Order In Chaos

“He was at Acre? I did not know that. Were you there, too?”

“Aye, I was.”

“How did you get out?”

“Wi’ Will. I was his sergeant. He went nowhere without me.”

“But he escaped, and you with him. How did that happen? Everyone else in Acre died, did they not?”

Tam Sinclair heaved a deep sigh. “Aye, Lady, that they did…Not everyone, exactly, but close to it.”

“So why not you and he? How did you manage to escape?”

“He left under orders, lass. Ordered out, wi’ Tibauld Gaudin, who was commander of the Temple at that time—second in command there to the Marshal, Peter of Sevrey. The Marshal, y’ unnerstand, is the supreme military commander o’ the Order in time o’ war.”

“Who’s who is not important, Tam. Why was William Sinclair chosen to be saved?”

Tam shrugged his wide shoulders. “Because he was. He was chosen. It’s that simple, lass. Gaudin the commander liked him. Will had saved the commander’s life a couple o’ times, in skirmishes wi’ the Heathen. Besides, Will was very good at what he did—a natural leader and a bonny fighter. When Gaudin got his orders to take the Treasure o’ the Order into his charge, an’ to take it away to safety on one of the Temple war galleys, from Acre to Sidon, he wanted men around him he could trust. Will was the foremost o’ all o’ those.”

“And you took the Treasure to Sidon?”

“Aye, in Asia Minor.”

“And what then? Where did you go after that?”

Tam shrugged again. “We came back here to Christendom, and Will began to be moved around from one garrison to another, always being given higher rank and more and more responsibility, in Scotland first, then in France, Spain, Italy, Cyprus, Spain again and back to France. And then, a few years ago, he began studying for his advancement to the Council of Governors. If honor and loyalty, trustworthiness an’ bravery mean anything to ye, then ye’ll never find a greater store o’ any of them than in this one man.”

She stopped again, and turned to face Tam. “You have heard me voice my opinions on honor and bravery to the others. They are manly virtues, and therefore to a woman’s eyes they are useless and futile. Find me a woman who wants to be married to a dead hero and I will show you a woman who is unhappily wed. Dead men provide no comfort or love in a harsh winter or any other time.” She paused. “Mind you, I find there are living men who offer little more, and it strikes me that your Will Sinclair is one of them…I can only pray his manners will improve when we are aboard ship. It is a long passage to Scotland, and I would not enjoy spending all of the time with a great boor.”

The tone of her voice had changed, losing its quick and urgent intimacy, and Tam responded to the difference, becoming more formal. “You’ll be on different ships, my lady. You will be wi’ the admiral, and unless I miss my guess, Will’s place will be wi’ the vice-admiral, Maister de Berenger.”

Jessica Randolph nodded. “Aye, that makes sense. The galleys are war ships, as Charles said, not fitted for comfort or for idle passengers, so you are probably right, we will be aboard separate vessels, you and I. Now take me to my women, Tam, if you would. I’ve kept them waiting long enough.”

“We’re nearly there, my lady. Come away.”

4

After Jessie Randolph and Tam had left the room, William Sinclair sat still for a few moments, watching the door that had closed behind them, and then he turned to Edward de Berenger.

“Forgive me, Admiral,” he said. “I had to cozen you earlier about the naval exercise tomorrow, but I had no choice at the time. Sir Charles had not yet read his instructions from the Grand Master.”

De Berenger nodded, affably enough, and turned to St. Valéry. “What about the other elements of the fleet, Admiral? Is there hope for them?”

“Yes, some hope. Master de Molay dispatched word to our Commanderies in Brest and Le Havre, bidding them take all available galleys and set sail last night, on the same exercise you thought you were to join. The fleet commander in Marseille received similar orders a week ago, to set sail with his galleys immediately and make his way down through the Straits of Gibraltar and then north to Cape Finisterre in northern Spain. We will all come together there, and sail wherever we must go.”

“How many vessels altogether, Admiral?”

St. Valéry shook his head. “We have no way of knowing, Edward. It depends entirely upon who was in port when the orders arrived. There may have been a score of keels in each, or none at all. But only our fleet here will have transport vessels attached. The other elements, whatever they turn out to be, will be all galleys, but we have another task to see to before we sail for Finisterre, and I will explain that to you tomorrow. Go now and see to your preparations. We are finished here.”

“And what of my men, sir?” De Montrichard, who was now the Preceptor of La Rochelle and had been standing beside Sinclair, listening quietly, spoke up as de Berenger left.

The admiral glanced at Sinclair. “The Master’s orders were specific. You are to remain in the Commandery and surrender when requested, offering no resistance even under the direst provocation. You must not resist arrest. The consequences could be immeasurable.”

De Montrichard nodded, his face inscrutable. “I shall instruct my men, sir.”

“Do so, but wait you just a moment. Sir William, I have need of your advice. When Master de Molay wrote his instructions, he was most specific.”

“Yes.” The rising inflection in Sinclair’s response turned the agreement into a question.

“But yet he was unsure of the truth of what he was preparing for, is that not so?”

“It is.”

“Had he been here with us tonight, sharing our discussion, think you he might have been convinced the warning was true?”

“I have no doubt of it. Why do you ask?”

“Because I am concerned about this need for our garrison to offer no resistance. How many men have you under arms, Sir Richard?”

“A hundred and fifty-four, Admiral, including the medical staff.”

“Five score and more…It seems to me, Sir William, that there could be much temptation to resist, among so many men.”

“There could be, were the men not Templars. What are you really saying, Admiral?”

“Why, that we might eliminate the temptation and thereby guarantee obedience to the Master’s wishes. A hundred and four absent men could offer no resistance…”

Sinclair blew out his breath through pursed lips. “You have room for them?”

“I will make room.”

Sinclair nodded. “So mote it be. Do it,” he said. “We’ll leave de Nogaret an empty shell.”

“Thank you, my friend.” St. Valéry was smiling now. “Sir Richard, remove all the guards and lock and bar the gates, then assemble your command with whatever gear they can carry on their backs, but no more than that. Start boarding them immediately.”

The preceptor saluted crisply and marched away with a spring in his step and a new set to his shoulders.

“And now, Will, my friend,” the admiral said, “it remains only for me to protect my own priceless treasure here, which I almost forgot. But that big black bottle is very heavy and I find myself growing weak. Will you help me to lighten it before we go outside?”

A short time later, now thoroughly fortified with a third measure of the wondrous liquor of the Benedictine monks, they emerged from the building together and walked down to the wharves, where everything was awash in the flickering light of hundreds of pitch-soaked torches, more than Will could ever remember seeing in any one place. The flares, beacon-like in their intensity, were mounted in baskets atop high, solidly footed wooden poles, and laid out in lanes and alleys, clearly defining the routes from warehouses and stockpiles to the gangplanks of the galleys lining the wharfsides. Will whistled softly in surprise.

“Where did all these torches come from?”

The admiral glanced at him, then looked back at the wharves. “From storage. We sometimes have no choice over when to load or unload a vessel, so we keep the torches ready at all times for night work. There’s a good source of pitch not far from here, an open pit by Touchemarin, the nearest village along the southeastern road. We bring it in by the wagonload, in barrels, and store it in a giant vat that has been here longer than I have, so we never run low on fuel.”

“I’m impressed. I’ve never seen anything like this.” He turned his back to the activities on the waterside and looked from left to right, gazing at the buildings that extended to either side beyond the Commandery itself, stretching in dark ranks as far as he could see. The only lights to be seen among the massed shapes were those in the Commandery, which at this time of night was unsurprising. “Who owns the buildings on each side of you?”

“We do. They are all Temple establishments, the entire length of the quay on this side of the harbor. They are run by lay and associate brethren: merchants, traders, chandlers, and the like. Of the Temple, but hardly what you and I think of as Templars.”