Jack Whyte - Order in Chaos

A short time later, he had made them as comfortable as they could be on an open heath above a beach, and the taciturn Mungo was piling the fire high with wellseasoned driftwood. When both men were ready to leave, Jessie thanked them courteously, then watched them as they quickly vanished among the crowds of men up ahead.

Before Tam returned, she became aware of a commotion among the crowd and stood up to see what was happening, but even on tiptoe, standing on the highest stone around, she could see nothing beyond the packed mass of men ahead of her. She dispatched Janette to find out what was happening, and the servant soon returned, shaking her head.

“I do not know what has happened, madam. A ship arrived, it seems, from the north, but no one knows whence it came or to whom it belongs.”

Moments later, against the darkening skies of the late-November afternoon, Jessie saw Tam, Mungo, and another man returning towards them, each carrying a covered, flat-bottomed bundle that proved to be boards holding food and drink in sufficient amounts to feed all six of them, men and women. There were platters of succulent, thickly sliced lamb and goat, bowls of diced savory turnip, and dishes of boiled green leafy vegetables, along with fresh-baked crusty bread served with wild honey and unsweetened oat cakes with hard, tangy goat cheese. After weeks at sea and the scant, uninspiring food associated with long sea journeys, this was a royal feast, and Jessie and her women paid it the homage it merited, matching even Tam and Mungo in their voracity and making no attempt to speak until their appetites had been sated. Eventually, however, Jessie pushed a rind of cheese away with her fingertips and held her hands up in front of her, fingers spread.

“That was sinfully good, Tam. Well done.”

Tam grunted, then used a fingernail to pick a morsel from between his teeth before he answered. “Don’t thank me, my lady. I but brought it here. It came wi’ the blessings o’ the island’s quartermaster, who takes his instructions from the Douglas. Sir William made the arrangements for it last night, while he was with the garrison at Brodick, whence he came this morning.”

“Then I shall thank the quartermaster if I ever meet him. But speaking of garrisons, someone said a new ship had arrived. Do you know anything of that?”

“Aye.” Tam swept some scraps from his wooden platter into the fire, then placed the platter by his feet. “It was a galley. Highlanders from the north. Mungo said it bore the standard of MacDonald. I didna see it myself. But whoever landed from it came ashore wi’ banners flying … blue and white banners, so it might have been the Douglas himself.”

“Might have been? Are you not sure?”

Tam looked at her reproachfully. “No, Lady, I am not sure. I can think of five noble houses whose colors are blue and white, or white and blue. Douglas is but one of those, though he’s the likeliest to be here in person, seeing that he holds the island at the King’s pleasure.”

“What does that mean?”

“He is in charge here in Arran.” “Who is this man?”

“A personal friend of the King. The two are close, I’m told.”

“Then I must meet him, as soon as may be. He is the one will know where to find King Robert.”

Tam hesitated, on the point of telling the Baroness that King Robert already knew about her gift, but then he decided to hold his tongue. This was none of his affair, he knew, and he would earn no gratitude from either Will or her ladyship by admitting any knowledge of what was going on. He merely dipped his head. “Of course, my lady,” he said. “That should present ye with no difficulty, providing that this was the Douglas who sailed in … As I said, I didna see him. But if he’s here, you’ll doubtless find him wi’ Sir William.”

“So be it. Let us find him with Sir William, then.” Jessie rose to her feet, gazing with narrowed eyes towards the spot where she imagined Sir William Sinclair and his noble guest might be found.

FIVE

Will Sinclair, stripped of his ceremonial finery and wearing his white knight’s mantle again, had finished his dinner and was deep in conversation with Sir Reynald de Pairaud, a personality with whom Will knew he would have to deal very carefully during these first days on Arran. De Pairaud was widely known—although assumed would probably have been more accurate, Will decided—to have powerful connections within the Order’s hierarchy. His brother, the redoubtable Sir Hugh de Pairaud, had been one of the highest-ranked members of the Governing Council, holding the positions of both Treasurer of the Temple and Visitor of the Priory of France, and had presumably been arrested with his fellow Council members in October.

Will knew, and presumed that de Pairaud must know, too, that any influence the veteran knight might once have had was now moot, set at naught by the removal of his brother. But he knew, too, that among the other knights the perception of de Pairaud’s influence remained, and might conceivably be used to channel resistance to the changes Will would suggest in the coming days. It was in de Pairaud’s nature to resist change of any kind, to maintain with stubborn, mindless ferocity that continuity equated to tradition and inherent rightness. It went without saying that he would be loud and self-righteous in his condemnation of the changes that Will was about to implement, involving, as they did, some of the most cherished shibboleths of the ultra-conservative group known as the Temple Boars, which included de Pairaud among its stubborn, headstrong number. Will was determined nonetheless to attempt to lessen the older man’s resistance through simple courtesy, and he was trying hard to remain amiable in the face of the other’s humorlessness.

He had just fallen silent, having failed to engage Sir Reynald in a discussion of new beginnings and the opportunity for change, when he looked up to see men standing on their toes all about him, straining to see towards the bay beyond the beach. He heard raised voices, too, loudly wondering what they were looking at and who this newcomer might be. He rose quickly and easily to his feet. Even standing, though, he could see nothing, and so he made his way through the crowd to the top of the gradient on his left, growling to the people there ahead of him to make way and give him room.

Below him, its mast and rigging limned by the fastsetting sun, and rapidly approaching the shelving shoreline, a great galley was hurtling forward, plainly about to drive itself ashore, but even as he saw it and began to marvel at its suicidal speed, its rowers shipped oars as one, raising their long sweeps vertically in a concerted movement that demonstrated long and uncountable hours of practice. Then, under the propulsion of that last, hard, precisely executed stroke, the ship glided forward, its speed bleeding away rapidly as it nosed towards the shingled strand and came to rest exactly where its captain had wished to place it—far enough on land for its passengers to leap down safely and dry shod from the prow, yet sufficiently afloat for its rowers to be able to pull it free again without great difficulty. It was a superbly executed maneuver, and Will responded to it as he did to any example of demonstrated excellence, fighting the urge to applaud.

He had already recognized the slim figure of Sir James Douglas by then, clearly identifiable by the bright blue, white-striped sash that crossed his breast beneath the paler blue covering of his cloak. Douglas was helmed and armored, standing alone in the prow of the grounded vessel despite being surrounded by others, and as Will watched, the first members of the incoming group leapt out and down, to land softly and dry shod as expected before stepping out of the way of those who followed. Will counted three men dressed in white tunics bearing the device of a black galley on their chests, and two of those carried the bagpipes so beloved of the Highland Gaels, while the third held a long pole bearing a banner with the same emblem, the black galley on a field of white that he knew to be the standard of MacDonald. The two pipers inflated their bags immediately and began to play, sustaining their melody as the remainder of the landing party jumped down after them. Two of the last ones bore the standard of the house of Douglas, in blue and white, while the remaining eight, plain men-at-arms, wore simple chain mail over padded leather tunics. Douglas himself jumped down last, and the MacDonald standard-bearer began leading him up from the beach, followed by the two pipers, to where Sir William Sinclair, having climbed down from his high viewpoint and away from the crowd, awaited them.