"From what I hear, it is a dangerous business to tempt Edward's wrath these days," Torquil said.

"With advancing years some men grow in wisdom," the bishop observed. "Others, however, grow in bitterness-and the fruit of that bitterness is all too often an unreasoning cruelty, all the more unbridled if it is wedded to power."

"Yet Edward now has nearly all that he wishes," Arnault said. "Surely there remains no need to vent any sort of rage."

Lamberton allowed himself a shrug and a bitter smile. "Given the ma.s.s surrenders and submissions of this past year, there are few candidates left for his revenge. Accordingly, those few who remain must suffer doubly for it-and young Oliphant, sadly, is one of the latter. Trapped inside Stirling Castle with only a few score of men, he has become the focus of all of the king's long-simmering frustration."

"So we are given to understand," Torquil said. "We have heard that Oliphant wished to send to John de Soules in France, to learn whether the Guardian would allow him to surrender. They say that he does not deem himself of sufficient authority to authorize surrender, since it was the Guardian who gave him Stirling, to hold for the crown and community of Scotland."

Lamberton lifted a ringed hand in impatient denial. "It was not allowed. Edward's patience is at an end.

He no longer has interest in negotiating any terms for surrender, however favorable they might be to him.

Since rumor has it that this is the last battle of the war, he has decided to use young Oliphant's honorable resistance as an excuse to try out all his new siege engines. Perhaps you have seen some of the results of these past weeks' work. The defenders cannot last much longer, I fear-and G.o.d help them all, when surrender eventually comes, as it must."

"War is ever a brutal business," Arnault said. "But surely Edward does not mean to take retribution beyond the brutality of the siege itself. Surely the rules of chivalry still apply."

"Perhaps you have not been to the English camp, as I have been," Lamberton said with a curl of his lip.

"But you both were at Berwick. The king's outbursts of savagery have spread fear among his own people, and this siege looks likely to end in a ma.s.sacre unless he can be restrained by some of the cooler and more chivalrous heads who surround him."

"If you have asked us here to avert such an outcome, I fear you will be disappointed," Torquil said.

"Tolerance is the best we can hope for from Edward, and no appeal for leniency from us will carry any weight."

The bishop turned his face toward the Rood cross, his face still and taut in the dimness. "May G.o.d forgive me if I say it is not the fate of the castle and its garrison that mainly concerns me, though I pray it will not come to the worst. It is what happens after that, for Scotland-whether this is, indeed, our final and irrevocable defeat, or whether something can yet be salvaged, even if it is no more than the tenuous flame of a single candle to relight the fire of freedom."

"There is one spark which still burns, however faintly," Arnault said.

Lamberton turned to look at him, well aware that Arnault referred to the Stone of Destiny, and how the Stone pertained to their present discourse. That King Edward had come to doubt the authenticity of the stone being held at Westminster was almost certainly a contributing cause for his vindictive malice against all remaining Scottish rebels in recent years.

Mere weeks after the battle of Falkirk, he had sent a band of knights to Scone again, with orders to strip it bare of any and all remaining treasures. They had found no trace of the true Stone, of course. But after Lamberton's return from his consecration in Rome the following year-which had been spent trying to recruit support for Scotland's cause-Arnault and Torquil had enlisted the new bishop in the service of the Stone, though they had withheld that vital connection of its mystical link with Wallace.

Now, clearly, Lamberton took Arnault's meaning regarding the symbolism of the Stone, but his head shook almost imperceptibly.

"What we need is not a symbol of kingship, but a man we can crown upon it."

His words came as some surprise, for Lamberton had long been a staunch ally of Wallace, and a firm supporter of John Balliol as king.

"John Balliol was crowned upon that Stone," Arnault said slowly. "Are you saying that you have abandoned his cause?"

"With some disquiet-yes, I have," the bishop admitted, looking away with a sigh. "With Balliol as our absent king, we have come to this: humiliation and surrender. And Balliol now has lain in exile in France for five years and more, too spineless to take back his throne, and has said he will never return. If we can find no more suitable ruler, then perhaps we should simply accept Edward as our liege lord and be done with it."

"Surely, that is not what you propose to do?" Torquil blurted out, appalled.

The bishop stayed him with a gesture. "Fear not, Brother Torquil, I am not yet come to that," he said.

"Oh, I will bow the knee to Edward for now, as I have done before, since that is a necessary strategy to gain time. But we can hardly strike back, can we, if all our leaders are dead, imprisoned, or in exile in France?"

"What of Wallace?" Arnault asked. "Have you spoken to him of this?"

Lamberton let out a heavy sigh. "I owe my episcopal see to Wallace-and there is no man more n.o.ble in all of Scotland, and none who loves this country more. Yet, we have come to such a pa.s.s that his best qualities now work against him-and Scotland."

"How so?" Torquil asked.

Lamberton clearly was ill at ease in discussing this topic, and toyed with his crucifix as he spoke.

"He will not abandon Balliol, no matter what. To him, the point of honor is a simple one: Balliol has been rightfully crowned king, and so he will remain, even unto death. Wallace cannot abandon that principle, nor can he feign obeisance to Edward-not even to buy the time we need to muster our strength once more."

"He would find no mercy from Edward, even if he did," Arnault pointed out. "Edward has made an official decree that there is to be no peace offered to Wallace unless he delivers himself utterly and unconditionally-into his will, not his mercy or his grace."

"He would be safer placing his head inside the mouth of a starved lion," Torquil muttered.

"Precisely," Lamberton agreed. "There is no safety for Wallace here, and yet he will not leave the country again, whatever the danger. John de Soules and others of our leaders-the Stewart, Umfraville-are not to be granted safe conducts to return from France until Wallace is given up- and worst of all, Edward has personally charged various of the earls and barons with Wallace's capture."

"Surely they will not agree to such an undertaking," Torquil said disgustedly.

Lamberton shrugged. "They must, to secure their lands from threat of seizure-and who can blame them?

Moreover, some of them say it is Wallace himself who has brought Edward's wrath down upon us, and that if he is delivered, Edward will leave Scotland in peace."

"If they truly believe that, then they deceive themselves," Arnault declared.

"Men with their own worldly interests at heart are ever their own dupes," Lamberton said. "However, the sum of all this is that we must have a leader and we must have a king. Above all they must be one and the same man, not a struggling Guardian and an absent, powerless figurehead."

The bishop's distress made clear how much it grieved him to speak thus of parting company with a man whom he so admired and to whom he owed so much. Arnault saw there was nothing to be gained from arguing the point, and he knew that Lamberton, as always, had Scotland's best interests at heart.

"What course is it, then, that you intend to pursue?" he asked.

"We must have a fresh candidate for the throne," Lamberton replied, "one who can do all that Balliol was incapable of doing and who, unlike Wallace, can claim the kingship by right. There is only one such man.

Comyn yet has designs upon the throne, but he is tainted with an evil I can scarce contemplate without feeling my flesh grow cold. He was the ruin of every effort at joint guardianship, and he will be the ruin of Scotland, if he is given the chance."

"You speak of Bruce, then," Torquil said.

It was offered quietly, but something in his tone caught the bishop's attention.

"That is more than an intelligent guess on your part," he said.

Torquil's hand had drifted to the hilt of the sword Bruce had given him, and he looked to Arnault, who nodded for him to continue.

"He is the senior Bruce heir, since his father's death two months ago," Torquil said.

"And?"

Torquil exhaled slowly, not taking his eyes from the bishop's. "When I encountered Bruce some years ago, on the very day of the battle of Falkirk, I had an intimation that he was destined to be king. Even though it might have been only a trick of the light as I beheld him, the more I pondered it, the more it seemed a true sign."

"I pray G.o.d that it was," Lamberton murmured.

"Even so," Torquil went on, "it makes me uneasy that Bruce submitted two years ago, and has served Edward ever since."

"It won him a bride and the promise of future allies in Ireland," Lamberton said. "And in that, he has done no more than the rest of us, for all that he did it sooner. Perhaps he merely saw, before we did, the futility of continuing to fight for Balliol's lost cause."

"You think, then, that he has been biding his time, waiting for the right occasion to make his move?"

Arnault suggested.

"That is how I read his mind," said the bishop. "It was only a matter of time before his father died and the way was cleared in that regard. In these past months, I have come to believe that if victory and freedom are ever to be ours, then we need a fresh vision of the future. It is my hope that Bruce may be able to provide that-and today I propose to put the question to the test."

He answered the Templar's questioning looks with an ironic smile. "I have invited him here today to meet with me secretly, so that I can determine whether or not we have a solid foundation of hope for the future."

"You intend to speak to him of the kingship, while he is yet in Edward's service?" Arnault asked, caution in his tone.

"I myself am in Edward's service," Lamberton pointed out, with a droll arch of one eyebrow. "I would have to look hard indeed to find more than a handful of men who are not.

What I seek is a remedy for that situation."

"Why have you asked us here?" Torquil asked.

"As you were quick to see, the situation is a delicate and difficult one," Lamberton admitted. "I judged it best to have neutral but sympathetic witnesses on hand, to seal whatever arrangement I can reach with Bruce. There is also the matter of the Stone of Destiny. While I place every trust in the word of Abbot Henry, I have it only by his report that the stone Edward stole is, indeed, a mere subst.i.tute. You, on the other hand, can confirm by your own witness that the true Stone is safely concealed, merely awaiting a king to be crowned upon it and claim its ancient authority."

The two Templars exchanged measuring glances. With Balliol abandoned, Bruce was, indeed, the only viable candidate-and a good one, if he could be persuaded to put Scotland's good before the mere advancement of his powerful family. But though Bruce had been discussed and cautiously approved by le Cercle, based on Torquil's insights, they had not expected Lamberton to endorse him quite so soon.

They had come here half expecting to discuss a plan to ensure the safety of the Stone, should Edward truly become King of the Scots at last; but instead, the bishop was displaying a sense of imagination and purpose that might yet rekindle the nation's fortunes.

"It is a bold step you are taking," Arnault said at last. "And perhaps the time is past for too much caution.

I will confess to certain. experiences which foretell a future king who might answer your prayers. His face, however, I have not seen, and I hesitate to give him a name. If you have judged Bruce rightly, then it may be that you have seen the way forward. We will certainly do what we can to facilitate your plan, if this seems to be what is intended."

Before Lamberton could respond, the door creaked open and one of the monks waved a signal to the bishop.

"Bruce has arrived," Lamberton said. "I need a few minutes to speak alone with him before I call upon your support. I ask you to conceal yourselves in the side chapel, where you will be hidden from view but still able to overhear us."

The pair nodded their brisk agreement and moved into an alcove to the right of the sanctuary. A few moments later the main door opened again to admit Robert Bruce.

Now a mature man of more than thirty years, a little younger than Torquil, the Earl of Carrick was plainly dressed and without escort, sword and dirk at his waist-and probably mailed beneath his robe-but outwardly unthreatening. As he strode down the aisle, his demeanor carried no hint of deference, either for the man he had come to see or for the holy place where they met. For all his boldness, however, his expression was one of curiosity as much as irritation.

"I hope you appreciate the risk I am taking, in agreeing to a clandestine meeting, my lord bishop, when King Edward is only a few miles distant and in a disagreeable mood," he said.

"Risk has become as much a part of our existence as drawing breath these days," Lamberton responded.

"Without it we can do nothing at all, unless we would live like creatures of the sea, forever mute and moving with the tide."

"Your tongue is as able as ever, but I am not here to admire your eloquence," Bruce said.

"Then, why are you here?" Lamberton countered.

"Surely that is for you to explain, since it was you who issued the cryptic invitation."

"You would not have responded unless you had some inkling of my purpose, Robert Bruce. While it may not be exactly the same as your own, the two coincide to a degree that cannot be ignored."

"What purpose of mine do you speak of?" Bruce asked defensively.

"To become king," Lamberton answered flatly.

Bruce's expression froze, and he eyed the bishop in stony silence.

"You are as unwilling to deny my a.s.sertion as you are to confirm it," Lamberton said. "But what lies in the heart cannot remain forever hidden, or it will wither away to nothing but the lost and bitter dream of an old man who pa.s.ses his final years cursing his own want of courage."

This bald statement caused Bruce to bristle. "I have no want of courage, I a.s.sure you of that!"

"Then, will you remain Edward's servant forever?" Lamberton asked.

"For as long as you, maybe!" came Bruce's hot retort.

Lamberton raised his hands in a placatory gesture. "Peace, my lord, I have not asked you here to quarrel with you. With your father's recent death, you are now a candidate for the throne in your own right. All hope of Balliol even being willing to act as a king is now lost, so it is time to look elsewhere. Would you agree with that?"

"Most heartily," Bruce replied. "But would you have me declare my desire for the throne when, just across the river, our liege lord Edward is preparing to roast men alive for far less presumption?"

"You have kept your intent hidden for long enough," Lamberton said evenly. "Do not let an excess of caution be your undoing."

"There is no shame in acting with caution and wisdom," Bruce said. "If I had followed Wallace's stiff-necked course, I would have lost my lands, my t.i.tles, and my family to become a fugitive running from cave to cave, fleeing Edward's men and my own people. One does not become king from a position of weakness, but of strength."

Lamberton lifted an eyebrow. "Is that what you think? Did not Balliol start from a position of strength?

He was king, by the will of Edward of England and the a.s.sent of the community of this realm, and still he lost it all. Is it not better to start with nothing, and to win the crown, than to begin with the crown and lose all, including honor itself?"

Bruce's brow darkened. "John Balliol's crown has been empty for some time. Nor do we even possess that symbol of that kingship. Edward took it, along with all of the other symbols of our sovereignty. It is no longer even possible for a man to be properly crowned King of Scots."

"In that you are mistaken," the bishop said mildly.

Pa.s.sion flared in Bruce's gray eyes, confirming that Lamberton had not misjudged the man. Ambition there certainly was, but also something more.

"The Stone of Destiny never left Scotland," Lamberton stated flatly. "What Edward has placed on display in Westminster Abbey is a worthless copy."

Bruce's gaze narrowed. "You know this to be true? You have seen it yourself?"

"In all honesty, I cannot say that I have," Lamberton confessed, "but I have witnesses here who will confirm what I have told you. Brothers, would you please join us?"

Arnault and Torquil emerged from the side chapel, white mantles almost aglow in the dim light. Bruce stiffened as he cast a suspicious eye over their Templar robes, but then he looked again at Torquil's face.

"You are familiar to me," he said uncertainly.

"On the morning of Falkirk, you gave me your horse- and a sword," Torquil confirmed, briefly holding his hand away from the hilt of the weapon. "You found me lying unconscious and, like the Good Samaritan, you came to my a.s.sistance."

"So I did," Bruce acknowledged with a nod. "And you did tell me then that you were a Templar." He paused a beat. "Has the sword served you well?"

"It has-and would serve you now, if you mean to fight for Scotland and her crown."