famous Notre Dame cathedral.

But something inside de Molay had changed.

The seven years of torture and imprisonment had not weakened his spirit. It had reinforced it.

In fact, the Grand Master had been held in solitary confinement the dungeon of his own Paris fortress for the previous four years. Now in his 70s, de Molay’s body must have been wracked by injury, malnutrition and lack of sunlight.

Stepping out into the warm light and seeing his brothers-in-arms again after so long must have ignited his spirit in a way it had never been before.

He and his colleagues – Geoffroi de Charney, Hughes de Pairaud and Goeffroi de Gonneville – were dressed in their Order’s iconic white robes emblazoned with the blood-red cross and paraded in front of the crowd. It was intended to be their final humiliation.

LAST ACT OF DEFIANCE

The people of Paris were expecting a show. A performance. A tragedy.

They got what they wanted – but not the anticipated script.

It started well. The full list of charges was read out to the crowd: Heresy. Homosexuality. Corruption.

All were reminded that the Templar commanders – including de Molay – had long since confessed to these most awful of crimes. It was time to pass sentence.

As the senior cardinal began to read from a decree announcing that the three Templar leaders would face perpetual imprisonment, he was unexpectedly interrupted.

By de Molay.