Order in Chaos tt-3

by Jack Whyte

  “Mutiny and disobedience.” The words reverberated in the silence they produced. “Eight men stand here in chains, accused of both these sins against the most basic tenet of our Brotherhood. Some might argue that their infringements are but minor, in the overall view of what has happened recently. That is for you to decide here in chapter. I will take no part in this trial. Brother de Montrichard will sit in charge, as is his right as preceptor. But regarding the serious nature of the accusations, I must say this. All of us, every man here present, swore the triple oath upon entering the Order: to adhere to poverty, chastity, and obedience to our superiors in all things. And obedience is primary among those, because without obedience, to the Rule and to our superiors, we are but a rabble, a mob more dangerous than any other, for we are trained to fight and kill, and as a mob, we threaten mayhem to ourselves and all around us.”

  He turned deliberately and swept the ranks on either side of him with eyes that held no trace of humor. “Heed me. I speak now as a man, not as the senior member present but as a brother among brethren and a veteran member of this Order, and I speak from my heart. We have been too long away from our daily discipline these past few months—that is a simple truth that you will all acknowledge. But the truth is far greater than that, and far more disquieting. We have drifted too far from our beginnings in recent years. We have grown lax and lazy, all of us, and I can say so loudly and openly here in chapter knowing that the only ears to hear that truth are ours alone.

  “Since the fall of Acre and the loss of our holdings in Outremer, we, the knights and sergeants of the Order, have in many respects become a rudderless ship, because our raison d’être, for more than a hundred and fifty years, was the defense and protection of the faith and the Church in the Holy Land. When we lost the struggle there, we lost our way, and, I regret to say, we lost our status in the eyes of men. The fall of Acre fortress, which had been seen as invulnerable and indestructible, was attributed to us, the fault laid at our door. We were the custodian of the Church’s interests in Outremer, and we are seen now as having been negligent in caring for our charges. That is untrue, as every man here knows, but people think it true, and we can now do nothing to change that. Too many decades have elapsed. No one cares about the roll of honor we have earned since we began. No one remembers our successes or the valor of our exploits in bygone days. All they see is failure and the loss of Outremer.”

  He lifted his voice to a shout on his next words, seeing the impact of the unexpected sound among the suddenly stiffening ranks. “And we encourage this! The Temple encourages it, through its policies past and current! We make it easy for our scowling enemies to hate us. The Temple pays no taxes, anywhere, and neither do its adherents—the merchants, moneylenders, and guildsmen who gouge and steal for profit under the Temple’s auspices, calling themselves Templars in defiance of the fact that they have never owned a sword or swung a blow in defense of anything other than their own greed … And that includes the so-called Brethren of the Temple, none of whom serve as we do.

  “Think upon that, and how it looks to others less fortunate. They see us as laden with privilege, tax free and wealthy beyond credence, while they struggle daily to survive. They see our trading empire and resent it. The churchmen see our letters of marque and credit, and the bullion in our vaults, and the fees we charge, and they think of us as usurers. And all men see us—and rightly so, I fear—as arrogant, intolerant bullies, swaggering about in our forked beards, with rich clothing and the finest horseflesh, behaving with ingrained smugness towards everyone we see as lesser than ourselves, which means they themselves—all of them, everywhere, who are not Templars.”

  He stopped, his voice fading as quickly as it had swelled, and then resumed in a quieter, more solemn tone. “That is the truth. And that, at root, is what has undone us in France, and possibly elsewhere. Men may give it different names and ascribe what happened to other causes, but at the bottom of it all, we brought our troubles upon ourselves in recent years by giving people reason to be envious, and resentful, and angry at us for what they perceive us to be. No man here, I believe, can deny the truth of what I have said, if he but takes the times to think on it in conscience.

  “But we are here in Scotland now, where, thanks to the efforts and goodwill of our predecessors in this troubled realm, our Order remains highly regarded. I intend to maintain that high regard while we are here. I will explain my plans and issue my commands as Master in Scotland when I return, but for now, I will withdraw and leave it to this chapter to conduct the trial of these men with only one advisory from me: past misdeeds may be forgiven in good conscience and goodwill, but in this instance forgiveness, if such you choose, should be weighed judiciously against the prospects of future behavior. I will say no more. You know the procedures, and you know the punishments involved should your judgment go against them. Commander de Montrichard, if you will send for me when your deliberations on this matter are concluded, I shall then conclude what I wish to say to chapter. In the meantime, the East is yours.”

  Will stepped down from the dais and marched swiftly from the chapter meeting, returning directly to his chamber on the second level. Tam Sinclair, just leaving the chamber with an empty basket, having replenished the log supply by the fireplace, stopped as Will came into view and stood, lips pursed, eyes asquint in the dim light.

  “Well, are they for entombment?”

  Will barely paused. “D’you think they should be?”

  “That’s no’ for me to say, but I think a man would have to ha’e done something awfu’ terrible before I’d sentence him to that … bein’ sealed up in a hole in the wall, wi’ no fresh air to breathe. I canna think o’ a worse way to die—ither than bein’ buried alive in a coffin. Come to think o’ it, it’s the same damn thing, except that you gi’e the prisoner bread and water to keep him alive while’s he’s waitin’ to die o’ suffocation. An’ just because he wouldna shave off his beard?”

  Will stopped in his tracks and stood motionless for the length of several heartbeats before he shook his head and turned to look at his kinsman.

  “No. No, no, no, Tam, that has little to do with it. The beard is unimportant in the overall. It’s the mutiny that’s important—the arrogance, the pride, the example that they set for others by such willful misheed. That is what needs to be nipped in the bud before it can flower and seed itself. And besides, entombment is not an option in this instance. Entombment is the last resort against intransigence. These fellows will probably be sentenced to a month of confinement with bread and water. Martelet might get two months or even three. But he won’t be walled up.”

  “You hope,” Tam grunted. “You’re no’ even there to keep an eye on the trial. What if he defies them an’ some idiot loses his head and condemns him? Stranger things have happened.”

  “Then I will veto the punishment. But now I have to write, while the trial’s going on. Is there ink ready?”

  Tam looked sideways at him, scowling, and did not even deign to answer such a silly question as he swept out, bearing his empty basket.

  THREE

  Less than an hour had gone by when Will was summoned back to the chapter meeting, and he strode into the assembly carrying the sheet of parchment on which he had listed the points he wished to address in the aftermath of the Master’s letter. He saw at a glance that the prisoners had been removed and that the remaining brethren were standing at attention, awaiting his arrival, but he showed no curiosity about what had transpired. Instead he nodded courteously to the preceptor, who was also on his feet, waiting to relinquish the Eastern dais and command of the chapter gathering to him, but invited him to remain on the dais, in a chair by his side. As soon as de Montrichard was seated, Will invited the brotherhood to be seated.

  “Brethren, I will take little more of your time, for this assembly has already been prolonged, but hear my words now, spoken with the authority bestowed upon me as Master in Scotland by the hand of our Grand Master, Jacques de Molay. I
have spoken before of my wishes with regard to our deportment while we reside here. I will now repeat them as solemn charges, with, on this sole occasion, some explanation of my reasons, for I cannot underestimate the importance of what you must all understand from this day forth.

  “We have been given sanctuary in this land by the grace of its monarch, Robert Bruce, King of Scots, and I have accepted, on behalf of all of us, a firm and moral obligation in return for the privilege of being here.” He paused, aware that every man before him was listening intently. “King Robert stands excommunicate in the eyes of Pope Clement and his adherents in Rome. But he stands thus with the firm and unwavering support of the senior bishops of the Church in Scotland, headed by the Primate of Scotland himself, William Lamberton, Archbishop of St. Andrews in Fife, and William Wishart, Bishop of the See of Glasgow. Such support, in defiance of the papal writ of excommunication, is without equal in the annals of the Church in Christendom, and the most surprising outcome of that support is that the Scottish bishops themselves have not been condemned in their turn by the Curia in Avignon for disobedience. But the reason for that is straightforward enough: the King, through the intermediation of the Scottish bishops, has friends in the Curia, and the excommunication was obtained by the King’s political enemies, arguably for their own ends and for reasons far more political than religious. Accordingly, the writ lies under dispute, and Bishop Moray, acting for Archbishop Lamberton, who is held prisoner in England as a supporter of King Robert, remains confident that the excommunication is reversible in canon law and that the ban will be lifted.

  “But here is our dilemma, and the King’s: the excommunication of the King applies to all his people. Under canon law, held in abeyance here by the goodwill of the bishops of the land, all the people of the realm of Scotland stand excommunicate with their King, until such times as they renounce and depose him. Until they do so, no Sacraments may be dispensed to the people of Scotland. But the King is duly and solemnly crowned as Robert I, the crown laid on his brow according to the oldest and most hallowed traditions of this ancient kingdom, and is legally recognized as monarch by the ancient Scottish families of the realm and the noble houses of the Norman French.

  “By our simple presence here on this island, we in this chapter pose a greater threat to the eventual resolution of this excommunication than any other source, now that King Robert is well on his way to establishing peace with his enemies. We, the surviving brotherhood of the Temple in France, are a potential embarrassment and an impediment to the King and his bishops, for we ourselves are fugitives, fleeing papal displeasure. We know not, at this point, to what degree we stand formally condemned in the eyes of Holy Church, although we will discover that truth in the days that lie ahead, but we know beyond a doubt that Pope Clement sided with King Philip to bring about the downfall of our Order in our homeland.

  “And based upon that, we may know with certainty how great the danger we represent to the King. Should it become known that we are on Arran, under the protection of the King of Scots, his enemies will make great use of our presence here to discomfit him and blacken his character in the eyes of the Church. They will claim that he openly and willfully defies the Pope and militates against the King of France. How can we deny the truth of that, having undergone this baseless royal purge and our ensuing exile these three months past? When matters of state and untold wealth are at stake, men of power may be relied upon to bend their strongest wills towards the confounding of justice and the corruption of truth and moral right. And Robert Bruce stands in defiance of powerful men, here and in England and in the Roman Church itself. That is the stark and simple truth, Brethren.”

  He stopped again, and his silence lasted long enough for men to start stirring in their chairs, glancing at one another, the expressions on their faces as different and distinguishable as the faces themselves. And as he watched them he found himself wondering at his own ability to hold them and to speak as he had spoken, aware that he had said more, and more eloquently, than he could ever recall.

  “So here is my decision, as Master here, and I announce it now as a resolution in chapter, to be observed and obeyed by this community. We have been working towards this end already, but the need now clearly exists for me to change my previously expressed wishes to an absolute command, enjoining every one of you to absolute obedience, so hear me clearly. As of this day, the Order of the Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon will vanish from the eyes of men upon this isle of Arran.” He waited for the shock of his words to register and start to dissipate. “It will be simply done.

  “Our task, indeed our obligation, from this moment on is to disguise our presence here, protecting ourselves and our identity and in so doing, ensuring the welfare of our gracious host, the King of Scots, from our hands, at least. Therefore the matter of the beards will henceforth stand as law. In addition, all our brethren, save only our bishops and their acolytes, will abandon the monkish tonsure, permitting it to grow out naturally. That is another affectation, dating from the early days of the Church, to distinguish monastics as the slaves of God. We know who we are, we know our duties and responsibilities, and that is all that is required of us. Everything else that could mark us as Templars will be concealed from sight. We will have weapons enough, and we have no enemies here. If enemies do come, we will not lack the means to arm ourselves quickly and prevail, but we will do so as fighting men defending themselves and their possessions, not as armored knights massing in disciplined French squadrons … though there will be time for that, as well, should the need occur.

  “We will become invisible, Brethren. Certainly we are many, and we have no womenfolk, but that will pass notice by all but the most inquisitive eyes, and we can deal with those. Scotland is a land at war, and Arran is part of the King’s own personal lands—a safe place to raise and train fresh troops and to house mercenaries. The fact that we are French may become known, but we will be seen as hired warriors, not as Temple brethren. But let me be clear, Brethren, there is nothing in any of what I have said that will change, or contravene, our strict adherence to the Rule that is our way of life. All rites and ceremonies, duties and obligations will continue as before, and strict adherence to the Rule will remain sacrosanct.

  “In the matter of battle readiness, training will continue as before, but in small groups, with major exercises and maneuvers regularly scheduled in locations where they may be carried out without being observed by hostile eyes.”

  He stood up. “That is the gist of it, Brethren. The recording clerics here will work out all the details and present them to you as they complete them. But there is one thing more that I require of you, and it springs directly from all I have said until now. It is needful, I believe, that we take steps to split our community, in order to lessen the need to travel north and south in noticeable numbers in the prosecution of our tasks, and so I would like to see a subsidiary commandery established in the north, at Lochranza, with its own duly appointed chapter.” He looked down the length of the hall to the assembly of green-clad bishops around the Western dais. “Brother Bishop Formadieu, may I request that you direct your attention towards the completion of that task? I will leave it in your hands to arrange the division of forces and the appointment of a sub-preceptor and officers.” The Bishop stood up and bowed in formal acceptance of the task, and Will looked quickly around the assembly.

  “So mote it be. And now, my lord Bishop, if you will lead us in the closing rites, the brethren may depart and think upon all that has been said here today. Senior officers and brethren will join me thereafter in my quarters.”

  FOUR

  “I have never heard you say so much at one time in all my life, Brother, and I confess, you said it remarkably well. You gave the brethren sufficient food for thought to keep them chewing at the cud for days. What are we drinking?”

  Kenneth Sinclair was the first arrival, following Will into his quarters less than a minute after his brother’s own arrival. Wil
l grinned and waved towards the table where Tam had set out cups and jugs of wine.

  “I was ever the clever one in the family. What happened at the trial?”

  Kenneth busied himself pouring wine for both of them and handed a cup to Will just as approaching footsteps announced the arrival of others. “Solitary time, on bread and water. Two months for Martelet, who showed not a whit of remorse, and one month for the others, including the wounded man, Gilbert de Sangpur. Some think they got off lightly.”

  “Enter!” Will shouted as someone rapped on the door, and as de Narremat, de Montrichard, and several others began to come in, he turned back to his brother. “And you, what do you think?”

  “I agree, particularly in the case of Martelet. That one is a bad apple that could corrupt the whole barrel. He’ll not be broken and he will not change easily.”

  “He will, when he finds himself alone and obvious in his truculence. He will stand out like a splinted limb and will start to behave himself soon afterwards, you mark my words. Gentlemen! Make yourselves comfortable.”

  Will moved away to welcome his guests and busied himself pouring wine for each of them in turn, the simple courtesy of his gesture betraying, his brother thought, that special quality that made Will Sinclair who he was. Will himself, on the other hand, was already regretting having invited his guests to come here, his mind full of curiosity about the third package from the Master’s wallet. The realization that he might now have to wait several hours to open it filled him with a sudden impatience that he sought to neutralize by being attentive to his officers, who appeared both tentative and diffident, plainly uncertain of what he might expect from them and probably of what they might now expect of him after the dramatic announcements he had made in chapter.