Part 14 (1/2)
Arnault glanced at Torquil, who set aside his wine, choosing his words carefully.
”Father Abbot, you know I am a fellow Scot. When I fought in the Holy Land, it seemed to me that the aspirations of all Christendom were bound up in the quest to recover Jerusalem, the Holy City.
”That quest is a good and holy cause-but when I came back to Scotland, I came to wonder whether it was but part of a larger struggle for which Scotland itself may be a pivot point. There is a darkness abroad in this land, especially since the death of the last Canmore, being spread abroad by something-or someone-bent on swallowing up all that is good in this world. If is not contained and dispelled, such a darkness could continue to spread until it has swallowed up the whole of Christendom.”
Abbot Henry's face had gone very still, and he answered only after a studied pause.
”I fear you have not spoken all that is in your heart, Brother Torquil. If the knights of your Order have some deeper knowledge of this matter than is common to the Church at large-and by my friends.h.i.+p with your Brother Luc, I think they may-I pray you most fervently to be plain in what you are trying to say.”
Torquil glanced at Arnault, who allowed himself a faint sigh of relief.
”That is why Brother Torquil and I have come back to Scotland,” he said. ”For we have come to believe that both the cause and the cure of Alba's ills lie here at Scone, with the Stone of Destiny.”
”The Stone?” Abbot Henry murmured.
”Aye, consider it in light of Scotland's mystic lore,” Arnault went on. ”Ever since the days of Columba, the Stone has been Scotland's greatest talisman of light, her palladium, the cornerstone of Scottish sovereignty. But in recent years, that light has dimmed, and likewise the power of Scotland's monarchy. If this nation is to survive the coming storm, it seems to me that we must find a way to rekindle the Stone's secret flame. Only then will the crown-and the kingdom-stand firm.”
The abbot looked startled, but also somewhat relieved. ”How curious it is that you should say this,” he said. ”Twenty years ago, I would have been quick to dismiss the notion that so holy and time-honored a relic as the Stone could ever lose its virtue. But for some time now, I have felt it in my heart that all was not as it should be.”
”How long?” Torquil asked.
Abbot Henry s.h.i.+fted his attention to the younger knight. ”I think,” he said slowly, ”that it was in the year that King Alexander III died, that I first noticed something amiss. But it wasn't until the day of John Balliol's enthronement that I became sure of it.”
Torquil gave a little gasp, and Arnault leaned forward eagerly.
”Can you describe what you felt was wrong?”
A frown furrowed the abbot's brow as he groped to put his feelings into words. ”It is akin to the sense one sometimes has of an altar long unused-or one that has been profaned. A spark may remain, but such an altar has a different feel from one used daily to offer the holy sacrifice of the Ma.s.s.”
Arnault nodded, precisely aware of what the abbot was trying to describe.
”Perhaps this is a peculiarity of our Celtic race-to sense such things,” Abbot Henry continued. ”I have heard it said that those of great holiness can choose between a consecrated Host and mere bread-which seems to me quite likely, if one accepts that diabolical ent.i.ties cannot bear the presence of the Host.
Clearly, it is more than mere faith that is involved; but I cannot tell you what more.
”But the waning power of the Stone is akin to all of these things. And on the morning of John Balliol's enthronement, suddenly it seemed that there was nothing left but a flicker.”
Arnault glanced at Torquil-clearly dying to speak-and signed his permission.
”Father Abbot,” Torquil said, ”on the night before John Balliol's enthronement, one of your brothers told me much the same thing-a Brother Mungo.”
”Ah, Brother Mungo,” the abbot said with a faint smile. ”Alas, he has pa.s.sed on-may G.o.d grant him rest-but he was a very dear and holy man. Odd that you should mention him just now.”
”How so?” Arnault asked.
”Brother Mungo came to us from the Iona community- founded, as you may know, by the blessed Columba himself. And I count your mention of him odd because only last week, another Columban brother appeared at our gate and asked permission to spend a period of retreat with us-a Brother Ninian. Even more oddly, he has spent a large part of each day in contemplation of the Stone. I cannot think that he could have known you were coming-or why. But it occurs to me that this cannot be coincidence. I think, perhaps, that you are meant to make his acquaintance.”
”I think, perhaps, we are,” Arnault agreed. ”Before we do, however, there is one thing more that you should know, concerning our interest in the Stone-and I choose my words with care, because I have no wish to give offense or cause for scandal.”
”If we are speaking here of things Unseen,” Abbot Henry replied, ”I a.s.sure you that I will not take such words as scandalous, if that is your fear, Brother Arnault. Please speak freely.”
”Very well. These are our perceptions. You mentioned that you first began to notice a change in the Stone after the death of Alexander III. When Brother Luc and Brother Torquil and I were last here, we came upon certain indications suggesting that black magic may have been involved both in the death of Alexander and that of the little Maid of Norway. Incidentally, I was present when the Maid died. We have yet to trace this evil back to its source. But there is every reason to believe that the disempowering of the Stone may be one of the effects linked to this cause.”
Abbot Henry's face had drained of color during this recitation, and he recovered himself with a shudder.
”Dear G.o.d, why did Luc not tell me?” he whispered.
”I pray you, do not fault Luc,” Arnault said. ”He would not have been certain how such a claim would be received- and we have yet to establish clearer proofs. Even now, we are not in a position to name any names. In view of the present crisis, however, I think a closer examination of the Stone becomes imperative-and I think, Reverend Father, that the sooner you introduce us to Brother Ninian, the better.”
”I shall send one of the serving brothers to fetch him immediately,” Abbot Henry said, rising to do so.
”Under the circ.u.mstances, I feel certain he will be as anxious to meet you, as you are him.”
The serving brother returned a short while later, bringing with him a tallish, fine-boned figure of a man whose white robes and Celtic tonsure marked him as the Columban brother of whom Abbot Henry had spoken. As the abbot made the formal introductions, Arnault allowed himself to refine his first impressions.
Brother Ninian appeared to be on the young side of forty, clean-shaven and graceful of carriage, with flaxen hair drawn back in a tail behind his tonsure and a gray gaze the color of rain-washed agate. His hands were slender, with long, tapering fingers that bespoke a gift for artistic expression. A serene containment in his manner suggested depths of spirit rare even among those dedicated to a life of prayer and self-denial.
Brother Ninian, in his turn, was eyeing his new acquaintances with a curiosity as unaffected as it was single-minded. On an indrawn breath, his face was transfigured by a beatific smile, his eyes like sunlit wells br.i.m.m.i.n.g with love and compa.s.sion.
”All praise to the High G.o.d,” he murmured. ”You are the ones I was told to expect!”
This declaration both surprised and intrigued all three of his listeners.
”Who told you to expect us?” Arnault ventured.
”Why, Cra-gheal himself,” Ninian answered.
”Cra-gheal?”
”It's the old Scots tongue,” Torquil said eagerly, before Ninian could explain. ”Cra-gheal-the red-white one. It's one of the names given to the Archangel Michael. Is it Saint Michael to whom you refer, Brother Ninian?”
”It is, indeed. Michael of the White Steeds, Michael of the Battles. Cra-gheal instructed me to come here and await the arrival of two warrior-monks who would be wearing his sign in token of his fellows.h.i.+p.” He pointed to the distinctive red crosses emblazoned on the surcoats and mantles of the two Templar knights. ”Do you not claim great Michael as one of the patrons of your Order?”
”We do,” Arnault acknowledged.
Ninian nodded as if the matter was settled. ”Then I know why you are here: to seek the renewal of the Stone of Destiny.”
He turned his gaze to the room's tiny window and continued, holding his listeners spellbound.
”I was standing upon a rock by the sh.o.r.es of Iona,” he said, ”when the voice of Cra-gheal called to me from over the waters, bidding me rise and go to where the Stone lies sleeping. To that place would come two of his warriors here on earth, seeking the means to rekindle the Light that has come down to us from ancient times. He bade me offer you aid and counsel according to such wisdom as has been given to me.”
The light in his eyes, as he s.h.i.+fted back to gaze at them, bore witness to the truth of his declaration, so that Arnault could not doubt that Brother Ninian had been vouchsafed a mystical revelation-or that he would accept, without question, the framework of esoteric focus by which their present mission was guided. Briefly, and without mincing words, Arnault acquainted both Ninian and Abbot Henry with the background and rationale of what he proposed to do, not failing to mention the role of the High Priest's Breastplate.
”What I am suggesting is best approached with due preparation,” he said, by way of summation, ”preferably over several days. Given that the Eve of May is only three days hence-which Brother Torquil tells me is also the turning of the old Scottish new year-I suggest that we agree on that day, and use the intervening time to prepare ourselves by fasting and meditation.”
”An apt and auspicious choice,” Ninian agreed. ”It is the eve of the ancient festival of Bealtuinn or Beltane, when bonfires still are lighted upon the hilltops to welcome in the summer. The night is no less potent in these times in which our allegiance is given to the Son, rather than the sun.”