Two Crowns for America

  She still was apprehensive as they stopped before the library door and someone—she presumed it was O’Driscoll—folded her right hand into a fist and knocked the knuckles sharply against the door three times.

  The door opened. As before, she could feel the breeze of its opening as it swung inward.

  “Who comes there?” Andrew’s voice demanded.

  “Worshipful,” came O’Driscoll’s voice from her right side, “here approaches one who begs to have and receive part of the benefit of this right worshipful Lodge, dedicated to St. John, as many Brothers and Fellows have done before her.”

  “How does she expect to obtain it?” Andrew asked.

  “By being freeborn, and well reported.”

  “Let her enter.”

  O’Driscoll remained where he was—for, presumably, he would remain outside to guard the door—but Simon led her inside—to be brought up short against something pressed sharp above her heart.

  “Do you feel anything?” Justin’s voice demanded from directly in front of her.

  She dipped her head in a careful nod. “I do.”

  “Mind well, then, that you hold this in remembrance for the future,” Justin responded, “lest ever you should forget your oath to guard the secrets of Freemasonry.”

  With that the pressure was removed, and a new presence came to take her arm at the right, Simon stepping back out of reach. As the door behind her closed with a solid thump, the new presence urged her forward a step, then bore her arm downward in signal to kneel.

  “Kneel and bow your head,” came the whispered command. The faint accent identified him as the prince.

  Grateful for his presence, she obeyed, drawing calm from his continued touch. From far before her, Andrew’s voice now offered up a prayer.

  “O Lord God, Thou great and universal Mason and Architect of the World: Be with us, as Thou hast promised, when two or three are gathered together in Thy name. Grant that this our friend may become a faithful Sister, and grant, O Lord, as she putteth forth her hand to Thy holy word, that she may also put forth her hand to serve a Brother.… The might of the Father of Heaven be with us at our beginning and give us grace so as to govern ourselves here in this life, that we may come to His blessing. Amen.”

  “Amen,” the brethren repeated, as did Arabella.

  “In the interest of the hour and the situation, we shall skip directly to the Obligation,” Andrew now declared, in a tone that brooked no dissension. “Junior Warden, please bring the candidate forward.”

  With his hand firmly beneath her elbow, the prince now aided Arabella to rise and guided her to the left, skirting the perimeter of the room. When they stopped, she had the impression she was facing the east.

  “Worshipful,” the prince declared, “I here present Mistress Arabella Wallace, properly prepared to be made a Freemason.”

  “Arabella Wallace,” Andrew responded, “you now are offered a final opportunity to withdraw; but if you do not, the obligation which you shortly shall be required to swear is binding for life, by penalties too horrible to contemplate, and cannot be revoked. Knowing this, is it still your determination to go forward, without fear or rashness, in what you have begun?”

  “It is,” she replied steadily.

  “Then let the candidate be brought before the altar by the pass steps,” Andrew commanded, “and there properly prepared to take the obligation of a Freemason.”

  The steps were threefold, and of varying length, but the prince quietly talked her through: left foot first, because it was nearest the heart, then the right foot joining it at right angles, heel to heel; the process repeated twice more, each step longer than the one preceding. She heard his explanation of the symbolism, but she merely filed it away for the time being, having no leisure to ponder its full significance.

  Then the prince was bidding her kneel upon her bare left knee, deftly helping her arrange her skirts so that the knee made clean contact with the floor. Her right heel likewise had to rest squarely on the floor, with the angle of the knee forming a square. He promised to explain the symbolism later.

  Thus prepared, he laid an open book upon her left palm, guiding her right hand to rest on top, steadying several objects of metal and wood. As he moved the whole a little closer to her, she again felt something sharp pressing at her left breast. When she would have withdrawn, another hand pressed lightly atop hers, forbidding movement. She guessed it was Andrew’s, for his voice was the next she heard, from directly in front of her.

  “Now, with your left hand supporting and your right hand resting upon the Volume of Sacred Law, you will repeat the obligation after me,” he said. “I—and state your full name—”

  “I, Arabella Julianne Carmichael Wallace,” Arabella responded.

  “Of my own free will and accord—”

  “Of my own free will and accord …”

  “Hereby and hereon—”

  “Hereby and hereon …”

  “Do swear always to hele and conceal and never reveal … write, indite, carve, mark, engrave, or otherwise delineate … unless it be in a regularly assembled and properly dedicated Lodge … any part of the secrets of Masonry … that may now or at any future time be communicated to me.… These several points I solemnly swear to observe … without evasion, equivocation, or mental reservation of any kind … under no less a penalty … than that of having my throat cut across … my tongue torn out by the root … and buried in the sand of the sea at low water mark, or a cable’s length from the shore … where the tide regularly ebbs and flows twice in twenty-four hours … or the more effective punishment … of being branded as a willfully perjured individual, devoid of all moral worth … and totally unfit to be received into this worshipful Lodge.… So help me God.”

  “Now kiss the Book, to seal the oath,” Andrew prompted, when she had said the final words.

  She obeyed, leaning forward carefully, lest the sharp something at her breast do her damage. As soon as her lips had touched the page, book and implements were taken away.

  “Now rise, newly obligated Entered Apprentice,” Andrew said, “and let the cable-tow and hoodwink be removed.”

  The prince removed the cable-tow and helped her rise. As she did so, the hoodwink also was pulled away. The first thing she saw was Andrew, a single candle illuminating the open Bible before him. A large pair of compasses lay opened on its pages, the points toward her—clearly the source of the menace at her breast—and a square lay atop the compasses, its arms obscuring the points, the angle opening toward Andrew.

  Things moved forward quickly after that. She barely had time to notice who else was in the room, though she could hardly miss the General, standing slightly to her left; and Franklin’s presence on Andrew’s other side was not a surprise. In what Andrew again acknowledged was abbreviated form, to be expanded at a later date, she received but a brief explanation of the trials she had just undergone. Following that, Andrew gave her the step, the sign, the grip, and the word of an Entered Apprentice: a short pace with the left foot, bringing the right heel into its hollow; a hand drawn rapidly across the throat, called the “penal” sign; a pressure of the thumb on the joint of a man’s first finger while shaking hands; and the word “Boaz,” signifying “in strength.”

  Finally they conferred upon her the plain lambskin apron which was the principal symbol of the Craft when working in the Lodge, “more ancient than the Golden Fleece or the Roman Eagle, more honorable than the Star and Garter or any other Order under the sun which can be conferred by king or prince or other potentate, except he be a Mason as well.”

  It was Simon’s they gave her, Simon who tied it around her waist, with the flap folded inside in token of her status as an Apprentice. Its lining was a fine white watered silk, though she noticed that the prince’s lining was sky-blue, and Franklin’s a darker shade. She found herself noting the embroidery on Franklin’s, and wondering whether she dared copy it.

  More brief instruction followed, with Arabella s
tanding at the northeast angle of the Lodge while Andrew, as Worshipful Master, expounded on the symbolism of the floor cloth she herself had made: the situation of the Lodge itself, due east and west; the three great Pillars represented in every Lodge throughout the world; the black-and-white-checkered floor; the illustrations of the working tools. This, at least, she had already known.

  But most of this blurred together in her mind by the time Andrew declared the Lodge duly closed and her new brethren began to dismantle the Lodge and disperse. Washington was the first to make motions to leave—to her readily acknowledged relief—but he called Simon to him as he put away his Bible and apron, and the two of them disappeared into the parlor for a very long time.

  Shortly thereafter, with no sign that their host was likely to emerge anytime soon, Ramsay departed with Murray and O’Driscoll. Franklin stayed long enough to cajole a smile out of Arabella while she helped Andrew and Justin begin restoring the library to its usual configuration, but soon he, too, was gone, after promising to have the General’s aide bring around the horses. The prince pitched in at first but soon was summoned to the parlor by Simon.

  Half an hour passed. They finished in the library and sat down to wait, but no one was eager to begin any discussion of import with the General still in the house. Arabella offered to mull ale, but neither Andrew nor Justin could summon up any enthusiasm. When the parlor door finally opened, Simon wordlessly escorted a tight-jawed and shaken-looking Commander in Chief out to where his aide was waiting with the horses. The prince remained in the parlor. When Simon very shortly returned, he summoned the rest of them into the parlor as well, gesturing for them to take seats.

  “I know this already has been a far longer night than any of us expected, but I believe we need to clear the air regarding several points,” he said, with a sour look at the prince. “It’s obvious that His Highness knows far more about a number of things than he led us to expect. Are we entitled to any explanation, Prince, or must we simply accept everything that has happened tonight?”

  Simon’s tone was a little sharp, but the prince only shrugged, not at all taken aback.

  “I assure you, my dear major, that it has never been my intent to deceive any of you. On the other hand, you must bear in mind that I have been constrained in what I am permitted to tell you. We all answer to the same Master. However, ask me what you will. If I may, I shall give you an answer.”

  Simon sighed perplexedly, his immediate annoyance defused, and searched for a less confrontational approach as the others regarded him curiously.

  “Very well. Perhaps the best place to begin is by relating what happened in here with the General before I called the rest of you in.” He scowled at the prince. “You knew about the dream, didn’t you?”

  The prince inclined his head in the affirmative.

  “Did Justin tell you?”

  “No, he did not.”

  “Saint-Germain, then?”

  Again the royal nod.

  “I see,” Simon said. “Are you aware that part of the dream was fulfilled tonight?”

  As the others looked at him in question, the prince allowed himself a tiny smile. “Which part did you have in mind?”

  Simon simply stared at him for several seconds before saying carefully, “The General had a flash of memory during Arabella’s initiation. He had mentioned something about a laurel wreath, that first night we discussed it, but he couldn’t remember any details. He did tonight. It seems the laurel wreath was actually a victor’s laurel, placed on his head by a woman—a woman wearing a Freemason’s apron. He now wonders whether it might have been Arabella.”

  “Ah,” the prince said.

  “He was also mightily curious about you,” Simon went on. “He seemed to think you might have been in the dream as well. Since he’d never met you before tonight, I think that unlikely—or is it? Which part of the dream did you have in mind?”

  “I confess that I had not anticipated your good lady’s involvement at this time,” the prince said slowly, “though perhaps I should have done. It was Saint-Germain who suggested that it was she who would become most intrigued by the antiquarian aspects of the moonstone and instructed me to bring the book on symbols to her attention. But he cannot have known she would fall asleep upstairs and …”

  His voice trailed off for a few seconds; then he shook his head lightly.

  “No matter. It soon became clear that her initiation was intended—and for good reason, it now appears. As for the part I expected to have in tonight’s events, I tell you truly that it had only to do with Justin.”

  Justin closed his eyes briefly, aware of them looking at him, remembering that awe-full, heart-stopping instant of eternity at the end of the compasses. Almost, he could conjure up an inkling of what it meant.

  “Justin is being readied to assume a fuller part in the Master’s plans,” the prince said quietly. “To that end I was instructed to ensure that a Master’s Lodge be convened in his behalf, and to act as the Master’s deputy in a very real sense, on several levels. I believe I was successful, but Justin can tell you better than I.”

  Justin slowly nodded, raising his gaze to the prince’s dark eyes—though this time he knew he could have looked away, if he wished.

  “Something happened when you received me on the points of the compasses,” he said carefully, delving for meaning in the memory. “It was—it was—”

  “Beyond description,” the prince supplied. “Do you understand its significance?”

  Justin nodded. “Saint-Germain said that I was prepared to pass the next threshold. I rather suspected that he wasn’t referring only to the Craft. But not until you gave me the challenge did I realize that you were functioning as more than just a Freemason.” He shook his head in wonder. “How did you do that? What did you do?”

  The prince smiled. “One day, perhaps, we shall discuss it. For now, suffice it to say that the Master now may regard you as a full member of his inner circle. This will become increasingly important, as more of the Master Tracing Board is revealed.”

  “And is Saint-Germain the author or the interpreter of this Tracing Board?” Andrew asked, speaking at last.

  The prince permitted himself a droll smile. “Either, both—I tell you truly, I wish I knew. I do know that all of us have parts to play on that Board. My own next task is of a less dramatic nature than what I did in Lodge tonight, but it is nonetheless a part of the Master’s vision.”

  “You refer to your venture behind the British lines?” Arabella asked.

  “I do. Which brings us to Washington, and his part in all of this. He now knows what I plan to do for him, and something of the reason, but I have not told him of my full connection with Charles Edward Stuart. I do have the impression that he is guardedly sympathetic to the Stuart cause—though Simon is in a better position to judge that than I.”

  “How sympathetic?” Justin asked before Simon could respond.

  Simon permitted himself a heavy sigh. “There is no simple answer to that question,” he said. “Though he commands what is now regarded as a rebel army, he yet hopes for a resolution in other coin than blood. He has held the King’s commission and served with honor, but he is fast losing his enthusiasm for the man now sitting on the throne in London. Still, he is not yet ready to discard long-standing loyalties to the concept of King and Crown.”

  “Would he be willing to support a different king?” Andrew asked.

  “I have no idea. He knows you fought at Culloden, and we once discussed what makes men cling to what seems a long-lost cause. But that was not his cause.”

  “No, the colonies have become his cause,” the prince interjected. “And in due time, to serve their best interests, he may well come to believe that he cannot in conscience acknowledge any king. The Master recognizes this possibility.”

  “But—what of King Charles?” Justin murmured.

  The prince shook his head. “I do not know. He is an important element on the Master Tracing Boar
d, but only one of several. It is Washington who, as Commander in Chief, has taken on responsibility for securing the rights of the colonies and thus moves toward the center of the Board. For his guidance and inspiration, the Master has set the dream in place, couched in symbols that will speak to him at the proper time.

  “Simon has been placed to help the General remember the various elements of this dream and guide him in gradual recognition of the Divine Pattern being laid out for the colonies. At the appropriate time it is the Master’s intention that the dream should be reenacted on the physical level, in a rite of dedication that will seal Washington’s destiny as defender and champion of colonial liberties, and eventual victor. In the course of his preparation, it may well be that he shall become the Stuart champion as well, preparing the way for restoring the Stuart Crown. Even the Master cannot know exactly how it all will resolve, but this is his intention.”

  In the stunned silence that followed these words, only Andrew finally had the presence of mind to speak.

  “I believe I begin to discern his intention in my immediate instructions,” he said, fixing the prince with his good eye. “Are you aware what he intends me to do?”

  “I am,” the prince replied, with a faint smile. “Regrettably, since I must be about my own work, I shall not be privileged to witness yours, or to support you in it actively, but I am certain you shall succeed most admirably. The stage is well set.”

  “Yes.” As the others looked at him in question, Andrew only smiled and gave a satisfied nod. “Yes, after tonight, I do believe it is.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The prince left: them two nights hence, on the first of December, having shaved off his ginger mustache and cut off more than six inches of his hair. It radically altered his appearance, as did the patched breeches and somewhat tatty brown coat Arabella had provided.