"Now, there's a thought, indeed," Gaspar mused. "Tradition would have it that Joseph of Arimathea journeyed to England after the Resurrection, and founded the community of Glas...o...b..ry at a site which our Lord Himself once visited as a boy. If there is any truth in legend, Glas...o...b..ry would certainly be a fitting place to build a new Temple, in fulfillment of prophecy."

"That would depend," said Arnault, "on what kind of man Edward Plantagenet has become in twenty years' time."

"He has proven himself to be a strong and able king," said Geoffrey.

"True-but the exercise of power can corrupt even the most virtuous of men," Arnault replied. His thoughts turned to Scotland. The question of the Scottish succession had been referred to Edward for arbitration, but there was clear evidence that the English king meant to exploit that situation to his own territorial advantage, as he had done when negotiating the marriage between his son and the ill-fated Maid.

"By all accounts," he continued, "Edward does not lightly tolerate anything which might pose a challenge to his authority. The danger is that, having granted the Order sanctuary, he might well attempt to bend it to his will. Failing this, he would certainly try to destroy it. Knowing what the stakes are," he concluded, "can we afford to put Edward's good will to the test without some clear indication that this really is our best choice?"

This question provoked another round of debate. Further discussion, however, brought no resolution.

"All we're doing is chasing our tails around in a circle," Geoffrey growled. "The only thing we can say for certain is that all the choices before us seem equally doubtful."

"Well, we have to do something," Father Anselmo pointed out.

"I agree," said Geoffrey, "even if it means making the best of a bad lot."

After a long pause, Gaspar finally spoke. "Logic is no guide here. What we require is a sign. The safety of the Treasures is too important to be ventured on the strength of a guess. When we act, it must be because we are sure. And the only way to be sure is to seek guidance from a higher authority-by a means more direct than prayer."

Father Anselmo looked alarmed. "What are you suggesting?"

A glint appeared in Gaspar's dark eyes. "Amongst the artifacts in our custody are objects which possess oracular virtues. I propose that we choose the one which is most closely aligned with our own affinities and avail ourselves of its powers of divination."

An uncomfortable silence deepened as all eyes darted to the two priests.

"This is a dangerous proposition," Father Bertrand warned. "We hold these objects in trust for the good of the world. To utilize one purely for our own benefit would be a serious breach of our vocation."

"I would suggest that this is not a personal matter," Gaspar said confidently. "An error in our judgment now could result in the Treasures being lost-or worse, falling into the wrong hands. We cannot afford to make a mistake that would put the welfare of future generations at risk. Under the circ.u.mstances, I think we are fully justified in availing ourselves of the means at hand."

The silence that followed was still uncertain. As the silence drew itself out, Arnault ventured to speak.

"When it comes to discerning the workings of the Spirit," he observed quietly, "we are like blind men stumbling along the edge of a precipice. Surely it is no crime for a blind man to use a stick to help him find his way? By the same token, surely it is no crime for us to use one of the tools in our keeping to help us avoid falling into the abyss. Gaspar has rightly interpreted the gravity of our situation. I recommend that we act on his advice."

He flashed a look around the table, and was relieved to encounter nods of acceptance.

"My thanks for your support in this matter," Gaspar said. "For as G.o.d Himself is my witness, I truly believe that there is no other way."

He went on to lay before them the procedure he had in mind. The adoption of the plan was confirmed by a further vote. Having named himself and Father Bertrand as two of the three partic.i.p.ants needed for the work, Gaspar turned lastly to Arnault.

"I appreciate that you have just returned from an arduous mission, but of all of us, you possess the greatest apt.i.tude for what I have proposed," he observed gravely. "You have also worked with the artifact before. Will you consent to serve as the medium for the exercise in divination?"

Arnault inclined his head in a.s.sent, for whatever the cost, whether physical or psychic, there could be no question of refusing-not when the request came from Gaspar, who had been his mentor, had brought him into le Cercle when hardly older than Torquil.

"Such gifts as I have, I place at the service of the Temple and of G.o.d," he said, then smiled faintly. "But if you intend me to do this tonight, may I have a few hours' sleep first?"

"Of course," Gaspar replied, with a faint smile of his own. "And I do think we dare not delay." He cast his gaze over the rest of the company.

"I have already advised the Grand Master that it will take a few days to prepare the inventory he requires, and to separate out those treasures designated to be sold. But our other work will proceed tonight. The sooner we know where we stand, the better equipped we will be to face the future."

Chapter Four.

WHEN ARNAULT FAILED TO APPEAR AT VESPERS, TORQUIL Lennox was mildly curious but not unduly concerned. When he failed to show up for supper, however, the Scottish knight began to wonder what could have happened to detain him.

In general, a brother of the Order was allowed to absent himself from meals and sacred offices only if he was engaged in some practical endeavor that could not readily be interrupted, such as shoeing a horse or working metal at a forge. Otherwise, his absence required special permission from a superior-which Gaspar des Macquelines, as a senior treasurer of the Order, was certainly qualified to grant. If the Rule of the Order had not forbidden talking at meals, Torquil might have been tempted to make a few casual inquiries as to his mentor's whereabouts. As it was, he was obliged to ponder the riddle in silence, amid the gentle drone of a scripture pa.s.sage being read from the pulpit above the hall.

Casting his gaze around the refectory, Torquil noted that Father Bertrand was likewise nowhere to be seen among the company at table. This discovery suggested that the summons from Brother Gaspar might have involved more than a mere confirmation of lists of lading-but surely nothing to be a cause for worry. Torquil knew that Arnault was privy to matters of great confidentiality concerning the Order-matters that were really no concern of a relatively junior knight such as himself, regardless of the confidence Arnault had always shown in him personally.

At the conclusion of the meal, the brothers rose collectively and began making their way toward the chapel, as custom dictated. Torquil dutifully joined in the a.s.sembly, but found it hard to keep his attention focused on his devotions. Twice he lost track of his tally of paternosters and had to begin again. He was relieved when the communal prayers came to an end, leaving the brethren free to disperse.

Arnault was waiting in the shadows when his protg emerged from the chapel. As Torquil moved past him, he reached out and laid a sinewy hand on the younger man's shoulder. Torquil started round, his own right hand flying to the hilt of his sword. Arnault stepped back a pace.

"Pax! It's only me!" he exclaimed softly.

Torquil relaxed, lightly shaking his head. "Sweet Jesu, you startled me. Was there some problem?"

"We had a great deal to discuss," Arnault said cryptically. He cast a look around them and, seeing no one else within earshot, continued in a lower voice. "Have you been detailed to any particular duties just now?"

"No, why?"

"I have a rather particular a.s.signment for you, if you're willing."

A note of calculation showed briefly in Torquil's eyes. "What kind of a.s.signment did you have in mind?"

"An item of sentry duty," Arnault said. "Brother Gaspar and I have one remaining piece of business to resolve. Father Bertrand will be present. For the moment, suffice it to say that completing this work will involve our doing something a trifle. unorthodox. It-would not go well with us if we were disturbed."

"This sounds serious," Torquil ventured.

"It is very serious," Arnault said. "The very future of the Order is at stake-and with it, the future welfare of generations yet to come. I mayn't give you any of the details, other than to pledge you my solemn word that we intend nothing blasphemous or irreverent. Nevertheless, there are some, including our esteemed Grand Master, who would condemn our actions. Discovery could mean expulsion from the Order-or worse. I will not think any less of you if you decide that you prefer not to get involved."

Torquil inclined his head cautiously. "You would not ask this if it were not important," he said quietly.

"Nor have I ever known any ill to come of taking instruction from you. What is it you wish me to do?"

Arnault smiled faintly. "Good man! I regret that I cannot give you a fuller explanation just now. But if you keep faith with me, I promise you that one day, all shall be revealed."

Beckoning Torquil to follow him, he set out across the courtyard that separated the chapel from the barracks. From there, the two men made their way along the exercise green toward the square, thick-walled keep that dominated the west corner of the preceptory enceinte. The serjeants posted at the entry port admitted them without demur when Arnault delivered the watchword. Once beyond the guardroom, he and Torquil set out for the west tower.

Skirting the gallery overlooking the great hall, they descended a steep flight of steps leading to a narrow pa.s.sageway. A door at the far end of the pa.s.sageway admitted them to a square office chamber dominated by a heavy oak table with a door behind it. Writing at the table was a big-boned man with chestnut hair and gray-streaked beard who set aside his quill as the pair entered: Gaspar des Macquelines himself. Torquil did not know him well, but he had met the treasurer before their flight from Acre.

Rising, Gaspar greeted Arnault with a warmth that dispensed with distinctions in rank. When Torquil advanced to pay his respects in turn, the older knight subjected him to keen scrutiny.

"Our brother gives you the tongue of good report," he observed with a faint smile, then turned to Arnault.

"Does he understand what is required of him?"

"In general, yes. And he is prepared to trust us," Arnault replied.

"In faith, young Lennox?" Gaspar said to Torquil.

Torquil drew himself to attention, sensing that this was a test. "On my honor, sir."

"Then on your honor, I am prepared to accept your services," Gaspar said, inclining his head. "Be faithful in small things, Brother Torquil, and greater things will follow. If you learn nothing else tonight, remember this."

With this injunction, he bent briefly to lift a smallish, oblong casket from the floor to the table. It was made of pale wood, smoothly polished to the l.u.s.ter of satin, banded with silver. The sight of it jolted Torquil's memory back to that last, dark night in Acre, mere hours before the collapse of the Templars'

great citadel by the sea. With almost uncanny clarity, he recalled seeing a larger chest very like this one being loaded aboard a waiting galley, under the direct supervision of Theobald Gaudin, the treasurer of the Order. That chest might have slipped Torquil's notice in the confusion of the withdrawal from Acre, had he not been seized by the sudden, overwhelming impression that it contained something far more precious than mere diamonds or gold.

As the young Scot gazed now at the smaller chest before him, his earlier impression returned with an intensity that was almost palpable, like a wave of heat. He had to tighten his jaw to keep from blurting out the sudden torrent of questions that came to his lips. Only with difficulty did he succeed in wrenching his gaze away.

Apparently oblivious to this inner turmoil, Gaspar tucked the chest securely under one arm and half turned toward the door behind the table, opening it upon a torchlit landing.

"Come with me," he instructed. "Father Bertrand has prepared a working place for us. We should not keep him waiting."

Stairs spiraled upward and downward into darkness, apparently spanning the height of the tower's interior. Not looking to see whether his companions followed, Gaspar began to climb. Arnault followed, Torquil close behind him, feeling their way with booted toes and hands on newel post where the torchlight did not penetrate. A second torch lit the next landing, washing the stone flags with wavering light, but they kept climbing. At the second landing, as Gaspar continued upward, Arnault paused and turned toward Torquil.

"The rooms on this level are chambers of record, with no direct connection with any other part of the donjon," he said. "You will keep watch here. From now until Brother Gaspar and I return, no one else is to pa.s.s beyond this point. No one."

Torquil squared his shoulders and nodded, setting his hands on his sword belt. "I understand."

"This part, perhaps," Arnault said with a faint smile. "There is one thing more: No matter what you may hear or see, you must not make any attempt to enter the room above, in which we are working."

Wary apprehension flickered in the younger man's eyes. "What you will do-is it dangerous, of itself?"

"Not so long as we all respect the rules which bind us," Arnault answered. "As I am bound, will you also be bound by the instructions I have given you, on your knightly honor?"

Torquil gave him a tight-jawed nod of acceptance. "I have pledged you that already," he said. "I shall not interfere."

"Please understand that I was required to confirm it," Arnault said with a faint smile of apology.

Turning, he carried on up the steps toward the door before the single room that crowned the tower's summit. Father Bertrand was waiting for him on the threshold. Gaspar had already disappeared within.

When Arnault had pa.s.sed inside, the Templar priest shut the door and carefully secured the bolt. A lingering fragrance of incense and a subtle tension in the air confirmed that the premises had been carefully prepared.

"I believe you will find everything in readiness," Father Bertrand reported, indicating the contents of the room with a sweep of his arm. "We can begin as soon as you have prepared yourself."

So saying, he moved his hand before the door in a finalizing ritual gesture, then leaned expectantly against the wall beside it. Arnault cast a look around him. The chamber was round, like the tower that contained it, with narrow window slits piercing the thick walls at each of the four cardinal points of the compa.s.s.

Suspended on a chain from the center of the ceiling, a lamp of pierced bra.s.s cast a dappled pattern over the linen cloth covering a rectangular trestle table set immediately beneath it. A seven-branched candlestick made from burnished bronze adorned either end, mounted with fine beeswax candles, as yet unlit.

Several wooden chests were set around the perimeter of the room, pushed against the walls-containing, Arnault knew, Treasures of the Temple not included in the official reckonings shown on the inventories.

Gaspar had set his casket on one of these, and was opening it with a small bra.s.s key on a fine chain around his neck. On another of the chests lay the vestments Arnault would wear for what must be done-a lightweight tunic of checkered linen, a mantle of violet silk, its border trimmed with golden bells and pomegranates, the priestly ephod with its golden chains-raiment recalling the vestments worn by the high priests of Israel.

And what Gaspar now revealed, as he opened the smaller casket, had also been sacred to those high priests, and was sacred to their successors-one of the Treasures brought out of Acre. Inside was a smaller receptacle made of silver, in the form of a reliquary. The light from the lamp overhead picked out fluid traceries of Hebrew inscriptions on the lid, just before Gaspar turned it back to reveal a weighty packet wrapped in fine white silk and secured with leather bindings. Seven wax seals secured the bindings, each bearing a Hebrew sigil.

With a solemnity approaching reverence, Gaspar broke the seals and undid the bindings, parting the silk.

Within lay a flat, square object of creamy linen over some stiffening material, the size of a small book, adorned with twelve large jewels in four rows of three, their gold bezels st.i.tched to a backing of quilted linen and catching the light in a profusion of rich color.

Arnault caught his breath, for the antiquity and sheer beauty of the object never failed to move him, especially coupled with the undoubted aura of potency it exuded. The relic had come into the hands of the Templars early in their tenure of the Temple of Jerusalem, but it was older than the Temple by fifteen hundred years and more. The specifications of its design were believed to have been divinely dictated to Moses on the Mount of Sinai, and Aaron the brother of Moses thereafter had worn it as an integral part of his regalia as High Priest of Israel.

Often thought to have been lost or destroyed, the High Priest's Breastplate had survived intact through the turbulent centuries, always finding its way into the safekeeping of a worthy guardian. And in all that time, it had never lost the virtue ascribed to it by the a.s.sociated presence of the Urim and Thummin, the Lights and Perfections, whose oracular powers remained a matter of deepest mystery. Though rarely exposed to view, Arnault knew that the two stones manifesting the physical vehicle of the Urim and Thummin were contained in a pocket on the back of the Breastplate. But they would not use the stones tonight-at least not directly.

For a moment, Arnault merely gazed at the Breastplate in mingled awe and fascination, well aware that their present Grand Master would have had strong reservations about the Order's retaining custody of such a potent Jewish artifact as this, even though it was part of the common heritage that Jews and Christians and even Muslims shared. Molay would regard the use of such an object as an act of vilest apostasy. And there were others, less narrow-minded than Molay, who nevertheless would condemn any endeavor to visualize the future as a presumptuous attempt to meddle in the workings of Divine Providence.

As Arnault reverently kissed his fingertips, then touched them to one of the stones on the Breastplate, he reflected that, in fact, he and his companions were striving not to interfere with Providence, but rather to interpret Providence correctly-to the greater glory of G.o.d. Non n.o.bis, Domine, non n.o.bis sed Nomini Tuo da gloriam-Not to us, Lord, not to us but to Thy Name give the glory-the motto of the Order of the Temple. And never had such insight been more necessary than now. The Order stood dispossessed and beleaguered, its duties unfulfilled, with a dark future hanging over all the world if he and his companions should fail in their trust.

Left alone on the landing to keep vigil, Torquil could only speculate about what might be taking place in the room above him-and whatever it was, it also involved Gaspar des Macquelines and the priest, Father Bertrand. Not for the first time, Arnault's a.s.surances had raised more questions than they answered-as had Gaspar's. Strangely, Torquil did not find himself alarmed by any of this.

Perhaps it came of his many months spent working closely with Arnault, often in life-and-death situations-a spillover of the serenity and focus that seemed to accompany Arnault wherever he went.

Even Torquil's own a.s.signment to work with Arnault seemed hardly coincidental: to be posted to the Holy Land from distant Scotland, to work with the aristocratic French knight. He could only suppose that Arnault had asked for him specifically.

But from the beginning, there had been that about Arnault that was kept quietly discreet-not furtive; simply not for all eyes and ears. Tonight, having seen the casket Brother Gaspar had taken to that room above, Torquil was convinced that whatever they were doing, it somehow connected with what he had felt that night in Acre, as he and Arnault prepared to embark with the Temple's treasures. But what any of it was about, he had no idea.

At times, there was a. stillness about Arnault, when he thought no one was watching; as if he were listening to something no one else could hear. At first, Torquil had ascribed it to mere piety, a habitual turning to prayer; but over the months of their close a.s.sociation, interspersed with hard physical testing and the perils of their military duties, he had come to feel that it was something more-though he had never dared to ask about it.

He still dared not ask-though both Arnault and Gaspar had hinted that more would be revealed to him, in due time. If waiting for that time did not particularly bring him contentment, still, his faith in Arnault gave him reluctant patience. Time enough, when Arnault felt him ready. But while he was quite prepared to believe that the Order had arrived at a critical point in its history, what Arnault and his companions could do by themselves to amend the situation defied his imagination.

Thus thwarted in his speculations about the immediate situation, Torquil found his thoughts turning to the more distant but comprehensible concerns of his native Scotland. Having stood alertly on the landing for several minutes, he decided that he could keep watch just as easily if he sat on the topmost step on the stairwell.

The fate of the Scottish people, like the fate of the Knights Templar, seemed to be hanging in the balance.

The death of the Maid of Norway two years before had extinguished the royal house of Canmore and left the Scottish kingdom with an empty throne sought by more than a dozen claimants. Fearing civil war, the Guardians of the Realm of Scotland had reluctantly approached Edward of England to arbitrate among the various rivals.

It was an offer not without cost. Before he would agree, Edward Plantagenet had first demanded that the magnates of Scotland acknowledge his feudal superiority as Lord Paramount. Having obtained this concession under duress, he had then set out to make real his pretense by manipulating the Scottish succession to his own advantage.

Of the thirteen contenders, some four could be said to have a serious claim, and of those, only two had emerged as strong candidates: John Balliol of Barnard Castle and Robert Bruce of Annandale. But neither could obtain the crown except at the hand of the English king-and to accept it under his terms would be to accept English domination. So far, Edward had been content to use diplomatic subterfuge and the complexities of feudal law to delay a decision while he strengthened his hold over Scotland.

However, if these measures should ultimately fail to bring the Scottish monarchy under his control, there remained the threat of a full-scale invasion. One way or another, Edward meant to make himself overlord of Scotland. It remained to be seen if there was anything the Scottish people could do to retain their independence.

On a personal level, for Torquil himself, the fate of Scotland was a question made no easier by his present situation. In pledging himself to the Order of the Temple, he had in effect renounced all other earthly bonds of fealty. Nevertheless, he could not help but retain an interest in the affairs of his homeland. For the sake of the family and friends he had left behind, he could only hope that some agency of Providence might yet intercede to thwart Edward Plantagenet's territorial ambitions.

Even as that thought crossed his mind, he became abruptly aware of a change in the air. The still, stone-smelling atmosphere of the tower's interior seemed all at once quickened by a subtle stir. A curious expectancy niggled at his senses. In the same instant, he thought he felt something waft past him, unseen but palpable, like the brush of an invisible robe.

He eased to his feet, hand on the hilt of his sword, all his senses straining to catch some intimation of that pa.s.sing presence. It was like trying to apprehend a sound too pure for mere hearing to register-and yet he was aware of its resonance, like an echo of distant music. As he caught his breath to listen, he knew with a certainty stronger than mere faith that all was well: That whatever it was, neither he nor those he guarded had anything to fear while under the mantle of protection that the Presence cast over them by virtue of its coming. Though still vigilant for less celestial stirrings, he surrendered himself to a gladness that, for all its intensity, was as familiar as coming home, and was content to rest in speechless joy.

Up in the tower room, sunk to his knees on a cushion set before the altar table, Arnault likewise became aware of an immanent Presence, suddenly filling the room to overflowing. Gaspar and Father Bertrand had helped him don the requisite vestments over his white Templar habit: the tunic, the mantle, the priestly ephod upon his chest, its golden chains securing the Breastplate, with its twelve mystical stones.

Now, abruptly overwhelmed, closed fists pressed tight against his chest-and the Breastplate-Arnault would have prostrated himself, had not that Presence taken him in its embrace. The divine touch both ravished and harrowed him, piercing him to the heart with a flaming arrow of enlightenment. Consuming as refiner's fire, that flame ignited his mind and soul in a blaze of revelation.

In that instant, it seemed that he was surveying the whole of creation from the throne of heaven. All around him, far flung to the very limits of the cosmos, stretched a wondrous city of crystal and gold, whose myriad towers shimmered like jewels against a radiant firmament of stars. Far below, across a chasm of midnight air, lay the fallen earth, a sullen orb half swallowed in shadow. He would have given it up for lost, had he not seen that it was anch.o.r.ed yet to the throne by the thinnest of silver chains.