Knights Templar - Temple And The Crown Part 27

A ?icker of reluctance pa.s.sed over Christoph's handsome face.

"The High Priest's Breastplate."

The words rang leaden, like a funeral bell, lodging in a queasy knot in Arnault's gut. Of all the Treasures possessed by the Temple, the Breastplate was one of the most precious, especially in their present circ.u.mstances, for it was the essential mystical counterpart to the Stone of Destiny. Without it, how could they hope to secure the foundations for the Fifth Temple?

"We don't yet know that it's de?nitely lost," Arnault found himself saying, though without much conviction.

"Who brought the news that makes you think Gaspar was captured?"

Christoph nodded toward Flannan Fraser.

"Flannan?" Arnault said, hopeful but dreading a response.

Flannan opened his eyes, but his gaze drifted to a patch of damp where the far wall met the ceiling.

"Each of us had devised a separate escape route," he said dully. "Gaspar planned to make for La Legue, on the north coast of Brittany. We had arranged that I should meet him there with one of our galleys, but a week went by-and then two-and he didna come."

He closed his eyes again as he went on, pain broadening his Scottish accent.

"I couldna wait forever. By late October, two French wars.h.i.+ps had started snif?n' round, so I had to sail or risk capture myself. Through the winter, I had the crew land me at different places on the coast of Brittany, in hopes I might pick up some trace of him-but I never did. And I nearly got caught myself, the last time I tried-which is how I got my shoulder hurt.

"I did have separate inquiries made at the places where other Templars are being held," he added, ?nally glancing at Arnault, "but there's nae sign of him. Which means that he's likely killed, rather than captured."

"It also means," Christoph said, when Flannan did not continue, "that the Breastplate may have fallen into the hands of our enemies."

Silence followed this declaration. The Templars looked thunderstruck, to a man. It was Ninian who ?nally spoke.

"There may be a way to at least ?nd out."

All eyes turned toward the Columban brother as he left Flannan and came over to the table.

"The Breastplate is linked to the Stone of Destiny, yes?" Ninian said, standing with a hand on Arnault's shoulder.

"Of course."

"And though we do not have the Breastplate, we do have the Stone."

All of the Templars exchanged puzzled glances as they nodded.

"It is also, true-is it not?-that a mystical bond will have been forged between the Stone and those who presided at Bruce's enthronement upon it," Ninian went on. "Of those present both then and now, besides myself, that would be Bishop Matthew and Brothers Arnault, Torquil, and Luc. And Brother Gaspar was present, as well."

Those named glanced uncertainly among themselves.

"Brother Ninian," Christoph said softly, "what are you suggesting?"

With a faint smile, Ninian swept his arm in a gesture for all of them to rise.

"I think it might be best if all of us adjourned to the premises of the Stone. I shall explain when we are there," he added, holding up a hand to silence the questions that started to erupt. "Brother Matthew, perhaps you would go ?rst, to make certain the way is clear. We shall follow in twos and threes."

A quarter hour later, all of them had made their way to the narrow crypt beneath the cathedral, converging on a small chapel beneath the east end, where the Stone now resided. The air was redolent with the scent of cinnamon, sandalwood, and the beeswax of the candles some of the brethren were lighting in the trefoil sconces set along the walls. Once again, the junior Aubrey was set to keep watch at the door.

The Stone itself lay beneath an altar made of wood, set over it like an overturned box and dressed with fair linens, silver candlesticks, and a cross carved with Celtic interlace. These Ninian bade them remove before directing four of the Templars to lift away the altar sh.e.l.l and move it into the undercroft, exposing the Stone to their view.

Not speaking, Brother Ninian knelt beside the Stone and lightly laid his hand upon it, head bowed for several sec onds, then rose and glanced around him.

"Brother Arnault, would you please sit on the Stone?"

The presumption took Arnault aback.

"I dare not. That is not my place," he began.

"It is the place of him who serves the Stone and its king," Ninian said calmly. "Such a man must dare, if he would work with the Stone to search for Brother Gaspar, wherever he may be, among the living or the dead. If the latter, you will need its power and protection."

Arnault felt his pulsebeat booming in his ears, making him feel a little light-headed as he glanced among the others, but not even Bishop Crambeth appeared to doubt that the request must be honored. The Bishop of Dunkeld, though neither of le Cercle nor even of the Temple, was proving to be a man of steady nerve and no little faith.

Not speaking, Arnault unbuckled his sword and handed it to Torquil, who wrapped its belt around the scabbard before laying it aside behind them. He drew a fortifying breath and let it out before seating himself gingerly upon the Stone, where Bruce had sat. Lightning did not smite him, and the Stone did not strike him dead.

Relieved, he took another deep breath, though he could not say he was as con?dent as he might have been, had he known what to expect. But he trusted the Columban implicitly-which was a good thing, because Ninian seemed to be inventing this as they went along.

At Ninian's direction, Bishop Crambeth came to stand behind him, providing a back to lean against, steadying hands set on his shoulders. Torquil and Luc came to stand to either side-for all three had been present on that night, in addition to Arnault and the missing Gaspar. Arnault could fathom the reasoning behind the arrangement, and that was rea.s.suring. Ninian was rummaging for something in a waist pouch as the rest came to kneel around the Stone in a semicircle, expectant faces upturned.

"Let us begin our work," Ninian said softly, lifting his closed right hand before and above Arnault's eyes, perhaps a handspan away. "In the name of our blessed Columba and Cra-gheal, the Red-White One, I ask you to commend yourself to their protection and to the Grace of the Three, and to gaze upon this stone, from the sh.o.r.es of the Holy Island of Iona."

He opened his hand to display a sea-polished pebble the size of a seagull egg. "And as you gaze upon it, dear brother, I ask you to focus all of your heart and soul and mind upon that one, all-encompa.s.sing task of these next few moments, where time has no meaning."

Arnault gladly obeyed, ?xing his gaze on the sea pebble and letting himself drift with Ninian's voice, a part of him reconnecting with the peace and serenity of life on Iona with the gentle Columbans and their saint.

"Make yourself one with the Stone on which you sit," Ninian went on, "wherein resides the Sovereignty of this Land, and the hallowing of its king, whom you serve.and who serves the Land, and the Lord of that Land and of its king, and the building of His Fifth Temple, which shall be built not with human hands but with the love and the will of those who serve G.o.d and His creation."

Ninian's voice seemed to ebb and ?ow like the tides, gently submerging Arnault in the embracing warmth of a pool of sound and taking him into a detached, ?oating s.p.a.ce where only the pebble and the voice remained. As the pebble slowly began moving downward, Arnault's eyes followed without resistance, consciousness likewise descending into ever-deeper realms of receptivity and awareness.

By the time the pebble touched his open hand, his eyes had closed and he had surrendered utterly to the peacefulness in which he was enfolded. Only the faintest thread of Ninian's voice remained outside of that centered expectation into which he had descended, gently nudging him now toward the task set before him.

"Your brother Gaspar is linked to the Stone as you are," Ninian whispered. "Reach out for him. Call to him. See the place where he now dwells."

At that bidding, Arnault found himself standing in spirit before a heavy door set deep within a rounded arch. The door stood slightly ajar.

Slowly, hesitantly, he pushed it open and stepped through. Beyond lay a chapel, lofty and full of light. The far wall was pierced by a sun-?ooded window like a jeweled ?ower, before which stood an alabaster statue of the Blessed Virgin, crowned with roses still kissed by the morning dew. Bright lancet windows cut the walls to either side, throwing swaths of rainbow light that intersected in midair like a pair of crossed swords.

Beneath this crossing of light, a white-cloaked ?gure in Templar livery knelt in an att.i.tude of adoration, bearded face upturned toward the Virgin, amid a hush so profound that all nature seemed to hold its breath. The face in pro?le was faintly luminous, serenely contemplative, and suffused with gentle wonder.

The hawklike features belonged to the man Arnault had come to ?nd.

"Gaspar," he called softly, reluctant to disturb the silence. "Gaspar, I must speak with you."

Gaspar slowly turned his head and blinked, like a sleeper awakening, but he seemed not at all surprised at Arnault's presence. A welcoming smile crossed his lips, almost as if he had been expecting the younger man's coming.

"For as long as I can remember, I've been wanting to go home," Gaspar con?ded. "To return to the place where I took my ?rst vows, and where I was baptized as a babe, is to feel myself reborn. That you should come to visit me here makes my joy the more complete."

The prismatic light from the rose window encompa.s.sed him like a halo of jewels as he stood, dappling his white mantle with rainbow glints. To Arnault it seemed almost blasphemous to disturb the peace of this place, but the urgency of his quest had left him no choice.

"It is duty that brings me here," he said quietly. "There are things I must know, on behalf of the Order-questions only you can answer."

A shadow ?ickered across Gaspar's face, like a premonition of pain, but Arnault forced himself to continue.

"Where now is the Breastplate which le Cercle committed to your care?"

Regret lit behind Gaspar's eyes, leaving them cold and bleak. The warm glow of the chapel collapsed into wintry chill as a harsh series of cracks s.h.i.+vered the windows, and broken gla.s.s fell like rain, ?lling the air with dissonant chiming. Even as Arnault recoiled, the chapel itself disintegrated.

Splintered images swirled around him like leaves in a whirlwind, seizing him and spinning him into darkness. When it cleared, he found himself standing not in a chapel, but on a high, stone-built bridge.

At his feet lay the reeking carca.s.s of a horse newly dead. A few paces off, two armored ?gures struggled breast to breast, their locked swords slippery with blood. The older of the two was Gaspar; the beringed hand of the younger twisted and disengaged as he whirled out of Gaspar's reach and another darted in.

Gaspar was gasping with exertion. This new opponent was but one of a succession he had fought off, only to have another, fresher foe take his place from a pack of nearly a dozen armed men clumped near the bridgehead, swords at the ready, awaiting their turns. As he fought off more of them, Gaspar glanced longingly at the chance of escape behind him, but before he could decide to run for it or resume the ?ght, his current adversary made a lightning lunge, driving his blade up and under the Templar's laboring ribs.

The blade twisted as Gaspar wrenched away from it in re?ex, doing more damage. He knew the wound was bad, but he kept ?ghting, for he had no choice. And when he knew his strength was nearing an end, and that death was edging nearer, he drew back and reversed his sword end for end to hurl it desperately at a rider sitting a tall bay at the bridgehead.

He dimly heard the clangor as it hit the cobbled pavement, but by then he was spending the last of his strength to twist around and fall hard against the edge of the bridge's parapet. As he tumbled over, and he felt consciousness and life slipping free, his lips were moving in a plea for Heaven's mercy, and his last conscious act was to sketch the sign of his faith in ?nal commendation to the G.o.d he had tried to serve.

And Arnault plunged after him. As the murky water closed over his head, his groping ?ngers found Gaspar's, but an icy darkness enveloped him, ?ooding into his lungs. United with Gaspar in watery death, he felt himself sinking under the weight of the current until his body struck bottom with a jolt.

Gaspar's hand left his, and the river vanished. Arnault gasped for breath, and drew blessed air into his lungs. When his vision cleared, he again was standing with Gaspar in the light-drenched chapel. The older knight now wore the guise Arnault remembered from the morning of their departure from Paris, clad as a simple soldier.

"You have seen my ending in body," he said with a trace of sadness. "I ran my course, gave my all, but I could not win free. Yet I do not regret losing my earthly life in the service of the Order. If my prayers were answered, the river carried my body to the sea-and with it, what I tried to safeguard for the Temple. But I do not know its fate after that."

"Nor do I," Arnault replied, though it occurred to him that he had recognized the man on the horse, at whom Gaspar had thrown his sword. If Guillaume de Nogaret had somehow retrieved the Breastplate from Gaspar's body.

"I don't know," Arnault repeated, "but I intend to ?nd out.

Meanwhile, no one can fault you for your courage, Gaspar. You gave all you had, against terrible odds. I regret the necessity to make you relive it."

"And I regret that this knowledge is of so little use to you," Gaspar replied.

"Perhaps it will be of more use than you think," Arnault said, putting all the comfort and a.s.surance he could muster into his words. "Let others be the judge of that. Believe me when I tell you this battle is far from over!"

He clasped the other Templar's hand and wrist in his own as knight to knight, in farewell, for he could feel the Stone calling him back to his own body.

"On behalf of your brothers of le Cercle, I give you thanks," he said to Gaspar. "May G.o.d, in His in?nite mercy, make your peace henceforth abiding. Good-bye, my brother-and my friend."

With these words, he released his grip and the link. The instant of parting turned the world brie?y askew, ending with an almost-physical jolt. When Arnault opened his eyes, he was sitting on the Stone again, gazing at a sea pebble in his hands.

Chapter Twenty-seven.

June, 1308 ARNAULT KEPT HIMSELF A LITTLE DETACHED AS HE REported what he had experienced, sighing inwardly to see the hope in their eyes give way to grief, anger, and frustration. Before settling in to a.n.a.lyze his revelations, they adjourned back to Bishop Crambeth's house. Though their subsequent business largely concerned the Order-and its secret workings, at that-Crambeth was permitted to stay, since he was the Stone's guardian.

"If that was, indeed, Nogaret himself who caught up with Gaspar," Christoph said, when they had gathered again around the bishop's table, "I think we must a.s.sume that he now has the Breastplate."

"How could he have known?" Hugues wondered aloud. "Why pursue Gaspar, in preference to any other Templar ?eeing the Temple that morning?"

"Does it really matter why?" said Father Bertrand. "Though I certainly agree that I would like to know how he knew."

"Is there any chance that Nogaret did not recover the body?" Flannan asked, his face still taut with discomfort from his injured shoulder.

"Very little, I should think," Christoph said. "Clearly, Gaspar did his best to prevent his body from being taken- and with it, what he carried. However, he was wearing mail. I think it most unlikely that the current was strong enough to carry him away."

"Perhaps," said Armand Breville, speaking for the ?rst time, "we should examine this account from another angle."

All eyes turned in his direction.

"It is clear that Gaspar did not survive," Breville went on, "but I wonder whether we dare to a.s.sume that he was taken by agents of the French crown."

"Nogaret led them," Flannan pointed out. "If he is not an agent."

"Oh, he is Philip's agent-make no mistake," Breville replied, "but Philip may not be his only master. If Gaspar had been captured or killed in any of?cial capacity, much would have been made of it, especially given what he carried.

"But Nogaret has taken great pains to keep the matter secret. In him, I think we are looking at an enemy far more knowledgeable and far more dangerous than either the King of France, the Inquisitor of Paris, or even the Holy Father."

Hamish Kerr turned to him in some surprise. "You now count the Holy Father as our enemy?" he asked.

"He has allowed the arrests to go forward," Breville pointed out. "And he has excommunicated your king, and placed your country under interdict."

Christoph lifted a hand in a gesture indicating that the exchange had best be dropped.

"Enough, Armand. What makes you believe that Nogaret is so dangerous? I point out that he is one man."

"And had a.s.sistance in running Gaspar to ground-men who may have been more than mere retainers."

Breville turned to Arnault. "Would you do me the favor of examining your own memories more closely?"

"Certainly. Which details do you wish me to consider?"

"You mentioned that one of the men Gaspar fought was wearing a ring on his sword hand. Were any of the other men wearing rings?"

Casting back in memory, Arnault realized that many of them were.

"Yes, several."

"Do you think that any of these rings might have been alike? Can you describe any of those rings?"

"They were gold, with. black stones," Arnault reported, eyes closing as he strained for detail. "Signet rings," he decided. "Gaspar only got a real look at one, but."

He pressed Ninian's pebble to his forehead, trying to visualize the ring on the hand of the man who had given Gaspar his mortal wound, doing his best to maintain the balance between what he had actually seen, and what he simply wanted to have seen.