Jack Whyte - Standard of Honor

“What verities? What is that supposed to mean?”

Alec Sinclair grunted, then grinned wryly. “I don’t know, Cousin. I don’t know what it was supposed to mean. It simply seemed strange to me that you could be so righteously angry over the slaughter of three thousand Muslims at one moment, and then at the very next be talking blithely about killing more of them. That, to me, is a contradiction.”

“No, Alec, it is not. Yesterday was an atrocity— murder, pure and simple, the victims bound with ropes and then shot down. What I am speaking of, on the other hand, is warfare, cleanly waged, hand to hand.”

“Infrequently, at best. More often from afar, with those things there.” Alec nodded towards the crossbows they had come out here to use, and André shrugged.

“Perhaps so, but each side has an opportunity to win and emerge alive, if not unscathed.”

“They still leave many people dead, to bloat and rot in the desert sun …”

St. Clair’s eyes narrowed. “You are mocking me. Why?”

“Not mocking you, Cousin, not at all. Merely questioning the truth of what you appear to believe, because I believe that, at root, you don’t believe it at all.”

St. Clair pointed a finger at his cousin’s face. “Even in your forested homeland, Cousin, that would be obscure and confusing.” He reached behind him and pulled his saddlebags to where he could drape them across one knee, and then he dug in one of them and pulled out a cloth-covered bundle that he began to unwrap. “Sand grouse,” he said. “Much like the grouse we have at home, save that they are even smaller. But I bribed a cook last night and purchased four of them for an outrageous price. Had I known you would be here today, I would have tried for eight. Here, have some. There’s even some salt in the twist of silk cloth there.”

They ate in contented silence for a while until Alec asked, “What think you of Philip of France? Will he recover from the disgrace of quitting the fight?”

André shook his head. “Philip will see no disgrace in what he did, and no one will question him. He rose from his sickbed and fought valiantly to bring down Acre at the Accursed Tower and was widely acclaimed for doing so, and within days of his final effort, Acre fell. Thereafter, he could state verifiably that his assault had been successful and his task completed. After that, he can argue, it was Richard who brought about all the troubles of the alliance, seizing the spoils of Acre, including captured lands, and refusing to share them with anyone, as though he alone was responsible for the two-year siege and the eventual fall of Acre. He offended not only Philip but even the Archduke of Austria, the lastsurviving and most puissant vassal of Barbarossa in the Holy Land. Not to mention that he alienated the entire nobility of Outremer, whose lands had been confiscated in the aftermath of Hattin and were now won back to be confiscated yet again by the upstart newcomer from England. Philip will argue that Richard’s arrogance and greed made the French Crown’s continuing presence here in Outremer untenable, particularly in the light of Philip’s extended and much-reported illness, with its attendant loss of hair and teeth. Bear in mind, he merely sailed away, almost alone. He did not simply pick up and flee. He left his army behind, to continue fighting under the Duke of Burgundy, and no one can complain about that choice of deputy … No, Philip will be treated as a hero by everyone who hears of his exploits without having to undergo the dubious pleasure of meeting or observing him.”

Sinclair nodded, looking pensive. “And the underlying truth? Why did he really leave, André? Your own opinion.”

“Greed, and politics. I believe he started planning his departure the day that Flanders was killed in front of Acre’s walls, at the beginning of June.”

“Flanders? Do you mean Jacques d’Avesnes, that Alsatian fellow? Was that his name?”

“No, d’Avesnes is a knight of Alsace, one of Flanders’ vassals, and he is very much alive. I meant the Count of Flanders himself, and I do not think I have ever heard his full name, or if I did I have forgotten it. He was an amazing man, from all reports, prodigiously strong, powerfully engaging, and unforgettable to all who met him.”

“What did he have to do with Philip, apart from being a neighbor and an ally?”

“Nothing, on the surface, but his unexpected death takes on enormous significance to Philip when you remember that he died without an heir. Flanders counted Artois and Vermandois among his holdings, and it is common knowledge where I come from that Philip has lusted after those territories—plus Flanders itself, with Alsace and the rest of Belgium to boot, all of them belonging to the Count—since he first mounted the French throne, nigh on a score of years ago. To have all those lands come open to dispute, and leaderless, while he was stuck out here must have galled him badly. That is why I believe he started making preparations to sail home the moment Flanders was killed … and those preparations included his heroic, widely witnessed, and much-lauded assault on the Accursed Tower. I believe he planned and carried out all of those things well enough to ensure that he will arrive home almost as quickly as the tidings of the Count’s unfortunate death, and the French Crown will move swiftly to secure the County of Flanders and maintain good order on France’s northern boundaries thereafter. Philip may not be the world’s greatest soldier, but he ranks highly among its most able administrators.”

“Speaking of which,” St. Clair added quietly, “I have not even asked you about your Cyprus duties. Those were administrative, were they not?”

“Aye, they were, after a fashion. I was to scout out and procure a suitable headquarters site for the people we will be sending in there to set up our operations on the island.”

“I presume, when you say ‘our’ you are talking about the Temple … or is the brotherhood involved in this?”

“No, not at all.” Sinclair’s denial was emphatic. “De Sablé and myself are the only two of the brotherhood involved at this stage, and I do not believe there are any plans to change that.”

“So you found a suitable place?”

“I did—in one of the Comnenus castles, naturally enough, close by Nicosia. A preliminary occupation party of twenty knights and a company of sergeant brothers left to sail there yesterday. We passed them at sea on our way in, but we did not see them. Just as well, perhaps.”

“Why so?”

“Because the bickering has already begun and I have no wish to be involved in any part of it. De Sablé doesn’t, either, but he has little choice in the matter. He is Grand Master and it was he who made the sale possible, through his friendship with Richard. But he has specific instructions from the Chapter House on what needs to be done. Not precisely what needs to be done, but sufficiently close to be causing confusion already.”

“I don’t follow. I thought the Grand Master had complete power within the Order. Are you now telling me that is untrue? How do you know that?”

“I know it because de Sablé told me when I spoke with him this morning, on my return. The senior brethren expressed grave concerns about these latest developments, and he agreed to be guided by their consensus in this single instance. The Order has never had a secure, self-contained base of its own before, and the brethren are anxious to make no mistakes at the outset of such a momentous advance into unknown waters, for the potential could be enormous—far greater than many people have ever considered.”

“How so?”

“Think about it, André. Think what is involved.” André shrugged, with one shoulder, as though to indicate his lack of interest. “I don’t have to think about it. You’ve already told me: a free, self-sufficient base of operations, close enough to Outremer to provide a solid, versatile launching point for future endeavors, and far enough removed from Christendom to be free of the prying and interference of snooping kings and priests. I can understand why that would be attractive to the Order. Anyone could.”