Order in Chaos tt-3

by Jack Whyte

  “And now?”

  “Aye, now … In the past three months, our suit has enjoyed much support in Rome. Our own bishops there, among them your own uncle William Sinclair, Bishop of Dunkeld, have made wide inroads into the bog of claim and counterclaim, of outright lies and obscured truth surrounding this affair, and they are sanguine that we will have a favorable verdict within months.”

  “Then that is excellent,” Will said, glancing sideways at the unreadable expression on Bishop Moray’s face before turning back to Lamberton. “But what has it to do with me and my Templars?”

  “Nothing, on the surface, but we have Templars of our own here in Scotland, and they have no knowledge of your presence here among us. Those Scots Templars themselves are become a problem.”

  “An embarrassment, you mean, akin to us.”

  “A potential embarrassment, because as you know Pope Clement has called for the arrest of Templars everywhere.”

  “That was expected.”

  “I know. But what was unexpected is King Robert’s obdurate reluctance, his refusal to disown the Order here in Scotland. He is being stubborn over that, and though I can see why he takes the stance he has adopted, it increases our fears for the welfare of our cause with the Pope. Should Clement, and with him Philip of France, suspect recalcitrance on the King’s part in this Templar matter, he will not feel inclined to be merciful in the matter of the writ.”

  “The King must surely see the danger in it.”

  “He does. But he has received loyal support from his Scots Templars, and few though they are—the fighting knights, at least—he has no wish to disown them. And the fact that the penalties for failing to take such action are being held as a threat over his head by people who know nothing of affairs in Scotland makes him the more stubborn. As we say in this land, he winna thole it.”

  “So … there it lies.” Will stood up from the table and stretched backwards, loosening a kink at the base of his spine. “Forgive me. A saddle I can master, but a wooden chair is altogether different … Bishop Moray, you have not yet said a word.”

  Moray looked up at him and grinned. “I’ll ha’e enough to say when you’re a’ done. Dinna forget I’ve known a’ this for years. My colleagues here are new to you and your thoughts, so I’m content to bide here and think my own thoughts.”

  “Aye, I have no doubt of that. And that brings us back to what you said, Archbishop—that this matter is of greater import now than it was at first. I see the why of that, but not the how. What would you have me do that is different now?”

  The burnt-out logs in the huge grate behind Will collapsed into embers, releasing sparks and billowing smoke, and Lamberton turned his head to look at them.

  “That,” he said, pointing at the fireplace.

  Will looked around to see what he was pointing at. “What?”

  “When you came in, those logs were hard alder. Now they are glowing ashes.” He smiled. “You did the same with your people on Arran.”

  Will looked from Lamberton to Balmyle. “Forgive me, my lord, but I still do not see your point.”

  “It is very simple, Will. We want your help in making the Scots Templars vanish, just as you did on Arran. It is something we ourselves cannot do, lacking the authority that you alone possess as Master here. That is the increased import of the convocation to be held. Originally it was to revive a sense of community among the Scots knights, to reassure them that they were not alone. But now the King’s own fate, and the fate of this realm, may depend upon it.”

  “Hmm. I suppose all your Templars must wear the beards and tonsure.”

  “All of them. And they ride beneath their black and white baucents, defiantly, knowing they stand alone—or thinking that they do. They flaunt their Temple emblems—they call them jewels, do they not?—and the cross pattée. They no longer wear the red cross of the Holy Land campaigns, but they take pride in being seen for what they are.”

  “And that you cannot have. I see …” He thought for a moment. “So then, tell me this. If we were able to accomplish what you wish here, what would become of these Scots knights?”

  Now Lamberton frowned, his glance flicking towards his two companions. “Become of them? Nothing would become of them. They would continue as before, but simply unseen … at least unrecognized. No more than that.”

  “But people here already know them as Templars.”

  “Aye, and people forget readily. Within the year, once they have changed their outward show, no one will care or remember what they once were. They themselves will not talk of it, will they?”

  Will smiled, grimly. “No, they will not. You may rest assured on that. They are Templars, doubly bound in secrecy and obedience.”

  “Then you will help us? It would increase your own community, perhaps substantially … And we would be greatly in your debt.”

  “I have no interest in incurring debts, nor have I need to add to our community.” Will moved back to his chair and sank into it, deep in thought. The others waited, watching him closely, until he straightened up a little and raised a finger. “Although we may agree upon a quid pro quo.”

  “A quid pro quo on the matter of what?” It was Master Nicholas who asked the question, and Will answered him directly.

  “Aid from you, in return for aid from me.” Will could hardly believe that he was about to say what was in his mind, for the decision had come to him fully formed, based upon a sudden recollection of what Jessie Randolph had said about his obtaining help from Davie de Moray. “Do any of you have contacts in the area of Genoa?”

  “I have a friend in Genoa,” Lamberton said. “The Cardinal Archbishop there, Giacomo Bellini. We were in seminary in Rome together and have remained close, despite the distance separating us. He is one of our strongest allies in the Curia. What interest have you in Genoa?”

  “They have the finest shipyards in the world, my lord, and until recently they built most of the ships in the Temple fleet. I have a need for ships now, but I know nothing about buying them. Therefore I need to find an agent there, to represent me—an honest agent, which might be hard to find from afar. It came to me that you, with all your connections throughout Christendom, might be able to assist me.”

  Lamberton pursed his lips, plainly not understanding. “You need Temple galleys?”

  “No, not galleys. Trading ships. Stout, strong-hulled ships, the best I can find, and as soon as may be. It may be that the Genoans will have to build them for me, and that will require time, and I have none to waste. On the other hand, they may have ships already built, awaiting purchase by a Temple that no longer exists. I need to find that out.” Will looked around the table, at each of the three men. “I will soon be leaving Arran with my people, taking them to safety, which should ease your minds on the matter of our being discovered here.”

  “Leaving Arran?” Lamberton sounded appalled. “But you are safe here, Sir William.”

  “I know that, my lord, but we pose a risk to you and to King Robert by being here. So we will go elsewhere.”

  “But there is no elsewhere … none that would be safe for you, not in all of Christendom.”

  “That is true. And yet I have a place in mind, my lord. A place where we will be safe and secure to live our lives with honor.” He glanced at de Moray, who was staring at him, one eyebrow raised in surprise. “Bishop Moray knows whereof I speak. We have discussed it. But he cannot speak of it to you. He has sworn to hold it close.”

  The Archbishop rubbed his long, bony beak with a forefinger and then gazed at Will with narrowed eyes, his fingertip pressing idly on the end of his nose, flattening it slightly. “And if I were to swear the selfsame oath of confessional silence, would you entrust me with your confidence as you have Davie?”

  Will nodded. “Gladly, and Master Nicholas, too, if he will swear the same.”

  “Then mine is gladly given, witnessed by my brothers here.”

  “As is mine,” Master Nicholas added. “Though where your
proposed sanctuary may be is beyond my grasp.”

  Will looked again from man to man, and then told them the story of Merica and how the admiral had gone in search of it. He held them rapt as he related the tales the mariners had brought back with them. When he was finished, no one spoke, each of them lost in his own thoughts, and as usual it was Lamberton who spoke first.

  “You were wise to enjoin the seal of the confessional. This place of which you speak, this enormous land with such a lengthy coast and differing climes, might be a whole new world. If word of this were to escape, bloody wars would be fought to win it.” He lapsed into silence again, then added, “But how do you intend to keep it secret once you are gone?”

  Will’s face creased in a gentle smile. “We will leave no one behind to talk of it. Our entire community will take the secret with us. Folk may wonder where we went, but no one will know, save you three.”

  “And what of the King?”

  “The King has much to see to, settling this land and building a stable realm, without his knowing about this. Once we are gone, you may tell him, if you think it needful. By then, no one will be able to find us and we will be safe. But it will be a secret no less dire then than now. Knowledge of it might still set off a race to find it, with all the threats of war you spoke about.”

  “Hmm. Would you ever return, think you?”

  Will nodded. “Almost certainly. Our people have already been there and returned, in search of aid. I have little doubt we will do so again in the future.”

  “And would you return here?”

  “To Scotland? Most certainly.” Will’s smile grew wider. “Think you we might return to Philip’s France, to spur his greed?” He shook his head. “We will come here, in search of information about our Order and its fate. By that time, if God smiles upon all of us, King Robert might be secure upon his throne, and therefore able to send new folk back with us, officially … Who can tell such things? But if it comes to pass, we will be well established in our new home by then.”

  “When will you go?”

  This was the first time Bishop Moray had joined the conversation, and Will shrugged. “As soon as we have new ships. The few we have are too old and done for the voyage we will undertake. The returning ship barely survived the ocean’s storms homeward bound. I want no such risks in our crossing.”

  Balmyle cleared his throat. “Have you the funds for these new ships?”

  “We do. We have our own exchequer, brought from La Rochelle to keep it out of Philip’s grasping clutch. We have enough.” He decided to say nothing of Jessie Randolph’s offer.

  Lamberton sat musing, his head bobbing gently as he thought about what was involved. Finally he nodded decisively.

  “I can send an envoy to Cardinal Bellini at once, but we will need to know how many ships you will require.”

  “Four at least—six if we can afford them. That is the sticking point right now. I have no slightest knowledge of the costs involved. Therefore the first thing I will need to know is the price of a new ship of the finest quality, and the choices available to us. Once we know that, then we simply divide our treasury among the ships.”

  “That could leave you penniless.”

  “It could.” Again Will smiled, remembering what Jessie Randolph had called the place. “But in our wild new land we will have no need of money. The people there, I have been told, do not use it at all. They trade and barter what they have for what they need, but they have no use for either gold or silver. So penniless is how we will go.”

  “Could you not buy your ships here in Scotland? We have fine shipbuilders in Aberdeen, and they build large, fine ships.”

  “Aye, they do, Master Balmyle, but for local waters, the seas of Christendom. I need ships to go where only four have gone before. The Genoese have been building the kind of ships I need for more than a hundred years, since first the Temple went to sea as traders.”

  “So be it, then.” Lamberton’s tone was incisive. “I will write to Giacomo tonight and send the missive to him by fast ship from Leith. My messenger will await a reply and bring it directly back. It should be done within the coming month, and you will have your fundamental information.” He nodded, dismissing that. “Now, back to our Scots Templars. What would you advise?”

  “Much.” Will sat thinking deeply, aware of all three men watching him and waiting. “There is much to be done, but none of it should be difficult. All it will take is time, and that time will begin with our convocation on Arran. In some ways we are fortunate. The brethren we will invite to Arran already know themselves outlawed and banned. They will not be expecting to find an established community of their own. Once they see the changes we have achieved—the disappearance of distinguishing beards and all other signs—they will all join us, out of obedience to my will as Master, if for no other reason. That does not concern me. Everything you require of them will be achieved as soon as we convene in chapter. From then on, the eventual vanishing of Templars from Scotland will be simple and ongoing …”

  “But yet you sound concerned,” Lamberton said. “Why?”

  “Because I am concerned, and gravely so, about their future. When we leave Arran, these Scots knights will be bereft again. And yet I cannot take them with us. The numbers are too great. But so are the odds against their survival here, unless you will extend me your support in what I seek. First of all, why is King Robert so concerned about these brethren?”

  “Because he feels an obligation to them, one that they have earned. They have supported him loyally and he has no wish to reward them by outlawing them, far less arresting them, at the demand of outsiders to the realm, irrespective of whether those be churchmen or otherwise.”

  “They are all Bruce supporters?”

  “Aye, they are. Those who were of the Comyn camp retired to England with the other knights when the Temple here was closed. Those who remained were Bruce adherents, and the King is well aware of that.”

  Will nodded. “But what of afterwards, when these wars be settled, if they ever are? What will become of these men then? They are sworn to poverty, under the protection of their Order, but their Order is gone—and its protection with it—which leaves these men incapable of providing for themselves as knights and warriors.”

  Lamberton raised his hand. “They have managed until now. How should that change?”

  “Because times change, my lord Archbishop. These men have armor, horses, and weapons, but all provided by the Temple. What will happen when the horses die, the armor rusts, and the weapons must be replaced? The commanderies that provided them are no more, and the cost will be too much for paupers. We in Arran can survive because we brought our Commandery’s wealth with us from La Rochelle. These Scots Templars of yours will starve without renewed assistance. Can you understand my concern now?”

  “Aye, when you put it like that, of course I can. What, then, do you propose?”

  “A resolution, but as I said before, I would like your support. As Master in Scotland, I may release Scots Templars from their vows, both chastity and poverty, for good and ample reasons of necessity and moral need. But these men might not take easily to such a radical change, and I would therefore ask for your support in assuaging their minds and consciences.”

  Lamberton looked at Master Balmyle and then sat frowning. “I do not know if I can do that, Will,” he said eventually. “I doubt I have the authority for such a thing. As you have observed yourself, the Templars are sworn to obey their Grand Master, and through him the Pope, not an arguably heretical Archbishop.”

  “Forgive me, my lord, but I disagree. You are Primate of Scotland and this is a Scots matter. The men involved are Scots, and your concern is to enable them to conceal themselves from the eyes of others who would use the knowledge of their freedom to cause further strife for the King’s grace. You have already established your primacy, your authority and spiritual leadership, in this realm by your championship of King Robert’s cause in the face of opposition from the
Pope himself. Why then should you be impotent in this? Do you doubt the morality involved?”

  The Archbishop had been gazing at Will levelly as he said this, and now he shook his head slowly. “No, Will, I do not. What would you require of me?”

  “A letter, written from your viewpoint as Primate, or perhaps a delegate to speak on your behalf at our gathering, voicing your understanding and compassion in this matter of revoking vows. Your official recognition that, at certain times, drastic steps must be taken to address grave wrongs. That alone—the knowledge that they could provide for themselves thereafter—would make your Templar followers feel better about accepting the changes I decree. They would not talk of it afterwards—they are Templars, after all—so you need have no fears of being embarrassed later.”

  “A delegate, then, since I shall be back in England. Nicholas, would you do that on my behalf?”

  “Happily, my lord Archbishop. The cause is just. And I will make it clear your approval is heartfelt.”

  “Thank you, old friend.” He sat up even straighter. “So we are agreed. This will be done. When will the convocation take place?”

  “As soon as it can be arranged,” Will told him. “How long will you require to contact the King’s people? Give me a list of those you wish me to approach and I will see to it as soon as I return to Arran.” He turned to Moray. “Davie, have you made progress on any of that?”

  “Aye, all of it. We can ha’e the whole thing done within the month from now, including your part. I have your list prepared—some twenty men. They’ll bring their own sergeants. So will we call assembly for a month from this date?”

  “A month from today, then. At Brodick Hall. So be it.”

  Lamberton clapped his hands together. “Excellent! We have done well here, my friends, and I look forward to better things ahead. Are we concluded, then? Poor Nicholas has far to travel ere he sleeps.”