Jack Whyte - Order in Chaos

He paused to allow that to sink home, then went on. “There was a man called Wallace of whom we heard, even here on Eilean Molaise. He, and some others like him, organized the Scots people as never before and united them against their oppressors for the first time in memory. But he and his people saw their oppressors not only to be the English but the Scots nobility as well. And the Scots nobles regarded him as they would vermin, naming him brigand and outlaw.”

“How do you know so much about Wallace?” Will asked.

“Three of his supporters sought refuge with us here, some six, perhaps seven years ago. That was when we heard that King Balliol was gone. They were being hunted by their own lords, as well as by the English. One of them, a knight called Menteith, who I suppose was a renegade against his own kind, was well spoken and possessed a keen mind. I spoke often with him during the month or so they remained with us, but I know not what became of him thereafter … nor of the man Wallace.”

“Wallace is dead,” Mungo growled. “Eight years ago. Sold for English favor. They took him to London and hanged him there, for the pleasure of the crowd—cut him down alive, then gutted him and burned his entrails while he watched. Then they cut off his head, arms, and legs.”

Will was looking curiously at Mungo. “And how do you know so much of Wallace, master mariner?”

The sergeant shrugged. “We were in Leith a while ago, on business wi’ the Temple in Edinburgh. We couldna go anywhere beyond the port, for the English armies were everywhere, but I heard folk talkin’ about it in the taverns in the toun. It was the Bruce, they said—the young earl, no’ the old man—who dubbed the Wallace knight, so that he could be Guardian of the Realm, but he did it to spite the Comyns, rather than to honor Wallace … At least, that’s what folk were sayin’. It was the Bruces and the Comyns and the others like them, the noble families, as they ca’ themsel’s, who brought Scotland to where she fell and forced the Wallace to do what he did. Them and their bickerin’ and girnin’, changin’ sides frae day to day—now for Edward, now against him, but for themsel’s at a’ times … Oh, aye, they’re for themsel’s without pause.”

He spat, eloquently, and Will, spurred by a sudden thought, added, “It is the Bruce who rules in Scotland now, did you know that?” Seeing the flaring disbelief in the other man’s eyes, he carried on. “No, it’s true. The young Bruce, former Earl of Carrick. He seized the throne last year, in the name of the realm of Scotland. He is now King Robert, first of that name.”

Mungo stared back at him, unimpressed, to judge by his lack of expression. “Oh aye?” he said, his tone turning the statement into a question. “That must have pleased the Comyns. And does he rule there still , d’ye ken?”

Will shook his head. “I know not. I cannot even say if he is still alive. That is what I have to find out.”

Mungo folded up the clasp knife he had been using on his meat and slipped it into his tunic before wiping his hands on his leggings and moving to stand up. “So mote it be,” he said. “Ye’ll no find any o’ that out if ye keep sittin’ here. Are we awa’?”

The veteran monk was already rising effortlessly to his feet, and Will and Tam rose with him. “It would appear we are,” Will said. “Can we land in the bay by tonight?”

“We can land there by the middle o’ the afternoon, ’gin we start now.”

Will thanked Gaspard for his information and hoped that they might meet again, and the old man smiled and nodded.

“May God be with you across the bay,” he said. “I will be watching, but I can be of no help to you. But if you do find anyone over there, they will be Scots, and they may be able to tell you what you need to know about the King. Farewell, and walk in God’s Way.”

THREE

“Well, Admiral, what do you think? Did anyone see us?”Admiral Edward de Berenger grunted, glancing up at the billowing sail with its enormous black Templar cross. “If they did, it makes no difference—we’ll be around the headland before they have a chance to warn anyone.”

Taking advantage of the straining sail, the oarsmen in the waist of the ship were rowing at attack speed, driving the large galley over the waves at its top speed, a pace no other ship in their own fleet could match. They had swept along the entire length of the bay of Lamlash, where they had first thought to anchor, and were now bearing down on the point of land that stretched out ahead of them, separating them from their new objective. Will Sinclair took note of the speed with which the point was approaching and grunted, deep in his chest.

“As soon as we round the point you’ll need to make some quick decisions, Edward. How big is the bay, and how deep? And if there are galleys there, as the old man said there might be, whether there be two or four, how far away from them should we remain, without leaving ourselves too far from land or vulnerable to attack. Thank God you are the mariner, for I would not even know where to begin any of that.”

De Berenger’s normally stern face cracked into a grin. “Put your mind at ease, then. I’ll do nothing to endanger us. This is my ship, after all. I have no intention of risking it to chance. Now …” He raised one arm high. “Get ready!” he shouted to his shipmaster, a stolid but dependable Norman called Boulanger.

The great galley hissed by within spitting distance of the rocks at the tip of the point, and as it did so de Berenger lowered his arm, the signal to Boulanger and his waiting crew to lower the sail. As the billows of heavy cloth were lowered and restrained by skilled seamen, the oarsmen maintained their driving rhythm, propelling them towards the closest point, where the entire bay would lie open to their sight. The basin was larger than Will had expected, cutting farther into the land than its neighbor, and from the color of the water, it was deeper, too, but it was less than half as wide as the Lamlash inlet and its shoreline shelved more steeply. Two galleys lay at anchor close inshore, sails furled and spars lashed down at an angle, no signs of anyone aboard them, and from perhaps one hundred feet above the water’s edge, on a flat-topped but natural outcrop of stone, a fortification glowered down upon the entire anchorage from behind a palisaded wall of logs. The place was far from being enormous, but it looked formidable, and the incomplete earthworks in front of it, exposing newly scarred rock and even streaks of fresh clay, proclaimed its newness.

There were men everywhere: on the beach and its approaches, on the hillside among the earthworks, and on the walls or parapets of the fortress itself, and even as Will began to absorb the sight of them, he saw them, in turn, becoming aware of his ship. Where before had been industry and hard work there was now stillness as men straightened up and turned to look at the apparition in their quiet bay. And then, in the blinking of an eye, everything changed as a concerted roar went up and men scrambled everywhere in search of weapons.

Behind Will, de Berenger gave the order to ship oars, and the galley’s momentum slackened immediately as the dripping sweeps rose in unison, leaving the vessel to drift to a halt. Another order brought the oars back down into the water, but this time with the intent of holding the ship in place, against the tug of the current.

De Berenger stepped to Will’s side. “Well, my friend, they know we have arrived. What now?”

“We wait, Edward. We have made our announcement and caught them flat-footed, it appears. Now we must simply wait and see how they choose to respond to us. The response, in itself, will give us some estimate of the worth of whoever turns out to be in charge. How many men did you count?”