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) (8 page)

       My personal distress at leaving so soon means nothing.  Less than four hours after we arrive we raise our sail to catch the available wind and row rapidly out of Venice’s crowded and filthy harbor bound for someplace called Pula. 

       We leave with great billowing white clouds overhead, pigeons and seagulls everywhere, a great deal of garbage in the water including dead animals and at least one body.  No one knows much about Pula except that it’s a little port further down the coast.  All we know is that Venice says Pula owes taxes that now belong to the crusaders.  As a city Pula is so inconsequential that even Jeffrey’s pilot has never visited it - and we leave so quickly to get there that several of Jeffrey’s men are left behind.       

       Venice is one of the world’s busy ports with cargo ships and war galleys constantly arriving and leaving.  We think nothing of it when a number of Venetian galleys leave the great city’s crowded and stinking harbor under the midmorning sun at almost the same time and head in the same general direction as we are traveling.

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     “There certainly are a large number of ships out here, Jeffrey. I’m not used to seeing so many galleys this far from shore.”

       “You’re right about that, Thomas, yes you are.  But it’s to be expected.  Venice is a major port and it’s got the biggest fleet of cargo ships in the world.  Even bigger than Genoa’s.  More war galleys than anyone else too, for that matter.  It’s got the most powerful navy in the world, doesn’t it?” 

      
Jeffrey’s wrong about that but I’m not going to correct him; if the numbers I’ve heard about Venice’s galleys are accurate then we’ve got as many as Venice and ours are rowed by Marines instead of slaves.  On the other hand, our galleys are scattered all about earning coins and Venice’s seem to be concentrated here waiting for the crusaders to begin moving.

       “Aye, and here come some of them.  Coming up a little fast, aren’t they?  I wonder where they’re headed that’s so important they’d wear out their rowers to go so fast out here.”

       “Well, wherever it is I hope they have lookouts up on their masts to see us.”

       “Oh my God.  Look.”

       What I am exclaiming about with such a shocked sound in my voice is the turn that the leading Venetian galley is suddenly making – instead of going past us within easy hailing distance it is turning towards us with fighting men on its deck.  Its intentions are clearly hostile. 
What is going on here.  This is impossible.

       “Ship oars.  Battle stations to repel boarders.  Ship oars goddamnit.” Jeffrey roars a few seconds before the Venetian comes up alongside us and the sailors on its crowded deck begin throwing grapples on to ours.

       Out of the corner of my eye I see another Venetian galley swerving towards us to come in on our other side.  And there are more coming behind them.

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       I’m a lucky man and that’s for sure.  Sergeant Jeffrey sent me up here on the mast because I didn’t have a spare bow string under my cap at the last inspection – and it’s a damn good thing he did for I’m truly happy not to be down in the middle of all that fighting on the deck. 
I just wish I had me some kind of real weapon in case one them buggers tries to climb up here to get me.  But I don’t – me sword and shield are still under me seat and me damn bow and quivers are still hanging on the pegs.

       I yelled down and warned them when all them galleys was still way off didn’t I?  But it didn’t do no good did it?  Old Jeffrey didn’t do a damn thing but keep right on rowing easy and they just pulled up on us slick as goose grease. 

       “Hey down there.  Watch out.  There’s another of the buggers coming up on the port side.” …  “Sergeant Jeffrey; Sergeant, they’s two more of the bastards coming up on the port side.” 
Christ, they can’t hear me for all the shouting and noise.  Jesus what if they have archers? – I’m a sitting goose up here.

      
It’s something to see.  Yes it is. 
I warned the sergeant, yes I did, but they came right up on without us trying to do anything to stop them or get away until it was too late.  They almost got some of our oars and would have done if the boys hadn’t pulled them in quick like.
 

       I can see it all from up here.  Our boys are coming up the stairs with their weapons and shields like their asses are on fire. They’re shouting and screaming as they come up and the pirates or whoever they are being cut down and pushed back. 

       It’s all chaos and confusion.  I see one of our men, I think it’s Peter the smith from Chester, stumble and go down.  Then someone I don’t know seems to go down on top of Peter when he reaches down to help him to his feet.

      I’m all alone up here even though there are three pirate galleys lashed to one side of ours and two to the other side….  The fighting is continuing to spread to the decks of all of them… Suddenly I realize I’m shouting and some of our men are coming up the mast carrying bows and quivers.
 

     I better move higher so they can use the lookout’s nest to shoot as we’ve all practiced.  As I’m climbing I suddenly see a pirate with a bow on the deck of the farthest galley – it don’t look like much of a bow but he’s aiming it up towards me and the men climbing up below me…  Oh damn.

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       The Venetians throw their grapples and swarm aboard as our Marines come charging up from the rowing decks with their small shields and swords.  I push the Cardinal into the little deck castle up front and grab a shield and sword off the deck rack.  So does everyone else on the deck except for Jeffrey; he grabs up one of the Swiss pikes with blades and hooks.

       For the first few seconds we are pushed back and almost overwhelmed by a rush of the pirates -
they’re Venetians by God.
  But then more and more and more of our Marines reach the deck until it’s so packed there’s hardly room to draw a bow or swing a sword or pike.

      Within an instant some of our men begin stepping over the railings on to our attackers’ galleys to get out of the press and have more room to fight.  It’s nothing we trained them to do.  They are doing it instinctively to get room to use their swords and draw their bows.

       A sailor with a sword and wild eyes comes at me making a wild slashing swing.  His face registers surprise when I throw up my shield to block it and bring my single edged blade down and across his stomach in a great slice – and feel it bite.  He’s screaming as I use my shield to push him back into the mass of Venetians behind him. 
They’re sailors, by God.  They don’t know how to fight.  We’ve got a chance.

      
“They’re not fighting men,” I hear Jeffrey roar.  “They’re not fighting men at all.” …  “Kill them, lads.  That’s it, Harry, kill them all.”

       Slowly but surely the tide turns as more and more of our Marines reach the deck and the fighting increasingly spills over on to the enemy galleys which have lashed themselves to us and each other.  All our hours of practice and training are paying off.  We’re taking casualties but nothing like they are.

       I’m standing next to the mast bellowing a very unpriestly “kill them” … “kill them” chant with all the other men with my shield up and stabbing towards a man in front of me when suddenly I’m somehow knocked to the ground and everything gets confused. 

       The next thing I remember is trying to struggle to my feet and being unable to do so because someone with a smashed in head and an arrow in his chest is sprawled out on top of me. 

      
I don’t know how much time passes before I finally get pulled to my feet and realize that one of our lookouts must have fallen from the mast and landed on me. By the time I get up our deck is covered with dead and wounded men and all the fighting is on the enemy galleys that have lashed themselves to ours. 

      
“Come on, lads.” I shout to no one in particularly as everything suddenly clears in my head and I know where I am.  “Grab those pikes and follow me.”

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When I heard the order to repel boarders I grabbed my shield and sword from under my rowing seat, pulled my bow off the pegs where it was hanging, and rushed to the stairs just as we were trained and practiced almost every day.  It’s the first time I’ve ever done it for real.  It’s very exciting.

       There is a crowd of men at the stairs and Gregory is just ahead of me as we push and jostle our way up on to the deck.  He’s the chosen man in charge of Willy’s squad.  Willy sits on the bench in front of me next to the hull.  He’s my best mate.  We’re both from Liverpool aren’t we?

       Everyone is shouting and pushing.  No one wants to be the last man on deck and make Sergeant Jeffrey unhappy.  It always leads to extra duty and being the last to get shore leave.

      We spread out as we come off the stairs and the noise on the slippery and tossing deck is the loudest I’ve ever heard what with all the screaming and shouting.  It’s a good thing we have to wear our tunics all the time or I wouldn’t know who I’m supposed to go after. 

     Then it happens.  The deck is bouncing up and down from the waves as I move toward man with a strange clothes and a white beard.  He’s carrying a sword and is obviously not one of us.  But then in the confusion and pushing I step on the leg of someone who’s fallen down on the deck – whoever it is moves his leg as I step on it and as I trip and fall there is a tremendous blow on my neck that knocks me all the way down. 

       Somehow I’m on the deck at the very front of our galley beyond where the stairs come up.  I try to get up but I can’t move.  All I can do is watch.  For a while I can see the legs of the men moving around me and sometimes their faces as they shout and scream and use their shields and swords.  But then they just fade away.

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       Thomas is knocked down next to me when our lookout man comes down on top of him.  I’m too busy to help pull him back on his feet what with a swarthy sailor coming at me screaming in Italian and waving a sword about like he’d never used one before.  I instinctively parry the sailor’s rather tentative thrust with my shield and use my own sword stick him straight in the belly.  Then I bash him in his twisted face with my ship’s shield, give a great pull to jerk my blade out, and concentrate on the man coming up behind him.

       I don’t have to worry about the man coming at me.  He takes one more step towards me and then one of our men off to side his knocks him out of the way with his shield and shoulder - and a split second later a great slashing pike blade comes down and splits his head in two.

       The deck is already slippery from blood and covered with bodies and struggling men when a few seconds later I grab up one of the pikes for myself and vault across the deck railing to get to the galley decks where fighting is still going on. It doesn’t last long before the surviving Venetians begin turning away from the fight and diving down below deck where their terrified slaves are chained to the lower tier of rowing benches.

       Some of our men have their blood up and follow them down.

      
“Don’t kill them yet, Lads,” I shout.  “We need to question them first.”

      
I never thought about Thomas again until we finished mopping up the Venetians.  Our Marines are already trying to help our wounded men when I finally go looking for him amongst the heaps of dead and horribly wounded men on the deck.

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       “
They obviously followed us out of Venice and had it planned.  But why did they do it?” That’s the question I ask Thomas when I finally find him standing in the doorway of the little castle where he’d shoved the Cardinal when the fighting started. 

       “I think I know but I’m not sure,” is Thomas response.

       We immediately throw the dead and seriously wounded Venetians over the side and only keep those who aren’t dying for questioning.  An hour later we have our answers and, of course, while we’re questioning them and throwing them overboard our men are doing everything they can to help all our wounded men we might be able to save and giving a soldier’s mercy to those we can’t.

       Thomas and the Cardinal put on their robes and miters and come out to bless the dead and dying Venetians – which is all of the Venetians since after we finish questioning them they all go over the side despite the desperate screams and pleas for mercy from those who are still alive.

       Our own men who’ve been deaded are being laid out in rows so they can be properly prayed over and blessed before we commit them to the sea with all the proper prayers.  Some are so badly mangled it’s hard to know who they are.

       “Whose head is that up by the bow – ours or theirs?”

        “That’s Andrew’s head, the poor sod.  That’s the rest of him over there next to Willy the smith. They were good friends.  Both being from Liverpool and all.”

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       We learn two things from the Venetian survivors before they go for a swim.  The first is that the Venetians somehow found about what’s in the Pope’s message to his representative and don’t want him to deliver it to the crusaders.  The second is there are relatively few actual fighting men on the Venetian galleys and they aren’t very well trained to fight.  Almost all the Venetians we question are sailors who are used to their enemies surrendering when they swarm aboard their ships and begin waving their swords at them.