Part 35 (2/2)
”G.o.d before me, G.o.d behind me, G.o.d above me, G.o.d below me.I on the path of G.o.d, G.o.d upon my track,” Arnault murmured, stringing together phrases from the prayers that Brother Ninian and Abbot Fingon had taught him, using them to focus his intent.
”The compa.s.sing of G.o.d and His right hand be upon my form and upon my frame. the compa.s.sing of the High King and the grace of the Trinity. May the compa.s.sing of the Three s.h.i.+eld me in my need. from hate, from harm, from act, from ill. Christ Himself is shepherd over me, enfolding me on every side. He will not forsake me, hand or foot, nor let evil come anigh me.”
A moldering stench rose to met them as they descended, an unsettling mix of salt water, rotting vegetation, and damp earth. Flannan's torch behind Arnault cast his shadow long on the steps before them.
”The air seems thick, like pus.h.i.+ng through water,” Flannan noted, though he did not sound afraid.
”Fear itself is trying to stifle us,” Arnault said. ”If we do not let it master us, then it can do us no harm. Say your prayers and trust in G.o.d.”
At the bottom of the steps they paused before a threshold, beyond which they could hear a low, rasping breath, like steel grating against sandstone. A noisome exhalation gusted past them, extinguis.h.i.+ng the torch and plunging them into pitch blackness.
”Valiant Michael of the white steed, I make my circuit under thy s.h.i.+eld!” Arnault said into the darkness.
”For love of G.o.d and for pains of Mary's Son, spread thy wings over us and s.h.i.+eld us, thou Warrior of the King of all and Ranger of the Heavens.” Drawing breath, he went on more boldly.
”The mantle of Christ be placed upon me, to shade me from my crown to my sole. The mantle of the G.o.d of life be keeping me, to be my champion and my leader.”
A roseate radiance blossomed from the cross-hilt of his sword, brightening to a flame as pure and colorless as adamant. In the same instant, Flannan's torch flared into life once more. The reeking gloom retreated precipitously before these twin beacons of the Light. Shoulder to shoulder, the Templars edged their way across the threshold, into the cavernous chamber beyond.
The torchlight revealed a broad expanse of s.h.i.+ning blackness rimmed by stone, a sullen pool so densely black that neither the torchlight nor the radiance surrounding Arnault's sword could penetrate its depths.
Tendrils of greenish vapor rose off the surface in sickly coils. Peering more closely, Arnault could discern sluggish stirrings of movement within the womb of the dark.
Taking a firmer grip on the sacred scrying stone, looping its thong from around his neck, Arnault began reciting fragments of prayers he had rehea.r.s.ed with Luc before setting out on this crucial mission, again calling on the wisdom of Saint Columba.
”The strength of the Triune be our s.h.i.+eld of cleansing.be the Cross of Christ to s.h.i.+eld us upward. be the Cross of Christ to s.h.i.+eld us downward.be the Cross of Christ to s.h.i.+eld us roundward.”
At the p.r.o.nouncement of the first few lines, the vapors rising from the pool recoiled. A s.h.i.+ver pa.s.sed across the surface, penetrating deep into the inky blackness below. As Arnault continued his words of exorcism, the waters began to churn into a sc.u.mmy froth, exuding venomous green bubbles as something monstrous took shape in the depths, driving rapidly toward the surface.
Arnault braced himself, tightening his grip on sword and keekstane as a huge, distorted female form erupted from the roiling water like a leviathan, casting a foul spume over the two knights as she reared above them. Both men recoiled from a blast of fetid breath, Flannan lifting his torch in a warding-off gesture, but Arnault never faltered as he brought his chant to a close with a ringing Amen.
The apparition snarled but kept her distance. Dwarfing them in size, she glowered down at the two Templars, lips drawn back in a feral leer that exposed rows of yellow, rotted teeth. Her face was wizened and wrinkled like that of a crone, but her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were huge and full beneath the shroud of foul, lank hair trailing down to the water like tendrils of rotting vine.
”So, little soldiers, have you come to feed my blood hunger?” she demanded in a heavy rasping voice.
”Give yourselves to my embrace, and I will suck you dry and feast upon the marrow of your bones!”
Arnault only held his sword steady, murmuring under his breath, ”Columba, be thou a bright flame before me.” Behind him, he could sense Flannan's taut dread, but the other man did not retreat. The ent.i.ty before them slavered and snarled, but Arnault sensed indecision. Stronger than her age-old hunger was a note of growing fear.
”You have no power over us,” he stated firmly. ”Your wors.h.i.+ppers are either dead or scattered like withered leaves, and your name is fading from the face of the earth.”
The creature greeted this p.r.o.nouncement with a cackle of angry laughter.
”Spineless worms!” she shrieked. ”Maggots! I will rip your flesh to tatters and bite into your hearts like ripe, succulent fruit!”
”You shall do no such thing, for Columba's task is accomplished at last,” Arnault responded, his voice unwavering. ”In name of the King of life, in name of the Christ of love, in name of the Spirit Holy, the Triune of my strength, be banished!” he cried.
At his declaration, a crystalline beam of white fire blazed forth again from the window pierced in the keekstane. Brighter than either the torch or the glow emanating from Arnault's sword, it filled the room with a supernal light that banished every shadow. It burned away the stench of decay, leaving behind a fragrance like incense smoke. The demoness shrank back with a shrill wail, recoiling into the dark sanctuary of her birthing pool.
”Go now into that abyss whence you came!” Arnault ordered. ”By Michael chief of hosts, by Uriel of the golden locks, by Gabriel seer of the Virgin of grace, and by Raphael prince of power-may G.o.d's angels and the sword of Saint Michael sever you from this world!”
With a swift casting gesture, he flung the keekstane into the pool. White flames spread instantly across the surface, rus.h.i.+ng up the creature's trailing hair to engulf her in a blazing nimbus of purifying fire. Her scream shook the walls of the underground chamber before she sank beneath the burning water, as if dragged down by a powerful undercurrent.
The room itself convulsed. The flames shot higher, licking the roof overhead. Spurred into movement, Arnault seized Flannan by the arm.
”Go! Get out of here quickly!” he urged.
They bounded up the stairs, taking two at a stride, as the blistering heat of the inferno roared up the stairwell after them. As they burst into daylight, throwing themselves to either side, their fellow Templars grabbed them and pulled them well clear of the circle of swords still ringing the stairwell opening.
Fire and smoke erupted upward, but could not seem to pa.s.s beyond the outline of an invisible dome above, delineated on the ground by the circle of swords. As a final catastrophic boom rocked the headland, the earth convulsed, the stairwell collapsing in on itself. The final echoes dwindled into stillness as the smoke slowly dissipated.
The Templars flocked around Arnault and Flannan. Clapping the other knight on the shoulder, for he had done well under fire, Arnault cut short an anxious flood of inquiries with a rea.s.suring wave.
”We're all right,” he gasped. ”The danger is past. Let us give thanks to G.o.d. Brother Walter, summon the brethren.”
He drew a deep breath and cast a grateful look around him as they came, the newcomers adding their swords to the others as all of them knelt outside that holy circle, hands clasped on the cross-hilts symbolizing their faith, and bowed their heads to recite a solemn Te Deum. The sun was sinking behind the hills to the west. Here and there, a bonfire still spat and crackled as the last of the pagan paraphernalia was reduced to ash. Night was descending upon Burghead, but it would be a night free of the evil that had haunted this country for so long. When they had finished their prayer, Arnault sheathed his sword and signaled his men to fetch their horses.
”Let us be gone from here before darkness falls,” he ordered. ”Whatever struggles may yet be to come, this battle at least is won. Non n.o.bis, Domine!”
”Non n.o.bis, Domine, sed Nomini Tuo da gloriam!” the rest responded, in fervent affirmation.
Chapter Thirty-six.
FOLLOWING THE CLEANSING OF BURGHEAD, ARNAULT TOOK his men back to Balantrodoch, where he would acquaint Luc with far more detail of the success of their mission than could have been gleaned from any of the others, even Flannan. But first Luc had news of a different but no lesser import, which he imparted to all the men in a hastily convened chapter meeting.
”The rebellion is now well and truly afoot,” he informed them. ”I have had word several times from Brother Torquil, who rides with Bruce as a military advisor. In addition to taking Dumfries and Dalswinton, Bruce has made himself master of the castles at Tibbers, Ayr, and Dunaverty. His supporter, Robert Boyd of Cunningham, has taken Rothesay Castle, and has laid siege to Inverkip. The only castellan in the west who has refused to yield is Sir John Menteith of Dumbarton. Otherwise, Bruce now has effective control of the Firth of Clyde.”
”Is there still an English fleet anch.o.r.ed at Skinburness?” Walter de Clifton asked.
”There is,” Luc replied. ”But with control of the firth- even without Dumbarton-Bruce can still count on allies and supplies being able to reach him from Ireland and the Outer Isles.”
”That's as may be,” one of the senior knights rumbled, ”but I like it not, that the Order seems to be being drawn into a dispute among fellow Christians. The mission to Burghead served G.o.d's holy cause-none who were there can deny it. But no more right is it for us to fight for this Robert the Bruce than it was for some of us to have fought for Edward of England, under Brian de Jay.”
”That is true,” Arnault said carefully. ”And no one asks us to fight for Bruce. What is required is that we help maintain the peace, as has always been the purpose of the Temple, wherever we are sent-and that, if need be, we lend our swords to prevent Edward's forces from interfering in the wishes of the Scottish people; to see their own king crowned, and to regain their freedom.”
In the absence of instructions otherwise from their superiors in France, the chapter agreed that such intent was reasonable; and following evening prayer, Luc released all of them to retire to beds for the first time in several weeks. In a subsequent meeting, in private with only Arnault, he was able to reveal information he dared not share with the others of their Order.
”I need not tell you, I think that questions are still being asked in some quarters concerning the manner of John Comyn's death,” Luc said, ”but the senior members of the Scottish clergy have been told enough of the truth to justify Bruce's actions. Thanks, in part, to Torquil's quick thinking, Wishart of Glasgow has given Bruce formal absolution for the slaying-and Bruce, in exchange, has sworn a formal oath to uphold the freedom of the Scottish Church. Wishart preached a rousing sermon from the pulpit, exhorting the Scottish people to fight for Bruce as for a crusade. As a result, oaths of fealty are pouring in from every quarter.”
”Then, Bruce now has support from the Scottish clergy, the Scottish n.o.bles, and the Scottish people,”
Arnault replied. ”Not all, of course-but at least the way is paved for him to receive the formal seal of kings.h.i.+p: the power that will attend his enthronement on the Stone of Destiny. And that will help him unite all the factions, to stand against Edward of England.”
Plans were already set in motion for Bruce to undergo a more conventional coronation and enthronement at Scone Abbey-as conventional as such could be, in a state of war with England, and with so much of the traditional regalia still languis.h.i.+ng in London. This public ceremony was to take place in less than a fortnight, on the Feast of the Annunciation, this year falling on the twenty-fifth of March.
<script>