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over Arnault's taut, soot-streaked face. "Did you find Johan Lindsay?"
"Whoever was in the Red Hall, they're all dead now," Arnault said baldly. "Edward's soldiery fired the
hall. By the time I got there, it was already too late."
Torquil shook his head and crossed himself, murmuring, "May they rest in peace." He sighed. "I haven't
had any luck finding Jay, either, though I'm sure he's somewhere around. I caught a glimpse of Robert de
Sautre as I was coming up on the castle, but he was in the middle of a troop of mounted knights and I
couldn't chase them down." He drew himself up. "So what do we do now?"
Before Arnault could summon an answer, a familiar, self-satisfied voice penetrated the undercurrent of
anxious murmurings that filled the room, from somewhere above their heads.
"I heard there was a Templar brother looking for me. Now I see there are two of you."
Arnault and Torquil turned and looked up. Brian de Jay was surveying them from the gallery that
overlooked the chamber. When he saw their faces, his blue eyes narrowed,
"Why, Brother Arnault de Saint Clair-and the ever-faithful Brother Torquil Lennox," he noted with an
affability that rang patently false. "I had no idea we were expecting such an illustrious visitation. When one
of my serjeants told me that two knight-brothers had come ashore from the galley in the harbor, I chided
him for spreading rumors. Now I see he was reporting the truth. Come up and join me-now."
Arnault and Torquil found a wheel-stair in a corner of the hall and climbed to the next floor, where Jay
received them with a curt nod and led the way to a small room on the seaward side of the citadel.
Looking them over, he took a seat behind a writing table cluttered with correspondence and writing
paraphernalia, but he did not invite them to sit- clearly meant as a reminder of the deference he expected
as Master of England.
"You look somewhat the worse for wear," he observed. "You would have gotten a better reception, had
you come ashore on the English side of the Tweed. Now, tell me what brings you to this benighted place
at this most inauspicious time."
Arnault sensed Torquil tensing and flashed him a warning glance to mind his temper and his tongue.
"Paris had sent us to negotiate a truce between the English and the Scots," he informed Jay neutrally. "I
regret to see we have arrived too late to accomplish our primary mission. It now becomes our duty to
engage our negotiating skills to mediate some restraint in the treatment of those who haven't borne arms.
Given your past record of diplomacy, I'm sure we can count on your assistance."
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"What, now?" Jay said, on a note of incredulity.
"Now, more than ever," Arnault replied. "I am told that you stand high in King Edward's esteem. If you
were to recommend clemency on behalf of the people of Berwick, surely he would listen to you."
"I very much doubt that anything can be done," Jay began.
"If I could do this myself, I would," Arnault said. "But sadly, I lack your eminence. As Master of England,
and the king's confidant, you are perceived as a man capable of succeeding where others might fail.
Needless to say, it would be a credit to your reputation if you could sway King Edward in favor of taking
pity on those who have done him no harm."
He was relieved when Jay succumbed to this appeal to his vanity. "I'll do what I can," said the Master of
England. "But as for trying to put a stop to this war, you might as well have stayed in France and saved
yourself the trouble. The Scots are too stubborn for their own good, and only harsh measures will teach
them otherwise."
Chapter Fifteen
AFTER MUCH FRANTIC AND IMPASSIONED PLEADING ON BE-half of the clergy of Berwick,
Edward of England at last condescended to order an end to the general slaughter. By then, over the
space of three days, nearly three quarters of the town's population had perished by the sword-perhaps as
many as twenty thousand souls. The streets were piled high with corpses: men, women, and children of
all ages, slain indiscriminately. The air quickly became so poisoned by the reek of decay that the
conquerors were compelled either to throw the bodies into the sea or to bury them in hastily dug pits
outside the boundaries of the town.
"Jay's intercessions were about as much worth as a whore's honor," Torquil grumbled, through a muffling
kerchief tied over his nose and mouth, as he and Arnault rode to inspect the state of the mass grave sites.
It was one of the few places where they could speak without fear of being overheard.
"I won't dispute that," Arnault replied. "For what it's worth, I don't think anyone could have moved
Edward to rescind his initial decree until the worst of the damage had been done. Clearly, he meant to
make an example of Berwick, to intimidate the Scottish people as a whole. The spread of fear can often
do more damage than any siege engine, when it comes to weakening the resolve of the enemy."
"On the other hand," Torquil said grimly, "it can convince folk that they have nothing to lose by fighting to
the death."
The speed with which events were unfolding in Scotland put a certain urgency on proceeding with their
true mission. Nearly a fortnight passed, however, before they were permitted to depart Berwick. Brian
de Jay was preparing to travel south to London and thence to Cyprus, there to deliver the Order's annual
rents and revenues to the Grand Master. On learning that Arnault and Torquil planned to remain in
Scotland during his absence, Jay made little attempt to disguise his displeasure.
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