Читать книгу Order In Chaos - Jack Whyte - Страница 19

Will Sinclair was standing at the edge of the quay when St. Valéry caught up to him, watching the loading activity in the tiny harbor, his lips pursed and his brow furrowed in deep thought as he tossed a smooth pebble listlessly from hand to hand.

“Sir William. I require some of your time, in order to discuss several matters of import. May we return to my tent on the beach?”

Sinclair nodded wordlessly.

“Excellent.” St. Valéry hesitated, then continued. “Look, Sir William, I know not what transpired between you and my good-sister back there, but I know it angered you, and I cannot afford to have you angry at this point. So empty your mind of what displeases you, if you can, and let us talk, you and I, of the priorities facing us in this endeavor. Can you do that?”

“Of course I can, Sir Charles. It vexes me that you should even have to ask. Lead on, if you will. You have all my attention.”

“Excellent, for we have much to discuss, first among all the disposition of the treasure brought by your brother, of which there is far more than we at first supposed. The two largest and most seaworthy vessels we possess are our two main command galleys, my own and de Berenger’s, which is substantially smaller but newer, and I find myself disliking the thought of entrusting the treasure to any other ship, even though the larger cargo vessels have more space in them. I firmly believe that we would be foolish to stow the chests anywhere else but where we can keep watch on them—not because I distrust our men but purely because I distrust the weather. The winter storms could set in now at any time and our fleet could be scattered to the ends of the ocean, dependent upon the whims and ferocity of the winds. And so I propose splitting the main treasure between your vessel—de Berenger’s—and mine. You already have the Lady Jessica’s gold aboard your ship, and your own personal responsibility entails the protection of the Templar Treasure. I will therefore have the four main chests containing your charge loaded aboard your ship as well. I myself will take the lesser treasure aboard mine. What think you?”

Sinclair agreed, relieved to know that he would not be parted from the main Treasure, the primary responsibility settled upon him by Master de Molay. For the next half hour the two commanders walked together up and down the beach, observing the work in progress as they went over the details of their plans, such as they were, for the coming few days.

As soon as the treasure was safely aboard ship, they would put to sea again, sailing south, between the mainland and the island called the Isle of Oleron, passing the wide entrance to the Gironde inlet on their port side to follow the French coastline south along the Bay of Biscay until they reached the westward-jutting Iberian peninsula. From there they would make their way west along the Iberian coast of the bay until they reached the headland of Corunna, where they would turn south again for several days to collect whatever elements of the Templar fleet might have gathered off Cape Finisterre. They had no means of divining how many vessels might have escaped from other French ports ahead of the seizures and sailed to await a rendezvous, or how punctual those might be, but once there, the La Rochelle contingent would wait on station, safely offshore, for seven days, to ensure that every vessel that had been en route to join them, prior to Friday the thirteenth, had arrived. Thereafter, the assembly would sail as one fleet wherever William Sinclair, as senior representative of the Order of the Temple, ordered them.

At last St. Valéry appeared to have run out of things to discuss. They were approaching the wharf again, and the piles of material on the beach by the quay had dwindled greatly.

“It looks as though they have almost finished,” Will said, nodding towards the wharfside activity. The four great chests of the main Treasure still sat on the wharf together with the remaining contents of Kenneth’s wagons, but the wagons themselves had been dismantled and stowed, Kenneth’s men had been shipped aboard a number of vessels, and the majority of their horses, along with their saddlery and weapons, had already been slung aboard the ships assigned to them.

St. Valéry barely glanced up before he asked, “Are you completely set on sailing to Scotland, Sir William?”

Sinclair looked at him in surprise. “Set upon it? Aye, I suppose I am…But it comes to me that you are not. Have you something else in mind? If you have, spit it out and we will talk about it. Shall I send for de Berenger?”

“No! No, that will not be necessary…What is in my mind is…well, it is something that has been there for a long time now…Something more concerned with what we are and where we should be rather than with who we are and where we ought to go…if you see what I mean.”

“No, Sir Charles, I do not.” He was smiling slightly, shaking his head. “And to tell truth, that marks the first time I have ever heard you be less than clearly explicit, so it makes me most curious.” He glanced quickly around to see if anyone was nearby, but they were out of earshot of the closest group of workers. “Walk with me again, then, so we may keep from being overheard, for I have the feeling that you have no wish to say what’s in your mind to anyone but me. Not even to Vice-Admiral de Berenger. Come then, as friend, not admiral, and tell me what is in your mind.”

He moved away, and St. Valéry fell into step beside him, his head lowered. Sinclair walked in silence, remembering his own difficulties with the tidings he had had to bring to La Rochelle the previous day, and therefore content to wait until the right words came to the older man. Finally, St. Valéry uttered a snort and squared his shoulders.

“Very well then, Sir William, but before I begin, may I ask what befell between you and my good-sister? You were notably out of countenance. That was plain to see.”

“Aye, I was, and I think I may have been wrong.” He nibbled on his stubbly upper lip. “She asked me what I intended to do with my new life, now that the Order has been betrayed.”

“And that angered you?”

“Aye, it did, for it made me contemplate, for a moment but against my will, a world in which our Order would have ceased to exist. And that is close to inconceivable. The Temple, under the guidance of our ancient Order of Sion, has become the most powerful fraternity in the world. So differences will be straightened out and compromises will be made, in one fashion or another. But above all, our Order will continue. It was the sudden thought of my life being changed, without my having any opportunity to challenge such an outcome, that made me angry. I was ill prepared for that idea and I had no intention of discussing it with your good-sister. There was no more to it than that. As I said, I was probably wrong to react as I did.”

“Aye, well, Sir William, the right and wrong of it I cannot judge, but I am as one with you in the judgment that, above all else and despite what men may do to thwart it, our ancient Order will continue. The outward form of it may change beyond our credence, may even disappear completely from the ken of man and revert to what it was before Hugh de Payens and his fellows ever went to Outremer in search of what they found. But the Order of Sion will survive as long as any of us, sworn to its propagation, retains the ability to pass on its tenets to another generation. For at its deepest root, our Order is an idea, Sir William, a system of belief, and ideas are immortal and indestructible…”

St. Valéry’s voice died away into silence, but Sinclair could tell he had not yet finished talking, and sure enough he began again after a space of heartbeats.

“It is precisely that train of thought that has stirred this other matter in my mind.” He took Sinclair’s arm suddenly and turned sharply left to walk inland, in order to avoid another gang of seamen piling weapons into nets for hoisting. “It seems to me that the fundamental idea underlying our Order might benefit in future from some practical demonstration of the truth underlying our lore.”

Sinclair frowned. “What do you mean, a practical demonstration? That has already taken place, nigh on two hundred years ago, when the Order was reborn in the bowels of the temple tunnels and the truth of its lore was proved beyond dispute. What could be more practical than that? At that point we changed our name from the Order of Rebirth in Sion to the simple Order of Sion. We had achieved rebirth, then and there. The Order of the Temple came into existence only after that.”

“I know that, Sir William, as well as you do, but the ordinary brethren of today’s Temple, those who have no knowledge of our ancient Order, do not. And lacking that knowledge, that proof, they stand to be bereft of hope and subject to despair because of these upheavals in France.”

“So?”

“So I refuse to accept the notion that the Order of the Temple should simply be allowed to die.”

“And why should it not?” Sinclair’s rejoinder came without the slightest hesitation. “It is our Order that is important here, Sir Charles, the Order of Sion, not the Order of the Temple. Since the fall of Acre and the loss of Outremer more than a decade ago, the Order of the Temple appears to have lost the regard of the people who once revered it. That loss is real, but the lesser loss, the loss of Acre, cannot account for it. The loss of Acre was tragic, but it was honorable. The Temple’s knights and sergeants there were wiped out with the fall of the city, leaving no survivors. They did their duty alongside the other defenders of the faith in Outremer, and they performed their task and died as martyrs, against insuperable odds. So it is unjust to lay the Temple’s fall from grace upon the shoulders of its dead. The Temple of Solomon has earned its own disfavor down the years, and in full measure, beginning from the day the Order lowered its standards and decreed that monkhood was not the sole prerequisite for membership. That is when the rot first set in—the very day the Temple first permitted laymen and merchants to join its ranks and granted them the privilege of calling themselves Templars. Since then, through the behavior of its associate brethren, the Temple that the ordinary people see from day to day has clutched its arrogance and privilege about itself and gone out of its way to alienate everyone who deals with it.”

He stopped short and pursed his lips, almost defiant in the way he gazed at St. Valéry, as if challenging him. “Come now, Sir Charles, let us set surface loyalties aside, we two, and admit that the Temple has always had boors, strutters, and pigheaded fools among its brethren from the very outset. But those were fighting knights, and even their worst excesses were held close among the brethren. That is not the kind of behavior that I am condemning here. The Order of the Temple of Solomon today bears no resemblance to the brotherhood it once was, save for those few of us who serve its military arm. It has become a tradesmen’s guild, full of braggarts, cheats, bombasts, and unsavory creatures, none of whom pay taxes, and all of whom, exulting in their privilege and status, have embodied all the arrogance, pride, folly, and weaknesses to which man is heir.

“And yet within the Temple structure itself, carefully concealed, are our brethren, the Brotherhood of Sion, forming the living sinews that coordinate the muscles of the corpus and keep the body functioning. Remove those brethren, and the lore they live to perpetuate, and the Temple itself will fall and pass into history to no one’s great regret, while the Brotherhood of the Order of Sion will continue.”

St. Valéry stood frowning, pinching at the hair on his chin, then nodded. “Aye, you have the right of it. Reluctant though I find myself to admit that it is true, I will not dispute you. The Order of the Temple is corrupt, and if it falls or is transformed in any way, our brotherhood will survive. But at what cost, Sir William? We will be forced to live and work in secrecy again, constrained to be clandestine in all things, to the detriment of our Order’s designs. That alone, I believe, must give us pause. The Temple brotherhood, and the very fabric of the Temple itself, provide us with a mantle of invisibility. Existing within the outer shell, we are unnoticed and anonymous. I believe we must do all in our power to maintain that mantle, and in order to do so, we need to give the rank and file of the Templar brethren something to believe in, something from their own lore that will encourage them to endure in the face of these present troubles.”

A cold gust of wind swept in across the beach, buffeting them, and St. Valéry glanced up at the rack of scudding cloud that had begun to gather as they made landfall and now darkened the sky. “Squalls,” he said, pulling his light cloak more securely around him. “Let’s hope they blow over quickly. If the weather worsens, we could be caught in here, unable to beat out to sea.” He looked back to where Sinclair was adjusting his own clothing against the sudden wind.

“The Temple has no lore of its own, Admiral,” the Scots knight said, as though St. Valéry had made no mention of the weather. “It is too new to have developed lore.”

“True, I know that.” St. Valéry was eyeing the cloud banks again. “I doubt this will turn to much, but if need be, we can use our oars to tow the transports out into deep water. But as I said, if it becomes too bad, we may have to bide here awhile.”

“Too close to La Rochelle for my liking,” was Sinclair’s response. “Barely thirty miles by road from there to here. De Nogaret’s men could catch us sitting here helpless.”

“They could, if they knew where to look, but they don’t. There’s cause for gratitude in that thought, my friend.” St. Valéry looked at the sky once more, then turned to look about him at the activity in the tiny harbor. “But things appear to be going smoothly, and the tide will not begin to ebb for several hours. The laden vessels are already standing out to safety, well clear of land and in the lee of Oleron Isle, and there are very few remaining. We should be well enough. The Treasure is all shipped, and most of the livestock. All that remains is materiel that we could leave behind, if pushed.”

He dismissed the weather with a wave of his hand. “About this lore, or the lack of it…There is one piece, one fragment of the ancient lore of Sion, that escaped somehow and was long since adopted by the Temple.”

“The Merica matter.”

“Aye, precisely. No one has ever discovered the source of the betrayal, or how the information was divulged, but it was the only instance, ever, of such a thing occurring. Personally, I began some years ago to suspect that Hugh de Payens himself may have released it deliberately, early on in the Jerusalem growth of the Order of the Temple, believing it to be harmless, yet valuable as an earnest of a need for secrecy within the new-established Order. A seed, perhaps, from which to grow a tradition. Do you think that fanciful?”

Sinclair jutted his jaw. “No, not at all. It makes perfect sense now that you mention it. The Merica rumor never had much substance to it, and had been unimportant to our objectives. It was regarded as trivial by everyone who knew of it. Its disclosure was certainly not the kind of thing that could ever threaten our Order. So yes, I think that Hugh de Payens might have borrowed it, in a time of need.”

“Merica is no rumor, Sir William. It is an accepted and ratified segment of our ancient teachings and beliefs.”

“Yes, I know the substance of it, Admiral: that there exists, beyond the Western Sea, a fabled land of plenty, vast and endless, watched over by a brilliant evening star that the people who live there call Merica. I have even studied what there is to know of it, though that is very limited. But no matter what any of us might wish to believe, it remains no more than a fable, rooted, as you say, in our lore. We may speculate on it, but we have no proof that it exists, or that it ever was.”

“I agree, but that is what I was thinking about…”

“Sir Charles, you are not making sense.”

“On the contrary, Sir William, I believe I am. How many vessels would you say we have in our fleet?”

Another gust of wind drove icy drops of rain against their faces, and Sinclair raised a hand to wipe his cheek, surprised to feel the coldness of the skin against his fingers. “You know that better than I, Admiral. It is your fleet. I have made no attempt to count them, but the number twenty is in my mind.”

St. Valéry dipped his head. “That is a fair estimate. We have seven naval galleys and fourteen cargo vessels—twenty-one in all. In addition, by this time next week, dependent upon what we may find off Finisterre, we could have half as many ships again.”

“But the newcomers would not be cargo carriers.”

“No, that is unlikely. If any vessels reach the rendezvous at all, they will be naval galleys, simply by virtue of the word sent out to the ports.”

“How many fighting men do you have at your disposal?” Sir William asked.

“At my disposal, as opposed to yours?”

“Aye, seamen and landsmen.”

“Hmm…Landsmen, not counting your brother’s contingent, one hundred fifty-four from the garrison at La Rochelle, of whom thirty and six are serving lay brothers and therefore noncombatant…” St. Valéry made a grimace while he calculated in his head. “One hundred and eighteen fighting men of all ranks, therefore, under de Montrichard. Seamen? The crews of the cargo ships, about four hundred men in total, are not fighters. The galley crews are all fighting men, and they range in size from forty oars to twenty. Two men to an oar, with a relief crew of one to two extra men per oar on each craft…That could total seven hundred men, but it is a misleading tally because the number of relief oarsmen varies widely from galley to galley, no matter how hard we try to sustain them.” He shrugged. “But there you have it. A large force, on the face of it. It could be formidable.”

“Aye, it could. And it will be. So whence comes all this talk of Merica, and what has it to do with this fleet?”

St. Valéry stopped walking and turned to him. “Would you need that many ships in Scotland, a foreign land? Seven to perhaps twenty galleys and a fleet of cargo vessels? For if you do not, I should like to take a few of the ships, manned only by men who wish to go with me, and sail in search of this fabled place.”

“Merica?”

St. Valéry showed no reaction to the incredulity in Sinclair’s voice, and the two men stood eyeing each other.

“This is not tomfoolery,” Sinclair said at last, his voice without inflection. “You mean what you say.”

The admiral shrugged very slightly. “I do not deal in tomfoolery. I never have; a lifelong habit. I have always been careful to say what I mean…and in consequence, to mean what I say.”

Another silence ensued, this one shorter, until Sinclair spoke again. “You are aware, I presume, of how absurd that sounds. You are proposing to sail off with a portion of our fleet, for vast distances and through uncharted waters, in the hope of finding a place no man has sought in more than a millennium—a place that may never even have existed. And you will ask for volunteers to go with you, into almost certain death.”

St. Valéry shrugged again. “Essentially, yes. But I would not call it insane.”

“Of course you would not—it’s your idea,” Sinclair said with a grin. “You know, of course, that the name of the place where we will rendezvous, Finisterre, means the end of the world, the end of land?”

St. Valéry smiled. “I do. But I suspect that name was given the place by men who had never found land beyond that point…because they had never sailed far enough westward. The ancients knew nothing of navigation beyond sight of land.” The admiral cocked his head, gauging his companion’s concern. “Look you,” he continued. “Hear me out, if only as a man. Listen to what I have to say, and then think about it before you come to any decision. We have ten days at least, and probably more, before we will have to decide. And then, if you decide against my request, I shall obey your wishes, as I am bound by oath. It will be reluctantly, but I will obey…”

“Go on.”

“Think first on what I said about the need for some sign for the men involved in whatever events are happening in France today. If things are truly as bad as they appear to be, and all the brethren of senior status have been taken and imprisoned, then those rank-and-file members who have survived the initial purge, or attack, or whatever it may turn out to be, will feel abandoned and lost, like a rudderless ship in a high sea…And if that is the case, then matters will only grow worse.”

Sinclair frowned as he thought about that, then shook his head. “I can’t accept that, Admiral—that things will grow worse. I have to believe that whatever has happened to our brethren in France will be temporary, no matter how traumatic. I believe Master de Molay himself believed that when last I spoke to him, and logic itself demands that it must be so, simply because of our size, if nothing else—”

“The Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church is bigger,” St. Valéry interrupted, sardonically, leaving the younger man blinking. “Surely you would not dispute that?”

“Well, no, not in terms of numbers. There is no denying that strength, but—”

“But we must suspect the active participation of the Church in what has happened to our Order, Sir William. Philip the Fair, for all his arrogance, would never dare to move against us as he has without the Pope’s permission. Such an action would require papal sanction, since we of the knighthood are monks. And need I remind you that Pope Clement is generally accepted to be Philip’s puppet, indebted to Capet for his position?”

Sinclair’s features had settled into a deep scowl. “Why did you not mention this last night?”

“Because I have thought of it only since then, though I have thought of little else since it occurred to me. Besides, there was no time last night. Too much had to be done in too little time. But today, having failed to win an hour of sleep because my thoughts kept me awake, I find myself having grave and well-considered doubts about the future of our Order in France. There may be compromises and accommodations, as you say, but I fear our Temple will never again enjoy the influence it had in France even one week ago. It is outdated, and in recent years has incurred great resentment, perceived as waxing fat and paying no taxes, if for no other reason. When Acre fortress fell and the Latin Kingdom of Outremer was lost, the Temple lost its raison d’être…and there are no few in France and elsewhere who lay the blame for that loss at the Temple’s door, unjust and insupportable though that charge may be. And thus I fear our place in France itself is lost. King Philip is a hard and callous man, and his ambitions know no bounds, other than those imposed by lack of funds. He will not return one silver mark of what his lawyers seize from us.”

The frown slowly faded from Sinclair’s face, to be replaced by an expression of thoughtfulness. “A rudderless ship, you said. But if you are correct, there will be no ship…no Order. How, then, could matters grow worse?”

St. Valéry waved a hand as though dismissing the obvious. “Well, let us suppose for a moment that Philip and de Nogaret are successful, and they wrest control of the Order’s wealth and assets from our hands—those assets that are left within the realm of France, I mean. That will bring instant and enormous benefits to their treasury—freedom from debts, and real funds with which to operate…my greatest reason for doubting that this matter will be settled to our satisfaction. But if that does occur and goes unchallenged, condoned by Holy Church, think you the other Christian monarchs will hang back from behaving similarly against the Temple in their own lands? I doubt it.”

The Scots knight turned his back to the chill rain that had begun to slant inland. “I agree with you on that, at least. The same thought had already occurred to me earlier. And yet…you describe a bleak prospect, my lord Admiral. Unwilling as I may be to concede to it entirely, however, I fear you may be right. But again, what has this to do with your Merica?”

“Everything, William, and nothing. I believe the other kings of Christendom will flock like ravens to a carcass once Philip has shown the way. And I choose not to live in such a world. I am an old man, all at once and unexpectedly, coming to the end of my usefulness precisely at a time when I have most need to be capable of great things, and that awareness galls me. I know the time has come to hand my duties and my admiral’s rank and badge of office to a younger man, and I know, too, that de Berenger will be an excellent successor—so be it there is something left to which he can succeed.” He paused, then shook his head. “I would languish and die in this Scotland of yours, my friend. It is your home, and Lady Jessica’s, but it is far from mine. And besides, you are a landsman, bred to horsemanship. I am a seaman, trained in navigation, and I have been a mariner my entire life. It comes to me that I would rather die at sea, in a worthwhile quest for something I believe in, than wither away in a strange, cold land among folk with whom I cannot even converse.

“Be that as it may, you have ships aplenty here for your needs and mine, and who is to say this Scottish king of yours will not see more than a score of strange vessels as a threat? I—” The admiral cocked his head. “Someone is calling you.” He glanced around and then pointed. “Over there, on the quay.”

Sinclair saw a man waving at him. “Your ears are better than mine, Sir Charles. It’s Tam, and that cannot be good. He would not interrupt me here without cause.”

“Then go to him. But first, let me leave you with this in mind: I may sail off and die hundreds of miles from land of any kind, and I will be content, as I have said. And the men who come with me will have made the choice to do so of their own free will. But think, Sir William…what if the lore of Merica should prove as true as that of Jerusalem and the Treasure that lay hidden there? What if I were to find the place? And what then were I to return to you bearing proofs of what I found? Would that not serve to rally all our brethren, of Sion and the Temple both?” He spread his hands, palms upward. “It is no more strange than digging for the ruins of a Temple no one knew was there. Is it?”

Sinclair raised a hand to Tam to indicate that he should wait a little. “No, it is not, Admiral, when you say it like that. So be it. I will think on this between now and our arrival off Cape Finisterre. But now, if you will permit me, I must see what Tam requires of me.”

Charles St. Valéry watched him walk away, then scratched idly at his beard with the tip of one finger. He was surprised when his young superior stopped and turned back.

“Tam seems to want you to come with me,” Sir William called. “If his tidings are important they will probably affect you, too.”

St. Valéry began to walk again, digging his heavy soles into the yielding pebbles with renewed purpose.