Knights Templar - Temple And The Crown Part 46

Yelling and brandishing whatever rude weapons they could lay hands upon, they swarmed down off the hilltop toward the battlefront, others from the encampment following suit. Ghillies and laborers alike hurled themselves in a ragged frenzy at the wavering English battle line, even some of the camp followers s.n.a.t.c.hing up cloths to wave as banners, and pots with which to bang on heads. Faced with a new wave of Scottish ?ghters, fronted by the hard-driving line of charging Templars, King Edward's army lost what little coherence remained to it. Infantry and cavalry alike ?ung down their weapons and attempted to ?ee.

Arnault sensed the beginnings of the rout, but riding in the forefront of the Templar charge, his attention remained focused on the occluded hilltop occupied by their adversaries. English and Scots might stand opposed amid the pa.s.sing fortunes of war, but the con?ict between the Templars and the Knights of the Black Swan was age-old, a clash between good and evil, Light and Darkness.

Not to us, Lord, not to us, he prayed fervently, but to Thy name give the glory.

The utterance of this age-old prayer brought the Shard to life. He felt it warming against his heart, ?lling his whole body with energizing force and banishing both his fatigue and his pain. The foot of the enemy hill loomed ahead, its slopes sheathed in demonic murk, but he was oblivious now to his own condition as he shouted aloud, "Non n.o.bis, Domine. !"

The Black Knights leveled their swords at the charging Templars, b.u.t.tressing their position on the high ground with a sorcerous aura of fear. In their midst, their leader raised his left hand, displaying the ?ery glint of a ruby ring on his third ?nger. Power emanated from the ring in baleful waves-the same infernal in?uence that had darkened the air of Nogaret's secret citadel-but the Templars kept coming. Riding at Arnault's side, Torquil knew the wielder of the ring for the same who had sent the demonic bird against Bruce, so many years before.

And Bartholeme, for his part, recognized in Torquil the Templar knight who had struck him the almost-mortal blow of seven years before, green-eyed and freckle-faced, thwarting the attack that should have taken Bruce's soul. But he sensed that the darker man riding at his side posed the greater danger, and turned his head to mouth an order to the dwarf still perched behind him on the saddle, clinging like a monkey-for the demon ring had yet to reach its full power.

The Templars had reached the hilltop, and surged around the packed ma.s.s of Black Knights, now feinting, now striking. Each meeting of blades caused a ringing explosion of sparks. Lighter and ?eeter than their counterparts, the Templar horses danced away from the bared teeth and striking hooves of the Black Knights' destriers. Dust clouded the air amid the dissonant clangor of combat; and into this, the dwarf cast a pinch of crystalline sand, at the same time muttering a charm.

The falling sand resolved itself into a ?lmy curtain, isolating Bartholeme and the dwarf from the general melee. Thus screened, the Magister of the Decuria renewed the deadly invocation interrupted by the Templars' attack.

"I call upon the fury of Gzul the Slayer!" he declared. "I call upon the hunger of Zoath the Devourer! I call upon the l.u.s.t of Ukur the Ravager! I call upon the pride of Lucifer, the Unhallowed and Unconquered!

Let all the powers of Darkness make me gifts of ?re. Let that ?re be as an arrow from the bow that cannot miss!"

The ring on his hand glowed brighter with each phrase of invocation. The infusion of power made his blood sing. On the battle?eld below, King Robert Bruce fought on, oblivious to the imminence of death.

Breathless, Bartholeme awaited the moment of climax when he would unleash the forces at his command.

Beyond the sorcerous veil, the battle between Black Knights and Templars raged on. Men had begun to fall on both sides, neither giving quarter. Arnault had the Shard and his reins in his left hand and his sword in his right, and was peering urgently into the swirling dust.

"What's become of Bartholeme?" Torquil panted, from Arnault's left side. "I know I saw him! You don't suppose he's bolted?"

"No, he's here somewhere," Arnault returned. "I have a strong sense of his presence."

"Then ?nd him!" Torquil cried. "I'll watch your back."

Wrenching his horse around, he stationed himself on guard at Arnault's left and slightly behind him, ready to ?ght off all comers as Arnault sheathed his sword and shifted the Shard into his right hand, silently commending himself to the protection of Saint Michael as he summoned up all his deeper powers of perception. Casting his augmented sight this way and that, he at once became aware of an uncanny disturbance in the air some thirty paces back from the hilltop, as if the very light of day were being bent or twisted awry.

Lifting the Shard to his lips, Arnault invoked its power and bent his gaze on the heart of the disturbance-and Saw, beyond the veil, Bartholeme de Challon and his dwarf-familiar mounted together on one horse, in unconscious parody of the knights depicted on the Templar seal. Even as Arnault espied the black magician, a ?ery glow began to shimmer around the Frenchman's upraised ring hand in visible token of a killing bolt of energy about to be launched.

Spurring his horse to a gallop, praying he would not lose the Shard, Arnault leveled it like a lance and burst through the alchemical curtain. The Black Knight's diminutive companion shrilled a warning, but Arnault was already upon them, his horse colliding hard enough with Bartholeme's to jar the dwarf from his perch, screaming as he tumbled to the ground and vanished beneath the weight of trampling hooves.

Arnault shouldered hard against Bartholeme and knocked him ?ying as well, just as the Black Knight p.r.o.nounced his last syllable of interdiction.

There was a thunderous blast. The ?eld of Bannockburn with all its butchery vanished in a hurricane roar.

When the chaos subsided, Arnault found himself crouched on hands and knees in the midst of a far-?ung landscape of ?re and rock, where volcanic cinder cones rumbled and smoked in the distance and the air was harsh with poisonous fumes. But the Shard was still locked in his ?ngers-which was as well, because Bartholeme was also there, a few yards away, likewise picking himself up to round on Arnault in fury.

"You pious meddler!" he seethed. "Lucifer's vultures shall devour your soul!"

He made a summoning gesture with his ring hand, and a great airborne shape materialized on the burning horizon, half-bird and half-serpent, striking out across the ?re-eaten landscape with ma.s.sive beats of its leathery wings. Arnault scrambled for safety in the shelter of a nest of boulders as the monster swooped to attack, its fanged jaws gaping wide. A hot gust of carrion breath wafted over him as the creature rammed its snout against the rocks.

Heart hammering against his ribs, Arnault lifted the Shard toward the creature. A blue-white radiance blazed forth in a pure, unsullied beam.

The serpent-bird drew back with a roar, spitting bile and venom. Brandishing the Shard before him, Arnault rose from cover and thrust the light in the monster's face.

The creature's retreat was only momentary. Rearing up to its full height, it mantled its wings and attacked.

In desperation, Arnault thrust the Shard toward it again, to fend it off.

This time, like a sword in Arnault's hand, the beam of the Shard's light sheared a slash in one looming wing, carving shadow like substance. Each cut left behind a gaping wound, but the creature itself remained undiminished.

He was dimly aware of Bartholeme inciting the creature to attack, with raving curses. The Shard's light remained his only weapon, and seemed to be growing dimmer as he continued to hold the monster at bay. Watching it ?icker and wane, Arnault could only pray for fresh inspiration.

-and was answered by the sudden image in his mind of a rough block of stone: the Stone of Destiny!

Calling upon the sacri?cial blood bond he once had shared with William Wallace, Arnault reached beyond himself, tapping into the far-off reservoirs of the Stone's power. At once, fresh energy ?owed back into the Shard, which shone forth brighter than ever. And then, in further inspiration, Arnault directed the beam, not at the demon serpent-bird but at the ring on Bartholeme's hand.

The move caught Bartholeme off guard. He recoiled with a howl, but not soon enough, for the beam of holy light lanced through the arid air of the demon realm to strike the demon-ring with a searing crack.

The demon-stone shattered in a cascading shower of crimson ?ecks that exploded outward from the shards. Caught in the backlash, without even a chance to cry out, Bartholeme disappeared in a web of corrosive energies that consumed him down to the bone, leaving only a shadow of ash. The ground heaved and cracked, sulfurous smoke belching from the rifts. Then came a rumbling roar, just before ?re roared upward with a catastrophic boom.

The infernal plain broke apart in ?ames, and Arnault found himself suddenly spinning through s.p.a.ce.

Broken images cartwheeled around him in a dizzying whirl. Vertigo took his breath away, and darkness overwhelmed him.

An eternity of numb, ringing silence pa.s.sed. Floating weightless in a sea of night, Arnault gradually became aware of a distant dawning light that steadily broadened, banishing the darkness to the void whence it had sprung. Then voices began to penetrate the silence, tantalizing s.n.a.t.c.hes of conversation, ebbing and ?owing.

". English are ?eeing. Let me go after them."

"Take sixty knights, no more. don't want to risk the enemy regrouping."

". found the dwarf trampled to pulp. I doubt any of them escaped."

Arnault drew a deep breath and smelled the familiar camp reek of cooking, wet blankets, and horse manure. Cracking his lids, he glimpsed ordinary ?relight.

"I think he's coming round," said a voice he recognized as Torquil's. "Arnault, are you with us?"

Arnault forced a nod, raking at dry lips with a furry tongue.

"The king-?" he managed to croak.

"The king, thanks to you, is not only uninjured, but victorious," said a second voice-that of Bruce himself.

Arnault forced his eyes wide open, though it was almost too much effort. He was lying, he discovered, in one of the hospital tents-and his right hand was still locked around the Shard. The darkness outside suggested that many hours had pa.s.sed since the Templars' encounter with their enemies on the hilltop.

"The battle's over?" he asked.

"Not only the battle, but probably the war itself," Bruce said. "The English are utterly routed. From this day, Scotland is once again a free nation-and if you'll pardon me, I have kingly duties to perform."

He took his leave. Arnault turned his head to Torquil. "What about our men?"

"Three killed, a dozen more wounded," Torquil supplied. "The good news is that the Black Knights have been all but eliminated. The few that escaped are on the run. Aubrey, Flannan, and Breville have gone after them, to see them off."

Arnault drew a deep breath, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted off his chest. "I feel as if I could sleep for a week," he murmured.

"Rest easy then," Torquil advised. "We'll talk more in the morning."

Leaving his superior sleeping, Torquil went in search of Robert Bruce. He was told that the king had repaired to St. Ninian's Church, where he found a dozen men from Bruce's retinue keeping watch outside. Entering, he discovered the king kneeling in prayer beside the body of his late adversary, the Earl of Gloucester.

"Sire?" Torquil called softly, before approaching closer.

Crossing himself, Bruce rose and greeted Torquil with a grim smile. Motioning the Templar to remain, he gestured with his chin toward the still ?gure laid out on a makeshift bier.

"He was only twenty-three years old," he noted re?ectively, "a rash, hotblooded youth with more romance than sense in his soul. I'm sorry he died so young. I regret that we had to ?ght this battle-but Edward's pride and obstinacy left us no choice."

He drew a breath. "For eight long years, I have told the Scottish people that as long as but a hundred of us remain alive, never will we on any condition be brought under English rule. I have told them that it is not in truth for glory, nor riches, nor honor that we ?ght, but for freedom-which no honest man gives up but with life itself. I mean to nurture and cherish that freedom as much from this day onward as ever in any time in the past."

Epilogue.

June 25-November 30, 1314 WHILE NEWS OF BRUCE'S VICTORY AT BANNOCKBURN WAS ?ying to the ends of Scotland, the battered and humiliated remnants of the English army ?ed south toward the Border. King Edward's defeat was abject and total. Harried from behind by the newly knighted Sir James Douglas and a band of Scottish cavalry, the English monarch and his escort at last reached the temporary safety of Dunbar, whence they were able to escape by sea to Berwick. But there was no escaping the fact that the Scots had struck the deciding blow in their hard-fought struggle for freedom.

The aftermath of the battle saw a rapid realignment of loyalties. The astute Sir Philip Moubray surrendered Stirling Castle, and was allowed to renounce his fealty to Edward in favor of King Robert.

The English Earl of Hereford and his following applied for sanctuary at Bothwell Castle on the Clyde, only to be taken prisoner by Walter Gilbertson, the constable. When Gilbertson subsequently handed his eminent captives over to King Robert, he also was permitted to change his allegiance.

Many English knights were allowed to go home free of ransom, and the bodies of the Earl of Gloucester and Sir Robert Clifford were restored to their families without any conditions or demands. Aubrey Saint Clair and Flannan Fraser were sent on Bruce's behalf to return King Edward's shield and his privy seal, which had been lost in the latter's precipitous retreat.

"I hope Edward appreciates the courtesy," Arnault remarked to Bruce on the morning of their departure.

Bruce shrugged. "He may as well have the baubles back. G.o.d knows they're scant use to me."

The King of Scots had another diplomatic commission for his Templar allies. This time the selection fell on Torquil.

"Here's a test of your bartering abilities," Bruce informed him. "The Earl of Hereford seems to think he's worth a great deal to his friends back home. See how many of our own folk you can redeem as the price of his release."

Torquil grinned. "I'll do my best to drive a hard bargain."

He proved as good as his word. By October, he had secured the release of Bruce's queen, his daughter Marjorie, his sister Mary, and Bishop Robert Wishart in exchange for Hereford.

"I'm afraid I couldn't persuade them to let Countess Isabel return home," Torquil told the king, "but I did get them to agree to change the conditions of her captivity. Henceforth, she'll be decently treated while we continue negotiating for her freedom."

With so much work to be done, and so many diplomatic imperatives to ful?ll, it was early November before Bruce was once again able to convene the Scottish parliament. But then, satis?ed that the work of government was now advancing smoothly, his Templar advisors at last were able to turn their attention to their own imperative: the erecting of the Fifth Temple. As soon as parliament was in session, Arnault and Torquil retired to Dunkeld, where Ninian had been communing with the Stone of Destiny since shortly after the victory at Bannockburn. They found him in the crypt where the Stone was kept, kneeling at a prie-dieu set before it, chin resting on folded hands. Atop the Stone were set the High Priest's Breastplate and the Urim and Thummin, with the Brecbennach on a stand a little to one side.

"In case you had any doubt," Ninian said, not looking up as they approached from behind, "we were entirely right to separate the Urim and Thummin. They called to one another during battle," he went on, "and carried the messages of the Stone, but now they are glad to be reunited."

He roused and stood at that, turning to exchange a fraternal embrace with each of them, smiling at their looks of wonderment.

"You speak as if the Urim and the Thummin were alive," Arnault said.

"Of course. I told you they were but sleeping. And with the destruction of the demon-ring, the Breastplate, too, was revived. Father Columba introduced me to them, when I brought the Brecbennach back to Dunkeld. We have become well acquainted in the past few months. I believe you wished to consult with them regarding the placement of the Fifth Temple's cornerstone?"

Arnault and Torquil exchanged amazed glances, but by now, they had become somewhat accustomed to the Columban abbot's easy and informal relationship with his saintly patron. Still, Arnault had expected that guidance would be rather more dearly bought than merely given for the asking.

"Er, yes," he said tentatively. He gave Torquil a puzzled look. "Ah, just ask?"

Ninian gestured toward the Stone, with the Hallows lying atop it. "You are in the presence of old friends,"

he said quietly. "You have but to speak from your heart. And I would invite the Shard to attend, as well.

You carry it with you, do you not?"

Nodding, wordless, Arnault withdrew the Shard's leather pouch bag from the front of his hauberk and removed the Shard, laying it between the Urim and Thummin, just above the Breastplate, as he knelt before the Stone. Torquil sank to his knees beside Ninian, wide-eyed.

A little awkwardly, Arnault inclined his head to the Brecbennach as if Saint Columba did, indeed, reside in its symbol in some real way. Gently, tentatively, he laid his hands over the Urim and Thummin, fore?ngers touching the Shard and thumbs lying along the top edge of the Breastplate, so that it lay within the compa.s.s of his arms. Unbidden, words came to his lips, which he allowed himself to utter.

"Thank you, Father Columba, for being the friend of the Stone, and the Breastplate, and the Urim and Thummin," he found himself saying. "You know that we need guidance today. I have been instructed that the Stone of Destiny is to become the cornerstone for the Fifth Temple, to be erected here in Scotland.

Now that Scotland is free, I have come to ask where we should lay this cornerstone, to provide the strongest possible foundation for G.o.d's Holy Temple."

For a long moment, nothing seemed to happen, but then the Shard began to glow, until its brightness ?lled the room. At the same time, a warm tingling began under Arnault's ?ngertips, spreading up his arms and throughout his whole body, infusing every nerve with vibrant energy and surrounding the Breastplate with that energy.

His body became a living vessel, his arms a living bridge. Kindling to his touch, the magnetic properties of the Urim and Thummin began to a.s.sert themselves, diverting the ?ow of energy so that, like empty vessels, the twin stones began to ?ll with power. As this occurred, the gems of the High Priest's Breastplate awoke to radiant new life.

Instinctively, Arnault slid his hands around it and lifted it up as an oblation and a thanksgiving. As he did so, a sense of rapture stole over him, centering on his heart and then spreading through all his being as the gemstones of the Breastplate blazed forth in twelve rays of bright light. They converged in a rainbow beam that splashed across the ceiling above their heads, forming moving images.

First came the jagged silhouette of a rude hill fort scowling over the brooding waters of a long and narrow loch. He heard Torquil's soft gasp of wonder at a group of Pictish warriors gathering on the sh.o.r.e of the loch, blue-stained with woad, watching as a white-clad monk stepped out upon a rock just above the water. A monstrous, serpentine head broke the surface of the loch, rearing up with hostile intent; but at a stern injunction from the cleric, the creature bowed its head in submission and withdrew into the depths. This image faded as the ripples of the creature's descent spread outward.

Then a second set of images took form: Arnault himself, standing on the deck of a small galley, the Stone of Destiny before him and the Shard of the Law in his hands, kneeling to raise it above the Stone in both his hands, point downward-and lowering the Shard to press it into the very rock until it disappeared from sight. Then this image, too, faded.

When it had gone completely, the rainbow beam died away and Arnault slowly lowered the Breastplate, a look of wonder on his face as he turned to glance at Ninian and Torquil.

"What do you make of that?" he asked softly.

"Which part?" the Columban abbot answered, with a whimsical smile. "The ?rst is clear enough, I think.

We all know the tale of how Father Columba dispelled a faerie water-beast that had been troubling King Brude of the Picts. By this sign, I would say that we are to take the stone to Urquhart Castle and commit it to the waters of Loch Ness."

"We're to sink it in the loch?" Torquil asked incredulously. "Beyond retrieval?"

"What better place to keep it safe until the end of time?" Ninian replied. "It is Scotland's anchorstone, and the Temple's cornerstone. Guarded by the secrets of the loch, none shall dare to try and take it from us, ever again.

"As for the second part," he went on, again resting his chin on his folded hands to gaze at the artifacts spread atop the Stone, "the image of the Shard piercing the Stone recalls for me the legends of the sword in the stone. In English, the very word for sword embodies the Word. Thus it seems to me that the Shard, which is the very Word of G.o.d, is to be united with the Stone of Destiny before it is sent to its watery resting place. Thus will the Word of G.o.d help to anchor His Fifth Temple here in Scotland."

His brow furrowing, Arnault picked up the Shard and looked at it, then touched its point to the Stone.

"I don't understand. How is this to be done?"