Order In Chaos. Jack Whyte

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.”

      Sinclair nodded knowingly. In his mind, as in the minds of the entire military brotherhood, the word Templars applied only to themselves, the fighting monks of the Order. All the other so-called Templars, and there were thousands of them throughout Christendom, were supernumeraries, laymen functionaries of all kinds conscripted from all walks of life as associate brothers, their prime purpose being the daily administration and maintenance of the sprawling commercial empire of the Order’s nonmilitary activities. Like most of his fraternity, Sir William viewed them with ambivalence verging, at times, upon detestation. He could acknowledge, however grudgingly, that they were necessary, sometimes even essential, but he harbored a deep resentment of their claims to be bona fide Templars, believing that their all too frequent abuse of the name, not to mention the privileges associated with it, were the central cause of the Order’s fall from popularity and esteem in the eyes of the world. A greedy and unscrupulous merchant or banker would forever be disdained, but when such malignity was exercised in the name of the Order, then the Order itself inevitably suffered, and the arrogance and malfeasance of the miscreant were perceived, ipso facto, as being condoned by the Temple.

      It was a conundrum that Sinclair and others like him had debated for decades now and had declared to be unsolvable, and now he dismissed it again, knowing there was nothing he could do. “I wonder what will happen to them tomorrow.” He did not expect an answer and turned away to look again at the activity surrounding them. The entire wharf was swarming with movement, all of it disciplined and well ordered, with every man moving purposefully and almost silently, concentrating upon the task at hand. Files of men formed long chains, passing sacks of grain, fodder, and other provisions from shoulder to shoulder to be piled at the edge of the wharf, where lading gangs transferred them into nets to be hoisted aboard ship. Other groups went in single file, carrying goods that were too awkward, fragile, heavy, or precious to be passed easily from hand to hand. Still others manned the hoists that lined the wharves, transferring cargo from the dockside to work crews aboard the ships, who removed the goods from the cargo nets and passed them belowdecks to be stowed. And among them all moved horse-drawn wagons, carrying items that were simply too large to be taken to stowage by any other means. As he watched the constant coming and going, Sinclair was unaware that St. Valéry was watching him, and when the admiral saw the hint of a smile tugging at the younger man’s mouth, he spoke up.

      “You are smiling, Sir William…Do you find this sight enjoyable?”

      “What? Enjoyable? God, no, at least not in the sense you appear to mean, my lord. I find no amusement in it at all.” The slight smile lingered on his face. “But there is always enjoyment in watching disciplined men performing well…My smile came out of gratitude that our toilers here are real Templars and not Temple brethren. Were they not, I should shudder to think of the chaos that would be reflected here tonight. I thought to walk among them now, to let them know their work is well thought of. Will you join me?”

      FEELING THE LIFT OF THE KEEL beneath his feet as the galley backed away from the quay under oars towards its anchorage, William Sinclair lodged his long sword in a corner where it would not fall, then shrugged off his mantle and hung it from a peg before he allowed himself to fall face down on the narrow bunk that would be his sole resting place for the next few weeks or months, and the last thing he remembered was a vision of Jessica Randolph’s eyes flashing with anger, and the words The Order of the Temple was destroyed by eight black balls.

       A QUEST OF FAITH

      1

      "Why are we even waiting here? We know they’re going to come.”

      Will Sinclair glanced sideways to where the speaker, Vice-Admiral Sir Edward de Berenger, stood gripping the rail of the galley’s narrow stern deck, his knuckles white with the pressure of the grip he was exerting as he stared wide eyed into the thin mist that veiled the nearby wharf.

      “Knowing a thing and witnessing the truth of it are two different matters, Edward,” he replied. “Were we not to see this with our own eyes before we sail away, we could never be sure it had happened as we expected.”

      He turned his head to where Admiral St. Valéry’s galley rode beside them. It was a larger version of their own, indeed, the largest in the fleet; its oars, forty two-man sweeps ranged in double banks of ten on each side, were like theirs, unshipped, the long blades resting in the waters that lapped against the hull. He could not see St. Valéry himself because the naval commander was surrounded by a knot of other figures on the high stern deck, but he could see that all of them were staring as fixedly towards the fort as was de Berenger.

      “And so we wait,” he added. “I like it no more than—” He stood straighter. “There they are.”

      Sinclair knew that every watching eye aboard the two ships had seen what he had seen. Figures moved among the mists ashore, running men, spreading everywhere, and now he could hear the shouts, echoing strangely in the emptiness. The running figures came closer, becoming more easily discernible in the drifting, dissipating fog, until they reached the edge of the wharf, where they came to a halt, lining the edge, their voices rising louder.

      “I think they are dismayed,” Will murmured, watching the growing throng.

      Behind the two galleys that held the admiral and the vice-admiral, the normally crowded harbor of La Rochelle lay empty, save for a cluster of twelve vessels that lay close together near the southern breakwater, bound to each other by stout ropes. Every other vessel that had been anchored there the night before had withdrawn beyond the harbor entrance, where they were now waiting in deep water to see what morning would bring, and it had brought William de Nogaret, as expected. Now Sinclair turned his head in time to see the naval baucent, the white skull and crossed thighbones on a field of black, rise fluttering to the top of the admiral’s mast in a prearranged signal. Even the soldiery thronging the wharf fell into silence as they watched the flag’s slow ascent, wondering what it signified, but as the silence stretched and grew, nothing appeared to happen. The admiral’s galley remained motionless.

      An excited shout broke the silence as someone on shore saw what Will Sinclair had already turned to watch, and the clamor spread as the far right side of the crowd lining the wharf eddied and began to run towards the southern breakwater, but they were already too late. The fires on the cluster of moored ships, fueled with oil and carefully prepared, were exploding in fury, spreading with a rapidity that was awe inspiring, and from the sides of the doomed craft men were scrambling down into the boats that waited below.

      “Pick them up,” Will said quietly, and de Berenger began СКАЧАТЬ