"Where will you go when you leave?" Torquil asked.

"North, east-wherever the fighting is," Wallace replied, "until Edward of England learns that Scotland is more trouble to him than it's worth."

He retired shortly thereafter, pleading the acc.u.mulated effect of weeks on the run, with little sleep. When he had gone, Arnault and Torquil gave Luc and the abbot a concise report of all that had occurred since leaving Scone nearly two months before.

"The ambush incident is troubling," Abbot Henry noted heavily, "and I cannot say whether it relates to any of the rest of our troubles, but it's good to know that Saint Columba has not abandoned us. Still, this business of the Uncrowned King will bear further reckoning. Are we to wait for him to appear, I wonder, or are we meant to go in search of him?"

"I honestly don't know," Arnault said with a sigh, "and I'm too exhausted to make any immediate decisions until we've had a night's sleep. We daren't stay here long, because de Sautre will be only a day or two behind us, but I'd like to satisfy myself as to how the immediate crisis is resolving, before we move on."

"I can hide you for a few days," Abbot Henry said, "and even mislead de Sautre, if I must. What will you do then?"

"Return to Paris and seek retroactive permission for this bit of deception," Arnault said, plucking at a fold of his black robe, "and bring back letters of credence from the Visitor that will satisfy John de Sautre-and Brian de Jay-that we've acted within orders. In the externals, we have-but as Templars, we're of little use in any official capacity if our own brethren think we're apostate."

"Are you?" the abbot asked quietly. "Apostate?" he added.

Arnault exchanged glances with Luc and Torquil before carefully answering.

"Father Abbot," he said, "we have confided a great deal about our greater mission; and you know that the Stone and Scotland's sovereignty are at the heart of it. Let us say that I most fervently hope we may continue to operate within the structure of the Order. But I tell you frankly that, if forced to a choice, all three of us would choose that mission over our vows to any earthly Temple."

"Scotland is fortunate, indeed, to have such champions," Abbot Henry said quietly. "And for what it's worth, all three of you have my unqualified blessing."

"I value that more than I can say," Arnault said, with some relief. "Incidentally, concern for the Stone prompts me to ask what provisions you have made for its safety."

Abbot Henry looked at him owlishly. "Why, none, beyond the fact that the abbey is sanctuary. Dear G.o.d, do you think the English mean to take it?"

"If you were Edward of England," Torquil said, "would you not take it? It's clear he means to break this country, destroy its ident.i.ty as a nation. Once he's secured Balliol's surrender, we think it likely that he'll appropriate any and every item he can that relates to Scotland's sovereignty-and the Stone will be right at the top of his list, along with the crown, the scepter-whatever he can find."

"Then, we must move the Stone, hide it!" the abbot replied.

"That much seems clear," Luc agreed, "and I should have thought of it myself. But I fear that is only half a solution. If Edward arrives to find it gone, he'll organize a search. He won't rest until he finds it. And he'll not scruple to use torture to get what he wants."

"Having been at Berwick," Torquil muttered, "I'll not argue that!"

"Then, if England's king wants a stone," Arnault said with a faint smile, "perhaps we'd better make sure he gets one."

Luc blinked. "What are you suggesting? That we make a copy?"

"Something like that."

"It would never work," Abbot Henry said. "The Stone is far too distinctive."

"To your eyes, perhaps. But how many Englishmen have actually had a good, close look at it? Edward himself has certainly never seen it, so how would he know a fake from the real thing?"

"Bishop Bek would know," said Abbot Henry. "He was at John Balliol's enthronement."

"That doesn't mean he actually looked at it closely," Arnault replied. "The Stone was encased in its chair and draped over in cloths until Balliol actually sat on it, and I don't think Bek was paying that much attention to furniture that day. I very much doubt that anyone who was present four years ago got more than a casual glimpse of the Stone itself-or that they would remember details, even if they did."

"He's right," Torquil agreed, sitting forward eagerly. "And if the deception succeeds, it at least will buy us some time-and it should prevent an excuse for local reprisals."

Abbot Henry slowly nodded. "We must not lose the Stone. Too much depends on it. Let's see: There's a stone quarry less than half a day's ride from here. I dare say the quarry master could supply us with a stone of approximately the right size and shape. But it must be done so that he doesn't suspect what it's really for."

"I agree absolutely," Arnault said. "I'd already thought of that. Tell me, Father Abbot: Would I be correct in a.s.suming that the abbey might have a few buildings in need of repair?"

A ragged smile touched the abbot's lips. "What abbey does not?"

"I thought that might be the case. Perhaps it's time you commissioned some repairs. No doubt the stonemasons you send will be able to specify what sort of stones they're going to need." Arnault's gesture to indicate Torquil and himself elicited an answering nod from the abbot.

"That should be within their competence," he agreed.

"And in the short term," Luc said, "it might be a good idea to move the real Stone to a less prominent place-perhaps to the crypt."

The abbot's growing look of relief affirmed his increasing confidence in the plan. "An excellent suggestion.

And if my people become accustomed to its absence from its usual resting place, they'll be far less likely to notice when the eventual subst.i.tution is made. But, when that happens, where shall we hide the real Stone?"

Arnault gave a weary sigh, ma.s.saging briefly between his eyes. "I haven't worked that out yet. Let me sleep on it. For the present, we'll plan to move the Stone down to the crypt tomorrow, and get on with procuring a subst.i.tute stone, and hope that the English king doesn't come banging on the abbey gates before we can make the subst.i.tution."

When they left the abbot, Luc showed them to beds in the guest house room he shared with Wallace, who was already hard asleep. Both Luc and Torquil soon slept as well, but tired as he was, Arnault found himself unable to drift off. His mind remained restless, alert, as if antic.i.p.ating some event yet to be revealed.

After about an hour of gazing idly at the ceiling, watching the soft flicker of the room's night light, a soft rustling sound made him turn his head. Across the room, William Wallace had risen to a sitting position, bare legs dangling over the edge of his bed, head slightly bowed and arms lax at his sides. After exhaling in a great sigh, he slowly rose, clad only in his shirt, and turned toward the door, shuffling jerkily forward.

His eyes, as he came toward Arnault, were half closed, apparently unseeing. Arnault quietly sat up as he approached, pa.s.sing a hand before his face as he came abreast of the bed; but Wallace was oblivious, and kept moving slowly toward the door.

Instantly awake-and with no doubt that this was the reason for his sleeplessness-Arnault caught up his cloak and roused Luc and Torquil in pa.s.sing as he tossed the cloak around his shoulders and started after Wallace.

"What is it?" Torquil said muzzily, groping for his sword, as Arnault motioned for him and Luc to follow him.

"Leave that. Just come with me. I couldn't sleep; and now Wallace is sleepwalking. I think there may be a reason. Come on."

Together the three Templars followed the big Scot outside and across the abbey yard. Wallace walked slowly but with seeming purpose, strangely stiff, apparently unmindful of the uneven cobbles under his bare feet. Seeing that he apparently was headed for the church, Arnault hurried ahead and opened the door. Wallace's eyes, as he pa.s.sed beneath the watch lamp beside the church door, were vacant and unfocused. The Templars exchanged glances as they followed him inside.

Far down the nave, the sanctuary lamp seemed a tiny ruby eye keeping watch in the silent church, but wan candlelight also spilled from the archway leading into the north transept. As if the church had been lit by a hundred candles, Wallace made his way unerringly toward that wash of light.

"Is he going where I think he's going?" Luc whispered.

"Aye, visiting the Stone," Torquil whispered back.

Gesturing them to silence, Arnault hurried his pace, his companions close at his heels. The three of them reached the chapel doorway just in time to see Wallace moving behind the Stone, approaching it from the west. Before Arnault could decide whether he ought to intervene, Wallace folded to his knees and reached out blindly with both hands, laying them to either side of the depression on the Stone's upper surface.

His face was calmly expressionless in the glow of a lone vigil light on the altar, blank eyes shining like quicksilver. Arnault waited breathlessly. For a moment, nothing seemed to be happening, but then, to his astonishment, he saw that a pale, silver-blue glow was emanating from the Stone where Wallace's fingers rested.

Luc uttered an audible gasp and gripped Arnault's shoulder. Torquil made no sound, but his eyes were very wide. Together they watched as the glow spread itself up Wallace's hands and arms, continuing to expand until his whole body was enwrapped in a soft nimbus of pure light.

A fragrance like incense permeated the air, unearthly in its sweetness. To Arnault, the perfume had the quality of angelic sanct.i.ty. The blank look on Wallace's face yielded to an expression of rapture, blind eyes now lifting in wonder to something only he could see.

The light held him a moment longer in its shimmering embrace. Then it slowly began to fade away, like pure water spilling away through a cleft in a rock. With yearning hands, Wallace reached out as if to cling to the departing radiance. When it slipped through his fingers, he uttered a broken cry and crumpled to the floor.

As one the three knights rushed forward, Luc swiftly checking for a pulse.

"He's all right. He's only fainted," he reported. "Let's get him back to his bed."

Between them, they managed to carry Wallace back to the guest house without rousing alarm-no easy feat, for a man of his size. None of them ventured to speak until they had restored him to his bed.

"What was all that about?" Torquil whispered, as Luc tucked a blanket around the sleeping Wallace.

Arnault stood back and squared his shoulders with a sigh. "We'll wish to confer with Abbot Henry, and see what he thinks," he said softly, "but I am strongly minded to suggest that we have just witnessed the calling of William Wallace to the service of the Stone of Destiny-perhaps even to become the Uncrowned King."

"A lofty calling," Luc murmured, "but I pity him, nonetheless, if he is."

"He didn't seem to be aware of what was happening," Torquil whispered. "Will he remember any of this in the morning?"

Just then, Wallace groaned and stirred. Seeing that he was about to rouse, Arnault signed for Luc and Torquil to back away. The pair quickly retreated to their beds and lay down, positioned to allow surrept.i.tious observation. Arnault was in the process of crouching down beside Wallace's bed when the big Scot's eyelids flickered and opened. Seeing a shape close beside him, he started up and groped for his sword.

"Peace!" Arnault said, staying his arm. "It's Frre Arnault. I heard you thrashing, and then I heard a moan."

Wallace's gaze focused. As Arnault's face registered, he relaxed back with a grunt and knuckled at his eyes.

"Sorry. I must have been dreaming. I suppose it's a measure of feeling safe here. Out in the field, that kind of thing could be the death of me."

"Having just come from a similar situation, I thought it might be something like that," Arnault said. "Are you all right?"

Wallace sighed and rubbed at his eyes again. He still seemed a bit confused. "What a strange dream."

"How so?"

Wallace's expression softened, and Arnault caught a ghostly hint of the wonder he had glimpsed earlier.

"I was in a holy place," Wallace murmured. "The air was filled with heavenly voices, singing G.o.d's praises. There was a white-robed man-an abbot-offering Communion at the altar. He called me to partake of the feast, and I came."

His voice trailed off and his eyes rolled upward in his head as he slipped back into sleep. When Arnault was satisfied that he would not soon rouse again, he withdrew to the corridor, Luc and Torquil hastily joining him.

"Could you hear what he said?" he asked. "Aye," Torquil breathed. "Do you think he is the Uncrowned King?"

"For his sake in this life," Luc said, "I hope not-though methinks such service will have its own rewards, in the final reckoning. But I think the Stone has chosen. And if so, we must watch for the further signs, and be prepared to a.s.sist him in every way we can, to prepare him for the road ahead that he-and we-must walk."

Chapter Twenty-two.

WHILE ARNAULT AND TORQUIL RETURNED TO THEIR BEDS, Arnault at last sinking into exhausted slumber, Luc went to inform Abbot Henry of Wallace's sleepwalking episode, and their interpretation regarding it. The next morning, during the hour between Prime and the daily chapter meeting, the abbot arranged to have the Stone moved into the crypt beneath the abbey church, with Wallace lending his brawn and Luc looking on. The abbot offered no explanation to the several lay brothers involved in shifting the Stone down the narrow stair but the entire community was aware that Edward's armies were north of the Firth, and that the abbey was apt to have English visitors at any time.

"Do you think the English will come here, Father Abbot?" one of the brothers asked, as they leaned a few paving slabs against the Stone to mask it.

"I hope not, my son," the abbot replied.

"They'll surely find the Stone, if they come down here," the brother said.

"But perhaps they will show it more respect, if they must bring it from the crypt," Abbot Henry replied.

"And perhaps they will not think to take it, if it cannot readily be seen."

A little later, while all the brethren of the community were at chapter, a somewhat rested Arnault and Torquil quietly made their way down to the crypt, having put on the rugged homespuns and leather ap.r.o.ns of stonemasons, to take measurements of the Stone. To complete their disguise, they had even shaved off the beards that were so visible a sign of their membership in the Order, rubbing walnut stain on their cheeks and chins to drab down the pale skin thus exposed.

"There's something that puzzles me," Wallace said quietly, as he watched Arnault and Torquil take careful measurements of the Stone's proportions with a length of knotted cord. "Brother Torquil is a Scot, so it's right that he should respect the Stone of Destiny. But you and Brother Luc are French. And all three of you are Templars. Why should Knights of the Temple set such store by a Scottish symbol of sovereignty?"

"Because we know its history," Arnault said carefully, "and we know its potential. The Stone is more-much more-than a mere symbol. But even if it were only that, Edward would seek to possess it, to break that tie between Scotland's people and her past." His gaze narrowed as he chose his next words with care; for though Wallace appeared to have no conscious memory of the previous night's encounter with the Stone, he was clearly a part of what was now unfolding.

"Whatever more the Stone may possess, beyond its symbolism," he went on softly, "be sure that there are those in Edward's camp who suspect as much, and will doubtless urge him to seize it. For once it is in his hands, they will find the means to master its secrets."

Wallace's jaw clenched in sudden emotion.

"I would rather die than see the Sa.s.senachs even gaze upon it!" he said with pa.s.sion, apparently missing the additional meaning Arnault had ventured.

"To die for such a cause would be to waste your death," Torquil immediately responded, with a covert glance at his fellow Templars. "Scotland needs patriots such as yourself. If you would serve the Stone, you can help us find a fitting place to hide it."

Wallace simply blinked at him for a breathless instant, then crouched down to lay a hand on the Stone, nodding slowly, looking vaguely distracted.

"I can do that. It's a mickle great lump to be dragging around the countryside, but some of the hills between here and Dunkeld are as rugged as you'll find within a hundred miles of here. Actually, I can think of several places that might be suitable."

"I was hoping you might make such an offer," Arnault said. "You probably know the local countryside far better than any of the rest of us."

"I'll set out at once," Wallace said. "How much time do you reckon we've got?"

"There's no way to know," Luc said. "With luck, we shall have our subst.i.tute stone by tonight. But we must have a place to take the true Stone, before we make the subst.i.tution. And then we must work with all speed to take the true Stone to safety."

Within the hour, Arnault and Torquil set out from the abbey with a horse and cart from the abbey stables, now unrecognizable as Templars, in their stonemasons' attire, and armed with Abbot Henry's voucher for purchase of the stones they required. Wallace had left somewhat before them, mounted on one of the Templar mounts they had brought in the night before; and with Abbot Henry's blessing, Luc undertook to contrive a set of errands that would absent from the abbey those few others who had been aware of his fellow Templars' brief sojourn, along with his own horse and the second Templar steed-for the new day had brought with it the likelihood of a visit from John de Sautre and his men, even if the English stayed away.

They reached the quarry early in the afternoon. The supply of cut stone available was of variable quality.

The piece most closely matching the proportions of the Stone itself was a block of honey-colored fieldstone.

"It's reasonably close for length and width," Torquil said dubiously, as he finished measuring it with his knotted cord, "but I wish it were taller. And it should be black."

"We can drab it down with mud," Arnault said. "It will just have to do. We haven't time to commission a better match-and anyway, that might give cause for suspicion. The main thing is that it will fit under the enthronement seat."

"Not unless you support it on blocks from below," Torquil said with a shake of his head, but he didn't press the argument any further.

They purchased enough extra stones to serve as camouflage on the way back, then returned to the abbey. By dint of the long daylight of midsummer, they arrived well before dark, with plenty of time to unload the stones in a tumbled pile in the abbey yard. Wallace had not returned, and de Sautre had yet to make his appearance.

But he did the next day, while Arnault and Torquil were laboring in the abbey stable to rerig a pack saddle suited to the abbey's largest draft horse-for when they moved the Stone, it must go by horse as far as the cottage where they had left the cart, since the sound of a cart leaving the abbey in the dead of night would arouse attention. Watching the abbey gate from the vantage point of the hay loft above where the pair worked, Luc, too, had been lying low since their arrival and, in the absence of his horse from the stables, was counting on the monks of Scone to conclude, if asked, that he had traveled on. His hiss of warning brought both of them scurrying up the ladder to join him in the loft, where the three of them lay on their bellies before a louvered window and watched their brother-knights ride into the abbey yard.

Most of the riders, including de Sautre, looked the worse for wear, and several were riding double-ironic restatement of early Templar seals, which showed two knights mounted on the same horse, in token of their vow of poverty. Bandages were visible on a few of the men, and two were leading horses with bodies tied across their backs.

But Abbot Henry was well prepared for their arrival, having sent a trusted servant north to watch the road, and claimed to have seen no renegade Templars. (Indeed, since Arnault and Torquil had borne little resemblance to Templars, either in their borrowed black robes, their stonemasons' attire, or the st.u.r.dy shirts and breeches that they presently wore, in antic.i.p.ation of their coming mission with the Stone, the claim was not precisely a lie.) The abbot was pleasant and cooperative, even reminding de Sautre that the Templars of whom he inquired had left two horses when pa.s.sing through some weeks before.