Jack Whyte - Order in Chaos

“It might, to you, but it is logical enough seen from our viewpoint. These men are Templars, bound to the Church by oath and loyalty that once forbade them from accepting allegiance to any king. Their support of King Robert has been voluntary. But now they are lost and lacking purpose in their own eyes, abandoned by the Pope to whom they swore allegiance and unable to conduct their offices as monks and members of their Order. They are rudderless, lacking a Chapter House or preceptory. They perceive no return support coming from the King for whom they have fought these long years, and, as you know, because of papal politics, we churchmen can do little overt to assist them.”

“And so you fear to lose their loyalty through seeming unwilling to welcome them … Very well, then, what would you have me do?”

“Convene a special gathering of all the brethren in Scotland, under the aegis of the Grand Chapter of France.”

“There no longer is such a thing.”

“I beg to differ, lad. You yourself gave the lie to that but moments ago. You are now the ultimate Grand Chapter, and you are all French. You may call yourselves Angevins, Poitvins, Gascons, Normans, Bretons, and all the rest of the names you have for yourselves, but you all come from the same land, and Philip Capet has deemed it to be France, and there is no one, it seems, who cares to contradict him. So your community on Arran is now the Grand Chapter of France, for all intents and purposes.”

Will gazed at him for several moments, his eyes narrowed to slits. Then he grinned and sipped at his drink again. “That is a dubious and duplicitous argument, Davie Moray, even for a bishop, but I’ll accept your case for the moment. Where, then, do we go next? Where do I find these three or four score knights? I have no notion of where to start.”

“No matter. I know all of them and will contact them … or most of them.”

“So be it. And where is our venue to be?”

“Is that not obvious? It must be Arran. They need to see that you are established there, a Temple community, and that they can join you and renew their vows, refresh their commitment.”

“Bishop, you sound disapproving.” There was a hint of a smile on Will’s lips as he spoke, and de Moray shrugged.

“That’s the Bishop in me, intruding again. The Church dislikes secret societies, and the Temple is the most secretive of all …”

“Apart from Holy Church herself, you mean.”

De Moray narrowed his eyes for a moment, then nodded, reluctantly, Will thought. “As you say. But I can accept that secrecy—your Order’s, I mean—so be it the loyalty extended to our cause is heartfelt and sincere.”

“Has it not always been so? We served as the standing army of the Church for nearly two hundred years, and none found us wanting, until this French King grew greedy.”

“I do not dispute that.”

“And what do you hope to achieve through this gathering? There are, you said, a mere few of them.”

“Fifty at least … perhaps sixty, mayhap even eighty. But they all have sergeants in their ranks, just as you do, so their sum totals a deal of fighting men.”

“And you fear they may be disillusioned and become unreliable.”

“Not so much unreliable as unpredictable … You can treat with some certainty with someone who is unreliable, but such certainty vanishes in the face of unpredictability.”

“Aye, I see your point. Who are they, these Scots Templars? Are there Highlanders among them?”

“Gaels, you mean? No. They are largely Norman French by descent, but bred here, unlike the men who returned to Edward’s England. These men are Randolphs, Morays, Buchans, Boyds, even some Comyns. My clerics have all their names, but I do not. I simply have not yet had time to gather them.”

“The names, you mean. And what about the men themselves, how will you gather them?”

“Circuitously. They will have to be approached with some caution. The air is rife with rumors of what has taken place in France, and elsewhere since then, so any direct summons from myself, as a representative of Holy Church, will be viewed with suspicion and might even be ignored. Most of them will be contacted by King’s messengers, their instructions delivered from the King himself.”

“But you said some of them are Comyns and Buchans, and therefore the King’s sworn enemies. They would pay no heed to King Robert’s summons, through simple fears for their own safety.”

“That is true. And that is why the King hopes that you will be willing to contact such as those yourself … as a French Templar, not as a messenger of his. He hopes that you would issue this summons on your own authority, from within the Temple, using whatever secret means you possess to convince them to attend your gathering.”

“I see … And once I have them assembled as brethren, their external enmities set aside under the Temple Rule, I can then press upon all of them, both friends and enemies of Bruce, the reminder of their vow of obedience to their Master and his wishes. Whose idea was this?”

A tiny frown ticked at de Moray’s brows. “What mean you, whose idea? I told you, the King—”

“No, Davie, no. There is a longer head behind this than the King’s … longer even than yours, I suspect. When did you last see King Robert?”

“A month ago. At Dunfermline.”

“And you discussed this at that time?”

“Aye.”

“How long were you there?”

“Three days. But what has that to—?”

“It has much to do with everything, Bishop, and you know it. This task you would seek to place on me calls into play my deepest obligations to my brethren and my Order. And the idea behind it did not spring full fledged into place in a matter of days, no matter how hard you might have applied your minds to it. So I will ask you again, whose idea was this?”

De Moray glared at him for a moment, then grunted and smiled, grudgingly. “You are no man’s fool, are you? I will answer you, but only on condition that you swear to reveal what I say to no one else.”

“You have my solemn word on it.”

The Bishop nodded. “The idea was conceived, and the whole thing planned, by the Primate of Scotland.”

Will’s eyebrows shot up. “Lamberton is in England, a close-held prisoner.”

“Aye, and England is at war. The Archbishop took advantage of the chaos and the King of England’s laxity. He broke his parole briefly, traveling to Scotland to meet with King Robert and advise him of everything he knew to be happening in England. That is why you must breathe no word of this. Lamberton remained here less than a week, advising King Robert in many areas, then returned to his captivity. It was his idea to hold this gathering and to enlist your aid on King Robert’s behalf.

“He yet deems it unwise, on the one hand, to encourage and foster the Temple’s welfare officially within the Realm of Scotland, since it could greatly endanger the King’s cause in the matter of having the excommunication lifted, but on the other, he sees the necessity to retain the loyalty of the Scots Templars who support the King, and to court the loyalty of those who, in the past, have not. And so he devised this stratagem. Your presence as a community on Arran, living by the Rule of the Order, and your reception and welcome of the Scots Templars, will demonstrate the King’s goodwill towards your brotherhood. It will also demonstrate that the Temple community can flourish within the King’s realm, as long as it proceeds with discretion. And last, but not least, it will subject some of the King’s most intransigent enemies among his own folk to the requirements of the brotherhood’s obedience. That may not work with all of them, but it should give them grounds for reflection, and if any of them do decide to change their minds, the King will make them welcome to his peace with no demands and no obligations other than their ongoing fealty from that time.”