by Jack Whyte
Moray intervened. “I ha’e a few questions I would ask o’ Will, if we can take the time?”
“Ask away,” Will said.
“Your friend de Berenger, the admiral. Is he still on Arran?”
“Most of the time, aye. He is in France now, in Aix-en-Provence, gathering information, but he should be back soon.”
“Do you trust him?”
“Without reservation.”
“And as an admiral, he kens his business, I suppose.”
“Beyond dispute. None better. Why do you ask?”
“Bear with me. You have ships on Arran, too, do you not?”
“Sometimes. We have ships at sea, trading, and they come back from time to time. And we have galleys, as you know.”
“I know, but I was thinking of ships. Archbishop Lamberton and you spoke of a letter to be sent to Cardinal Bellini, to await reply, and you said you have nae time to waste. It will take a month to receive the Cardinal’s response, and then you’ll ha’e to come and get it, and then arrange what to do next.” He threw his hands wide. “Tak’ the letter to Genoa yoursel’—in one o’ your ain ships, with your admiral—and speak to the Cardinal in your ain voice. See for yoursel’ what it will tak’ to buy up your new fleet, then have de Berenger flesh out the purchase, as a seaman. You’ll save months.”
Will was twisted sideways in his chair, gaping at Moray, and now he laughed. “Davie, that is an inspiration! That is what we’ll do. Of course it is.” He turned back to Lamberton. “May we do that, my lord? Will you write your letter for me to carry in person?”
“Of course I will. I’ll do it now, as soon as we adjourn here. You will have it in the morning. And now, I believe, we are done here, with much to do in consequence.”
WILL SINCLAIR RETURNED to his hostelry to sleep and to warn his men to be ready to ride come daylight, when they would return to Nithsdale, to check on young Henry and take him back to Arran if he was yet well enough, and to tell Jessie Randolph of what had been resolved in the matter of buying his ships. And for the first time, he found himself looking forward to seeing her again.
That gave him pause, and his own awareness of the pleasure he was feeling was even slightly startling. He lay on his back for a long time. What was it that had changed? he asked himself. And the answer came immediately that it was the woman herself who had precipitated everything, by her very being and by her matter-of-fact assumption that he would be willing to take her with him to the new land. No thought of hazards or the risks of sailing into an unknown ocean, but merely the straightforward acceptance of the truth of things: that he would go, and that he would take her with him. That conversation in the byre, so startling at the time, had worked a spell on him thereafter, for he had never stopped thinking about it—even, he now admitted to himself, when he had been unaware of thinking of it.
Lying there in the darkness with no thought of sleep in his mind, he found himself smiling at the bald effrontery of her demand, until it came to him that there had been no effrontery involved. Now he acknowledged to himself, somewhat ruefully, that the “effrontery” had been but one more manifestation of the straightforward and uncompromising lack of guile that had fascinated him since first meeting this woman in La Rochelle years earlier.
He remembered, too, the guilt that had racked him then over his own simple awareness of womanliness—her beauty, he now acknowledged. He remembered inhaling the warm, disturbing scent of the subtle perfume she had worn that night, a wafting, heady aroma filled with the suggestions of body warmth and formless feminine intimacies, and he remembered gazing at, and trying not to focus upon, the way her clothes moved against her limbs and body. But only now could he admit to himself that the task of ignoring her presence had been akin to that of the legendary Danish King Cnut who had commanded the incoming tide to reverse itself and flow away at his royal behest.
But then, lying alone in the dark, the reason underlying the change in him broke over him like one of those same incoming waves, and the stark truth of it was so incontrovertible that it left him amazed that he should have failed to see it before, when it had been as plainly evident as an unsheathed sword in the hand of an angry man. The guilt that had left him hagridden from the outset with this woman had been false, ill founded. His guilt had all been Christian. But he had never been a Christian, he now realized, and he found himself wanting to laugh and whoop out loud. Though his outward affiliation was to the Order of the Temple, his more profound allegiance was sworn to the Order of Sion. And the Order of Sion, founded mere decades after the deaths of Jesus and his brother James, was not, and had never been, a Christian order. It was Jewish at its roots, and its ancient rituals and lore, its teachings and its beliefs, were those of the Jewish sect to which both Jesus and his brother had belonged, the sect known sometimes as the Nazarene but known to all the Brotherhood of the Order of Sion as the Essenes, the Seekers of the Way to the knowledge and presence of God, the Way so often spoken of, but never explained, in the Christian gospels.
Will grunted suddenly and sat upright, blinking wide eyed into the blackness surrounding him, his mind whirling. He had sworn only two great oaths upon joining the Order of Sion: to own no goods in person but to share all things in common with his brethren, and to lead a life of obedience to his superiors within the Order. Those vows had essentially been the same as the Christian monastic oaths of poverty and obedience. The third monastic vow, the oath of chastity, he had sworn only on joining the Order of the Temple monk knights, and it had cost him not a thought at the time, for asceticism and celibacy had been entrenched in him by choice and dedication—regardless of the fact that the Order of Sion placed no expectation of chastity or celibacy upon its brotherhood.
He felt as if someone had lifted the weight of the earth from his shoulders. He was free to acknowledge, and to pursue, his attraction to Jessie Randolph—perhaps not without his customary awkwardness and difficulty, born of a lifetime of avoidance, but certainly without guilt. He knew now there was no impediment, moral or otherwise, to bar him from accepting the proposal she had made to him.
A COLLOQUY IN NITHSDALE
ONE
They rode back along the River Nith a few days later, and Will felt surprisingly carefree, considering all that he had to do in the weeks that lay ahead. The journey south from St. Andrews, far more leisurely and a full day longer than their outgoing drive, had been uneventful, which was no great surprise; five mounted, armored men, with the air of confidence these five projected, could expect to go unchallenged on the open road. Now, under a sunny, late-July afternoon sky with birds singing all around them, they rode easily along the riverbank, through grass as high as their horses’ fetlocks, talking idly and glancing from time to time at the western edge of the great Forest of Ettrick that began on the other bank and stretched from there for scores of miles. The trees they could see from where they rode on the river’s west bank were small, mainly alder and hawthorn and elm saplings, for the forest was still expanding and the mighty forest giants, most of them oak and elm, lay farther to the east. They followed a tight right-hand bend in the river, and the grass-covered hillside on their right rose abruptly, thrusting out a rocky fist directly ahead of them that pinched the steeply rising path into little more than a goat track, forcing them to ride in single file. Will rode at the head, alone and deep in his own thoughts, with Tam Sinclair and the two sergeants following him, and Mungo MacDowal bringing up the rear.
Minutes later, close to the summit of the path, Will twisted in his saddle to look back the way they had come. He remembered it well, because it was here, less than two miles from their starting point, as they reached the beginning of the long descent on their outward journey, that the first heavy drops of rain had fallen from the clouds that had blown in that morning. From then on, it had stormed incessantly, so that they had ridden drenched and chilled for four miserable days, their clothing sodden from the wind-driven rain, their armor and mail and even the padded tunics beneath them ch
afing miserably wherever their edges touched bare skin. It had been a form of Purgatory, and they had fallen asleep each night, numb, exhausted, and close to freezing, wherever they could find a spot that offered the slightest shelter.
Now, approaching the summit of the rise and aware that their destination was close, Will felt a tiny shiver of pleasure and kicked his horse to a canter, uncaring whether the men behind followed him or not. Beyond the crest of the hillside the land rose up again ahead of him, starting with a gentle dip before resuming its upward climb, though nothing like as steeply as before, for another mile towards a second crest, from which he knew he would be able to see the Randolph house of Nithsdale. He was careful not to allow himself to think of Jessie specifically, for the thought of what he would say to her made his chest flutter in panic, but the feelings of anticipation did not abate and he made no effort to rein in his horse, permitting it to start down into the dip immediately.
On his left, barely a yard from the path, the grassy hillside fell away steeply to where the River Nith now ran swiftly between deep- cut banks, some forty to fifty feet below. They reached the bottom of the dip and started climbing again, and he nudged the animal with his spurs, aware that he had opened a gap between himself and the others, but assuming that they would keep up with him. He became conscious of another strange feeling in his breast and recognized that it was something akin to gaiety and that he felt like shouting out loud to release the pressure of it.
The feeling was short lived, though, for as soon as his horse breasted the crest of the rise, he saw black smoke in the distance, where the Randolph house was, and he had been a soldier for long enough to know at a glance that what he was seeing had no peaceful source.
“Tam, to me!” He turned in the saddle in time to see Tam Sinclair’s head snap up, and moments later the others arrived in a clatter of hooves.
Without another word being spoken, they launched themselves forward again, the path widening out ahead of them as it dropped down into the valley of the Nith. Will kept the lead, but now the others rode in a tight knot at his back, fanning out slightly as the road widened until they could ride down the hill at the full gallop, the distance between them and the Randolph house dwindling rapidly until they could see the activity around the house itself.
The fire seemed to be in one of the outhouses, and Will thought it would probably be the stables with their hayloft, but the frantic activity in front of the house had nothing to do with firefighting. Will saw the sun glint on a swung blade, or perhaps an axehead, and at the same moment he heard the first faint, distant shouts of angry men.
“The gates are still open. Straight in?” Tam was riding knee to knee with Will now, looking at his face for instructions, and Will nodded, raising his voice so that they could all hear him.
“Aye, straight in through the main gates! They haven’t seen us yet, so we might be able to get in before they can shut the gates. How many d’you count?”
“Less than a score, as far as I can tell—three or four apiece.”
“Then let’s take them.” He lifted his voice again. “Spread out as soon as we go through the gates! Mungo, go with Tam to the right. You others come with me, to my left. Don’t be gentle with them. Sinclair!” The last shout was a battle cry as they thundered through the gates and found the enemy with their backs to them.
No one had seen them coming, and the closest of the raiders went down before anyone knew what was happening. The men attacking the house were all on foot, and from their rough and ragged appearance Will instantly assumed them to be bandits, but they were well armed and they showed no fear, despite being surprised. They were more numerous than Will’s group, but Will’s force was mounted, with weight and speed on their side.
Will rode down two men directly ahead of him, hacking one dead with a chop of his sword to the neck, then leaning forward to stab his point into the second man’s mouth with the full momentum of his galloping horse behind the thrust. Then, with no one else within reach, he reined in his horse, taking stock. At the top of the stone steps to the iron-studded main door, several of the raiders were busily piling brush against the door itself, and already smoke was curling from the bottom of the pile as the flames took hold. There were three of them, and they were so intent on what they were about that the noise of the attack behind them was only now sinking home to them.
Will spurred his horse hard from a standing start, swung his left leg up and over the saddle horn and braced his right foot in the stirrup before launching himself onto the steps, landing among them before they could even snatch up their weapons. He pulled the first man off balance and kicked him hard behind the right knee, using the fellow’s own falling weight to propel him sideways off the steps and crashing head first onto the cobblestones, where he landed almost beneath the hooves of Will’s horse. He cut the second man down with a backhanded slash across the throat, and turned to stab the third, but the fellow jumped from the top stair, barely avoiding the lunge of the long blade, and scurried away to safety.
Will let him go, then sheathed his sword and set about hauling the burning brush pile away from the door, shouting for the defenders inside to open the door and let him in. He heard his name being called and looked over his shoulder to see Mungo waving urgently from the right corner of the building. He saw another of the attackers rushing on Mungo from behind, but before he could even start to shout a warning, the running man was hammered backwards to land sprawling on his backside, the white fletching of a crossbow bolt protruding like a sudden flowering from his breastbone.
Will knew the bolt could only have come from the roof, and so he jumped down from the steps and ran to where he could look up to the top of the small tower at the corner of the house. Jessie Randolph was there, with a cluster of four men, all armed with crossbows and sniping at the few remaining bandits in the yard, and even as Will looked up and saw them, he heard the clang of steel on stone as first one and then others of the attackers threw down their weapons. He turned away from the sight of Jessie and waved to Tam, who stood somewhere on his right, bidding him round up the surviving bandits, and then he looked back to the tower.
“Welcome, Sir William!” Jessie Randolph called down to him. “You could not have timed your arrival more perfectly.”
“I am glad to see you well, my lady!” he shouted back. “Unharmed, I hope?”
“Aye, safe enough now, thanks to you.”
“Is the rest of the house safe?”
“Aye. We saw them coming, thanks be to God, and got all the folk inside. They tried to force entry at the rear, but the door there is the equal of the one below.” She looked beyond Will to where Tam and the others were herding the prisoners. “Tam! There’s a byre at the back, with a stout door and a lock and chain. Put them in there for now. Sir William, come you inside. Hector should be there now.”
As she shouted the words, Will saw the heavy front door swing open and the steward of the household stuck his head outside, sweeping his eyes about the yard and taking note of the scatter of bodies.
“Away you go in,” Tam told Will. “I’ll see to these creatures and make sure they move the bodies afore I lock them up, for we’re no’ carryin’ them. Ye’ll want them tied up?”
Will found it easy to grin now that the danger was past. “Just the living ones, Tam. The others will not go far, though. They’ll have to be buried, so make sure you don’t cripple the prisoners with tight bonds. They’ll need to be able to dig.”
He left the others to their work and removed his heavy helmet and mailed gloves, dropping the gloves into the upended helm and then carrying it in the crook of his elbow as he entered the house, addressing a word of greeting to Hector as he passed. He was just in time to meet Jessie Randolph as she swept into the hallway at the bottom of the stairs from the roof, and he noticed approvingly, almost absently, that apart from the high flush on her cheeks, she showed little sign of the excitement of the past hour. Notice it he did, however, and his heartbeat increa
sed as she smiled at him and beckoned him to follow her into the main room.
The first thing he noticed was the absence of the cot bed that had been young Henry’s. The space it had occupied against the wall by the big fireplace was empty, and the partitioning screens had been returned to their original position in the far corner of the long chamber. There was fresh kindling laid in the large grate and two piles of logs flanking the fireplace. Jessie, still without speaking, waved him towards one of the big upholstered chairs, and he hesitated before sitting, placing his gloves and helmet carefully on a side table before glancing back towards the empty fireplace wall.
“Where have you put the boy?” He had spoken in French, without thinking, but she answered him in the tongue of the Scots.
“Och, he is much better, so we moved him into one of the small sleeping chambers upstairs. He’s comfortable there now. Still abed, but able to sit up and look about him. He is a fine young man.”
“Young man?” The idea seemed strange to Will. “Aye, I suppose he is. Man enough.”
“Aye, man enough, as you say … and fortunate. Brother Matthew thinks now that he will recover the full use of his arm and shoulder. Not today, mind you, and not tomorrow, but the wound is healing cleanly and as soon as it is closed and sound he will be able to start strengthening the muscles again.”
Will was barely listening, gazing up at the high, narrow windows on the side wall, and now he dragged a high wooden chair under one so he could climb up onto it and look down into the courtyard below, where Mungo and another man he did not recognize were hauling a dead man away by the ankles.
“We have bodies to dispose of,” he said over his shoulder. “Where would you have them buried?”
“Buried?” It was clear that she had not thought at all about that, but she was resolute nonetheless. “As far from the house as possible, I suppose, but I’ll have to think on that. It’s not something we are called upon to do every week.”