Jack Whyte - Order in Chaos

“That defies belief. The Temple no longer exists ?”

“Not in France, at least not for the time being. That is what we believe. We did not linger long enough to verify the extent of the attack, but we saw what we saw in La Rochelle, and that was the Order’s operational headquarters in France.

“We have been through all the explanations we can think of—that it might have been a misunderstanding of some kind, that it might be no more than a gambit by the King to frighten the Order into making funds available to him, that whatever the root cause, negotiations will follow and all will be resolved …”

“But you believe none of it.”

Will’s headshake was barely noticeable. “No. I do not. I believe King Philip did what he did deliberately, with malice aforethought, and with the precise intention of seizing the Order’s wealth for himself. And I do not believe he will relent. In truth, he cannot. He owed the Temple too much money and he was bankrupt. With the Temple gone he will be solvent again, debtfree and with money to do whatever he desires. The Temple in France is finished.” He glanced at de Berenger, whose face was unreadable. “Forgive my bluntness, Edward, but the truth of that has just come home to me.”

De Berenger nodded. “No forgiveness required, my friend. I agree with you. But that leaves the question, what do we do now?”

Moray was still thinking about what Will had last said, his face wrinkled in perplexity. “Such blatant aggression would require papal sanction, at least, if not outright support.”

“Aye, it would,” Will agreed. “And as you said, Pope Clement is not the strongest of the strong. He is a vacillator, notoriously weak and open to manipulation, and in France, under Philip the pope-maker, he is but potter’s clay in the King’s hands.”

Moray drew in his breath with a hiss, straightening up to his full height, but before he could say anything more Sir Robert Boyd of Noddsdale, whom Will had seen descending the stairs mere moments earlier, appeared at de Berenger’s shoulder.

“My lord Bishop,” he said to Moray. “Sir James requires your presence. You are to come with me and bring these two gentlemen with you.”

Moray looked from de Berenger to Will. “Were I not a bishop I might be inclined to wager that the two of you are going to have to sing for your supper.”

OF LOYALTY AND FRIENDS

ONE

Six men waited in the room behind the wooden wall that screened the upper platform from the hall beneath. The room was well lit with candles and high ceilinged, its right wall, wood paneled, rising to the height of a tall man, then assuming the steep slope of the roof. In the corner to one side of the door a pile of discarded armaments stood propped against the wall; shields and swords, axes and dirks. A stone fireplace was built into the gable wall, and a pair of small, high-set windows on either side of the chimney face allowed the fading evening light to shine in from outside.

Most of the room’s length was taken up by a long, narrow table, bare except for three candles in sconces, and the occupants were sitting around it in a variety of poses, all of them looking at the newcomers as they filed in. Douglas sat at the far end, facing the door, and on each side of him Will recognized the Campbell chief—Sir Neil Campbell of Lochawe, he remembered now—and the other Sir Robert Boyd, of Annandale. The young MacGregor chieftain from Glenorchy sat beside Boyd, and across from him sat a stern-looking man Will remembered as being called de Hay. An empty chair sat beside de Hay, and next to it, at about the middle of the table, lounged another, even grimmer-looking fellow whom Will gauged to be in his late twenties, younger than all of them except Douglas and MacGregor. He was thin faced, black bearded and glowering. Will had no recollection of meeting him before. The sixth man at the table was Menteith of Arran, who appeared even smaller than before among so many large companions.

As David Moray stopped by the foot of the table, Will and de Berenger moved to stand beside him, while Boyd of Noddsdale took his own seat. Douglas greeted the two white-mantled knights with a wide smile that showed his strong white teeth.

“Welcome, gentlemen,” he began, and then spoke to de Berenger in French. “You will pardon, I hope, what may seem to be an ill-mannered summons, Admiral, but in talking with Sir William I decided that others here, as noblemen of Scotland, should hear what he has to say, particularly on this matter of the gold you bring for our King’s coffers. Good tidings indeed, on the face of it, but creating a need for a certain … circumspection. Sit, if it please you, and, Sir William, I trust you will not mind repeating your tale. All present here enjoy the King’s trust.”

Will started towards the nearest seat, but Bishop Moray restrained him with a light hand on his arm.

“Before we begin, Sir James, I think you should know there is more to Sir William’s visit than you have heard.” Will sensed an immediate heightening of interest among those at the table.

“How so?” Douglas leaned forward slightly as he spoke, and Moray looked at Will.

“Would you like to speak, or shall I try to explain it?”

Will felt a deep calmness unfold inside him, and smiled easily. “As you wish, my lord Bishop. But if you tell it, I will know, at least, how closely you listened.”

Moray nodded, the hint of a smile flickering at one corner of his mouth, then looked at de Berenger, serious again. “You will forgive me, Admiral, if I speak now in Scots, for there are several here who have no knowledge of your tongue. You are already familiar with everything I will talk about, but Sir William will translate anything new you need to hear.”

Moray turned back to face the others. “Sir William tells me there are grave matters unfolding beyond our realm—matters of import that could ill affect us here. Let me be clear, for we have little time to waste here in idle talk. What I have to say next will set you all agog, clackin’ with curiosity, but I must ask you simply to accept what I have to say. It is all true, but here and now is not the place to debate it.” He looked at each of the men seated around the table, and then concisely described the King’s move against the Temple a mere two weeks before. “It is the opinion of both of these knights who stand before you—Sir William of the Governing Council and Sir Edward, the admiral of the Temple fleet—that they are the sole members of the French Temple not held in custody by the French King and his people.”

Despite the Bishop’s warning, a buzz of comment broke out around the table, and he fell silent to allow it to subside. When he spoke again, his words brought instant silence. “None of us here could have imagined such a thing, the Temple bein’ what it is, but no man present should suppose, even for an instant, that this does not concern us, that’s it’s none o’ our affair. It is, and it concerns us deeply, and on mair than a few levels, the first o’ those being that these men come here in search o’ sanctuary—temporary, right enough, but nae less real for that. What they don’t know, and couldna know, is that … ” He hesitated. “King Robert is engaged at this time with the King of France, seeking an alliance against England. This request o’ theirs could set all that at naught.”

Again Moray stopped, to let that sink in, aware that Will was whispering behind him, translating to de Berenger.

“And forbye,” he continued, “King Philip wouldna have dared do what he has done without the approval o’ the Pope, for the Temple, nae matter what ye may think of it in your own mind, is a religious Order. I’m sure I needna remind anybody here that there’s only one Pope—the same one Archbishop Lamberton is trying to persuade to lift the excommunication against King Robert. So there are two stringy mouthfuls o’ gristle for us to chew, and that’s just the start o’ it.”