Jack Whyte - Order in Chaos

“I am.” He watched her struggle to absorb what he had said, seeing the play of her thoughts clearly mirrored on her face. “Such places may exist. My quest will be to find them.”

“But … how? Where?”

“Far to the west. Have you ever heard the word ‘Merica’?”

“No, never. Should I have?”

“No, not at all. I can think of no good reason why you should have, and several excellent reasons why you could not have. Merica is a mystical and legendary place, and I suppose I will be breaking some vow or other in telling you of it, although I cannot think where the transgression might lie.”

He lapsed into silence, and Jessie waited avidly, careful to make no move that might distract him. Eventually he cleared his throat and moved back to sit beside her again.

“As I said, you are the sole remaining member of my close family, and so I am going to tell you something that perhaps I ought not to mention. Our sacred Order is secretive. I know you are already aware of that, as is all the world, but the truth is even greater than the appearance of secrecy. The Order, the Brotherhood of the Temple, is founded upon a necessary secrecy, the substance of which is”—and here he flashed her a dazzling grin—“of course, a secret. There are many aspects of our code and our beliefs about which we are completely forbidden to speak, under oath and upon penalty of the most grievous punishment. There are other elements, however, that are less stringently circumscribed. Do you understand the distinction?” When she nodded he continued.

“Excellent … Among our ancient lore, which is extensive, there are several areas that lack coherency and proof of … what is the word? Authenticity, I suppose, covers it best. And one of those areas, a fragment, a report, the merest shadow of a tale, perhaps a legend, deals with a place that lies beyond the Western Sea, the ocean we call the Atlantic. It is a vast expanse of land, according to the fragmentary documents we possess, that is overlooked by a brilliant evening star that the natives—and apparently there are native peoples there—call Merica. But there is no proof, from any source, that such a place exists. As I said, it is a shadow.”

“How ancient?” She saw the lifting of his eyebrows and pushed ahead. “You spoke of your ancient lore, but your Order was founded less than two hundred years ago, when the Armies of Christ first took Jerusalem. That is old, but it is not ancient, and you spoke with the authority of belief when you spoke of ancient lore.”

“Bravo, dear sister.” He dipped his head slowly to one side in an obvious gesture of admiration and respect. “Few men I know would be sufficiently astute to make that observation, and women are not supposed to be capable of such objective reasoning—a supposition, I am beginning to suspect, that allows men to cling to their illusions of superiority. I am impressed, and you are correct. Our Temple Order is measurably old, but the lore upon which its core was formed is ancient. I can say no more than that without violating my oath.”

Jessica nodded again, accepting that, although the suggestion of a frown remained on her face. “So … an ancient record, an unsupported allegation, the merest fragment of a tale that by your own admission might have no basis in reality … and you intend to dedicate the remainder of your life to the search for this place? Forgive me, but that seems like the most obvious kind of folly. Where would you begin, and how? And who would go with you?”

“It may turn out that no one would, in which case I could not go … But I hope and believe that there will be enough intrepid souls among my men to fill out a sufficiently large crew to undertake the venture.”

“You mean to sail with you into almost certain death?’

“Yes, if you wish to put it that way. But the certainty of death would not be nearly as great as your tone implies. Our brotherhood is founded upon faith … faith in God, and faith in ourselves and in our mission. The great Treasure that we are shipping with Sir William is proof, in itself, of the validity and reality of our lore. Until it was discovered in the bowels of the Temple Mount in Jerusalem, its existence was uncertain, its discovery predicated upon the faith of the men who would spend years searching for it. Our founder, Hugh de Payens, had nothing more to guide him than the instructions contained in ancient documents, yet his faith and certainty enabled him, with his eight companions, to dig down into the living rock of the Temple Mount for nine long years before they found it. It had been there all the time, despite all the odds dictated by logic and reason.”

“What is it? What does it contain? It is obviously very precious.”

“Aye, it is, and with potency to match its value. But above all else, it is a secret, and I can tell you with absolute honesty that I, even as admiral of the Temple fleet, have no idea what it comprises. Until the moment I saw it on the wharf of that fishing village a week ago, waiting to be loaded, I had never set eyes on it, and to the best of my knowledge, no one that I know within the Order has ever seen the chests opened. The last I heard of the Treasure was when it was shipped to safety from the fortress at Acre, just before the city fell to the Saracens. That was nigh on twenty years ago.”

“Hmm. I have heard that tale and it is a striking one. But the Treasure is an established fact, dear Charles, its existence long since known. The matter you are describing, on the other hand, is altogether different. Even were you to find a crew as loyal as those who supported your founder in his search, I would be surprised that men would give up everything to leave the world they know and go with you on such a quest, sailing out into the Western Sea in the hope of finding an end to it. They would risk falling into the Abyss.”

“All men risk falling into the Abyss, Sister, simply by living in this world. I have no doubt that if I can find the right kind of men—and I believe they are already aboard my own galley—they will come with me.”

“And what of your superior? Why should Sir William Sinclair permit you to sail off with some of his few remaining men, on what most people would deem a fool’s errand?”

The admiral shrugged. “On the face of it there is no reason, but I believe I might be able to offer him something of value as a quid pro quo for granting me leave to go … As you know, we are currently being pursued by some of our own ships, three galleys that we believe were captured by de Nogaret’s men in La Rochelle. They are several days behind us, for I doubt that they could have gained on us during the storms, and that gap of days would permit us to do what needs to be done. I would require one day to unload my portion of the Treasure and stow it aboard another ship. After that, while the remainder of this fleet moved to concealment along the westward-facing coastline of Portugal, I would fall back and await the vessels pursuing us, then lead them in a merry chase out into the Atlantic.”

“What makes you think they would follow you, a single ship?”

“Because they will know no different. All they will see of me when they arrive is my shape, and perhaps that of one of my escorts, if I have any, disappearing below the horizon. They will assume that I am the rearward lookout that has been ahead of them since they left port, and that the remainder of the fleet lies beyond me, below the horizon. By the time they discover the ruse, Sir William, along with you and the remainder of the fleet, will have vanished into the northern seas, bound for Scotland, with no one the wiser.”

Jessica Randolph stared at her good-brother through narrowed eyes as she mulled over what he had told her. “You really believe you can find this Merica, don’t you?”