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Abbot Henry's face had drained of color during this recitation, and he recovered himself with a shudder.
"Dear God, why did Luc not tell me?" he whispered.
"I pray you, do not fault Luc," Arnault said. "He would not have been certain how such a claim would be
received- and we have yet to establish clearer proofs. Even now, we are not in a position to name any
names. In view of the present crisis, however, I think a closer examination of the Stone becomes
imperative-and I think, Reverend Father, that the sooner you introduce us to Brother Ninian, the better."
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"I shall send one of the serving brothers to fetch him immediately," Abbot Henry said, rising to do so.
"Under the circumstances, I feel certain he will be as anxious to meet you, as you are him."
The serving brother returned a short while later, bringing with him a tallish, fine-boned figure of a man
whose white robes and Celtic tonsure marked him as the Columban brother of whom Abbot Henry had
spoken. As the abbot made the formal introductions, Arnault allowed himself to refine his first
impressions.
Brother Ninian appeared to be on the young side of forty, clean-shaven and graceful of carriage, with
flaxen hair drawn back in a tail behind his tonsure and a gray gaze the color of rain-washed agate. His
hands were slender, with long, tapering fingers that bespoke a gift for artistic expression. A serene
containment in his manner suggested depths of spirit rare even among those dedicated to a life of prayer
and self-denial.
Brother Ninian, in his turn, was eyeing his new acquaintances with a curiosity as unaffected as it was
single-minded. On an indrawn breath, his face was transfigured by a beatific smile, his eyes like sunlit
wells brimming with love and compassion.
"All praise to the High God," he murmured. "You are the ones I was told to expect!"
This declaration both surprised and intrigued all three of his listeners.
"Who told you to expect us?" Arnault ventured.
"Why, Cra-gheal himself," Ninian answered.
"Cra-gheal?"
"It's the old Scots tongue," Torquil said eagerly, before Ninian could explain. "Cra-gheal-the red-white
one. It's one of the names given to the Archangel Michael. Is it Saint Michael to whom you refer, Brother
Ninian?"
"It is, indeed. Michael of the White Steeds, Michael of the Battles. Cra-gheal instructed me to come here
and await the arrival of two warrior-monks who would be wearing his sign in token of his fellowship." He
pointed to the distinctive red crosses emblazoned on the surcoats and mantles of the two Templar
knights. "Do you not claim great Michael as one of the patrons of your Order?"
"We do," Arnault acknowledged.
Ninian nodded as if the matter was settled. "Then I know why you are here: to seek the renewal of the
Stone of Destiny."
He turned his gaze to the room's tiny window and continued, holding his listeners spellbound.
"I was standing upon a rock by the shores of Iona," he said, "when the voice of Cra-gheal called to me
from over the waters, bidding me rise and go to where the Stone lies sleeping. To that place would come
two of his warriors here on earth, seeking the means to rekindle the Light that has come down to us from
ancient times. He bade me offer you aid and counsel according to such wisdom as has been given to me."
The light in his eyes, as he shifted back to gaze at them, bore witness to the truth of his declaration, so
that Arnault could not doubt that Brother Ninian had been vouchsafed a mystical revelation-or that he
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would accept, without question, the framework of esoteric focus by which their present mission was
guided. Briefly, and without mincing words, Arnault acquainted both Ninian and Abbot Henry with the
background and rationale of what he proposed to do, not failing to mention the role of the High Priest's
Breastplate.
"What I am suggesting is best approached with due preparation," he said, by way of summation,
"preferably over several days. Given that the Eve of May is only three days hence-which Brother Torquil
tells me is also the turning of the old Scottish new year-I suggest that we agree on that day, and use the
intervening time to prepare ourselves by fasting and meditation."
"An apt and auspicious choice," Ninian agreed. "It is the eve of the ancient festival of Bealtuinn or
Beltane, when bonfires still are lighted upon the hilltops to welcome in the summer. The night is no less
potent in these times in which our allegiance is given to the Son, rather than the sun."
"That is surely true," Abbot Henry declared with a solemn nod-making it unnecessary for either Arnault
or Torquil to comment on this reassurance that none of them need feel constrained by conventional
expressions of religious practice.
For the next two days, Brother Ninian and the two Templars immersed themselves in the abbey
community's rhythm of prayer, hearing daily Mass, and reciting all the offices of the liturgical day, the
knights with their mail and weapons put aside, affirming the monastic aspect of their calling. On the last
night before May Eve, however, the two Templars armed themselves before Compline and remained
afterward in the abbey church to keep vigil in a peculiarly chivalric devotion.
It was a practice particularly beloved of Arnault, and one that Torquil had also taken very much to heart,
always yielding of refreshment of the spirit and, in Arnault's case, a source of illumination. Kneeling down
at the foot of the sanctuary, before the altar of the Blessed Sacrament, he held his drawn sword before [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]