Knights Templar - Temple And The Stone Part 29

Bruce's gaze flicked to Arnault, then back to Torquil. "How is your Order involved in this?"

"Officially-not at all," Arnault replied. "But like the bishop, we seek a free and strong Scotland. He believes you are now the only man who can accomplish that."

"And the Stone?"

"Brother Torquil and I were among those who removed it to a safe hiding place. So was Wallace."

"You mean he has known of it for all these years?" Bruce exclaimed. "Now I begin to understand part of the reason for his persistence."

"The important thing," Lamberton said, "is that through his efforts and those of these knights, we can crown a king with the full authority which only the Stone of Destiny can bestow."

"Do you mean now, while Edward holds Scotland in the compa.s.s of his fist?" Bruce asked sharply.

"No, not now," Arnault answered. "Even if our current state were not so perilous, it still would not be the right time. If the next king is to be more than the puppet sh.e.l.l that Balliol was, he must have not only the support of the people of Scotland-and be willing to fight for them. He must be enthroned upon a Stone that is fully reempowered. For we believe that a fault with the Stone is at least partially to blame for the failure of Balliol's kingship."

Bruce merely stared at him in astonishment for a long moment, glancing at the bishop to see whether this extraordinary suggestion had raised an episcopal eyebrow. But Lamberton was gazing back at him without a flicker of misgiving.

"Reempowered," Bruce repeated softly. "What does that mean? I know that the Stone of Destiny is reputed to have mystical properties, but I confess that until now I had given little thought to such tales-especially as I believed the Stone was in London."

"The spiritual heritage of any land is based in truth," Arnault said quietly. "And your Celtic heritage contains more truth than, perhaps, you realize. Your Stone of Destiny is far more than a mere symbol of your land's sovereignty."

He deferred to Torquil to elaborate, in light of the bond already established between the two.

Choosing his words carefully, Torquil told Bruce how Brother Mungo had first hinted that the Stone might be ailing, and how their further investigations had led them to Iona, and something of what they had learned there of the link of the Stone with the land and the king. Without divulging the purposes or even the existence of the Templar Order's Inner Circle, he told Bruce of their suspicions that sorcery had been used in the extinction of the Canmore line, and that the Comyns were pract.i.tioners of such sorceries, underlining that a.s.sertion with an account of what he had seen the present Comyn's late father do at John Balliol's inauguration. Nor did he shrink from mentioning his own near death while fleeing from the Comyns, and his supposition that they had summoned whatever dark force had pursued him.

"You did avoid specifics that day, regarding your attacker," Bruce allowed, when Torquil had finished. "I thought it strange, even then, that there was no wound upon you. save for that mark in the palm of your hand."

"What had saved me, the previous night, was a protective charm given me by the monks of Iona," Torquil said boldly. "And they are prepared, when the time is right, to a.s.sist with the reempowering of the Stone.

Meanwhile, you must prepare yourself to be worthy of the Stone's endors.e.m.e.nt of your cause."

Bruce rubbed at his beard, obviously still uncertain.

"This matter of the Comyns-you did hint of their treachery, that day of Falkirk," he said. "I knew they had some strange ways, but never did I suspect they might hazard their souls in this fashion, and so against Scotland's interests. Perhaps that explains the threat I always felt, when I tried to share the Guardianship with John Comyn. But-can they truly have brought about the extinction of the Canmores?"

"The evidence we have is circ.u.mstantial," Arnault allowed, "but it is very suggestive. I would prefer not to elaborate. Simply be warned that Comyn is a very dangerous and ambitious adversary, and will resist you with every power available to him."

"That much, I already know-whether or not he is in league with these dark forces of yours!" Bruce said with a snort.

"Do not dismiss this warning," Lamberton said. "Perhaps you now understand why I was prepared to risk this meeting, so close to Edward's wrath. Make no mistake, he is still a deadly danger-but I fear that fellow Scots, not the English, may prove the greater danger."

"As dead from one as from the other," Bruce muttered.

"No, not as dead from the one as from the other!" Lamberton said sharply. "You are speaking of things you do not understand. But a safe way lies amid the dangers, if you will be guided."

Bruce started to speak, then thought better of it and closed his mouth again, exhaled slowly before venturing to answer at last.

"I will speak, then, of things I do understand. If you would not have me declare myself king now, and you are not yet ready to crown me, why did you call me here?"

"Because it is now, when things are darkest, that hope is most sorely needed," Lamberton answered. "It is now that we must secretly begin laying the groundwork for the future, or resign ourselves to unending subservience. It is a curious way of things that the best time to form an intent must often needs be the worst time in every other respect. When all is dark, it is then that the beginnings of light are most clearly seen."

Bruce met the bishop's gaze unflinchingly. "Speak plainly then, and tell me what it is that you ask of me."

"That you declare now your intent to win the crown," Lamberton answered, "whatever the cost may turn out to be. You spoke of the hardships Wallace has brought upon himself by his constant defiance of Edward-and for now, you have succeeded by judicious actions in avoiding that fate. But in the end, you will have to make sacrifices as well. Unless you are prepared to live an outlaw's life, to spend years hunted and in fear of betrayal, just as Wallace has done, why should any man think you worthy of the crown?"

"It is mine by right!" Bruce declared, one fist clenching in his pa.s.sion. "Nor will Scotland find me wanting, when the time comes!"

"In that case, I may ask our friends to proceed regarding the reempowerment of the Stone, knowing that their efforts will not be for nothing," Lamberton said mildly. "For my part, I will do all I can to prepare the way politically, without betraying myself to Edward; and if you need a.s.sistance from me to maintain your own position, you may call upon me."

Bruce looked away. "I am under pressure to do homage to Edward for my English lands, now that my father has died," he said.

"Then do what you must, as we all must do," Lamberton replied. "But meanwhile, agree that you and I shall be allies, and shall consult one another before attempting any major enterprise, and shall warn one another of any danger."

"I agree," Bruce promised. "And when you look for a king to crown, you may call upon me and I will answer." He turned to Arnault and asked, a little less certainly, "Will it truly be possible to reempower the Stone?"

"With G.o.d's help, I believe so," Arnault said. "Then a true king can be crowned, and the darkness lifted from the land."

"You speak, I think, of more than Edward's oppression," Lamberton said quietly.

"I do," Arnault replied, but he did not elaborate. For not only must Wallace play his part through to the end, by ancient rite that neither Lamberton nor Bruce would easily understand-nor need they-but the dark powers stirred by the Comyns would have to be dealt with.

"Your words hardly inspire confidence," Bruce noted grimly.

"Perhaps not confidence," Arnault allowed, "but there are grounds for hope. I fear that dark times lie still ahead for all of us-and perhaps sacrifices as yet unimagined."

Chapter Thirty-one.

WITHIN THE NEXT FORTNIGHT, WORD THAT BRUCE HAD ENtered Edward's homage was well overshadowed by the capitulation of the Stirling garrison, finally worn down by weeks of daily bombardment by the English siege engines. Not content with mere victory, England's king refused to allow the garrison to surrender with the military honors they had earned by the courage of their defense.

Instead, he threatened them with hanging and disemboweling unless they performed abject abas.e.m.e.nt before him-a demand only minimally mitigated at the plea of some of Edward's own supporters, whose sympathies had been engaged by the gallantry of the young Scottish commander. Following their capitulation, Sir William Oliphant and his companions were summarily sent off to prison, a gesture meant to demonstrate Edward's implacable intentions toward anyone who continued to oppose him.

By the end of August, after nearly a year's absence, Edward returned to England, convinced that the Scots had finally been brought to heel. All of Scotland now lay within his grasp. The Scottish magnates had all submitted save those still in France, and all royal castles were under English control. Only William Wallace remained at large-for how long, no one could say-and those of the Scots n.o.bility charged with his capture knew only too well what would be the consequences if they failed the English king in his demands.

The autumn came and then the winter, pa.s.sing as winters do in Scotland, with little activity and much waiting. The new year saw Robert Bruce cast increasingly in an unwelcome role as the English king's princ.i.p.al advisor on Scottish affairs. Between February and May, he was called upon to take part in two parliamentary sessions aimed at establishing an ordinance of government for the land-not the realm-of Scotland, a distinction not lost upon the Scots required to a.s.sist with this exercise in a.s.similation. While Bruce was at Westminster, Edward lavished many marks of favor upon him, granting him the lands formerly belonging to Sir Ingram de Umfraville, while publicly commending him for his good counsel.

Clearly, the King of England was taking pains to conciliate the one man capable of a.s.serting a claim to the Scottish crown, unaware that Bruce had already pledged his future endeavors to the cause of Scottish freedom.

By midsummer of 1305, most of the skeins were in place for what now must unfold. Abbot Fingon and Brother Ninian had come in the spring from Iona "to spend time in retreat" with the monks of Scone Abbey. Very shortly, Arnault and Torquil took them for a brief visit to the Stone, and observed while the pair erected mystical protection to obscure its whereabouts from any who might seek it by means other than physical, as its time approached for renewal.

Le Cercle likewise had sent reinforcements in the form of Father Bertrand and Brother Christoph de Clairvaux, ostensibly come to Balantrodoch to conduct an audit of the preceptory's accounts-a matter requiring several months' residence. They had also brought the High Priest's Breastplate and Gaspar's a.s.surances that, if time allowed when the actual need came, he would join them for the required working; for perhaps uniquely among those of the Inner Circle, he had a true inkling what would be the cost to Arnault, who had been his finest pupil, when the time came actually to channel power back into the Stone.

"He says that the Breastplate will enable you to harmonize the three strands of sacred tradition brought together in the Stone-Hebrew, Christian, and Celtic," Father Bertrand told Arnault, "for the Stone bridges all these spiritual paths."

It was late July when Arnault and Torquil arranged for what would be their final meeting with Wallace.

All spring and early summer, Wallace had continued to roam the Scottish mountains and glens, harrying the English whenever and wherever he could, but each pa.s.sing day brought all of them a step closer to the fateful moment of resolution, which had been seven years in the making.

The actual day of their meeting was the Feast of Saint Mary Magdalene, July 22, the seventh anniversary of Falkirk. After guesting overnight with the Bishop of Dunkeld, Arnault and Torquil rode out just at dawn to keep a secret rendezvous with Wallace at a site of the latter's choosing, deep in the woods nearby. Though the clearing appeared to be deserted, a tall figure in weather-beaten clothes emerged at Arnault's low whistle, almost indistinguishable from the surrounding trees. Both Templars dismounted, but Torquil stayed with the horses as Arnault went forward to offer the rebel leader his hand.

"I remember another dawn meeting," Wallace said quietly.

His handclasp and then a quick embrace were as powerful as ever, but to Arnault's searching gaze, as they withdrew deeper into the wood, the former Guardian looked worn and gaunt. His eyes had the hollow, haunted look of a mariner who has been too long at sea and hungers only for some sight of the land long promised. So John the Baptist might have looked, in the final days of his ministry by the River Jordan. Like the Baptist, Wallace had seen the man who was to follow in his footsteps, and knew that he himself would not live to witness the coming of the kingdom.

They sat on a log in another sunlit clearing while Arnault handed over a number of dispatches from Wallace's secret supporters. All were without seal or signature, but Wallace needed no such signs to recognize the writing hand of Robert Bruce among the rest. The rebel leader read the letters closely before putting them away in his belt pouch. Only then did he move on to question Arnault about more personal news.

"You'll be pleased to hear that Luc de Brabant currently has charge of Balantrodoch," Arnault reported with a smile. "The Master is in London on business with the Master of the English Temple-and Robert de Sautre has been sent on a pilgrimage to Rome, so at least for the nonce, he is not a worry. The rest at Balantrodoch are all good men."

Wallace permitted himself a flicker of a grin. "A happy disposition, that will serve a mult.i.tude of good purposes. Have you seen or spoken with Abbot Henry?"

"I have. I told you that two of our Columban friends had come from Iona to a.s.sist us. In addition to their prayers, they have been lending their skills in the abbey scriptorium. I fear that when Edward's soldiers made their second visit, they took away many of the abbey's records and ma.n.u.scripts instead of a stone."

Wallace smiled, pleased. "I notice that Edward still hasn't publicly admitted he was duped."

"Nor will he ever, I suspect," Arnault said. "Unfortunately, the private knowledge alone has proved galling enough to goad him to a war of many excesses."

"True enough," Wallace agreed, and sighed wearily. "I feel as if this land of mine has been at war for centuries. I cannot honestly remember the last time I slept easy in a bed, or shared a pint of ale in a tavern in the company of friends."

The weariness in his voice was plain to hear. He sighed again and looked away. "We both know my time will soon be running out," he murmured. "I only regret that I haven't been able to give Scotland a miracle worthy of all the widows and martyrs this war has made."

"That miracle is still to come," Arnault reminded him. "You yourself have foreseen it."

Wallace turned his head to confront the Templar squarely. "Yes, I have. and may G.o.d have mercy on me, when that hour comes nigh."

There was dread in his eyes, which Arnault was chilled to see, for in all his journeys and battles, he had never met a braver man. But he had learned of a way he might lighten at least a portion of Wallace's burden, even though it would heighten his own.

"William," he said quietly, laying a hand on the other's taut shoulder, "there is something you can do for me that will help both of us, when that hour comes." He pulled the keekstane from under his tunic and unlooped it from its leather thong, laid it in Wallace's hand. "Do you remember how we blooded this, on another such morning?"

Wallace briefly closed his eyes as his hand closed around the stone.

"Aye," he whispered.

"I told you then that blood can create a bond-and it can."

Before Wallace realized what he was about, Arnault unsheathed his dagger and, without further ceremony, nicked his left palm. Wallace gaped as he saw what Arnault had done, closed fist going to his lips as he stared at the blood welling in Arnault's hand.

"I know not what this means," he whispered. "I cannot let you take my burden."

"And I cannot take it from you," Arnault said. "But I can share it. Whatever torment the future holds, you will not be left to bear it alone-not while I have life and breath."

Wallace looked away, still fingering the keekstane.

"You have taught me just enough to understand what I think you propose to do. It is not that I doubt your ability to do as you say. Acceptance would come easier if I did not count you a friend."

"Then you must think again," Arnault said. "It is only because we are friends that I can make this offer. All it requires on your part, beyond what you have already offered, is the bond of your blood with mine."

As he held out the hilt of the dagger, Wallace slowly closed his fist around it, the other hand gently laying the keekstane in Arnault's blood. In an instant his own hand was bleeding, and he handed back the dagger.

"This will be a bond between us?" he murmured, as Arnault sheathed the blade.

The Templar held out his hand, with the keekstane lying in his blood, never wavering from Wallace's searching gaze.

"I will be with you in spirit, I will know when you are taken, and I will know when you have need of me.

on that day."

"Jesu help us both," Wallace murmured, closing his eyes as he set his bleeding hand atop Arnault's, with the keekstane between them, trembling as the Templar's hand closed around his and then drew him closer. A strong arm circled his shoulders and drew his forehead against a white-clad shoulder, and a peacefulness enfolded him as the other wove ties between them that would only be broken in death.

He wept as Arnault held him: for the pain he knew was coming, for this beloved land he was giving his life to secure, for the sunrises and sunsets he would never see, for the anguish this white-clad man must bear with him. And after a while he had no more tears, and raised his head in faint self-consciousness, and flexed fingers stiff with blood, his own and Arnault's mingled. The Templar merely smiled minutely and wrapped the b.l.o.o.d.y keekstane in a piece of clean cloth he had pulled from his scrip, then tucked both back into its recesses.

"If there was ever any doubt that you are the one," he said quietly, "all doubt ended just now. The prize will be worth the cost, my friend. Believe that, no matter what else may befall."

Wallace sighed, then slowly nodded. "Thank you. I will carry that thought with me. It will help lighten my journey."

"Where do you propose to go from here?" Arnault asked.

"South and west, toward Glasgow. A friend has offered me the shelter of his house. For the time being, anyway."

After a slight pause, he drew a deep breath and continued. "I don't doubt I've a spy or two in my company, just waiting for the chance to set the hounds on me. There are lords enough in the south, eager to win Edward's favor. If one of them doesn't get me, another will. Someone loyal to me will send word to you, when the time comes."

Heavyhearted, Arnault nodded. "They shall find me at Balantrodoch. There may be many battles ahead, but I promise you that one day, Scotland shall have a true king."

Wallace almost smiled. "King Robert Bruce. It has a good ring. What a pity I didn't see it sooner. I've spent too much time in the past seven years fighting for the wrong man."

"You were Scotland's champion, not Balliol's," Arnault reminded him.

"And shall be Bruce's, from this moment onward," Wallace replied. "Though distant, the blood of the Canmores does flow in his veins. He is-has always been-the rightful heir to the Scottish throne. And heir to the power of the Stone of Destiny. I am ready to do what I must, to ensure that its power is restored."

His expression turned wistful. "I just wish I could be there to see it," he said softly. "I wish faith need not be blind. But if we saw things clearly, I suppose it wouldn't be faith."

July yielded to August, and the waiting intensified. Arnault, waiting at Balantrodoch, dreamed of Wallace's capture the night it happened, two days after Lammas, and on the strength of that dream sent a trusted messenger off to Paris the next morning to fetch Gaspar-Flannan Fraser, himself now a member of le Cercle, albeit a very junior one. Brother Christoph and Father Bertrand he sent to Scone, to alert the others. Confirmation of the long dreaded news came three days later, by way of the messenger Wallace had promised.

"Near Dumbarton," an exhausted Glaswegian tanner reported, between gulps of wine in Luc's office at Balantrodoch, as Luc, Arnault, and Torquil listened soberly. "Men in the service of Sir John Menteith burst into a house where he was staying-one of our own must have betrayed him. The king's constable has him now. They will take him to London by easy stages, to show him off along the way."

"Dear G.o.d, it begins," Luc whispered, when the man had gone, as Arnault stared numbly at the door that had just closed and Torquil stared at both of them, stunned.

The three Templars left that very day for Scone, to join the others keeping vigil in preparation for even worse to come.

News of the capture reached John Comyn of Badenoch at about the same time the guardians of the Stone were gathering at Scone, and brought a smile to the lips of the man who, since the death of his father, now headed the powerful Comyn family. After a day's indifferent hunting from one of his castles near Elgin, Red John Comyn had been dining amid his retainers with an elder kinsman, Alexander Comyn, brother to the Earl of Buchan and, therefore, a cousin of the Comyn himself. More scholar than soldier, in recent years Alexander had taken over most of the running of the Comyn estates.

"Your work?" he asked, gnawing on a meaty beef bone, when the messenger had bowed himself out of their presence and the buzz of speculation filled the hall around them.

Comyn only drained his cup, smiling as he filled it again. "Let us merely say that I am well served. Tell me, cousin, how stand the accounts in my Galloway estates?"