Order in Chaos tt-3

by Jack Whyte

  “A very clever young cleric from the Abbey of Arbroath, Master Bernard de Linton. He has the King’s ear and the absolute trust of Archbishop Lamberton, as well as my own. He will arrange a schedule of messengers, to ply constantly between yourself and him. Which reminds me that when last I met Bernard, he was escorted by your brother Kenneth. Are you close, you two?”

  Will smiled. “Aye, we are, but that renders him useless in approaching these enemies of whom you speak, the Buchans and Comyns and their ilk. He has fought them, so they may know him as a King’s man. The people I will send to summon those must be unknown to any of them, so I will select them from our resident brethren on Arran, the stay-at-homes who do not ride with Bruce …” His voice trailed away.

  “What is it? Something new has occurred to you—I saw it in your eyes.”

  “You did.” Will sat thinking for a moment longer, then grunted and looked down at his hands, examining his callused palms. “It came to me that I have good news for you and Lamberton both.”

  “You do? On what matter?”

  “Our presence on Arran, and the embarrassment it could cause you. I will be taking my men away one of these days.”

  “Away? To where? There is no safer place in Christendom for you. Where would you take them?”

  Will thought for a moment longer, then sat back, smiling, his decision made. “To a place far beyond Christendom.” He watched now with amusement as a series of expressions swept across the Bishop’s face, culminating in pure lack of comprehension.

  “Far beyond Christendom …? That can only mean the Holy Land, for even Spain, swarming with Moors as it is, lies within the bounds of Christendom. But such a course would be suicide. You would be completely alone there, among thousands—countless thousands—of enemies. You would be wiped out as soon as you set foot there.”

  “Aye, we would, but that is not where I intend to go …” He looked intently at de Moray, who sat gazing back at him, his face now deeply troubled. “Davie, I gave you my solemn oath of silence mere moments ago on the matter of the Archbishop’s parole, and you accepted it. I will now ask the same of you, and if you bind yourself to equally solemn secrecy, I will tell you a tale that you will find hard to credit, though every word of it be true.”

  De Moray’s eyes widened in surprise, but there was no trace of hesitation in his agreement. “You have my oath. Tell me this tale.”

  “Then pour me some more from that bottle, for this will be thirsty work. And have some more yourself. It will be thirsty listening, too.”

  HAVING MADE THE UNFORESEEN DECISION to confide in the Bishop, Will sat gathering his thoughts while he watched de Moray replenish their cups, and when the other had finished pouring and returned the clay bottle to its pouch, he sipped the uisquebaugh again and launched directly into the tale of Admiral St. Valéry and his wish to take some men and ships and sail in search of the legendary land mentioned in the Templars’ lore, the place called Merica that lay beyond the Western Sea.

  De Moray sat rapt throughout, his only movement an occasional raising of his cup to his lips, and when Will had finished, detailing his last sighting of the admiral’s ships on the western horizon, the Bishop sniffed and sat for a while, scratching at his nether lip.

  “This was five years ago, you say?” he asked eventually. “And you have never seen him since?”

  “No, I have not. But I had tidings of him four days ago, just before I left to come here.”

  “Whence came these tidings?”

  “From the place he sought.”

  The Bishop sat up straighter, alert.

  “The admiral is dead,” Will continued, “but his quest was successful. He found his Merica—or some other, unknown land, though I believe it must be Merica—eight weeks after setting sail. He and his people wintered there, in brutally cold weather, in a wilderness of snow-bound, primal forest that happily teemed with life and game—enormous deer the like of which no man in Christendom has ever seen. In the spring they sailed again, southward along a never-ending coast, until they came to warmer climes. And there they formed a settlement, among the dark-skinned people they found living there. A noble, stoic people, it appears, of great charm and warmth. They lived there for two more years and prospered, by and large, until the admiral died last year, struck by a falling tree in a fierce windstorm. They had refurbished one of their four ships before he died, to return home with the word of their discovery. And it found us in Arran, after an arduous and tedious voyage. More than half the crew was lost to tempests and to sickness in the crossing, but they came safe to shore.”

  “Had you expected them?”

  “No. I had thought them all dead long since, after years of hearing nothing. But I was wrong. They had found their new land, a sanctuary far from the world of Christendom with all its madnesses.”

  “So why did they return, so few in number?” “Because they were so few in number. They came back seeking reinforcements and fresh blood to sustain them in their efforts to survive in their new home.”

  “And they are now on Arran?”

  “They are, regaining their health and strength after their voyage.”

  “And they have found a new land … Great God, Sir William, do you know what this means?”

  “Aye, I do, and fully, Bishop Moray. It means our Order has found true sanctuary, far removed from the politics and villainy of this sad, present world. It means I have a place to take my charges, where they will be safe to live and worship without threat from the petty princes and prelates of this Christendom, wherein Christ’s message has been sorely lost.”

  “But there are people there, you said. No doubt savage and Godless, ripe for salvation in the form of Holy Church.”

  “Your thoughts are dancing in your eyes, Davie, and they are a bishop’s eyes. But think of this, two things: you are under oath of secrecy on this matter; and we who go to this new land are Christian clerics … bishops, priests, and monks, well suited to the spreading of God’s word among the natives there. When we have civilized this place, with God’s own help, there will be time to return and announce its existence to the world here. For the time being, it is my belief that it would be sheerest folly, utter madness, to bring this new and unknown land to the attention of the predators who swarm in Christendom. God has revealed this place to us, His faithful servants in the Order of the Temple, for reasons that must be His own. It is ours now, through God’s will. It is our refuge, our salvation … our single hope in the bleak grimness of the undeserved night surrounding us and ours. And therefore we will guard the secret of it with our lives, for as long as may be required, and certainly for the present time, until it is safe and fitting to announce it. The land is there, Davie. It will not disappear.”

  “And it is vast, you say …”

  “Vast enough that St. Valéry could sail south along its eastern coast for months on end, from one clime to another. That could make it as large as all Christendom …”

  De Moray’s eyes were staring into emptiness. “A whole new land,” he whispered. “Were word of this to spread, every king and baron in Christendom would be launching fleets to find it and claim it for his own.”

  “Aye. So the word must not spread … not before we have taken possession of it.”

  “In whose name? The King of France?”

  Will laughed. “Do you think us mad? Nor in the name of the Pope, for Clement V cannot govern his own see, let alone a new, untested land. We will hold it in the name of our Order, and if the powers here at home should ever vindicate us honestly and make it possible for us to return, we would then dedicate it in good faith to our proper Master at that time. Some other pope, perhaps, but no mere king.”

  “What of the King of Scots?”

  Will expelled an explosive breath and sat frowning at the Bishop. “Why would you even say that? The King of Scots barely has legitimacy here in Scotland. How could he lay claim to a new land?”

  “As readily as any other king, and I believe
he is a better man than all of them combined. Your new land will need a king someday.”

  “It might. Who is to know? But if it does, mayhap we will have bred one of our own by then … a Christian king in his own right, untainted by the stink of politics or corruption.”

  Unable to restrain himself any longer, Bishop Moray sprang to his feet and went to stare into the heart of the dying fire for so long that Will wondered what he might be seeing in there. When he eventually turned back, his eyes were steady and somber. “You have the right of it, I think, William, and so I will say nothing of this to anyone for now. Not even to the King. But I will expect you to keep me informed of everything you know or learn of this new land. When will you leave?”

  Will grinned, relieved to have an ally in this man. “Not for a long time, and certainly not before the convocation you have asked me for. We have ships, but they will have to be refitted for such a long journey—their crews retrained, the lessons of the crossings there and back studied and absorbed and mastered. Two years, at least, I would say, perhaps three … and four would not surprise me. Can you put up with us for four more years, Bishop Moray?”

  “I can, and gladly, and His Grace the King has come to rely heavily on your armed support, so you need have no fears there. Now let us to bed, though God alone knows how I will find sleep this night. It must be nigh on dawn already and tomorrow will be a busy day, with a full Parliament to see to in the coming week and my head filled with wonderings about this strange new land of yours …”

  FOUR

  With all his excitement over the discoveries beyond the Western Sea, and the ever-growing possibilities and challenges that entailed, Will found the Parliament at Ayr vaguely disappointing and anticlimactic. He had heard much about the grand and exciting Parliament at St. Andrews, three years before. That gathering, in the ecclesiastical center of the kingdom, had been the first of King Robert’s reign, as well as the first formal Parliament to have been assembled in Scotland in more than a decade. This one, in July of 1312, was a far less imposing affair—even though it was attended by all the loyal peers, bishops, abbots, and officers of the realm—because rather than a celebration of the King’s advent to the throne, this Parliament was an affair of governmental procedures overshadowed by the preparations for a bold campaign to carry the Bruce’s war into the northern reaches of England.

  The King himself urged the immediate mounting of a swift thrust into the rich vales of northern England, now that the barons and nobles there were preoccupied with their own war in the south. There were fat, rich priories down there, he emphasized, places like Lanercost and Hexham, and towns like Carlisle, and Durham and Hartlepool in the east, all of which had grown prosperous at Scotland’s cost, through serving as staging posts for the assembly of England’s armies of invasion before they headed across the border into Scotland. Such places were ripe for chastisement and ransom, he pointed out, and Scotland’s coffers were empty. His suggestions were met with unbridled enthusiasm by those assembled, all of whom were excited by the prospect of striking back and carrying the fight to the enemy for once, and the matter was soon settled, the commitment made. Edward Bruce, the King’s ferocious brother and the kingdom’s most able cavalry commander, would lead a hard, swift-riding strike against the English strongholds and cities in the northwest, starting at Carlisle, while the Bruce himself led a similar raid in strength against Westmoreland, Coupland, and Cumberland.

  Will had heard much about Edward’s skills and exploits, for his own mounted contingents from Arran had been assigned to the man’s command for almost two years, and now he made full use of the opportunity to observe him from a distance. Will remembered the scowling, black-bearded man he had met the same day he had met the King himself. Edward was much more of a hothead than the King; that was plainly visible in his demeanor and his brusque way of dealing with the others around him. The new Earl of Carrick was an imposing but humorless man, swarthy and everfrowning. Intense and impatient and remarkably unlike his regal brother in those respects, he was renowned for his impetuosity and his intolerance of diplomacy in any form, believing implicitly in the rule of force above the rule of law, to the frequent annoyance of his older brother. But his undoubted talents as a commander of horse—he was far and away the most competent in the Realm of Scotland—enabled him, time after time, to sidestep all but the worst of his royal brother’s displeasure. And the Earl made few demands of the Frenchmen—his own dismissive term for the Templars in his train—other than that they be ready and available at all times to carry out his wishes.

  Still, Edward was a martinet and an autocrat by nature, and watching him, even from a distance, Will could see how galling it must be to the man to be forever held in check by his elder brother, who possessed a mind far more appropriate for kingship than the volatile, belligerent Edward’s. That inability to behave at all times the way he doubtless wanted to behave must have provoked much of the glowering discontent that flashed so often in his dark eyes.

  Will was glad, too, to renew his acquaintance with Sir James Douglas, for the two had not met with each other in two years. And he was intrigued to meet Douglas’s close friend, the notorious and now famed Sir Thomas Randolph, nephew to both Jessie Randolph and to the King himself. From being a traitorous champion of England and a close-held prisoner after his return, Randolph had reversed his loyalties dramatically, swearing allegiance to his kinsman the King, and had since then distinguished himself in Bruce’s service, quickly becoming one of the realm’s most able commanders. Will also met the chancellor of Scotland, the High Constable, and several earls and Highland chiefs of whom he had heard but had never met, and to a man they greeted him with dignified respect and civilized tolerance of his alien status as a visitor and a guest of King Robert. They all knew him by name, and knew that he was high in the esteem of the King and his close supporters, but he found himself smiling inwardly on several occasions, wondering what their reaction might have been had they even suspected that he was the highest-ranking Templar left free in Christendom.

  The Parliament was brief, a mere three days as dictated by the urgency of the need to mount the raiding campaign into England, and at the end of the third day those in attendance were scurrying from the great Hall of Ayr, relieved that the business was over, while hundreds of clerics swarmed like ants, allocating the mountains of written records to be transcribed. Will, as a mere observer, stood alone by the main doors after the adjournment, watching the nobles and commoners disperse and wondering if anything might be expected of him, or whether he could simply take himself off and return to Arran. Before he could decide on anything, however, he heard his name being called and turned to see Sir James Douglas striding towards him and waving to catch his eye.

  “It surprises me to see you still here, Sir James,” he said when they met. “Do you not have a war to fight?”

  Douglas grinned. “In due time I do, but for the nonce, I remain here. The King wishes to speak with you.”

  “Now, you mean?”

  “Aye, if you have the time.”

  It was Will’s turn to grin. “Or the inclination to ignore a royal command? I’ll suspend all my important activities immediately and come with you now. Lead on.”

  Douglas led him back through the length of the hall and out through a postern door to where a small encampment had been set up for the King’s party within a square yard protected by high, sharply pointed palisades. Will glanced at the unexpected fortifications and the heavy presence of guards, but said nothing, and within moments they came to the King’s pavilion, where their entrance was barred by a pair of vigilant men-at-arms. They knew the Douglas by sight and stepped aside without comment to let him and his companion pass, and Douglas raised the protective curtain of the large tent’s doorway to allow Will to precede him.

  The interior of the massive pavilion seemed dim after the sudden brilliance of the July sun outside, and Will was unsurprised to find it crowded with men, most of them nobles and high offi
cers of the realm, standing around in groups, some small, others larger. Will looked about for the King, his eyes moving rapidly from group to group without finding the Bruce. His brother Edward was there, as was Sir Thomas Randolph, the latter conversing with three of the King’s oldest and most trusted friends, Sir Robert Boyd of Noddsdale, Sir Gilbert de Hay the Lord of Erroll, and Sir Neil Campbell of Lochawe. Behind them, huddled together and muttering solemnly, stood a group of mitered prelates, only one of whom Will recognized: Master Nicholas Balmyle, Bishop of Dunblane, a scholarly, ascetic-looking man who had served for years as chancellor of Scotland and must now be close to eighty years old, although he still retained his faculties. Will had never met Bishop Balmyle, but he knew the old man was one of King Robert’s most able and respected counselors.

  The crowd eddied and parted as a procession of servitors moved among the assembly bearing trays of sweetmeats, and Will saw the King, seated at a table towards the rear of the huge space, deep in an earnest conversation with the Bishop of Moray. His heart skipped a beat the moment he saw the two talking together so privately, for the first thought that leapt into his head was that de Moray was telling the monarch about the discovery of the new land in the west. He dismissed the thought immediately, knowing it was unworthy, and fell in behind Douglas, who was already making his way towards the royal table, beckoning him to follow.

  As Douglas reached the table, bowing slightly in greeting, Bruce looked up. The beginnings of a frown ticked between his brows at being interrupted, but his face cleared immediately on recognizing Douglas, and his eyes went immediately to Will, standing close behind Sir James.