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"Go now into that abyss whence you came!" Arnault ordered. "By Michael chief of hosts, by Uriel of the
golden locks, by Gabriel seer of the Virgin of grace, and by Raphael prince of power-may God's angels
and the sword of Saint Michael sever you from this world!"
With a swift casting gesture, he flung the keekstane into the pool. White flames spread instantly across
the surface, rushing up the creature's trailing hair to engulf her in a blazing nimbus of purifying fire. Her
scream shook the walls of the underground chamber before she sank beneath the burning water, as if
dragged down by a powerful undercurrent.
The room itself convulsed. The flames shot higher, licking the roof overhead. Spurred into movement,
Arnault seized Flannan by the arm.
"Go! Get out of here quickly!" he urged.
They bounded up the stairs, taking two at a stride, as the blistering heat of the inferno roared up the
stairwell after them. As they burst into daylight, throwing themselves to either side, their fellow Templars
grabbed them and pulled them well clear of the circle of swords still ringing the stairwell opening.
Fire and smoke erupted upward, but could not seem to pass beyond the outline of an invisible dome
above, delineated on the ground by the circle of swords. As a final catastrophic boom rocked the
headland, the earth convulsed, the stairwell collapsing in on itself. The final echoes dwindled into stillness
as the smoke slowly dissipated.
The Templars flocked around Arnault and Flannan. Clapping the other knight on the shoulder, for he had
done well under fire, Arnault cut short an anxious flood of inquiries with a reassuring wave.
"We're all right," he gasped. "The danger is past. Let us give thanks to God. Brother Walter, summon the
brethren."
He drew a deep breath and cast a grateful look around him as they came, the newcomers adding their
swords to the others as all of them knelt outside that holy circle, hands clasped on the cross-hilts
symbolizing their faith, and bowed their heads to recite a solemn Te Deum. The sun was sinking behind
the hills to the west. Here and there, a bonfire still spat and crackled as the last of the pagan
paraphernalia was reduced to ash. Night was descending upon Burghead, but it would be a night free of
the evil that had haunted this country for so long. When they had finished their prayer, Arnault sheathed
his sword and signaled his men to fetch their horses.
"Let us be gone from here before darkness falls," he ordered. "Whatever struggles may yet be to come,
this battle at least is won. Non nobis, Domine!"
"Non nobis, Domine, sed Nomini Tuo da gloriam!" the rest responded, in fervent affirmation.
Chapter Thirty-six
FOLLOWING THE CLEANSING OF BURGHEAD, ARNAULT TOOK his men back to
Balantrodoch, where he would acquaint Luc with far more detail of the success of their mission than
could have been gleaned from any of the others, even Flannan. But first Luc had news of a different but
no lesser import, which he imparted to all the men in a hastily convened chapter meeting.
"The rebellion is now well and truly afoot," he informed them. "I have had word several times from
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Brother Torquil, who rides with Bruce as a military advisor. In addition to taking Dumfries and
Dalswinton, Bruce has made himself master of the castles at Tibbers, Ayr, and Dunaverty. His supporter,
Robert Boyd of Cunningham, has taken Rothesay Castle, and has laid siege to Inverkip. The only
castellan in the west who has refused to yield is Sir John Menteith of Dumbarton. Otherwise, Bruce now
has effective control of the Firth of Clyde."
"Is there still an English fleet anchored at Skinburness?" Walter de Clifton asked.
"There is," Luc replied. "But with control of the firth- even without Dumbarton-Bruce can still count on
allies and supplies being able to reach him from Ireland and the Outer Isles."
"That's as may be," one of the senior knights rumbled, "but I like it not, that the Order seems to be being
drawn into a dispute among fellow Christians. The mission to Burghead served God's holy cause-none
who were there can deny it. But no more right is it for us to fight for this Robert the Bruce than it was for
some of us to have fought for Edward of England, under Brian de Jay."
"That is true," Arnault said carefully. "And no one asks us to fight for Bruce. What is required is that we
help maintain the peace, as has always been the purpose of the Temple, wherever we are sent-and that, if
need be, we lend our swords to prevent Edward's forces from interfering in the wishes of the Scottish
people; to see their own king crowned, and to regain their freedom."
In the absence of instructions otherwise from their superiors in France, the chapter agreed that such intent
was reasonable; and following evening prayer, Luc released all of them to retire to beds for the first time
in several weeks. In a subsequent meeting, in private with only Arnault, he was able to reveal information
he dared not share with the others of their Order.
"I need not tell you, I think that questions are still being asked in some quarters concerning the manner of
John Comyn's death," Luc said, "but the senior members of the Scottish clergy have been told enough of
the truth to justify Bruce's actions. Thanks, in part, to Torquil's quick thinking, Wishart of Glasgow has
given Bruce formal absolution for the slaying-and Bruce, in exchange, has sworn a formal oath to uphold
the freedom of the Scottish Church. Wishart preached a rousing sermon from the pulpit, exhorting the
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