Jack Whyte - Order in Chaos

He turned back to Bruce, who was rubbing a knuckle against the tip of his nose. “Can you not see it, Sire? If Pope Clement has permitted this outrage against a vested Order of Holy Church, then he will feel his guilt, but being the weak man that he is, he will do nothing to stop the travesty. He dare not take a stance against the King—he never has and never will—unless and until Philip does something to push even him beyond endurance. And even then, Clement might submit. But we in Scotland here, the bishops of the realm, are too convenient a target for his guilty wrath. We have managed to placate him to this point, and to stay him with sound arguments, submitting that he could have been misled and that the events in question were deliberately misrepresented by your enemies for political gain. And we have been able to do that because all of us believe what we say—Lamberton, Wishart, myself, and the other bishops who stand with us. But if Clement hears of this sanctuary he will see it as sheer defiance of his authority and he will be greatly tempted to make example of us, claiming disobedience to his papal will and citing this sanctuary, plus our former arguments on your behalf, as evidence. Our voices and our powers would be then annulled … and you can rest assured the King of France will see to it that Clement vents his anger on us. And once that happens—the which may God forbid—your entire realm will lie under anathema, condemned to Hell in this life.” He allowed his words to hang in the air, then concluded, “And that is why I spoke of dealing with the needful rather than the obvious.”

He rose abruptly to his feet, moving to collect his sword from where it stood in the corner, then slinging it by its belt over one shoulder before crossing to gather up his coat of mail from the table, speaking over his shoulder as he did so. “I am going to pray for a while, and then to sleep. Do you both the same. Tomorrow, in the bright of God’s daylight, I shall tell you what is needful and, pray God, what might be possible. Until then, a peaceful night to both of you.”

“Wait you, Davie.” Moray had opened the door to leave, but turned on the threshold, looking back at the monarch. “I would be greatly obliged were you to postpone your prayers for a wee bit longer. There is still much to be said between us this night, and it would vex me to lose the gist of what I am thinking. Bide a while longer, if you will.” Moray closed the door again, shutting out the muted sounds of music and raised voices that drifted up from downstairs, and the Bruce, listening to it idly, raised an eyebrow in mild surprise.

“Well, they’re still going strong down there. It must be less late than I thought …” He turned again to Will. “Sir William, what think you of our warrior bishop? Did I not say he has a long head on him?”

Will looked a little bemused. “You did, Your Grace.” He turned then to Moray. “Forgive me, my lord Bishop, but the last part of what you said was lost to me. What were you talking about, if I am permitted to ask?”

Bruce grinned and bent forward from the waist, his eyes on Moray but his words meant for Will. “Needful things, he said. Davie’s clever.” His grin widened at the frown on Moray’s face. “And, Davie, truth to tell, I ha’e little more idea than Will of what you meant.” He winked at Will. “But if we dinna deal with it tonight, he will tell us when he thinks fit, sometime tomorrow. Your fleet will be here the morning after that, but in the meantime, I’ll be away again. Another will be coming in tomorrow, from the north.”

“Another fleet?”

“Aye. Angus Og’s. Good sense, as we see it, might dictate that he come alone, or wi’ a small escort, but Angus Og willna play that game. He will bring his fleet, you mark my words. His Highland pride will not permit him to do otherwise. He willna stoop to be seen as scuttling about in his own domain, God save his wit. Anyway, he’s on his way to pick me up again and carry me around the south end of Kintyre, then up the coastal passage through the Firth of Lorn and Loch Linne to the start of the great Glen. We hold it now, and Moray’s men are waiting there for us, along with Neil Campbell’s and a contingent of MacGregors. Davie here has raised the whole o’ Moray country to my cause, more men than I could find in all my own ruined lands of Annandale and Ayr. So we’ll march up the Glen again to Inverness, where we’ll join with the men of Mar and Atholl, and with the grace of God, Clan Fraser. From there we will strike east, into the Comyn country of Buchan. The Earl of Buchan is a proud, unbending man, arrogant and filled wi’ self-righteous scorn, but he will pay me fealty, or he will die, for good and ample cause.”

“When will you leave?”

“Tomorrow, as soon as may be.” He smiled again, fleetingly, but generating the same lightening of lines and years as earlier. “But not before Davie tells us what is needful. I have little time these days, and none at all to waste. I came back here to reaffirm James Douglas as Guardian of the Southwest, and to give him further instructions on what I shall require of him these coming weeks. That is done. He has a full eight hundred men now under his command, two hundred here, the rest awaiting him near Turnberry, on the mainland. He’ll pick up more as he moves inland through my own country, now that the word of our recent successes has had time to spread. His foremost task will be to keep the King’s peace, mainly by keeping the MacDowals on their toes, though he’ll harass the English garrisons forbye.”

“And will he leave a holding force here on Arran?”

“Aye, he will.”

“No need for that if we are here. He could take all his men with him in that case.”

“He could if he had room for them.”

“He could use a couple of my ships in addition to his own.”

“Aye, there is that.” Bruce paused, considering. “You understand that there is still a chance that I might needs refuse your request? If Davie comes up with some difficulty that canna be set aside, I may have to heed him.”

Will nodded. “I understand that.”

The King ignored Moray’s gathering scowl. “But let us suppose he does no such thing. Then I will inform Sir James that you have my permission to remain on Arran, under sanctuary. But what will you do after that?”

“I have my work cut out for me, my lord. My men have been cooped up aboard ship for weeks on end. By the time they land, they will be unruly and ripe for mischief. My first task will be to rein them in. And I have more than twenty Temple knights in my care—no small responsibility and no laughing matter. Our sergeants can be quickly disciplined, but Temple knights, as you may or may not know, can be … difficult. They have a tendency to arrogance and pride. They are contentious and overbearing at the best of times, and they may think, some of them, at least, that the recent events in France and the removal of their superiors’ authority, no matter how temporary, absolved them of responsibility to their sworn duties. My first task will be to curb them and remind them of their solemn vows, and then I will have to break them to renewed monastic discipline, re-establish life according to the Temple Rule. And then there are the lay brothers, a score and a half of them. I must set them busy, too, building a house for us and setting up a core about which the monastic discipline can revolve.”

“You can use this place for the time being. It has kitchens, and most of Jamie’s men already sleep in it, but it will lie empty when they leave. Do you have builders with you?”

“House builders and masons? A few, but we have ships’ carpenters and willing workers and men who know how to erect a shelter. We will manage.”