Then, abruptly, he was back in his body again, reeling with dizziness. Trying to push himself back up on his knees-for he had sunk back on his hunkers during the vision-he wobbled and then sat back onto the floor with a faint clashing of the mail beneath his robe. Luc at once turned to look at him, then sketched a sign of dismissal in the air before the entrance to the chapel and came to join him, setting a hand on his shoulder in concern as he crouched beside him.

Arnault took a deep breath and let it out gustily, shaking his head at Luc's look of inquiry and letting the older man help him to his feet.

"Well, that was an interesting exercise," he murmured. "If my vision was clear, then Torquil and Brother Mungo were right: Something is seriously wrong with the Stone. I had the sense that it can be made right-but I have no idea where we begin to find out how."

He swayed and almost stumbled. Not speaking, Luc took him by the arm and guided him to a seat on a stone bench set against the back wall of the little chapel, where Arnault haltingly described what he had seen.

"So the Stone is dead-or at least ailing," Arnault concluded, his eyes, like Luc's, fixed on the dark bulk of the Stone, "and the Canmore line has been extinguished. Could it be that someone has been interfering with the Stone and stirring up whatever power Briochan wielded, to thwart both missions?"

"Who could do that, or would want to?" Luc whispered. "Jay certainly doesn't fit those parameters."

"I shouldn't think so-but you know him better than I," Arnault said. "But if not Jay, then who? Some remnant, perhaps, of the cult that followed Briochan, back in Columba's time?"

"I suppose it's possible," Luc allowed. "This is an ancient land, with ancient G.o.ds, who did not bow willingly to Christ or to Columba."

"Precisely my point. And what if votaries of those old G.o.ds are now attempting to obliterate all that Columba achieved, including Scotland's Christian monarchy?"

"What, indeed?" Luc said. "And it's certainly possible that disturbing the bones of their patron might have drawn unwelcome attention to the Temple."

Arnault nodded grimly. "I'd thought of that. It could well be that what now unfolds in Scotland is bound up with the larger crisis looming over the Temple-and, indeed, the whole of civilization. We see the old order of things being disrupted at every turn, and a flood of random hazard let loose on the world. The loss of the Christian East was our first warning of that danger, and now the signs are everywhere. What nations and inst.i.tutions may rise out of this chaos, only the events of the next several years will tell. But you and I, and all the Inner Circle, will have to make our choices very carefully, if the Temple is to survive the fire and fulfill the role to which it is appointed by Providence."

"A sobering prospect," Luc agreed. "What do you propose we do?"

"For the immediate future, continue to watch and listen. In particular, Jay must be watched. My work here is mostly done for now, with the new King of Scots now crowned- though only time will tell what that is worth, given the condition of the Stone. I shall take counsel of our superiors when Torquil and I return to Paris."

"They must be aware of all of this," Luc agreed.

"There is one thing more," Arnault went on, after a slight hesitation. "Given Torquil's part in recent events, I intend to speak with Gaspar about him, There can be no doubt that the potentials you first noted have begun to surface, and to specific intent. He should be initiated. Unless Gaspar forbids it, I shall submit Torquil's name to le MaArtre."

Luc's brow furrowed, his gray eyes troubled. "Are you certain he's ready, my friend? You know what is required. If he is not sufficiently prepared-"

"I know what will happen," Arnault said steadily. "And I'm prepared to stake my life-or rather, his life-that he will come through it.

"We need him, Luc; and it appears that Scotland needs him as well."

Chapter Twelve.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, THE NEW KING OF SCOTS AND his party headed south for Edinburgh and the remaining guests at Scone Abbey began to disperse. The Templar contingent rode with them, providing a discreet rear guard for the royal party. Arnault and Torquil traveled in their company, intending to continue on with the English Templars as far as London; but when Arnault's horse took a bad fall in driving rain just outside Edinburgh, leaving Arnault with a badly bruised shoulder and arm-and temporarily unable to wield a sword-he decided to capitalize on the flexibility of his orders from Paris and to winter at the Scottish preceptory. While it would delay furthering Torquil's advancement until the spring, Luc rightly pointed out that it also afforded them an opportunity to observe, from closer hand, the beginning of John Balliol's reign-and Brian de Jay.

Not unexpectedly, the Master of Scotland was less than pleased at the prospect of having two more mouths to feed through the winter, not to mention two more horses, and clearly resented the ongoing presence of two "spies" from the Visitor of France-under his roof but not really under his command for the duration-but he could hardly insist that Arnault ride on when unfit to fight; and winter was already setting in with a vengeance. By the time the English Templars continued on to London, after several days'

delay at Balantrodoch to wait out an early winter storm, they carried with them, among routine reports and doc.u.ments intended for the Paris Temple, Jay's official report of John Balliol's invest.i.ture and also, coded in what appeared to be a routine report to the Paris treasury, a somewhat expanded account, prepared by Arnault and Luc, which would find its way to superiors of which the Master of Scotland was not aware.

In the ensuing four months of bitter cold and inactivity, no further incident touched the community at Balantrodoch that could be construed as uncanny; nor could subtle inquiry uncover any further clue as to the fate of the missing grave goods. Nonetheless, Arnault and Luc continued to harbor serious misgivings about the affinities and intentions of Brian de Jay, both esoteric and political. Both at Berwick and at Scone, Jay had taken every opportunity to ingratiate himself with Bishop Bek and other senior servants of the English crown a.s.signed to carry out King Edward's intentions in Scotland. Soon after their return to Balantrodoch, as it became apparent that Edward was not backing down from his ongoing goal to bring Scotland firmly under his control, Torquil pointed out how Jay's active support of this policy might eventually create a split within the ranks of the Templar Order.

In the meantime, signs of dissension were already beginning to reappear among the Scottish n.o.bility. John Balliol, against the advice of his more farsighted ministers, journeyed south to Newcastle shortly before Christmas, there to do homage to King Edward of England on the feast of Saint Stephen. In a contrasting show of independence, Robert Bruce of Annandale, the second of that name, renounced his position as Earl of Carrick rather than swear fealty to Balliol upon his return.

These ostentatiously evasive tactics on behalf of the Bruces only served to underline the limitations of Balliol's authority-a weakness that Arnault made no effort to disguise in the further report that he and Torquil made to the Visitor of France when they returned to Paris at the beginning of March.

The stranger elements of the Scottish situation Arnault reserved for the exclusive attention of Gaspar des Macquelines, delivered privily after their arrival, at a meeting deep in the bowels of the Paris treasury. At Arnault's suggestion, Torquil had been sent off to the preceptory at Prunay, a day's ride from Paris, on the pretext of delivering a letter from Gaspar to the provincial treasurer. The senior knight listened intently as Arnault acquainted him with all the new permutations of the information that he and Luc had a.s.sembled, together with their further speculations concerning same, though he made no emphasis of Torquil's part in the proceedings at that time.

"We can only conclude that someone, somehow, has contrived to eradicate the Canmore dynasty," he declared by way of a summation, "and our evidence points to black magic being the vehicle. We strongly suspect the involvement of a cult of apostates who want to set aside the Christian traditions of Saint Columba in favor of a return to paganism. We may be dealing with devotees of a particular adversary of Columba called Briochan. Luc is pressing on with the investigation. He'll send word to us here, as soon as there's anything further worth reporting."

"That could prove a dangerous job for one man on his own, even someone of Luc's capabilities," Gaspar said with a frown. "I'm surprised you didn't leave young Lennox behind to help him."

It was the opening Arnault had been waiting for, now that the groundwork had been laid.

"I thought about that," he said. "And Luc does have a good man there, who can be trusted in the ordinary things: another Scot, called Flannan Fraser. But I have an urgent request to make on behalf of Brother Torquil-and it wasn't something I dared delay or that I wanted to entrust to writing."

Gaspar only inclined his head, giving permission for Arnault to continue. With a slowly indrawn breath, Arnault prepared to take the plunge.

"You are well aware of my satisfaction with Brother Torquil's work on all levels," he said. "By now, you will have gathered that his contributions to our esoteric work have begun to take on significant dimensions. His vision regarding the death of Alexander III helped validate my own insights and suspicions regarding the death of the Maid of Norway. And his levelheaded handling of subsequent observations has only convinced me further that he shares in those affinities by which our Inner Circle is served.

"In view of this development, I should like to propose that he be received, without delay, into the ranks of le Cercle."

Gaspar raised one bushy eyebrow. "That is a singularly audacious request, my friend, quite apart from the risks to which you would subject him."

"I know that."

"Do you? Understand that I have never doubted this young man's potential-believe me, I have not-but when you and I last spoke, his inner talents were only just beginning to manifest. Would you really have me believe that he has achieved, in only a few short months, what normally takes years-if, indeed, it is even attainable?"

"He is still achieving-and that is a lifelong process for all of us-but, yes," Arnault said steadily. "What prompts my request is not only the speed with which he has progressed, but also the quality of that progression. I believe that this sudden blossoming of his mystical gifts has been divinely instigated in response to the crisis now facing us. That's the reason I brought him back with me-in the hope that you and le MaArtre would a.s.sent to his immediate initiation into our company."

This p.r.o.nouncement reduced Gaspar to thoughtful silence. When at last he spoke, his tone was carefully measured.

"Putting aside the danger to Brother Torquil-you do realize that what you're asking is wholly unprecedented?"

"So is our present situation," Arnault replied. "Did we, in our wisdom, ever foresee that the Order would be driven from the sh.o.r.es of Outremer? Did we ever foresee that we would one day find ourselves without a homeland? Who are we to refuse to change our ways, when everything else around us is in a state of flux?"

"We are the guardians of sacred tradition," Gaspar said. "It is upon those traditions that our strength depends."

"And what will become of those traditions, if the Order fails in its mission to rebuild the Temple?" Arnault countered. "We claim to be believers in signs and miracles. We presume to take guidance from sources that, if it were even suspected we had access to them, would instill such fear in those who do not comprehend, as could bring about our deaths and the end of our holy Order. If we accept the validity of a vision which instructs that the Temple should be rebuilt on Scottish soil, then surely we must admit the possibility that a native-born Scot might have been granted particular gifts for the sake of accomplishing this task."

Seeing his superior still silent, Arnault persisted.

"At least consider my request, Gaspar. I am not asking this as an overly fond parent pleading a favor on behalf of a precocious child. I am asking because I am convinced that Torquil has a part to play in this work, which cannot be fully realized until he knows consciously what is at stake. Will you at least speak to MaArtre Jean?"

Gaspar shifted in his chair, troubled eyes searching Arnault's. "You know what the initiation entails. If your young protg isn't ready-if you've misread the situation-"

"I'm aware of what could happen," Arnault said. "But I'm sure he won't fail."

"A visionary p.r.o.nouncement?"

"No, a statement of faith. Have any of us any more to go on, in the work we have undertaken?"

"No," Gaspar said softly.

"Then, will you speak to MaArtre Jean?" Arnault asked again.

"Very well, since you ask it in faith," Gaspar said heavily. "But I hope none of us will have cause to regret this."

It was well after dark when Torquil returned from his excursion to Prunay, weary and chilled to the bone.

He had scarcely finished stabling his horse when a serjeant approached him with a message that Arnault wished a word with him. The message directed him to report immediately to one of the upper chambers of the treasury tower. Sighing inwardly, for he had not eaten since midday, Torquil dismissed the serjeant with a word of thanks and went off to answer the summons.

The designated chamber occupied one of the turrets on the northwest rampart of the citadel. Using the watchwords supplied by Arnault before his departure that morning, for the treasury tower was guarded even within the Temple complex, Torquil made his way past several intermediary guard posts and eventually arrived before the appointed door, where he slipped his dagger from his belt and gave the door's lock a brisk double rap with the pommel. At the m.u.f.fled word of query from within, he announced himself and sheathed the dagger as he waited for the door to open.

It was Arnault who admitted him, stepping back with a nod and a gesture to enter. He looked uncharacteristically sober, making Torquil wonder whether he had done anything to displease.

"Please come in," Arnault said quietly. "There is someone I wish you to meet."

As Torquil shifted past him, his mentor shot the bolt to secure the chamber from within. Out of the corner of his eye, the young Scot noticed that Arnault made a curious gesture with his right hand before taking charge to guide him farther into the room.

Seated behind a cluttered writing table before the far wall was a venerable figure of a man whom Torquil had never seen before. His snow-white hair and beard glistened like h.o.a.rfrost against the pristine whiteness of his robes as he looked up, laying aside a quill pen, his patrician features sternly delineated in the lamplight. The impact of his dark gaze arrested Torquil in his tracks, as if he had come up against an invisible wall.

"MaArtre Jean, this is Brother Torquil Lennox, of whom we have spoken," Arnault said, on a note of quiet deference. "You have heard my account of his merits. It now remains for you to examine him, and judge for yourself whether or not he is fit to receive further instruction."

The man Arnault had addressed as Master gave only the slightest inclination of his frost-white head by way of acknowledgment. His dark eyes remained locked on Torquil's. At the same time, the irresistible force of their regard seemed to strip his subject's spirit bare of all defenses, imparting a fleeting impression of being naked and unarmed as a prisoner in a hostile camp.

One startled, gibbering part of Torquil yearned to run and hide, but honor and his own inherent courage demanded that he stand his ground, no matter his personal fear. Though that fear persisted, the Master's gaze held him and continued to probe, imparting the certainty that every petty sin and secret failing was being exposed and examined with the relentless focus of a surgeon exploring a deep-seated wound. A faint gasp escaped Torquil's lips, and a part of him flinched from the scrutiny, but it never even occurred to him to plead for mercy.

This silent probing seemed to last for an eternity. Then, abruptly, the Master's gaze released him. Torquil swayed briefly on his feet, blinking with astonishment as he realized that whatever had happened was over. As he steadied himself, MaArtre Jean transferred his attention to Arnault, speaking aloud for the first time.

"I commend your discernment, Brother Arnault: You see with clear vision. But the outcome of any final decision must rest with an authority greater than mine."

His dark gaze shifted back to the younger knight. "Brother Torquil, on the strength of Brother Arnault's commendation, I propose to reveal to you certain knowledge that is not shared with the rest of our brethren. Should you ever betray the trust that admits you to this knowledge, the price will be more terrible than you can possibly contemplate." He paused for just a beat. "Do you wish me to proceed?"

Still focused utterly on the mysterious and somewhat daunting Master, Torquil yet was peripherally aware of Arnault, standing silent at his side. Suddenly missing, however, was the sense of constant and rea.s.suring rapport that he only now realized had been part of his mentor's presence almost from the beginning. That bolstering rapport had become so natural to him, during the two years of their partnership, that its absence made him feel suddenly abandoned.

But that feeling of abandonment yielded almost at once to the intuitive certainty that it was only temporary: that Arnault had withdrawn whatever spiritual bond they shared only to leave him greater freedom to make his own choices-and that his mentor trusted him enough to be finally revealing some glimpse of the secret work to which he sometimes had made veiled references, but about which Torquil had never dared to ask.

This realization brought with it a strange sense of detachment, of being curiously at peace. Now that the tension of the Master's first scrutiny was behind him, Torquil's awareness seemed to have settled at a point above and beyond the reach of fear or even apprehension, so that whatever might happen next, it was as if that higher part of himself had already perceived and accepted the outcome.

He became aware that MaArtre Jean was still awaiting his response, and found his voice only after swallowing with difficulty.

"Yes, sir," he said huskily. "I do wish you to proceed."

The elder knight accepted this declaration with a grave nod.

"Glad am I to hear it-and I a.s.sure you, on my immortal soul and my hopes of the life to come, that this knowledge and the service I would ask of you are of the Light. However, I must also caution you that even His Holiness the Pope could not save you, were you to reveal it beyond the sacred circle to which we propose to offer you access. If you are willing to accept both the burden and the joy of this knowledge, I will require your solemn oath upon a holy relic more sacred than you can imagine-and that oath will be tested by a trial certain to cause your death, if you swear not with all your heart and soul and mind, without reservation or equivocation. Are you prepared to abide by these conditions?"

The Master's words suggested secrets far beyond anything Torquil might have conceived on his own. Yet it occurred to him, in a pa.s.sing flash, that he had already seen remote glimmerings of such secrets reflected in some of Arnault's own deeds and words. He could recall any number of times in the past when the other's behavior had suggested an adherence to some mysterious higher purpose, which eluded the understanding or even the awareness of those around him.

To share in that work would be to repay, if only in part, the debt of grat.i.tude he felt for Arnault's friendship and teaching-and to join him in the great work to which both he and the mysterious MaArtre Jean clearly were dedicated-work that clearly went far beyond the work he himself initially had set out to do when he joined the Temple, defending the faith in the Holy Land. Also in mind was the steadfast certainty that Arnault would not have exposed him to the danger of an ordeal likely to kill him, if he were not equipped to survive it.

"I am prepared," he said aloud.

"I rejoice in your acceptance," MaArtre Jean said mildly. "Had you declined, even your knowledge of this offer would have required that Brother Arnault take your life to ensure your silence."

A firm hand came to rest on Torquil's left shoulder from behind, but he half turned his head to the right, where Arnault stood, not flinching from the caress of steel laid across his throat as his gaze flicked briefly downward to a glimpse of Arnault's fist closed around the hilt of a dagger. No fear remained as he lifted his gaze to his mentor's.

"Do what you must, but there is no need for that," he said with utter conviction. "Your secrets will be safe with me."

MaArtre Jean nodded, and Arnault withdrew the blade. Though the latter gave no outward sign of emotion, Torquil had the distinct impression of relief. But before he could refine that impression, the Master's voice recalled his attention.

"Your peril is not past, Brother Torquil. On the contrary, it is only just beginning. Now I must take you to another place for a final testing. This test may not be refused. From this point onward, any resistance on your part will cost you your life."

Torquil's gaze again sought Arnault's.

"I am entirely in your hands-and in G.o.d's," he said quietly.

And knew that it was true. If anyone else but Arnault had placed him in such a situation, he would have fought to the death rather than submit. But he and Arnault had faced many dangers side by side, and he owed the older knight his life many times over. It would take more than anything the mysterious MaArtre Jean might say or do to break the trust that lay between them.

The Master rose from his chair. Arming himself with a lamp, he turned to open a door to the right behind him. The door gave access to a narrow spiral stairway, plunging into a well of shadows below. Starting downward, he did not look to see whether Arnault and Torquil followed.

"Your silence is required from this moment onward," Torquil heard his mentor murmur, as a tug at his elbow urged him forward. "All will be made clear in the fullness of time."

Lit by the Master's light, the three of them descended the steps in single file. The stair took them four flights down, well below ground level, ending at a stout oak door banded with iron. This MaArtre Jean unlocked with one of a set of keys that he carried on a ring attached to his belt. Entering behind the Master, Torquil found himself in a barrel-vaulted chamber with the dimensions and decor of a small, stark chapel.

Against the east end of the room stood a red marble table arrayed with pristine altar linens, with a large crucifix above it and a frontal cloth depicting the scarlet cross of the Order, with its eight points for the eight Beat.i.tudes. Bronze lamp stands stood at either end. Built into the wall to the left of the altar were two aumbries of unusual size, both with substantial-looking locks-more like safes than like cupboards intended to house the usual Ma.s.s vessels a.s.sociated with such a chapel.

Torquil gave them a curious glance, wondering what lay inside, as MaArtre Jean set his lamp on one of the stands and wordlessly directed Arnault to secure the door behind them. The Master then produced from under his habit a neck chain dangling three finely wrought silver keys. One of these he used to unlock the left-hand cupboard.

The cupboard yielded up a pair of silver candlesticks, an incense boat, and a thurible charged with charcoal, which he placed upon the altar with the candles bracketing the thurible. Arnault, meanwhile, had come to join him, and used a taper to light the candles and the charcoal from the flame of the lamp.

As the shadows receded amid a fragrant waft of incense smoke, the Master used a second key to unlock the second of the aumbries, from which he brought out a stoppered flask of alabaster and a miniature silver chalice.

These he carried over to the altar, placing them reverently in the center before sinking to his knees, hands joined as his head bowed in prayer. As Arnault did the same, Torquil followed their example. He could hear the Master softly start to speak, though none of the words were quite distinct-and Arnault offering murmured responses-but Torquil somehow understood that the pair were offering up prayers for purity and enlightenment, and turned his own thoughts to the same, also commending himself to the protection of Divine Providence.

When the two had completed their litany, both signed themselves with the cross. His heartbeat quickening, Torquil copied the gesture. A moment later, the two rose and turned to face him. Arnault signaled Torquil to rise as well.

"In the Holy Scriptures it is written," the Master said, "that the priest shall hold in his hand the bitter water, the water of contention which brings forth the truth. The moment of that truth is now upon you, Brother Torquil Lennox. I charge you now to prepare yourself to taste of the bitter water. It is the trial which separates truth from falsehood, as by a two-edged sword; and that sword shall smite the faithless and those found unworthy, who fear to open utterly to G.o.d's outpouring of grace. Do you, of your own free will, accept this challenge?"

Far from sparking any fear, the Master's words dispelled any remaining apprehension in Torquil's mind, leaving him calm and clearheaded.

"I accept it willingly," he said softly. "May G.o.d Himself bear witness to my choice, for I am His."

"So be it," the Master replied. "Come forward now, before His altar."

As Torquil obeyed, the Master picked up the flask and drew the stopper, turning then to Arnault, who lifted the tiny chalice and held it steady as the elder knight tipped a measure of clear fluid into the cup.

With another murmured prayer, the Master sketched an intricate sign above the mouth of the chalice. The first part looked like a cross, but Torquil could not identify the rest.