LITMIR.BIZ

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even before he assumes the Crown? How so? And how can I know nothing of this? Am I so insulated, here in La Rochelle, that I know nothing of the outside world?” St. Valéry’s voice betrayed genuine surprise.

      Sir William looked directly at the older man and shrugged his wide shoulders. “The Order is your world, Admiral. You have had no time to waste on lesser things, and the nature of the new King of England is not something that would interest you at the best of times. The fellow is unnatural, sir. A pederast who would rather play the woman than the man. He flaunts his deviance openly in front of his barons, uncaring what they think, and he is notoriously indiscreet in matters of state. He parades his lovers shamelessly, showering them with gifts and privileges and bestowing rank upon them that they are not qualified to exercise. His barons have neither respect not tolerance for the man, and it is anticipated that he will not be long for this life unless he mends his ways. In the meantime, he is certainly of no value to us in this affair of ours.”

      “I see. Then be equally blunt about this, if you will: where will you go, should things come to pass as you predict? You must have some idea.”

      Sinclair straightened his shoulders and pushed himself up from his chair, drawing himself up to his full, imposing height. “To Scotland,” he said, as though issuing a challenge.

      A long silence followed his words as the admiral absorbed what he had said, weighing his words against those he had uttered mere moments earlier about England. Finally, St. Valéry exhaled loudly and exchanged an expressionless glance with Tam before turning his head towards Sir William.

      “Scotland…Aye, indeed. We have a strong fraternity in Scotland.” There was no discernible hesitancy or uncertainty in the older man’s voice, and yet his words somehow conveyed both.

      “Aye, we do,” Sir William said, “and it has flourished these two hundred years. Our black and white baucent has been a common sight the length and breadth of the land, most recently engaged against the English Plantagenet on behalf of the people of Scotland. We will be welcome there.”

      “Aye, by our brethren in the Order, certainly. But what of this new King of theirs, this Robert…?”

      “Robert Bruce, King of Scots. I know him. He will not turn us away.”

      “You know him?” St. Valéry frowned. “How so, as a friend, or as a king?”

      “Need there be a difference?”

      The admiral’s frown deepened in annoyance. “No, my lord Sinclair, there need not, but all too frequently there is. Kings are not ordinary men, and even I, immured in my ignorance, have heard that this new King of Scots is wild—rash and headstrong, and a sacrilegious murderer to boot, killing a man on the steps of God’s own altar.”

      “Aye, Admiral, I know all that, and much of it, although not all of it, was as you say. But I know whereof I speak. The provocation was dire, and I doubt the Bruce was even aware of where he was at the time. I dare say the blow was struck and beyond recall before he even took note of his surroundings. Yet it was not a killing blow, and it was not Robert Bruce who killed the Comyn Lord of Badenoch. He stabbed him, certainly—struck him down with a dagger and then fled from the church, distraught at what had happened. But it was his men who, hearing him tell what he had done, rushed back inside and killed the Comyn. The killing was done, and there’s no denying that, but I would hesitate to call the Bruce himself a murderer.”

      “You would? For the killing of a man on the steps of the altar? How can you say such a thing?”

      Sir William cocked one eyebrow. “It was not I who said it, my lord Admiral. It was the Church in Scotland, in the person of Robert Wishart, the Bishop of Glasgow, with the full backing of William Lamberton, Bishop of St. Andrew’s and Primate of the Realm, who absolved Robert Bruce of the taint of murder less than a week after the event and thereafter had him crowned King of Scots. The Bruce had few possessions of his own at the time, and clothing was the least of those. He was crowned King wearing Bishop Wishart’s own ceremonial robes, lent to him by the Bishop himself for the occasion.”

      He paused to let that sink home. “I would submit that no churchman, even the most venal and corrupt, would dare to align himself so openly and publicly with a man he truly suspected of the crime of murder, in a church or anywhere else.

      “I would remind you of your own words, Sir Charles,” said Sir William as he crossed to sit in the armchair again. “Kings are not ordinary men…nor was this killing an ordinary matter. It was not a petty quarrel, a squabble that went wrong. It was a confrontation between two strong, proud, ambitious men, each of them jointly Lords Protector of the Realm of Scotland, each of whom believed the crown rightly belonged to him alone. Bitter, angry words led to sudden blows. One man left the chancel, and thereafter the other died.

      “It was John Comyn’s supporters, one of them Pope Clement himself, who called the outcome murder at the hands of Bruce. What, I wonder, would they have called it had it been Bruce who died on the altar steps? Would John Comyn, Lord of Badenoch and the Pope’s favorite, now stand condemned? He would be King, certes, but would he be papally damned and excommunicate? Bear in mind, this is the same pope who now colludes to permit Philip Capet and de Nogaret to destroy our brotherhood. Was this pope, I wonder, less greedy and more honest last year than he is today?”

      St. Valéry cleared his throat. “By your own admission, we do not really know if that is true or not, Sir William. The destruction of our brotherhood, I mean. It is merely what we have been told, and it may yet be proved false.”

      “Aye, well, we will know tomorrow, beyond doubt, but I know what I believe this night.” Sir William stood up again suddenly, clapping his hands together decisively. “Robert Bruce is a true man, Sir Charles. He is young, I will grant, and he is rash and he tends to be hot-headed when provoked, which is not the greatest attribute a king may have. But he learns quickly and he never makes an error twice. Fundamentally, I trust the man and hold great hopes for him. But I firmly believe that we, our Order, may trust him. We have been strong in Scotland these two hundred years, but most recently we have been stronger than ever, in Scotland’s cause and for the King himself against the English. The Bruce will acknowledge that and give us refuge.”

      St. Valéry grunted. “Does Jacques de Molay know you intend to go to Scotland?”

      The Scots knight hesitated. “No, sir, he does not, although, to be truthful, I suspect he might anticipate my going there. But we did not speak of it, and the name of Scotland was never mentioned between us. Master de Molay left the choice of finding sanctuary to me and made no attempt to influence my judgment. It is my belief that he himself is not really convinced that the events we are preparing for here will actually take place. He is hoping the warnings that have come to us are false, but as a prudent warden, he has taken steps to avoid the worst of outcomes. In the event that tomorrow proves to be the day we have been warned against, he told me that God will make clear to me where I should go when the time is right, and he instructed me to require of you, as I have now done, that you hold yourself prepared, with all your fleet, to safeguard my flight.”

      “But…? I hear a ‘but’ in your tone.”

      “Aye, you do. It is my own belief the Master had no wish to know my destination. In ignorance of that, I think he believes he could not divulge it under torture.”

      “Torture! Torture the Grand Master of the Order of the Temple? They would never dare commit such an outrage. The Pope would condemn them publicly.”

      Sir William’s expression did not change. “The Pope, Sir Charles, will do whatever Philip Capet requires of him. Philip made him pope. He can unmake him just as quickly. And as for outrages and condemnation, de Nogaret already stands excommunicate for having kidnapped the last pope at King Philip’s behest. The old pope died of that outrage, but de Nogaret does not seem to be unduly inconvenienced by the consequences.”

      They sat silent for a moment, and then Sir William spoke again.

      “What will you do about the Englishman, Admiral? The assassin Godwinson.”

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