Knights Templar - Temple And The Crown Part 14

There came the sound of swiftly receding footsteps, followed by the bang of the outer door. Resolutely, Torquil seized his own cloak and headed after the king.

"The rest of you stay here!" he ordered over his shoulder. "I'll be certain he does himself no harm."

Chapter Fourteen.

February, 1307.

OUTSIDE, THE SNOW WAS FALLING THICK AND FAST, AND AN early twilight had set in. A dark line of footprints pointed the way to the garden gate, but they were fast ?lling with snow.

Throwing his cloak around his shoulders and pulling up the hood, Torquil followed the footprints through the gateway and down the slope in the direction of the sh.o.r.e. Out in front of him, barely visible in the white blizzard gloom, he caught a glimpse of the dark blur of Bruce's receding ?gure.

Torquil charged after him, calling his name. Deaf to his shouts, Bruce plunged into the storm with the determination of a man possessed. Torquil quickened his pace, casting caution to the winds as he ?oundered through the deepening drifts, ?ghting to keep the king in sight.

There followed a blind, headlong chase with many zigzags and doublings. Bruce moved as though he were at one with the storm itself, and Torquil toiled along behind him, with the wind and snow whipping about him in freezing sheets. As he trailed the king down a slope made more treacherous by snow muf?ing hidden rocks and holes, Bruce suddenly disappeared before his very eyes.

Torquil continued in that direction, calling for Bruce, but could see no trace of him. He yelled into the wind, but to no avail. It was as if the earth had swallowed Bruce up.

Now concerned that the king had suffered some fall or injury, Torquil plunged ahead even faster-and tripped and stumbled, to slide down the remainder of the slope in the grip of a minor avalanche, arms and legs ?ailing.

He came to rest with a bone-bruising jolt, lying atop a sharp stone that was digging into his side. As he spat out a mouthful of frozen grit and levered himself painfully onto his elbow, testing for broken bones, he realized he was lying next to a rough cairn of stones, its outlines all but buried in the snow.

Still a little shaken, he struggled to his knees and then to his feet, casting for his bearings in the driving snow, which was worsening by the second. Feeling his way toward the lee of the cairn, he guessed it marked one of three makeshift shelters on the island that the monks occupied during lambing season.

Face averted from the stinging drive of the snow, he probed his way into an opening-and came abruptly face-to-face with Bruce.

"d.a.m.n it, Torquil, is there no getting away from you?" the king demanded, as the two men recoiled onto their haunches and stared at one another.

Torquil's ribs hurt, and he was still short of breath, so he mutely shook his head.

"Well, since you're here, you might as well come in," the king said testily. "I've already got enough on my conscience, without leaving you outside to freeze in the storm."

Torquil scrambled the rest of the way inside without need for further invitation, shaking the snow from his cloak and hood as he eyed what he could see of their refuge. The s.p.a.ce was cramped and ripely redolent of sheep droppings, with an underscent of old camp?res-hardly wider than the span of a man's outstretched arms-but it was refuge from the storm, and almost warm compared to outside. Its walls were freestone, with moss stuffed into the c.h.i.n.ks, and its lowhanging roof was fashioned of stone slabs overlaid with turf. As Torquil wrapped his cloak around him and hunkered into a cross-legged position, he wiped the snowmelt from his face and beard and drew a deep breath.

"I was worried for your safety, Sire. It's lucky you managed to ?nd shelter."

"Luck had nothing to do with it," Bruce said tartly.

"You meant to come here?"

"I've come to know every inch of this island. I could ?nd my way here blindfolded, in the dark of a moonless night."

Something in his tone warned Torquil not to answer. After a long silence, punctuated only by their breathing and the howl of the storm outside, Bruce said, "I felt the need to be alone with my own thoughts. I told you not to follow. Whatever possessed you to disobey?"

"It goes against higher orders, Sire, to let you risk losing yourself in a blizzard."

"I only wish I could see my own duty as plainly," Bruce said. He c.o.c.ked his head to listen to the gale outside, howling around the cairn like a banshee. "At least I'm not apt to have any more well-meaning intruders-and I won't send you back out into that. We'll be safe enough here. We can even build a ?re."

At Torquil's grunt of question, he gestured farther into the shelter.

"There's a hearth here somewhere, and turf and dry kindling stored farther back. The brothers leave these shielings stocked for emergencies. I have tinder and ?int in my pouch."

Torquil's questing hands soon located a hollowed-out hearthstone, where he and Bruce quickly built a small turf ?re. The peat was slow to kindle, but eventually its smoldering ember glow suffused the little shelter's interior with much-needed warmth and light along with the distinctive aroma of the burning turf.

The pair of them settled into companionable silence, broken only by the wailing of the storm outside.

Wisely, Torquil did not attempt further conversation, well aware that he was there on sufferance. For a time, both men merely huddled close before the ?re, cold hands outsplayed to catch the rising heat. Then, all unexpectedly, a chuckle bubbled up from Bruce.

"Hullo, what's this?"

"Sire?"

"It seems we are not the only tenants of this humble abode."

Bruce directed Torquil's gaze toward a shadowed cranny near a corner of the roof. Craning closer, Torquil was surprised to see a small gray spider suspended from the midst of a half-?nished web. Even as he looked, she anch.o.r.ed the strand to part of the web, then scuttled busily to another, spinning another strand to add to her creation.

"It always amazes me that such tiny creatures manage to survive in so harsh a place and season as this,"

Bruce murmured. "I suppose the sheep drop mites and ticks and such-but she's building a web."

"Maybe she catches midges in the web," Torquil said doubtfully.

Bruce made no response, only picking up a piece of burning kindling and holding it up to light the spider better, though not so close that it threatened her web. Continuing her weaving, the spider moved back and forth like a living shuttle, reinforcing the web with each new ?lament, until suddenly one of the supporting threads gave way, and the web collapsed.

"A pity, to see so much labor wasted," Torquil commented, as the spider swung free by a thread and disappeared into a crevice.

"Aye." Bruce sighed and retracted his lit stick. "Even amongst such small creatures as these, the way of the world tends all too often to ruin."

The storm gusted a ?urry of snow and cold air through the doorway opening, causing the embers in the hearth to gutter and ?are. Torquil went back to tending the ?re. Bruce started to do likewise, then held up his lit stick again.

"Here's our eight-legged friend back," he said in some surprise. "She's trying it again. Let's see if her next attempt fares better than the ?rst."

Wrapping his cloak more tightly around his shoulders, he settled himself to watch. Torquil cast a glance at king and spider, then resumed nursing their meager ?re.

The light from outside faded from storm glow to pitch-darkness, but the storm did not abate. As the shadows deepened, Torquil's eyelids grew heavy. Resigning himself to a long night on an empty stomach, he huddled closer to the ?re and hugged his mantle around his knees, setting his chin on his forearms to doze.

Howling night set in around them. From time to time, Torquil roused himself to feed the ?re with another chunk of peat-or Bruce did-but neither of them spoke. As midnight came and went, the king continued his curious vigil while his Templar guardian drifted in and out of uneasy slumber. It was not yet dawn when Torquil was startled into wakefulness by a sudden outcry.

"At last!"

Robert Bruce sounded jubilant, not alarmed. Squinting against the ?relight, Torquil hauled himself into full consciousness. "What is it, Sire?"

"Come and see!" Bruce said, beckoning.

Bleary-eyed, Torquil scrambled to his knees to peer along the king's pointing ?nger, where a ?nished spider web hung perfectly formed among the eaves.

"Do you recall how often I have wished for a sign?" Bruce said with an exhausted grin. "Now see how G.o.d, in His mercy, has answered me!" He sighed as he sank back on his hunkers, but there was a new light in his eyes, which seemed to have driven the previous day's shadows from his mind and heart.

"Yon wee ettercop has been trying all night to fashion that web," Bruce said with a nod toward the spider and her web. "I've never seen any creature, great or small, work so hard in de?ance of all adversity! Six times she got her net half-woven, only to have a thread break or a random draft come along and tear the thing to pieces. But she never gave up trying-and this seventh and last attempt has seen the ful?llment of all her labors."

"You watched the whole night through?" Torquil asked in surprise.

"I couldn't tear myself away," Bruce said. "Such persistence seemed to merit a witness, even in so lowly a creature as a spider. But I see now that the true miracle of revelation was meant for me. Having beheld what a spider's perseverance can achieve, I realize that it would be a shame and a sin for a man to strive any less, when he has so much more to gain."

Torquil slowly nodded as the king went on.

"The spider and I each have a purpose ordained for us," Bruce said. "To complete our appointed tasks, however great or small, requires our unstinting labors. It is not for us to know how or when Providence will crown our efforts with success. We must labor on in hope, trusting that, with G.o.d, nothing is impossible.

"Yes, I see my way clearly now," he concluded, chucking his kindling stick back into what was left of their ?re. "The time has come for us to return to the fray, fearing nothing but fear itself. I know that the G.o.d who ordained me king is mightier than the mightiest of our enemies. My sword must not rest in its sheath until I have set my kingdom free!"

"Amen, and G.o.d grant that it be so!" Torquil breathed; and a little later, dared to lay an arm around the king's shoulders and offer a shoulder for the royal head when Bruce at last let himself doze in the ?nal predawn hours.

With the breaking of ?rst light, the two men emerged from their shelter to ?nd that the storm had cleared.

Snow lay in heavy drifts that concealed hazards to footing and made their going slow, but they pressed on to the abbey yard, where a search party was just preparing to leave.

"Robert!" Alexander cried, as he and Thomas raced to embrace their brother.

"You'll have found shelter in one of the shielings," Brother Ninian said, eyeing them as he motioned the others back inside. Aubrey was with them, and looked greatly relieved. "We spent the night in prayer for your safety."

"I'm sorry you felt obliged to go to such trouble," Bruce replied, nodding to Abbot Fingon, standing in the background. "I kept my own somewhat different vigil, as Brother Torquil can attest-though he slept through most of it." He grinned almost boyishly. "Still, your intercessions may have helped secure me the revelation I was seeking. If you can spare us something to eat, I'll tell you the tale in full."

Over bowls of salted porridge oats rich with b.u.t.ter and cream, Bruce shared his observations of the spider, to the amazement of his brothers, Boyd, Lindsay, Aubrey, and the senior Columbans. When he then declared his intention to leave Iona on the morrow, not even Abbot Fingon made any attempt to dissuade him. Surprised, Torquil later drew Brother Ninian aside.

"Are you sure this is the right time?" he asked.

"Whether I feel sure," said Ninian, "matters far less than whether the king feels sure. By virtue of the Stone of Destiny, Robert Bruce is heir to Solomon and Columba alike: the Appointed One, who is both ruler and prophet. There will be times when he is able to discern a clear path where others see only thorns and scorpions."

"But he's still only human," Torquil protested. "He's still capable of making mistakes. Surely our own duty demands that we question any action we regard as dangerous."

"I am not advocating the abandonment of conscience or caution," Ninian said. "I merely point out that Bruce has the ?nal word. He is king. The action of the Holy Spirit reveals Itself as and when It wills, making even our errors an occasion for redemption. It apparently has spoken to Bruce through the spider. If his mind and heart are set on this venture, we are bound to abide by his decision. But that isn't what is really bothering you," he added.

Taken aback, Torquil realized that Ninian was right.

"No, it isn't," he replied, and drew a breath to gather his thoughts. "It isn't something I dared mention in front of the others, but it's been bothering me all winter."

"Yes?"

"I told you about that attack by the giant black bird at Dail Righ."

"Go on."

"We never decided who might have been responsible, but somehow it didn't really matter, so long as we were under your protection, here on Iona."

"I still have no more insights on that matter than you do, Torquil," Ninian said gently.

"No-and I didn't expect that you would," Torquil replied. "But there's another aspect of Dail Righ that we never really addressed-and that's the brooch that Bruce lost there. Macdougall of Lorn took it-and I don't know that he necessarily has the means to do anything with it- but he is the Red Comyn's cousin."

"And you worry that he may share his cousin's taste for dark alliances," Ninian said.

Torquil ?ashed him a sickly smile. "Not necessarily. I'm trying not to let my imagination run rampant. But the brooch could be used as a sorcerous link to get at Bruce, if it fell into the wrong hands-and someone sent that black bird to Dail Righ."

"True enough."

"We've been safe enough here," Torquil went on, "but once we leave, I fear the worst."

Ninian was slowly nodding, his face gone still and sober. "Let me refer the matter to Abbot Fingon," he said. "I understand what you're saying. Perhaps he will be able to suggest some means for severing the link between this object and the king."

"I would be very grateful," Torquil said. "If I have to ?ght the king's enemies, I need a weapon."

A little later, to accompany their midday meal, the king convened a council of war.

"Edward believes he will win by taking away everything we have to lose," Bruce began. "He is wrong.

The only way he can defeat us is to take away our will to ?ght-and that he will never succeed in doing, as long as I live."

"Indeed, he will not!" Thomas Bruce a.s.sured his brother. "We never had a chance to convey our other news. Your friends in the north and west remain true, Sire. Christiana MacRuiaridh of the Isles has pledged both men and galleys to serve your cause. Angus Og MacDonald of Kintyre has done likewise.

And there are many more scattered throughout the Mounth who are ready to support you against the English."

"With the Lady Elizabeth taken captive, I wager you'll ?nd not a few swords in Ulster ready to stand by you, as well," Alexander put in eagerly. "Robert, with your permission, Thomas and I will journey to Antrim and plead your case before her father."

"A useful notion," Bruce agreed. "But before we are free to engage the English on all fronts, we must ?rst get the better of Galloway." He tapped that section of the map with one hand. "Our opening blow must be struck there."

"Let us have the honor," Thomas offered eagerly. "The lands of Lorn need cleansing of the Macdougalls and all their ilk!"

After some further discussion, it was agreed that Thomas and Alexander Bruce should pay a recruiting visit to Ireland, leaving Bruce himself to rally the support of his northern allies.

"We'll bring you Irish troops," Thomas declared. "Where and when shall we meet up thereafter?"

Bruce indicated an area off the coast of Antrim.

"Rathlin Island. It lies too far off our coast for English ships to pay it much heed. We'll rendezvous there in a month's time to ?rm up our strategy. Right now, I'd like to make certain our ship is seaworthy, before we lose the light."

Torquil had intended to go with them, but Ninian beckoned him aside, taking him to the abbot's small scriptorium.

"Brother Ninian has told me of your concerns," Fingon said, when Torquil had taken a seat before the room's tiny ?re. "I well understand them. One reason that scripture advises us not to store up treasure for ourselves on earth is that a man can be bound by his possessions-and in ways that most people never consider. Even when one is free from the vices of cupidity, he invariably sets the stamp of his personality on objects he has worn or used. As you have rightly conjectured, that link can be exploited by the man's enemies, and the object itself can be made to betray its owner. Unless the connection can be severed."

"You're speaking of the king's brooch," Torquil said, nodding. "How is that to be achieved?-the severing of the link."

"By a principle of a.n.a.logy," Fingon replied. "The act of cutting something away is the same in mystical terms as it is in physical terms. The key is to ?nd the right corollary."

On the table at the abbot's elbow lay a longish, silk-bundled object the size and shape of a man's forearm. This he handed to Torquil to unwrap. Inside was a sheathed dirk with silver mountings and a hilt carved of blackthorn, in a design of Celtic interlace. Surmounting the pommel was a ?ne blue jewel the size of a pigeon's egg.