Knights Templar - Temple And The Stone Part 6

Laying aside the copy of Ad.a.m.nan and its torn pages, Luc came to take the parchment from Arnault, tsking as he shook his head.

"What a pity," he said. "Unfortunately, I do. This is Brother Colman's work. He's been making a copy of the Ad.a.m.nan text in his spare time. That isn't a usual pursuit of our houses, as you know-and he's but a lay brother, with little formal education-but he had too much talent not to let him develop it."

He cast another glance around the room, shaking his head bleakly.

"I gave him this little room for a scriptorium, some years ago. When Jay came, he wanted to take it back-you'll have gathered how he feels about men getting ideas above their station-but by then, Brother Colman's work had gained a modest local following. I managed to persuade Jay that the work should be allowed to continue, as it would only add to the prestige of this house. The trade-out was that Brother Colman must not let his scrivening activities interfere with his domestic duties; and of course, it does produce extra income for the preceptory."

"That would make a difference to Jay," Arnault replied. He spotted what looked to be the book's bra.s.s-banded carrying case against a wall and went to retrieve it. "That still doesn't answer who might have done this-or why."

"I couldn't even hazard a guess," Luc replied, returning to his inspection of the damaged volume and nodding permission for Torquil to join him, showing him what had been done. "It may be possible to repair at least some of the damage, but the book's value has been significantly reduced. Jay is sure to demand an explanation, and I haven't the faintest idea what I'm going to tell him."

Arnault sheathed his sword before bending to pick up the wooden case meant to house the book, one corner of which was badly shattered by impact with the wall. As he lifted it, a blast of glacial cold momentarily turned his blood to ice as he recoiled before a sickly charnel stench, simultaneously sweet and rotten, as memorable as it was revolting-and last encountered in a farmhouse in the far Orkney Islands.

The implication struck him almost like a physical blow, and he reeled back with a gasp. The box slipped from his grasp with a hollow clatter as he caught at his balance against the wall, trying desperately to reconnect with the impression-but it was gone.

"Arnault?" Luc had called softly, at the clattering sound. Both he and Torquil hurried over when Arnault did not immediately respond.

A little dazed, Arnault shook his head, cautiously fumbling to pick up the box again; but now it was only a box with a splintered corner. Nonetheless, a mult.i.tude of unsavory conjectures were tumbling through his mind, premier among them the unshakable impression that whatever had run amok here in Brother Colman's scriptorium had also been responsible for the death of a little Norwegian princess and the extinction of the royal Canmore line.

"I'm all right," he muttered to Luc, not yet ready to voice his growing conviction-and aware that he must be careful what he said in front of Torquil. "I am suddenly minded to consider whether what happened here was more than just a random act of destruction. How many others have a key to this room?"

"Myself," Luc said promptly. "Brother Colman, of course-but he would never destroy his own work, much less a book like the Ad.a.m.nan-"

"Anyone else?" Arnault broke in impatiently.

"Jay, of course; a few others. But everyone else is abed, or nearly so. And it only happened when we heard the noise, I feel certain. You yourself said it: The ink is still wet. But no one could have made their escape so quickly, and from a locked room-and as you can see, the shutters are intact, the only other window too high and small for access."

"Those were my observations," Arnault agreed. "Perhaps, then, the pages themselves may hold the answer."

Carrying the box over to where the light was strongest, he directed Luc and Torquil to gather up all the damaged pages, both Brother Colman's copies and those from the damaged Ad.a.m.nan, and to lay them out in order. All of them were either ink-stained or badly torn, but comparing the two versions, Arnault was able to point out two consecutive chapter headings, still readable by combining parts of both copies.

"Now, that is very interesting," he noted. "Both these chapters mention a pagan magician by the name of Briochan: Here at chapter thirty-three-De Briochana mago-and De beati viri contra Briochanum refragatione, at chapter thirty-four."

Torquil sagely echoed Luc's nod of agreement and pushed a little closer to see better, apparently better acquainted with the Celtic lore of his heritage than either of them had realized.

"Och, aye, this second reference is a celebrated pa.s.sage," he pointed out, before Luc could speak, stabbing one finger toward a line of text. "Abbot Machar drummed it into our heads when my brothers and I were pupils at St. Kenneth's. Briochan was archdruid to King Brude at the time Columba visited the king at Urquhart, and a very serious threat in his time. But Columba, as it says here, "~bested Briochan in various trials of power,' rather in the way Moses was able to outdo Pharaoh's sorcerers."

"Indeed," Arnault murmured, according Torquil a glance of respect. "I-ah-I don't suppose you know what became of this Briochan-where he might have died?"

Torquil only shook his head, and Luc shrugged as Arnault directed the same question to him with a glance; but a calculating flicker in the latter's expression told Arnault that the older man had made the connection he himself was trying to avoid-and had discarded it.

Arnault then remarked on the whiff of charnel smell he had detected as he retrieved the box made to house the book telling of Briochan's deeds, knowing that Luc would remember the account of his impressions surrounding the death of the little Maid of Norway, two years before.

"But, what possible connection-?"

"I don't know!" Arnault said sharply. "Or rather, I am almost certain that there is a connection; I just haven't figured out why or how. I also haven't figured out why I should be suspecting that your missing pagan grave goods are somehow linked with all of this-but that's what I think."

"You're suggesting that the grave was that of Briochan?" Luc whispered-then glanced in concern at Torquil, who was listening in tight-lipped and increasingly wide-eyed silence. Arnault caught the glance and also turned his attention to the younger knight-now, it seemed, rather sooner than planned, about to be further tested as to his suitability for eventual service with le Cercle.

"Brother Torquil," he said in a very low voice, "what you are about to hear goes no further than the three of us-not even a confessor. Do you understand?" At Torquil's solemn nod, he went on. "I can tell you that this is akin to what you a.s.sisted with in Nicosia. I promise to explain later, as and when I can. Do you agree?"

"My oath on it!" Torquil whispered fervently, crossing himself and then kissing his thumbnail.

That resolved, so far as Arnault was concerned, he swung his focus back to Luc.

"Now, as to that grave," he said, without missing a beat. "Whether or not it was Briochan's, I am saying that, almost certainly, it was the grave of some pagan sorcerer, whose remains were here at Balantrodoch for a time. I think the rune-staves you described make that clear. And we don't know for certain what happened to them."

"Go on," Luc murmured, rubbing at his beard.

"And I am saying that who or whatever caused this"- Arnault gestured toward the tattered and ink-marred pages-"seems to have taken particular exception to-or notice of-references to Briochan." He drew a deep breath before continuing.

"I am also saying that what I smelled, when I picked up the box from which the Ad.a.m.nan was wrenched"-he tapped the damaged book box with a forefinger-"was, without doubt, what I smelled on the day the little Maid died. Now: You tell me whether any of these things connect."

Utter silence answered Arnault as he sensed both his listeners mulling what he had told them-Luc with cool if troubled detachment, Torquil still struggling to regain his equilibrium in the wake of his mentor's disclosure, though his bearing betokened mere bewilderment, not fear or hostility. But then, before either one of them could speak, came the echo of booted feet approaching in the corridor outside-several pairs.

Instantly on alert, Luc laid a finger vertically across his lips, giving them both an urgent glance, then whisked the ruined pages back onto the floor with a sweep of his arm and picked up the damaged book, moving back into the center of the room with it as he began exclaiming again over its condition. Following his cue, Arnault and Torquil at once joined in, starting to pick up and examine damaged pages, so that by the time the door opened, all three of them appeared to be well engaged in a.s.sessing a scene of apparent vandalism.

"Brother Luc, what on earth!" Brian de Jay said sharply, torch in hand and flanked by the two de Sautre brothers. "And Brother Arnault, Brother Torquil." His tone turned more calculating. "What, pray tell, are you doing?"

Luc looked around mildly, the damaged Ad.a.m.nan in his hands, his face reflecting his earlier reaction of consternation and regret.

"We were in my office; we heard a sound and came at once. Look what someone has done: ruined months of Brother Colman's work, and damaged our copy of Ad.a.m.nan! Can you fathom it?"

Glancing around the room, Jay went a little pale, but he quickly recovered his composure. The de Sautre brothers likewise looked vaguely uneasy.

"How can this have happened?" Jay murmured, though something in his eyes gave Arnault pause.

"That's a good question," the latter said, indicating the closed shutters. "As you can see, the room was properly secured."

"Obviously, not secured enough!" Jay bl.u.s.tered. "I'll have some answers, by G.o.d! Whoever has done this has stolen from the Order, by destroying the Order's property. He'll wish he had never been born!

Brother John, call out the garrison, every last knight and serjeant and lay brother. Light the torches in the yard. I want every man questioned, beginning with Brother Colman."

The ensuing flurry of muster and interrogation enabled Arnault, Luc, and Torquil to sidestep much further inquiry regarding their own proximity to what had occurred-by the speculation of Brian de Jay, surely a spiteful act of defiance by some disgruntled member of the community. Brother Colman was quickly cleared of any possibility of involvement, but spent the next hour weeping over his ruined ma.n.u.script.

Under subsequent interrogation, the bewildered men who lined up in the preceptory yard betrayed nary a flicker of preknowledge of the deed.

By the time the brethren were dismissed to return to their beds, several hours later, Arnault still had not managed to make sense of it, and had no opportunity that night to discuss the matter further with Luc or Torquil. Rolling up in his blankets, he lay staring up at the dormitory ceiling for some time, by the soft flicker of the night lamps kept always burning there, examining and recombining the various elements of the mystery developing here at Balantrodoch.

He told himself first that it surely was unlikely that tonight's attack could have been the result of interference by some spirit-ent.i.ty-unable though he was to explain how any human agent could have carried out the attack on Brother Colman's scriptorium without being caught.

And why would anyone perpetrate such an attack? Though it was conceivable that the ongoing harshness of Brian de Jay's command style could, indeed, have sparked some such mutinous display-as Jay himself had posited- that was not likely either, given the Temple's expectation of unquestioning obedience to its military discipline, and the known severity of punishment for infractions of the Rule. And with Jay having been absent from Balantrodoch for the better part of a month, it seemed unlikely that his return would have sparked such an immediate display of resentment. Nor did it explain how a mere man might have done it.

Unable to make further progress on that tack, Arnault reluctantly returned to the original notion of nonhuman intervention-which was the only remaining explanation, if no human could have done it. He even had a name for the ent.i.ty-though surely it was asking too much of coincidence to suggest that the spirit of Briochan, a sixth-century Pictish magician, might somehow have found reason to invade a Christian religious establishment and attack writings mentioning his name-though Arnault could not deny that references to Saint Columba's old adversary did seem to have been the focus for the attack.

Then, there was the matter of the charnel smell, and its a.s.sociation with the premature death of the little Maid. And though reasonably certain that no connection existed between that death and the coincidence that Brian de Jay had also been part of that failed mission, Arnault found himself still vaguely troubled by Jay's previous involvement in the disappearance of the grave goods that Luc had briefly examined.

As he finally drifted into sleep, it occurred to him to wonder whether the disturbed pagan grave conceivably might have been that of Briochan himself, but by then his speculations were becoming sufficiently far-fetched that he put all of them out of mind and at last surrendered himself to slumber.

Chapter Nine.

BECAUSE OF THE STATUS OF ARNAULT AND TORQUIL AS REPresentatives of the Visitor of France, there had never been any question that they would be part of the delegation traveling on to Scone to witness the inauguration of the new King of Scots. But when, as the first item of business at the next morning's chapter meeting, Luc de Brabant was named to command the advance party, to leave immediately following morning Ma.s.s, Arnault could not help wondering whether this speedy banishment from Balantrodoch had anything to do with the events of the previous night- though Jay said not a word of the incident.

"You will make your way north with all speed and begin surveying the security requirements at Scone,"

Brian de Jay announced, speaking from the Master's chair of carved stone in the vaulted chapter house.

"I am directed to await the arrival of a party of English knights riding up from the London Temple. We shall follow in a few days' time, with an additional half-dozen men from this preceptory."

Far more precipitously than might have been expected, however, those designated for the advance party found themselves making hasty preparations to depart, having barely been allowed to break their fast following Ma.s.s.

"One might almost suspect he was in a hurry to get all three of us away from here," Luc muttered under his breath to Arnault, from between their horses, while adjusting his cinch before mounting up to ride out.

"And G.o.d knows what Flannan Fraser may have done to merit being banished to our company."

His glance directed Arnault's attention to the redheaded knight mounting up beside Torquil-another Scot of about Arnault's age and, by his easy banter, apparently known and liked by the younger man from his previous sojourn at the Scottish preceptory.

"He isn't one of Jay's minions, being sent to keep an eye on us?" Arnault said quietly, some doubt in his voice.

"No, he's straight and honest-as are most of the men of this house. It's Jay and his de Sautre shadows who make me a little nervous."

Their precipitous banishment from Balantrodoch also made both men wonder whether Jay might somehow suspect that the three of them were more than they seemed. Arnault's trust of the Scottish Master was waning by the day; and the gradual acc.u.mulation of circ.u.mstantial uncertainties was beginning to suggest that Jay might be developing some agenda of his own, perhaps at odds with that of le Cercle.

Of course, it could merely be Jay's growing resentment of their status-in his bailiwick, but not really under his command-coupled with more purely pedestrian motives of furthering his own pecuniary ambitions.

But just now, it was more important that le Cercle have a presence at Scone, for John Balliol's inauguration-and whatever schemes Jay was up to, they could have little to do with the Scottish succession. Meanwhile, the ride north, out from under Jay's scrutiny, would give Arnault and Luc time to ponder further on the various pieces of the puzzle; and perhaps the observations of the Scottish-born Brother Flannan would provide fresh insights regarding the immediate Scottish questions.

They rode toward Edinburgh amid a mild drizzle, guesting that night with the monks of Holyrood Abbey in the city. The next morning, under glowering skies, they engaged a boatman to convey them across the Firth of Forth from Queensferry. During the crossing, unsolicited, Flannan Fraser alluded to that ill-fated night, now six years past, when Alexander III, grandfather of the little Maid of Norway, had attempted this same journey.

"He shouldna have tried it-they say the rain was las.h.i.+ng something fierce, an' the wind was a-blowing-but he made it safe across the firth," Flannan said, as their boat neared the sh.o.r.e near the royal salt pans at Inverkeithing. "Well I remember the night, because we had a lot of slates come down at Balantrodoch.

Water was pourin' through the dormitory ceiling."

Luc gave a bemused snort as he nodded vigorously. "I could hardly forget that night! My bed was right under one of the holes!"

"What, exactly, happened to Alexander?" Arnault asked Flannan, curious to hear his perspective on the death of the last Canmore king.

"No one really knows," Flannan replied. "He was riding on toward Kinghorn when his horse misstepped, G.o.d rest him, at a place since called King's Crag." He crossed himself in pious remembrance of the dead king. "They say he was eager to join his new young wife. He was desperate keen for a new male heir."

"A pity he was not so fated," Arnault replied, also crossing himself as the others did the same. "Do you think John Balliol will prove worthy of the succession?"

Flannan glanced at him in brief appraisal, then shrugged, venturing a faint smile. "As a Templar-and since ye be the Visitor's man-I'm obliged to answer that it isn't our place to express opinions on such matters, since we answer to a higher Overlord than Balliol or England's king. But since I was a Scot before I was a Templar," he added with a wink, "and since I hail frae Bruce territory, like Brother Torquil, I suppose I would have to admit that I would have preferred the Bruces. Still, we serve as we are sent, don't we?"

Both Arnault and Luc agreed that this was so, echoing Torquil's nod of agreement, and Arnault marked the Scots knight as a man they could probably count on, if they needed allies in the Scottish preceptory.

They obtained fresh horses at Inverkeithing and headed north into Perths.h.i.+re, conversation tending mainly to speculation about the probable unfolding of events at Scone. Over the next three days, Flannan proved an agreeable travel companion and a ready resource on both politics and local history.

"Did ye know, Brother Arnault, that Perth is sometimes called Saint John's Town?" Flannan asked, as they emerged from the ford across the Tay, bypa.s.sing Perth Town to push on toward Scone Abbey.

"No, why is that?" Arnault said genially.

"I can answer that," Luc interjected. "The writings of Saint John the Evangelist are said to have provided a great deal of inspiration to Saint Columba and his followers."

"Columba was active in this part of Scotland, then?" Arnault asked.

"Here and in the west," Luc replied. "But many of his relics ended up at Scone Abbey-which was built and endowed by King Kenneth MacAlpin, wasn't it, Torquil? That's how it also became a repository for so many of the Honours of Scotland, in addition to the inaugural Stone."

"I can see that Brother Luc has been using his time to good effect, since I went off with you to the Holy Land," Torquil said to Arnault with a grin. "When I first came to Balantrodoch, he was as vague about our Scottish history as most of you Frenchmen-though I must say, both of you have certainly made it your business to become better informed. Don't you agree, Brother Flannan?"

Flannan only nodded affably as Torquil glanced out across the gently rolling hills before them under a watery sun.

"By our dear, sweet Lady, what a bonnie, bonnie land it is," he said with a contented sigh. "And glad I am, that the Order should see fit to let me come back here, to carry out its work."

Arnault said nothing as they continued to ride northward, only exchanging a tiny smile with Luc before indicating a stretch of road suitable for a gallop to vary their pace.

They reached Scone late in the afternoon, as the early dusk was lowering. Remembering the crowded conditions at Berwick, Arnault and Torquil were half prepared to find themselves sleeping under canvas on the lands adjoining the abbey. But Luc clearly had other arrangements in mind.

"I'll have a word with Abbot Henry," he explained matter-of-factly, as they drew within sight of the abbey gates. "Brother Flannan has met him. I brought Brother Colman to his attention, when he needed a ma.n.u.script copied and had no one available, and we've been on friendly terms ever since. I sent word as soon as I knew that the Order would be sending a delegation to attend the inaugural ceremonies- though I didn't know I'd be in the party. The abbey's resources aren't limitless, but I think he'll have been able to find us better billeting than a tent. You'll both like him; he's a good man."

Abbot Henry himself was not immediately available, but thanks to his goodwill, the four Templars subsequently found themselves shown to a modest stone cottage tucked away in a wooded corner of the abbey's demesne, originally built as a private retreat for one of the abbey's patrons. The wooden floors of its two small rooms were swept and scrubbed, the larger of the rooms furnished with a trestle table and a few stools near the hearth, which was laid ready for a fire to be lit. Against one end of the building was a byre suitable for the stabling of their horses, well stocked with good hay.

"It wasn't deemed suitable for any of our other n.o.ble visitors, on account of the roof being in want of repair," Brother Mungo explained, with a broad wink that gave this tale the lie. "But since you'll be used to campaigning in all weathers, Father Abbot hopes you won't find the situation too intolerable. He invites you to take your meals with our community, and to join in our devotions."

"We will be honored to do so," Luc a.s.sured the monk. "Please convey our sincere thanks to Abbot Henry, and a.s.sure him that we have only the highest regard for the hospitality of this house."

After caring for their horses and unpacking their bedding and spa.r.s.e belongings in the smaller of the two rooms, the four Templars joined the rest of the monastic community for supper in the refectory, as invited. Compline was afterward recited in the abbey church. As they entered, Luc quietly pointed out the side chapel to the north of the sanctuary.

"That's where the Stone of Destiny is kept," he whispered.

They could not see the Stone from where they stood with other abbey visitors in the nave, but Arnault resolved to take a closer look at it at his earliest opportunity.

The following morning, following the office of Prime, the four Knights Templar were invited to join Abbot Henry for the abbey's daily chapter.

"The circ.u.mstances attending this inauguration represent a significant departure from all previous precedent," Abbot Henry told his a.s.sembled community, to explain the presence of Templars at the meeting. "Many of those who challenged Balliol's claim to the throne will be here in force, and as host for these coming proceedings, I would be both derelict in duty and less than prudent if I did not take every precaution to forestall any outbreaks of violence during these proceedings.

"Many of you know Brother Luc," the abbot went on. "I have asked him and his brethren to join us this morning because the Order of the Temple has a well-deserved reputation for acting as impartial mediators in potentially volatile situations. They will be joined by additional knights of their Order before the arrival of the princ.i.p.als for the ceremonies. Brothers Luc, Flannan, Arnault, and Torquil are prepared to a.s.sist us in determining how best to keep the peace during the week that lies before us."

During the long ride north, Luc had commended that selfsame question to their combined consideration.

In antic.i.p.ation of the discussion, Flannan had been already prepared to present an immediate array of recommendations tested in the past and tailored to the unique conditions of the Scottish situation, further refinements of which had been offered by Arnault. These Luc now presented to the abbey chapter.

Precedent had been set at Berwick for all prospective attendees to swear a formal oath of good conduct.