Knights Templar - Temple And The Crown Part 9

Many of Bruce's staunchest friends and kinsmen had been taken at Methven and were hanged, drawn, and quartered like William Wallace before them. Christopher Seton, the king's brother-in-law, had suffered this fate devised particularly for traitors, and also Alexander Scrymgeour, Scotland's hereditary standard-bearer. The carnage was so great that even the Earl of Pembroke at last had been moved to beg for clemency on behalf of the survivors.

Edward's only concession was to pardon the landless and unt.i.tled members of Bruce's army, whom he contemptuously termed "the middling folk." Otherwise, he remained brutally true to his intent in raising the red dragon war banner.

Then, at long last, a ciphered message arrived from Luc de Brabant, giving the members of le Cercle the news they had almost stopped daring to hope for: Robert Bruce had escaped alive from Methven, along with his Templar guardians.

"This is welcome news, indeed!" Christoph proclaimed, reading over the message Gaspar had received.

"But it appears that the danger is not yet past."

By Luc's account, King Edward's forces were scouring the hills, forests, and villages along both banks of the River Tay, in a concerted effort to locate the remnants of the Scottish rebel army. So far, neither bribery nor intimidation had brought them any news of Bruce's whereabouts, but that was no guarantee of safety. Signi?cantly, Luc had refrained from supplying any further details, even though his message was intended for friendly eyes.

"He is right not to be too speci?c," Gaspar said, "but I wish we knew more. For now, I fear that our prayers are the only thing we can offer by way of a.s.sistance."

"Prayers are good," Arnault agreed, "but I'd feel better if we were able to offer something a bit more tangible-and perhaps we are."

"You have something in mind?" Father Bertrand asked.

"Aye." Arnault drew breath and let it out with an explosive sigh, for while they waited for news, he had been troubled increasingly with a sense of impending peril that had to do with a threat far greater than any physical pursuit by King Edward's men.

"I cannot yet be as speci?c as I would like," he said slowly, "but I feel that we ought to consider protection of a more spiritual nature for Bruce-and I've thought of a way to provide it."

He had their attention, little though he wanted it, and reluctantly continued when no one spoke.

"I've been giving this a great deal of thought, while we waited for news," he said. "Wherever he is, wherever he goes, Bruce is spiritually linked with the Stone of Destiny- and that, in turn, is mystically attuned to a powerful artifact in our possession: the Breastplate of the High Priests of Israel. If we utilize the af?nity between the two, we should be able to direct our intent through that link to send additional protection to Bruce via the Stone, even if we ourselves remain ignorant of his physical location."

Gaspar looked dubious, but Christoph was nodding thoughtfully.

"It is just a theory," he agreed, "but admirably reasoned. Putting it into practice, however, could be dangerous."

"In what way?" Oliver asked.

"In mystical terms," Christoph said, "to do what Arnault proposes would be akin to setting off an explosion-or at least lighting a signal beacon on a high hill. The resonances of power would be palpably discernible on the metaphysical plane, not only to our friends, but also to our foes. In other words," he ?nished, "by calling up any signi?cant degree of power on Bruce's behalf, we risk exposing him-and us- to hostile discovery."

"The fact that we exist-yes," Arnault agreed. "But sometimes it's useful to make a show of force, to warn off any would-be predators. If there is still a cadre of Comyn strength attempting to engage dark powers against Bruce, perhaps they'll think again."

There was a long pause, but no one ventured a differing opinion. Christoph exchanged a glance with Gaspar, received his reluctant nod, then polled each of the others in turn, from each receiving silent a.s.sent.

"Very well," he said ?nally. "Today is the feast of the desert saint, Armenius. Like him, then, let us venture boldly into the wilderness, trusting in G.o.d to see us through the trials that lie ahead."

And so it was agreed.

Later that night, following the conclusion of Vespers, the members of le Cercle made their way by separate routes down to the lower levels of the treasury wing, each bearing a lamp to light his way.

Arnault was the last to arrive-and had a sudden sensation of being watched, as he traversed the pa.s.sageway giving access to the treasure chambers-but it was gone as quickly as he noted it.

He cast an involuntary look over his shoulder, but could sense nothing more. None the wiser, he shrugged the sensation aside and joined his companions in the antechamber, pa.s.sing then into the secret inner strong room where the Order's choicest treasures lay hidden.

As always, his pulse quickened as he stepped across the threshold. The very air of the inner chamber seemed rare?ed yet invigorating, and he inhaled deeply, tasting the inde?nable savor of purity and power.

The others had set their lamps on a narrow ledge that ran at eye level around the circular chamber, the positions marking out the room's four quarters. Christoph took Arnault's lamp to a bracket suspended above a square central altar-table of white marble. Several bra.s.s-bound coffers and a large oaken chest occupied s.p.a.ce on the ?oor nearby.

Arnault set his back against the door to compose himself as the others continued preparing the room with quiet ef?ciency. While Gaspar and Hugues de Curzon did what was necessary to ward the room, Christoph and Oliver de Penne began removing items from the oaken chest: ?rst an altar cloth of pure white linen, and then a collection of ceremonial items including a pair of seven-branched candlesticks cast from bronze. When these had been properly arranged, Christoph beckoned Arnault to his side as he took out a stack of folded vestments.

"You can work without these, I know," he said, as he helped Arnault don the checkered linen tunic, "but it isn't always that we have the luxury of full ceremonial preparation." He laid the white silk stole around Arnault's shoulders, with its fringe of golden ta.s.sels. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Arnault smiled faintly as he pulled the ends of the stole under the linen cincture Christoph tied around his waist.

"Yes. Thank you," Arnault murmured.

In fact, he had not worn these vestments since a night some ?fteen years ago in Cyprus, when he had received the revelations that had impelled le Cercle to abandon Outremer as a site for the Fifth Temple and transfer their focus to Scotland. He had been involved in far more arduous and dangerous workings since then, but he had no doubt that appropriate ceremonial accoutrements could do a great deal to enhance the desired spiritual focus-and tonight, he wanted all the help he could get. As he again donned the mantle of purple silk, with its border of golden bells and pomegranates, he could only hope that the Providence that had brought them so far would sustain them to their journey's end.

Meanwhile, unlocking another of the treasure caskets, Oliver removed a silver reliquary box inscribed with Hebrew characters and placed it on the altar between the candlesticks. Then, from inside, he lifted out a silk-wrapped bundle the size of a small book. Even before Christoph folded back the wrappings, Arnault felt a stirring in the depths of his very soul, for power radiated from the High Priest's Breastplate like an invisible corona of glory re?ecting from the throne of Heaven itself.

"Baruch ateh Adonai, Elohenu melech haolam." Arnault murmured, moved to prayer in the language of the object's origins, for its visible splendor was no less arresting. Blessed art Thou, O Lord our G.o.d, King of the Universe.

His touch was reverent as he laid his hand brie?y over the twelve large jewels adorning the face of the Breastplate, set in bezels of pure gold and arranged in three rows of four. St.i.tched to a backing square of stiffened linen, they s.h.i.+mmered in the light of the lamps with a more than earthly l.u.s.ter. On each of the stones was engraved the name of one of the Twelve Tribes of ancient Israel.

These, on their own, were a wondrous treasure, but the true glory of the Breastplate was vested in a less obvious component known as the Urim and Thummin, the Lights and Perfections. The very name attempted to embrace not a physical object so much as a concept, though the spiritual attributes of the Urim and Thummin were presently embodied in a pair of ?at, coin-shaped stones, one black and one white, which resided in a double linen pocket st.i.tched to the back of the Breastplate. Said to be of celestial origin, their siting on the back of the Breastplate ensured that, when the Breastplate was worn, the Urim and Thummin rested over the wearer's heart-for it was from the heart's truth that the wearer drew his inspiration, when invoking their power.

Placing the Breastplate there now, and holding it over his heart while Christoph secured it with ?ne golden chains fastened to the corners, Arnault could feel both the physical substance and an inward s.h.i.+ver of antic.i.p.ation, calling to him. Oliver lit fresh candles on the altar, and Hugues ignited a cone of incense set in a silver dish. As the fragrance of frankincense and myrrh wound gently upward on the still air, Christoph summoned the rest of them to gather at the altar, where, after commending themselves and their work to G.o.d with the sign of the cross, he offered up an opening invocation.

"Find your strength in the Lord, in His mighty power," Christoph murmured, paraphrasing Saint Paul. "Put on all the armor that G.o.d provides, so that you may be able to stand ?rm against the devices of the Devil."

His words hung on the silence of the little chamber. As Arnault started to add an invocation of his own, according to usage long familiar in Roman rite, he was suddenly reminded how, when empowering the Stone for Bruce's sacring, they had used more ancient Celtic prayers-and he reached deep into memory for more ?tting words.

"Thou Michael the victorious, I make my circuit under thy s.h.i.+eld.

Thou Michael of the white steed, And of the bright brilliant blades, Conqueror of the dragon, Be thou at my back.

Thou ranger of the heavens, Thou warrior of the King of All, O Michael the victorious, My pride and my guide, O Michael the victorious, The glory of mine eye."

As Arnault spoke, resting his hands on the altar and closing his eyes to the material world, the air began to tingle with invisible energies. Welcoming it, he ?ung open the gates of his soul and let himself fall into the angelic Presence drawing near.

In that instant, in a dizzying burst of inner illumination, he felt himself transported in spirit to a realm of supernal light: a sanctuary not made by hands, where stood a glorious Presence robed in living ?ame and holding a blazing sword at rest beneath powerful hands. Joyful recognition pierced Arnault to the heart, and he knew that he knelt in body and in spirit before the Archangel Michael, whose great wings trailed ?ames and the many iridescent eyes of peac.o.c.k feathers, and gently stirred the breath of incense that gusted through the celestial vault.

"Be the cowl of Michael militant around me," he murmured, enwrapped in wonder.

Fearlessly he opened his heart to the Other, offering up the needs of the Order and his own fears for the life of Robert Bruce as a single oblation.

The moment of mutual understanding was ravis.h.i.+ng: brighter than the sun, more terrible than the lightning, more beautiful than all the stars of the western sky. As the great Archangel touched a ?ery ?ngertip to the Breastplate adorning Arnault's chest, energy sang around him like music as the twelve gems came to life with scintillating radiance- and kindled the throbbing, pulsing power of the Urim and Thummin against his heart.

Trembling, physical sight half-blinded by joyful tears, Arnault lifted his hands in supplication and called to mind the image of the Stone of Destiny as he last had seen it, in a crypt beneath Dunkeld Cathedral. As he did so, an old scar in his right palm began to tingle, self-in?icted to establish a blood bond with William Wallace.

That bond had allowed Arnault to mediate between the Stone and Wallace at the moment of his sacri?cial death, channeling Wallace's life force to reinvigorate the Stone. The Breastplate had been part of the focus for that working. Now, as Arnault laid his scarred hand upon it, he again reached out through its power to make of himself a living bridge-for Bruce, too, had made the blood bond with the Stone.

He could feel it happen: a glowing warmth tingling and pulsing under his hand as the connection leapt between Breastplate and Stone. In that same instant, Arnault became keenly aware, as he had been at the moment of Bruce's mystical enthronement, of how vitally Bruce and the Stone were linked.

Unbidden, the ancient words of a Psalm whispered from his lips.

"G.o.d will cover you with His pinions, and you shall ?nd safety beneath His wings; you shall not fear the hunters' trap by night or the arrow that ?ies by day.

A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand close at hand, but you it shall not touch. For He has charged His angels to guard you wherever you go."

In his mind's eye Arnault suddenly saw Bruce sleeping rough on a bed of bracken, wrapped in a tattered tartan-and a golden radiance enveloping the sleeping king like water pouring from a spring, leaving Bruce himself bathed in radiant energy.

"Be the helmet of salvation about thy head," he whispered, again reverting to words of Celtic blessing.

"Be the corselet of the covenant about thy throat, Be the Breastplate of the priest upon thy breast, To s.h.i.+eld thee in the battle and the combat of thine enemies."

When Arnault opened his eyes again, he was lying on his back in his own cell. Gaspar was sitting beside him, quietly reading by the light of a tiny oil lamp, but he closed his book with a crooked smile when he saw Arnault was awake.

"Welcome back."

Arnault knuckled his eyes. He felt drowsy, but more at peace than for a very long time.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Nearly ?ve hours. It's almost dawn." After blowing out his lamp-for morning light was starting to stain the high, narrow window-Gaspar added, on a lower note, "Just offhand, I would say that you made a powerful connection."

Arnault slowly nodded. "I would have to agree. I only hope it will be enough."

He sat up, rubbing both hands across his face, then glanced again at the older Templar.

"I should be with him, Gaspar."

"Alas, we cannot be two places at once. You are needed here. He is in good hands with Brother Torquil."

Arnault sighed and said nothing.

"You know I am right," Gaspar said. "You have done what you can for Bruce. No man could do more.

Besides that, he soon will be going to ground for the winter-and his enemies will also mostly go to ground. Torquil will keep him safe.

"As for us," he concluded, "I think we must concentrate on holding our ground here in France."

Chapter Nine.

July, 1306.

AS IF TO UNDERSCORE THE GROWING PRECARIOUSNESS OF the Order's position, a message arrived a few days later from Jauffre de Saint Clair, en route to Cyprus to deliver the pope's summons to the Grand Master. Since the delegation sent to escort him would sail from Ma.r.s.eilles, they had instructions to pa.s.s through Avignon, some ?fty miles short of the busy Mediterranean port, there to deliver an account of the Paris riots to the pope's representative. In addition, Jauffre had additional orders of a more con?dential nature: to observe the tenor of the papal court and relay his observations to his mentors within le Cercle.

Following the daily chapter meeting in the Paris Temple, Gaspar summoned the resident members of le Cercle to a private chamber in the treasury wing. Here he capsulized the contents of Jauffre's letter.

"On the Scottish front," Gaspar began, "he says that the Holy See has received a strong letter of complaint from Edward of England, condemning the bishops of Scotland for their support of Bruce.

However, a bout of illness has delayed His Holiness from taking any action as yet. But he did receive our delegation in a private audience and reiterated that the Grand Master should attend him as soon as possible."

"I wonder how serious this illness is," Hugues said.

"Jauffre doesn't know," Gaspar replied. "Apparently the Holy Father is feeling pressure from King Philip; his agents are everywhere, making no secret of their presence. One must wonder whether fear may, perhaps, be contributing to this decline in the pope's health."

Oliver gave a snort of agreement. "Clement has cause to be nervous. The king's agents are run by Nogaret-who may be excommunicate, but that means that the Holy See has little left with which to threaten him. This pope will not have forgotten that Nogaret incurred his excommunication by a.s.saulting a previous pope."

Nor did the excommunication seem to concern Nogaret himself, though the king kept pressing for it to be lifted. Arnault, after watching Nogaret during his time spent at the Paris Temple, did not believe the king's ?rst minister had any particular wish to be reconciled with the Church.

"Nogaret is no friend of ours or the Holy Father's," Arnault said. "On the day he and the king became our guests, it was as if a cloud had descended on the Paris Temple."

"Aye, that's the truth," Christoph agreed. "I fear that we have yet to see the full repercussions from what began that day."

And it had gotten worse before it got better. For three days following the riot, the Paris mob had besieged the Paris Temple, demanding to see the king. When Philip declined to appear, the crowd had turned their wrath on a wealthy citizen whom rumor accused of having acted as the king's advisor. The man's property had been ransacked, and the man himself had been hanged.

Eventually, soldiers from the Louvre had descended on the mob to restore order. Many people had been killed, and many more arrested with scant regard for justice. A month later, the city was like a lean and hungry beast that grew angrier and more restless with each pa.s.sing day.

"Hmmm, here's a reminder that the world is wider than our own besetting concerns," Gaspar remarked, returning to Jauffre's letter. "He says that an emba.s.sage from Ethiopia has arrived in Avignon requesting a papal audience. Some members of the delegation are ?uent in the Latin tongue, and have presented His Holiness with many gifts, including an ivory triptych depicting scenes from the life of King Solomon. They apparently made quite an impression."

He reverted to their young informant's own words.

"The central panel of the triptych features the building of the Temple. A delegate named Iskander informs me that Emperor Wedem Ara'ad chose this motif himself. I am given to understand that the emperor wishes to erect an alliance between Ethiopia and the princes of Christendom against the Muslim hordes now occupying Egypt and Syria."

"That would make a great deal of sense," Hugues said. "The rulers of Ethiopia have been Christian for centuries- and even their subjects who still adhere to Judaism have equal reason to fear the might of their Muslim neighbors."

"True enough," Oliver agreed. "It's the kind of alliance that might just swing the balance for a new crusade."

"That doesn't mean it's a good idea," Christoph said. "I fear the time of crusades may be past. We'll not win back Jerusalem while the princes of the West snap and bite at one another."

Arnault, however, was remembering a tale he had heard some years before, in the Holy Land-how an exiled Ethiopian prince named Lalibela had come to Jerusalem in search of sanctuary, more than a century before. For twenty years he had remained there, making friends and becoming acquainted with the ways of the Franks-and when, at last, he returned home to claim his kings.h.i.+p, a contingent of Templar Knights had been among the members of his escort.

Arnault had never been able to discover what became of those knights. Of a certainty, no record could be found in the archives of the Temple.

"Does Jauffre feel that the pope might be receptive to such an alliance?" Oliver asked, snapping Arnault back to the discussion at hand. "We know that the king wants another crusade-not that he can afford it."

"He doesn't say," Gaspar replied. "He's simply reporting what he's heard. The delegation was to sail for Cyprus the next day-but my heart tells me that the survival of the Order will not depend upon any battle in Outremer."

The remainder of the day pa.s.sed uneventfully, but Jauffre's letter continued to nag at Arnault's mind. The suggestion of a possible alliance between Ethiopia and the princes of the West, with the renewed possibility of a new crusade, had reminded him of the expense of same, and the penurious state of King Philip's exchequer, and the source of his indebtedness.

As evening wore on, Arnault fell prey to a nagging sense of uneasiness. When he retired, after evening prayer, he lay awake for a long time, listening to the darkness; and when he ?nally slept, he dreamed.

There was a demon prowling in the city. In one taloned hand it carried a ram's skull ?lled with blood, in the other, a wooden wand frayed at the end like a brush. Robed in darkness, the monster crept from street to street, seeking out certain neighborhoods, leaving others alone. Wherever it stopped, it painted b.l.o.o.d.y sigils above the lintels of each door, like the symbols painted above the doorways of the Israelites to ward off the Angel of Death-except that this was Death, marking its own. Coming at last to a halt, it dashed the ram's skull to the cobbled pavements, to shatter into a thousand shards.

The shards gave birth to a seething ma.s.s of giant rats with eyes like live coals and razor-sharp fangs. At the demon's command, the horde dispersed throughout the city, snif?ng out the dwellings marked with the blood-sign and swarming through doors and windows. Screams rent the night as the rats ripped and tore at the occupants inside.