Order in Chaos

by Jack Whyte

  “Tell me then, were you to take my niece with you, could you undertake to send her back someday?”

  Will looked away into the fire, intensely aware of the monarch’s eyes on him. They sat alone, surrounded by others, in what felt like an island of silence among the buzz of conversation around them. The question so simply posed had layers of complexity that swarmed and grew as he thought about it. Finally he grunted.

  “That question has no simple answer, Your Grace.”

  “Forget my grace, then, and answer as my friend. Yes or no?”

  “I know we would be happy to take her with us, Jess even more so than I, but no, I could not promise you to bring her back. In the first place, she is no longer a child, and by the time we settle there, long before we could dream of coming back, she will be a woman, with a woman’s mind and will. I could say yes, and undertake to send her back someday, but by the time that day arrives, she might not wish to come. And we will be in a strange new world, with none of the rules and settled ways that govern people here.”

  “But you would take her, and care for her as your own daughter.”

  “Of course I would, and gladly. But that is all I can say with certainty. She might fall ill or—”

  “Grow to be a woman. Aye. And when she does, what then? Will you have eligible men for her to wed, to suit her station?”

  Will grinned again, in spite of the serious tenor of the conversation. “There may be no ‘station’ there, in the sense you mean, Sire. She will be as my own daughter, and thus will share whatever privilege we know, but more than that I cannot say. As for eligible men, there will be those. Jessie says young Henry would gladly lay down his life for the lass, as things stand now. It is but puppy love, all wide eyed and awe struck, but he will soon reach manhood, too, knighted by your own hand. And I could recommend the lad. He has everything required to make a fine and noble, honorable knight.”

  The King sat for a moment, pinching his lower lip between finger and thumb as he mulled Will’s words, but then he nodded. “So be it, then. You have my trust, my confidence, and my friendship. I will tell young Marjorie she may go with you, and I will, if you are willing, give her guardianship to you and Lady Jessica.” His voice rose slightly in volume then. “You were about to tell me how you arranged the timing of your charge at the Bannock Burn. Tell me now, and tell me why you smiled when I asked you that.”

  Slightly disconcerted at the abrupt change of topic, Will quickly sensed that someone was now standing close behind him. He glanced up to see that his uncle, Bishop Sinclair of Dunkeld, had joined them and was now inclining his head graciously as King Robert waved him to sit.

  Will shrugged, deciding to be blunt. “I smiled at your choice of words, Sire. The timing of our arrival was perfect, as you say, but it was purely accidental—no strategic brilliance of mine at all, I fear.”

  The King’s eyebrow rose again, and he glanced quizzically at Dunkeld. “Is that a fact? Tell me about the accidental part of it then, if you will.”

  Will shrugged again, aware that all the others were now listening. “We should have been there sooner … were delayed … and thus came later than we had thought to.”

  “What delayed you?”

  “The English. We met a corps of them along the way, a body of infantry, perhaps six hundred, commanded by mounted knights. We breasted a hill and there they were, below us on the hillside.”

  “Had you no scouts out ahead of you?”

  “We did, Sire, but they had seen nothing. The English were in a deep defile—a steep-sided gully—when our scouts rode that way, and were thus invisible to anyone not right above them.”

  “And so you fought, and evidently won. You had words with your scouts afterwards, I hope?”

  “No, Sire, they were both killed in the fight that followed. We lost five men, and two of them were the scouts in question. But we destroyed the enemy infantry and harried the survivors, scattering them until they could not have regrouped.”

  “Hmm. What of the knights commanding them?”

  “Five of them, Your Grace, all but one killed. The fifth one fled back the way they had come. The fight was straightforward, but it cost us nigh on half a day when all was said and done.”

  “And kept six hundred fresh Englishmen from striking at our flanks from the westward. How many were with you?”

  “Sixty knights, Sire, and half as many again of lighter cavalry.”

  At the rear of the room a door creaked open, and everyone turned to see Bishop Moray entering, clutching a document. He nodded to the King and, with a muttered word of apology, held up the document to Archbishop Lamberton, beckoning with a finger. The Archbishop grunted an apology and rose to his feet, then followed Moray to a far corner of the room, where they stood close, murmuring quietly.

  King Robert looked back at Will. “So, a hundred and fifty men against six hundred.” Will shook his head, his mouth quirking. “A hundred mounted Templars, Your Grace. Small odds.”

  “Hmm. True. But I was thinking more of the advance you led later. Whence came that army? I know who they were, but how did you conscript them?”

  Will grinned again, broadly this time. “From your own camp, Sire. They were hostlers and wagoners, grooms, cooks and pot boys, even women—but brave, all of them. They thought us English when we first approached, and would have stood against us to protect your back, despite the certainty that they would all be killed against a force like ours. Then, when we had identified ourselves as Templars, there to fight alongside Your Grace, they told us the battle was already joined, beyond the hill that sheltered them, along the high road to Stirling and the vale of the Bannock Burn. And hearing that, one of my men, a kinsman of mine called Tam Sinclair, was inspired to say we should use them as they had first attempted to appear to us, as fighters. We quickly formed them up into ranks and blocks, pillaged some of your own banners from the wagon train, furbished them further with some of our own, and then had them march behind us as we advanced over the hill.”

  “Aye. We all noticed your arrival—have no doubt of that. Accidental the timing might have been, but it was fortuitous and Heaven sent. The sight of your advance up there, a mass of black and white chivalry, an army of Templars when no Templars could be there, was like … what was it the Archbishop said? Like an oncoming host of avenging angels. And that’s what it was—an intervention from Heaven. It gave new heart to our own men and kicked the guts out of the English. They were in dire straits already by that time, God knows, ploutering about in that killing bog, but the sight of a new army coming down on them panicked them completely, and they broke. When you bring your squire to me tomorrow, see you that you bring this kinsman, too, this Tam Sinclair. Scotland, it seems, owes much to his quick thinking. Would knighthood suit him, think you?”

  “Suit him! Tam? My lord, he has been with me since I was a boy, and is an honorable and worthy knight in everything but name. But Tam is not of noble birth.”

  “That recks nothing nowadays. William Wallace was knighted on his merits, not on his birth. Why not this champion of yours? If it was his idea to conscript the camp followers, then he has all the initiative and insight required for knighthood. Will he, too, go with you to this new land of yours?”

  Will’s mind was agog as he thought of the effect this unexpected honor would have on his unassuming kinsman. “That he will, Your Grace,” he said, knowing now that he was speaking to everyone there. “He and nigh on two hundred others. But if I may speak more on this, Sire, there is no uncertainty in any of our minds in this venture. We know the land is there. Admiral St. Valéry found it, God rest his soul, and sent word of it home to us. And this time, when we arrive there, we will have friends awaiting us, to welcome us. And we will make the most of what we find and send word of it back here to you. That will be when young Sir Henry Sinclair returns, triumphant, as my messenger to you, to take up his barony from your hands, and to make preparations for another, larger expedition.”

  The King
placed his hands over his face and drew his fingers downwards until his fingertips came to rest against the end of his nose. He sat blinking into the space above the fire for a few moments, then nodded. “So be it. There is nothing I can do to persuade you to stay here. Your men are French, and free. When will you leave?”

  “As soon as the winter storms die down, Your Grace. April, or early May.”

  “Can you be ready by then?”

  “We are ready now, my lord.”

  “Hmm … You should go there as a baron. There are people living there you say, aside from your own? If so, they will have kings.”

  “They have no kings, Your Grace. Or none that our people found.”

  Robert Bruce looked at Will wearily now, and twisted up his face. “You were a Templar, Will—you ought to know better than to say such things. Where men gather, there will always be kings, and others who want to be kings. It is human nature. Men breed kings, no matter what they name them. So be you careful in your new land … What is it called again?”

  “Merica, Your Grace.”

  “Aye, Merica. A strange name, and it sounds ancient, not new at all.” He pulled himself upright and flexed his shoulders. “A long day … and your wedding day. You should be abed by now, holding your wife, as I should mine. But you can go and do that now, whereas I still have work in hand here. A good night to you then, Sir William Sinclair, and may you prosper in all you undertake.” He smiled and extended his hand. “This realm is in your debt, my friend, accident or no. So go now. We will speak tomorrow.”

  “Sire, if I may?” Archbishop Lamberton approached the fire again and held up one hand as if to detain Will. “I need to say one more thing about your charge, Sir William.”

  Will shook his head. “No, Master Lamberton, you do not, for I know what you would say. This charge of ours at the Bannock Burn was a final act of pride in what we once were, so I presume you are going to tell me that there will be a formal denial of any Templar involvement in the battle.”

  The Archbishop smiled. “No, Sir William, no. There will be no denials made. How could we deny it? Men saw what they saw, and there were many there that day. Thus, no denial, though we might, in time to come, omit your presence from our final records, stating that the appearance on the Hill of Coxet was, as you have told us, an army of camp followers. An omission, therefore, made in polity, but no denial. I merely thought to put your mind at rest and offer you some solace in the knowledge that the men you leave behind when you depart this realm will know no hardship or impediment when you are gone, for Scotland owes them much.

  They may continue as before, observing the rites and rituals they wish to preserve, in secrecy, within the boundaries of Scotland. That I can assure you, on my word as Primate of the realm.” He paused. “You will be taking representatives of Holy Church with you, will you not?”

  Will met the Archbishop’s glance squarely, feeling a tension in his jaw as he nodded. “Aye my, lord. Our own bishops and clerical brethren sail with us, prepared to tend to our souls and bring the Word of God to the people we find living there.”

  He did not enjoy lying to the churchman, even obliquely, but he could give no hint that the Word of God his people would bring to the new land would be different from that preached by the Catholic Church. The bishops and clerics to whom he referred were all brothers of the Order of Sion, and in their new land the Truth that would be spread was the truth of the ancient fraternity: the Way to communion with God, as pursued by the man Jesus and his friends of the Jerusalem Assembly.

  Archbishop Lamberton nodded, then glanced at the King and held up the document he had received from Bishop Moray, who now sat listening in one corner. “Your Grace, this dispatch contains tidings that I thought Sir William might wish to hear before he leaves this room.”

  Bruce nodded, solemnly, and the Archbishop returned the gesture, then looked down at the document in his hand and sighed deeply.

  “Sir William,” he said, “this confirms that your Grand Master, Jacques de Molay, died a hideous and inhuman death …”

  “I had heard of it,” Will said.

  “This document says that Master de Molay admonished his persecutors—some say he cursed them, but I prefer admonished—calling upon King Philip and Pope Clement to join him for judgment before the throne of God within the year. Were you aware of that, Sir William?”

  Will nodded, scowling.

  “Well then, know this now, in satisfaction of a kind for the pain it must have caused you. It appears that your Grand Master possessed more power in his admonition than his persecutors, combined, held in their desire to see him and his name destroyed.” He took hold of the parchment with both hands and gazed down at it in silence while every man there hung on his next words. “I have tidings here informing me that Pope Clement is dead, at Avignon.” There was a concerted gasp from his listeners. Lamberton spoke again into the shocked silence. “But that news, solemn as it is, is eclipsed by the later information that King Philip of France, too, is dead more recently … three weeks ago, in fact. Both of them gone, in obedience to your noble Grand Master’s summons, within the year.”

  The words seared through Will’s head as the Archbishop continued. “And so both your persecutors are gone, summoned to Judgment by the God in whose name they dared to sin egregiously.” He raised the document so all could see it. “No man can say who will succeed either one of them, but this world we know is changed, and only time itself will expose what may come next. One more thing, though, is certain. With King Philip gone, it seems de Nogaret will not long survive in France … not when so many hate him.” He held out his hand to offer the document to the King, but his eyes remained on Will’s. “I thought you might enjoy taking those tidings with you when you leave here this night.” He waited, and when Will did not respond, he nodded gently. “Go then in peace, Sir William, and with our blessing.”

  Will was aware, on some level, of the reaction of the others to the Archbishop’s news, and he knew he behaved with propriety in bidding everyone there a proper goodnight. But as he walked along the halls towards his quarters, passing the motionless guards on every side, his mind was reeling with what he had been told, and what he would be able to tell his brethren afterwards: Capet and Clement burning in Hell; their own Grand Master vindicated thereby; and a new order dawning in the world.

  He reached his room and found a solitary lamp burning low, its wick guttering smokily. He pinched it out and shed his clothes quickly, feeling the chill in the darkness as he fumbled to raise the covers and slip naked into the welcoming warmth provided by his wife’s body as she turned sleepily to draw him close and embrace him; his new wife; a new life; and the promise of a bright new land.

  FINIS

  GLOSSARY

  aey (aye) always; ever

  bailey the defensive ditches surrounding a motte

  bothy a stone outbuilding, usually for cattle or herders

  braw fine; beautiful; admirable

  cateran a homeless vagabond; a Highland bandit

  enow enough; sufficient

  fell fierce; merciless; formidable

  fleering flagrant

  forbye as well; in addition; besides; notwithstanding

  fower four

  garron a small, sturdy workhorse

  gey very

  ’gin given; assuming; on the understanding that

  girning whining, complaining, scowling, grimacing

  gowping gaping

  guddling a method of catching brook fish with bare hands

  hinna have not; have no

  jalouse to guess; to suspect; to deduce

  kine cattle; livestock

  leal loyal

  mair more

  mind remember; recall

  motte the mound, sometimes a rock, on which a castle’s keep is built

  moudiewort hedgehog

  ploutering muddling, thrashing, wallowing

  recks matters, is important

  schiltrom a solid defens
ive formation of massed infantry with long spears

  scone (pronounced “skoon”) the traditional coronation site for Scotland’s kings

  siccan such

  slaistering floundering; making hard, muddy going of things

  stirk a bullock

  syne since

  thole to bear; to tolerate; to undergo; to put up with

  toun town

  unkent unknown

  weel-kent well-known

  wheen a number; a few

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The task of acknowledging the assistance and goodwill generated by contributors to any work of historical fiction is always a daunting one, raising fears of offending by omission, simply because the range of people who have contributed to the finished work, whether from their personal knowledge and research or by offering insights or encouragement, is always vast. I always start each book full of good intentions, resolved to make note of everyone to whom I should be grateful, but in the heat of writing the actual work, I invariably fall behind in doing so and end up wondering whom I’ve forgotten.

  There are some people, however, whose contributions to what I do have been invaluable, and most of those are the writers and academics whose own works have inspired me and informed my efforts to grapple with the job of sorting fact from fancy and to extrapolate my own tale, with all its speculations, interpretations, and outright flights of authorial fancy. I have no doubt at all that much of the licenses I take in constructing my tales would pain some of the people who originally nudged my thoughts in the directions I have pursued, but the errors, transgressions, and omissions I commit herein are my own, and most emphatically not theirs. I have read widely in the years of preparing and completing this trilogy, and my sincere thanks go to several distinguished authors who have made me stop and think, compare events and opinions, and then proceed in the fictional directions they have indicated to me, mostly without their intent. Paramount among those have been Piers Paul Read (The Templars), Barbara W. Tuchman (Bible and Sword), and Malcolm Barber (The New Knighthood).