Jack Whyte - Order in Chaos

His mouth dropped open and his slackened fingers lost their hold on the chest’s lid, which fell shut with a heavy, solid thunk.

“You are too kind, Baroness. I could not accept such a gift. It is too much.”

“Nonsense. Of course you could, and you will. You said yourself last night that you will not need money where you are going. Therefore this chest is worthless, save as a means of reaching the place … And besides, it is not a gift. It is a payment.”

He frowned slightly, suddenly cautious. “In return for what?”

“For taking me with you to your wild new land—me and mine.”

His jaw dropped yet again. “You’re mad,” he whispered.

“How so? I believe I am being rational.”

“That is no place for women, and by God’s holy elbow it is no place for a well-born lady.”

“Will Sinclair, that might be the stupidest thing I have ever heard from your mouth. You will be taking women with you, the wives of your followers. Is that not the point of this whole expedition?”

“Yes, but—”

“But nothing, Will. I want to go with you. I lay awake for hours last night, thinking the whole thing through, and I have decided. I will buy your fleet, or some of it, if this is not enough. In return you will take me to this Merica. I remembered the name.”

Will’s mouth worked, but no words emerged for a while until, frustrated beyond bearing, he burst from French into Scots. “But … but, Jessie, how could you even think o’ such a thing, to go alone into an unkent world? The folk o’er there are savage … wild. They dinna even wear clothes, or no’ the kind o’ clothes you wear. They wear nothin’ but the skins and furs o’ animals.”

“So did the Danes and the very English, no’ so long syne. And have you visited the Highlands here? Folk run naked there at times—much o’ the time in fact, or so I’m told. Men fight naked, and they take no ill o’ it.”

“But these folk o’er there across the sea are primitive, did ye no’ hear me? They’re barbarians—godless.”

“Godless barbarians? Would ye mean like the noble King of France, who killed my husband out o’ plain greed, then sent de Nogaret to hunt and kill me, too, for the same reason? The same King who claims to be God’s anointed, yet drove you and yours out of your homeland to sate his own lust for power, and whose people now torture and maim and kill your own brethren? Or mayhap you mean the English King, the old one who hung highborn women naked in open cages from town walls, just to vent his spleen? Is that no’ barbaric?” She added with finality, “Besides I’ll no’ be on my own.”

“Among your women, you mean. Aye, that’s what I meant, too. Who would protect you there, you and your womenfolk? Ye have no man , Jessie, and ye’d need a strong one, and fell.”

“I’ll ha’e a man, and a strong one, Will Sinclair. You’ll be my man.”

He flinched as though she had slapped him, then glared at her wild eyed for the space of several heartbeats, before clamping his hands on each side of his forehead and rising to his feet, spinning away from her.

“In Christ’s name, woman!” he roared. “Have you lost your wits altogether?”

But then he stopped, the heels of his hands still pressed against his temples, and she saw the tension drain away from him as he turned back to face her. She waited, saying nothing, and he shook his head and slowly lowered his hands. “I shouted at you, in the name of Christ.”

“I know.” She was almost smiling. “I heard. Was that a special kind of sin for you?”

“No … no, it wasna, but … it makes me see how rash and false to himself a man can be when he is vexed.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know ye don’t. Ye couldna. But it means much to me. D’ ye think anyone heard us?” He looked around him, as though expecting to see people listening everywhere, and then he shook his head again. “I hinna time for this. I should be far frae here by now.” He drew a great sigh, then looked back at her and lowered his voice. “Look, lassie, I would look after ye. I ha’e nae doubts o’ that, forbye my oath. But it is just too dangerous, the whole o’ it unknown. I would never forgive myself were ye to come to ill …”

When she spoke again, she spoke in French. “And what of here, Will?” Her voice was calm to match his own now. “How would you feel if ill befell me here? We are at war, and this house built on the high road from England into Scotland. I could be murdered in my bed, right here, at any time, murdered and raped by passing soldiery of either side. Think you to leave me safe behind, when you sail off without me?”

“ Without you? I never thought of you and me that way at all until you spoke the words!”

“If that is true, then you are a fool, Will Sinclair. A fine one, but a fool nonetheless. Look at yourself. You had become a ship without a sail, a vessel without purpose, betrayed and deceived on every side by men unfit to look you in the eye. But you released your brethren from their oath after you thought the matter through and decided it was justified. That took leadership, determination. And now you will lead them to another land, another life, in search of a new destiny. And so you now have renewed purpose. But incomplete, until you change yourself … Look, and listen to me, for I know you must go now.”

She drew a deep breath and stood upright, looking him in the eye. “We have said much here today, perhaps too much, though I doubt that. But the gist of it is this—I want to help you buy a fleet, and the means is there, at your feet. Think upon that … the how and why and wherefore of it all. It will take much time and long planning. You will need an agent for the dealings in Genoa. Moray may help you in that. He has many contacts everywhere. In the meantime, think on this … I will pay for the ships, as many as this chest will provide. You then will use your own funds to lade and equip them with everything you will need in your new land … including cloth for clothing. And think, too, upon my offer, Will—the offer of myself, my companionship, my loyalty. I do not make it lightly. I know it will be hard for you even to think about it, being who you are. But try, Will. Try to see what could be …” She smiled again, gently. “Will you do that for me, sir knight?”

He stood staring at her, his right hand grasping the hilt of his long sword, his lips pursed. And then he nodded. “Aye, I will think on it. And we will talk again … But now I had better hide this chest again and go. Is it safe here?”

“As safe as it would be anywhere, save in your vaults on Arran. It will be safe until you come back for it. Now hurry, and be gone.” She turned to leave, then hesitated and looked back at him. “And when you think of all of this, think, too, of me … and kindly, Will Sinclair.”

He growled in his throat, unable to find words to reply to that, and she left him there to bury the chest beneath the bales again.

BISHOPS AND CARDINALS

ONE

Will had never seen St. Andrews town, and riding in he was awed by the sight of it, dominated as it was by the great unfinished cathedral church that had been more than one hundred and fifty years in the making. It was close to completion now, he knew, and it towered above the surrounding town, close to the sea’s edge, its bulk seeming to dwarf even the mighty St. Rule’s tower that shared its site and rose above its steeples. The town was also the principal center of the Catholic Church in Scotland, and it seemed filled with priests of all description. There were soldiers there, of course, and burghers, merchants and their families, along with tradesmen and the normal idlers one found in every town of any size, but the overwhelming impression was one of a plethora of priests and clerics. Monks and friars, priests and abbots and bishops bustled everywhere, most of them with parchment scrolls and writing implements about their person. Will inhaled deeply more than once, expecting to smell the bite of incense on the air.