Order In Chaos. Jack Whyte

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СКАЧАТЬ sipped again, more deeply this time, and closed his eyes, holding the sweet and fiery liquid in his mouth for a moment before allowing it to trickle down his throat. St. Valéry watched him and nodded slowly.

      “Now, tell me, how do you feel?”

      The eyes opened. “How do I feel? How should I feel? I have just maimed a man. I chopped off his hands and cut out his tongue with my own hands. How would you feel, Admiral, after such a glowing feat of arms? I feel soiled and befouled, as inhuman as the wretch I have just destroyed.”

      “You meted out justice, and in a most admirable fashion, my lord Sinclair. You have no reason to feel soiled in any way. Had you done nothing, the fellow would have walked away tomorrow, unscathed and laughing, as you so rightly said. Now he will have a lifetime to repent his sins.”

      “Repent? Hmm. Not that one, Admiral. I doubt he will repent of anything, save that he did not kill me when we first crossed swords.”

      “But he will never hold a sword again. Or a crossbow. Yet he will have his life.”

      “Perhaps. Or he may die of those wounds.”

      “Not as long as he is in the hands of our surgeon brothers. They are highly skilled.”

      “Aye, but tomorrow they will be arrested, and their skills may prove useless in protecting them.”

      That made the admiral thoughtful. “Sir William, in all that you have told me you have said not a word about the garrison here, about what you wish them to do.”

      “I am aware of that. But you read the Master’s instructions, Sir Charles. They must do nothing but submit to whatever tomorrow brings. Resistance would bring chaos and would give de Nogaret free rein to wreak havoc. He would claim insurrection and rebellion, and heads would roll. Your garrison will surrender upon demand. They will be taken into custody, but little else will happen to them. Their main purpose will be to present a semblance of normality at first, thereby providing us with time to make our way to sea without hindrance. And their victory will lie in the salvation of the fleet and our Treasure, although they will not know about the latter.” He sipped again at his drink. “This brew is excellent. What is it called?”

      The admiral shrugged. “It has no name that I know of. It is merely the drink developed by the Benedictines, distilled from wine and flavored with pungent and pleasant-tasting herbs and spices. May I ask you a question that is personal, Sir William?”

      “Aye, ask away.” Sinclair’s face was regaining some of its color and the lines around his mouth were less evident than they had been a short time earlier.

      St. Valéry cleared his throat, feeling the taste of the liquor on the back of his tongue. “It is on this matter of Scotland. How long has it been since you were last there?”

      Sinclair emptied his cup, then placed it on the floor and stood up. He leaned his ever-present sword against the back of his chair, then cupped his hands over his face, dragging his fingertips down his cheeks as though wiping away fatigue. “Too long, I fear, Admiral. I have not set foot in Scotland these twelve years and more. Why do you ask?”

      “I expected your answer must be something of that nature, and yet you are remarkably aware of what is happening there, and your tidings are recent. How does that come about?”

      “I have a sister there, Admiral. A younger sister, Margaret, who insists, in spite of not knowing her elder brother well, upon keeping him informed of all that is happening to his family. She sees it as her God-given duty to instruct me in the fortunes of all my clan, and I have been grateful for it these past five years, for she is clever and witty, her letters easy to read and filled with welcome and humorous tales of life at home.”

      “I see. And how do you receive these letters?”

      “Through our Order. She has them sent regularly from the Temple in Edinburgh to the Temple here in Paris. I received the latest bundle, eleven letters, when Master de Molay summoned me to Paris to instruct me in this current matter. The newest of them was less than three months old.”

      “And this is your source of knowledge about the King of Scots? Is your sister privy to such matters?”

      “Aye, she is, to a degree. In some of the letters, Peggy—we call her Peggy—spoke of King Robert and his troubles, and how they were affecting her and Edward. That is how I know of the events and the rumors surrounding the King’s accession to the throne last year.”

      “Is this Edward, then, your brother?”

      “No, Admiral, he is my good-brother, wed to my sister. His name is Edward Randolph. Sir Edward Randolph.”

      St. Valéry raised his chin, startled. “Sir Edward Randolph? Is he kin in any way to Sir Thomas Randolph?”

      “Aye. His brother.”

      “Good God! Then your…your sister…”

      “My sister is Lady Margaret Randolph. What of her?”

      “She must then be a sister by marriage to Lady Jessica Randolph.”

      Sinclair shrugged. “I know of no Lady Jessica Randolph. Peggy has never mentioned the name. But then, I don’t know Sir Edward, either. His elder brother Tom and I were boyhood friends—childhood friends would be more accurate—and the second brother, James, was a mere tad then, no more than seven or eight. Edward was born after I left home, so I suppose there may also have been a sister or two I never met.”

      “No, you would not have met Lady Jessica, nor might your sister, I suspect, although each of them would certainly know of the other.” St. Valéry had spoken quietly and was frowning strangely. “The Lady Jessica is, as you say, much younger, and she seldom visits Scotland. She is a widow who has lived much of her life here in France and then in England, where her husband was an agent of King Philip. His name was Etienne de St. Valéry—Baron Etienne de St. Valéry. He was my younger brother. The Lady Jessica is la baronne Jessica de St. Valéry. Thus it would seem we are related through some complexity of marriages, you and I.”

      Sir William blinked in surprise, not knowing how to respond to this. “Then I rejoice in calling you cousin, Admiral. It sometimes seems God placed us in a tiny world, for all its size. So I will be unlikely to encounter this Lady Jessica in Scotland?”

      “No. She is here.”

      “What do you mean, sir, she is here?”

      “What I said. Lady Jessica Randolph is here.”

      “Here in France?”

      “Here in La Rochelle, in this commandery, and she is in grave peril. She has claimed sanctuary from William de Nogaret. Tam Sinclair saved her life this day.”

      Seeing the utter incomprehension on his companion’s face, St. Valéry nodded. “Aye, you heard me rightly. The woman Tam brought through the city gates this afternoon is my brother’s wife…My brother’s widow. She has been asleep upstairs since just before you arrived. She had been on the road, hunted, for days, and she was exhausted. I decided that she would be better off asleep than awake this night. But everything has changed since then, and I wanted to tell you that she was here, and why. What is the hour?”

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