Jack Whyte - Order in Chaos

Now he found himself having to reassess all his thinking on the matter, for he had seen in de Montrichard more life, and more initiative, and more willingness to become involved in things than he had seen in the previous two and a half months. He resolved to take advantage of the signs, and to test the matter further in the hope that the preceptor might be consigning the safe haven of his earlier life to a previous existence. If that were the case, no one would be happier, more relieved, or more eager to reinstate de Montrichard to his former status than Will Sinclair himself.

He was interrupted in his reverie by the sound of approaching footsteps as Tam returned, carrying a ring of heavy keys. He held them up for Will to see. “I thought it might be just as well to keep these under close guard, if what I saw here was what I think it was.” He tucked the large metal ring securely down behind his belt, leaving the keys themselves to dangle at his waist, and Will smiled wearily, amused and touched, as always, by his kinsman’s concern for him.

“And what was it you thought you saw?”

Tam grunted eloquently and lapsed into the dialect he and Will had spoken as boys. “Well, for one thing, I saw you girnin’ like a madman, mair angry than I’ve seen you in many a month. You had that ‘dinna dare look at me or I’ll cut your heart out’ glower that ye sometimes get on your face. And then there was that Martley fellow, still wi’ a long beard. That tell’t me he wasna about to take your word for anythin’ and that wee bit o’ defiance was his way o’ showin’ it, even though he didna ha’e the guts to dae it openly, where you could see it. He needs to be taken down a peg or two, that yin.”

Will started to respond, but then waited when he saw that Tam was not yet done.

“Forbye,” the other continued, “I didna like the way his cronies there were lookin’ at him for support, even though he’d nane to gi’e them. I didna like that at all … They’re whiners, every whey-faced one o’ them, no’ a real set o’ balls among them, and he’s recruited them to whatever he’s up to … So I thought, if there’s any more o’ their ilk about, I’d save them from bein’ tempted to let him out. And so I kept the keys. Now, will ye be convenin’ a chapter meeting? An’ if so, where and when?”

“What made you think I might?”

Will’s question produced an almost exasperated look. “Because it’s owerdue. Tomorrow’s the Epiphany feast, so there will need to be a full Mass wi’ all the rites an’ ceremonies, the bishops dressed up in their finery. So it seemed as good a time as any, and better than most, wi’ all the work ye have everybody slavin’ on. Besides, it seems to me ye’ve forgotten Master de Molay’s wallet …”

Will frowned. “No, I have not, I’ve merely been preoccupied. But what about the wallet?”

“The date on it, Will. It’s to be opened tomorrow, on the sixth o’ January.”

“I know that, Tam. Did you really think I might have forgotten something so important?”

“No … but ye’ve had other things to occupy ye. What’s to be done about it?”

The question nettled Will, for it was one he had been struggling with, on and off, for weeks. What, indeed, was to be done about it? The Grand Master’s missive would have to be opened and read on the date named, he knew; he had no choice on that aspect of things. But the ramifications of reading it and the speculations arising from that had been keeping him awake in recent weeks. The possibility of the letter’s containing anything good was less than slight. It had been written months before, predating the events with which it must now deal, and those events had been more appalling, more sweeping, and far more destructive than de Molay could possibly have envisioned. Within the intervening months, on the other hand, Will had managed to establish an equilibrium among his charges, focusing tightly on the creation of a new community and their shared need to create order out of the chaos into which they had been thrown. His greatest fear now, barely admitted even to himself, was that Master de Molay’s words might undo all that Will had worked so hard to achieve here. He had had nightmares about opening the letter to find orders instructing him to return to La Rochelle with his companions and their ships; orders written in complete ignorance that such a move would be suicidal after four months of persecution and banishment.

He realized that Tam was waiting for a response, and nodded brusquely. “Aye, well, I’ll read it tomorrow, and all we can do is hope that what it contains has not been rendered senseless by what’s happened since it was written. I had already decided on that, while you were locking up the prisoners. Their case is too urgent to be set aside, Tam. It needs to be dealt with as soon as may be. So I have called a chapter meeting for the day after tomorrow. Depending upon what the wallet contains by way of instructions, it might make my task less difficult.”

Tam shrugged. “Aye, or more so. Ye never ken, wi’ superiors … If ye unnerstand what I’m sayin’.”

Will ignored the comment and the mischievous grin that went with it, and answered seriously. “Well, so be it, if that’s what comes. So, now I need you horsed and on your way to Brodick with these tidings. Will you take Mungo with you? No? Then get yourself some food and oats from the commissary and be ready to leave within the hour. By then I’ll have written dispatches for Kenneth and Bishop Formadieu, and they’ll be waiting for you to collect on your way out.”

Will walked quickly back to his quarters, aware that the hour he had claimed for writing his dispatches would be barely long enough to accommodate all he required of it.

On the day of the Baroness’s departure—Will had scarcely thought of her since, and when she did happen into his thoughts, he could manage a tiny smile at her memory before turning determinedly to other things—he had addressed a plenary gathering of his men and expressed his wishes concerning their conduct from that day on. He made no attempt to underplay his concerns, and clearly described the threat that they now represented to the monarch through their very presence in his realm. The brethren listened in silence, heeding everything he had to say, and no one made any demur when he issued commands that, henceforth, all forked and therefore recognizably Templar beards should be cut severely, all heraldic symbols and devices bearing Temple associations were to be painted out or otherwise concealed, and their distinctive armor was to be stored away. They faced no danger of pitched battle here in the safety of their island refuge, he pointed out, and therefore plain armor—mailed shirts and leggings, with hammered leather guards—would be more than ample henceforth. Horses were not to be ridden in disciplined formations, and were to be stabled in small groups of eight or fewer, far enough apart from their neighbors to offer no curious stranger an opportunity to assess their type or overall numbers.

He had then split his entire force, leaving his brother Kenneth in command of his own one-hundred-strong contingent of knights and sergeants, to occupy the great English hall at Brodick, assisted by the veteran knight Reynald de Pairaud as adjutant and by Sir Edward de Berenger as naval adviser whenever he was in residence. Brodick would become the de facto headquarters of the Temple force on Arran, and as such would become the home of Bishop Formadieu and his chancel of clerics and lay brethren. Their task would be to establish the community that would nourish the Brotherhood of the Order. The neighboring bay of Lamlash would serve as anchorage for the trading vessels of their little fleet, and the majority of their horseflesh, mainly the lighter breeds, would be scattered throughout the rolling moorland inland from Brodick.