Knights Templar - Temple And The Crown Part 28

"The detail is harder to make out-it was only dawn-but it. looks to me like some kind of.bird!"

He broke off abruptly and opened his eyes, stunned.

"Armand, it was a black swan!"

"I perceive we are of one mind," Breville observed, nodding. "It is what I feared." Raising his voice, he addressed the rest of the company. "The signet Brother Arnault has just described is the badge of the Brotherhood of the Black Swan. For those of you who have not heard of it, they are a fraternity of black alchemists, without scruples or any moral sense, whose aim is to wreak havoc among the forces of Light."

"Do you know Nogaret to be one of them?" Hugues asked.

"Not speci?cally," came Breville's reply. "But I have another name for us to conjure with: Bartholeme de Challon."

"I have heard that name," Luc said, as Torquil, too, p.r.i.c.ked up his ears. "Pray, continue."

"Some of you will have heard parts of this story before," Breville explained. "How a French knight by that name, displaying a signet ring emblazoned with a black swan, appeared at the English court last year and ingratiated himself with the English king. Soon after, he attended a royal banquet at which a pair of black swans were featured as heraldic relics upon which the old king and others, including the then-Prince of Wales, swore a grand oath to spare no effort until the rebels of Scotland were vanquished.

"This Bartholeme de Challon subsequently joined the English king's household retinue, and became a close con?dant of John Macdougall of Lorn. The pair traveled to Scotland with the English invasion force, where their arrival coincides with the commencement of a series of sorcerous attacks directed against Robert Bruce."

"This is true!" Torquil murmured. "I was with Bruce!"

"At Methven," Breville continued, "the English army was supplied with uncannily exact information that led them straight to Bruce's encampment. Both Challon and Lorn were present on that campaign. The English army then traveled west, shortly before the battle at Dail Righ, where some of our Templar brothers ?rst sighted a malignant ent.i.ty in the form of a great black bird.

"This same demon-bird attacked the king after his landing at Turnberry Point, where Brother Torquil was hard-pressed to drive it away, but he did it serious damage. That incident marks the end of these attacks, so far as we know," Breville concluded, "and I have since con?rmed that Bartholeme de Challon later returned to France, much reduced in health, only recently returning to court-and to the service of Nogaret, quite possibly with the intention of playing an active part in the arrest of the Templars."

This conjecture raised a murmur that quickly ceased as Hugues de Curzon spoke.

"It seems, then, that at least one of us must go back to France, to learn more about this Bartholeme de Challon and the Knights of the Black Swan," he said. "I notice that you do not link him speci?cally to the men who apprehended Gaspar. Do you antic.i.p.ate that he could lead us to those who did?"

"Perhaps," Breville said. "In any case, this falls to me. I fear the ?res of the Inquisition far less than I fear what will become of our brotherhood, if we fail to recover the Breastplate."

"Could these Knights of the Black Swan actually use the Breastplate?" Father Bertrand asked thoughtfully. "Has it not become attuned to a selected few amongst us, like Arnault and Gaspar, so that others could not harness its powers without a like attunement?"

"That might protect it," Father Anselmo conceded. "But if they could not control it, might they take steps to destroy or damage it, in order to deprive us of its bene?ts?"

"I doubt they would go so far-at least not immediately," Arnault said. "Those who embark on the Dark Roads do so because they crave power. Our enemies are more likely to cherish the Breastplate as long as they think there's a possibility of mastering its mysteries for themselves."

Hamish Kerr was shaking his head worriedly. "Could they really do that?"

"I hope not," Christoph said. "The Breastplate is a priestly artifact. The authority to invoke its powers comes only through sacramental transmission-by the shared fact of a religious vocation or by the laying on of hands. But I wouldn't swear there isn't a way to circ.u.mvent this requirement. And we can be quite sure that if such a method exists, our enemies will ?nd it."

"In that case," said Breville, "the sooner I leave for France, the better."

"And what becomes of our intention to raise the Fifth Temple?" Father Anselmo asked. "We do still have free access to the Stone of Destiny. Might it be possible, do you think, to subst.i.tute some other priestly hallow for the Breastplate, in order to set the foundation of the Fifth Temple?"

"Possibly," Christoph conceded, when no one else spoke.

"But it could take years to discover what and how. The Breastplate was fashioned in strict accordance with instructions given by G.o.d. Its powers are directly ascribable to the Urim and Thummin, the Lights and Perfections, which spring from celestial origins. No other artifact in the history of the Hebrew people has such powerful a.s.sociations with the Divine Word of G.o.d, with the possible exception of the Tablets of the Law and the Ark of the Covenant."

The mention of the Law smote Arnault like a physical blow.

The Law will destroy you; the Law will set you free.

He started up involuntarily, and blurted, "That's it! That's what Iskander was talking about!"

All eyes turned his way.

"Who is Iskander?" Breville asked, though Luc and Torquil began nodding excitedly.

Arnault recounted his encounter at Chartres, for the bene?t of those who had not yet heard the tale.

"His words almost had the ring of Holy Writ-certainly the resonance of prophecy," Arnault said. "Before the Temple, there was the Ark of the Covenant. And before the Ark, there was the Covenant itself. The voice of G.o.d spoke, and the Tablets of the Law received the sacred Word. And the power of the Word shall abide forever, though the Tablets themselves crumble into dust.

"And then he said that there is hope for redemption, but only at a price-and the answer lies in Jerusalem.

He said, The First Temple was raised in accordance with the Word. In the place where the Temple was raised, you will ?nd the answers that you seek. Hope dwells for all eternity in the City of G.o.d."

No one spoke for several breathless seconds, until ?nally Father Bertrand said, "Arnault. what do you think he meant?"

"I think he meant that even without the Breastplate, we may still be able to erect the Fifth Temple,"

Arnault replied immediately, with no shred of uncertainty. "But to do it, we must recover some relic of the Tablets of the Law. And to do that, someone must make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem."

The range of expressions that greeted this a.s.sertion included interest, confusion, and doubt.

"Some relic of the Tablets?" Hamish Kerr murmured. "Does such a thing exist?"

"It's a very large gamble." Bertrand muttered underhis breath.

Even Christoph sounded dubious.

"Arnault, are you really prepared to trust the future of the Order to the word of this chance-met traveler?"

"I don't think the meeting was chance," Arnault said. "Not when you link it with my dream, and then the words of the dying Jew, the night before the arrests: The Law will destroy you. The Law will set you free.

Iskander spoke those same words to me when we met. He knew! And then, when he spoke of the Ark, and the Word, and the Law.What else could it mean?

"If Armand can ferret out this Bartholeme de Challon- who may or may not have access to the Breastplate-well and good. But while we wait for that perhaps to happen-if de Challon has it, and if it can be retrieved-this is another avenue for us to try. It can do no harm-and if the Breastplate cannot be retrieved, it may be our only hope."

"I'll go with him," Torquil declared. "I think he's right; and two will be safer than one. Arnault and I are able to move with relative ease in that part of the world. It is a gamble. But it's also a second chance if the Breastplate can't be recovered."

When no one gainsaid him, Torquil said, "I propose that Aubrey be given charge of Bruce's protection.

Bruce knows and trusts him, after all, and knows that he acts for the Order-and he's certainly earned my trust in the past year and more."

He did not look at Bishop Crambeth for concurrence, but the others universally were nodding their agreement, well aware that he was speaking of a trust that could only be encompa.s.sed within the trials and vows of full membership in the Inner Order.

"It's settled, then," Arnault said. "We'll make the necessary arrangements before we leave."

"There's one further thing," Torquil said. He pulled from his belt the dirk given him by Abbot Fingon, sheathed with its broken blade, and glanced at Brother Ninian.

"I'd like to pa.s.s this on to Aubrey, since he's to become Bruce's protector for the next little while," he said. "I'm afraid I broke its blade, fending off that demon-bird at Methven, but perhaps you can help him discover how to make it an effective weapon again. It snapped off near the hilt. Perhaps it can be reforged."

Raising an eyebrow, Ninian leaned across the table to take the weapon from Aubrey, touched the blue hilt-jewel brie?y to his forehead, eyes closed, then smiled and handed it to Aubrey.

"It can be done," he said to the wide-eyed younger man. "And you will be a worthy successor."

"Then, it's settled," Arnault said quietly. "Torquil and I are for Jerusalem, Aubrey's for Bruce, and Armand is for France-and G.o.d help us all in our undertakings!"

Chapter Twenty-eight.

1308-1310.

THE PAIR SET OUT FOR THE HOLY LAND BY WAY OF FRANCE, traveling as far as Brest with Christoph and Father Anselmo-and ended up lingering in France until the following spring, for the worsening plight of the Order held them with a dread fascination that made them reluctant simply to abandon their brethren. In May, they learned, a congregation of some two thousand n.o.bles, clergy, and commons had gathered in Tours to hear Nogaret harangue about the depravity of the Order-and had recorded their wholehearted a.s.sent that the Templars should be forced to confess their sins. The pair made particular efforts to discover the fates of Jauffre and Oliver, but to no avail. They did learn that rumors of a confession by the Grand Master were true, though they also heard that only torture had produced it. Confessions had also been obtained from a number of other high-ranking of?cers of the Order-various senior preceptors of provinces and even Hugues de Paraud, the Visitor of France.

Virtually all of these men had later revoked their confessions, for having been extracted under torture; but since retraction would have seen them burned as relapsed heretics, every one of them had soon returned to his original confession.

Meanwhile, the relentless interrogation and torture of other Templars continued, yielding an increasingly d.a.m.ning acc.u.mulation of confessions extracted under extreme duress. In addition, Pope Clement began insisting that arrests and interrogations proceed in other kingdoms. The threat of the stake was ever-present, and lodged itself in Arnault's soul, even when he and Torquil at last left France and turned their sights toward Jerusalem.

It took the two men more than a year to cover a distance that previously would have taken hardly a third that time, for the disappearance of the Templar ?eet had left the Mediterranean exposed to the threat of pirates and corsairs, even in the close coastal waters off France and Italy. Arnault and Torquil knew where a few of the Templar ships had gone- and what they had carried-but most had simply disappeared as the news of the arrests in France spread, for their crews had little relish for the notion of surrendering their cargoes and their persons into the less-than-benign attentions of the Holy Inquisition and its torturers.

In the absence, then, of Templar transport, the pair had been obliged to secure pa.s.sage where they could. Traveling in the guise of pilgrims, and with Torquil's bright hair drabbed with dark dye, they drew little notice, but their journey had been an arduous one, nonetheless, beset by delays, occasional near encounters with hostile galleys, and shortages of food and water-and occasional nightmares, on Arnault's part, about Templars consigned to the ?ames. Their present vessel was a Genoese trader, a wallowing, broad-beamed merchantman that had taken twelve days to make the crossing from Lima.s.sol-headed, at last, for the ancient port of Alexandria. From there, it was still some weeks' journey to the Holy City of Jerusalem.

Before dawn on the morning they hoped to make landfall at last, Arnault clawed his way out of ?tful sleep and the worst nightmare yet-so vivid that it sent him blindly retching to the rail to puke up the acid contents of his mostly empty stomach. When he at last could see again, Torquil was standing beside him, offering the dipper from the water barrel kept amidships.

"Another nightmare?"

Nodding, Arnault took the dipper and tried to rinse away the sour taste from his mouth. After spitting that over the side, he drank the rest down greedily. Even lukewarm and slightly brackish, at least it eased the sour, parched sensation that lingered at the back of his throat.

"It was Jauffre, this time," he rasped after a moment, his gaze unfocused out over the water as he handed the dipper back to Torquil. There was no wind in this predawn stillness, and the rhythmic dip of the oars made a soothing, rea.s.suring counterpoint to the slap of wavelets against the hull. When he did not say more, Torquil took the dipper back to the water barrel, then returned to his side.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

"No. But I think I must." Arnault lowered his forehead into one hand, closing his eyes.

"I think they've burned him, Torquil."

"Dear G.o.d."

Arnault raised his head to gaze out again at the rosy dawn beginning to stain the horizon, wiping his mouth with the back of a sunburnt hand.

"I've dreamed about burnings before; you know that. But this was different. It was speci?c. It was much, much too real."

"Go on."

"He was.in the square before some great cathedral- not Notre Dame or Chartres, I don't know where-and he was not alone. Erected in the square was a veritable sea of stakes-scores of them, maybe ?fty or sixty, sticking up like the masts of so many ships.

"Except that each stake had a human being chained to it, with resin-soaked wood and kindling piled knee high around each one." Arnault's voice had dropped to a whisper.

"They had been most cruelly used, Torquil. Hardly any were unmarked by the evidence of deprivation, terrible tortures. And nearby, ?re baskets nursed the waiting torches, ?lling the air with the reek of sulfur and burning pitch."

He had to stop to swallow before he could go on.

"There was.a large, unruly crowd gathered to witness the spectacle, jeering and jostling for the best vantage points. and prelates and priests who condoned the thing about to be done. and then the whiff of smoke and brimstone and ash, as the pyres were torched-and all too soon, the roar of the ?ames, and the stench of roasting ?esh."

A sob caught in Arnault's throat, and he buried his face in his hands, but he continued to speak.

"They uttered hardly a sound," he managed to whisper. "A few were de?ant to the end, shouting out the innocence of the Order. but most simply bore their pain in stoic silence." He shook his head.

"Pain. Can that simple word even begin to describe it? Yet most uttered no more than a gasp or a moan, as the ?ames began to lick at their ?esh. I-do not think I could summon such courage, in the face of such a death."

Torquil said nothing, only clasping a hand to Arnault's biceps as the other man's shoulders shuddered in silent weeping. His own vision was blurry with tears, breath catching in his throat, and he tried not to imagine what it had been like-for the men in distant France as well as for Arnault.

After a little while, as the pink of dawn faded to the bright splendor of the sun-ball itself lifting above the eastern horizon, Arnault recovered himself suf?ciently to raise his head. Nothing could reclaim what had happened, bring Jauffre back-and he was all too certain that he had dreamed true.

As it was, he and Torquil both knew they were working against time. At ?rst traveling mostly on foot, and with only their own resources of wit to sustain them, they had come so far only by being constantly on their guard; for spies and informers were everywhere, and the arm of the Inquisition was long.

The strident crow of a c.o.c.k in one of the poultry cages put an end to Arnault's ruminations. A breeze was rising, and the ship's sailing master emerged from his canopy on the forecastle and began barking orders at his sleepy-eyed crew. Torquil disappeared brie?y, presently rejoining Arnault at the rail with two meager rations of hard bread.

"Enjoy it while it lasts," he recommended with a grimace. "If Saint Anthony and Saint Jerome ate locusts in the desert, I don't suppose a few weevils will hurt us. That's all the food we have left till we reach landfall."

"How encouraging you are," Arnault murmured, frowning as he knocked his bread against the rail.

"Fortunately, our captain is predicting we'll sight land before midday."

"I'll believe that when it happens," Torquil said with a skeptical snort, and gnawed off a corner of his own crust. He did not bother to attempt dislodging the weevils.

Both men had lost weight from months of living on the edge of poverty. The pilgrim's robes they had a.s.sumed at the outset of their journey were now stained and tattered with use. Their weapons at present were wrapped in canvas and disguised amid the spare blanketing and tent poles and pilgrim staves stashed by the area of deck they had staked out early in the voyage-though everyone aboard knew them to be soldiers, even if on pilgrimage, and well armed. It occurred to Arnault that, ironically, they probably were safer in the Moslem lands toward which they were bound than in the Christian countries they had left behind.

Their stalwart ship continued to plow its slow way through the waves, under sail since the rise of the breeze with the dawn. Most of the pa.s.sengers sought whatever shade they could ?nd from the glare of the morning sun, some sheltering under wide-brimmed hats or the hoods of desert djellabas. Torquil had dozed off with his head resting on his forearm. Arnault was just wondering if he ought to do likewise when there came a cry from the masthead.

"Land ho!"

The cry roused everyone on board. While the members of the crew scurried to adjust the sails, the pa.s.sengers hurried forward, peering narrowly at the distant horizon. Taller than anyone else aboard, the two Templars were ?rst to spot a tiny sliver of yellow squeezed between the sea and the sky.

"Egypt!" Torquil breathed on a sigh of triumph.

With everyone else aboard, the two of them stayed glued to the rail, watching the outlines of Alexandria come into sight. Both had been there before. As the ship's master came to watch from the rail beside the two, Arnault paid compliment to the master's navigational skills.

"In former times, it would have been easier," the captain responded with a shrug, nodding toward an island ahead that was linked to the city by a broad causeway.

Another of the pilgrims, a German monk from Wurzberg, turned his head in curious inquiry. "How so?"

Arnault pointed to the tower that rose tier upon tier from the closest point of the island.