Part 3 (1/2)

The chains made a ladder spanning the gulf between heaven and earth. Luminous winged forms moved up and down the ladder in progressions as stately as dance. As he gazed at them in awe, one of these angelic beings separated itself from the others and came to meet him. Trembling, Arnault bowed his head in mute salute, gasping as a voice whispered to his soul, mingling fire and music in its unearthly purity.

Have no fear, Knight of the Temple. Thy desires are known. To build the Fifth Temple, a cornerstone has been prepared. Behold and see.

In the blink of an eye, Arnault found himself standing at the ladder's head. The angel took him by the hand, and suddenly they were descending.

The earth rose to meet them, wreathed in veils of cloud. The ladder of angels became a rainbow bridge suspended between the sunlight and the rain. Where it touched the ground, its base was shrouded in s.h.i.+ning mist. At the heart of the mist lay a strange, dark stone charged with the meteoric resonances of a fallen star.

Thus saith the Lord of Hosts, blessed be His name; Behold the pillow where slept Jacob, son of Isaac-legacy of the house of Israel. Follow in the footsteps of Holy Columba, and thou shalt surely find it: hallow of saints and high seat of kings. Build thee thy Temple upon this foundation, and it shall not fail.

At this p.r.o.nouncement, a sudden radiance burst from the stone like a lightning flash. It leapt from the heart of the stone to the jewels of the Breastplate on Arnault's chest, kindling a surge of raw power so fierce that it all but took his breath away.

Arnault doubled forward with a choked exclamation of dismay, arms closed over the Breastplate as he sank back on his hunkers. His sudden collapse drew Gaspar and Father Bertrand closer, but they were loath to interfere, for the gems affixed to the Breastplate were blazing with colored fire, casting their rainbow light all about the room.

”Should we end it?” the Templar priest whispered, poised to move.

”Not yet, I think,” Gaspar breathed. ”Let the vision run its course.”

Before Father Bertrand could question further, the fiery emanance died back as abruptly as it had come on, the jewels again only jewels. Shuddering, Arnault drew a short, sharp breath and slowly let his arms sink to his sides, his eyelids quivering. After a moment, he shakily drew himself upright and opened his eyes.

”Arnault?” the priest whispered.

Reeling a little, still light-headed, Arnault lifted trembling fingers to the Breastplate on his chest and brushed one of the stones in gingerly caress, focusing only with difficulty. The linen was unmarred, the stones only stones.

”I am-not harmed,” he murmured.

Still a little dazed, he let them help him to his feet and guide him to a seat on one of the chests, let them divest him of the Breastplate and other regalia, a.s.sured them that his physical reaction had come of fatigue, not the working itself. With many a pause he recounted the details of his vision, still caught up in wonder. While they worked, throughout the recitation, Bertrand and Gaspar exchanged troubled glances.

”What you have described is consistent with biblical accounts of true vision,” Gaspar noted, sitting on another of the chests as his shrewd gaze continued to a.s.sess Arnault. ”The question is, have you any idea what it means?”

Slowly shaking his head, Arnault once again found himself recalling a very different vision two years ago, on a remote island in the Orkneys, and was suddenly struck by the una.s.sailable certainty that both were part of a larger picture, somehow linking the death of the little Maid with the dilemma now facing the Templar Order. He could not see how the two could possibly be connected. And yet.

”Perhaps I do,” he said, frowning. ”An intimation-nothing more. I. think-though I'm by no means certain- that the vision may have been pointing us toward Scotland as the site for the new Temple.”

”Scotland?” Father Bertrand repeated.

”What brings you to that conclusion?” Gaspar asked.

”Give me a moment,” Arnault whispered.

Dropping his head into his arms, he tried to make sense of what was coming to mind-more difficult than it would have been, because of his physical fatigue. While he was thus occupied, Gaspar and Bertrand busied themselves restoring the room to its usual appearance, locking away the ritual accoutrements they had a.s.sembled. By the time they were finished, Arnault was prepared to offer more coherent speculations about his earlier statements.

”You will recall that I have distant kin in Scotland, so I am somewhat familiar with what I am about to tell you,” he said, straightening to stretch his kinked neck, rubbing it with a callused hand. ”And exposure to young Lennox has given me further insights in this regard. It becomes clear to me that the stone I was shown in my vision may very well have been the one known among the Scots as the Stone of Destiny, which has been used as the inaugural seat of all the Scottish kings since the days of Kenneth MacAlpin.

As I recall, it is kept by Augustinian brothers at Scone Abbey, not far from Perth.”

Gaspar looked thoughtful, but Father Bertrand cast them a dubious glance.

”I have heard mention of such stones,” he said tentatively.

Arnault gave a distracted nod. ”Tradition has it that the Scottish Stone was brought from Ireland by Saint Columba- who, you may recall, was of the royal lineage of the kings of Leinster. Irish legend claims that the Stone came originally from Israel by way of Egypt. It figures there as the legacy of a Hebrew princess, the exiled daughter of King Zedekiah, who married an Irish king and gave her name to the Irish hallow called Tara. I know of no other stone which answers so closely to the conditions revealed to me by the angel.”

”I will concede that the elements would seem to fit,” Gaspar allowed. ”The injunction to walk in the footsteps of Saint Columba can be read as a clear instruction in that regard.”

”All the same,” Father Bertrand said, ”even if your interpretation is correct, I do not see how we can act upon this vision until the issue of the Scottish succession is settled for good or ill.”

”I agree,” Arnault said. ”That being true, I think it prudent that someone of our number go to Scotland and investigate the matter further. I would seem to be the obvious choice- and I would suggest that Brother Torquil be a.s.signed to accompany me.”

Gaspar nodded. ”I agree-though the final decision does not rest with me, of course. But as soon as I return to Paris, I shall render a full report of this night's work. a.s.suming that le MaArtre agrees with our a.s.sessment, you can expect to receive a change of orders before the end of autumn.”

”Are you satisfied that Brother Torquil is ready for such an a.s.signment?” Father Bertrand asked Gaspar.

Gaspar nodded as he rose. ”We shall find out, soon enough. At very least, he is a Scot. And from what you have said of his progress thus far, Arnault, it seems to me that this might be a fitting time to further test his mettle.”

Chapter Five.

MUCH THOUGH IT PLEASED HIM, BEING SENT BACK TO Scotland was the last thing Torquil Lennox had expected, either for himself or for Arnault de Saint Clair. Riding now with Arnault across a broad expanse of bracken, swept by an October wind, less than a day's ride from Edinburgh, he fancied he could taste the savor of distant heather on the air as he reflected on the somewhat unlikely circ.u.mstances surrounding their return.

It was common knowledge that the Grand Master intended to launch a new crusade as soon as the Order could rebuild its strength. Every effort was being made to enlist a host of new knights to replace those who had been killed in the defense of Acre and its environs. Surviving veterans like Arnault and Torquil were sorely needed in Cyprus to help train these raw recruits in the arts of desert warfare. Even so, the two of them had been recalled to Paris in late August, and now were en route to their newest a.s.signment, detouring first by way of the Templar preceptory at Balantrodoch.

Their orders had been issued at the instigation of Gaspar des Macquelines, after taking up an appointment as a deputy treasurer at the Paris Temple. This, by itself, was enough to make Torquil wonder whether their present mission might be somehow connected with whatever mysterious work Gaspar and Arnault had undertaken four months ago, back in Nicosia. His own recollections from that night remained strangely beclouded, at once luminous and obscure. More than once, he had considered mentioning his experience to Arnault, but the dream-if dream it was-was so unlike anything else he had ever experienced that he was uncertain how to put it into words.

Their current a.s.signment, by contrast, seemed reasonably straightforward. After nearly two years of debates and delays, the judicial proceedings surrounding the Scottish succession were at last drawing to a close. It was expected that Edward Plantagenet would award the Scottish crown before the end of the year. A Templar delegation, to include Arnault and Torquil, was to proceed to Berwick, there to observe the final deliberations of the court of claims and witness the installation of the new King of Scots-whoever he might be.

Carrying orders to that effect, signed by the Visitor of France, the pair of them had set out from Paris via Calais, traveling first to London and there reporting to Guy de Foresta, the Master of England. Armed with the appropriate safe conducts for their pa.s.sage north and authority to procure provisioning and fresh horses along the way, they headed then for Scotland by way of the long North Road once called Ermine Street by the Romans, then through Ancaster, Lincoln, and York, across Hadrian's Wall at Corbridge, and on past the border abbey of Jedburgh. Nearly a fortnight after leaving Paris, they began to spot familiar landmarks, and expected to reach the gates of Balantrodoch well before nightfall.

Vaguely restless, Torquil pushed back his hood and briskly rubbed at his hair and beard, now neatly trimmed for diplomatic duties and nearly grown out to their proper copper hue. It had been raining intermittently since daybreak, and the copses flanking the trail on either hand were heavy with trembling droplets. The misty autumn landscape seemed strangely blurred after the sun-drenched vistas of Syria and Cyprus, but the air had a keen, cold bite that quickened his blood.

This homecoming would have been the sweeter had he not been all too aware that his country's continuing independence was far from a.s.sured. And he still was uncertain about aspects of their present a.s.signment, having always thought that tiny Scotland figured but little in the grand schemes of the powerful Temple. Arnault, he knew, was sympathetic to the Scottish cause, but those sentiments set him apart from most of their fellow Templars-including the Master of the Scottish Temple. Torquil could understand, if only grudgingly, why an English-born knight like Brian de Jay might favor the union of Scotland with England. What he could not fathom was why Gaspar des Macquelines should be taking so keen an interest in Scottish affairs, when his own responsibilities were bound up with the concerns of the Paris treasury.

He had considered asking Arnault about it; but something in the other's manner had made him hesitate.

Given Gaspar's involvement in whatever had happened back in Nicosia, and because of Arnault's none too subtle allusions to the danger, if they had been discovered-not to mention his cryptic references regarding not only the future of the Order, but of future generations-Torquil had feared even to mention that night, though he had considered it more than once. Glancing again at his mentor, apparently half dozing in the saddle, he decided again not to do so, only ranging his gaze off toward the ragged outline of the hills to their left, blurred by a veil of drifting cloud.

Arnault, meanwhile, was well aware that his younger companion was harboring a growing number of questions.

Such answers as he had to give, however, would have to wait a while longer-at least until after they reached Balantrodoch.

He was by no means certain what kind of reception they would receive when they got there. Though Brian de Jay had proven competent enough in his duties regarding the Maid of Norway, his was an awkward personality, not likely to have been improved by acquisition of the additional authority carried by his present rank as Master of Scotland. Nor had he been happy to have Torquil seconded to service in Palestine. Arnault had mentioned his misgivings both to Gaspar and to the Visitor of France when the orders were being drawn; but it was perfectly correct that the Master of Scotland should lead the Berwick delegation.

His misgivings had been echoed by Torquil during the course of their long ride north. Though normally the soul of charity and tact, the younger man had made it clear that, while delighted to be returning to his native Scotland, he was far less sanguine about having to answer, in any way, to Scotland's Master.

When pressed, he had told Arnault something of Jay's notion of military discipline, from his own experiences as a new recruit when first he entered the Temple. On reflection, Arnault suspected that the reality might have far exceeded the tactics of mere condescension and occasional intimidation to which Torquil had alluded-which meant that both of them would have to tread carefully in the weeks to come.

Fortunately, they would have at least one ally when they reached Balantrodoch. Secure in the upper echelons of the princ.i.p.al Templar command in the north, following twenty years of active service in the Holy Land, Luc de Brabant had been the eyes and ears of le Cercle in Scotland for more than a decade, far predating the arrival of Jay, with hidden talents that far outweighed the more visible skills that had secured him his current office as the preceptory's treasurer. Arnault's friends.h.i.+p with Luc went back to his own entry into the Temple, and his gradual recruitment to le Cercle, in the decade that followed; and it was to Luc that Arnault had entrusted his private observations regarding the death of the little Maid. He remained confident that if anyone could penetrate the heart of that unresolved mystery, Luc was the man most likely to succeed.

Arnault caught his horse on the bit as the animal stumbled on an exposed root, the sudden lurch jolting him from his reverie. They had entered a wooded valley flanked on both sides by higher ground. The trail was little more than a ribbon of mud, winding back and forth through tangled brakes of elder and rowan.