Order in Chaos

by Jack Whyte

  Will looked at the prisoner, whose face had blanched on hearing the death sentence Seton had pronounced. The man had not yet begun to scream in protest, but he soon would, and now his eyes fastened imploringly on Will, sensing that his intended victim now had the power to spare his life. Will, however, was not in a forgiving mood. He looked at the fellow and saw again the bloodstained body of his young squire, and he knew the man would hang, one way or the other.

  “I doubt there’s a tree in there big enough to hang him from,” he said. “Hawthorn scrub and stunted trees for the most part. And I think you have the right of it, he could die if we attempt to take him down the hill—to be hanged there anyway. We could leave him here to starve, since he cannot walk, but that would be inhuman.” He turned and spoke directly to the prisoner. “There is nothing I can do for you. You condemned yourself when you decided to murder us from ambush, shooting me in the back and slaying my unarmed squire. Now, whatever way things might turn out, you are a dead man. May God have mercy on your soul, for I can have none on you.” He shifted his eyes to the senior of the two guardsmen. “Obey your commander. Hang him, but if you can’t find a suitable tree, behead him, quick and clean.”

  THE WOMAN IN THE BYRE

  ONE

  Jessie Randolph was flustered. She had fallen asleep on the couch in her own room in the middle of the afternoon, a rarity in itself brought on by the fact that she had been up and laboring since dawn in her garden, attacking the weeds that were threatening to overcome her carefully nurtured little crop of hand-set herbs and vegetables. She had neglected the garden badly in previous weeks, driven to ignore her own concerns by the urgency of an outbreak of fever that had swept the district, threatening the lives of the elderly and the very young. The sickness had not been virulent enough to earn the name of pestilence, but it had nonetheless proved to be a potent and dangerous threat to the welfare of many of her tenants, and it had kept her traveling the countryside with her two women, Marie and Janette, doing what she could for the families under her care, most of whom had lost their menfolk to the King’s last, urgent summons to gather for the invasion of England’s northern counties.

  The sickness had died off in the previous ten days, having taken the life of only one elderly woman for whom nothing could be done, and Jessie had been able, finally, to return to her own home, where she had spent a day resting and recouping her strength before yielding to the urge to go outside and begin inspecting her properties. The morning’s work on her garden had stretched long beyond noon, and Jessie had been exhausted to the point where, having sat down on her couch and then lain back to close her eyes for a few moments’ rest, she had fallen deeply asleep.

  Almost immediately, it seemed to her, she was awoken by her ward, Marjorie, now grown into a strikingly beautiful young woman of almost sixteen, with word that people were approaching from the south. Startled awake, Jessie was at first surprised and then appalled to realize that her hair was unkempt, her hands dirty and her fingernails black with soil, but she quickly stifled the urge to flee and make herself presentable and went instead directly with Marjorie to the roof, where several of the household retainers had already gathered on the fortified central tower to watch the approaching strangers.

  She recognized Will Sinclair at once, even from the distance of a mile. His party, and she counted six including himself, was moving slowly, at a walk, accompanying a low-slung wagon pulled by a pair of stocky lowland horses. Jessie quickly estimated that she had time enough, if she made haste, to prepare for their arrival, but just as she was on the point of hurrying back inside the house, she realized that there was something odd about the small group, an air of dejection that she would never have associated with the Will Sinclair she had come to know.

  She went inside quickly, down from the tower and through the house to the great wooden entrance doors, which she threw wide before crossing the entrance yard to the high gates in the curtain wall, all thoughts of her appearance banished by her concern over what could be wrong. The gates were open, and she marched out onto the road, where she stood, hands on hips, waiting for the newcomers to reach her. Only then did she realize that young Marjorie had followed her. She sent the girl back inside, telling her she wished to be alone, and although it was obvious that the girl was disappointed, she obeyed meekly enough as Jessie turned her eyes back to the road.

  Will Sinclair saw her before any of the others did, and she saw him turn in his saddle and say something to his kinsman Tam, whom she now recognized. He then set the spurs to his horse and came galloping towards her, reining to a halt right in front of her. She said nothing, merely gazing up at him, and he nodded and doffed the plain black cap he was wearing.

  “Lady Baroness,” he said, frowning, but she knew him well enough by this time to know that this particular frown was not his usual expression of disapproval. “Your pardon, I beg, for disturbing your peace thus unannounced. I would not have done so without great need.”

  “Sir William. I know that. What is the matter?”

  “My squire, my lady. Henry Sinclair, my nephew. He is sore wounded and in need of care. We were in England with King Robert, close by Carlisle, when the lad was almost killed … through my fault, my carelessness. The King himself sent me to find you here and to entreat your aid.”

  “You did not need the King’s backing to enlist my aid, Will Sinclair. How badly is the boy hurt?”

  Will did not react to her use of his informal first name and simply waved back over his shoulder. “Badly enough. He needs rest and shelter and is in great pain. We made a bed for him in the wagon, but every movement jars him into crying out, no matter how bravely he fights against it. He has a physician attending him, Brother Matthew, lent to us by the King himself, but even so, the physician’s remedies are useless against the roughness of the roads.”

  “Enough. When they get here, bid them inside and bring the wagon as close to the door as it will go. I see Tam is with you. Have him and his fellows ready to lift the boy out. We have a litter just inside the door. I will send Hector out with it, and then have them load him carefully onto it. By the time they are ready I will have a bed prepared on the ground floor.”

  She left him standing there and made her way back into the house, where she sent two servants running to bring down a cot from the floor above. She then ordered her two women to fetch clean bedding and bring it into the main room of the house, where they would set up a bed for the young man in one corner, between the enormous fireplace and a shuttered window in the wall. In the meantime, she and Marjorie began clearing space for the bed, a temporary sickroom, separated from the main part of the long, low-ceilinged room by an arrangement of brightly painted folding screens made from hinged frames with reeds woven between top, bottom, and sides.

  Within the quarter hour everything was ready, and Tam, Mungo MacDowal, and two other men carried young Henry in, unconscious, and transferred him to the cot. The physician, a kindly eyed young-looking monk, saw to the lad’s comfort and then asked Jessie for hot water and clean cloths with which to wash and bind the boy’s wounds, and Jessie dispatched Marjorie to the kitchen. She then reached out and touched the monk’s shoulder.

  “Brother Matthew, I would speak with you.” She turned then to where Will and his men stood watching, attended by her steward Hector. “My friends,” she said quietly, “I can see you have been at great pains to see to this young man’s welfare, but he is here now and will be safe. If you will follow Hector, he will show you where you may refresh yourselves after your journey, and will give you to eat and drink. Sir William, you and I will talk more hereafter … Hector, will you see to our guests?”

  As soon as the men had left, Jessie turned back to the monk. “Now, Brother Matthew, tell me what happened and how bad the wound truly is. Will he survive, or have you brought him here to die?”

  The monk, who was yet young enough to be awed in the presence of a baroness, shook his head in protest. “No, no, my lady. He should do well n
ow that he is here and may rest. The wound was not fatal, although it should have been. He was stabbed by a dirk, thrust down at him by a man kneeling over him. But the thrust was hasty—I believe the killer was aware of Sir William bearing down on him—and the blade glanced off the bone here.” He touched his own collarbone, then dug one finger down behind it. “The blade, deflected, slid down and backward, slicing through the shoulder muscles and scraping along the lad’s shoulder blade before emerging again. It made a nasty cut, deep and ragged, and it bled copiously, but it was never life-threatening, thanks be to God.” He smiled, uncertainly. “The greatest danger to the lad’s life lay in transporting him here in the wagon, for every bump of each wheel on every stone and unevenness between Lanercost and here cost him dearly, opening his wounds painfully before they could begin to heal.”

  “But why did they not tend to him in Lanercost?”

  “We did, as best we could, but there was no time, my lady. The King’s army was raiding, striking for Durham, and he dared not wait, lest word of his arrival came before he did. And they had no wish to leave the lad behind, among the English.”

  “Hmm. I can understand that … So you came directly here?”

  “Aye, my lady. At the King’s bidding. His Grace said this was the safest, closest place. It was hard going, even when we reached the road north, and took us three days. Thus the young man is exhausted and harrowed, and he has lost much blood. But with good food and a sound, stable bed, he should recover quickly enough.”

  “How long, think you?”

  Brother Matthew made a moue. “I cannot answer that, my lady. It is in God’s hands. A month, perhaps? Perhaps even more. I simply do not know. But he will recover. His wounds appear to be merely superficial but only time will demonstrate the truth or falsity of that. He should regain full use of his arm and shoulder … but he might not. In God’s hands, as I said, though I believe he should do well. My own teacher studied the methods of the ancients, and most particularly of the great healer Galen, who believed that the prime threat to life in such cases lies not in the wounds themselves—unless of course they be fatally inflicted—but in the inflammation and putrefaction that all too often follow afterwards. He therefore urged the wholesomeness of keeping wounds well drained and clean, in order to avoid the dangers of purulence and contamination from ill humors.” He looked down at the squire with a gentle smile. “He must think he is in Heaven now, warm in a soft, unmoving bed after such a long and painful journey. Sleep is God’s own blessed cure for many ailments. Let us pray that this is one of those. Leave him to sleep on.”

  “Thank you, Brother Matthew. Marjorie, would you conduct Brother Matthew to where the others are and then come back to me?”

  Jessie stood looking down at the sleeping youth for some time after Marjorie and the monk left. Well, young man, another Sinclair? You have your uncle’s look about you, I think, although it’s hard to tell, truly, beneath all that grime. But you have his shoulders, and his hair. Mayhap his eyes will be there, too, once you open them, but they are sunken deep and black with shadows now, and your face is far too white, and gaunt … pain-graven lines already, where none should be in one so young …

  She was interrupted by the return of her niece, and waved her to a chair by the fireplace. “I want you to stay here and watch over the young man while I am gone. He is not likely to awaken, but if he does, bid him lie still, tell him where he is, and then come for me at once. Look at me.” She held out her hands, fingers spread to show the black dirt caked beneath her nails. “I must go and make myself presentable to our guests. It will not take me long, but in the meantime I need you to remain here.”

  “Of course, Auntie.” The girl did not look at her; her entire attention was taken up by the pallid young man asleep on the cot.

  TWO

  As she swept back into the main room, refreshed and renewed and looking every inch the chatelaine of a fine house, Jessie Randolph found herself smiling inwardly at the thought that neither of her guests—for only Will Sinclair and Tam were there—even appeared to be aware of her transformation. The stained, much-worn green gown she had been wearing in the garden had been replaced with her finest, of soft, rich handwoven wool in a shade of blue that was almost the color of the night sky, more blue than black, and her hair had been carefully brushed and pinned up, allowing only a few errant curls to fall in ringlets by her ears. Her hands, wrists, and forearms, scrubbed clean to the point of rawness, had been softened and smoothed with a sweet-smelling unguent brought with her from France, and she could still detect a lingering trace of the fragrant oil of cloves and cinnamon that she had dabbed into the hollow of her throat before leaving her chambers.

  She greeted both men brightly before going directly to look behind the screen that shielded young Henry’s cot. There was no sign of Marjorie, which surprised her slightly, for the girl had not come seeking her. The boy was still asleep, his face peaceful and the deep-graven lines of pain already lessened in repose. She pulled the wicker screen back into place and turned to the two men, who were still in quiet but intense conversation, standing with their heads almost together.

  “I expected my niece Marjorie to be here. Have either of you seen her?”

  Tam answered. “Aye, my lady, she was here when we came in not five minutes ago. She went to find us some ale, for the jug on the table was empty when we arrived.”

  “Ah, that explains it. Thank you, Tam.” She smiled at him. “Will you not sit down? It is drawing on to evening and will soon be cool in here. I will have Hector light the fire for us.”

  “Thank ye, my lady, but I canna stay. A drink o’ ale to wet my throat, and I’m away.”

  “At this time of day? Where will you go?” She saw the rising of Sir William’s eyebrows and spoke on before either man could respond. “Forgive me, I know that is none of my affair. ’Twas but idle curiosity that prompted me.” Oh, Will, still as fierce and disapproving as ever. I had hoped you cured of some of that at least. “Gone within the hour, you will yet have a good three hours of daylight in which to travel.”

  “Aye, my lady. I can reach where I’m going within an hour after dark.”

  And where are you going? Why such a rush?

  Will surprised her by speaking into the silence. “He rides on an errand for me, Baroness … and for the King’s grace. King Robert has instructed me …”

  He fell silent as young Marjorie came into the room, clutching a heavy wooden jug of beer in both hands and clearly threatened by the weight of it.

  Tam went quickly towards her. “Here, lass, let me take that, and our thanks for your kindness.” He grinned. “You could ha’e brought a smaller jug, or carried less in this one … it would ha’e been less taxing.”

  The girl smiled back at him and dipped into a curtsey, holding her skirts daintily. “I wouldna ha’e dared, sir,” she answered in Scots. “But I couldna carry more. Guests in this house never go thirsty.”

  “Aye, nor hungry, either.” Tam took the heavy jug to the table and busied himself pouring the ale into clay cups, one for Will and one for himself, before he turned to Jessie. “My lady, will you ha’e a cup?”

  She glanced at Will. “Have you two finished what you were discussing, or should we leave you to conclude your affairs without interruption?”

  Will shook his head and his expression was pleasant and open. “No, madam, our business is concluded.”

  “Excellent. Then gratefully, Tam, I will have some ale.” She turned to Marjorie, who was standing watching her, a tiny smile tugging at her mouth. “But you, young lady, have matters to attend to. We will have Sir William at table tonight, and I would like you to appear as what you are, a proper young woman. Marie is waiting for you upstairs and will help you to prepare, so off with you now, and on your way send Hector to me.”

  Marjorie curtseyed again, managing to address a smile to all three of them as she did so, and let herself out without word.

  Will looked inquiringly at Jessie. “
This is the child about whom you wrote? The niece?” Jessie nodded. “I am impressed. She is a young woman. I had expected more of a child.”

  “She was a child when first she came to me, but that was five years ago, and years have an aging effect on all of us as they pass. Come, sirs, sit ye down.” She stopped, struck by a sudden thought. “What became of Brother Matthew, do you know?”

  Will Sinclair actually smiled, and Jessie had to will herself to make no remark on it as he waved a hand towards the screens behind her. “I have no idea, but I presume he is in there, asleep, like his charge, exhausted by his journey. He slept even less than the lad did, all the way from Lanercost, so he has earned his rest. But permit me to finish what I was saying when your niece came in.” He glanced at Tam, who kept his eyes studiously on the rim of his cup as he raised it again to his lips. “King Robert has requested that I visit St. Andrews, to talk with his friend and adviser Master Nicholas Balmyle.”

  “Oh, I know Master Nicholas well. We are friends, he and I. Have you met him before?” Will shook his head. “Well, you will like him, I think. He is very old, and very dignified and highly regarded, but he has a wondrous warmth and sense of humor, and I found him unusually pleasing, for a cleric. A man unafraid to speak his own mind. The King sets great store by his advice.”

  “Aye, so His Grace told me. But the trouble is that Master Nicholas will not remain long in St. Andrews. He is bound from there to Arbroath, and under a certain urgency, to meet with the Abbot there. Therefore I am dispatching Tam and Mungo MacDowal to ride on ahead of me and alert him to my coming and to the King’s wishes. They will leave immediately …” He broke off, frowning.