by Jack Whyte
As Tam swung away towards the stern with a grunt, Jessica Randolph turned to smile at Sinclair.
“Sir William,” she said, unperturbed. “We expected you to be detained far longer than this, with all the comings and goings that have taken place today. Are you feeling unwell?”
He forced himself to answer graciously. “No, madam, I am very well. I merely have some matters of my own to attend to, and Sir Charles and his officers have more knowledge of what they are about than I could ever have. And so I left them to it. You and Tam were deep in discussion.”
“Tam is a dear man … Is it true you have granted Charles leave to sail away and leave us in search of some hidden land?”
Damn the woman! “I see Tam has been saying more than his prayers.”
“Untrue, sir. My good-brother himself told me he would seek your leave to go. Tam merely responded when I asked him about it.”
He felt relieved to know that Tam had said nothing untoward, for Will had discussed the plan with him as a matter of course, before making his decision. He had never known Tam to betray a confidence, and to know that this remained unchanged made him feel a glow of warmth inside. But then he realized that the Baroness was gazing at him expectantly.
“Aye,” he said, making a harrumphing sound in his throat, “well, the admiral made his request, and I responded. He will be leaving shortly.”
“In search of this unknown place, this Merica.” It was not a question, and it took him aback.
“He mentioned this to you?”
“He did. Should he not have?”
“No, I am merely surprised.”
“That he should share such confidence with a mere woman, or that he should speak of it at all?”
Sinclair shook his head. “Neither, madam. I meant no offense.”
The woman stared at him through narrowed eyes, but at that moment a bumping sound from close beneath them announced the arrival of the boat Tam had summoned. He glanced over the side to make sure it was indeed his boat, then bowed slightly to the Baroness.
“My boat is here, madam, so you must excuse me. I have much to do.”
“I am sure you have, sir.”
The Baroness dipped her head graciously and turned away, and he had to steel himself not to watch her as she made her way forward, although he could hear the crew members greeting her as she went. Instead, he braced himself and stepped forward to the entry port, eyeing the moving ladder that awaited his cautious descent.
When he was safely in the boat he tucked his cloak about him before looking up to see Tam watching him, his face unreadable.
“What? What means that look?” he growled, speaking Scots so their conversation would be unintelligible to any listening ears among the oarsmen. Tam looked away, saying nothing, but Will was in no mood to leave it there. “You two were having a deal to say to each other, I noticed. What else did you tell her, other than that I had granted the admiral’s request?”
“We were but passin’ the time o’ day. She asked me right out and I answered, but no’ without thinking. She would find out within a day or two, when it comes time for him to leave, so I thought it no harm.” He twitched an eyebrow. “Are ye vexed wi’ me?”
Will watched the oarsmen’s back muscles clench and unclench as they drove the boat away from the admiral’s galley and turned it skillfully towards his own, but finally he sighed. “No, I’m no’ vexed, Tam … It’s just that that woman … upsets me.”
Tam offered no comment on that, asking instead, “What d’ye think o’ the new fellow, wi’ the fancy galley? What’s his name, de l’Armentière?” He pronounced it Arminteer in the Scots fashion. “A Temple Boar if ever I saw one.”
“Aye, he is, but I think he’ll be a good man to have wi’ us, ne’er the less. He has a quick mind on him, and ’gin we can keep him happy and gi’e him lots to fight over, I think he’ll be well enough. His three ships are grand enough, and he’ll have two or three hundred men aboard them. Fine enough if we get into a tulzie at sea, but we’ll ha’e to feed and shelter them once we make land.”
“Aye, right enough,” Tam agreed, low-voiced. They were approaching their own ship now and its hull loomed above them. Their lead oarsman stood up and reached out with a long, hooked pole to catch the rope that would allow them to pull themselves to where the ladder from the entry port hung just astern of the rearmost of the galley’s long oars, and as he did so Tam mused, still in Scots, “But speakin’ o’ twa, three hundred extra men, forbye the ones we had, you said the admiral wondered whether the King o’ Scots will be glad to see a fleet sail into his ken … D’ye no’ think he might be right?”
Will grunted, preparing himself to stand up once the boat had been secured. “He might be, Tam. You never know. But from what I hear, King Robert’s troubles are all land based. He’ll ha’e little use for galleys, I’m thinking, but he’ll be hungry for fighting men. But that reminds me, I meant to ask you if there are other Scots among our fleet. D’you know that, or can you find out?”
“I can ask. But what are ye lookin’ for?”
Will stood up and braced himself cautiously against the choppy motion of the moored boat. “Any man who knows anything at all about Arran Isle, for I know nothing of it. I’ve seen it often, but only frae the mainland. I’ve never set foot there, and it came to me that there might be men, even one man, among the fleet who knows the place.”
“Aye, I’ll try to find out. Mind your step now and dinna fa’ in. I ha’e nae need to spend hours cleanin’ salt and rust off your blades.”
SEVEN
“Step back here and stay away from the edge o’ that cliff. You’re the one who pointed out to me that it’s a’ crumbled away underneath. All we would need now is for it to gi’e way and send you and half a mountain straight down onto the tops o’ our ships.”
Will threw his head back and laughed loud, but at the same time he did as Tam bade him, turning back onto more solid ground, lowering himself to sit on a tussock of grass by his kinsman’s side and gazing out to the west, where the Atlantic Ocean stretched ahead of them.
“Look at that vista, Tam. Have you ever seen the like? No, you ha’e not, because you have never seen siccan a vast body of water, and neither have I. We ha’e traveled far, you and I, these past years, but when you think of it, I doubt we ha’e ever been completely out of sight of land, it’s aey been there, behind us or in front of us or on either side but somewhere within sight. But out there, where the admiral will be heading tomorrow, there is nothing. We’ll be going over that way, more northward, towards Ireland and then Scotland, and again we’ll never really be out of sight of land.” He pointed due west. “But over there, beyond the rim o’ that sky, there lies nothing but more water, and within a matter of a day or two’s outward sailing, he and his men will be lost in an ocean so vast that his only hope of reaching land will be to turn around and sail back.”
“He’s no’ an admiral now. Just plain Sir Charles.” That was true. In the two days since the appearance of de l’Armentière and his galleys, the Temple ships had made their way from Cape Corunna to the sheltered, nameless bay they had chosen, and as soon as they had anchored safely and started the transfer of goods and the provisioning of the four vessels he would now take in search of Merica, Sir Charles had resigned his admiral’s rank and bestowed it upon Edward de Berenger, the transfer of title and power of admiral of the Temple fleet witnessed and ratified by Sir William Sinclair. The ceremony had been brief, carried out on the beach of the bay without pomp, in the course of a brief Mass concelebrated by the four bishops who had sailed with them from La Rochelle, and as soon as the rites were concluded, everyone scattered to see to the redistribution of the various cargoes.
Sir Charles’s guest had captured the imagination of the men, and he had no difficulty raising a party of 110 willing volunteers to sail with him in search of the fabled new land, more than enough to crew his small fleet of ships. His party, however, would take no horses with them, an announcement that ast
onished Sir William Sinclair when he first heard it, although he realized at once that sound reasoning underlay the decision. No one knew how long the voyage would take, or if it would even end in success, but St. Valéry’s belief was that it might take anywhere up to three months of sailing, and the impossibility of carrying sufficient fodder rendered such a thing impractical. Atop that, there was the well-known fact that horses did not take well to sea voyages; after a voyage of mere weeks, it required at least one full day and frequently two to permit the animals to adjust to having solid land beneath their feet. No one cared to think of the effect a journey months in length might have on the creatures. And so St. Valéry’s expedition would disembark in the new land and proceed afoot, unless they were fortunate enough to find replacement mounts in Merica.
“How long will Sir Charles stay wi’ us before he strikes away?”
“Not long. He’ll probably wave us away before we’re out of sight of land.”
“You sound very sure, for a landsman …”
“As sure as any man may be of anything. Aye, I’m sure of it. And in the meantime all’s well below on the beach, and we ha’e nothing to do but wait a while.”
Tam made no response to that. Matters were well in hand on the beach far below them, cargo being transferred from one ship to another so that St. Valéry’s small squadron could set out, at least, with as much as possible of anything they might require on their voyage. Will and Tam had had nothing to do among all the activity and so they had taken advantage of the opportunity to stretch their legs and had ended up climbing the beetling cliffs, by a roundabout route that avoided the perilous overhang, so that now they sat at their ease far above the bustling activities below.
Will smiled and lay back, his eyes closed in enjoyment of the sun, but Tam had more questions.
“What about the ships waitin’ for us off Finisterre?”
“Already taken care of. De Lisle’s already on his way to meet them, if there are any there. They’ll follow us, hugging the coastline until they reach Cape Corunna, then they’ll head north and west for Scotland. We’ll wait for them off the Mull of Kintyre.” He turned his head. “Were you able to find out if there are any other Scots in the fleet?”
“Aye, but only this mornin’. There’s two, one o’ them a graybeard frae Galloway called Mungo MacDowal. I havena seen him or spoken to him, but I left word for him to come and see ye when he was finished workin’ this afternoon. If he’s frae Galloway, he’ll ha’e grown up lookin’ at Arran, maist like. He’ll probably be there by the time we get back down to the beach … Tell me, why did ye have us change ships, you and me? I was just beginning to grow used to where we were.”
His companion opened one eye, squinting against the light, and looked at him as though he were mad. “We haven’t changed ships.”
“No, but we could have. We’ve changed captains, and I liked de Berenger.”
“That is neither here nor there. I had no choice. The admiral’s galley is the only one big enough for the Baroness and her women. Would you have had me throw them out? De Berenger’s transfer aboard changed nothing, with Sir Charles gone, but had you and I moved over, it would have been too crowded. So we stayed. Besides, I could not abide being on that ship with all those women.”
Tam started to respond but then merely lay back on the grass, his fingers interlaced behind his head. “No,” he muttered, “you couldna, could you? That would ha’ been too human. Ye winna thole the women.”
Will did not dignify that with a response, for despite his Scots sarcasm, Tam was correct: Will Sinclair would not, indeed, tolerate the presence of the women and had thus chosen to remain where he was, since de Berenger’s former galley was more than adequate to his needs. The fact that the Temple Treasure was already in the vessel’s modest hold was justification enough to allow him to avoid being saddled with the presence and too-close proximity of the distracting and infuriating Baroness St. Valéry all the way to Scotland.
Tam, unsurprised by the lack of response, lay quiet for a long time after that, feeling the sun’s warmth on his face, then asked, “What are you thinkin’ to do once we reach Scotland? Will you go directly to the King?”
Sir Charles had asked him the same pair of questions, almost word for word, that very morning, and although he had answered straightforwardly at the time, he had been thinking about it ever since, and now he gave a slightly different answer to Tam.
“I don’t rightly know, Tam. Much will depend on what we find when we arrive. I told Sir Charles this morning that I would first seek a safe anchorage—for I can’t be sure Arran will be safe—then make enquiries about the King—his whereabouts, for one thing. But since then I have come to think that neither of those might be as simple as I thought … For one thing, I doubt that I’ll be able to strike out towards the King immediately. There’s too much to be done first among our own. Our party is too large, and many of the knights too proud and stiff-necked to be left too suddenly to their own devices. It comes to me that I might have to spend some time laying down the rules and asserting my authority before I ride away leaving them behind.
“And then again, there is the matter of the King of Scots himself. The last I heard, he was sore beset with troubles, his own lords and barons being as bad as the English. Particularly the Comyns, in the north. They claim the kingship as their right and name Bruce usurper, so the land is steeped in civil war. And then the threat from England atop all of that. Edward Plantagenet may be dead, but his earls and barons are no less hungry than before to subdue the Scots. For all I know, the Bruce may not even be alive by now, although I pray God that that be not the case. It must be considered, nevertheless, and other plans made against the possibility. Thus I must think about approaching Sir Thomas Randolph and the other members of the Temple in Scotland. They will receive me, I know, but whether they will have the power to succor us must remain to be seen.”
“So where will you seek safe anchorage?”
“On Arran first, I think. It has been Scots-held, part of the Bruce holdings, since King Alexander thrashed the Norwayans and dislodged them at Largs Battle. We will go there, find out what holds sway. It lies within the Firth of Clyde but is remote enough to hide us. I doubt it will be much occupied nowadays, for as I recall it is a barren place, yet suited to our purpose well enough.”
“There will be folk there, nonetheless.”
“Aye, probably, but we will talk with them. We mean them no harm.”
“Mayhap. But they’ll no’ know that. They’ll see a fleet o’ foreign ships and they’ll hide in the hills … Scots folk—and Islanders mair than most—ha’e little trust o’ foreigners.”
Will sat mum for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, that’s a bridge we’ll have to cross when we reach it …”
Neither man had any more to say and they lay quiet for a while, enjoying their inactivity and the solid ground beneath them, dozing on the grass as they waited for time to pass, and it seemed to Tam Sinclair that he had barely closed his eyes when the slap of Will’s hand against his thigh startled him awake.
“Come, you, let’s away. The man Mungo should be waiting for us by now. Scotland awaits us, and the tide is rising.”
Tam rolled over and pushed himself to his feet, but before they set out along the winding cliff-top path that would lead them down the long and difficult descent to the beach, he looked out again at the vastness of the waters. “D’you think Sir Charles will find his Merica?”
“No, Tam, I don’t. No more than I believe, in my heart, that King Robert the Bruce is dead. Pray God that neither should turn out to be the case.”
Wordlessly, Tam turned almost a quarter circle and gazed to the north, where the sea looked just as vast and limitless, but he knew that in that direction lay his homeland, and that, weather permitting, they would find it in mere days.
THE ISLAND OF ARRAN
THE HOLY ISLE
ONE
“There’s folk up there, watchin’ us.”
The bearded, barrel-chested sergeant called Mungo MacDowal hawked and spat cleanly over the side. “We’re on Eilean Molaise,” he said, his voice little more than an elongated grunt. “It’s a holy place, folk say, so they’ll be monks, friars mair likely. There’s aey three or fower o’ them up there, livin’ in caves like wild beasts. They’ll no’ bother us.”
“Not even when we land?” This was Will Sinclair, and Mungo barely favored him with a glance.
“No’ even if we kill them,” he growled, moving away to the ship’s rail, where he continued peering up towards the distant watchers.
Will turned with a lopsided grin to Admiral de Berenger, who stood slightly behind him. “Did you understand that?”
De Berenger blinked. “I heard the grunting of a boar. Should I have understood?”
Sinclair’s grin grew wider. “Mungo was saying that the men up there are friars, monks without a community, living as they can. The islet here is called Eilean Molaise, Saint Molaise’s Island, in honor of a Celtic saint who once lived here. He says they live in caves up there, like wild beasts, but they will offer us no ill.”
The admiral cleared his throat. “I shall accept that … the recommendation of one wild beast concerning another. I find it hard to believe the man is one of our sergeants.”
“Aye, well he is, and has been for two decades, earning himself his captain’s trust sufficiently to hold officer’s rank for more than twelve of those. He knows his work, and he knows these islands and their people. I do not. And he speaks Scots by choice because he is with Scots today and has not had the opportunity to speak it for many years.” Will grinned again, to take the potential sting out of his next words. “Show him some tolerance, Edward, and try not to be so disdainful when you look at him. He is a good man, merely uncouth by your standards.”