The Archer's Return: Medieval story in feudal times about knights, Templars, crusaders, Marines, and naval warfare during the Middle Ages in England in the reign of King Richard the lionhearted (12 page)

       We’d take more galleys and coin chests to England but we are so short of Marine archers that Harold may not be able to bring even ten.  We are limited as to how many can go to England because we have to leave enough men behind to guard our compound and man the galleys that will stay behind to continue carrying refugees from the Holy Land ports. 

       
Recruiting more English and Welsh archers to become Marines is vital if we are to continue growing the stock of coins we’ll need for George’s future, at least that’s what Thomas says.

       Six weeks should be more than enough time for me to check out Antioch and Constantinople and then get to Malta in time to rendezvous with our fleet.  Randolph, Bob Farmer, Angelo, and Aaron will go with me and so will Peter Sergeant and Robert Monk. 

       One of the three galleys I’m taking, mine because it will be going all the way to England, will carry two chests of coins secreted in its ballast – a king’s ransom in each chest so to speak.  Each of the galleys sailing with Harold will also carry a couple of coin chests and as many paying passengers as we can cram on board.  Evan is the sergeant captain of my galley. 

      
Hopefully our men won’t know about the chests and the pirates won’t find out.  Our men are good lads but it would tempt them too much wouldn’t it?

       Randolph’s and Bob Farmer’s galleys will carry no coins since they will be returning to Cyprus or to wherever Randolph and Bob end up being stationed as the master sergeants.  Where that will be is something we’ll decide while we’re in Constantinople.

       Some of our cogs may also sail to Malta with Harold’s galleys as escorts and perhaps on to England; but, of course, they’ll only join us on our voyage to England if they have sufficient cargos and paying passengers. 

       Yoram thinks every galley and cog we decide to send will be oversubscribed.  He says the initial response of the refugees on Cyprus has been tremendous.  Some are offering tremendous sums to be carried all the way to France and England and all those who want to return to Europe see getting to Malta as being a major step towards getting further away from danger and closer to their homes.

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       Everything has changed.  Randolph just told me that he really likes Beirut and would like to be the master sergeant in charge of our men and galleys if we set up an office or compound there.

       “It’s much nicer than Alexandria and I’ve been thinking about changing my mind about going back to England with you.  I mean, there’s nobody back there for me, is there?” 

      
I’d never mentioned to Randolph my real reason for bringing him back from Alexandria – to be our master sergeant in Constantinople if we need one there.  He’s always been our best man hasn’t he?

       “Well, you did splendidly in Alexandria and you’re certainly the man most qualified to set us up in a new port.  That’s for sure.  But I’ve heard good things about Constantinople too.  Much better things, actually.”

       Then I explained to Randolph what I mean.

       “If I’ve heard right it’s bigger and there’s less fighting amongst the local people these days - that sort of thing.” 

       And then we both laugh when I tease him by pointing to the luxurious and well barbered beard which is his pride and joy.

       “Besides, you’ll be safe even if Constantinople falls to the Saracens -because with that beard they’re not likely to recognize you as the Christian pirate you are.”  It was a joke I made and we both roared: the Christian knights and their men have begun shaving their beards, probably because the Moslems don’t and it proves their blades are sharp.  

      
What isn’t a joke is that some of the crusaders think that anyone wearing a beard is a Moslem and kill him out of hand - and it is the crusaders who are coming to take Constantinople, not the Saracens.

       “Aye, I’ve heard the same.  But I’ve seen Beirut and I like it.  It’s a bird in the hand so to speak.”

       “Aye.  You’re right about that and if it’s the Beirut command you want you shall certainly have it.” ….  “By God, I’ve a thought.  How about sailing with me next week when I go to look at the opportunities for us in Antioch and Constantinople?  You could help me check them out and then go be the master sergeant in Beirut or wherever you choose.”

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       Three galleys row out of Limassol two mornings later.  I’m in the big one with Evan as its sergeant captain and a crew of seven sailors and eighty eight Marine archers – one for each oar.  Robert, Peter, and Aaron are with me and so, of course, is Helen.  I’ve got the little captain’s castle and she and Lena fixed it up quite comfy with our own bedding and piss pot; Angelo and the others are sharing the bigger castle in the rear of the ship.

       I was not the only one who watched with a great deal of amusement and pleasure as Helen walks with a look of determination on her face down to the dock where the galley is docked – leading one of Henry’s donkey carts with and equally serious looking Lena and a great pile of bedding and pots and clothes piled on it.  The women are obviously determined not to be denied and no one is about to stop them, certainly not me.

       Randolph and Bob Farmer are in command of the other two galleys.  They have four less oars per side and are each sailing with seven sailors and only eighty Marines.  Only my galley is carrying coin chests instead of rocks in its ballast space.

       In addition to its sailors and Marines each of our galleys is carrying two prize crews, one for a cog; the other for a galley.  They’ll help with the rowing of our galley until we take some prizes – and that probably won’t be until after we leave Malta. 
But you never know, do you?

       We row out through the returning Limassol fishing fleet with many a wave and good cheer.  There was a time early on when the local fishermen viewed us as possible slavers to be avoided the way they avoided the Islamic pirates who used to raid hereabouts before we arrived.  Not anymore; today we’re valued customers for all the fish we buy for Friday’s meals and a number of the local fishermen and their sons have signed on to join us as sailors and archer trainees.

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       The weather’s good and we row into the Antioch harbor five days later and even though there are only three galleys we cause quite a scare.  It seems word has just reached the city that King Leo of Armenia is marching on Antioch with an army that includes the Knight Hospitalers.        

        It seems there are conflicting claims to the city because the count who had been its previous overlord, a vassal of King Leo, died without an heir - fighting at Hattin for King Guy of Jerusalem, the very same King Guy who as the new king of Cyprus just tried to hold Yoram for ransom. 

       As the local merchants tell us with much emotion and waving of hands, there is going to be a war because they and the rest of the city’s residents prefer a distant relative of their late ruler and refuse to acknowledge Leo’s right to name another of the late count’s distant relatives as their new ruler.

       Whatever its cause, the coming war over Antioch is a fine opportunity for us.  We no more than tie up at the dock than we are besieged with people wanting to escape the city and the fighting that is coming - the Orthodox Christians want to escape to Constantinople; the Roman Christians to Cyprus or any place where the Roman religion is practiced; the Jews to anywhere safe; and everyone with coins wants to send some of them to safety so they won’t starve if they are forced to flee.

       There is no time to lose.  I strip Bob and Randolph’s galleys of all but the minimum number of sailors and Marines and we begin collecting coins, lots of coins, from those who are willing to pay to flee to Cyprus.  Both galleys will go back to Cyprus under new sergeant captains so Bob and Randolph can remain here with me.  The passengers will do most of the rowing. 

       I quickly write two parchments to Yoram describing the situation.  He’s to immediately start sending refugee ships to Antioch as fast as they become available.  One parchment will go on each galley to make sure my message gets through. 

       Bob Farmer will remain to be our man in Antioch with Peter Sergeant or one of the other archers as his deputy.  Because the situation is dangerous Bob and Peter will always keep one galley in port until the next galley arrives.  And because I’m greedy I offer standby evacuation galleys to the local merchants for double the number of coins we are getting in Alexandria. 

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       Our galleys begin arriving from Cyprus eleven days later.  Actually they are eleven very nice days and it wouldn’t have bothered me if it had taken the galleys even longer to get here.  It gives my men and me an opportunity to meet all the local worthies and Helen and me a chance to see the city and visit its market, albeit with a substantial guard of swordsmen and archers in tow.  At her insistence I bought a shit pot so we would not have to get up at night to hang our arses over the side. 
She is enchanting and I love her dearly.

       We even recruit a couple of archers deserting from the local garrison.  They don’t know how to use longbows but they’ve got strong arms and are willing to learn.  They’ll go to Cyprus on one of the refugee galleys to learn to put their feet down at the same time and use longbows and pikes. 
At least I think they’re deserters; they certainly scurried into Bob’s galley and out of sight fast enough.

      
All good things must end and our delightful visit to Antioch is one of them.  Randolph takes over the command of one of the arriving galleys and after thirteen days in Antioch our two galleys begin rowing to Constantinople.  We are carrying as many refugees to Constantinople as we can jam in our galleys in addition to all our men and another chest of coins.  My galley is literally stuffed with people getting seasick and so is Randolph’s.

                                       Chapter Nine

       Constantinople is immense.  It has, to my surprise, fast moving ocean waters running flowing past it like a river.  It’s like trying to row up a river to get to the city docks.  And the fast moving water must bring a lot fish – there are people all along the shore fishing and little fishing boats casting nets right up against the shoreline.  It’s fascinating and impressive with all its palaces along the waterfront and its great huge church.  At least I’m impressed and so is Helen.  Her eyes are wide with amazement. She never, she tells me, ever expected to see such a sight.  Neither did I.

       Bringing orthodox believers to safety, including a large number of priests and bishops who suddenly needed to leave Antioch to pursue religious matters, gets us an approval to tie up next to the city wall at one of Constantinople’s many harbors, the one nearest the big church. 

      
And, of course, the orthodox priests and bishops are not the only ones running for safety - an equally large number of priests and bishops of Rome paid equally handsome amounts to get out of Antioch on the galleys we’re sending to Cyprus and Beirut. 

       Either way they traveled, the churchmen all paid the exorbitant number of coins we required – after arguing that they should go free or at reduced rates because they are hurrying off to “do God’s work.”

       We don’t argue about whether running away is God’s work; we just hold out our hands and take their coins, count them particularly carefully if they are coming from bishops, and bow them aboard – but only after they assure us they understand they will be helping with the rowing and immediately thrown overboard if they don’t. 
Doing what you don’t want to do enriches your soul; isn’t that what the good book says?

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       I know a little about Constantinople because one of the Greek priests we are carrying sought me out during the trip and wants to talk.  Probably to get away from having to row.  His name is Kostas and something else that tangles my tongue.

       “I heard someone in Antioch say that you are not like the other Latins.  You don’t take slaves and you keep your word.  Is it true? 
Latins?

      
“Latins?  What do you mean?”

       “Latins, of course; the crusaders, people like you, the men whose priests speak Latin to each other and are coming to here to attack us because we don’t bow to your pope and we make a different sign of the cross.”

       “Nonsense.  You’ve got it wrong my friend.  That’s just an excuse.  The crusaders don’t care how you worship - they see you’re rich and want to steal your treasures and sell you as slaves.  Religion is just an excuse.”

       “Just an excuse?  Can it be true?” 
He seems almost disappointed that it won’t be a religious war; I wonder why?

       “Of course, it’s true.  I’ve known many crusaders personally.  Hundreds of them for sure.  Maybe thousands.  And every one of them is in it for the land and treasure we can get, including me and all my men.  Hell, I was once a crusader myself - came out with that lying bastard King Richard myself didn’t I?”

       “Really?  And you don’t like Richard?  You surprise me.  I thought all the crusaders liked him.”

       “Only those who don’t know the murdering bastard.”

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       The priest tells me his name - Kostas something or other which tangles my tongue so I can’t say it.  But no matter; what I learn from Kostas is interesting.  He claims Constantinople is the center of a great empire with its own pope and a great emperor ruling over many kings
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