Jack Whyte - Order in Chaos

De Moray’s eyes were staring into emptiness. “A whole new land,” he whispered. “Were word of this to spread, every king and baron in Christendom would be launching fleets to find it and claim it for his own.”

“Aye. So the word must not spread … not before we have taken possession of it.”

“In whose name? The King of France?”

Will laughed. “Do you think us mad? Nor in the name of the Pope, for Clement V cannot govern his own see, let alone a new, untested land. We will hold it in the name of our Order, and if the powers here at home should ever vindicate us honestly and make it possible for us to return, we would then dedicate it in good faith to our proper Master at that time. Some other pope, perhaps, but no mere king.”

“What of the King of Scots?”

Will expelled an explosive breath and sat frowning at the Bishop. “Why would you even say that? The King of Scots barely has legitimacy here in Scotland. How could he lay claim to a new land?”

“As readily as any other king, and I believe he is a better man than all of them combined. Your new land will need a king someday.”

“It might. Who is to know? But if it does, mayhap we will have bred one of our own by then … a Christian king in his own right, untainted by the stink of politics or corruption.”

Unable to restrain himself any longer, Bishop Moray sprang to his feet and went to stare into the heart of the dying fire for so long that Will wondered what he might be seeing in there. When he eventually turned back, his eyes were steady and somber. “You have the right of it, I think, William, and so I will say nothing of this to anyone for now. Not even to the King. But I will expect you to keep me informed of everything you know or learn of this new land. When will you leave?”

Will grinned, relieved to have an ally in this man. “Not for a long time, and certainly not before the convocation you have asked me for. We have ships, but they will have to be refitted for such a long journey—their crews retrained, the lessons of the crossings there and back studied and absorbed and mastered. Two years, at least, I would say, perhaps three … and four would not surprise me. Can you put up with us for four more years, Bishop Moray?”

“I can, and gladly, and His Grace the King has come to rely heavily on your armed support, so you need have no fears there. Now let us to bed, though God alone knows how I will find sleep this night. It must be nigh on dawn already and tomorrow will be a busy day, with a full Parliament to see to in the coming week and my head filled with wonderings about this strange new land of yours …”

FOUR

With all his excitement over the discoveries beyond the Western Sea, and the ever-growing possibilities and challenges that entailed, Will found the Parliament at Ayr vaguely disappointing and anticlimactic. He had heard much about the grand and exciting Parliament at St. Andrews, three years before. That gathering, in the ecclesiastical center of the kingdom, had been the first of King Robert’s reign, as well as the first formal Parliament to have been assembled in Scotland in more than a decade. This one, in July of 1312, was a far less imposing affair—even though it was attended by all the loyal peers, bishops, abbots, and officers of the realm—because rather than a celebration of the King’s advent to the throne, this Parliament was an affair of governmental procedures overshadowed by the preparations for a bold campaign to carry the Bruce’s war into the northern reaches of England.

The King himself urged the immediate mounting of a swift thrust into the rich vales of northern England, now that the barons and nobles there were preoccupied with their own war in the south. There were fat, rich priories down there, he emphasized, places like Lanercost and Hexham, and towns like Carlisle, and Durham and Hartlepool in the east, all of which had grown prosperous at Scotland’s cost, through serving as staging posts for the assembly of England’s armies of invasion before they headed across the border into Scotland. Such places were ripe for chastisement and ransom, he pointed out, and Scotland’s coffers were empty. His suggestions were met with unbridled enthusiasm by those assembled, all of whom were excited by the prospect of striking back and carrying the fight to the enemy for once, and the matter was soon settled, the commitment made. Edward Bruce, the King’s ferocious brother and the kingdom’s most able cavalry commander, would lead a hard, swift-riding strike against the English strongholds and cities in the northwest, starting at Carlisle, while the Bruce himself led a similar raid in strength against Westmoreland, Coupland, and Cumberland.

Will had heard much about Edward’s skills and exploits, for his own mounted contingents from Arran had been assigned to the man’s command for almost two years, and now he made full use of the opportunity to observe him from a distance. Will remembered the scowling, black-bearded man he had met the same day he had met the King himself. Edward was much more of a hothead than the King; that was plainly visible in his demeanor and his brusque way of dealing with the others around him. The new Earl of Carrick was an imposing but humorless man, swarthy and everfrowning. Intense and impatient and remarkably unlike his regal brother in those respects, he was renowned for his impetuosity and his intolerance of diplomacy in any form, believing implicitly in the rule of force above the rule of law, to the frequent annoyance of his older brother. But his undoubted talents as a commander of horse—he was far and away the most competent in the Realm of Scotland—enabled him, time after time, to sidestep all but the worst of his royal brother’s displeasure. And the Earl made few demands of the Frenchmen—his own dismissive term for the Templars in his train—other than that they be ready and available at all times to carry out his wishes.

Still, Edward was a martinet and an autocrat by nature, and watching him, even from a distance, Will could see how galling it must be to the man to be forever held in check by his elder brother, who possessed a mind far more appropriate for kingship than the volatile, belligerent Edward’s. That inability to behave at all times the way he doubtless wanted to behave must have provoked much of the glowering discontent that flashed so often in his dark eyes.

Will was glad, too, to renew his acquaintance with Sir James Douglas, for the two had not met with each other in two years. And he was intrigued to meet Douglas’s close friend, the notorious and now famed Sir Thomas Randolph, nephew to both Jessie Randolph and to the King himself. From being a traitorous champion of England and a close-held prisoner after his return, Randolph had reversed his loyalties dramatically, swearing allegiance to his kinsman the King, and had since then distinguished himself in Bruce’s service, quickly becoming one of the realm’s most able commanders. Will also met the chancellor of Scotland, the High Constable, and several earls and Highland chiefs of whom he had heard but had never met, and to a man they greeted him with dignified respect and civilized tolerance of his alien status as a visitor and a guest of King Robert. They all knew him by name, and knew that he was high in the esteem of the King and his close supporters, but he found himself smiling inwardly on several occasions, wondering what their reaction might have been had they even suspected that he was the highest-ranking Templar left free in Christendom.

The Parliament was brief, a mere three days as dictated by the urgency of the need to mount the raiding campaign into England, and at the end of the third day those in attendance were scurrying from the great Hall of Ayr, relieved that the business was over, while hundreds of clerics swarmed like ants, allocating the mountains of written records to be transcribed. Will, as a mere observer, stood alone by the main doors after the adjournment, watching the nobles and commoners disperse and wondering if anything might be expected of him, or whether he could simply take himself off and return to Arran. Before he could decide on anything, however, he heard his name being called and turned to see Sir James Douglas striding towards him and waving to catch his eye.