Knights Templar - Temple And The Crown Part 45

Unrelentingly, the Scots swept after them, stabbing and slas.h.i.+ng, so that soon the ?eld was clear of all but the dead.

With the archers' threat neutralized, Torquil reined short and turned back to report their success to the king.

"If Edward had brought those bowmen forward earlier in the day, we might have found ourselves in trouble," Bruce commented with a wol?sh show of teeth.

"Aye, and it isn't over yet," Torquil agreed. "But if you can spare me, I'd better go see how Arnault is faring."

"Go," Bruce said with a nod. "That arrow that struck him down was meant for me. Let's hope it doesn't prove our undoing."

Chapter Forty-five.

June 24, 1314 NO LONGER MENACED BY THE LETHAL THREAT OF LONGBOW ?re, Bruce's army resumed its advance. The English, ?rst to their chagrin and then to their dismay, were forced to give ground. The schiltrons solidi?ed into a single bristling wall, thrusting inexorably forward. With the battle s.h.i.+fting in their favor, ?erce cries rang out from the Scots' ranks.

"On them! On them! Push on!"

The English vanguard steadily disintegrated. Caught between the gorge of the Bannockburn and the treacherous Ca.r.s.e, Edward's forces were further hemmed in by the River Forth. Chaos broke out among the troops to the rear as they found themselves trapped within the shrinking con?nes of their previous night's encampment-and on the verge of defeat.

From the extreme left of the English army, Bartholeme and his Knights of the Black Swan surveyed the ongoing slaughter of the English chivalry with growing disdain. Mutilated corpses littered the ?eld, with here and there a still-living body twitching and groaning in the b.l.o.o.d.y mire. Riderless horses careered this way and that in wild-eyed panic, adding to the pandemonium.

"Who would have thought England's king would be such a fool as to squander his every advantage?"

Rodolphe said with contempt.

Thibault turned to Bartholeme.

"Why are we here?" he asked. "This battle is as good as lost. Leave the English to their humiliation. There are better ways, surely, to ?nish off the Templars than to remain and risk being slaughtered by ignorant peasants."

Bartholeme rounded on him with tight-jawed fury.

"The Templars are fewer and weaker now than they have been since their earliest beginnings! If we let this opportunity slip through our ?ngers, we may not get another. If you fear death so greatly, then be gone! Your departure will not hinder the rest of the Decuria from triumph."

An angry ?ush suffused Thibault's face, but the response came from Rodolphe.

"The time to prove your words is now, Bartholeme. If this Scottish rabble wins the day, the Templars will be forever beyond our reach."

"They will not win," Bartholeme said coldly. "Scotland stands or falls by her king. I know a spell that will kill a man dead in his tracks. I mean to unleash it at Robert Bruce."

Several of the knights recoiled uneasily, and Rodolphe's expression hardened as he lifted his gaze to Bartholeme's.

"I also know that spell," he said. "The cost is the life of the alchemist who casts it."

"Or some equal indemnity of power," Bartholeme countered. "Why else do you suppose I have been holding the Ring of Ialdabaeoth in reserve until now?"

He glared at each of his men in turn, inviting further challenge. None came. Satis?ed that he had made his point, he went on.

"For this spell to succeed, I must have Bruce in my line of sight. After remaining to the rear all the morning, he has since advanced to the fore, the better to be seen by his men.

That ridge over there presents a good eminence. From there, Bruce should be plainly visible to me."

It was the same high ground that the English archers had brie?y occupied earlier.

"Getting there could pose a problem," said Guy de Vitry, a recently inducted member of the Decuria.

"The Scots have overrun the area. If we must ?ght our way through, there's no guarantee that any of us would survive."

"Oh yes, there is," Bartholeme said. "Mercurius?"

Hitherto silent, the dwarf today was riding pillion behind his master. Keeping a grip on Bartholeme's belt with one hand, he thrust the other into his belt pouch and produced a yellow gla.s.s vial. Inside was a thick, bilious-looking liquid.

"All of you know of the demon that dwells in this ring," Bartholeme said, holding up his left hand, where the dark stone glittered like blood. "A bargain has been struck. None who drink of that elixir can be slain in battle, for Ialdabaeoth will protect him."

"And what is the price for such a victory?" one of the men asked.

"The price was paid after Castle Montaigre, when I brought the demon back from certain annihilation.

You need not fear to partake of its grat.i.tude."

Eagerly the Black Knights crowded closer to take the vial from Mercurius and sip from it. When all had done so, Bartholeme stood in his stirrups and brandished his sword.

"Now, Brethren of the Black Swan, are you as keen for killing as I am?" he cried. "Then, let's be off!"

Scarcely had they set out when they clashed with a roving band of Scottish cavalry. The Black Knights were fresh, skilled, and could take no wound, so they cut a swath through the Scots, reveling in their own butchery, leaving carnage in their wake. By the time they reached the foot of the ridge, they had claimed nearly a hundred lives.

"Now for our main objective!" Bartholeme said, as they plunged up the hillside.

Drawing rein at the summit, Bartholeme bade his Black Knights form a circle around him as he thrust his bloodied weapon toward the sky.

"Now throw wide the gates of h.e.l.l, great Lucifer, Prince of Darkness, and set free the demon hounds of fear!" he cried. "Cast down the va.s.sals of your enemy! Harrow them with visions of your terrible wrath!"

A gust of sulfurous wind swept the hilltop, and a shadow pa.s.sed over the sun. The Scots attempting to scale the hill were suddenly stricken with unreasoning fear. Riders were thrown to the ground as ponies bolted in panic. Spearmen turned tail and ?ed as if from the gaping mouth of an inferno. At the sight, a harsh bark of laughter burst from Bartholeme's lips.

"You see?" he proclaimed triumphantly. "We are masters here!"

Casting his gaze farther a?eld, he scanned the battle?eld until he spotted a tall ?gure on a gray pony, recklessly distinguished by the circlet of gold around his helmet.

"Excellent," he murmured. "Now maintain the interdict of fear, while I prepare the death bolt that will slay the Templars' precious King of Scots!"

Torquil reached the top of c.o.xet Hill to ?nd the Scottish camp abuzz with excitement. "What's going on?" he demanded of one of the wagon drivers, as he swung down from his weary pony.

The man grinned.

"We've just been joined by reinforcements."

"Reinforcements?" Torquil echoed blankly.

"Aye, Templars-lots of them!" The man pointed beyond, where scores of men in the Temple's white surcoats with red crosses were adjusting white bardings on tall, clean-limbed steeds that bore the stamp of Templar breeding. Mixed among them, here and there, were men wearing the brown of Templar serjeants.

"Who-?" Torquil began.

"Their of?cers have been taken to report to Sir Arnault," the wagoner informed him, as Torquil thrust his pony's reins into the man's hand and started in the direction of the Templars.

At that, Torquil headed instead in the direction of the hospital tents, where he found Arnault lying in the shade of one of the supply carts, stripped to the waist and having his shoulder bandaged. Crouched across from the in?rmarer were two mailed ?gures in white surcoats, who looked around as Torquil pounded toward them: Flannan Fraser and Aubrey Saint Clair.

"Sweet Jesu, am I glad to see you!" he exclaimed, as the two rose to exchange hearty handshakes with him. Arnault looked a little pale, but considerably heartened by the presence of their brother knights.

"We'd have been here sooner," Aubrey said with a grin, "but we ran into a little interference on the way. I believe the fellow's name was Macdougall of Lorn."

"Lorn?!" Torquil said, looking concerned.

"Aye." Flannan grinned. "He wasn't so tough. The idiot actually tried to work magic against us."

Torquil snorted. "Well, you're here, so he can't have been very good at it. We think he was one of Bartholeme de Challon's p.a.w.ns."

"If so, he's a broken p.a.w.n now," said Flannan. "He got away with his life, but that's about all I can say for him."

Torquil only shook his head, turning his attention to Arnault. "Are you all right?"

"I will be."

"Hmmm, yes, so he says," Aubrey quipped. "Keeping our esteemed Matre out of trouble is clearly too much work for one man alone to handle."

"Aye, well, keeping Bruce out of trouble is a full-time occupation as well," Torquil retorted. "How many men have you brought?"

"Nearly fourscore," Flannan replied. "And more than half of those are knights."

"Excellent!" said Torquil. "Let's get them into action, then."

"We're ready," Aubrey said, producing two white bundles from under his arm. "Would you care to put on proper attire? We may never get another chance."

What unfurled from the bundles was a pair of white surcoats like the ones he and Flannan wore, with the red Templar cross bold across front and back. Torquil grinned as he took one, casting a sharp look at Arnault, who was struggling to his feet.

"Now, just a minute, you! I don't think-"

Even as he spoke, there came a shout from the outskirts of the encampment as Armand Breville came riding up, spurring his horse in their direction as he spotted them, reining short, then, and leaping to the ground.

"I think the Black Knights are about to make their move!" he cried breathlessly. "Somehow, they fought through our lines and gained a position on one of the heights. Militarily, it does them no good, but it's a perfect spot from which to launch a sorcerous attack."

Arnault felt a s.h.i.+ver up his spine, for here, at last, was the full manifestation of the threat he had been fearing throughout the day. Motioning to Torquil to help him rearm, he turned to Aubrey and Flannan.

"Have you any mounts to spare? Good! Summon the rest of your men to join us. We must ride to the defense of the king."

"But, your injury-" Flannan began.

"-is of no account," Arnault said sharply. "Bruce is in deadly danger, and only the power of the Shard can save him."

His subordinates leapt into action. While Templar serjeants ran to fetch horses, Arnault let Torquil rearm him, wincing as he eased back into his bloodstained hauberk and mail.

"How much use have you got in your left arm?" Torquil asked, as he slipped a Templar surcoat over everything.

Arnault ?exed the ?ngers of his left hand and repressed a grimace, but pulled the pouch with the Shard out from under the surcoat.

"Enough," he a.s.sured his friend. "I doubt I could manage a normal s.h.i.+eld, but I don't think I'll need to, with this. Don't worry. Nothing's broken. It's a ?esh wound, and it hurts like h.e.l.l, but there's nothing I can do about that. I have to be able to ride."

He squared his shoulders, deriving comfort from wearing Templar livery again, and found himself grinning as he walked over to the barded horse a serjeant had brought him, for he had not ridden such a steed for several years. The breath hissed between his teeth as he let the serjeant give him a leg up, but he drew himself upright in the saddle, glancing at the other Templars sitting their barded horses around him as he lifted the pouch that held the sacred Shard.

"My brothers, this and our faith are now our greatest weapons," he told them. "This is the Shard of the Law, by which we shall strive to be the guardians of G.o.d Law today. And may He be our guide and our strength in the coming test."

He touched the pouch brie?y to his lips before tucking it back into the breast of his gambeson so that it rested secure against his heart, nodding to Sir Hamish Kerr to unfurl their battle standard.

"Now we must issue a challenge to our enemies-force ourselves on their attention," he declared for the bene?t of all, as the Order's standard unfurled in a billow of black and white. "Raise our banner high, and let Beaucant proclaim our presence for all to see!"

Chapter Forty-six.

June 24, 1314 THE RUMBLE OF A GROWING CHEER FROM THE SCOTS' LINE penetrated the sorcerous barricade the Knights of the Black Swan had erected around themselves. The sound of it yanked Bartholeme back to awareness, out of the depths of his ensorceled trance. Snarling at the interruption, he made a sweeping survey of the battle?eld below-and suddenly stood in his stirrups to stare at the black-and-white billow of a new banner entering the ?eld above a body of white-clad hors.e.m.e.n, moving in disciplined formation along the northernmost fringe of the ?ghting. The horses, too, were barded in white-tall, clean-limbed horses proudly carrying a contingent of the most renowned ?ghting men in the known world.

"Templars!" He fairly spat the name, sitting back hard in his saddle with a venomous hiss.

Around him, the other Black Knights muttered and stared in kindred disbelief.

"Where the devil did they come from?" Thibault said, sounding vexed.

"Wherever they came from," Rodolphe said scathingly, "it's clear that your precious Lorn failed in what he was ordered to do. I knew it was a mistake to place much faith in that ignorant lout."

"Be silent!" Bartholeme snapped. "While you grope for explanations, our enemies are gaining ground."

"And whose fault is that?" Rodolphe countered. "Don't make the same mistake Nogaret made. Use the power of the ring now, to wipe them out!"

Fury ?ared brie?y in Bartholeme's eyes, but then he mastered himself.

"I will do whatever it takes to destroy these self-styled monks of war," he said coldly. "Let all those who are like-minded come with me, and let us put our mettle to the test."

Three quarters of a mile away, the ghillies and the small-folk who supported Bruce's army had been watching the battle from the top of c.o.xet Hill where, for two whole days, they had respected the king's command to guard the baggage wagons. Now, ?red by the example of the Templars, they could no longer contain their zeal for battle.