Archers and Crusaders: Historical fiction: Novel of Medieval Warfare by Marines, Navy sailors, and Templar knights in the Middle Ages during England's ... (The English Archers Saga Book 6) (10 page)

      
The floor is everywhere sticky and muddy from all the blood and the little room smells terrible as battlefields always do.  We’ve got to clear these people out of the church and get some archers here from the galley before someone shows up with weapons and thinks to take us. It’s really foul in here and I feel a bit like I’m going to be sick.  It’s a good thing I haven’t eaten for a while.

       “These two knights had a great fight about how to spend Pula’s money and killed the good Bishop and this fine priest when they tried to stop the fight as good priests should.  Isn’t that so, Cardinal Bertoli?”

       Then I explain what will happen next.

       “Such good Christian martyrs these two churchmen are for trying to stop the fighting and bloodshed.  Fortunately the cardinal and I were able to give them the necessary last rites before they died so they are now safely in heaven.  We will, of course, be leaving immediately to take their bodies back to Rome for a proper burial.  When the Pope hears about their saintly behavior he’ll undoubtedly want to canonize them.” 

      
Bertoli and I agree on the ‘necessary last rites’ they are to receive -
we’re going to dump the bastards in the sea so they won’t be able to foul a cemetery holding decent people.  Well, he didn’t actually agree; he sort of just stood there and didn’t argue when I told him that that’s what we are going to do and why.

@@@@@

      
The real leaders of the crusaders show up soon after we send for them.  There are seven of them and they’re led by two Frenchmen, Boniface of Montferrat and Simon de Montfort. We close the door to the bishop’s office and meet them in the church.  As soon as they arrive I repeat our story about the fight and they have a chance to read the Pope’s letter.

      
The crusaders believe the men died fighting each other because for them there is no other possible explanation - they can’t conceive of a bishop killing all four of the men even though my robe is soaked with blood. 

       They don’t actually read the Pope’s letter, of course, since they can’t read.   Rather Cardinal Bertoli reads it to them in Latin – which they don’t speak and I add my nod of agreement at the appropriate places.  As the good cardinal reads it in Latin I translate what he is reading into French with a few embellishments of my own which the good cardinal doesn’t catch because he doesn’t speak French.  It’s an altogether satisfactory process.

       We talk at length until what is to be done next is agreed by everyone.  The crusaders and Cardinal Bertoli will be responsible for informing the crusaders both here and in Venice about the Pope’s letter.  For our part, we’ll resupply Jeffrey’s galley here in Pula and then sail to Venice with Simon de Montfort and some of his men.  He’ll return to Venice with his men and Cardinal Bertoli to help explain the Pope’s letter to the crusaders who are still there.  The rest of the crusaders and their leaders will remain here in Pula until a decision is reached as to what they are to do next. 

      
Nobody mentions the coins the crusaders recently took off Pula; the crusaders obviously intend to keep them for themselves, perhaps to buy food while they are here and transportation to wherever they go next
.

       Montfort is a very pious man and a true believer in the special relationship the Pope has with God.  He is quite intense when says he will tell the crusaders that what happened to Thibaut of Champagne and Henri of St. Dizier is what a crusader must expect if he disobeys the Pope and the will of God – God will intervene and punish those who deny his will.

       As you might imagine, Cardinal Bertoli and I are not going to meet with any more of the crusaders unless de Montfort and his men are present, or any Venetians anywhere for that matter.  There is too much potential danger since some of the crusaders are undoubtedly friends of the two French knights and might seek revenge.  The same for the Venetians who might have had a family member or friends on the galleys that attacked us. 

       As soon as the crusaders leave Cardinal Bertoli and I will go straight to Jeffrey’s galley with a strong body of its Marines to escort us.  We’ll be similarly careful and protected until we are well away from these waters – and neither we nor any member of Jeffrey’s crew will go ashore when we make a brief port call at Venice to drop off de Montfort and Cardinal Bertoli so they can meet with the crusaders who are still there
.  There is no sense giving the Venetians or anyone else a chance to organize another surprise attack on us.

@@@@@

       We walk out of the bishop’s office and head for Jeffrey’s galley as soon as the crusaders go out the door.  We’ll wait on the galley for de Montfort and leave for Venice as soon as he arrives.  He says we can expect him and a dozen or so of his retainers before sundown.

       There are crowds in the street as we walk with our Marine guards from the church to the dock in the afternoon sun.  People are unusually quiet and stare at us intently as we pass with our Marine guards and the push cart carrying the four dead men.  They know something significant has happened but they don’t know what it is and are afraid to ask.

       De Montfort is as good as his word and arrives with his men before the sun goes down.  There are thirteen of them in all including himself.  Until we reach Venice he’ll be housed with Cardinal Bertoli, Jeffrey, and me in the little deck castle at the front of the galley; his men will have the bigger deck castle at the rear of the galley which usually shelters the sailors. The Marines, as usual, will sleep rough on the rowing benches using rain skins to keep themselves warm and dry.

       It is growing dark when our galley’s rowing drum finally starts and we begin making our way out of the harbor bound for Venice.  It’s been a long day and I’m suddenly very tired – but not too tired to give one final order as I head off to join Cardinal Bertoli and get some much needed rest.

       “Throw the garbage overboard in the middle of the night,” I tell Jeffrey with a jerk of my thumb towards the bodies of the four men who tried to kill us.

@@@@@

       Venice comes in sight late the next afternoon.  The sky is overcast and we don’t know what kind of reception to expect - so we slowly row into the crowded harbor on high alert and instantly ready to fight or run. 

       Bales of arrows are brought out of the cargo hold and stacked up all over the deck; four archers with good ‘long’ eyes are up in our expanded lookouts’ nest; sergeants have inspected every man’s weapons; and Jeffrey and his sergeants spend time in every corner of the galley to make sure every man knows what he is to do under the various circumstances that might occur.  Hopefully, of course, it will all come to nothing.

       We don’t tie up at the dock when we bump up against it.  Instead some of Jeffrey’s sailors use the hooks on our pikes to hold the galley against the dock while de Montfort and his men and climb up to it.  We boost Cardinal Bertoli up to join them and then we back off about forty feet from the dock.  We’ll wait out here for them to return. 

       The cardinal is going with de Montfort to meet with the crusaders and any Venetian officials who want to talk about the payments that must be paid if Venetian ships are to carry the crusaders to Egypt and the Holy Land.  I’m not going with them and neither are any of our men. 

        I hope Cardinal Bertoli will be safe.  While we were sailing here he and I talked about things at length when de Montfort was not around.  Should the cardinal or should he not be accompanied by a guard of our Marines? 

       After much discussion and prayer he finally decided not avail himself of my offer to provide him with guards.  He thinks he’ll be safe if he is with de Montfort and his men – he’s probably right but then again that’s what we thought at Pula.  We really did think that we’d be safe if we went ashore to look for Cardinal Capua at the bishop’s residence next to the church.  I reminded Bertoli of this to no avail - he decided that being with di Montfort would be more than enough.

       The cardinal promised me that he will lie and say that he knows nothing about any Venetian galleys – only that once on the way to Pula he heard a lot of noise and shouting when he was locked in the little castle.  I agreed that I’d play dumb about it as well. 

       “God will forgive us for our lies,” we both agreed.

       Somewhere along the line Cardinal Bertoli will decide whether to stay longer in Venice with the crusaders or sail with us back to Rome.  Either way, he’s to return to the galley in the morning no later than three hours after sunup.  We agreed that if we don’t see him in person by then we will leave without him - and we agree that any message purporting to be from him that asks us to wait longer will be a fake and mean that we are in such great danger that we should immediately leave.  If he really decides to stay he’ll come tell us in person.

       We’re not taking chances.  As soon as Cardinal Bertoli and the crusaders disembark we move a little ways away from the dock and take a position pointing out of the harbor.  From here we can also quickly return to the dock if necessary.

       It’s a good thing we don’t stay at the dock.  A hostile crowd begins gathering on the dock almost immediately.  Somehow word has reached Venice that the five galleys are lost and we are responsible. 
Wait till they hear about the Pope’s letter and find out that the crusaders will not be able to pay them.
 

       Sure enough.  Some Venetian officials arrive and shout out to us from the dock.  They want us to come ashore so they can talk to us.  We wave our hands to acknowledge their request, nod our heads in agreement, and stay on board. 
I may be stupid but I’m not that stupid.

       Several merchants also shout out to us.  Jeffrey recognizes them as men he’s dealt with previously for supplies.  They want to know if we would like to buy any supplies.  They have, they say, just received some particularly tender young sheep.  Their inquiry is normal and they make it openly in front of the crowd –
Venice is a city of merchants and money comes before everything else around here every time.
 

       We order flour, firewood, water, one hundred chickens, and twenty sheep to be delivered first thing in the morning via dinghies and lighters.

       After a while the Venetian officials who hailed us earlier are joined by several others.  The new arrivals come with a little force of guards, huddle with the men who initially hailed us, and then hail us themselves.  The new arrivals seem to be senior to the first batch.  They seem quite sure of themselves and shout out very specific orders – they want us to come ashore so they can talk to us about the missing galleys. 

       “Pigs will fly before I’ll go back to the dock except to pick up the cardinal.”

       Jeffrery says it quietly to me out of the side of his mouth as we stand side by side nodding our agreement to the officials on the dock and lifting our hands to acknowledge our acceptance of their order. 

       “I wonder how they found out?” is my response.

       “Maybe one of our prizes was retaken or had to put in somewhere for repairs or supplies while we were in Pula.  Who knows?  What counts now is that they think we’re responsible for their missing galleys.”

       “Or maybe they know their galleys were supposed to intercept us – and now they’ve all disappeared and we’re here even though the weather’s been good.  It doesn’t take much of a carpenter to put those two facts together.”

       “Well they’re seriously pissed about their missing galleys and that’s a fact,” is my reply.  Then I turn to Jeffrey and add with a wry smile and a joking tone to my voice. “And if you think they’re pissed now, just wait until they find out what’s in the Pope’s letter and discover the crusaders aren’t going to pay them.”

       What we’re mostly doing while we wait for the cardinal to return is staying just out of rock throwing range and watching the growing and increasingly noisy and threatening crowd.  A few rocks are thrown but we’re too far off the dock so they splash harmlessly into the water.  Even so, Jeffrey has his crew on high alert and our deck is crowded with men holding their longbows. 

       Almost everyone not on the deck is sitting or napping on a rowing bench with his weapons at hand – ready to row or fight as his sergeants order.  The only exceptions are the men who periodically hang their dingles and arses out over the rear of the galley to piss or shite into the harbor.  They inevitably wave to acknowledge the jeers and what are obviously ribald shouts from the nearby crowd as they do.

@@@@@

      We stay awake and alert all night long, but nothing happens and there is no message from Cardinal Bertoli.  The mob that had spent the previous afternoon jeering and shouting at us is long gone by the time the sun comes up.

       At the moment everything is rather quiet and serene except for squawking seagulls and a few men walking about on the dock.  Jeffrey and I are breaking our night of fasting by munching on some of the hot bread one of the Marine cooks just handed us - and sipping bowls of the ale that somehow came aboard before our sudden departure from Pula.

       In a few minutes lighters and small boats will arrive and we’ll start taking on the supplies and water we ordered yesterday from the merchants who hailed us.  While we wait we amuse ourselves by watching the efforts of a Venetian cargo cog as it tries to work its way into the dock space we hurriedly vacated yesterday when the mob arrived.