"Then you are not opposed to the idea of fighting?" Arnault asked.

"Not if the cause is just," said Brother Fionn. "In slaughtering the people of Berwick, Edward has proved himself a tyrant without conscience. To allow an evil man to continue to do evil at the cost of innocent blood is a thing which cannot be allowed."

"Indeed," Ciaran put in. "As our Lord's servants on earth, we must be ready to defend the lives of others as faithfully as we must be willing to sacrifice our own."

The mention of sacrifice reminded Arnault once again of the mysterious Uncrowned King of the prophecy, and it seemed to him increasingly likely that, in the end, this capacity for self-sacrifice might well be the measure between victory and defeat.

Their little party made good speed the next day, coming into sight of Iona under the rose-gold skies of dusk. The half-mile ribbon of water that separated Columba's isle from the Isle of Mull was calm as a lake, softly reflecting the low, gray cl.u.s.ter of monastic buildings nestled against the island's gentle hills.

When Brother Fionn went down to the waterside and shouted, his voice seemed to reverberate like the peal of a bell across the distance. Very shortly, a flat-bottomed boat could be seen putting out from the opposite sh.o.r.e, trailing a V of ripples, two white-robed figures at its oars.

In the time it took to unload the ponies and turn them loose to graze, the little boat had made the crossing. Leaving Brothers Fionn and Ciaran to stack the newly cut peat turfs under a lean-to for drying, Ninian and his strong-backed Templar companions made short work of loading several panniers of previously dried peat into the boat for the first trip back. When the three of them had also climbed aboard, Ninian and Torquil taking the oars as they started back across, Arnault was struck by the feeling that they were leaving the material world behind, in favor of a place where time held no sway. The impression was only illusory, he knew; yet there was something strangely durable about the simple cl.u.s.ter of buildings growing larger against the sh.o.r.eline, as if the stones themselves had been endowed with some measure of the spirit of the community's founder.

The little ferry grounded smoothly on pebbly shingle, to be taken in hand by a pair of fresh-faced novices, neither of them above twenty. As the three pa.s.sengers splashed ash.o.r.e, carrying their belongings, a further gaggle of novices joined the first two and began offloading the cargo of turf, some of them cheerfully vying for the privilege of taking the ferry back for its second run while others cast curious but friendly glances at the two sword-bearing men in Augustinian habit who had come with Ninian.

Up the slope from the pebbly beach, a waist-high freestone wall encompa.s.sed the monastic buildings, also including a burial ground adjacent to the church, where lay many of the ancient kings of Alba. In the fields beyond the enclosure, sheep and cattle were placidly grazing in the gathering dusk. As Ninian began leading his companions up toward the abbey complex, there came the chiming of a hand bell from before the abbey church, calling the community to evening prayer.

From conversations of the past week, the Templars had gathered that the full Iona community numbered about a score, with twelve fully vowed brothers like Ninian, who made up the seniors of the order, and nearly that many novices in various stages of formation, all under the governance of Abbot Fingon, their superior. Most of them seemed to be congregating before the abbey church as Ninian led his companions toward the sound of the bell. The church beyond was gracefully proportioned, without any of the costly embellishments that Jay had lavished on the chapel at Balantrodoch.

The abbot himself proved to be the ringer of the bell, and handed it off to another smiling, white-robed brother before coming forward to greet them. He was a spare, white-haired figure of a man with a broad, chiseled brow and far-seeing blue eyes. Though his lean frame was slightly stooped with age and years of study, his voice still had the ringing clarity of youth as he and Ninian exchanged an embrace and the monastic kiss of peace.

"Welcome back, my son!" he exclaimed warmly. "We have been praying every day for your safe return.

Have you been successful in your quest?"

Ninian inclined his head, indicating his black-cloaked companions with the sweep of an arm.

"I have, Father Abbot. Despite their misleading attire, these are knights of Cra-gheal: Frre Arnault de Saint Clair and Frre Torquil Lennox, Knights of the Temple. They have news of grave concern regarding the Stone of Destiny-and questions that need to be answered."

Abbot Fingon bestowed his greeting on the two Templars, in their turn, keenly surveying their faces as he took their hands in his.

"You are most welcome to this house, my brothers. Clearly, we have much to say to one another. Our first duty, however, is to our Lord. It is the hour of Vespers. If the two of you would be pleased to join us, I promise there will be ample time later for us to speak of our common concerns. Please. Come."

Turning to enter the church, they pa.s.sed close beside a ringed stone cross, nearly twice the height of a man, and exquisitely carved. The upper portion of the cross bore a scene from the Last Supper, while the longer lower portion depicted Jesus stilling the storm at sea; the arms to either side were decorated with an intricate knotwork design that put Arnault in mind of Irish ma.n.u.scripts he had seen in the library of an abbey in Brittany.

Inside the church, the air smelled not of incense but of delicate floral offerings, underlaid with the scent of beeswax. Garlands of greenery were swagged across the upper reaches of the simple Rood screen that stood before the choir, and the white-draped altar beyond the screen was lit by stubby candles of a pale, creamy gold, which gave off the mingled fragrances of heather and thyme and honey as they burned and gave the church the air of an ancient shrine.

As Arnault and Torquil took places amid the other members of the community, to either side of Ninian, Abbot Fingon moved into the center of the choir. Lifting his hands in an att.i.tude of praise, he all but sang a graceful bidding antiphon in Gaelic that Torquil clearly understood, then shifted into the Latin versicles of the opening litany without missing a beat. The answering harmony of the monks' sung responses was arresting in its beauty.

The office proceeded along lines that were generally familiar to the two Templars, but the Columban brothers tended to revert to the Gaelic for their hymns, and sometimes even the prayers were interwoven with poignant invocations from Celtic tradition, recalling Ninian's prayer that had calmed the wind.

But the transitions from Latin to the Gaelic and back again were virtually seamless, their versatility finally underscored yet again as the monks segued into the ancient and hauntingly beautiful Phos hilarion, praising G.o.d in the setting of the sun and the gracious radiance of the Vesper light, which symbolized G.o.d's abiding presence through the night to come. In the interweaving of these many strands of spiritual tradition, as vivid as the knotwork adorning many a page of precious psalter or Gospel illuminated by the great abbey scriptoria of the Celtic lands, Arnault found himself profoundly moved, the harmonies awakening answering resonances from the depth of his own spirit.

The simple evening meal that followed in the abbey's refectory was eaten in contemplative silence. The prevailing mood was one of tranquillity and abiding joy. After a final grace had been offered, while the boards were being cleared, Abbot Fingon invited his Templar guests to join him in his writing room, signing for Ninian to accompany them as he led them to a small whitewashed chamber on the east side of the cloister court.

Beside a cheery hearth, Fingon listened intently as the two Templars acquainted him with the background of their mission and described their examination of the Stone in meticulous detail. When Arnault produced the Breastplate, the abbot's gaze took on a thoughtfulness that reflected both profound respect and keen discernment.

"A curious and apt juxtaposition," he said. "These two gifts of heaven-the Stone and the Breastplate-have always existed for the same purpose: to bring the Light of the Divine within the reach of mortal men. With G.o.d's help, it may well be that we may use that common purpose to aid us in our understanding of His will."

When Arnault had related the prophecy concerning the Uncrowned King, the abbot gestured for silence and closed his eyes, repeating the words to himself as he committed them to memory. Having done so, he lapsed into a thoughtful reverie, fingering a wooden neck cross he wore on a leather cord.

"The realm has fallen into the hands of an apostate," he mused. "Someone close to the throne, it seems-and we must not a.s.sume that it is the king himself-has turned his back on the faith of Columba."

"Why do you say it could not be John Balliol?" Torquil asked.

"Because, given the diminished state of the Stone of Destiny, it is he who has most suffered, by having failed to receive the divine mandate that should have accompanied his enthronement."

"An excellent point," Arnault agreed. "But if not Balliol, then who?"

"Bear with me," Fingon replied. "The possibility we must first consider-based on your vision, Brother Torquil-is whether the extinction of the Canmore dynasty was the opening gambit in a campaign to reinst.i.tute the darker aspects of the old pagan faiths. From the quelling of the Stone of Destiny, we may infer that this campaign has largely succeeded. Balliol himself may be only a tool. But if, on some level, Scotland is now being ruled in accordance with pagan traditions, the repercussions could be very serious, indeed."

"In what way?" Arnault asked.

Abbot Fingon's visage grew graver still. "A return to the old ways means a return to all the old ways," he said grimly. "In the days of the old religions, before the coming of Columba and his followers, the king was ritually wedded to the land. This was done in several ways, according to the region. In some of the Celtic lands, this marriage was consummated by union with a mare, which then was ritually slaughtered.

But the shedding of blood remained a common thread-and sometimes, even by the time of the Romans, the blood offering was that of the king himself, or that of a suitable, ritually designated subst.i.tute."

Torquil was nodding as the abbot spoke, obviously aware of the tradition, and Arnault thought he recalled hearing references to similar practices in his native Brittany.

"The coming of Christianity mostly put a stop to this," Abbot Fingon went on. "In Scotland, when her kings embraced Christianity, Christ Himself became the sacrificial victim whose blood sustains the land and its people. The Stone of Destiny was given, through Columba, not just as a symbol of this union, but as the material vessel through which such sacramental virtue was carried over from one monarch to the next."

"In other words," Arnault said slowly, "in terms of kingship as well as the redemption of mankind, the divine sacrifice of Christ made all other sacrifices unnecessary."

Abbot Fingon nodded. "That is correct-as long as the bond between the earthly monarch and his divine surrogate was maintained through a properly const.i.tuted line of succession. At the death of one monarch, the power reverted to the Stone until the enthronement of his legitimate successor.

"Now, however, it appears that the link between the Stone and the monarchy has been broken, through at least two acts of regicide. So it may be that only another sacrifice, in imitation of Christ, will repair the damage and restore the Stone's life-giving power. This may simply mean a death in battle. I hesitate to make too close a connection here, between ancient practices and what most would find incompatible with our Christian faith, but we are speaking here of a very primal link between king and land."

"Only blood may pay the ransom price," Torquil quoted thoughtfully. "That does seem to point to an oblation of atonement."

"The blood of the Uncrowned King?" Arnault ventured.

"So it would appear," Fingon replied.

"But-who is he, and how are we to find him?"

"Therein lies our first difficulty," Fingon said. "It would seem that John Balliol has not proven-for whatever reason-a suitable receptacle for the sacred kingship. By extension, I should point out that this makes his son likewise unacceptable."

"But Balliol was adjudged the most direct in descent from the Canmores," Arnault pointed out.

"The most senior-yes," Fingon replied. "But the law of primogeniture-the precept which says that a king must be succeeded by his eldest son-is a relatively recent innovation in Scotland. In earlier times, when the king was merely the "~chief of chiefs'-and the chiefs of many clans are still determined in this way-the king was elected from amongst a group of potential candidates of royal or chiefly descent, within a specified degree of kinship with the previous king or chief, known as the derbfine. The selection of John Balliol from among the other contenders reflects this tradition, in part."

Arnault nodded his understanding as Fingon went on. It had taken Luc and Torquil hours, that winter at Balantrodoch, to explain the concept to him.

"The individual thus elected was known as the tanist," Fingon said. "And in pre-Christian times, the tanist often secured his claim to the throne by killing off his political rivals as a sacrifice to the G.o.ds. Nowadays, in general, the tanist is simply the designated heir, who may or may not be the chief's eldest son.

"Taking all these precedents into account, and adding in the apparent importance of your Uncrowned King, it seems to me that if the sovereignty of Scotland is to be restored, this ancient king sacrifice of the tanist-the Uncrowned King-must be reenacted-but it must be done in a Christian way."

Arnault drew a deep breath as he realized what he thought Abbot Fingon was proposing.

"Are you saying that, instead of killing his rivals, this Uncrowned King we are looking for must be prepared to offer himself in sacrifice, in imitation of Christ?"

"In some sense, yes; that is my impression," Fingon agreed. "If the demands of the past and the needs of the present are to be reconciled, the old pre-Christian inst.i.tutions must be redefined in spiritual terms."

"Suggesting that there may exist some spiritual derbfine," Torquil ventured, "from whose ranks a tanist will arise to a.s.sume the mantle of the Uncrowned King, in fulfillment of the prophecy."

"The notion of a spiritual derbfine is apt," Fingon agreed, "but it might be more accurate to say that this tanist will be called forth, in the manner of one being called to the priesthood. And of course, in a spiritual sense, a priest offers himself on the altar, along with Christ, every time he celebrates the Ma.s.s.

"But I fear your Uncrowned King may be called upon to make a more literal sacrifice as well as one of spirit-only blood may pay the ransom price. And only after that sacrifice has been offered and accepted will the Stone of Destiny be restored to full power for the benefit of his successors- who, again, must be found amid whatever derbfine emerges from which to reestablish the royal succession."

Momentarily struck speechless by the abbot's implications, Arnault could only gaze at him in disbelief.

Not for several seconds did he summon sufficient composure to glance at Torquil, who appeared likewise overwhelmed.

"This will require careful contemplation," Arnault said slowly. "And even if what you say is true, there are practical considerations that must be addressed. Edward of England is ravaging Scotland even as we speak-and whether he may be a cause of what we believe to be happening, or is only reaping its benefits, the fact remains that if he succeeds in conquering Scotland, it may not be possible to salvage her sovereignty. We must find and identify this Uncrowned King before it's too late."

"I agree," Fingon said. "But if the Uncrowned King is to give himself to martyrdom, he must know what he is doing and why. He must be a willing sacrifice."

Arnault briefly closed his eyes, still staggered by the enormity of what apparently faced them.

"Father Abbot," he whispered, "I have no idea where to begin. I am a Templar, and this is not my land.

But the Temple-the Inner Temple, that is-does have concerns regarding the Stone of Destiny, for it is meant to serve as cornerstone of the Fifth Temple, the New Jerusalem- surely, in some spiritual sense rather than literal. But the Stone itself-or the virtue it is meant to contain-is tied up with the Scottish succession. And for that reason, it is fitting that the Temple a.s.sist in resolving the earthly kingship of this realm-but, how?"

"For that," Ninian said, speaking at last, "we may be able to provide some guidance, for it is clear that we, like the Temple, have a decisive part to play in what is unfolding. Why else would Cra-gheal have instructed me to seek you out, if we were not intended to a.s.sist one another in resolving this?"

Abbot Fingon slowly nodded, digesting this declaration.

"I agree," he finally said. "And it seems to me that, under the circ.u.mstances, we may be justified in begging the boon of clarification from Columba himself. But it must be done in the proper spirit, and in the proper time." He glanced up at Arnault and Torquil. "Such things are best attempted at the time of the full moon, when all holy influences of nature can be marshaled in support of our prayers and supplications. The moon is now a week on the wane. Would you be willing to wait until the cycle turns again?"

The two Templars traded glances, but there could be no question of their answer. "We will wait," Arnault agreed. For he could not see how they dared do otherwise.

Chapter Nineteen.

THE THREE WEEKS THAT FOLLOWED SEEMED TO REINFORCE what Arnault had sensed as they rowed across from Mull: that Iona was somehow set apart from the outside world and the affairs of men. Abbot Fingon, observing how the Templars' borrowed black robes made them stand out from the rest of his flock, soon gave leave for the pair to adopt his own order's white robes, intending thereby to approximate the more familiar Templar habits they had left behind at Scone; but to Arnault it seemed that by putting on the habit of the Columbans, he was also absorbing some of the spirituality of their community, bringing himself into tune with the heartbeat of the land and being drawn more deeply into its rhythm. It made him no less a Templar; in fact, it made him more.

Every morning, just after the office of Prime, he walked down to the beach where Columba first had landed and stood there alone, watching the pa.s.sing clouds reflected in the changing surface of the sea, as if they could show him the shape of things to come. The weather was halcyon, and yet in his heart of hearts, he knew it was only the calm before a storm. He sensed that once he and Torquil left the island, they would be plunging into the midst of a hurricane.

He spent some of his time meditating on the subject of the Fifth Temple, trying to deepen his understanding of its significance. Hitherto, the building of the Temple had always seemed to him an abstract accomplishment, something reserved for the future. Now he began to envision that Temple of the New Jerusalem as a tabernacle of many doors, suspended midway between heaven and earth. Like Jacob's Ladder, its purpose was to bridge an infinitude of s.p.a.ce and time, so that pilgrim souls hungering for the Light might travel freely between the earthly realm and the divine.

The monks of Iona, like their house itself, seemed likewise to belong in a world set apart. Wearing their habit, Arnault took every opportunity to familiarize himself with their forms of worship, encouraging Torquil to do the same. While the Columban brothers conformed to a monastic rule that was not unlike the one with which the Templars were familiar, based on Cistercian and Benedictine usage, their meditations and spiritual disciplines and even the liturgies they held in common with the rest of the Church Universal all breathed an air of liberation. To Arnault, now breathing that same air, it somehow seemed that Ninian and Fingon and their fellow monks were gently unbinding things that were too tightly bound elsewhere in the world.

The day of the full moon was spent much as the days leading up to it, moving in the abbey's rhythm of daily prayer and praise and intercession, but also fasting in preparation for the night's work. After Ma.s.s, at which they all received Communion, while Ninian and Abbot Fingon withdrew to the seclusion of their cells and Torquil lingered a while in the serenity of the abbey church, Arnault paid a last visit to his favorite spot on Columba's beach. Down near the waterline, searching among the sea-polished stones, he chose a smooth pebble of the green and white marble that was unique to Iona. Closing his eyes, he fingered it lightly, acquainting himself by touch with its shape and grain.

"Kindly Columba, father and brother," he said softly, having learned from Brother Ninian that the Celtic saint did not turn away from the familiar pleas of family, "we need your favor on this night's work. You adopted this land as I have done. Now that land is in danger. I know that G.o.d's hand on earth works through men-and many years ago, I gave myself to be His instrument. I ask that tonight you grace us with your counsel, that I may learn how I and my brethren are to proceed. By the Son of the Mary of graces I ask this, by James and by John the beloved, by Michael Cra-gheal, of the bright-brilliant blades. Amen."

Just before dusk, the community gathered for Vespers, as was their usual wont. Afterward, instead of dismissing them to the evening meal, Abbot Fingon called Ninian and the two Templars forward and blessed them, in a ripple of Gaelic invocation of which Arnault caught only a few words. Then the abbot handed each of them a cup of glazed clay in which burned a votive candle, previously lit from the Presence lamp during the Phos hilarion. A fourth one he took for himself, before tucking a small flagon of holy water into the bosom of his habit and leading his three companions quietly from the church, heading toward Columba's mound. The rest of the community remained in the church to keep vigil on behalf of the four, softly chanting a litany of invocations to Christ and Mary and Columba and Bride and a host of other Celtic intercessors.

The evening was mild and clear, the face of the sea like gla.s.s, the first stars just beginning to appear. At the summit of the mound, on the site of Columba's cell, lay a smooth, flat boulder about two feet across, its center hollowed and smoothed, sheened with a pool of rainwater, pure and still. The sky to the west bore a lingering shimmer of daylight. To the east, the rugged hills of Mull were haloed with a silvery luminance that heralded the rising of the moon.

After bidding them to put aside their shoes, Abbot Fingon stationed himself on the east side of the stone, mutely signing for his companions to take their appointed places. Arnault moved to the west side of the stone, reverently donning the High Priest's Breastplate and also drawing from out of his white Columban habit the keekstane given him by Brother Ninian at Scone. Torquil and Ninian posted themselves to north and south.

Following Fingon's example, they placed their lamps before them on the level surface of the rock, bracketing the wash of rainwater between the four points of a cross. When this had been done, Abbot Fingon blessed himself and each of his companions with the sign of the cross, to the accompaniment of a quadri-part.i.te invocation, spoken in the Latin of monastic usage, for Arnault's sake, but phrased with the imagery of its Celtic origins: "In name of Michael of the White Steed, Hide us under your shield And defend us with your bright-brilliant blade.

"In name of Mary the generous, Mother of the Shepherd of Flocks, Enfold us in the mantle of the power of your Son.

"In name of Bride of many blessings, handmaid of the hearth, Sing to us of your Nurseling, That His name in our ears will open our hearts.

"In name of Columba the just and potent, shepherd of souls, Guide us to your vision And reveal what is hidden."

So saying, he unstopped the flagon of holy water, tipping a brief splash into the pool of rainwater. As ripples briefly disturbed the mirror surface, he said softly: "Thou Michael Cra-gheal, Ranger of the Heavens, sanctify to us this water, fallen from heaven as the gentle rain."

A second splash of holy water followed the first, accompanied by a further blessing.

"Thou Mary tender-fair, Mother of the Lamb, sanctify to us this water, tears of the stars.

"Thou Bride, the foster mother, tranquil of the kine," he continued, letting a third measure of holy water fall, "sanctify to us this water, dew of the clouds.

"Thou Columba the benign, apostle of sea and sh.o.r.e," he concluded, emptying out the last of the flagon, "sanctify to us this water, mirror of heaven."

He set the empty flask aside, and all four of them waited in silence as the ripples in the pool subsided, leaving the rainwater pool once again as clear and as smooth as a pane of gla.s.s.

Slowly the white rim of the moon appeared above the eastern hills. Rising higher, it patterned the sea with silver dapples. As its lower rim cleared the skyline, Fingon turned to face it squarely, stretching forth his arms in a wide embrace.

"Hail unto thee, Mother of the stars, Fosterling of the Sun, Jewel of guidance in the night, Thou fair lamp of grace and beauty!"

As he spoke, a soft wash of luminance spilled across the mound, touching their robes to silver. Its brilliance quickened the shallow pool of rainwater, transforming the surface into an iridescent mirror.

Beyond any doubt, Arnault sensed the sudden upwelling of power, rising from the pool to a cathedral arch above their heads. It was as if the small lights of their votive candles were become the pediments of four ascendant ribs supporting a soaring vault. The very air became luminous, faintly crackling with invisible energy. A wind stirred amid the surrounding rocks, bringing with it an elusive hint of fragrance and a sense of Presence immanently near.

With one accord, they turned their faces to the wind, Abbot Fingon holding out his hands in an att.i.tude of supplication that recalled Ninian's gesture on the beach at Dunstaffnage.

"Kindly Columba, father and brother," he said in an almost conversational tone, "you know what troubles us. Will you not show yourself, that we may seek your counsel, as a wise teacher and shepherd of the heart?"

The fragrant wind lifted, brushing across the surface of the pool. The moon's bright-minted image dissolved in a haze of ripples. Instinctively Arnault leaned closer, the keekstane closed in his right hand, waiting for the disturbance to subside. As the surface quieted, he caught his breath, for the likeness resolving before his eyes was no longer that of the moon, but of a man's face.

It was a striking countenance, spa.r.s.e of flesh but graceful of mien, its innate asceticism gentled by a gleam of lively intelligence shining forth from the pale gaze. And it seemed no mere illusion, but a living face, as subtle and expressive as those of the men watching with him. Not for an instant could Arnault doubt that this image was, indeed, a vision meant to convey the real presence of the saint they had invited to be present among them. Though the chiseled lips did not move, he seemed to hear a voice that was not a voice, speaking to his soul.

My Stone has need of your care, Knight of Cra-gheal, it said.

"I know that, Father Columba," Arnault whispered aloud. "I have sought the Stone and sensed its sickness, but I seek guidance concerning an Uncrowned King, by whom it can be brought back to health."

A faint hint of a smile curved one corner of the saint's expressive mouth.