Order In Chaos

The other man blinked at him, plainly wondering who he was, pale faced and clean shaven yet wearing the surcoat of a Temple Knight. “I am Brother Thomas,” he said. “I run the infirmary. What has happened here?”

“Are you surgeon or physician, Brother Thomas?”

“I am both, but—”

“Excellent. Now listen closely. I am William Sinclair, recently appointed to the Governing Council. I am beardless because I came here tonight in disguise, bearing instructions from our Grand Master in Paris to the preceptor and the admiral here in La Rochelle. And what has happened here is assassination. The preceptor has been killed, and the admiral has had a narrow escape. He is unconscious but unwounded, it appears. Listen carefully, therefore, to what I require of you, and take this under your vow of obedience. There are four dead men in this room. That one over there by the wall was one of the assassins. Behind the table at the back there you will find the bodies of two of your own garrison who were posted here tonight as guards, and the Brother Preceptor himself.

“You will bring your people here immediately, enjoining them to silence and obedience as I have enjoined you, and remove the bodies to the hospital. And then you will set them to cleaning this place up, removing the bloodstains and restoring the room to its former condition. As soon as you have issued your instructions, I need you to bring Admiral St. Valéry back to awareness. I have orders for him from the Grand Master, and their gravity permits no further loss of time. I need him—our Order needs him—awake and alert. Do you understand me, Brother Thomas?”

Brother Thomas nodded, but his eyes were drawn to the red-bearded man slumped unconscious over a table, closely watched by two of Tam Sinclair’s sergeants. “Who is that?”

“A prisoner. The second assassin. We will see to him. He will be in no need of your assistance for a while yet.”

“Yet?”

“Hurry, Brother Thomas.”

Tescar and Brother Thomas passed each other in the doorway, and Tescar stopped, mouth hanging as he gaped at the unconscious Godwinson. Wasting no words, the knight quickly told the sergeant what had happened, and then asked him for the names of the two deputy commanders, naval and garrison based. He remembered both names and sent Tescar to summon the men, again with a warning to say nothing of what he knew.

2

An hour later, having done everything that he could do to repair the ravages caused by the man Godwinson and his murderous associate, Sir William finally found himself back in the Day Room, with nothing to do but wait upon events that he could not control. He crossed his legs, shifting his backside as he sought a comfortable spot in the wooden armchair by the fireplace of the great, freshly scrubbed room that was the center of the Commandery’s daily affairs. He no longer wore his mail hauberk and surcoat, having changed them for a plain white monk’s habit, covered by the simple but richly textured white mantle of a Templar knight, with the embroidered cross on the left breast. He had not, however, set aside his sword, and now he sat staring into the flames and frowning, one hand supported on the cross-hilt of his upright weapon as though it were a staff. The entire room smelled of lye soap, and his eyes were burning from the stench of it, but he could tell it was fading, if only gradually. Nonetheless his head was aching from the stink, and he had spent much of the past hour outside, conducting the business of the garrison in the fresh air.

Godwinson, whatever his true name might be, was safely locked up in a heavily guarded cell. He had regained consciousness eventually, but had refused to say a word when they interrogated him, and Sinclair, finding himself growing dangerously angry, had ordered him taken away and confined. He had then briefed the two deputy commanders on how to pacify the outraged and humiliated garrison, although he had said nothing to either of them about the purpose of his mission there. They had accepted his credentials and had carried out his wishes obediently, accepting it as their duty.

He could tell them nothing of the truth, however, before he had informed St. Valéry of his reasons for coming to La Rochelle. He had returned from the infirmary a short time earlier, where Brother Thomas had assured him that the admiral was showing signs of returning to consciousness and that he expected no complications as a result of the violent fall. The crossbow bolt had missed the admiral’s body by the narrowest of margins, striking his cuirass and glancing off to lodge in the metal mesh of his hauberk, the violence of its delivery throwing the old man to the floor.

It still lacked three hours until midnight, and all the Scots knight could do was wait and try to hold himself in patience until St. Valéry was well enough to talk to him and listen to his tidings. Once those were formally delivered, Sir William could take over the admiral’s command, at least until such time as the man was fit to resume his post properly. Sinclair had the authority to do so in an emergency, granted him by the Grand Master in person.

Across from him, Tam stood against the far wall, his eyes downcast and his hands clasped quietly in front of him. They had discussed the evening’s events at length, but Sir William had been out of sorts and was well aware that he had abused his friend several times, deflecting much of his own anger and frustration onto his faithful kinsman’s uncomplaining shoulders. Now he felt stirrings of guilt and sought to make amends.

“You’re very quiet, Thomas. Why?”

Tam raised his head and looked at him, one black eyebrow lifted high, then turned away and stooped to throw three large logs onto the fire, pushing them firmly into place with the sole of his boot until he was satisfied that the new fuel would catch quickly. He stood straight again, wiping the dust from his hands with an edge of his surcoat, and turned at last to Will.

“Are you still fretting about me and that woman this afternoon?”

Will sat straighter in his chair and stared wide eyed at his sergeant cousin, who leaned against the mantel, looking down at him.

“Fretting, about you and a woman? I hope I need have no such concerns, Thomas.”

“No, well, you needn’t, but that’s about the tenth time you’ve called me Thomas this night, and that usually means you’re no’ pleased wi’ me. And when you say things the way you did just then, all proper and prim, that means the same thing. But I misspoke. I didna mean about me and the woman, the way you took it. I meant about me helpin’ the woman.”

“I know what you meant, and I have been thinking about it. What you did was wrong.”

Tam whipped his head down and away quickly, as though he might spit into the fire, but then, equally quickly, he swung back to face his cousin, and his voice was tight with aggravation. “How was it wrong, in God’s name? I told ye before, I only helped a fellow Scot escape from a man we despise. That she was a woman’s neither here nor there. She needed help, Will, and I was there to provide it, and all’s well. Had it been a man, you would ha’e thought nothing of it.”

“Not so. It might have put our mission at risk either way, Tam.”

“Och, Will, that’s rubbish and you know it. You’re bein’ pigheaded for the sheer pleasure o’ it. Our mission was ne’er in danger. Had it been you there, faced with her plight and her plea, and no’ me, you would ha’e done the same thing. You know you would.”

“No, I would not. I would have walked away from her.”

“You would ha—? You would ha’e walked away? Why, in the name o’ God? Because she was a woman? Sweet Jesus, Will, what if it had been your mother or one of your sisters? Would you not want someone to offer her help?”

“It was not my mother, Tam. Nor was it any of my sisters.”

“Well she was somebody’s mother or sister, or both.”

“Not so. She was a single, unescorted woman, traveling alone. An occasion of sin, waiting to avail itself of opportunity.”

“Och, for the love o’ Christ!” The disgust in Tam Sinclair’s voice was rich and undisguised. “How long have we known each other, Will Sinclair?”

Will raised an eyebrow. “Thirty years?”

“Aye, and more than that, and I swear you’ve become two people in those years.”

The knight tilted his head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I know you don’t, and that’s the shame o’ it. The lad I knew back then would ne’er ha’e spewed such canting, canonical rubbish. But since you came back from Outremer and began to grow involved in the Inner Circle, you’ve changed, my lad, and little for the better.”

Will stiffened. “That is insolent.”

Tam folded his arms over his chest. “Oh, is that a fact? After thirty years I’ve grown insolent, have I? Thirty years of encouragement from you to speak up and say what’s in my mind, to tell ye the truth where others might not want to, to be comfortable in being your equal when there’s just the two o’ us around, and all at once I’m insolent?”

Will’s ears had reddened and he sagged back into his chair. “You’re right,” he said. “That was unworthy. Forgive me.”

“Happily. But what’s eating at you, Will? This isna like you.”

Will tensed and then sat forward, tightening his grip on his sword’s cross-guard and narrowing his eyes as he stared right into the heart of the fire. “I don’t know, Tam. I just don’t know. It’s this thing tonight, I suppose—the malice of it, the sheer evil. A King’s minister—his chief lawyer—arranging murders. It’s insanity, unthinkable. And yet it happened…And I’ve been wondering about God’s will this past half hour. Was it God’s will, think you, that we should be in that part of Paris that day, at that particular time when de Nogaret and this scum Godwinson were emerging from the residence? Had we not been there and seen them, him with his white-streaked red beard, I would never have reacted when Tescar told us about his arrival, and St. Valéry would now be dead, too.”

“Ach, you would have reacted anyway, as soon as you heard that shite about his coming from Paris wi’ word from de Molay. You knew that was a fleering lie as soon as you heard it, and you would have behaved the same way, even if you hadn’t seen the whoreson in Paris and recognized the description. No God’s will there.”

“Well then, was it His will that this creature should succeed and take the life of Arnold de Thierry? There was a man who never offended God in all his life.”

“Whoa there now.” Tam threw up his hands as though conceding defeat. “You’re getting into things too deep for my poor head. I canna tell you anything about that, and neither can you. You’ll just drive yourself daft. Master de Thierry died an ill death, I’ll grant ye, but he died at his post and on duty, and that means he died on God’s business, so he’ll be wi’ all the others now, enjoying his reward.”

“All what others?”

“What others?” Tam sat blinking at him. “The other thousands like him who died blameless doin’ their duty. Ye surely dinna think he’s the first man ever to die the way he did? What about your ain family? Sinclairs ha’e been involved wi’ the Temple since the start o’ it. We canna say how many o’ them ha’e died uselessly in the service o’ God and His Church, but they died nonetheless. Three o’ your ancestors at once, and no’ so long ago—blood uncles and cousins—French and Scots, St. Clair and Sinclair, the three o’ them in Outremer at the same time, under that whoreson Richard Lionheart, fightin’ God’s ain Holy War against the Saracen Saladin and his Muslims…D’ye think God in His wisdom had decreed their deaths for standin’ wi’ the Plantagenet, a man weel-kent for his depravity an’ foul habits?” Tam shook his head. “It’s no’ left to the likes o’ us to judge God’s reasons, Will. God knows we ha’e enough o’ our ain faults to live wi’…”

“Have I really changed that much, Tam? Am I really the prig you described, spouting cant and nonsense?”

“Aye, you can be, sometimes, a wee bit.” Tam grinned suddenly, his whole face lighting up. “But not often, thanks be to God.”

Will stared into the fire again, and just as Tam began to think he would say nothing more, he spoke.

“I have been thinking about that woman, Tam.”