Part 4 (1/2)
”I don't know,” Luc said, ”and that's what bothers me.”
Arnault gazed off across the mist beginning to rise off the meadow, both thoughtful and troubled. The implication that Jay might be cultivating an interest in arcane objects was not one he liked to think about, especially given Jay's presence when the forces of Shadow had attempted to s.n.a.t.c.h the soul of the little Maid. That the Master of Scotland might be trying to build up a collection of such objects was a prospect even more disturbing. The further possibility, that he might intend to attempt unlocking their potential, was worst of all.
Or, he reminded himself, Jay could be as prejudiced as the Grand Master himself, when it came to dealing with objects of non-Christian origin-in which case, the pagan relics and the bones of their former owner probably were now at the bottom of the nameless lake where the de Sautre brothers claimed to have tossed them.
”I suggest that we all keep our eyes and ears open, and say nothing of this except among ourselves,” he observed aloud, gathering his reins and glancing at the sky, beginning to dim toward twilight. ”Even if all three of them have acted only from the most pious of motives, this may not be the last we have heard of this affair.”
Chapter Six.
THE BLEAK AUTUMNAL TWILIGHT WAS CLOSING IN BY THE time the three of them rode through the gates of Balantrodoch. They had scarcely dismounted when a bell began to ring, calling the community to Vespers. Surrendering their mounts to a pair of lay brothers, the three fell in among the other white-mantled figures converging on the chapel from various parts of the compound.
Torches in st.u.r.dy cressets beckoned from either side of the chapel's entrance, more torches strategically placed to chase the shadows from before the other buildings fronting the cobbled yard. Arnault found himself noting many changes since his last visit-and saw that Torquil was noticing them, too. The south range had been extended by the addition of several new outbuildings, and the encircling bawn wall had been strengthened by the erection of a guard tower at the salient corner of the south and west parapets-ambitious and expensive propositions, all.
Domestic changes had been made as well. As they mounted the chapel steps, Arnault looked twice at the new tympanum that had been erected over the porch, lavishly decorated with panels depicting the Last Judgment. Likewise, the stout and plain oak doors he remembered from his earlier visit had been replaced by new ones enriched with carvings ill.u.s.trating scenes from Scripture. The expense involved would not have been negligible, and Arnault found himself wondering where the money could have come from to pay for these amenities.
It cost him conscious effort to lay these speculations aside while he turned his thoughts to the prayers of Vespers. Afterward, instructed to report to Brian de Jay, he and Torquil repaired to the Master's lodge-enlarged since his last visit, Arnault noted, and its previously unglazed windows on the upper floor fitted with panels of leaded gla.s.s.
Sleek and well muscled as a tomcat, Jay received them with the smug air of a man who has good reason to be pleased with himself. Arnault, for his part, was prepared to accord Jay the outward tokens of respect if this would lessen any resentment of the orders he was about to deliver and make it easier to carry out their mission. It was with measured courtesy, therefore, that he gave appropriate salute and presented the Master of Scotland with the sealed doc.u.ments he had been issued in Paris by Hugues de Paraud, the Visitor of France. Torquil tried to appear equally deferential, but apparently did not entirely succeed. Jay favored him with a hard look.
”A junior knight has no place in the counsels of his betters, Brother Torquil,” he told the younger man brusquely. ”You will withdraw to the corridor and wait there until Brother Arnault and I are finished.”
Arnault had no doubt that the condescending dismissal set Torquil's teeth on edge, but the younger man bowed himself out with a becoming display of humility. Only then did Jay venture to break the seals.
Arnault remained standing at easy attention while the other man read over the enclosed orders. After reading them again, Jay looked up at him coolly.
”Are you familiar with the contents of this missive?” he asked.
In fact, Arnault was intimately acquainted with Jay's orders, but he knew better than to admit as much.
”My role is princ.i.p.ally that of courier,” he said diplomatically. ”It is for you to decide, on the basis of your own instructions, whether or not it is appropriate to tell me anything more.”
This response earned him a look of calculating scrutiny, but Arnault kept his face expressionless. After a moment, the Master of Scotland grudgingly yielded to logical necessity.
”With regard to the Scottish succession,” he informed Arnault, ”it has been deemed desirable that the Order should bear fair and honorable witness to the proceedings of the court of claims. As Master of Scotland, I am directed to a.s.semble a delegation of suitable observers and proceed to Berwick, there to take note of all that transpires.
”That my own presence should be required is perfectly reasonable,” he went on, leaning back in his chair with a somewhat supercilious smirk. ”It would be an insult to the dignity of the King of England to send anyone other than the Master of Scotland to head such a delegation. You, as the Visitor's agent, are likewise an appropriate choice, especially since the pair of us were instrumental in negotiating the ill-fated Treaty of Birgham. What I do not understand,” he finished with a sour grimace, ”is why I find myself specifically enjoined to include Brother Torquil in the delegation. Furthermore, he appears to have been taken permanently from under my command.”
Arnault was careful to keep his response both neutral and noncommittal. ”I am given to understand,” he said, ”that the Visitor has been quite satisfied with his work over the past two years-due in part, I have no doubt, to the excellent preparation he received before leaving Balantrodoch,” he added, in oblique compliment to Jay. ”In addition, since Brother Torquil is a Scot, I believe it is hoped that he may be able to provide a native's insight at the court.”
Jay was clearly less than pleased, but he accepted the logic of this explanation without further demur.
”Very well. It appears that decisions have been made by those superior to both of us. I hope you're prepared to earn your keep in the meantime,” he remarked with an affected jocularity that made no secret of his true feelings. ”Scotland may be a long way from Outremer, but we still make a point of keeping up military standards of behavior and performance. You may go.”
Both Arnault and Torquil had been aware that the Master of Scotland would be given leave to make his own selections in filling out the complement for the Berwick delegation. The return to Balantrodoch after a two-year absence had convinced Torquil that any close a.s.sociate of Jay's was likely to prove tedious at best; but that hypothetical aggravation gained a more worrisome aspect at the next morning's chapter meeting, when Jay announced the names of the remaining appointees: A Yorks.h.i.+re knight called Thomas Helmsley and the younger of the two de Sautre brothers, Robert, whose involvement in the disappearance of the Pictish grave goods had already given Luc cause for concern. The elder, John, would a.s.sume command at Balantrodoch during Jay's absence.
The de Sautres, like Jay himself, were of Anglo-Norman descent, new to the Scottish preceptory since Torquil's departure two years before. Both were black-haired and dark-eyed, but beyond that, they were so dissimilar that had they not shared a surname, no one would have guessed that the two were closely related. John, the elder of the pair, was raw-boned and taciturn, with a spa.r.s.e beard, sallow skin, and a lantern-jawed scowl that occasionally turned calculating. His brother, by contrast, was plump and fresh-faced as an overgrown choirboy, with an officiously busy manner and full red lips that pouted within the bush of his black beard when he was not smiling somewhat inanely.
John was inclined to keep to himself; Robert was sociable to the point of being intrusive. Later on the day of their appointment, the latter seemed to make a point of seeking out Torquil during one of the leisure periods provided by the Rule among the offices and duties of the day. Torquil was sitting on a bench outside the common hall, methodically cleaning and polis.h.i.+ng his sword while he enjoyed the Scottish air, when his rubicund counterpart came sauntering over and sat down uninvited beside him.
”Since we're to be riding together on this Berwick junket,” he told Torquil breezily, by way of greeting, ”I thought we might as well get better acquainted. Where are you from, and what made you decide to join the Order?”
Strictures of knightly courtesy forbade Torquil to utter the first words that sprang to mind. Perhaps primed by Luc's remarks of the previous day, he had taken an instant dislike for both de Sautre brothers.
”My family holds a manor in the earldom of Lennox,” he told the younger de Sautre. ”I have an elder brother who is the heir, so I chose to follow the way of the cross.”
Robert de Sautre flashed one of his fleeting, facile smiles. ”You needn't have joined the Order to fight in the Holy Land.”
”True enough,” Torquil agreed, and added reluctantly, ”The Abbot of St. Kenneth's, near my home, was the one who suggested I should seek knight service among the Templars, and his advice seemed worth taking.”
Abbot Machar had been a crusader in his youth, serving with distinction in one of the many defenses of Jerusalem. Torquil had no intention of telling de Sautre how raptly he had listened to the old man's tales of desert patrols and siege engagements. He was even less inclined to discuss his reasons for becoming a Templar.
That decision had been prompted by a dream he had had some five years ago. On the night in question, he awoke- or thought he had awakened-to find himself being observed from the foot of his bed by a luminous apparition he now believed to have been the Archangel Michael, flaming sword in hand and girt about in armor that shone like the sun. Obeying the being's gesture to rise, he had been lifted up as though on fiery wings, to a wondrous edifice of spires, b.u.t.tresses, and campaniles suspended in a crystal sphere between earth and sky.
In a voice of unearthly melody, his heavenly companion had declared, ”Behold the Temple of the Lord!”
The sight of the temple had filled Torquil with longing and rapture, but even as he gazed at it, from out of the depths arose a hideous host of demon-creatures. The creatures hurled themselves at the s.h.i.+ning sphere, and began hammering at it with weapons of shadow. Through the rising din, Torquil heard the angelic voice again, asking, ”Who will defend the Temple against the armies of Darkness?”
To which Torquil had found himself answering, ”I will go! Send me!”
Smiling, the Archangel had set a burning coal in the palm of his right hand. The coal blossomed into a fiery sword. Swallowing his fear, Torquil strode forward to meet the enemy. Even as he braced himself to strike the first blow, he had awakened with a start, and found himself once more in the familiar confines of his chamber.
So vivid and compelling was the dream that he had turned to Father Machar for counsel. The abbot had seconded Torquil's own conclusion that he was being called to defend the city of Jerusalem-and as a Knight Templar, by the dream's temple imagery. But he had never mentioned the dream to another soul besides Father Machar.
”If you're from the Earldom of Lennox,” said Robert de Sautre, breaking in on these reminiscences, ”you'll no doubt be hoping to see the Scottish crown be awarded to the Bruces of Annandale.”
True it was that the Earl of Lennox himself was a supporter of Robert Bruce and his family. That issue, however, was so far removed from Torquil's immediate reflections that he was caught off guard. Mentally giving himself a shake, he said stiffly, ”I'm not sure I follow you.”
De Sautre's white teeth flashed another disarming grin. ”Then let me put it another way: If it were up to you to choose, who would you nominate to occupy the Scottish throne?”
Torquil was not about to let himself be drawn, even on a point of speculation. ”I would give it to the man who could prove he had the best right to it.”
”Ah, but what sort of proofs would it take to convince you?” de Sautre said with a chuckle.
”I'm not the one who needs to be convinced,” Torquil pointed out bluntly. ”If you're interested in the finer points of legal debate, I suggest you go and ask a law-monger.”
”Oh, I expect we'll hear quite enough from them, when we get to Berwick,” de Sautre said, refusing to be put off. ”But I don't suppose you can have kept much abreast of local affairs, off in Outremer. No matter.
Tell me, what was it like out there? We have few recent veterans here at Balantrodoch.”
Relieved to be able to change the subject, Torquil reluctantly began a terse recital of some of the more usual sights and experiences of campaigning in the Holy Land, gradually gathering a growing audience of listeners, wondering whether it was Jay who had sent the younger de Sautre to sound him out.
Arnault, meanwhile, was with Luc de Brabant down in the treasury vault where the pagan grave artifacts had been stored prior to their disappearance.
”This is the last place I saw the items,” Luc said in a low voice, holding a torch aloft as he pointed to a spot on the floor in the left-hand corner. ”I regret that I didn't make a point of copying out some of the runic inscriptions at the very outset. Had I done so, we might now have a better idea what we're dealing with.”