by Jack Whyte
“… and so I find little pleasure in contemplating new beginnings at my age.”
“Pardon me, my dear Charles,” she interjected, bluntly honest as she always was. “I was distracted for a moment and missed something of what you were saying. What new beginnings are you talking about?” The look he directed at her might have been a tolerant smile, but she could not be sure.
“All of them,” he said quietly. “There are several facing me at this point, all of which, save one, I would prefer to avoid.” He saw from the quirk of her eyebrow that she was waiting and would not interrupt him.
“First, and most important, dear sister, I am too old to find pleasure in the prospect of starting a new life in a new country. My time in France has been cut short, and I had no control over the events that brought us here. I would, however, like to have some control over what I do from this point onward.”
“And can you do that? Exercise control over your future?’
He made his familiar Gallic shrug. “Easily, if God permits it and if I can obtain permission from Sir William, who now appears to be my sole remaining superior. But I doubt he may be willing to grant me that permission, simply because so few of us are left free.”
He turned his back on her again, staring out into the gathering darkness for some time, before returning to face her, bracing himself against the rail. “If he chooses to deny my request, then I shall accept his decision, learn to live with my regrets, and do my duty to the best of my abilities, in Scotland or elsewhere, as need arises. If he does permit me to go, on the other hand, then I shall be in my element again, doing what I was born to do, and my life thenceforth will be under my own control.”
“Thenceforth? You mean forever?”
“For as long as remains to me.”
“You say this quest would remove you from the authority of your superiors. How may that be? Where would you have to go to achieve that?”
“Beyond the seas.”
“To Outremer, you mean? But Outremer is lost now.
There is no Christian presence in the Holy Land today. To travel back to Outremer would be suicide.”
“I am not speaking of Outremer ...”
“Where, then? Where else is there?”
He faced her squarely, and now there was no hint of levity in his gaze. “Nowhere,” he said. “At least, nowhere in the known world.”
She was genuinely bewildered. “Are you suggesting that there may be unknown places in the world?”
“I am.” He watched her struggle to absorb what he had said, seeing the play of her thoughts clearly mirrored on her face. “Such places may exist. My quest will be to find them.”
“But … how? Where?”
“Far to the west. Have you ever heard the word ‘Merica’?”
“No, never. Should I have?”
“No, not at all. I can think of no good reason why you should have, and several excellent reasons why you could not have. Merica is a mystical and legendary place, and I suppose I will be breaking some vow or other in telling you of it, although I cannot think where the transgression might lie.”
He lapsed into silence, and Jessie waited avidly, careful to make no move that might distract him. Eventually he cleared his throat and moved back to sit beside her again.
“As I said, you are the sole remaining member of my close family, and so I am going to tell you something that perhaps I ought not to mention. Our sacred Order is secretive. I know you are already aware of that, as is all the world, but the truth is even greater than the appearance of secrecy. The Order, the Brotherhood of the Temple, is founded upon a necessary secrecy, the substance of which is”—and here he flashed her a dazzling grin—“of course, a secret. There are many aspects of our code and our beliefs about which we are completely forbidden to speak, under oath and upon penalty of the most grievous punishment. There are other elements, however, that are less stringently circumscribed. Do you understand the distinction?” When she nodded he continued.
“Excellent … Among our ancient lore, which is extensive, there are several areas that lack coherency and proof of … what is the word? Authenticity, I suppose, covers it best. And one of those areas, a fragment, a report, the merest shadow of a tale, perhaps a legend, deals with a place that lies beyond the Western Sea, the ocean we call the Atlantic. It is a vast expanse of land, according to the fragmentary documents we possess, that is overlooked by a brilliant evening star that the natives—and apparently there are native peoples there—call Merica. But there is no proof, from any source, that such a place exists. As I said, it is a shadow.”
“How ancient?” She saw the lifting of his eyebrows and pushed ahead. “You spoke of your ancient lore, but your Order was founded less than two hundred years ago, when the Armies of Christ first took Jerusalem. That is old, but it is not ancient, and you spoke with the authority of belief when you spoke of ancient lore.”
“Bravo, dear sister.” He dipped his head slowly to one side in an obvious gesture of admiration and respect. “Few men I know would be sufficiently astute to make that observation, and women are not supposed to be capable of such objective reasoning—a supposition, I am beginning to suspect, that allows men to cling to their illusions of superiority. I am impressed, and you are correct. Our Temple Order is measurably old, but the lore upon which its core was formed is ancient. I can say no more than that without violating my oath.”
Jessica nodded again, accepting that, although the suggestion of a frown remained on her face. “So … an ancient record, an unsupported allegation, the merest fragment of a tale that by your own admission might have no basis in reality … and you intend to dedicate the remainder of your life to the search for this place? Forgive me, but that seems like the most obvious kind of folly. Where would you begin, and how? And who would go with you?”
“It may turn out that no one would, in which case I could not go … But I hope and believe that there will be enough intrepid souls among my men to fill out a sufficiently large crew to undertake the venture.”
“You mean to sail with you into almost certain death?’
“Yes, if you wish to put it that way. But the certainty of death would not be nearly as great as your tone implies. Our brotherhood is founded upon faith … faith in God, and faith in ourselves and in our mission. The great Treasure that we are shipping with Sir William is proof, in itself, of the validity and reality of our lore. Until it was discovered in the bowels of the Temple Mount in Jerusalem, its existence was uncertain, its discovery predicated upon the faith of the men who would spend years searching for it. Our founder, Hugh de Payens, had nothing more to guide him than the instructions contained in ancient documents, yet his faith and certainty enabled him, with his eight companions, to dig down into the living rock of the Temple Mount for nine long years before they found it. It had been there all the time, despite all the odds dictated by logic and reason.”
“What is it? What does it contain? It is obviously very precious.”
“Aye, it is, and with potency to match its value. But above all else, it is a secret, and I can tell you with absolute honesty that I, even as admiral of the Temple fleet, have no idea what it comprises. Until the moment I saw it on the wharf of that fishing village a week ago, waiting to be loaded, I had never set eyes on it, and to the best of my knowledge, no one that I know within the Order has ever seen the chests opened. The last I heard of the Treasure was when it was shipped to safety from the fortress at Acre, just before the city fell to the Saracens. That was nigh on twenty years ago.”
“Hmm. I have heard that tale and it is a striking one. But the Treasure is an established fact, dear Charles, its existence long since known. The matter you are describing, on the other hand, is altogether different. Even were you to find a crew as loyal as those who supported your founder in his search, I would be surprised that men would give up everything to leave the world they know and go with you on such a quest, sailing out into the Western Sea in the hope of finding an en
d to it. They would risk falling into the Abyss.”
“All men risk falling into the Abyss, Sister, simply by living in this world. I have no doubt that if I can find the right kind of men—and I believe they are already aboard my own galley—they will come with me.”
“And what of your superior? Why should Sir William Sinclair permit you to sail off with some of his few remaining men, on what most people would deem a fool’s errand?”
The admiral shrugged. “On the face of it there is no reason, but I believe I might be able to offer him something of value as a quid pro quo for granting me leave to go … As you know, we are currently being pursued by some of our own ships, three galleys that we believe were captured by de Nogaret’s men in La Rochelle. They are several days behind us, for I doubt that they could have gained on us during the storms, and that gap of days would permit us to do what needs to be done. I would require one day to unload my portion of the Treasure and stow it aboard another ship. After that, while the remainder of this fleet moved to concealment along the westward-facing coastline of Portugal, I would fall back and await the vessels pursuing us, then lead them in a merry chase out into the Atlantic.”
“What makes you think they would follow you, a single ship?”
“Because they will know no different. All they will see of me when they arrive is my shape, and perhaps that of one of my escorts, if I have any, disappearing below the horizon. They will assume that I am the rearward lookout that has been ahead of them since they left port, and that the remainder of the fleet lies beyond me, below the horizon. By the time they discover the ruse, Sir William, along with you and the remainder of the fleet, will have vanished into the northern seas, bound for Scotland, with no one the wiser.”
Jessica Randolph stared at her good-brother through narrowed eyes as she mulled over what he had told her. “You really believe you can find this Merica, don’t you?”
“If it exists, I believe I will find it. And I believe it exists.” He hesitated. “Of course, I have no idea how long it will take, so we will have to carry provisions for the entire crew for … probably two to three months.”
“Is that possible?”
“Barely, but yes. It would be easier with two ships, though. I asked originally for several vessels, but I see now that three might be too many, simply from the viewpoint of finding crews.”
Jessica sat up straight and blew her breath out sharply. “Then you must ask Sir William for two ships, and be prepared to man them both with only one full crew. Would that be enough for your needs?”
St. Valéry grinned. “Aye, it would, easily. But why are you so suddenly convinced Sinclair will let me go?”
“Because it makes sense. You can rid him of the threat of being followed to Scotland. And besides, if you succeed, and find this place—”
“And manage to return—”
She shot him a glance that was almost a frown.
“Oh, if you find it you will come back to brag of it, I have no doubt. And when you do that, you will have provided Sir William Sinclair and all his Order with a place of refuge that, should such a thing ever be required, would be unassailable … a place that no one knows, beyond the end of the world. You must speak to him as soon as possible, and with more conviction than you have ever used in your life.”
The admiral inclined his head, his beard masking his smile again. “So mote it be,” he murmured. “I will do so, rely upon it. But it occurs to me that my task will be much simpler—convincing him to permit me, I mean—if you appear to have no knowledge of my proposal and no interest in supporting me.”
She stared at him. “You mean you want me to pretend I know nothing of this.”
“I do. Sir William distrusts women—all women—instinctively. It is part of his training and he has not yet learned to cope with other … accommodations.”
Her face hardened and then she nodded. “That is true. I deplore it and I think him foolish and pigheaded in that, but I will say nothing and keep my distance while you plead with him.”
“Thank you, dear sister. I am in your debt.”
FOUR
To the considerable amazement of both plotters, Sir William Sinclair raised no insuperable objections to the admiral’s proposal when he had listened to it in its entirety, but then, although he said nothing at the time to St. Valéry, he had been mulling over the admiral’s idea for several days by then and could see nothing objectionable or unworthy in it. He accepted that a churchman might argue, on the grounds of morality, that Sir Charles might be seeking and risking suicide in such a venture, but Will Sinclair was a realist and had decided that the Order owed Sir Charles, after a lifetime of faithful and outstanding service, an opportunity to spend his final days in dedication to a quest he believed to be important.
But it was not until St. Valéry mentioned the notion expressed by his good-sister the Baroness, that success would provide a new haven in a new land to the survivors of the Order should it ever be needed, that Sinclair became convinced of the soundness of the admiral’s idea. The idea of hoodwinking the pursuing galleys and leading them out into the ocean appealed to him, too, for he was concerned about keeping the whereabouts of the fleet concealed from de Nogaret and his grasping master, but that faded to insignificance beside the potential outlined by the admiral. Charles St. Valéry was no man’s fool, and Sinclair trusted the older man’s instinct and judgment as he would his own. If St. Valéry believed this place called Merica was out there within reach, then it was a conviction arrived at only after much thought and grave deliberation over the pros and contras of what he was considering, and it was simply not in the admiral’s nature to lead any man dependent upon him into certain death. That truth, more than any other, led to Will’s conclusion that he should grant permission to St. Valéry’s request. Once that was decided, plans to implement the venture were quickly drawn up.
The weather had been perfect for sailing since the abatement of the storms, and the fleet sailed smoothly and swiftly along the northern coastline of Navarre towards Cape Corunna, where it would round the headland within the following two days and sail south by west again thereafter to Cape Finisterre. The fleet had reassembled on the second day after the last of the storms, with not a single vessel lost, an outcome that Brother Thomas the sacristan attributed to a miracle but which the admiral attributed to the skills of his captains and the seaworthiness of his ships.
Sir William kept the admiral and his men hard at work on the details of what had to be done if St. Valéry’s scheme were to have a hope of working. The following morning, a fifth galley was sent back to contact the four that already screened the fleet from the pursuing galleys from La Rochelle. Its captain’s orders were to gather information on the current situation vis-à-vis the pursuit craft; to discover the distance and sailing time separating the suspect galleys from the main fleet; and to return with that information as quickly as possible, but not before instructing the senior officer of the four screening galleys, Sir Charles de Lisle, to abandon his strategy of keeping distant and to determine the true status of the three galleys from La Rochelle, be they friend or foe. As soon as he knew beyond doubt, he was to send word immediately to Admiral St. Valéry.
In the meantime, taking advantage of the fine weather, St. Valéry sent out messages by boat asking any man who had intimate or special knowledge of the coastal waters between the two capes of Corunna and Finisterre to report to him in person. Three men responded, rowing from other ships to join him on his galley, where he awaited them on the small foredeck with Vice-Admiral de Berenger, Will Sinclair, and Captain de Narremat, the admiral’s shipmaster, in attendance. Two of the newcomers were sergeants, both veteran mariners, and the third a knight who had been born and raised on that harsh coastline. The admiral instructed them to decide upon a sheltered spot, if there were such a place along that ocean-battered littoral, where he could safely send at least some of his fleet ashore for a day.
There was one such place, they told him: a n
atural harbor that lay approximately forty miles south of Cape Corunna. It was close to where the knight had grown up and it was uninhabited, because the cliffs surrounding it were high and dangerous, undercut by thousands of years of relentless attacks by breaking waves so that they now loomed outwards above the beach, threatening any vessel foolhardy enough to linger in the bay below. All three men agreed that the bay was large and spacious and would easily accommodate the entire fleet in safety and secrecy for as long as they wished to remain there, but acknowledged that it could also be unpredictably dangerous because of falling rocks. The knight, whose name was Escobar, was confident that their pursuers, if they were really French and employed by de Nogaret, would be unlikely to know of the bay’s existence, since the only use he knew it served, and in this he was backed by one of the two mariners, was for the beaching of the occasional ship in order to scrape the barnacles from its hull.
St. Valéry looked at Sinclair, who nodded. “It sounds as though it might suit our purposes, but you are the seaman, so what think you? How long will you require to do what must be done?”