Jack Whyte - Order in Chaos

“Not true … or not exactly true. Larger changes have been made. Never in history, you may recollect, had any cleric, any priest or monk, been permitted to kill any man prior to the founding of the Temple Order. But when the time was right and circumstances called for drastic change, that law, which had been immutable since the foundation of the Christian Church, was changed to meet the new requirements of the age. And monks and priests acquired a dispensation that required, even encouraged, them to kill in God’s name. That change, requiring sweeping alterations to what had been God’s own commandment, makes your current dilemma seem very small.”

“Aye, when put like that, it does. We must disappear, then …” Will was aware of both men’s eyes on him, and shrugged. “Something I was told by a churchman here … something with which I agreed at the time.” He fell silent, musing, then looked from one of his mentors to the other. “So, do you and your Council really believe this is achievable, all that we have talked about?”

It was Etienne Dutoit who answered him. “We do, on the most fundamental level. And we will place the entire resources of our Order at your disposal.”

“To save the remnants of the Temple …”

“To save it and preserve it. And we will send you aid, in the form of bright young men from France, the best of the best of the Order of Sion, all of them married men with young families. Scotland and France— our France, our Order’s France—will be allies in this renaissance.”

Again Will sat in silence for a long time, but then he straightened his back and nodded resolutely. “Very well, then. It will not be easy, but it will be done. So mote it be!”

SIX

For perhaps the tenth time in the course of four hours, Will Sinclair flipped over the carefully wrapped oblong packet on the tabletop in front of him. The smooth front bore only his name, written in a hand he recognized with mixed feelings. The reverse bore only a wax seal, impressed with a smooth, blank stamp, and he fought hard against the inclination to break it open and read the letter folded inside. He could not guess why it had been sent, and for some reason he felt reluctant to open it and find out. The woman who had penned it had been in his mind for months, with increasing regularity and utterly against his volition. Her face would appear in his mind unpredictably and at the strangest times, and he had awaked several times from a sound sleep with the memory of her form and the warmth of her skin imprinted on his befuddled awareness. And now, sitting staring at her letter, he acknowledged to himself that his unwilling preoccupation with her had increased since the day when he had released so many of his brethren from their vow of chastity.

He grunted, disgustedly, and flipped the letter again, staring now at the inscription of his own name in the exact center of the flawless vellum sheet. It had been delivered to him that morning by a young man who had arrived aboard de Berenger’s galley, returning from the Galloway coast where the admiral had been meeting with Edward Bruce and Douglas for the previous month. Both leaders, Will now knew, had been in the north all that time, campaigning with the King against the MacDougalls of Argyll. De Berenger himself had been up there, sailing the sea lochs in support of the royal forces, and brought word of a recent victory for the King’s forces, led by the King himself, with his fiery brother and James Douglas in support, at a mountain pass called Brander—the supposedly impregnable rear entrance to the Argyll lands. The taking of the pass, largely due to the genius and improvisation of Douglas, had permitted the invasion of Argyll itself, and the confusion and confoundment of Lame John of Lorn, who had thought his rear secure.

And with that news had come this other missive: a single package brought by a wide-eyed, earnest, and very young man called Randolph, cousin to the Baroness. He had ridden from Nithsdale, he said, at the behest of his lady cousin, with specific instructions to seek out the acting commander of the Bruce army in the south and secure a passage to Arran aboard the next ship sailing there. He had waited for two weeks on the coast until the admiral’s galley returned, and had then crossed the firth aboard it.

Now, with a muttered imprecation, Will pushed himself to his feet, leaving the letter on the tabletop, and crossed to the narrow window, where he leaned on the sill, gazing out at the activities of his men in the yard below.

More than a month had elapsed since the arrival of Dutoit and de Montferrat. In the course of that time, in a closed plenary meeting of the combined Arran chapters, convened in the three-day turnover when one expedition returned from riding with the King of Scots and before their replacements had left for the mainland, Will had outlined his intentions to his Templars. Assisted by Admiral de Berenger and several other senior members of the community, and proceeding slowly and patiently so that even the least gifted of his people could understand what was being said and what it meant, Will had explained the situation now in force in their homeland, with particular and detailed emphasis on exactly how, and how profoundly, those truths had come to affect the life of each and every individual Templar on Arran. And towards what would have been the end of the proceedings, he explained his intentions on the matter of releasing the Arran brethren from their vow of chastity.

He had anticipated strenuous opposition from all sides, but mainly from the three Templar bishops in his community, and from the Boar de Pairaud and his adherents, so he had been at pains to consult with them first, seeking their advice long before making his announcement to the chapter. But to his profound astonishment, not one of them had raised a single quibble. They had asked some penetrating and profoundly concerned questions—particularly on the theological improbability of being able to choose between vows already taken, rejecting one completely while conforming to the others with equanimity—but when he answered all of them straightforwardly, they had, as one man, acceded to his wishes. It was not they who had elected to usurp God’s will in the first place, as one of the bishops pointed out. God’s own churchly deputy had opted to revise the rules governing the worship of his divine Master, and the Templars had merely responded sanely, in self-preservation.

When he made his presentation to the remainder of the brethren, however, his proposal sparked a debate that went on long into the night before it gained acceptance. The vast majority of those assembled were too firmly set in their ways and had no interest in being released from their vow, for any reason, but fifty-seven of the younger brethren accepted, some of them eagerly, some complacently, most with varying degrees of reluctance. Will had been unsurprised, but slightly disappointed against all logic, that the former rebel Martelet had been among the first to accept, although none of his erstwhile companions joined him.

Will had then reconvened the chapter the following day, wearing his full Master’s regalia and formally entreating the blessing of the Old Testament God upon their new course of action and behavior. And the exodus had begun the very next day, with the newly enfranchised brethren having renewed their vow of obedience and undertaken, without exception, to bring new wives back to Arran when they found them. Of the fifty-seven newly released brethren, however, a full thirty had been members of the new rotation of riders to the mainland and King Robert’s service, which meant that they either would have to await the end of their tour before seeking a wife, or would spend the tour looking around them at available prospects.