Jack Whyte - Order in Chaos

Jessie had heard his last reference to chastity, but startling and cynical as it had seemed in the utterance, she realized that it held little significance by comparison with the other, far more fundamental changes she was discerning in the man beside her.

“You are greatly changed since last we spoke, Sir William.” She herself heard the formality of the address, but he seemed unaware of it, gazing now with narrowed eyes into the leaping heart of the fire. “I can scarce bel—”

“Greatly changed?” He made a sound deep in his throat, a stifled sound of bitter, repressed self-mockery. “Greatly changed … Aye, I suppose it must seem that way to you, after so long a lapse of time. The years pass more quickly nowadays, it seems, but the effects they wreak in passing remain with us.” He stood up abruptly and stepped towards the fire, leaning against the mantel with one outstretched hand as he spoke down into the flames. “I have not changed at all, Jessie, not one whit, but all the world in which I used to live has changed around me, and I am dispossessed. I have responsibilities and I discharge them to the best of my abilities. I have my honor and my beliefs, and I am true to those. But all the duties I once owned are shrunk to one small sphere—the duty of protecting the community of the brotherhood on Arran.”

He turned back to face her again, a lopsided, reluctant grin on his face, although she saw at once how sad his eyes were. “Those changes you referred to are changes forced upon me by the world and its treatment of me and mine. Changes in the way I think, and in the way I perceive the things I may not ignore. Changes in the way I look at grasping kings and venal priests and what they will do in their never-ending greed and lust for power, whether it be power over men’s souls or over men themselves and their possessions. But greater than these, I think, are the changes I have accepted in the way men dictate morals and morality and govern them with the threat of God’s displeasure to suit their own vicious whims … and with never a thought of the God in whose name they disgrace themselves. And so I have abjured them all, and all they represent.” He shrugged then, twisting his mouth. “If that is what the ancients called hubris, the sin of pride, then so be it. But I know what I believe, and I cannot accept that God will see much that is wrong in my beliefs or my behavior. As for the rest … no sinful priest can ever again claim the right to define sin in my eyes.” He grinned. “The sole exception I will make is for your priests in Scotland, hovering on the edge of damnation with their King. People like Davie Moray, whom I cannot see as priest, for all his rank.”

Jessie made no response, sunk deep in thought with her head bowed. Will watched her, seeing the straight slash of white scalp that divided the tresses of her hair, and when she made no move to look at him again he cleared his throat.

“What are you thinking about?”

She sighed and straightened. “About your strange new land. When will you go?”

He inhaled deeply. “Not soon enough to suit me. There is much work to do first.”

Now she looked at him. “What kind of work?”

“Ship building and repairs. The ship that returned was battered beyond endurance. It had been repaired before setting out to return here, and when it sailed it was as strong as they could make it, lacking the proper tools. The native people who live there have no skills in building ships. They fear the sea. The only craft they have are hollowed logs, for use in inland waterways. Clumsy things they are, and dangerous to those who ride in them. Without steel, iron, skills in working metal they cannot cut trees properly but must wait until they fall naturally. They cannot split logs with care, or make planks. Therefore they have no ships. Our men had shipwrights with them, but no means of making new tools and therefore no means of teaching others how to use the few they had. So they turned all their efforts to the repair of the single ship they had that was still seaworthy, in the hope of sailing it home. It survived, but barely. The tales I heard of the storms they met at sea seemed scarce believable, except that I saw the damage they suffered.” He shook his head, remembering. “So we need new ships, built strong enough to withstand the ocean storms. That will take years, and more resources than we have in hand. There are no oak trees on Arran.”

“So what will you do?”

Will smiled without humor. “Find them elsewhere, I suppose. I have not yet thought this thing through … In truth, I have not yet had time to absorb the immensity of the thought.”

“And if you find such trees, do you have men with the ability to build these ships?”

“Aye, we have those, enough of them, at least, and they will train others. But it will be slow and will take long.”

“How long?”

“As long as a piece of rope.” He smiled at her puzzled frown. “I cannot tell you how long, my lady … three years, perhaps four if we are lucky.”

“Jessie. Call me Jessie. I am your friend, Will, not your lady. Can you not simply buy new ships? You do not lack for money, do you?”

“No, we do not. But that is not—” He stopped, tipping his head to one side as he thought about what she had said, and she saw a change come over his face. “I was about to scoff at you, but that is a fine idea. It had not yet occurred to me. To buy new ships … We would have to go to Genoa.”

“To Genoa! Why there?”

Will smiled again, animated now, and she took pleasure in the novelty of seeing it. “Because they build the finest ships in all the world and have been doing it since Roman times. Until recently, they built all our Temple ships, galleys as well as trading vessels. They may even have some now, waiting to be sold again, now that the Temple no longer requires them … save that it does, here and now.” His face darkened. “But that might require all the gold we have, and more. I have no idea how much a strong ship costs, but it must be a massive sum.”

“Who would know that?”

“Hmm. The seneschal of the Order would, or the draper. All such outgoing expenses must be directed through their offices and are—were—subject to their approval. But the seneschal is entombed in one of Philip’s jails, and I have heard the draper, Sir Philip Estinguay, died of the tortures inflicted upon him by the priests. Their people might, the underlings who worked for them, but they are all dispersed and vanished as smoke in a high wind. Thus, no one knows, and I would—I will—have to find out for myself.” He smiled again. “One thing is certain. If we can afford the cost, we will meet it though it beggar us, for we will have no need of gold in the new land.”

Someone knocked on the door, and Will jerked his hand for silence as it opened to admit Brother Matthew, his face puffy with sleep. He blinked owlishly at Will and then addressed Jessie.

“My lady? Is the boy yet asleep?”

As if in answer to his question there came a stifled groan behind the woven screens, announcing that young Henry was awake, and for a time the former stillness of the room was banished as everyone went to see to him.

THREE

The following morning, before the sun had risen, and for want of anything better to do to take his mind off the condition of young Henry, Will took his bow, a spear, and a quiver of arrows and went hunting, accompanied by his two remaining sergeants. He had dined with Jessie the night before, but they had had no further chance to speak in private, surrounded as they were by other people. And so they had talked of normal things, sharing the laughter and the conversation of those around them. Only once, at the beginning of their dinner, had she leaned close to him to tell him that she regretted the interruption of their talk earlier, and that she wanted to speak further on the matters they had been discussing.