Jack Whyte - Order in Chaos

“That could leave you penniless.”

“It could.” Again Will smiled, remembering what Jessie Randolph had called the place. “But in our wild new land we will have no need of money. The people there, I have been told, do not use it at all. They trade and barter what they have for what they need, but they have no use for either gold or silver. So penniless is how we will go.”

“Could you not buy your ships here in Scotland? We have fine shipbuilders in Aberdeen, and they build large, fine ships.”

“Aye, they do, Master Balmyle, but for local waters, the seas of Christendom. I need ships to go where only four have gone before. The Genoese have been building the kind of ships I need for more than a hundred years, since first the Temple went to sea as traders.”

“So be it, then.” Lamberton’s tone was incisive. “I will write to Giacomo tonight and send the missive to him by fast ship from Leith. My messenger will await a reply and bring it directly back. It should be done within the coming month, and you will have your fundamental information.” He nodded, dismissing that. “Now, back to our Scots Templars. What would you advise?”

“Much.” Will sat thinking deeply, aware of all three men watching him and waiting. “There is much to be done, but none of it should be difficult. All it will take is time, and that time will begin with our convocation on Arran. In some ways we are fortunate. The brethren we will invite to Arran already know themselves outlawed and banned. They will not be expecting to find an established community of their own. Once they see the changes we have achieved—the disappearance of distinguishing beards and all other signs—they will all join us, out of obedience to my will as Master, if for no other reason. That does not concern me. Everything you require of them will be achieved as soon as we convene in chapter. From then on, the eventual vanishing of Templars from Scotland will be simple and ongoing …”

“But yet you sound concerned,” Lamberton said. “Why?”

“Because I am concerned, and gravely so, about their future. When we leave Arran, these Scots knights will be bereft again. And yet I cannot take them with us. The numbers are too great. But so are the odds against their survival here, unless you will extend me your support in what I seek. First of all, why is King Robert so concerned about these brethren?”

“Because he feels an obligation to them, one that they have earned. They have supported him loyally and he has no wish to reward them by outlawing them, far less arresting them, at the demand of outsiders to the realm, irrespective of whether those be churchmen or otherwise.”

“They are all Bruce supporters?”

“Aye, they are. Those who were of the Comyn camp retired to England with the other knights when the Temple here was closed. Those who remained were Bruce adherents, and the King is well aware of that.”

Will nodded. “But what of afterwards, when these wars be settled, if they ever are? What will become of these men then? They are sworn to poverty, under the protection of their Order, but their Order is gone—and its protection with it—which leaves these men incapable of providing for themselves as knights and warriors.”

Lamberton raised his hand. “They have managed until now. How should that change?”

“Because times change, my lord Archbishop. These men have armor, horses, and weapons, but all provided by the Temple. What will happen when the horses die, the armor rusts, and the weapons must be replaced? The commanderies that provided them are no more, and the cost will be too much for paupers. We in Arran can survive because we brought our Commandery’s wealth with us from La Rochelle. These Scots Templars of yours will starve without renewed assistance. Can you understand my concern now?”

“Aye, when you put it like that, of course I can. What, then, do you propose?”

“A resolution, but as I said before, I would like your support. As Master in Scotland, I may release Scots Templars from their vows, both chastity and poverty, for good and ample reasons of necessity and moral need. But these men might not take easily to such a radical change, and I would therefore ask for your support in assuaging their minds and consciences.”

Lamberton looked at Master Balmyle and then sat frowning. “I do not know if I can do that, Will,” he said eventually. “I doubt I have the authority for such a thing. As you have observed yourself, the Templars are sworn to obey their Grand Master, and through him the Pope, not an arguably heretical Archbishop.”

“Forgive me, my lord, but I disagree. You are Primate of Scotland and this is a Scots matter. The men involved are Scots, and your concern is to enable them to conceal themselves from the eyes of others who would use the knowledge of their freedom to cause further strife for the King’s grace. You have already established your primacy, your authority and spiritual leadership, in this realm by your championship of King Robert’s cause in the face of opposition from the Pope himself. Why then should you be impotent in this? Do you doubt the morality involved?”

The Archbishop had been gazing at Will levelly as he said this, and now he shook his head slowly. “No, Will, I do not. What would you require of me?”

“A letter, written from your viewpoint as Primate, or perhaps a delegate to speak on your behalf at our gathering, voicing your understanding and compassion in this matter of revoking vows. Your official recognition that, at certain times, drastic steps must be taken to address grave wrongs. That alone—the knowledge that they could provide for themselves thereafter—would make your Templar followers feel better about accepting the changes I decree. They would not talk of it afterwards—they are Templars, after all—so you need have no fears of being embarrassed later.”

“A delegate, then, since I shall be back in England. Nicholas, would you do that on my behalf?”

“Happily, my lord Archbishop. The cause is just. And I will make it clear your approval is heartfelt.”

“Thank you, old friend.” He sat up even straighter. “So we are agreed. This will be done. When will the convocation take place?”

“As soon as it can be arranged,” Will told him. “How long will you require to contact the King’s people? Give me a list of those you wish me to approach and I will see to it as soon as I return to Arran.” He turned to Moray. “Davie, have you made progress on any of that?”

“Aye, all of it. We can ha’e the whole thing done within the month from now, including your part. I have your list prepared—some twenty men. They’ll bring their own sergeants. So will we call assembly for a month from this date?”

“A month from today, then. At Brodick Hall. So be it.”

Lamberton clapped his hands together. “Excellent! We have done well here, my friends, and I look forward to better things ahead. Are we concluded, then? Poor Nicholas has far to travel ere he sleeps.”

Moray intervened. “I ha’e a few questions I would ask o’ Will, if we can take the time?”

“Ask away,” Will said.

“Your friend de Berenger, the admiral. Is he still on Arran?”

“Most of the time, aye. He is in France now, in Aix-en-Provence, gathering information, but he should be back soon.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Without reservation.”

“And as an admiral, he kens his business, I suppose.”

“Beyond dispute. None better. Why do you ask?”

“Bear with me. You have ships on Arran, too, do you not?”

“Sometimes. We have ships at sea, trading, and they come back from time to time. And we have galleys, as you know.”

“I know, but I was thinking of ships. Archbishop Lamberton and you spoke of a letter to be sent to Cardinal Bellini, to await reply, and you said you have nae time to waste. It will take a month to receive the Cardinal’s response, and then you’ll ha’e to come and get it, and then arrange what to do next.” He threw his hands wide. “Tak’ the letter to Genoa yoursel’—in one o’ your ain ships, with your admiral—and speak to the Cardinal in your ain voice. See for yoursel’ what it will tak’ to buy up your new fleet, then have de Berenger flesh out the purchase, as a seaman. You’ll save months.”