Jack Whyte - Order in Chaos

He it was who had suggested that they conceal the entire fleet on the southeastern side of a tiny islet called Sanda, itself off the southeastern tip of the headland called the Mull of Kintyre, where it might remain for weeks or even months without being seen from the headland. There, he had pointed out, the fleet would be close enough to Arran to reach it quickly, in less than a day, but anyone on Arran would remain unaware of its presence. Seeing the good sense in his proposal, Will had instructed de Berenger to take his ships north and then east around the coast of Ireland, taking care to steer well clear of the island of Rathlin, off the northern Irish coast, and had they anchored unseen, they believed, in the shelter of Sanda. They had been joined there within the week by Captain de Lisle and three more midsized galleys, each of thirty-two oars, that had sailed to Finisterre from Marseille, the sole members of the Templar fleet to survive from that part of France.

As soon as the newcomers were safely gathered, Will had wanted to proceed with a small squadron to Arran, but once again it was Mungo who had offered the best advice on that. Take a single galley, he had said. The biggest one, to inspire respect and discourage interference yet prevent the inhabitants from flying into a panic thinking they were being invaded. There was a sheltered anchorage on the southeast side of Arran, he had added, a place called Lamlash Bay, and an island offshore, less than a mile away, that could serve the same purpose for them as Sanda had for the fleet, concealing them until they were ready to approach Arran under favorable conditions. Will had followed the man’s advice precisely, marveling at his own readiness to do so, yet trusting him instinctively.

Before leaving Sanda, however, and probably to the lady’s great displeasure, Baroness St. Valéry and her women had changed galleys, going to occupy the quarters formerly held by Will and Tam, while those two transferred all their possessions aboard the admiral’s larger galley for the journey to Arran. The treasures were now split the wrong way—the Baroness’s specie in Will’s care, while the Temple Treasure itself remained with the Baroness—but there was nothing Will could do about that for the time being.

Tam and Mungo were looking at him now, plainly expecting him to say something, and he pointed up towards the top of the hill. “The admiral’s taking the galley back to the beach you mentioned, Mungo, and I’m thinking of taking a wee climb up there, to see what’s to be seen. I hope you both feel well enough to come with me. How long, think you, will it take us to get to the top?”

Tam tilted his head back and looked up at the slope on the flank of the hill as the galley began to turn within its own length, propelled into a sharp spin by the skilled oarsmen. As the ship revolved, Tam turned against its swing, keeping his eyes on the hilltop. The oars on both sides bit into the water, stopping the vessel’s turn and then driving it forward, slowly at first but gathering speed with every stroke. Tam turned back to Will. “We should be there by mid-morning, if we land and strike out without wastin’ time. We might go quicker, but I’m recallin’ the fight you had to make it to the top of the cliff above the bay that day Sir Charles changed ships. You could hardly catch your breath after that, and yon climb was nothin’ compared to the wee stroll ye’ll be facin’ up there.”

Will kept his face expressionless, stifling the urge to laugh at the familiar insolence, and looked at Mungo, tipping his head sideways to indicate his kinsman. “Would you listen to the man’s ravings. I practically had to carry him that time, he was so weak in the legs and wind. Too much time at sea and too little drill to keep him fit. I’m going to get ready. See you if you can find us some food to take with us. I’ll meet you here when I’m done.” He walked away, grinning openly as soon as his back was turned, and hearing Tam muttering behind his back.

A short time later he was back on deck, wearing a long, heavy cloak of dark green wool over a plain but quilted knee-length tunic and a leather jerkin, his only weapon a single-edged dirk in a sheath by his side. His legs were wrapped in thick knitted leggings, and he wore heavy campaigning boots, tightly laced to mid-calf. The other two were waiting for him, similarly dressed and armed, since there was little likelihood of trouble on the Holy Isle and they had no wish to appear belligerent, even to the watching friars up on the hill. Tam carried a worn leather satchel slung across his chest.

“Food,” he said, when he saw Will glance at it.

“Fine. We’ll be hungry when we reach the top. Did you find us a boat?”

TWO

From where they stood now, facing west on the highest point of the islet, all of the east side of Arran stretched out in front of them, across the waters of Lamlash Bay. The morning was crisp but still, so that not all the sea mist had yet gone from the bay beneath them, odd pockets lingering like earthbound clouds. The sky was cloudy, but the covering was broken, holding no threat of rain for the time being, and myriad gulls swooped and dived all about them, their raucous cries drowning all other sounds.

“There’s not much moving over there.”

“No, but that doesna mean there’s nobody there. It’s a fine mornin’, so there’ll be somebody about sooner or later. It’s a bonny sight, though, is it no’?”

“Aye, Mungo, it is. How long has it been since you were last here?”

“God! It’s been a while … I was just a bit o’ a boy when I was last here, didna even ha’e a beard. So that’s a score o’ year, at least, afore I lost count. Mind you, I dinna think I’ve ever set foot on Eilean Molaise afore now. But seein’ this, I canna think why.”

Sinclair felt no urge to argue that point.

Arran island, he had known, was approximately egg shaped, its narrow end now stretching on their left, sloping gently down to the sea. Directly across from them, on the far side of the bay, shelving beaches led up to a crescent-shaped plateau that stretched inland for what looked like a couple of miles, rising gradually north and west into what appeared to be high moorlands on the horizon. Farther north yet, on their extreme right, the ground sloped more severely until the gentle hills became high, distant mountains, several of them snow capped from the early-winter storms.

He turned to his left, staring at the southernmost point of land, straining to see signs of the fortification they had passed the previous night on their way in. They had made the approach in darkness, using oars and keeping well out from the shoreline, their great sail lowered to prevent any reflection that might betray their passing, and they had seen several balefires flickering in the night as they passed by. Mungo had said they burned on the heights of Kildonan, a natural cliff-top stronghold that had been occupied continuously since men first came to Arran. A stone tower was being built there now, he said, started by the Norwayans decades earlier, before King Alexander had defeated them at the Largs fight and ended Norway’s rule in Scotland’s west, but the place had always been used as a defensive point. Gazing in that direction now, Will could see nothing and assumed the tower, if such it was nowadays, lay out of sight, around the promontory.

He turned back to the view ahead of him, thinking of how peaceful it appeared and wondering how many men might be concealed there.

“Can either of you see any signs of life?” he asked, knowing that if they could they would already have said so. He was surprised when Tam spoke up.

“Aye, and close by—one of yon holy caterans is coming over here.”

Will stifled a groan, for sure enough, one of the watchers from earlier was standing no more than fifty paces distant, staring at them from a fold in the ground that concealed all but his chest and head.