of brothers had made for seven hundred years would be wasted on arrogance.
When he'd read Simon's testimony he'd finally been provided a historical affirmation of his own religious skepticism. He'd always been troubled by biblical contradictions and their weak explanations. Religion, he feared, was a tool used by men to manipulate other men. The human mind's need to have answers, even to questions that possessed no answer, had allowed the unbelievable to become gospel. Somehow a comfort came in believing that death was not an end. There was more. Jesus supposedly proved that by physically resurrecting Himself, and offering that same salvation to all who believed.
But there was no life after death.
Not literally.
Instead, what others made of your life was how you lived on. In remembering what the man Jesus said and did, Simon Peter realized that his dead friend's beliefs were actually resurrected within him. And preaching that message, doing what Jesus had done, became the measure of Simon's salvation. None of us should judge anyone, only ourselves. Life is not infinite. A set time defines us all-then, just as the bones in the ossuary showed, to dust we return.
He could only hope that his life had meant something and that others would remember him by that meaning.
He sucked a breath.
And tossed the book at Malone, who caught it.
'Why did you do that?' de Roquefort asked.
Mark saw that Malone knew what he was about to do.
And suddenly so did his mother.
He spotted it in her eyes as they shimmered with tears. He wanted to tell her that he was sorry, that he was wrong, that he shouldn't have judged her. She seemed to read his thoughts and took a step forward, which Malone blocked with his arm.
'Get out of the way, Cotton,' she said.
Mark used that moment to inch forward, the ground still hard.
'Go,' de Roquefort said to him. 'Get the book back.'
'Certainly.'
Another step.
Still hard.
But instead of walking toward Malone as de Roquefort ordered, he ducked to avoid the gun barrel at his head and whirled, ramming his elbow into de Roquefort's ribs. The man's muscular abdomen was hard and he knew he was no match for the older warrior. But he owned an advantage. Where de Roquefort was readying himself for a fight, he simply wrapped his arms around the other man's chest and revolved them both forward, propelling his feet off the ground and sending them down to the floor that he knew would not hold.
He heard his mother scream no, then de Roquefort's gun exploded.
He'd shoved the hand holding the weapon outward, but there was no telling where the bullet had gone. They crashed into the false floor, their combined weight enough to obliterate the covering. De Roquefort had surely expected to hit hard earth, ready to spring into action. But as they slammed into the hole, Mark released his grip from around de Roquefort's body and freed his arms, which allowed the full force of the stakes to grind into his enemy's spine.
A groan seeped from de Roquefort's lips as he opened his mouth to speak. Only blood gurgled out.
'I told you the day you challenged the master that you'd regret what you did,' Mark whispered. 'Your tenure is over.'
De Roquefort tried to speak, but the breath left him as blood spilled from his lips.
Then the body went limp.
'You okay?' Malone asked from above.
He raised up. His shifting weight caused de Roquefort to settle farther onto the stakes. Grit and gravel covered him. He leveraged himself out of the cavity, then swiped away the grime. 'I just killed another man.'
'He would have killed you,' Stephanie said.
'Not a good reason, but it's all I've got.'
Tears streamed down his mother's face. 'I thought you were gone again.'
'I was hoping to avoid those stakes, but I didn't know if de Roquefort would cooperate.'
'You had to kill him,' Malone said. 'He never would have stopped.'
'What about the gunshot?' Mark asked.
'Whizzed by close,' Malone said. He motioned with the book. 'This what you're after?'
Mark nodded. 'And there's more.'
'I asked before. Was it worth it?'
He pointed back down the passage. 'Let's go have a look and you tell me.'
SIXTY-SEVEN
MARK STARED OUT ACROSS THE CIRCULAR HALL. THE BROTHERS were once again adorned in their formal dress, convened in conclave, about to select a master. De Roquefort was dead, laid in the Hall of Fathers last night. At the funeral the chaplain had challenged de Roquefort's memory, and the vote had been unanimous that he be denied. As he'd listened to the chaplain's speech, Mark had realized that what happened over the past few days was all necessary. Unfortunately, he'd killed two men, one with regret, the other without relish. He'd begged the Lord's forgiveness for the first death, but felt only relief that de Roquefort was gone.
Now the chaplain was speaking again, to the conclave.
'I tell you brothers. Destiny has been at work, but not in the manner in which our most recent master contemplated. His was the wrong way. Our Great Devise is back because of the seneschal. He was the former master's chosen successor. He was the one sent on the quest. He faced down his enemy, placed our well-being above his own, and fulfilled what masters have attempted for centuries.'
Mark saw hundreds of heads bobbing in agreement. Never had he moved men in such a way before. His had been a solitary existence in academia, his weekend forays with his father, then alone, the only adventure he'd ever known until the past few days.
The Great Devise had been quietly taken from the earth yesterday morning and returned to the abbey. He and Malone had personally removed the ossuary, along with its testimony. He'd shown the chaplain what they'd found and it was agreed that the new master would decide what to do next.
Now that decision was at hand.
This time Mark did not stand with the Order's officers. He was merely a brother, so he'd taken his place among the somber mass of men. He'd not been selected as one for the conclave, so he watched with all the others as the twelve went about their task.
'There is no question what must be done,' one of the conclave members said. 'The former seneschal should be our master. Let it be.'
Silence gripped the room.
Mark wanted to speak in protest. But Rule forbid it, and he'd broken enough for a lifetime.
'I agree,' another conclave member said.
The remaining ten all nodded.
'Then it shall be,' the nominator said. 'He that was our seneschal shall now be our master.'
Applause erupted as more than four hundred brothers signaled their approval.
Chanting started.
Beauseant.
