Knights Templar - Temple And The Crown Part 39

"Regain as much ground as I can," Bruce replied. "If we harry the English ?ercely enough in the next six months, Edward's greater magnates may decide that Stirling isn't worth the trouble. If not"-he shrugged-"I may be forced to ?ght a pitched battle-in which case, it's going to be all or nothing."

"A dangerous gamble," Arnault said. "It would appear that you'll be needing all the help you can get."

At his faint smile, Bruce sat forward.

"Your tone suggests that you may have a plan. What kind of help did you have in mind?"

"Templar help," Arnault replied. "And not merely as individual observers and advisors, like myself and Torquil, but in a rather more organized manner."

Bruce c.o.c.ked his head at them in question, but did not speak as Arnault went on.

"I know you're aware of the general decline in the Order's fortunes in the last six years," Arnault continued. "You may not be aware that a number of our fugitive brethren have taken refuge in the west of Scotland. In return for even the hope of asylum, when all of this is done, I believe they would ?ght their hearts out for you, Sire. They have funds as well, smuggled out of France ahead of King Philip's raids, that could be turned to buying weapons. We can bring those in through Ireland, to arm more of your men. And we can turn our military expertise to helping train your Scottish forces to stand against the English host."

Bruce was slowly nodding, wide-eyed. "You give me hope that we can actually accomplish it," he said.

"Certainly, I would never withdraw the promise of refuge from men who have lost so much and still are willing to give so much to our Scottish cause."

After some further discussion, it was decided that Aubrey and Flannan Fraser should travel to the west of Scotland, there to organize men, horses, and arms. For safekeeping, Arnault left the Breastplate in Bishop Sinclair's custody.

"Aubrey will have told you of the part this has already played in Scotland's destiny," he said, "and there is more to be done, when this war is won. But it will be safer kept here than with me, with all the places I must go in the next few months."

"It will be well guarded until you return," the bishop promised them. "In fact, it will reside well with what I had already intended to offer the king."

From a hidden aumbry behind a wall tapestry, Sinclair brought out Dunkeld's most precious treasure: the Money-musk Reliquary. Shaped like a tiny house with peaked roof, and embellished with Celtic designs, the little casket contained relics of Saint Columba himself, and was sometimes carried before Scottish armies like a miniature Ark of the Covenant. It had been present when Bruce was enthroned on the Stone, eight years before.

"The Brecbennach," Sinclair murmured, giving it its Gaelic name as he brought it before Bruce. "Let this be your standard in battle, Sire. And may the blessings of Saint Columba, Saint Andrew, Saint Fillan, and all the saints of Scotland watch over you, and all who march beneath your banner."

Quite overcome, Bruce touched his ?ngertips to his lips, then to the little reliquary, running a reverent ?nger brie?y along the top of its lid.

"I thank you, Bishop. And when the time comes, I shall ask Father Ninian to take charge of this precious object on my behalf."

The Columban abbot set one hand to his breast and bowed slightly. "I will be honored to do so, Sire.

And Brother Arnault."

Arnault looked at him in question.

"Seeing the Brecbennach has given me an idea," Ninian went on, laying his hand upon it. "May I suggest that you take the Urim and Thummin from the Breastplate and place one of them inside the Brecbennach.

Leave the other on the Stone itself, as a link between the two."

"But the Urim and Thummin are dead," Arnault said.

"No, not dead; sleeping," Ninian replied. "And once the Ring of the Black Swan has been destroyed, they will awaken. At that point, you should be able to use the Shard to activate the link between them, and tap directly into the energy of the Stone."

Chapter Thirty-eight.

Early 1314 BRUCE AND HIS ADVISORS SPENT CHRISTMAS LAYING PLANS for a series of offensives.

With the coming of the new year, James Douglas, the youngest of the Scottish commanders, was given the honor of a.s.saulting Roxburgh Castle. On the eve of Ash Wednesday, which fell that year in mid-February, Douglas and his men smeared their faces with soot and donned black surcoats to hide their armor. Then, armed with rope ladders attached to grappling hooks, they crept up on the castle in the dead of night and silently scaled the walls, silencing the sentries and taking the garrison by surprise in the midst of their Shrove Tuesday revelry. By morning the castle was in Scottish hands.

Following on this success, hardly a month later, the king's nephew, Thomas Randolph, took Edinburgh Castle by a similar combination of stealth and bravado. King Robert ordered both castles razed to the ground, for he dared not risk having them taken back by the English.

Early in May, with demolition well under way, in Edinburgh, Arnault and Torquil had been watching the king drill his schiltrons when Luc de Brabant arrived with fresh news from France-ill news, by his grave expression.

"I have good news and bad," he told them, as he drew them aside for privacy. "The good news is that Breville managed to spirit Oliver out of prison. He's stayed in France to join Christoph."

"That is good news," Arnault replied. "And the bad news?"

"The king has burned de Molay."

Both Arnault and Torquil stared at him in shock.

"What?"

"And the Preceptor of Normandy. On March 14."

Torquil looked sick, like a man just kicked in the groin. Arnault was reeling with images from his dreams en route to the Holy Land.

"I never thought Philip would dare," he murmured.

"Nor did I, but Breville saw it." Luc grimly shook his head. "Paraud and Gonneville would have been burned as well, but they had already upheld their confessions. It's said they'll be sent to perpetual imprisonment."

Torquil's face was stony as he slowly shook his head. "This doesn't make sense," he said disbelievingly.

"It's been nearly seven years since they were arrested, and two since the Order was disbanded. Why burn them now?"

"I don't think that was the original intention," Luc replied. "De Molay and de Charney had made private confessions of guilt, but apparently Philip wanted them to make some grand public confession on behalf of the whole Order-especially de Molay, since he was the Grand Master."

"And they refused?" Torquil said.

"More than just refused," Luc muttered. He drew a deep breath. "Breville says that a high platform had been specially constructed in front of Notre Dame Cathedral. On the appointed day, de Molay and the other three were marched out onto the platform, wearing full Templar habit but also laden with chains, to underline their guilt. There was a huge crowd, come to bear witness to the expected confession- which was meant to vindicate King Philip, but things turned out otherwise."

"Go on," Arnault urged, when Luc paused.

A pained smile plucked at Luc's lips as he slowly shook his head. "It seems that, in the very depths of humiliation, our late Grand Master found the greatest moment of his life. Breville wrote down his words, afterward."

From the pocket of his sleeve, he took out a much-folded piece of parchment, which he handed to Arnault. Unfolding it, Arnault read the words aloud.

"I think it only right that, at so solemn a moment, when my life has so little time to run, I should reveal the deception which has been practiced and speak up for the truth. Before Heaven and earth and all of you here, my witnesses, I admit that I am guilty of the grossest iniquity. But the iniquity is that I have lied in admitting the disgusting charges laid against the Order.

"I declare, and I must declare, that the Order is innocent. Its purity and saintliness are beyond question. I have indeed confessed that the Order is guilty, but I have done so only to save myself from terrible tortures by saying what my enemies wished me to say. Other knights who have retracted their confessions have been led to the stake, yet the thought of dying is not so awful that I shall confess to foul crimes which have never been committed. Life is offered to me, but at the price of infamy. At such a price, life is not worth having. I do not grieve that I must die if life can be bought only by piling one lie upon another."

Arnault was shaking his head as he handed the parchment back to Luc. Torquil was biting at his lip, his face turned partially away.

"You're right," Arnault said quietly. "De Molay was never greater than in his ?nal hours."

"No, never," Luc agreed. "And de Charney likewise retracted his confession on the spot. Philip was furious, as you can imagine, and ordered them dragged from the platform.

Paraud and Gonneville were hurried away before they could change their minds. By late afternoon, the pyres had been readied."

He lifted his gaze beyond them as he continued, tears in his eyes.

"The wood was dry and well seasoned, deliberately chosen to burn hot and bright, with little smoke. But even in the midst of their death agonies, de Molay and de Charney continued to cry out the innocence of the Order. And at the end, with his dying breath, de Molay called on the king and the pope to meet him before G.o.d's throne of judgment within the year, and cursed the king and his family for the next thirteen generations. I should add that the Holy Father has already been called to his accounting, hardly a fortnight ago."

"Clement is dead?" Torquil gasped.

As Luc merely nodded, his two companions slowly crossed themselves, stunned, and Torquil whispered, "May G.o.d have mercy on their souls."

After another moment of heavy silence, Arnault glanced back determinedly in the direction of the king's camp.

"This severs our last tie with France," he said quietly. "One way or another, Scotland is destined to be the Order's ?nal home."

While the Templars were still mourning the death of their Grand Master, one of their greatest enemies was traveling north from London in the van of King Edward's invading army.

"Tell me, my lord," said the young Earl of Gloucester, plucking idly at the jeweled cuff of his riding glove, "do you really think there could be a signi?cant number of Templars at large in Scotland, ?ghting for this upstart Bruce?"

"My king is certain of it," said Bartholeme de Challon. "Otherwise, we should not be here."

He gestured over his shoulder at the body of armored knights riding behind him under the banner of the Black Swan-superbly mounted, expensively caparisoned, a match for any band of English chivalry.

Among them rode Mercurius, on an evil-looking black pony, as richly turned out, but in miniature. It was he who had caught the king's particular fancy, thereby ensuring that Bartholeme and his companions were accorded a place of honor among the higher English n.o.bility.

Riding on the other side of Bartholeme, Count Rodolphe leaned forward to address the English lord.

"Recall, my lord Earl, that Bruce is excommunicate. The papal bull disbanding the Order has never been enforced in Scotland, despite your master's efforts to comply. What better place for a remnant of condemned sorcerers to seek refuge than amongst others of their kind?"

"A fair enough comment," Gloucester agreed. He turned in his saddle to scan the colorful array of heraldic devices displayed among the French company. "But, what is it that brings you to our cause?

Each of you is a knight of n.o.ble birth, bearing his own arms. Why is it that all of you choose to ride under the banner of the Black Swan?"

"It is a sign of our common purpose," Bartholeme explained glibly, "to hunt down and destroy the last remnant of the Templars, and put an end to their sorceries."

"Surely there can't be many of them left," said young Henry de Bohun, who fancied himself nigh invincible on the tourney ?eld.

"Any who survive are dangerous," Bartholeme replied, "and those who have ?ed to Scotland are amongst the worst. Believe me when I tell you that the inquisitors of France have obtained hundreds of confessions attesting to heresy and the practice of magic-and you must not imagine that the most skilled of them were captured. Many used their magic to make good their escape. And Bruce, another heretic, was only too glad to offer them safe haven, in barter for their talents."

Gloucester laughed uneasily. "Surely you don't expect us to believe that Bruce's successes can be attributed to magic?"

Riding beside Bartholeme was the exiled John Macdougall of Lorn, who gigged his horse a little forward at the remark.

"How else do you account for Bruce's successes of recent years?" he snapped. "It's no coincidence that, since the suppression of the Order on the continent, Bruce's fortunes have been on the ascendant."

"Whilst yours have declined?" Bohun said, a sneer in his voice. "Well, that's one explanation anyway."

He touched spurs to his mount and rode on ahead, belatedly followed by Gloucester, leaving Lorn bristling furiously in their wake.

"You see what insolence I am compelled to endure?" Lorn said to Bartholeme in an angry undertone.

"That swaggering English puppy was scarcely out of leading strings when Bruce and his Templar wizards-"

"Peace," Bartholeme advised. "Your time will come."

"When?" Lorn demanded.

"Very soon now," Bartholeme promised. Lowering his voice, he added, "We will speak of this more fully when there are not so many others present."

Later that afternoon, when they had halted to rest the horses, Rodolphe drew Bartholeme aside.

"That Lorn is a fool and an oaf," he muttered. "I fail to see why you tolerate his company."

"For the same reason a man keeps a mastiff," Bartholeme replied. "To sniff out enemies and give the alarm in case of trouble."

"The aptness of the comparison escapes me, I'm afraid," said Rodolphe.

"My agents inform me that there is a strong likelihood the Templars have established bases in the west of Scotland," Bartholeme said with a touch of impatience. "Lorn knows that country well. While we engage the enemy at Stirling, I propose sending our Scottish mastiff to guard the back door-in case the Templars attempt to summon reinforcements."

"He's no ?t match for them."

"He will be," said Bartholeme. "Once I've given him this."

He produced a jeweled pendant set with curiously variegated gems whose colors ?uctuated greasily in the light from red to blue to brown to green. The central stone seemed to glow slightly from within.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Rodolphe said.

"The power belongs to one of the lesser demons," Bartholeme said. "The demon itself is answerable to me."

"When do you plan to give it to him?"

"When we cross the Border."

Chapter Thirty-nine.

June 22, 1314 "I MAKE IT EIGHT INFANTRY DIVISIONS SO FAR," ARNAULT said, "and they're still coming.