Knights Templar - Temple And The Crown Part 12

"The fate of the rebellion stands or falls by you," Torquil replied. "If you do not put yourself out of harm's way while we try to regroup, all that has been sacri?ced so far will have been in vain." He leaned closer to Bruce.

"Do you think I don't know what it is to make a hard choice?" he asked softly. "During the ?nal defense of Acre, some of us were obliged to abandon the city and our brethren, in order to carry to safety the treasures that the Order holds in trust. To remain faithful to our duty, we had to live when we would more gladly have died. Now you are being asked to do the same."

Bruce's face was a mask of warring emotions.

"Very well," he said at last, with obvious reluctance. "I will retire to Iona-but only for as long as it takes to seek out the source of this evil and devise a means to combat it."

Torquil nodded his a.s.sent, more relieved than he could say. A chill breeze stirred the surrounding foliage, and he saw the king's shoulders brace against the nip in the air.

"Will you take my cloak, Sire?" he offered.

Bruce smiled crookedly, but shook his head.

"I think not, my friend, though I thank you for that generous offer. I wouldn't sleep easy, knowing you were cold."

"Then, perhaps you'll be guided by the example of the good Saint Martin," Torquil replied, removing his cloak anyway. "We can divide the use of it between us for the watches of the night. I'll take the ?rst watch-so it's your turn to sleep ?rst, with the cloak."

Shaking his head in resignation, too tired to argue, Bruce let Torquil lay the cloak around his shoulders, hugging it around his knees and resting his chin on his folded arms. He was fast asleep when Torquil came back to check on him a few minutes later.

Chapter Twelve.

September, 1306.

"I WANT TO KNOW WHERE YOUR BROTHER IS," THE EARL OF Pembroke demanded of the battered ?gure who stood before him in chains. "Has he ?ed with the women?"

The prisoner lifted his chin de?antly. One eye was swollen half-shut, and his face and limbs were purpled with bruises incurred during capture, but Neil Bruce was unbowed.

"If your own spies can't sniff him out, that's your loss," he said. "Treachery may have got you Kildrummy, but that's all you'll get from me."

After ?eeing Dail Righ, he had led Bruce's queen and her escort to Kildrummy Castle unchallenged.

Shortly thereafter, however, the garrison received word that an English army was approaching under the joint command of Pembroke and the Prince of Wales. Desperate, Neil Bruce had sent his sister-in-law and the other royal women off to sanctuary at the shrine of Saint Duthac at Tain, on the extreme north coast of Scotland, under the protection of the Earl of Atholl. The king's brother and the remaining members of the garrison had then set about strengthening the keep's defenses, hoping to occupy the enemy's attentions while the queen's party escaped to safety.

But that plan had been undermined by treachery. Two weeks into the siege that followed, one of the castle's treasonous inmates had set ?re to the grain stores. The blaze had raged unchecked through the castle vaults, ?lling the air with choking clouds of smoke. Threatened with ma.s.s suffocation, Neil Bruce and his fellow rebels had been forced to surrender.

The Prince of Wales had left it to Pembroke to interrogate the prisoners-most particularly, the young brother of the upstart Robert Bruce. To a.s.sist him, the earl had called upon the skills of several of his subordinates, including Bartholeme de Challon. Pembroke did not like the handsome Frenchman, but he was prepared to waive his personal antipathy because of the man's usefulness. In addition to being a shrewd tactician on the battle?eld, de Challon possessed a formidable apt.i.tude for intimidation. His dwarf, it was said, surpa.s.sed even de Challon himself, when it came to subtleties of torture and ways to prolong the agonies of execution. Thus far, however, very little information had been extracted from Bruce's brother.

"I warn you, Neil Bruce," Pembroke said sternly, "I have been given leave to use every means at my disposal to bring your upstart brother to justice. Every means," he repeated for emphasis. "You will be spared nothing if you refuse to cooperate. I draw your recollection to the fate of William Wallace."

Neil Bruce's jaw tightened, but he favored his questioners with a de?ant glare and a shake of his head.

"You can threaten me with whatever you wish, but I can't tell you what I don't know."

Pembroke wheeled away with a snort of disgust. Bartholeme, observing coolly, folded his arms across his chest and strolled closer to the earl.

"He may well be telling the truth, my lord," Bartholeme offered. "The other prisoners we've questioned attest that Robert Bruce did not accompany his wife here. As far as I can determine, there has been no communication between them since they parted company at Dail Righ."

"Then where are the women now?" Pembroke demanded. "He must know that! He knows where he told them to go. Did they leave here intending to meet up with Bruce at some designated rendezvous point?

Or are they attempting to ?ee the country?"

"There are strong intimations that they set out north," Bartholeme said. "But that is all I have been able to gather so far."

With a snort of disgust, Pembroke signaled his guards to remove the prisoner. As they hustled Neil Bruce from the hall, the earl's secretary entered from a side door.

"The last of the ?re has been completely extinguished, my lord," he reported. "Sir Henry Percy advises that it is now safe for you to inspect the premises."

Still muttering, Pembroke led his entourage outside. Percy was waiting for them in the courtyard, where the reek of burning still hung heavy in the air as he conducted the party on a tour of the battlements and outbuildings. As they came abreast of the stables, a burly ?gure in a leather ap.r.o.n stepped out of the shadows of a stable arch, cap in hand.

"A word, m'lord."

Pembroke eyed the man coolly.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Osborne the blacksmith, yer lords.h.i.+p," the big man announced, a tri?e belligerently. "I'll be claiming my reward now."

"Reward?" Pembroke repeated. "What reward?"

"This is the man who claims to have set ?re to the granaries," Sir Henry Percy supplied in an undertone.

"I was told that the man wha' delivered the castle into yer hands would be handsomely paid in gold," the blacksmith said.

Sir William Latimer, Pembroke's lieutenant, eyed the man with fastidious distaste. "Thirty pieces of silver, I should say, would be a more ?tting recompense for your services."

The blacksmith's mouth hardened in his scraggly brown beard. "The offer was for as much gold as a man could carry," he insisted.

"I would be more open to persuasion," Pembroke replied, "had we captured something more valuable than a set of stone walls. As it is, the real prize has eluded us."

"By your leave, my lord," Bartholeme interposed smoothly. "It is true that Bruce temporarily has eluded us. However, he is not the only prize to be had."

Before the blacksmith could jerk back, the Frenchman's hand shot out to snag the cord of what proved to be a small leather bag around the big man's neck, hitherto hidden under his s.h.i.+rt. When the blacksmith tried to s.n.a.t.c.h it back, the bag gave off a metallic clink. Bartholeme gave it a sharp yank, breaking the cord, then upended it over his palm, tumbling out a glittering tangle of earrings and brooches.

"A great lady seems to have made you a present of her jewelry," he noted with a chilly smile. "Or perhaps it was intended as a queen's ransom," he added, capturing the smith's gaze as he extended the handful of gold for Pembroke's perusal.

As the blacksmith's mouth opened and closed several times, his eyes round, Pembroke probed at the tangle of items with a gloved fore?nger and turned over an egg-sized gold pendant engraved with a heraldic achievement.

"Interesting," he said coldly. "These would be, I believe, de Burgo arms-the arms of the earls of Ulster."

"Precisely." Bartholeme kept his gaze ?xed on the gaping blacksmith, weighing the gold in his hand. "One ventures to speculate that the lady in question might have been the present Earl of Ulster's daughter, the Lady Elizabeth, who is wife to the traitor Bruce. What of it, blacksmith? You must have done her a valuable service. Perhaps you even acted as her guide on the ?rst stage of her journey."

The blacksmith's beefy face had gone as pale as suet. "No, m'lord, I-I never- She left them behind! I-I found the wee baubles in th' stables, after they'd gone."

"Did you, indeed?" Pembroke said mildly. The blacksmith now was visibly quaking, twisting his cap into an unrecognizable wad. "Tell me where the Lady Elizabeth was bound, and perhaps I'll let you keep your miserable skin."

"I dinna ken!" the blacksmith blurted. "She didna say. Nae one said." Seeing Pembroke's face harden, he fell to his knees.

"Please, m'lord, hae mercy," he begged. "Dinna forget that if it werena for me, you wouldna now be here, inside this castle!"

"True enough," Pembroke said, "-and your greed sickens me. You are like a carrion crow hovering over a battle?eld, eager to pick the bones on both sides!"

"No, m'lord! It isna true! I hae always been loyal-"

"You have a miser's heart and a liar's tongue," Pembroke retorted, "and for that, you shall have ample recompense." His expression did not change as he glanced at Bartholeme. "My lord, be so good as to arrange for those trinkets to be melted down in the smith's own forge. Then see that this wretch receives all the gold he can carry-by swallowing it!"

"No!" the man shrieked, as guardsmen seized him from either side and the enormity of his fate registered.

"No, ye cannae.!"

Closing his hand over the ?stful of gold and smiling faintly, Bartholeme merely bowed in acknowledgment of the order as the guards dragged the blacksmith away, howling and struggling, and Pembroke and his party departed. Before going to inspect the castle forge, Bartholeme sent a servant to fetch Mercurius.

"Stoke the ?re in the forge," he ordered when the dwarf arrived, handing over all except the pendant.

"But before we deal with yon greedy blacksmith, I want to see if there's more to be learned from these morsels of gold than the ident.i.ty of their previous owner."

"Aye, Master," the dwarf murmured, hefting the handful of jewelry. "The English earl devised this fate for the blacksmith?" His grin broadened at Bartholeme's curt nod. "Then he is learning well."

As he turned away to tend the forge, chuckling gleefully, Bartholeme retired to a corner of the smithy, ?ngering the pendant, and seated himself on an upturned bucket. He cupped the pendant between his palms and closed his eyes as he quickly s.h.i.+elded himself with a charm of warding, then focused his perceptions on the pendant, concentrating on making himself at one with the woman he was seeking.

Very shortly, he opened his eyes to ?nd Mercurius standing over him, stripped to the waist and dripping with sweat.

"The forge is ready, Master," the dwarf announced. "The gold is beginning to liquefy."

Smiling grimly, Bartholeme rose and handed over the pendant.

"Add this, then. It has served its purpose."

It took six strong men to hold the blacksmith while a seventh-the dwarf-poured the draught of molten gold down his throat. Somewhat surprisingly, they discovered that the receptacle held far less gold than expected; and retrieving it proved decidedly distasteful. But Bartholeme stayed until all was quiet again and the corpse had been removed, only then going to Pembroke to report.

"The deed is done, my lord," he informed the earl, "and I've had an inspired thought. It occurs to me that the Bruce women might well be making for Orkney. One of his sisters is queen in Norway, which is but a short distance from there-and she would give them sanctuary. "

"Quite true," Pembroke agreed, after considering. "I confess, that would be my choice. But we'll have to move quickly, if we're to overtake them."

"They will have gone by way of Inverness, I think," Bartholeme offered, knowing that they had. "Then north along the Firth of Cromarty toward Tain and beyond. In fact, they might well seek sanctuary there at Tain."

"You know our geography well, my lord," Pembroke said. "Those are the domains of William, Earl of Ross. I confess I've had doubts, of late, about his enthusiasm for our cause-but this presents an excellent opportunity for him to prove his good faith. If he can run Bruce's vixens to earth, we can use them as hostages to bring their lord to heel."

"The women won't lead you to the Stone of Destiny," Mercurius observed later, when the victors had dispersed to consolidate their gains.

"No," Bartholeme agreed, "but Bruce will. The Lady Elizabeth's pendant was useful, on several counts, but we also have something belonging to Bruce himself. Or rather, Lorn has it."

"The brooch Bruce lost at Dail Righ?" Mercurius guessed, then shook his head. "He won't want to give it up. He regards it as a personal trophy."

"We only require the loan of it," Bartholeme said. "Do you know where he is, at present?"

"Out on patrol, helping round up any stray rebels who might have slipped through the net."

"Then perhaps we'll ride out and join him," Bartholeme replied. "This castle is far too busy for what I have in mind. Have horses saddled, and I'll join you shortly."

A swath of burnt ?elds and razed cottages marked the path Lorn and his retinue had taken through the surrounding countryside. Bartholeme and his servant came upon them in the act of dismantling a water mill on the outskirts of an abandoned village. As they had hoped, Lorn was wearing the brooch ripped from Bruce's shoulder at Dail Righ. A handspan across, with large pearls studded around a large central boss of polished crystal, it seemed to glow in the sunlight.

"A word, when you're ?nished," Bartholeme told him, with a meaningful glance.

He and Mercurius withdrew to the burnt-out ruins of the village chapel, where Lorn soon joined them.

The Scot greeted Bartholeme's proposal with wol?sh interest, the while ?ngering Bruce's brooch.

"You can have the loan of it, then," he said. "But only if I can be present."

Bartholeme sized him up with a long look. By the fastidious standards of the French court, John Macdougall of Lorn was uncouth and unpolished, but he had exhibited enthusiasm and inventiveness in the months since his initial introduction to the black arts. It would do no harm to test his obedience-and his nerve.

"Very well," he agreed. "You may a.s.sist me. On our way here, we pa.s.sed a herd of pigs running loose in the woods. Among them was a yearling boar. I want you to ?nd it and kill it. Then drain its blood and bring that to me, along with the creature's head."

Lorn gave him a lazy, hard-eyed grin, then turned on his heel and strode briskly from the chapel.

Dusk was lowering when Lorn returned. Bartholeme met him at the door, stepping aside with a silent nod when Lorn held up two leather sacks, one of which was taut with ?uid.

Certain preparations had been made in his absence. After clearing the altar with a sweep of his mailed arm, Bartholeme had instructed his dwarf to a.s.semble various accoutrements. Torches now burned at the four corners of the chapel's sanctuary, and a sibilant resonance of words better left unspoken seemed to linger on the close air, along with the stench of urine and ashes. The cruci?x on the wall behind the altar had been reversed. Lorn saw it, and his nostrils twitched as he handed over what he had brought, but he said nothing.

"Were you seen?" Bartholeme asked.

"No."

"Good. These will enable us to complete our preparations. Use the blood to wash down the altar-if, that is, you still are willing to a.s.sist me."

"And if I were not willing?" Lorn said, resuming his hard-eyed smile.

"At this point, if you were not willing," Bartholeme said mildly, his smile matching Lorn's, "Mercurius already would have put his throwing knife into your heart." He jutted his chin toward the shadowed doorway of the former sacristy, where torchlight glinted from a bright blade in the hand of the dwarf, who was lowering an arm c.o.c.ked to throw. Smiling an almost-disappointed smile of his own, Mercurius returned the clipped bow given him by Lorn and made the dagger disappear.

He and his master watched without comment as Lorn briskly mounted the three steps to the altar and poured the bag of blood over it, at Bartholeme's direction using the empty bag to smear the blood evenly over the surface. Throughout, the lips of both Frenchmen whispered in mute invocation, which became audible as Bartholeme gestured for both his acolytes to ?ank him.

From the second sack, Bartholeme himself then took the b.l.o.o.d.y boar's head and lifted it high, turning widders.h.i.+ns to present it ?rst to the north and then to each of the remaining quarters in turn. His chant was low and sibilant, and ended with a barbaric cry as he set it on the b.l.o.o.d.y altar in offering.

"Terribilis est locus iste!" he declared, s.h.i.+fting into Latin. "Altaris Luciferi est, Princeps Tenebrae."

Terrible is this place. It is the altar of Lucifer, Prince of Darkness, whose presence we now invoke to aid us.

Eyes agleam in the torchlight, Bartholeme turned to Lorn and outthrust his b.l.o.o.d.y left hand, palm up, with a speaking glance at Bruce's brooch. Lorn's ?ngers trembled only slightly as he unpinned it from his shoulder and set it in the Frenchman's hand.

Smiling faintly, Bartholeme folded back the barb of the clasp and jabbed it hard into the ?eshy pad of his right index ?nger. In the torchlight, as he smeared his b.l.o.o.d.y ?nger over the center stone, it took on the sickly opacity of an eye occluded by cataract.

"Hear me, Lucifer, Light-Bearer!" he declared, casting his glance at the boar's head. "I seek Robert Bruce, whom some call the Chosen One, heir to the Stone of Jacob. Through this sacri?ce of my blood as an oblation, let the eyes of my mind be opened to the presence of him whom I seek. Let his spirit be revealed to me, wherever it may be!"