Jack Whyte - Order in Chaos

Will looked from Moray to the King and shook his head, still unsteady from the shock of what the Bishop had proposed. King Robert spoke.

“There is pasture aplenty on the high moor, inland, the one called Machrie. Your horses would thrive there, I think, and there is ample space to separate them and stable them apart, in glens and woods. And to the north of that, the forest stands. It is no Ettrick Forest, but it will furnish logs enow to help you with your building. The moor is bottomless peat, rich fuel.”

Will barely heard him, though he recognized the kindness in the voice. “But our weapons,” he began. “We will need—”

The Bishop cut him off again, his voice dry and matter-of-fact. “What about them? I said nothing about weapons. You’ll need those. I said that you should conceal the visible signs of who you are—the white mantles and the sergeants’ surcoats and all your visible badges and emblems of Temple rank. Conceal them, Sir William. Paint over the crosses on your shields and on your helms, but there is no need to destroy any of them. Store them away until you have a need for them again, on your return to France. Then your men may shave their heads and even fork their beards again before riding home with fresh new crosses painted on their gear.”

Will thought more about it, seeing the possibilities, the shape of it at last. A vision of the fleet grew in his mind, de Berenger’s mighty galley at its front, and then he nodded, all at once convinced. “Aye, I can see that. Hide ourselves in plain view. And the same must go for our sails.”

Bruce spoke up again, smiling now. “Angus Og will help you there. He’ll have no emblem but his own on any sail that goes with him. He will provide you with new sails, never fear. And at no cost.”

Will felt as though a great weight had been lifted from him. “So be it, Robert, King of Scots. I will make it so.” He turned to Moray. “My lord Bishop, I can scarce find words to thank you. I believe your solution may be perfect to all our needs and I am deeply, personally in your debt.”

“Then here’s my royal hand on it, if we’re agreed,” Bruce said, standing up and stretching out his hand. The others laid their own upon his and they shook once, twice, and thrice. “Done!” said the King.

“Aye, but there’s still a lot to do.” Moray was already turning towards the door. “We have to arrange to ship your first contingent of men to join King Robert when he needs them—the where of it, if not the when—and we have yet to broach the matter of your galleys and your presence to MacDonald. We’d better see to that now. Come with us, Sir William, and we’ll row you out to meet Angus Og. He’ll send you back in a boat.”

“I’ll enjoy meeting him. But I must ask, where is Sir James today? He was gone long before I awoke this morning.”

“He’s hunting,” the Bruce answered, clasping a hand over Will’s shoulder. “Hunting for information, it seems, somewhere at the north end of the island. He left word with de Hay before he went, sometime in the dead of night. Something about a French-speaking spy, he said. Not one of your men, though. This one, whoever he is, was among our own. Anyway, Jamie will tell us all when he returns. Now, let’s see what Angus Og has brought for us.”

He made to leave, then hesitated. “Wait, though. One more thing has just occurred to me. I will not have the opportunity to thank my lady Randolph, the Baroness St. Valéry. By the time she arrives tomorrow morning, I will be long at sea, and mayhap even ashore again. Will you, therefore, thank her sincerely on my behalf? You need ha’e no fear of being too effusive. My gratitude in this matter would be impossible to overstate. Assure the lady of my personal gratitude and tell her I will look forward to thanking her in person and at great length in days to come.” He paused, thinking deeply. “And ask her, if you would, to consider returning to her home in Moray. I will have Jamie prepare a strong escort for her, and they can drop off her treasure for me at St. Andrews as they pass by. Now, Davie, let’s away.”

A GATHERING ON ARRAN

ONE

Will Sinclair was sitting on the edge of his cot, rubbing his eyes, when Tam came to rouse him the next morning. Tam carried a lit candle in a sconce in one hand and a ewer of warm water in the other, a towel folded over the arm holding the candle. He grunted a greeting, used the candle to light another on the room’s single table, and set the ewer inside the earthen bowl on the tabletop before arranging the candles one on either side of the bowl and dropping the towel beside one of them. Then, his duty done, he turned and left the room again, well aware of the folly of attempting to talk about anything with Will before his friend had had time to collect himself and wash the sleep from his eyes.

On this particular morning, however, Will was wide awake and preparing to meet a very busy day. He had met the MacDonald leader, Angus Og, aboard his galley the previous afternoon and had made the necessary arrangements to secure permission for his vessels to sail unchallenged in these waters, in return for the loan, ostensibly through the medium of King Robert, of five of his galleys. He had then borrowed writing materials from Bishop de Moray before making his farewells to the King of Scots and returning ashore. There he had met with the dour Lowlander who was Douglas’s quartermaster and made arrangements with him for a group of cooks to travel to Lamlash the following morning, to cook a simple hot meal for the incoming Temple fleet. After that, he had returned to the upper room assigned to him and worked alone late into the night, acting as his own scribe and making list after list of things that needed to be done this day. When he was satisfied that he had forgotten nothing, he had rolled into bed and slept soundly and peacefully, recouping all the losses of the night before.

Downstairs now in the anteroom of the main hall, surrounded by sleepy men who paid no attention at all to his knight’s mantle or the heavy silver chain he wore beneath it, he poured goat’s milk over a bowl of the daily porridge made by the garrison’s cooks and ate it in silence at a table shared by a group of Highlanders as quiet as himself. When he was done, he crossed to the serving table again, where he cut a slice from a cold joint of meat, sprinkled it with salt from a jar, and wrapped it in a slab of bread that was still warm from the ovens.

“That looks good,” Tam said from behind him. “I’ll have some o’ that, too. Here, I’ve brought your things.”

Will nodded his thanks and bit off a mouthful of the bread and meat before setting it down and taking the sword and shield Tam was holding. He shrugged out of his mantle and settled the sword belt across his shoulders, adjusting the hang of the long, sheathed weapon, then replacing the mantle over it while Tam looked to his own feeding.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked as they headed for the main doors.

“Aye, well enough. I’m still enjoying having a bed that doesna move under me. We’ll ha’e much to do this day, I’m thinking?”

“More than enough. Sir Edward should be here waiting for us by the time we reach the water. He was to come in last night, under cover of the dark.”

It was still dark when they reached the beach, but the admiral’s longboat was waiting for them, its prow drawn up on the pebbles, and the two men barely had time to seat themselves before four of the rowers jumped into the waves and hauled the boat out into deeper water again. Ten minutes later, Sir Edward de Berenger himself welcomed them as they climbed aboard his galley, then issued orders to get under way as soon as the longboat had been hauled aboard. Once the rhythmic sweep of the oars had settled into a steady beat, Will finally saw the admiral relax.