"Isn't it risky to let them vanish into the night?" Rodolphe asked. "After all, they probably have the Breastplate again-and whatever killed Nogaret."

"Oh, they probably do-but I don't mean to challenge them for either, just now," Bartholeme said. "After all, I know exactly where they mean to go from here."

"You do?"

"Oh, yes," Bartholeme replied. "Tell him, Mercurius."

The dwarf leered, ?nally sheathing his dagger.

"Scotland, Master. Now that they have their precious Breastplate back, they'll be off to rejoin their puppet king Robert Bruce-and that's where we'll ?nd them, when the time is ripe."

Chapter Thirty-seven.

April-November, 1313 "I WISH I COULD BELIEVE WE'VE SEEN THE LAST OF THE Knights of the Black Swan,"

Torquil said aside to Arnault, when their party paused to rest, several hours after leaving Castle Montaigre. "Unfortunately, though Nogaret's death may slow them down for a while, there's sure to be some ambitious underling waiting to seize control, now that he's gone."

"Aye, this is a serpent of many heads," Arnault agreed bleakly. "It will take more than one blow to kill it."

"At least we've bought ourselves some valuable time," Breville said. "We must put it to good use."

By the end of that day, they had scattered to various a.s.signments, with orders to make their way to Scotland as and when they could. Christoph had already made his own intentions clear; Breville had more active pursuits in mind.

"We've eliminated Nogaret," he pointed out, "but we've only wounded the Decuria. My guess is that Bartholeme de Challon will a.s.sert himself, now that Nogaret is gone-and we know that, in the past, he has taken an interest in what transpires in Scotland. If he seems to be doing so again, I will send you advance warning."

Arnault gave his a.s.sent, but not without misgivings, for he was well aware that Nogaret's cohorts were not the only adversaries they had to fear. Not content with destroying the good name of the Order, King Philip now seemed bent upon securing its complete and abject annihilation. The papal bull disbanding the Order the previous year had ordered all remaining Templars to surrender themselves to the judgment of the Church or face automatic excommunication and civil outlawry. Papal inquisitors and servants of the crown remained on the alert throughout the realm of France, eager as bloodhounds to sniff out anyone a.s.sociated with the Temple. As long as Breville or Christoph or any other Templar remained on French soil, the danger of discovery would always be present.

That danger made travel dif?cult and slow, once Arnault and Torquil parted company with their brethren.

They had intended to make for Iona ?rst, for Arnault wished to take counsel of the Columban brethren regarding the Breastplate and the Shard. But faced with travel dif?culties and near-run encounters with royal patrols, they were obliged to seize opportunities when and as they could. Thus it was that, after some months' delay, they found themselves at last aboard a Portuguese galley bound for Dublin.

Not that Ireland could offer much in the way of sanctuary for renegade Templars, despite the fact that persecution of the Order there had never been more than halfhearted. Though of?cers of the English king eventually had made a show of rounding up all the Irish Templars they could ?nd, they had netted only thirty men out of nearly a hundred said to be based on the Emerald Isle. And as for Templar treasure, the vaults at Clontarf Castle, the Order's princ.i.p.al Irish preceptory just outside Dublin, had yielded only a few rusty swords.

The Irish Templars themselves, including the Master of Ireland, had soon been released on bail-and had melted into the Irish countryside. But cautious inquiry by Arnault and Torquil in the vicinity of Clontarf eventually had turned up le Cercle's man in Ireland, Brother Richard of Kilsaren, who readily agreed to secure them transport on to Iona.

"A number of our galleys ended up in the west of Ireland," Brother Richard told them. "I can summon one within a few weeks, to take you wherever you need to go."

Brother Richard was also well informed on the current state of affairs in Scotland.

"There's been good progress, actually-slow but steady. Since you were last in Scotland, King Robert has prevailed decisively over the Comyns and the Balliols. The Earl of Ross has come into his peace, and many other prominent n.o.bles and lairds besides. With internal opposition essentially resolved, Bruce has been able to reinstate the Scottish parliament as a reliable instrument of government. Trade relations have been renewed with the Baltic states, and Scottish law has largely been restored throughout the countryside."

"But.?" Torquil prompted, when Brother Richard did not go on.

The Irish Templar grimaced. "There is still the matter of England. As I told you, King Edward still holds those four pivotal Scottish locations. As long as he continues to do so, he can continue to claim suzerainty over Scotland's domains."

The point was not lost on either of his listeners, both of whom had intimate knowledge of all four strongholds. Arnault slowly nodded.

"I take your point. But we've long known that the Scots must reclaim those castles."

"Stirling is a bit more immediate," Brother Richard replied. "Is it possible you've not heard?"

At the looks of question on both his listeners' faces, Richard drew a deep breath and let it out.

"Dear me. Earlier this year, King Robert sent his brother Edward to besiege Stirling Castle. After several months of stalemate, the commander of the English garrison, Sir Philip Moubray, made young Bruce a proposal by way of securing a truce. Put simply, the bargain was this: If no English army comes to relieve the castle by next midsummer's day, Moubray has vowed to surrender the castle without further bloodshed. Without consulting his brother, young Bruce agreed."

Arnault and Torquil exchanged troubled looks as Richard continued.

"I see that the implications are more readily apparent to you than they were to young Bruce," Richard said. "No doubt, he thought he had hit upon a way to win back Stirling without the trouble and expense of mounting a further a.s.sault. But in fact, all he has done is provoke Edward of England into launching a full-scale invasion."

"True enough," Arnault agreed. "Edward can hardly allow such a challenge to pa.s.s. It was astute strategy on Moubray's part."

"Indeed," Richard said. "English supporters north of the Border have been clamoring for reinforcements for several seasons now-thus far, in vain. But this bargain puts English royal pride at stake. By next midsummer, Edward Plantagenet must either redeem Moubray's bargain by force or submit to being branded a weakling and a coward. G.o.d grant he may prove to be both, but that does not appear likely.

My contacts tell me that the English commissioners of array have received orders to raise an army and gather provisions during the winter."

Both Arnault and Torquil were shaking their heads, well aware what such a campaign would mean for Scotland.

"So much for the hit-and-run tactics that have served us so well up until now," Torquil murmured. "This will force the king into the pitched battles he's been trying to avoid."

"Unfortunately, it will," Arnault said. "But here, perhaps, I begin to see a way in which we Templars may lend valuable aid to the Scottish cause-not by our numbers, but by our experience in the arts of war. We have six months. We can do a lot of training in that time."

"Those are mostly winter months," Richard pointed out, "but I agree. And we already have several score of our brethren hiding in the fastness of Argyll-and more have come from France, I hear."

"And more will come," Arnault agreed. "There are some on their way even as we speak."

"There is hope, then," Richard said. "Will you go now to Bruce?"

"As soon as possible, with your help," Arnault replied.

Brother Richard had already sent word regarding a ship, and now furnished his brethren with horses to speed them on their way. Leaving Clontarf, they pressed westward, through the ?atlands of Offaly and deep into Galway. The vessel that met them at Kinvarra ?ew the colors of MacDonald of the Isles, one of Bruce's staunchest allies: a sleek coastal galley well able for the cold waters of the North.

They set sail under gusty autumn skies, ghosting northward around Connemara, then skirting the Donegal coast to head back eastward toward Islay and the Mull of Oa. Sunset of a late-November day found them within sight of Mull-and, at its westernmost tip, lovely Iona itself.

The tide was out, exposing a pebbled strand. In the soft light and mist of dusk, the weathered church and outbuildings of the Columban community appeared unchanged to Arnault's yearning eyes. Skillfully handled, the galley coasted to a standstill a dozen yards from sh.o.r.e. As Arnault and Torquil slipped over the side to wade ash.o.r.e, two white-robed ?gures trotted down to the beach to meet them-novices, by their youthful faces and earnest manners.

"Father Abbot said that we were to expect visitors before nightfall," the taller of the pair con?ded. "If you will be pleased to accompany us, we'll take you to him."

Arnault suppressed a smile and glanced at Torquil. Very little went on in the environs of the island that escaped the notice of the Columbans, mystically attuned as they were to every whisper of the wind, every turn of the tide.

"How is Abbot Fingon these days?" Torquil asked.

The novices looked somewhat abashed. "Father Fingon died at Eastertide," the shorter of the two informed them. "Father Ninian is now the head of our community."

The two Templars exchanged glances, taken aback at the news.

"This place seems so timeless," Torquil murmured, as they followed their guides toward the abbey's cloister court, "it never crossed my mind to expect any change."

"Nor I," Arnault replied. "Fortunately, Ninian has been in our con?dence since the beginning. I trust his counsel as much as I would have trusted Fingon's."

Their guides showed them into the familiar warmth of the abbot's study, where Ninian laid aside the book he had been reading and came to meet his visitors. Their ensuing exchange of greetings was accompanied by words of condolence regarding Fingon.

"His health had declined, of late, but he went gently," the new abbot said, waving the two to seats. "On the night before Saint Columba called him home, Father Fingon told me that you would return to us before the year's end. The reason, I gather, must be pressing, since you have come here before making your presence known to the king."

Arnault had long ago ceased to wonder how the Columbans came by their knowledge. It was suf?cient that they had their own methods of discovery. He was counting on those gifts now.

"We came because we need your guidance, Father Abbot," Arnault said, reaching into his tunic. "Our quest in the Holy Land was successful, in that we brought back what we went for. And it enabled us to recover the High Priest's Breastplate, on our way back through France."

He produced both items: the Shard, now housed only in its leather bag, and the Breastplate, folded inside a length of white linen. It was the latter he began unwrapping for Ninian's inspection. He had left the healing talisman in Christoph's keeping.

"Unfortunately, the Breastplate was in the possession of Guillaume de Nogaret, the king's minister," he went on, unfolding layers of linen. "He's dead now-and good riddance-but he did something to the Breastplate. Probably something vile, because he conjured up a demon while we were there-and that, in itself, is a story worth the telling, later on," he added candidly, at Ninian's raised eyebrows. "In any case, we think the problem lies with the Urim and Thummin. We're hoping you can tell us how to reverse whatever it was he did."

He had exposed the Breastplate and ?ipped it over to expose the pockets as he spoke, and now slid out the two stones. Ninian gazed at them silently for a long moment, folded hands pressed to his lips, then brie?y laid his hands atop the Urim and Thummin, as if touch could tell him more than mere sight. His expression was both thoughtful and grave as he drew back his hands and glanced up at the waiting Templars.

"There is much here which wants clearer understanding," he observed with a shake of his head. "I think we must ask guidance from a higher wisdom."

He slid the Urim and Thummin back into their pockets, then cradled the Breastplate in his open palms, closing his eyes.

"Holy Michael, whom we hail as Cra-gheal, the Red-White One," he murmured softly, "we have need of your counsel. This instrument of G.o.d's Word has been touched by His enemies. The Lights and Perfections have grown dim. Can you show us how these may be restored?"

Arnault and Torquil kept watchfully silent as Ninian lapsed deeper into meditation, ?ngers curling around the relic. A range of emotions-pain, anger, and revulsion-swept over his ascetic features. When he at last roused from his trance, carefully setting the Breastplate on the table before them, his expression was troubled.

"It is as I feared," he said. "Nogaret had attempted to pervert its powers to his use. This has rendered the Breastplate unclean. Like diseased ?esh, it must be purged of all taint of corruption. But the source of that corruption is still present and active in the material world. And as long as this exponent remains at large, the damage wrought through its agency cannot wholly be undone."

"Are you saying that the Decuria still maintain some kind of hold over the Breastplate?" Torquil exclaimed in dismay.

Ninian nodded. "Alas, I am. The evidence suggests that G.o.d's enemies were preparing the Breastplate to channel power from the infernal realm. The process involves the conjuring of unclean spirits. Command over these forces is usually vested in a power object of some kind. But what that object might be, I could not determine."

"I think I know," Arnault said quietly, after a beat. "It will have been Nogaret's demon-ring."

Torquil looked at him sharply. "But-wasn't it destroyed?"

"We a.s.sumed it was," Arnault said. "But maybe not. We never found his hand, either."

"Then, one of his disciples could have recovered it," Ninian ventured.

"It's-possible," Arnault replied.

Torquil slowly shook his head. "This is my fault. I should have gone back and made a thorough search."

"No, if anyone is to blame, I am," Arnault said. "And if we were distracted, it was in a good cause."

Brie?y he told Ninian of the healing of Christoph, and the events that led up to a need for such healing, sparing no detail that he could remember. The recitation left him drained, head bowed in his hands. After a moment, Ninian spoke.

"You both should rest," he said gently. "You have had a long and arduous journey. If you will heed my advice, you should remain here for a few days yet and mend your strength."

"No, we must move on," Arnault said dully. "The king must be told of the danger. And you must be on guard as well. If Nogaret's successors do have his ring, they may be able to follow us here, using it as a focus, and seek a ?nal accounting."

"No harm shall befall us," Ninian said gently, "if that is what you fear. And the king shall know within the hour."

Both Templars merely stared at him blankly.

"Brother Fionn and Brother Ciaran are with him," Ninian said, as if that explained everything. "Father Fingon sent them shortly after you left on your quest to the Holy Land."

"But, how-"

"Go and rest," Ninian said, rising. "But ?rst, ask Brother Seoirse to give you something to eat. You will need your strength, when you go to Bruce."

Ninian came to them the next morning after morning prayers, drawing them out into the snowy cloister to walk with him.

"I am informed that the Lights and Perfections can be healed through the power of the Stone of Destiny,"

he told them, though he made no mention of how he had been so informed. "But before the Stone can be used in this way, I am given to understand that Bruce's agreement is necessary. If we leave immediately, we can be at Dunkeld by the Feast of Saint Andrew. We may seek his permission then."

"Bruce is at Dunkeld?" Torquil said, surprised.

"Not yet," Ninian said with a tiny smile, "but he will be." At Arnault's look of question, he added, "Our survival, like that of your Order, is linked to the Fifth Temple, Brother Arnault. And the Stone of Destiny is the Temple's keystone. I will ride with you to Dunkeld, for it lies there."

The galley that had brought the Templars to Iona had stayed in the lee between Iona and Mull, waiting to transport them where they wished. They sailed at dawn, coasting along the southern sh.o.r.es of Mull and into the Firth of Lorne, then heading around the bluffs of Oban and into Loch Etive. There they went ash.o.r.e under cover of darkness. At a nearby village, they procured three rough-coated ponies and a guide to show them the route across country ahead of the winter snows.

Throughout the course of their journey, Arnault remained conscious of the twin burdens of the Shard and the Breastplate that he carried. The latter was presently a deadweight, reduced to mere precious metal and gems; he did not wish to contemplate the state of the Urim and Thummin. He could only hope that the latent power of the Shard might somehow enable the Stone to reignite the mystical Lights and Perfections, for he sensed that the Urim and Thummin, not the Breastplate itself, were the key to what must be done.

The chilly November dusk was gathering when at last they reached the stone fastness of Dunkeld Cathedral. During the journey, they had learned that Matthew Crambeth was no longer bishop. "Sadly, he pa.s.sed away, some three or four years ago," Ninian had told them. But the new bishop was William Sinclair, a distant cousin of Aubrey and, even more distantly, of Arnault himself.

"I think I've only met him once or twice, when we were both far younger," Arnault had said, on learning the new bishop's ident.i.ty. "I can hardly say that I know him, especially as a man."

"Well, thanks to young Aubrey, Bishop William knows a good deal about you and the somewhat special circ.u.mstances of your recent journey to the Holy Land," Ninian a.s.sured them. "And of course, he is in total sympathy with the plight of your Order. You'll ?nd that he has been a faithful custodian of the Stone in your absence."

Given the new bishop's af?liations, their reception at Dunkeld was cordial; and their dinner conversation quickly a.s.sumed an air of easy familiarity as Bishop William acquainted them with the political developments of the past several years-for he also had the king's ear, and a brother and two nephews in Bruce's service.

The three were in the following that arrived with the king the next morning, along with Aubrey, Flannan Fraser, and the white-robed ?gures of Brother Ciaran and Brother Fionn. The pa.s.sage of ?ve years had left Flannan looking leaner and more weathered than Arnault remembered, and Aubrey had acquired a scar across his chin and streaks of silver at his temples, but in every other respect, both appeared as hardy as ever.

"Your return is well-timed," Bruce said to Arnault and Torquil, after he and the bishop had exchanged greetings. "I've a situation that has been forced upon me, and I'll be interested to hear what you make of it. Bishop, might we use a room in your house?"

"So, there you have it," Bruce concluded, after he had outlined the situation, ensconced with them before a ?re in the bishop's parlor. "My brother thought he would spare us the necessity to continue a long siege of Stirling Castle."

Arnault and Torquil exchanged glances. Bruce's account of the Stirling Castle agreement tallied closely with what Brother Richard had told them, with added details regarding the intelligence the king had gained from agents reporting from London.

"So, what is it that you intend to do between now and next summer, Sire?" Torquil asked.