by Jack Whyte
Tam stopped and looked back at her, waiting. Accompanied by two of the oarsmen from the boat who were now carrying the women’s baggage, he had been leading them obliquely towards the far edge of the main assembly.
“So, we women are to sit farthest from everything, behind the clowns and jesters, behind the harpists and jongleurs, even behind the camp followers and mendicants, were any such here? We are to be fed last, with cold food? Where is Sir William? I really must offer him my thanks and appreciation for such consideration.”
Tam knew Jessie well enough by then to ignore her tone of voice, and he responded as though she had merely made a passing comment. “Your food will no’ be cold, my lady. I’ll see to it mysel’. I made arrangements for it to be served and covered and set aside before I left to fetch you. And before you say anything more, I told them to wait an hour before doing anything, so they should just be about ready to look to it now.” He pointed off in the direction they were heading. “See, Mungo’s ower there, waiting for us. I don’t think you’ll ha’e met him yet, but he’s a good man, born and bred in these parts. He’s dour, and he doesna say much, but ye’ll like him. He’ll have a fire built by now, and fresh wood to hand to keep it going. We’ll get you seated and comfortable, wi’ a good fire, and then I’ll go and bring your food back … with wine, the yellow kind you like, from Anjou. Now come away and let’s get you settled, or none of us will ever get to eat. And when you’ve finished dining, why then ye may go and find Will Sinclair and thank him yourself … as long as I’m no’ there.”
A short time later, he had made them as comfortable as they could be on an open heath above a beach, and the taciturn Mungo was piling the fire high with wellseasoned driftwood. When both men were ready to leave, Jessie thanked them courteously, then watched them as they quickly vanished among the crowds of men up ahead.
Before Tam returned, she became aware of a commotion among the crowd and stood up to see what was happening, but even on tiptoe, standing on the highest stone around, she could see nothing beyond the packed mass of men ahead of her. She dispatched Janette to find out what was happening, and the servant soon returned, shaking her head.
“I do not know what has happened, madam. A ship arrived, it seems, from the north, but no one knows whence it came or to whom it belongs.”
Moments later, against the darkening skies of the late-November afternoon, Jessie saw Tam, Mungo, and another man returning towards them, each carrying a covered, flat-bottomed bundle that proved to be boards holding food and drink in sufficient amounts to feed all six of them, men and women. There were platters of succulent, thickly sliced lamb and goat, bowls of diced savory turnip, and dishes of boiled green leafy vegetables, along with fresh-baked crusty bread served with wild honey and unsweetened oat cakes with hard, tangy goat cheese. After weeks at sea and the scant, uninspiring food associated with long sea journeys, this was a royal feast, and Jessie and her women paid it the homage it merited, matching even Tam and Mungo in their voracity and making no attempt to speak until their appetites had been sated. Eventually, however, Jessie pushed a rind of cheese away with her fingertips and held her hands up in front of her, fingers spread.
“That was sinfully good, Tam. Well done.”
Tam grunted, then used a fingernail to pick a morsel from between his teeth before he answered. “Don’t thank me, my lady. I but brought it here. It came wi’ the blessings o’ the island’s quartermaster, who takes his instructions from the Douglas. Sir William made the arrangements for it last night, while he was with the garrison at Brodick, whence he came this morning.”
“Then I shall thank the quartermaster if I ever meet him. But speaking of garrisons, someone said a new ship had arrived. Do you know anything of that?”
“Aye.” Tam swept some scraps from his wooden platter into the fire, then placed the platter by his feet. “It was a galley. Highlanders from the north. Mungo said it bore the standard of MacDonald. I didna see it myself. But whoever landed from it came ashore wi’ banners flying … blue and white banners, so it might have been the Douglas himself.”
“Might have been? Are you not sure?”
Tam looked at her reproachfully. “No, Lady, I am not sure. I can think of five noble houses whose colors are blue and white, or white and blue. Douglas is but one of those, though he’s the likeliest to be here in person, seeing that he holds the island at the King’s pleasure.”
“What does that mean?”
“He is in charge here in Arran.” “Who is this man?”
“A personal friend of the King. The two are close, I’m told.”
“Then I must meet him, as soon as may be. He is the one will know where to find King Robert.”
Tam hesitated, on the point of telling the Baroness that King Robert already knew about her gift, but then he decided to hold his tongue. This was none of his affair, he knew, and he would earn no gratitude from either Will or her ladyship by admitting any knowledge of what was going on. He merely dipped his head. “Of course, my lady,” he said. “That should present ye with no difficulty, providing that this was the Douglas who sailed in … As I said, I didna see him. But if he’s here, you’ll doubtless find him wi’ Sir William.”
“So be it. Let us find him with Sir William, then.” Jessie rose to her feet, gazing with narrowed eyes towards the spot where she imagined Sir William Sinclair and his noble guest might be found.
FIVE
Will Sinclair, stripped of his ceremonial finery and wearing his white knight’s mantle again, had finished his dinner and was deep in conversation with Sir Reynald de Pairaud, a personality with whom Will knew he would have to deal very carefully during these first days on Arran. De Pairaud was widely known—although assumed would probably have been more accurate, Will decided—to have powerful connections within the Order’s hierarchy. His brother, the redoubtable Sir Hugh de Pairaud, had been one of the highest-ranked members of the Governing Council, holding the positions of both Treasurer of the Temple and Visitor of the Priory of France, and had presumably been arrested with his fellow Council members in October.
Will knew, and presumed that de Pairaud must know, too, that any influence the veteran knight might once have had was now moot, set at naught by the removal of his brother. But he knew, too, that among the other knights the perception of de Pairaud’s influence remained, and might conceivably be used to channel resistance to the changes Will would suggest in the coming days. It was in de Pairaud’s nature to resist change of any kind, to maintain with stubborn, mindless ferocity that continuity equated to tradition and inherent rightness. It went without saying that he would be loud and self-righteous in his condemnation of the changes that Will was about to implement, involving, as they did, some of the most cherished shibboleths of the ultra-conservative group known as the Temple Boars, which included de Pairaud among its stubborn, headstrong number. Will was determined nonetheless to attempt to lessen the older man’s resistance through simple courtesy, and he was trying hard to remain amiable in the face of the other’s humorlessness.
He had just fallen silent, having failed to engage Sir Reynald in a discussion of new beginnings and the opportunity for change, when he looked up to see men standing on their toes all about him, straining to see towards the bay beyond the beach. He heard raised voices, too, loudly wondering what they were looking at and who this newcomer might be. He rose quickly and easily to his feet. Even standing, though, he could see nothing, and so he made his way through the crowd to the top of the gradient on his left, growling to the people there ahead of him to make way and give him room.
Below him, its mast and rigging limned by the fastsetting sun, and rapidly approaching the shelving shoreline, a great galley was hurtling forward, plainly about to drive itself ashore, but even as he saw it and began to marvel at its suicidal speed, its rowers shipped oars as one, raising their long sweeps vertically in a concerted movement that demonstrated long and uncountable hours of practice. Then, under the propulsion of that
last, hard, precisely executed stroke, the ship glided forward, its speed bleeding away rapidly as it nosed towards the shingled strand and came to rest exactly where its captain had wished to place it—far enough on land for its passengers to leap down safely and dry shod from the prow, yet sufficiently afloat for its rowers to be able to pull it free again without great difficulty. It was a superbly executed maneuver, and Will responded to it as he did to any example of demonstrated excellence, fighting the urge to applaud.
He had already recognized the slim figure of Sir James Douglas by then, clearly identifiable by the bright blue, white-striped sash that crossed his breast beneath the paler blue covering of his cloak. Douglas was helmed and armored, standing alone in the prow of the grounded vessel despite being surrounded by others, and as Will watched, the first members of the incoming group leapt out and down, to land softly and dry shod as expected before stepping out of the way of those who followed. Will counted three men dressed in white tunics bearing the device of a black galley on their chests, and two of those carried the bagpipes so beloved of the Highland Gaels, while the third held a long pole bearing a banner with the same emblem, the black galley on a field of white that he knew to be the standard of MacDonald. The two pipers inflated their bags immediately and began to play, sustaining their melody as the remainder of the landing party jumped down after them. Two of the last ones bore the standard of the house of Douglas, in blue and white, while the remaining eight, plain men-at-arms, wore simple chain mail over padded leather tunics. Douglas himself jumped down last, and the MacDonald standard-bearer began leading him up from the beach, followed by the two pipers, to where Sir William Sinclair, having climbed down from his high viewpoint and away from the crowd, awaited them.
Since they had no hope of making themselves heard over the noise of the pipes, both men exchanged nods when they met, then stood smiling and waited for the tune to end. When it did, the strange, wailing music falling away with unexpected swiftness into a final, dying bleat, both were aware of the silent throng surrounding them, waiting for them to speak. Will moved first, nodding to the younger man and greeting him quietly in the Scots tongue.
“Good day to you, Sir James, although the day appears to have gone already. Welcome to our camp, temporary as it is.”
“Aye, my thanks.” Douglas nodded in return, grinning slightly, then lifted the heavy metal helmet from his head and tossed it to one of his men, before pulling a soft cloth cap with an affixed blackcock feather from under his cloak where it had been folded over his shoulder. He tugged it onto his head, adjusting it until it felt comfortable, then swung away to look back over his left shoulder at the fleet ranged in the bay. “I am impressed, I must say. You told us you had a fleet with you, but I had pictured nothing this grand. It gives you … a certain presence, shall we say?” He turned back, his eyes scanning the crowd around them. “The admiral is not here?”
“Oh, he is here … simply not here, if you take my meaning. He ate with me, but left some time ago to speak with some of his captains, now that they have all filled their bellies and are capable of speaking without pleading to be fed. Do you require to speak with him?”
“No, I was merely curious. And what of my people from Brodick? Are any of them here in your camp?”
Will shook his head, surprised by the question. “No, none at all. We have been about our own affairs all day, coming ashore and finding our land legs, then rededicating ourselves to our Order and our way of life.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Knowing it would be thus, therefore, I invited no one from among your captains. Of course, the exceptions are the men you can see behind the fires—the cooks and scullions who prepared the food—and incidentally on that matter, our thanks to you for that service are heartfelt.”
He switched smoothly into French and raised his voice for the benefit of the Templars standing all around them.
“Brethren, my friend here is Sir James Douglas, Guardian of this Island of Arran in the name of Robert, King of Scots. Sir James is the man responsible for providing the food on which we have just dined this day, and the cooks who prepared it for us, so it would be meet to offer him thanks.” His last words were drowned out by a concerted roar, and when it died away Will raised a hand to recapture their attention. “If any of you speak the Scots tongue, you will already have heard me welcome Sir James to our temporary encampment. I would like to promise him now that by the time he visits us again, he will not have to sit on the rocks of the beach to talk with me.” That earned a shout of laughter. “In the meantime, though, he and I have matters of some delicacy to discuss, so if you will permit us, I should like to take him up to my pavilion and speak with him there. Remain you where you are and continue to enjoy yourselves for a while. But get you then to your beds. Our new lives will begin right here on this beach tomorrow with Matins, hours before the sun rolls around to shine on us again. Come, Sir James.”
He ignored the chorus of groans stirred up by his last announcement and led the Douglas chief away, followed by his escorting party. He took them along the shelf above the beach, to where his large pavilion had been erected earlier that day. They walked in silence, because of the need to watch their footing in the dark on the uneven ground, and as they went Will wondered what had brought the Douglas here at this particular time, and aboard a galley.
Even in his absence, it was clear that someone had plainly had an eye to his welfare for the evening, for Will could see the glow of a bright fire inside the pavilion from a long way distant, and the intensity of the light told him it was burning in a brazier on the stone slab at the center of the tent.
“That fire is going to feel good,” Douglas remarked, but Will stumbled then, misjudging a step, and the jarring impact drove the breath from his lungs, so that he made no further attempt to speak until he and Douglas were safely inside the pavilion. They handed their heavy cloaks to a waiting lay brother and made their way directly to stand on either side of the blazing brazier, hands outstretched to the heat. Douglas’s men-at-arms had melted away silently as they approached the great tent, distributed themselves around the outside of it, and although Will had said nothing at that time, he was curious enough to speak of it now.
“Why the escort, today of all days, and here in front of all my men?” He grinned, taking the sting out of what he was saying. “I warrant you, if we wished to harm you or molest you, there are sufficient of us to overcome your eight guards without a deal of trouble.”
“You think so? There’s only a few hundred of you, and you’re all French at that, so don’t be too cocksure.” He paused then, and when he spoke again all humor had been set aside. “The guards are an official escort, Will, just in case of need, and nothing to do with you or yours. I came to bring you a gift.”
Will looked at the young Scots chief in surprise. “Gifts are always welcome, my friend, but what kind of need would require you to keep guards at hand here, among your own folk?”
Douglas shrugged. “Dire need, if only on occasion, and always unpredictable. I have come here directly from the north end of the island. I remembered that your fleet was to put in today and so I thought to find you among them. I was right, and I am glad.”
“You came seeking me directly? Why?”
“To offer thanks for your keen sight.”
Will shook his head. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Your keen insight, perhaps I should say. Remember the long-eared fellow with the need to eavesdrop on French conversations? Well, I set two of my men to watching him and he left here that same night, in something of a hurry, but fortunately unaware that he was being watched. One of my men followed him while the other waited for me. He headed northeast, across the hills and through the mountain glens, clearly headed for Lochranza, since there is nowhere else up there. It was difficult to follow him though, without being seen—that is empty country up there—but we had ample grounds for suspecting him of deviltry and so we picked him up that afternoon and asked him a f
ew questions.”
Will was well aware of the euphemism, but when Douglas showed no signs of continuing, Will asked him outright. “And what did you discover from your … questions?”
“That you had detected a plot … against the King, as all such plottings are.”
“And this fellow was the ringleader?”
“God’s blood no! He was but a messenger—an observer and a spy. He was on his way to his master with tidings of the arrival of a large body of French soldiery in Arran.”
“So who was his master, did you find out?”
“MacDougall of Lorn. The old chief’s son, Lame John himself. Nothing surprising there, the dastard being who and what he is, but what was surprising was the next piece of information our songbird spat out, concerning his most recent employer. It transpires that Menteith himself, our beloved and much-trusted hereditary chieftain of Arran, has made alliance with MacDougall, upon the understanding that he will be given the rule of both Arran and Kintyre once the Bruce is dead and the MacDonald upstarts crushed. More fool him for believing any word from Lame John’s mouth, but the deed was done, the alliance made, and now he himself has been betrayed and his fate is sealed. Menteith will see no mercy from our King for this piece of treachery, I’ll warrant you. There have been too many like matters, and far too many foresworn traitors set free to rebel again.”
Will felt his chest constrict in dismay, thinking about the slightly built chieftain of Menteith, whom he had found to be pleasant and unassuming. If that innocuous little man could be a traitor, he realized, then anyone could. He grunted. “So where is Menteith now? What have you done with him?”
“Nothing. He still sits in Brodick, unknowing that his bolt is shot before ever he had a chance to raise a hand. I told you, I came straight here from the north. There was a MacDonald galley in the bay beneath the western moor, and we were able to use it, since its captain was already on his way here to Brodick. We came around the north coast of the island, checking for skulking MacDougalls among the bays and inlets, then made our way directly here. Our next move will be to put into Brodick, where we’ll arrest Menteith and keep him under guard until the King can deal with him. That is why I travel with an escort this day. We did not know where we might find Menteith, nor did we know who might attempt to defend him when we arrest him. Thus my men-at-arms, and thus, too, my gift to you, well earned.”