Knights Templar - Temple And The Stone Part 7

This oath was to be reinforced by a ban on all weaponry within the boundaries of the abbey. Earls and clan chiefs were to be made responsible for keeping their own followers in order, and a punitive list of fines was drawn up to be imposed on offenders. While these measures could not guarantee the peace outside the abbey grounds, the Templars hoped that they would discourage the most hotheaded elements from acting on rash impulse.

Abbot Henry was quick to approve these suggestions, and delegated the four Templar knights to begin putting them into effect. One of their first tasks was to liaise with the abbey's guest master and the comptroller of the royal household, to make certain that all rival factions were housed separately from one another. When John Balliol arrived, as befitted his status as king-elect, he was given exclusive use of the abbey guest house for himself and his following, which included the Comyns of Badenoch and Bishop William Fraser of St. Andrews. Less fiercely partisan magnates like Earl Malise of Strathearn and Lord Soules of Liddesdale were allocated places in the monks' residence, with those of lesser eminence being billeted wherever s.p.a.ce could be found for them elsewhere on the abbey grounds.

The Bruce delegation was among those who chose voluntarily to take lodgings in the nearby burgh of Perth. This choice was seconded by Bishop Wishart of Glasgow, who likewise seemed inclined to keep clear of the abbey, with its incursion of English clergy.

By the time Brian de Jay arrived with his escort and the contingent of English Templars-a total of eight, including three serjeants-most of the hard work was already done. Finding no fault with his subordinates'

arrangements, Jay left them to finish what they had begun while he and Robert de Sautre set off to mingle with the other abbey guests in a spirit of conviviality. The serjeants set about securing the sleeping arrangements for the new arrivals, in the larger of the cottage's two rooms, and the English Templars went to report to King Edward's representatives. Since the cottage was intended only to provide billeting s.p.a.ce, the arrangement did not look likely to cause undue friction.

Preparations continued apace. Arnault made it his personal business to secure the agreement of the Bruce contingent regarding the oath of good conduct. Two days before the scheduled inaugural ceremony, in the company of a Templar serjeant, he sought them out in the town house they had hired on the banks of the Tay. He was received courteously, if not warmly, by the newly designated Earl of Carrick and his son, who listened without comment while Arnault explained the purpose of the visit.

"I am prepared to believe that this request is being made in good faith," the earl told Arnault, after studied reflection. "Show me the writ, and let me read in so many words what is to be required of me."

The doc.u.ment Arnault had helped draft already bore a number of seals and signatures. The Earl of Carrick took note of these, as well as the text itself, and lifted it for his son's perusal as he returned his attention to his visitor.

"I will take this oath, for the sake of expediency," he declared, "but if anyone else breaks faith with this agreement, be advised that I also will no longer consider myself bound by it."

When the earl had added his seal and signature to those already in place, Arnault took leave of him with thanks. The youngest Robert Bruce accompanied him from the room. Taking note of the young man's taut, hawklike profile, Arnault sensed that he had something more to add to what his father had already said. As they approached the outer door, young Bruce stepped ahead to lay his hand on the latch, turning to regard Arnault appraisingly.

"Make no mistake about us, Templar," he warned, in a voice of implacable calm. "Oaths notwithstanding, my family's loyalty is pledged to Scotland and our own house, not to that puppet Balliol or any other p.a.w.n it pleases Edward of England to settle on the Scottish throne."

This stark declaration was backed by a force of personality that Arnault had rarely encountered in anyone so young, but that strength had yet to be tempered by either hardship or self-discipline. Both might come in time, but in this present moment there was only raw energy, yet unbridled by maturity of judgment.

"What makes you so sure that Balliol is not his own man?" he asked.

Young Bruce's lip curled. "Because he was dancing to John Comyn's piping long before he ever lent his ear to an English jig," he said bitterly. "Now Edward Plantagenet plays the tune, our new king will have to learn to step lively, else we shall have English soldiers marching north over the border to teach us all how to keep in time!"

Startled, Arnault wondered if this was speculation or insight. Aloud, he said, "You sound as if you were already at war."

"We are," young Bruce said grimly. "Only, Balliol doesn't know it yet."

Visitors continued to arrive at Scone and its environs over the next two days. While Luc, Flannan, and Arnault were being kept busy elsewhere, Torquil, as junior of the knights, found himself cast in the role of general factotum for the Templar delegation. Though all the menial household ch.o.r.es remained the province of the Templar serjeants, Brian de Jay seemed to take pleasure in finding duties that warranted the particular attention of a knight-brother.

The result was that Torquil spent the next few days relaying requisition orders, supervising the delivery of supplies, and carrying endless streams of messages back and forth between the Master of Scotland and his fellow dignitaries. His encounters with Luc and Arnault were limited to mealtimes and those periods of the day set aside for devotions, neither of which permitted conversation-an arrangement Torquil began to suspect was Jay's way of ensuring the three did not exchange any news of which he was not also aware.

King Edward had retired from Berwick to Newcastle, leaving Bishop Anthony Bek of Durham to attend the enthronement in his stead. On the evening of November the twenty-ninth, the Templars received an invitation from Bek, asking them to come and dine with him at the abbot's house, in the company of all the other senior clerics who had come to Scone for the ceremony. In continued demonstration of the dislike Jay appeared to have conceived for Torquil since his return with Arnault, the Scottish Master accepted the invitation on behalf of himself and selected members of his entourage. Of the knights, Torquil alone was excluded, on the stated grounds that someone of knightly rank needed to maintain an ongoing patrol of the abbey grounds to be sure that all was secure for the events of the following day.

Far from resenting the slight, Torquil was relieved to be excused. Aside from his own growing antipathy for Jay, his instinct as a Scot was to regard the very English Bek as an enemy, and he was by no means sure that he could have concealed this animosity from the gimlet gaze of the English prelate. Once Jay and the others had departed for their evening's engagement, he took two of the three serjeants with him on the required inspection round. Satisfied to find everything in order, he instructed his auxiliaries to continue their patrol, rotating off with the third of their number, who was taking his shift of sleep, then headed off for a visit to the abbey church, there to say a last prayer for the future wellbeing of his homeland and to steal a brief close-up look at the fabled Stone of Destiny.

The church was empty, lit only by the red-shielded Presence lamp within the sanctuary and a spill of golden candlelight illuminating the arch of the north transept. Feeling more than a little self-conscious, Torquil made his way diffidently up the nave to the crossing and paused briefly to genuflect before the Presence on the altar. Then he moved into the doorway of the side chapel where he had caught his first glimpse of the Stone several days before. In the morning, it would be moved outside for the inauguration.

The Stone was standing uncovered in the middle of the floor, directly under the chapel vault, flickeringly lit by an array of vigil lights lined up across the front of the chapel's altar. Seen by candlelight, it was a large block of dense black rock the size and shape of a low chair, its contours rounded rather than angular. Its surface had the grainy finish of roughly forged iron, rather than the vitreous sheen of polished stone, and parts of it seemed to be carved, though he could make out no shapes in the dim light.

Set far apart into the Stone's front surface was a pair of down-turned, crook-shaped hooks apparently meant for taking a carrying pole; Torquil a.s.sumed there would be a second set of hooks on the back.

The suggestion that it was meant to be a seat was enhanced by the presence of a shallow depression in its uppermost face.

Torquil ventured a step closer, a part of him half expecting that simply to be in the Stone's presence would impart some frisson of mystical kinship with his beloved Scotland-but the Stone registered inert as a lump of brick. Scowling slightly, he put out a tentative hand to touch the Stone's dark surface, bracing himself to s.n.a.t.c.h it back, but his fingertips met only the leaden roughness of dead rock.

He withdrew his hand and retreated a pace. Only then did it occur to him that he had been hoping for something like what he had experienced back in Cyprus-some flicker of numinosity to make truth out of all the old legends that spoke of this Stone as something marvelous and unearthly. To have felt nothing at all was profoundly disappointing. If the so-called Stone of Destiny was nothing more than a lifeless rock, then the ritual of enthronement was nothing more than empty ceremony.

"I used to think the Stone had merely fallen asleep," said a voice from the shadows at his back. "But lately I've begun to wonder if it might be dead."

Torquil controlled a start and turned around. Standing a few paces off was the old monk, Brother Mungo, who had greeted them upon their arrival at Scone and shown them to their lodgings. His lined face, so jovial at that first meeting, was overcast now with regret as he gazed at the Stone with faded blue eyes.

"What makes you think it was ever alive in the first place?" Torquil asked.

His words rang sharper than he intended, but the old monk seemed to take no notice. He said softly, "Had you been present beside me, lad, to see the enthronement of Alexander III, you would find no need to ask that question."

Something in the old monk's tone of voice caused Torquil's heart to give a sudden queer lurch. "What was it like?" he murmured.

A wistful smile touched Brother Mungo's wrinkled lips as he came and laid a hand on the Stone. It was a moment before he spoke, and Torquil sensed that he was groping for words to convey an experience that did not readily lend itself to description.

"It was like-magic," he said at last. "Magic of the most wonderful kind. It was as if the Stone was a great drum, ready to vibrate at the stroke of a hammer. When the king took his seat, the drum began to beat of its own accord, throbbing and booming like the tide against the seash.o.r.e. There was nothing you could see, or even hear with mortal ears, but you could feel the power emanating from it in great pounding waves, like the heartbeat of the land."

He paused, shifting his gaze to meet Torquil's.

"Saint Columba himself initiated this ceremony at the enthronement of King Aidan. The angel of the Lord decreed that when the rightful king should sit upon the Stone, he would receive power to serve the land, according to his measure. In the old days, the power was always there, always making its presence felt in the way that a hidden spring constantly sends ripples to the surface of a pool. Now, it is as if the spring has dried up, and the pool with it."

He lapsed into silence. Torquil scarcely knew how to take the old monk's testimony, though it was evident that he believed it himself.

"What do you suppose could have happened to change things?" he wondered aloud.

Brother Mungo heaved a heavy sigh. "Who knows? Perhaps our people have tried the patience of G.o.d once too often. Perhaps we have lost faith in the miracles of Saint Columba. Perhaps too many of the great men of this kingdom now see the Stone of Destiny not as a strong support to Scotland's sovereignty, but as an obstacle standing in the way of their own ambitions."

Torquil's thoughts reverted to Berwick. Many of the magnates there, not least the Comyns of Badenoch, had been less interested in upholding the commonweal of Scotland than they had been in securing their own lands and privileges. Still, it seemed to him unfair that the self-interest of a few should outweigh the welfare of the many.

"The throne has been vacant for nearly six years," he noted thoughtfully. "Small wonder that the power of the Stone should have waned in that time. Perhaps all that is necessary to revive it is the return of a Scottish monarchy."

The old monk nodded. "I pray that this may be so. Tomorrow will tell; I certainly cannot. G.o.d grant you sleep's blessing, my young friend."

The conversation troubled Torquil as he continued on his rounds, checking in with the serjeants on patrol and then heading back to the cottage for the brief spell of sleep his duties would permit before the crucial ceremonies of the morrow. On his way, he was moved to wonder whether Abbot Henry had observed any changes in the Stone since the death of Alexander III.

He would have liked to discuss Brother Mungo's remarks with Arnault and Luc upon their return; but once again the intrusive presence of Brian de Jay and Robert de Sautre made him shy away from mentioning such a subject. The report that he tendered to Jay was limited to purely routine matters.

Bottling up his more speculative observations until a more propitious moment, he sought permission to retire.

His rest, however, was far from peaceful. The darkness that surrounded him was like an unwanted blanket, hampering his limbs and interfering with his breathing. For a long time, he tossed and turned, trying vainly to find a comfortable position. When he finally did fall asleep, his dreams were even darker than the room.

The darkness was full of noise-a tempestuous rushing like the bl.u.s.ter of gale-force winds, paired with a roar like the crashing of sea waves against a rocky cliff. The sounds of storm and thunder were shot through with shrieks of wind that, at times, seemed to verge into demented laughter. The sound of it was so unnerving that he clapped his hands to his ears and turned blindly to flee.

With his first stride, he slammed into something unyielding. He recoiled with a blink and discovered that he was thrashing on his side in a tangle of bedding, his back against one of the walls of the cottage. The log on the nearby hearth had burned down to mere embers, telling him that it must be nearly morning.

Only belatedly did it register that he must have rudely awakened from a dream-or nightmare.

The room was cold. He shivered and moved to retrieve his blankets. As he did so, a familiar figure materialized noiselessly beside his pallet and dropped to one knee beside him.

"What is it?" Arnault inquired in a whisper.

Before Torquil could respond, there came a rustle of movement a few yards away as Robert de Sautre poked his head up out of a nest of blankets and peered blearily over at them.

"What's going on? he muttered thickly. "What time is it?"

"It's time to be up and moving," said Brian de Jay, from the doorway leading to the adjacent room. "We have perhaps twenty minutes to spare before Matins. After that, we all have work to do."

Chapter Ten.

THE ENTHRONEMENT OF JOHN BALLIOL AS KING OF SCOTS was to take place at mid-morning following a High Ma.s.s in the abbey church. Unlike the sacring accorded English sovereigns, who were crowned in a religious rite having kinship with the ordination of priests, it would be a purely secular ceremony, reflecting ancient Celtic custom-not only because Scotland possessed her own traditions for inaugurating her kings but because Scottish kings had yet to win the right from Rome to be anointed.

After joining the monks for the first office of the day, the Templars dispersed to their a.s.signed positions to watch against any breaking of the peace, armed and mailed beneath their white habits and mantles but bareheaded under a wan wintry sun. As the magnates of Scotland and concerned guests began to a.s.semble for the day's proceedings, Brian de Jay drew slightly apart with the Master of England and several of King Edward's men, idly watching for any sign of impending disruption.

Nominally Jay's second-in-command for the operation, Luc de Brabant remained near the abbey church to see the Stone transported safely up to the Moot Hill, beyond the burying ground that lay to the east of the church. Arnault and Torquil repaired to the hill itself with Flannan Fraser, to survey final preparations at the invest.i.ture site.

The hill was crowned by a circle of wind-flattened gra.s.s, faintly yellowed from the season's first frosts, only partly sheltered on three sides by a curving wall of ancient trees. The framework for a baldachin had been erected the day before, at the spot in the center where the Stone of Destiny was to stand. This morning, workmen were adorning it with a canopy and drapings of heavy silk, others pounding holes into the ground to receive a series of gilded staves that would support a festoon of purple silk cord to define the ceremonial area.

Back in the direction of the abbey church, a small procession of monks began moving ponderously toward the hill, bearing the Stone by means of stout carrying poles supported on their shoulders. Behind them, gentlemen from several of the premier Scottish houses were bringing along an elaborate gilded chair resembling a throne, curiously wrought with a movable seat and side panels, devised as a setting to contain and surround the Stone. This being significantly more portable than the Stone itself, its bearers had it in position on the hilltop well before the monks arrived with the Stone.

Conveying the Stone was heavy work. The two Scottish Templars watched in some trepidation as the monks approached the summit of the Moot Hill, half fearing lest the Stone be dropped. The men who had brought the chair lent their muscle as, with much grunting and not a little muttered swearing, the Stone was jockeyed into position in the chair atop the mound. After a weather look at the sky, a chamberlain directed rich cloths of silk brocade to be draped over both.

With his own glance at the sun-for time rather than weather-Arnault signaled Brother Flannan and one of the Templar serjeants to remain with the men who would stay to attend the Stone while everyone else was occupied at Ma.s.s. Flannan had requested the privilege, and Arnault was glad to be able to grant it.

"We'd best get back to the church," he murmured to Torquil. "If there's trouble today, it will likely be where there are Comyns and Bruces in the same place. The Stone is safe for now."

Torquil nodded, but he cast a last look at the Stone before they started back for the abbey.

The pale winter sun was halfway to its zenith as the magnates of the realm began a.s.sembling in the small abbey church, filling it to capacity. Accorded status with the more eminent visiting clergy, as warrior-monks, the Templars detailed to attend Ma.s.s had been allocated s.p.a.ce in the choir, well back from the sanctuary but not far from part of the royal household. Craning to see past the sea of heads in front of him, Torquil had a reasonably good view of the royal party a.s.sembled closer to the high altar. He noticed that Bishop Anthony Bek was prominently placed at the new king's right hand, his demeanor outwardly gracious and unruffled-but Torquil was reminded, nonetheless, of a gaoler mounting guard over a valuable prisoner.

A choir of monks began the entrance antiphon, on this, the feast day of Scotland's patron saint. Since the abbey of Scone belonged to the See of Dunkeld, its bishop, Matthew Crambeth, had claimed his due right to preside at the Ma.s.s. Supporting him were Bishops Wishart of Glasgow, Fraser of St. Andrews, and Cheyne of Aberdeen. Though previously divided over the question of the Scottish succession, the four senior Scots prelates presented all appearances of unity as they processed into the abbey church and the Ma.s.s commenced, with a traditional collect in honor of Saint Andrew and amid fervent prayers for the future well-being of the realm.

The first reading was taken from the twelfth chapter of the first Book of Kings, read by Bishop Wishart of Glasgow. The earlier pa.s.sages in the chapter gave details of a period of internecine strife between Israel and the tribe of Judah. The later pa.s.sages, however, chronicled the resolution of that conflict as required of King Rehoboam, in response to a divine edict: "Haec dicit Dominus: Non ascendetis neque bellabitis contra fratres vestros filios Israel." Thus saith the Lord: Ye shall not go up to make war on your kinsmen the Israelites. Return every man to his house; for this is my will.

It was not the usual reading appointed for the feast day of Saint Andrew, but Torquil had no doubt that it was intended to serve as an oblique recommendation to all present to put aside their differences and keep the peace.

The psalm prescribed for the feast had likewise been set aside in favor of a pa.s.sage more appropriate to the occasion, read by the Bishop of St. Andrews in a shaky voice: "Sedes tua, Deus, in saeculum saeculi." Thy throne, O G.o.d, is for ever and ever; the scepter of Thy kingdom is a right scepter. Thou lovest righteousness and hatest wickedness.

The Gospel text was Saint Matthew's account of how Saint Andrew and Saint Peter were first called to be disciples. While Bishop Crambeth launched into his attendant homily, discoursing at length on the theme of vocations and linking this to the vocation of kings, Torquil glanced at Balliol. The new king's gaze had strayed from the pulpit toward a painted fresco on the wall beyond, of Christ stilling the storm at sea. Contrary to what might have been expected, Balliol wore an expression best described as indifferent-as if the impending ratification of his kingship were of little enough consequence. But perhaps that was because of the presence of Edward of England's bishop at his side.

The distraction of thinking about this kept Torquil from minding the homily as much as he ought, but as the Ma.s.s advanced toward the consecration and the elevation of the Host, he at last found his meditations uplifted of their own accord to a contemplation of higher things. When he recalled himself to his earthly surroundings, he discovered that the bishops were commencing to administer Communion.

Balliol and his immediate attendants were the first to receive. They were followed, in turn, by the officers of the royal household. The greater magnates were next to approach the sanctuary. Torquil was faintly surprised to see the Bruces precede the Comyns, but any real examination of this development was precluded when Jay began moving forward with the English Templars, glancing for his subordinates to follow.

Hastily composing himself to worthily receive the sacrament, Torquil made his way forward in the wake of his superiors, just behind Arnault. He was just mounting the steps into the choir when he encountered John Comyn and his son, who were just retiring from the sanctuary. Both Comyns wore the bland, faintly distracted expressions typical of those around them; but as the two shouldered past him, Torquil caught a fleeting gesture suggesting that the elder Comyn had surrept.i.tiously slipped something small and white into a sleeve pocket of his velvet robe.

Comyn carried on with measured tread, as though nothing whatever out of the ordinary had occurred, but Torquil half turned to stare after him-and got a gently admonitory nudge from the elderly canon who was following on his heels. He mended his pace with an apologetic nod, but his thoughts had gone racing off in shocked speculation. He was almost, but not quite sure that he had just seen the Lord of Badenoch hide away a Communion wafer, rather than consuming it.

As he shuffled forward with the others to receive in his turn, Torquil tried to rehea.r.s.e what he had seen, only just refocusing his own thoughts to a properly prayerful state as he came before Bishop Fraser and stuck out his tongue. But as he made his way back to his place, only faintly fortified by his own Communion, his mind resumed clamoring with questions. If Comyn had palmed and hidden away a consecrated Host, it could only be construed as an act of rankest blasphemy. Further reflection only strengthened Torquil's impression that he had seen what he had seen.

The mystery gnawed at him throughout the remainder of the Ma.s.s, so that he hardly heard or heeded the concluding prayers and intercessions. Attempting to justify Comyn's actions-and applying the most benign possible motives- Torquil had to suppose that, whether through a recent fall from grace or from mere failure to avail himself of confession and absolution in a timely fashion, the Lord of Badenoch had judged himself unprepared to properly receive the sacrament. And yet, as near kin to the new king, he had found himself obliged to go forward for Communion with the rest of the king's household-for failure to go forward might have been to cast a possible shadow on the character of the new king.

A conflict of morality and political expedience, to be sure-but if Comyn was one of those for whom the Ma.s.s held no meaning beyond social expectation, there was nothing to prevent him from taking Communion for the sake of maintaining appearances. Torquil was well aware that the faith of many so-called Christians was only nominal; not all shared his own religious dedication, or that of Arnault and others of his acquaintance. As it was, to have spat out the consecrated Host betokened a man in serious peril of his soul, acting either from fear of the spiritual consequences of ingesting Christ's most sacred Body and Blood while in a state of sin, or else from contempt for this most holy of Christian sacraments.

Torquil cast a furtive glance at Arnault, longing to communicate his observation and subsequent uneasiness and be rea.s.sured that his reasoning was faulty, his fears unjustified; but the elder Templar's regard was fixed on the sanctuary, where the Bishop of Aberdeen was reading the final Gospel: "In principio erat Verb.u.m." In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with G.o.d, and the Word was G.o.d.

Telling himself that perhaps he had not really seen what he thought he had seen, Torquil schooled himself to resigned forbearance and promised himself he would tell Arnault about Comyn's strange behavior at the first available opportunity-and tried to find rea.s.surance in the familiar reading and then the final blessing.

The officiating clergy retreated to the sacristy and the magnates left the church in an order determined by precedence. While this exodus was in progress, Balliol and the great officers of state also retired to the sacristy, there to make final preparations for the inaugural procession. As previously agreed, the Knights Templar, both Scottish and English, inserted themselves at strategic intervals amid those proceeding to the Moot Hill, their white mantles serving as stark and visible reminders of the peace to which all were bound by their oaths, and which the Templars would enforce, if need be.

Out on the hilltop, banners of the great houses had been hung from the branches of the trees ringing the lower reaches of the gra.s.sy mound-mostly evergreens. As the great men of the kingdom arrived at the summit, each took his place, together with his retainers, under his own banner. To Arnault and Torquil fell a post to the east of the ceremonial area, with Luc not far away. The remaining Templars had occupied similar positions of vantage, mostly dispersed among the Scottish contingents.

Even just past noon, the wintry sun cast chill tree shadows across one side of the ceremonial area, beginning to encroach on the brocade-draped chair and Stone. Shivering, Torquil drew his mantle more tightly against the bl.u.s.tering wind and fidgeted on aching feet as they waited for the ceremony to begin, still wondering about what he thought he had seen Comyn do-and impelled by the presence of the Stone to wonder what Arnault would think of what Brother Mungo had told him the night before, about the Stone having lost its power. But surrounded by others, he dared not share either concern with Arnault yet.

The rising drone of bagpipes signaled the commencement of the procession. Heads turned as a stir at the church side door heralded the emergence of three pipers, followed by the new king. John Balliol now was robed in a rich swath of crimson velvet, trimmed with ermine and laced with gold. On his head he wore a red velvet bonnet turned up with ermine, adorned with a spray of osprey feathers held in place by a ruby brooch. Somehow, the trappings of regality seemed almost incongruous on the tall, lanky form.

He was flanked on the left by Abbot Henry and on the right by Sir John de St. John, who was standing in for the infant Earl of Fife. Behind them were a.s.sembled the royal officers, led by Gilbert de la Hay, the hereditary Constable of Scotland, all of them also arrayed in rich raiment of red and gold. The items belonging to the royal regalia had been shared out among the members of the procession-the crown, the sword, the scepter, the white wand-and the weakening sun picked out random gleams of their gold and jewel tones under the pale winter sky.

The party started up the hill to the wail and drone of the pipes. When they reached the summit, Sir John de St. John led Balliol over to the rich canopy that now sheltered the chair and the Stone. Bonneted heads craned to watch as Sir James the Stewart folded back the layers of drapery covering the seat of the chair to expose the Stone itself. Silence settled on the hill as he turned to address the a.s.sembled company, Balliol standing between him and John de St. John.

"Most n.o.ble lords of Scotland," Sir James declared in a loud voice, "we are here a.s.sembled, on this day and in this hour, to bear witness to the enthronement of John Balliol, late of Barnard Castle, as King of Scots. May he live long and rule well, wisely administering the laws and customs of the community of this, our sovereign realm!"

An expectant murmur whispered through the company as the king's chamberlain came forward and presented the royal mantle of state to Sir John de St. John-who, without comment, laid it around Balliol's angular shoulders. Acting then for the infant Earl of Fife, whose line had the hereditary right to seat the king upon his throne, Sir John took the king by the hand and formally a.s.sisted him to his proper place upon the Stone. Oddly, to Torquil's thinking, Balliol looked preoccupied and even distracted as he settled within the arms of the stately chair.

A seannachie now advanced to declaim the new king's royal lineage according to custom: a wizened old graybeard attached to the household of the lords of Badenoch, leaning on a shepherd's staff topped with a crook of carved antler.

"Slainte, a righ Albainn!" he cried. "Iain Balliol, mac Devorguilla, nic Mairearad, nic Dairbidh." We hail as King of Scots this John Balliol, son of Devorguilla, daughter of Margaret, daughter of David, Earl of Huntingdon, son of Henry, son of David I of the house of Canmore.

The bardic cadence of the recitation unfolded Balliol's personal descent back through recorded history and into the misty realms of legend. Bred to such Highland tradition, Torquil found himself all but mesmerized by the litany of names that rolled from the old man's tongue.

And yet Balliol himself seemed curiously unconnected with this heroic list of predecessors. The atmosphere atop the Moot Hill was charged with excitement, but to Torquil it seemed almost as if the witnessing crowd were all waiting for someone else who had yet to appear. That was something else he must mention to Arnault.

The recitation came at last to an end. When the seannachie had retired, the Constable of Scotland came forward and delivered into Balliol's hands, by turn, the sword, the scepter, the white wand, each with words to accompany it, each given back to make way for the next item of regalia. The Lord Marischal followed, briefly kneeling to present an ancient-looking gold and crimson banner depicting the royal arms of Scotland, long borne by Balliol's Canmore predecessors-the golden field with its red lion rampant surrounded by a red double tressure. The embroidered silk stirred and lifted on the breeze, teasing at the edges of some memory or perception just beyond the intrigued Torquil's ability to retrieve it, as the marischal then retreated to stand with it behind the throne. He was there joined by the elder John Comyn, who set his hand upon the staff above the marischal's with almost proprietary a.s.surance.

But now came the moment set in most men's minds as truly signifying kingship, whether or not the Scots inaugural gave greater weight to enthronement than to crowning, as was done in other realms.

Approaching from behind, the king's chamberlain respectfully removed the cap from the head of John Balliol, then yielded his place to Abbot Henry, whose status as guardian of the Stone likewise had made him the designated bearer of the crown. A whisper of expectation shivered through the a.s.sembled company as the abbot held this final token of kingship suspended for a moment in the sight of all.

"John, son of Devorguilla, daughter of Margaret," he declared, "receive the crown of Scotland as its right and lawful king!"

And with these words, set the crown on Balliol's head.

The wind snapped the lion banner behind the king at that instant, wrenching at Torquil's perceptions. His stomach turned queasy, and his vision blurred. In the s.p.a.ce between two heartbeats, he seemed to find himself transported to another place: looking down upon a lofty hall, whose walls were hung with tapestries and lit by a profusion of smoky torches.

Before him, lounging in a tall chair set before the hearth, a lean, dark-haired man in a fur-lined robe was gazing into the blazing fire, a horn cup in one hand and with a pair of wolfhounds dozing at his feet.