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) (6 page)

       “Yes, priests were murdered; Father Apostolos and several others.  Apostolos was the first.  A soldier with a sword cut him down in the market in front of the church.  People say it was a Templar who did it, and for no reason at all.  None.  And in the fighting that followed he and other Templar knights killed seven more people and wounded a dozen more.”

       “Priests and innocents?  How horrible,” I said as I crossed myself.  “The murderers will surely rot in hell.  What happened?  Was there an argument?”

      “We are not sure.  Will you bring your galley back to the dock so we can talk to them?”

       “Yes, of course, that is the right thing to do, of course it is.  I will ask the commander of the knights if he will allow it.  I hope he agrees.  Will you wait here while I speak with him?” 

      
Sir Pierre won’t agree, of course, but I’m trying to be as pleasant and obliging as possible under the circumstances.  We may want to call in here again sometime and be welcome when we do.  Fat chance of that, eh?
@@@@@

       I’m hungry so I have a bowl of wine and eat a loaf while I’m supposedly talking to the leader of the Teutonic Knights.  Twenty minutes later I climb back into my dinghy and once again Jeffrey’s sailor rows me back to where dinghy carrying the commander of the city watch is bobbing up and down waiting for my return. 

       While I was away to “talk to the Teutonic knights” I saw a second dinghy come out to the Watch Commander’s dinghy and then row back to one of the ships lashed to the dock.  The only good news I know as I go to my second meeting with the commander of the city watch is that none of our men and none of the Templars are missing
.  As I approach the Commander I am wondering what he now knows that I do not.

       “I’m sorry, my friend, the commander of the Teutonic Knights refuses. He saw the mob and doesn’t want any more fighting. I’d bring my galley and the knights back to the dock myself but there are so many of the Teutonics that I’m afraid they’ll kill me and take over my galley.”

       “I thought that might be his answer.  While you were aboard your galley I received more information.  There are eight dead in the attack on the church and three of them are priests.  Many others are wounded including two priests, one of whom will almost certainly die.  Everyone who saw the attacks on the priests says the murderers were Latins, the Pope’s Templars for sure.” 
They think it was an attack on the orthodox church by the Pope’s men?  This is serious.

       “How can that be?  Most of my passengers are knights of the Teutonic order and their squires and servants.  It doesn’t make sense.  Why would Teutonic knights pretend to be Templars and do such a thing?” 

      
I know they are not Teutonic Knights but why did the Templars do it?  It doesn’t make sense – or does it?

       “Well there is no sense staying here any longer.  There is no way we’re going to get water and supplies without giving up the Templars.” 

       That’s what I tell an anxious Jeffrey when his sailor rows me back to our galley.  The Templars seem quite pleased.

                                          
Chapter Five

       A few minutes later the rowing drum begins its beat and we row out of Bonifacio’s harbor with all the Templars on board and without anywhere near enough of the water we’ll need for the final leg of our voyage.  We’ve probably got enough food and firewood for cooking to reach Rome if we go on half rations, but not nearly enough water, goddamn it.  There is nothing to do but tighten our belts and continue north along the Corsican coast until we come to a usable stream and can use our leather buckets to dip up the water we need to fill our barrels and skins. 

       According to Jeffrey’s map there is a small city with a port about thirty miles up the coast.  It’s probably just a poor fishing village but it should have some sort of water supply if we don’t find a suitable stream before we reach it.

@@@@@

       “I’ve had a couple of my most dependable men listening to the Templars as you requested, Thomas.  There is no question about it - they’re quite pleased with how things turned out.  Not just that they escaped without losing anyone, mind you - they’re happy about the fighting and about the dead priests.” 

       “Strangely enough, they haven’t been talking about why they did it although they do seem to appreciate that you tried to protect their order’s reputation by telling the Corsicans their attackers were Teutonic Knights.”

       Jeffrey then paused while he tried to figure how he could best say what he wanted to say next.

       “It’s understandable that the Templars are not upset about you trying to protect them, mind you, but I would have thought they would have been more forthcoming about what happened and why.  Soldiers tend to be very excited and talk a lot right after a battle, don’t they?  These didn’t.” 
Of course; Jeffrey thinks they’ve been ordered not to talk.

       “Well it had to be done, me denying they are Templars and suggesting to the Corsicans that it was the Teutonic Knights who killed their priests.  We always try to help the Templars whenever we can even if we are poor.  That’s why we are carrying them to Rome.”

       I said it loud enough for some of the Templars and our men to hear.  The word will spread and I want the Templars to know we mean them no harm.  This lot we can handle but sooner or later we’re sure to run into a lot more of them.  The damn Templars are everywhere and their strength and wealth is growing fast as everyone can see – but not as fast as ours.

@@@@@

       We don’t start towards Rome as quickly as I had hoped we might.  It takes the rest of the day to row along the coast and find a stream where we can dip in our buckets and pull up enough fresh water to refill our barrels and water skins.  Then that night a storm blows us well south of mouth of the River Tibor before our pilot realizes where we are and turns us back north.

       It takes two days of hard rowing against the wind to move far enough northward - but in the end, and totally out of food and firewood for cooking, we finally reach the mouth of the River Tibor and row up the river to Rome’s crowded docks. 

       Everyone’s hungry from being on half rations so the first thing we do is pass out copper coins and let our sailors and Marines go to the shops and stalls along the dock to buy bread and olives and drink a bowl of wine.  The Templars quickly disappear.  Their order has an impressive large building and a significant number of men here in Rome so it’s not surprising that they hurry away.

@@@@@

       Rome is Rome and a splendid walled city it is.  Everywhere there are great buildings, large markets, and ancient ruins and monuments.  Within the city walls there are several hundred fortified residential towers, mini-castles erected by the city’s various leading families and religious organizations to provide protection against their enemies and proclaim their status and riches.  The Templar’s flag flies over one of the largest and richest of them.

       I walk to our depot under the hot Roman sun after fortifying myself with a visit to a food stall for some fresh bread, a chicken leg, and a bowl of wine.  It’s a shabby fortified compound and rundown tower on the Via Margutta.  Two dozen heavily armed Marines accompany me.  The depot gate is barred but my sergeant announces our arrival by using the handle of his sword to pound on the little door within the larger gate.

      
It’s good to see that precautions are being taken.  The city is reputed to becoming quite dangerous now that a commune representing the city’s powerful families is running it instead of the Pope.  One can only wonder how long the peace will last before the Pope tries to regain control of the entire city and if the church isn’t deliberately starting the attacks and riots to encourage the commune to surrender its power.

       Randolph comes running out to meet me and we fall into each other’s arms as only old soldiers do after they’ve stood side by side in numerous battles.  The archers both here and in my guard are strangely pleased by the warmth of our reunion if the smiles on their faces mean anything.

       Yes, it is Randolph from Constantinople, one of the original archers and the man William considers to be our single most dependable sergeant.  William replaced Randolph in Constantinople and transferred him to Rome to command our depot here.  William transferred him following our unfortunate misunderstanding with the Byzantine Emperor that, as everyone now knows, resulted when Randolph and some of his men were captured in Constantinople by some of the emperor’s men and held for ransom.

       William refused to pay the ransom, of course.  Instead, to the relief of our men who have a justifiable fear, as all soldiers do, of being abandoned by their commanders, he surprised the Byzantines by mobilizing all of our available Marines and giving their emperor a choice between either producing Randolph and our men alive and well treated or having his city burned, his army destroyed, and his fleet sunk. 

       The Byzantine emperor in Constantinople saw the light, and “came to Jesus” as the recently popular saying in London goes, after William and the Marines came up from Cyprus and promptly took a good part of the Byzantine fleet as prizes and then killed some of the emperor’s best men in the fighting that raged for several days in front of Constantinople’s walls. 

       It took a while but the emperor ultimately saw the wisdom of blaming others for causing the problem and had Randolph and his men released.  Even better, he compensated us for our troubles.  As a result, Randolph is now in Rome to get him away from any possible Byzantine retribution, Long Bob who replaced him seems to be doing quite well in Constantinople, some of the Byzantine galleys and cargo ships have been sold or added to our fleet, and the gold byzants we received for our troubles are safely stored away at Restormel. 

       In other words, it all worked out quite nicely except for the men got killed or permanently injured – and they’re not bothering anyone because they’re out of sight and mind.

      
“It’s good to see you here Randolph, truly it is.”

@@@@@

      Randolph and I spend the rest of the day and evening drinking good wine, eating chicken, and reminiscing about our battles and all the archers who sailed with Richard those many years ago.  Even between us we can’t remember all their names or where they fell.

       Fairly early the next morning I put on my bishop’s robe, place my miter firmly on my head, and set off for the Pope’s residence carrying my crozier and the bag that purports to contain all the coins that were paid to buy the Pope’s goodwill and prayers.  I’m not wearing my chain mail or my wrist knives but I am surrounded front and back by more than a dozen Marines carrying both swords and longbows.  I am starting early because the weather in Rome is getting warm.  Randolph himself is commanding my guards.

      We walk in the hot morning sun and I’m already sweating in my robes when I reach the gate one must use to enter the Pope’s own walled mini-city within the great city walls of Rome.  This is my second visit to carry coins to Innocent II so I know where to go and what to expect.

@@@@@

       By far the grandest of all the districts in Rome is the walled area in the center of the city where the Pope resides and the church conducts its business.  They’ve made it so to impress people.  It is to there that I walk in the summer morning sun with a party of Marines to protect my person and the little sack of gold and silver coins containing this year’s payment that the pilgrims and refugees paid too buy the Pope’s goodwill and prayers.

       The guard at the papal gate is fairly alert and greets me quite cordially in Latin as is appropriate since I’m wearing my miter and carrying my crozier.  He seems to expect me, although perhaps I am just imagining it.  Or perhaps it is my arrival with so many guards that encourages him to believe that I am someone important who is to be treated properly. 

       In any event, one of the three young priests loitering behind the guard in the little guard house very courteously welcomes me and points out a shady spot where Randolph and my guards can wait for my return and the little alcove set into the wall where they can relieve themselves if they so require.  He will, he says, send out some good water and melon slices for them to help fight off the heat.  I thank  him profusely and so does Randolph.

       My guide walks ahead of me as we cross the cobblestoned square and enter the long low building that serves as the entrance to the Pope’s quarters and the offices of the worldwide church.  It is very quiet as we walk down the corridor although I can here murmurs of voices in the rooms we pass and several times catch sight of priests and bishops sitting on stools in front of writing desks and on benches along the walls.  I’ve never been sure what the building is – probably the guardroom and some of the minor administrative offices before one reaches the building that houses the Pope’s residence and the church’s treasury. I wish I knew so I could tell the boys.

       “Ah Bishop Thomas, it’s good to see you once again.  I’m sure His Holiness will be pleased to see you as well.  Please lift your arms…”

       What follows is a very thorough inspection of my person and robes to make sure I am not carrying weapons.  I’m not, of course, and it goes quickly.