Order in Chaos

by Jack Whyte

  Lamberton was ready. “Intent and culpability in the death of Red John Comyn. Our defense of the King is built upon those elements and the doubts surrounding them. There is no doubt that the slaying took place. But there is ample room for doubt that King Robert did the slaying … You never knew John Comyn, did you?” Will shook his head. “I thought not. Had you but met him even once, there would be no need for me to tell you this. He was a … a difficult man, in all respects—difficult to like and hard to deal with. He was arrogant. Well, who among all these noblemen is not? But he was also obdurate and full of angry pride and self-esteem, greatly ambitious, with a firm belief that he himself should be the King of Scots. And, latterly, he had been proven treacherous, almost to the cost of Bruce’s life at the hands of Edward of England. Bruce was forewarned by an English friend and barely escaped with his life from Lanercost Abbey, where Edward sought to hold him. He fled, barely ahead of his executioners, and crossed the border south of Dumfries, where he confronted John Comyn with the proof of his perfidy. You know the story?”

  “No, I have not heard it.”

  “Aye, well, the two, as you know, were joint Guardians of the Realm at the time. And they had made a pact, in writing, to defend the realm against the claims of Edward. There were but two copies of that pact, one held by each of them and signed by the other. But when Bruce was called to Lanercost Abbey, he was warned that Edward had his signed copy of the pact. It could only have come from Comyn, with the intent of causing Bruce’s death, for Comyn knew the temper of Plantagenet. Anyway, the guardians met in Dumfries, both of them angry and afraid of what had been done, and went together into the church to talk privately, alone …

  “We cannot truly know what transpired between them, for there were no witnesses, but tempers flared and blows were struck and Bruce came reeling from the church, distraught, to where his companions waited. From then on there are witnesses who swear he said that he feared he might have slain the Comyn. He feared he might have. At that point, one of the Bruce supporters shouted something like, ‘Might have? Then let’s make sure of it,’ and ran inside the church with a drawn sword. And when the others followed him inside, they found him standing above the Comyn’s corpse, his blade bloody.”

  The Archbishop fell silent again, his gaze focused elsewhere, then shook his head as though to clear it. “What happened then is well known. The Bruce was hurried away by his own men, and when he had gathered his wits sufficiently, he saw the die was cast. He seized the Castle of Dumfries, expelled the Comyns from the town, and claimed the kingship.

  “Bishop Wishart and I were told of this soon after, and our duty, unpleasant as it was, was clear. It fell to us, as senior bishops of the Scottish see, to investigate the matter thoroughly, discerning what had truly happened, and it became very quickly obvious that there was room for reasonable doubt of the Earl of Carrick’s guilt in the crime of murder. It was a time of chaos, with the fate of the realm itself in jeopardy, for Edward Plantagenet, we knew, would invade the moment that he heard of the affair, and would declare the crown of Scotland vacant and forfeit to his own overlordship. And it was then we decided that our only route, the only proper course of action, was to support the Earl of Carrick and ensure that he became our King, anointed with the blessings of Holy Church. It was barely done when the writ of excommunication was served, but by then we had already initiated our counterclaim, and the debate began.”

  “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 themsel
ves 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?”