[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

it may be that you have seen the way forward. We will certainly do what we can to facilitate your plan, if
this seems to be what is intended."
Before Lamberton could respond, the door creaked open and one of the monks waved a signal to the
bishop.
"Bruce has arrived," Lamberton said. "I need a few minutes to speak alone with him before I call upon
your support. I ask you to conceal yourselves in the side chapel, where you will be hidden from view but
still able to overhear us."
The pair nodded their brisk agreement and moved into an alcove to the right of the sanctuary. A few
moments later the main door opened again to admit Robert Bruce.
Now a mature man of more than thirty years, a little younger than Torquil, the Earl of Carrick was plainly
dressed and without escort, sword and dirk at his waist-and probably mailed beneath his robe-but
outwardly unthreatening. As he strode down the aisle, his demeanor carried no hint of deference, either
for the man he had come to see or for the holy place where they met. For all his boldness, however, his
expression was one of curiosity as much as irritation.
"I hope you appreciate the risk I am taking, in agreeing to a clandestine meeting, my lord bishop, when
King Edward is only a few miles distant and in a disagreeable mood," he said.
"Risk has become as much a part of our existence as drawing breath these days," Lamberton responded.
"Without it we can do nothing at all, unless we would live like creatures of the sea, forever mute and
moving with the tide."
"Your tongue is as able as ever, but I am not here to admire your eloquence," Bruce said.
"Then, why are you here?" Lamberton countered.
"Surely that is for you to explain, since it was you who issued the cryptic invitation."
"You would not have responded unless you had some inkling of my purpose, Robert Bruce. While it may
not be exactly the same as your own, the two coincide to a degree that cannot be ignored."
"What purpose of mine do you speak of?" Bruce asked defensively.
"To become king," Lamberton answered flatly.
Bruce's expression froze, and he eyed the bishop in stony silence.
"You are as unwilling to deny my assertion as you are to confirm it," Lamberton said. "But what lies in the
heart cannot remain forever hidden, or it will wither away to nothing but the lost and bitter dream of an
old man who passes his final years cursing his own want of courage."
This bald statement caused Bruce to bristle. "I have no want of courage, I assure you of that!"
"Then, will you remain Edward's servant forever?" Lamberton asked.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
"For as long as you, maybe!" came Bruce's hot retort.
Lamberton raised his hands in a placatory gesture. "Peace, my lord, I have not asked you here to quarrel
with you. With your father's recent death, you are now a candidate for the throne in your own right. All
hope of Balliol even being willing to act as a king is now lost, so it is time to look elsewhere. Would you
agree with that?"
"Most heartily," Bruce replied. "But would you have me declare my desire for the throne when, just
across the river, our liege lord Edward is preparing to roast men alive for far less presumption?"
"You have kept your intent hidden for long enough," Lamberton said evenly. "Do not let an excess of
caution be your undoing."
"There is no shame in acting with caution and wisdom," Bruce said. "If I had followed Wallace's
stiff-necked course, I would have lost my lands, my titles, and my family to become a fugitive running
from cave to cave, fleeing Edward's men and my own people. One does not become king from a
position of weakness, but of strength."
Lamberton lifted an eyebrow. "Is that what you think? Did not Balliol start from a position of strength?
He was king, by the will of Edward of England and the assent of the community of this realm, and still he
lost it all. Is it not better to start with nothing, and to win the crown, than to begin with the crown and lose
all, including honor itself?"
Bruce's brow darkened. "John Balliol's crown has been empty for some time. Nor do we even possess
that symbol of that kingship. Edward took it, along with all of the other symbols of our sovereignty. It is
no longer even possible for a man to be properly crowned King of Scots."
"In that you are mistaken," the bishop said mildly.
Passion flared in Bruce's gray eyes, confirming that Lamberton had not misjudged the man. Ambition
there certainly was, but also something more.
"The Stone of Destiny never left Scotland," Lamberton stated flatly. "What Edward has placed on display
in Westminster Abbey is a worthless copy."
Bruce's gaze narrowed. "You know this to be true? You have seen it yourself?"
"In all honesty, I cannot say that I have," Lamberton confessed, "but I have witnesses here who will
confirm what I have told you. Brothers, would you please join us?"
Arnault and Torquil emerged from the side chapel, white mantles almost aglow in the dim light. Bruce
stiffened as he cast a suspicious eye over their Templar robes, but then he looked again at Torquil's face.
"You are familiar to me," he said uncertainly.
"On the morning of Falkirk, you gave me your horse- and a sword," Torquil confirmed, briefly holding his
hand away from the hilt of the weapon. "You found me lying unconscious and, like the Good Samaritan,
you came to my assistance."
"So I did," Bruce acknowledged with a nod. "And you did tell me then that you were a Templar." He
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
paused a beat. "Has the sword served you well?"
"It has-and would serve you now, if you mean to fight for Scotland and her crown." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]