Jack Whyte - Order in Chaos

When St. Valéry asked for distance and sailing time to the bay from where they now were, the two mariners conferred again and offered an estimate of three, perhaps four days, depending upon winds and offshore tides. They did not yet know exactly where they were in relation to the shore, but estimated that they were within two to three days’ sail of Cape Corunna, with another day beyond that to reach the bay.

Sinclair was still thinking about the length of time they would spend there. “How many ships do you wish to take with you, Admiral? Much will depend on that. I am thinking of your estimate of half a day’s work.” Sinclair saw the hesitancy in the admiral’s eyes and continued. “The length of time does not concern me; the sufficiency does. I think we will need a full day to see this thing well done. You may be at sea for months, and it would be galling to run out of something simply because we did not take the time to load sufficient supplies. Now that we have made the decision to proceed in this, I want you to do it properly.”

St. Valéry shrugged and looked up at the sail above him with its great painted cross of black on white. “Ships would be better than galleys, sturdier … with more storage room. Galleys would be worse than useless out on there on the ocean, months at a stretch … Cargo ships, Sir William. Four of them, if you can spare so many.”

“We can. We have four spare and available now, according to your own tally, so you may have them—given that you can find the men to crew them voluntarily. Think you that would be sufficient to ensure your success, as far as you can ensure anything in this venture?” He was aware of the three visitors standing close by, their eyes moving from one speaker to the other, their faces alive with curiosity, and he held up a hand to St. Valéry. “Wait, if you will.” He turned his attention to the three watching men. “Have you all heard of the legend of Merica, spoken of in the Order’s lore?”

The three men nodded, but looked mystified.

“Admiral St. Valéry has decided to sail in search of it, to find out once and for all whether it be there or not beyond the Western Sea where it is supposed to be, and I have given him the blessings of our Master, Sir Jacques de Molay, to do so. In finding it, he and the men who sail with him will prove the truth of another great piece of our ancient lore, just as Hugh de Payens and his companions did with the discovery of the Temple Treasure. He will be seeking volunteers to sail with him into the unknown upon a great and daunting quest. How think you his request might be received by your fellows?”

The three men stood for a few moments, looking at each other, rank apparently forgotten, and then the knight spoke up. “I can speak for no one but myself, my lord Admiral, but I can think of nothing I would rather do than sail on your quest with you.”

St. Valéry inclined his head graciously, but said nothing, and Sinclair intervened. “What is your name, sir? We have not met before, have we?”

“Antonio Escobar, Sir William, and no, we have not met before now.”

“Well, sir, I shall remember you as the first knight of the Temple to join Sir Charles’s quest. And what of you two men?”

The elder of the two sergeants spoke up at once, saying he might think about going since he had no family to concern himself about, but the second man shook his head regretfully and declined.

“Well, Sir Charles, two out of three at first sweep. If you continue thus you will take full two-thirds of my strength.”

“No chance of that, Sir William. I seek but to crew four ships. If I have more than that number, I shall select those I need and wish the others well with you.”

“What about water? You’ll need as much as you can carry.”

The knight Escobar raised a hand, and when Sinclair looked at him he said, “There is sweet, fresh water in the bay we spoke of, sir. A spring-fed stream near the top of the cliffs falls to the beach.”

“Good, then we’ll use it. Thank you, gentlemen. Which of you knows the coastline best? We need only one of you to lead us in; the other two may return to your ships.”

“Then it should be one of these two men, sir, since I am not a mariner,” Escobar said, and drew himself up to attention. The other two muttered briefly to each other, and the younger of the two turned to St. Valéry. “I will stay, Admiral.”

St. Valéry thanked all three men before dismissing them, sending the one who would remain behind to the stern with the galley’s captain, and when the four senior officers were alone again Sinclair struck straight to the heart of the matter at hand.

“Very well, then. We will have half a day to effect our changes, perhaps longer, depending upon how closely we are being pursued. Now we have much planning to do, and we need to send out the word to all our ships of what we are about in this endeavor. Can you attend to that, Sir Charles? We should do it quickly and clear our minds for other things. Among which is the disposition of your passenger and her cargo. I presume the Baroness will not be accompanying you on your quest … What, then, are we to do with her?”

St. Valéry shrugged his shoulders. “She will remain aboard my galley, which will become de Berenger’s command. Captain de Narremat here will assume the rank of vice-admiral and take over Sir Edward’s present command.” He glanced at de Narremat, whose face was flushing with surprised pleasure. “Before doing that, Captain, you will appoint another from your own officers here to fill your present position as admiral’s shipmaster.” He broke off, turning to Sinclair. “Unless you object to any of that, Sir William?”

The inflexion of the admiral’s voice turned that last statement into a question, but Sinclair shook his head. “You are still admiral, Sir Charles, and you know your people far better than I do. The choice of captains is yours. I will remain aboard the vice-admiral’s galley for now, if the new vice-admiral has no objection. And now, gentlemen, we have other matters to deal with. Shall we begin?”

But at that moment a hail from the lookout on the cross-spar at the mast top announced that he had seen another vessel bearing down on them, and even as they absorbed that, they heard him counting aloud as more distant sails became discernible far behind them to the northeast.

“Five galleys!” the lookout shouted. “One ahead of four! And … and more behind those … Two, three more in pursuit.”

St. Valéry looked at Will Sinclair. “Five Temple galleys, fleeing from pursuit by three? That is not possible. There must be another explanation … The three rearward galleys must be our own, escaped from La Rochelle before they could be taken.”

WITHIN TWO HOURS of the first distant sighting, Will Sinclair stood on the upper deck of the admiral’s stern castle, watching the approach of the three strange galleys, and he could see plainly why the naval officers had spoken earlier of de l’Armentière’s galley, the leading one, as being unmistakably different. The Templar galleys, irrespective of individual size, were all modeled upon the massive biremes of Roman times and built in the shipyards around Genoa, where generations of shipwright families had been building the same kind of vessels for hundreds of years. Huge and solid, with double banks of oars and an elongated ram beneath the prow, they had been virtually unchanged since the days of the Roman navies, the single difference being that now the sails were made of heavy cloth rather than of leather. De l’Armentière’s was different; longer, lower, and sleeker, it shipped thirty-six oars, he saw, but in two long, single banks of eighteen a side. The mast, too, was different, neither as tall nor as thick as those on the Temple’s vessels, but there was no mistaking the fact that this vessel had been designed for speed and battle. Its long battering ram, clad in copper sheeting, curved up and projected from the water ahead of the craft like the horn of some ferocious beast.