Jack Whyte - Order in Chaos

That missive accompanies this letter. Read it aloud in chapter when the time is right, and proceed with my full blessing. May the God of our Fathers watch over and protect you and yours.

In humble fraternity, this seventh day of

October, Anno Domini 1307

Jacques de Molay, Knight and Grand Master

For some time after de Pairaud fell silent no one moved, and there was absolute silence. But then from somewhere among the men on the right of the Eastern dais came a slow and rhythmic sound as one of the knights began to beat his right palm against the side of his leg, in a seldom-used tradition that had become known over the years as the chapter applause. The beat was at once taken up by others and spread quickly until the entire assembly was clapping, the sound of their mailed arms striking the heavy chain mail on their armored sides adding a pronounced, heavily metallic background to the clapping of their open palms against their legs.

Will had experienced similar approval only twice before in all his years in the Order, and on both occasions he had contributed to it in support of others. Twice in a lifetime had now become thrice, and this time he felt the neck hair stirring on his nape, for knights in chapter were more than simply sparing in such applause; the conferral of the honor indicated wholehearted approval of some signal development or deed. Strictly speaking, it went against the rules of chapter, since no voice was ever to be heard therein that did not belong to an approved speaker, but technically, no voice had spoken, and so the point was moot.

Will felt his face flush with pleasure, and he had to fight to maintain his composure, allowing no trace of his feelings to show on his face while he thought about what he should do now. The applause, flattering though it was, was illegal and had to be stopped, but he was loath to curtail it abruptly, for the circumstances of this chapter meeting were already unusual. He glanced sideways to where Martelet and the other prisoners stood in chains, and took note that the ringleader was standing stiffly upright, arms unmoving at his sides, glowering with disdain.

Will looked back at the assembled brothers and raised his hands to shoulder height, slowly and steadily, palms outwards in a request for order, and was glad to hear the steady, pounding beat diminish slowly until it died completely. That way, the silence he had gained was voluntary, not commanded. He stood then and looked out at them, aware of their eyes and their expectancy, but for long moments no words came to him. And then he knew, in a flicker of understanding, what he wanted to say, and he cleared his throat and spoke out clearly.

“This chapter meeting is unique, Brethren, as is our celebration here today. Unique … incomparable and unprecedented. Think upon that word and what it means … Unique. It means singular in all respects; it means unequalled and without parallel. It means new and never previously experienced. And as a word to describe this gathering, it is in every way appropriate.

“Within the history of our Order, there has never been a letter penned that has approached the one that you have heard read here today, or one that has more clearly demonstrated the inner beliefs of our Grand Master concerning the status and welfare of this organization, the safety and propagation of which had been entrusted to his care. That, in itself, is unique.

“Since the birth of our Order, two centuries ago, even in the seething chaos of the campaigns in Outremer against the Seljuk Turks and against the Syrian Sultan Saladin and his Muslim hosts, there has never been a time when any new preceptory of our Order has had to set down roots without any guidance or support from the senior authorities of the Governing Council. We here in this chapter are the first such instance. And that, more solemnly and somberly, more chasteningly and more regrettably than anything else imagination might encompass, is unique.”

He looked around at the assembled faces of the brotherhood as he gave them time to absorb what he had said, seeing the frowns of consternation spreading as his words sank home.

“We are alone here, Brethren, in a situation and place that half a year ago would have been inconceivable. And so we must govern and constrain ourselves. Without hope of help from any source. Our closest associates, the Brethren of the Temple in England, are shut off from us, unaware of our existence here, and I fear, because of politics and our obligation to King Robert, we dare not trust them with the knowledge of our presence. Therefore we must govern ourselves. And we must begin now, today, this minute.”

He paused again and turned his head to cast a meaningful look towards where the prisoners stood watching him disconsolately, and no man there misunderstood the solemnity of that gesture.

“Before we move to trial, though, we must address the matter of the Master’s solemn charge, as contained in the second document that accompanied his letter.” He turned to de Pairaud again. “Brother Reynald, will you be good enough to break the Master’s seal and read his announcement to our chapter?”

De Pairaud was ready this time, and nodded curtly before taking up the second letter, breaking the seal firmly and without hesitation, so that the sound of pieces of the shattered sealing wax hitting the wooden floor were clearly audible. He then held the tightly rolled parchment up in front of him and pulled it open with his other hand, scanning the contents for a few moments before he harrumphed and began to read again. To All Brethren and Adherents of the Order of the Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon, and to All Men at large, of whatever Rank or Station:

Be It Known that I, Jacques de Molay, threeand-twentieth Grand Master of the aforesaid Order, with full approval and support of the Brotherhood of the Governing Council of the said Order, do hereby announce the Appointment and Elevation of our well-beloved and distinguished Brother, Sir William Edward Alexander Sinclair of Roslin in the Realm of Scotland, to the position of Master in Scotland.

And be it further known that should it come to pass that I, as Grand Master, along with my senior Brethren of the Order in France, be prevented, either by death or incarceration, from performing our Duties or Appointing suitable Successors to Our Offices, then the aforesaid William Edward Alexander Sinclair, Master in Scotland, will be Raised, ipso facto, into the Title and Entitlements, Responsibilities and Duties of Grand Master of the Order, becoming the four-and-twentieth Holder and Executor of that High Station.

So Mote It Be

By My Hand, this fourth day

of October, Anno Domini 1307

De Molay, Grand Master

Will Sinclair was as stunned as any man present. Master in Scotland had been surprise enough; he had never dreamed, even fleetingly, of such an honor. But elevation to the Grand Master’s Chair defied belief. But as he recovered and his thoughts began to race again, he saw this elevation for what it was—the strongest possible gesture of support from de Molay, who well understood the task facing Will.

The thump of hands began again, but this time Will was quick to wave it into silence with a single slash of his hand. “I thank you for your support, Brethren,” he said. “But it is misguided. There is nothing to support at this time, and pray God there never will be. Master de Molay, to the best of our knowledge, is alive and well, along with the other officers of our Order. It has been nigh on a month since we sent off four of our ships to trade along the coasts of France in the Atlantic and the Mediterranean seas. I expect the return of any or all of them daily now. But tidings we will have, very soon. Only then, armed with sound knowledge, will we be able to do anything realistic to address the situation in our homeland. In the meantime, we have more than enough to occupy us in building a home for ourselves here, temporary though we hope it might be. I shall speak more of that later, but at this time we have graver matters to consider.” He pointed without looking towards the clump of prisoners on his left.