Jack Whyte - Order in Chaos

“I can ask. But what are ye lookin’ for?”

Will stood up and braced himself cautiously against the choppy motion of the moored boat. “Any man who knows anything at all about Arran Isle, for I know nothing of it. I’ve seen it often, but only frae the mainland. I’ve never set foot there, and it came to me that there might be men, even one man, among the fleet who knows the place.”

“Aye, I’ll try to find out. Mind your step now and dinna fa’ in. I ha’e nae need to spend hours cleanin’ salt and rust off your blades.”

SEVEN

“Step back here and stay away from the edge o’ that cliff. You’re the one who pointed out to me that it’s a’ crumbled away underneath. All we would need now is for it to gi’e way and send you and half a mountain straight down onto the tops o’ our ships.”

Will threw his head back and laughed loud, but at the same time he did as Tam bade him, turning back onto more solid ground, lowering himself to sit on a tussock of grass by his kinsman’s side and gazing out to the west, where the Atlantic Ocean stretched ahead of them.

“Look at that vista, Tam. Have you ever seen the like? No, you ha’e not, because you have never seen siccan a vast body of water, and neither have I. We ha’e traveled far, you and I, these past years, but when you think of it, I doubt we ha’e ever been completely out of sight of land, it’s aey been there, behind us or in front of us or on either side but somewhere within sight. But out there, where the admiral will be heading tomorrow, there is nothing. We’ll be going over that way, more northward, towards Ireland and then Scotland, and again we’ll never really be out of sight of land.” He pointed due west. “But over there, beyond the rim o’ that sky, there lies nothing but more water, and within a matter of a day or two’s outward sailing, he and his men will be lost in an ocean so vast that his only hope of reaching land will be to turn around and sail back.”

“He’s no’ an admiral now. Just plain Sir Charles.” That was true. In the two days since the appearance of de l’Armentière and his galleys, the Temple ships had made their way from Cape Corunna to the sheltered, nameless bay they had chosen, and as soon as they had anchored safely and started the transfer of goods and the provisioning of the four vessels he would now take in search of Merica, Sir Charles had resigned his admiral’s rank and bestowed it upon Edward de Berenger, the transfer of title and power of admiral of the Temple fleet witnessed and ratified by Sir William Sinclair. The ceremony had been brief, carried out on the beach of the bay without pomp, in the course of a brief Mass concelebrated by the four bishops who had sailed with them from La Rochelle, and as soon as the rites were concluded, everyone scattered to see to the redistribution of the various cargoes.

Sir Charles’s guest had captured the imagination of the men, and he had no difficulty raising a party of 110 willing volunteers to sail with him in search of the fabled new land, more than enough to crew his small fleet of ships. His party, however, would take no horses with them, an announcement that astonished Sir William Sinclair when he first heard it, although he realized at once that sound reasoning underlay the decision. No one knew how long the voyage would take, or if it would even end in success, but St. Valéry’s belief was that it might take anywhere up to three months of sailing, and the impossibility of carrying sufficient fodder rendered such a thing impractical. Atop that, there was the well-known fact that horses did not take well to sea voyages; after a voyage of mere weeks, it required at least one full day and frequently two to permit the animals to adjust to having solid land beneath their feet. No one cared to think of the effect a journey months in length might have on the creatures. And so St. Valéry’s expedition would disembark in the new land and proceed afoot, unless they were fortunate enough to find replacement mounts in Merica.

“How long will Sir Charles stay wi’ us before he strikes away?”

“Not long. He’ll probably wave us away before we’re out of sight of land.”

“You sound very sure, for a landsman …”

“As sure as any man may be of anything. Aye, I’m sure of it. And in the meantime all’s well below on the beach, and we ha’e nothing to do but wait a while.”

Tam made no response to that. Matters were well in hand on the beach far below them, cargo being transferred from one ship to another so that St. Valéry’s small squadron could set out, at least, with as much as possible of anything they might require on their voyage. Will and Tam had had nothing to do among all the activity and so they had taken advantage of the opportunity to stretch their legs and had ended up climbing the beetling cliffs, by a roundabout route that avoided the perilous overhang, so that now they sat at their ease far above the bustling activities below.

Will smiled and lay back, his eyes closed in enjoyment of the sun, but Tam had more questions.

“What about the ships waitin’ for us off Finisterre?”

“Already taken care of. De Lisle’s already on his way to meet them, if there are any there. They’ll follow us, hugging the coastline until they reach Cape Corunna, then they’ll head north and west for Scotland. We’ll wait for them off the Mull of Kintyre.” He turned his head. “Were you able to find out if there are any other Scots in the fleet?”

“Aye, but only this mornin’. There’s two, one o’ them a graybeard frae Galloway called Mungo MacDowal. I havena seen him or spoken to him, but I left word for him to come and see ye when he was finished workin’ this afternoon. If he’s frae Galloway, he’ll ha’e grown up lookin’ at Arran, maist like. He’ll probably be there by the time we get back down to the beach … Tell me, why did ye have us change ships, you and me? I was just beginning to grow used to where we were.”

His companion opened one eye, squinting against the light, and looked at him as though he were mad. “We haven’t changed ships.”

“No, but we could have. We’ve changed captains, and I liked de Berenger.”

“That is neither here nor there. I had no choice. The admiral’s galley is the only one big enough for the Baroness and her women. Would you have had me throw them out? De Berenger’s transfer aboard changed nothing, with Sir Charles gone, but had you and I moved over, it would have been too crowded. So we stayed. Besides, I could not abide being on that ship with all those women.”

Tam started to respond but then merely lay back on the grass, his fingers interlaced behind his head. “No,” he muttered, “you couldna, could you? That would ha’ been too human. Ye winna thole the women.”

Will did not dignify that with a response, for despite his Scots sarcasm, Tam was correct: Will Sinclair would not, indeed, tolerate the presence of the women and had thus chosen to remain where he was, since de Berenger’s former galley was more than adequate to his needs. The fact that the Temple Treasure was already in the vessel’s modest hold was justification enough to allow him to avoid being saddled with the presence and too-close proximity of the distracting and infuriating Baroness St. Valéry all the way to Scotland.

Tam, unsurprised by the lack of response, lay quiet for a long time after that, feeling the sun’s warmth on his face, then asked, “What are you thinkin’ to do once we reach Scotland? Will you go directly to the King?”

Sir Charles had asked him the same pair of questions, almost word for word, that very morning, and although he had answered straightforwardly at the time, he had been thinking about it ever since, and now he gave a slightly different answer to Tam.