"It's not strong enough you see." I say to the skeptical commander of the Varangians as I bend down and rap my knuckles on the wooden hull next to the stack of crates.
Then I explain with the help of a lot of hand gestures.
"We English are committed to keeping these crates safe. We signed a contract to do so. But they are too heavy. If this ship sails in a heavy sea they will almost certainly break through the bottom of the galley and into the water."
Then I take him to the galley alongside and show him the new hold and the beams below it that will spread out the weight. He finally understands my gestures and beams his agreement when I suggest that he and his men move the chests over here to the safer galley.
"You must do it yourself so that you know nothing is missing. Besides, my men are forbidden to touch any cargo we carry. That is why we English are trusted more than anyone else."
An hour later and the chests are safely stored in the special little hold that has been built to protect them from sliding around or crashing through the bottom of the galley. Everyone is very pleased.
Then I send a messenger to ask my various visitors to come see me to discuss an important matter related to the safety of the cargo on the chartered galley. Each comes and each agrees to my plan. As they should because it is so reasonable.
Each of them agrees that they will need to keep the location of the chests secret until the gold can be safely returned to the city. They also agree that the galley carrying the crates to safety will need to stop somewhere for whatever amount of time they need to hide them, perhaps days or even weeks.
And, of course, each agrees that because of extra time required to hide the crates we are entitled to a bigger payment for the use of the galley and that they will pay it before the galley sails - enough coins to be the equivalent of the value of the gold that is in two of the chests instead of just one as we initially agreed.
Each time our negotiations are successful Peter hands me the parchment with the original charter agreement and we quickly add the necessary amendments caused by the extra time and expenses and the higher price that will have to be paid for the use of our galley and its crew of Marines.
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Three mornings later the emperor finally leads the city's army out to fight. It doesn't go well. His army outnumbers the crusaders and Venetians by at least three to one. But at the last minute he gets cold feet and orders his men to return to the city without fighting.
By late that afternoon I've heard from all four of the men who have been secretly charged with taking the empire's gold into their personal possession in order to "hire mercenaries."
That night, many days earlier than I would have expected, the gold protectors and their retainers begin to arrive at the times we had agreed.
All I can do is nod my head in agreement with the plan for them to take the gold and watch while Peter accepts the rather large amount of coins they have each agreed to pay to use our galley and its crew of Marines and sailors.
First to arrive is the emperor himself although we are not supposed to know who it is and pretend we don't. He is, after all, in a monk's habit with its hood up and covering his head. The emperor, it seems, is departing with the gold, his eldest son, and many of his guards - and leaving the rest of his family and his courtiers and soldiers behind.
The only problem is that he has chartered one galley and his secret cargo is on another which has developed a dangerous leak. It is a problem that is easily solved. His own men can move the gold chests from where they are to a much superior eighty oar war galley with one of our very best captains and his fine crew.
"We English are proud of our reputation for honoring our contracts; it's good for business."
That's what I tell the monk through the white haired man acting as his interpreter.
"That's why we had the two requirements to which your representatives agreed when we made our contract" - which I promptly unroll and point out.
"First, since my men are never allowed to touch personal cargos, your men, not mine, must inspect the crates and move them to the galley which is to sail to wherever it is that you tell the galley's captain you want to go."
"Second, you must somewhere along the route of your voyage hide the crates at a secret place of your choice without any of my men ever knowing or seeing where you hide them. That way we English cannot be blamed if anyone knows where the gold is before you use it to hire mercenaries."
Nothing could be fairer or more reasonable; our integrity is greatly appreciated and our requirements quickly reaffirmed.
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We are soon gathered around the special cargo hold and the narrow hatch is pulled back and a candle lantern held down to reveal the crates stacked down below. Every one of them is open and ready for inspection and there is room for a man to stand next to them and inspect them.
"Please choose someone your trust to climb down the ladder into the hold and inspect the contents of your crates, Excellency. He can seal them up after he inspects them and pass them up here for your men to carry to the galley you and your party will be traveling on - it's that one over there. It's the best and safest one we have."
There is a brief conversation among our visitors and a young dandy in fine clothes climbs down the wooden ladder into the little cargo hold. He's carrying a candle lantern which Peter handed him.
He quickly holds something up for everyone to see and shouts up to the men standing around the opening above him. They are looking down into the hold and watching intently. There is no doubt about it. The gold bars are in the crates.
"Use this and screw down the screws to seal the lids so nothing falls out, then pass them up here," I have the interpreter tell him as I take the screwdriver one of our carpenters hands me and toss it down for the dandy to use.
That's when things go wrong. He obviously doesn't have a clue as to what to do.
"Come out," I tell him. He can't understand the words but the motion I make with my hand is clear. He hands the lantern to me when I hold out my hand to take it as he is climbing up the ladder; he's happy to be rid of it and wipes his hand on his pants.
"You do it Evans," I say to one of my men as soon as the dandy climbs out of the hold.
Evans immediately climbs in and gets to work. I hold up the lantern so he can see to work in its dim light and the people standing around the hatch can see him do it. Evans works fast and he knows what he is doing. The boxes are quickly resealed and Evans promptly climbs out.
Once again I motion for the dandy to climb down.
"Hand them up to the men up here." The boy tries despite the fact that they are obviously too heavy for him to manage. And when he does finally get a crate on his shoulder and manage to climb part way up the ladder he can't get the crate through the hatch opening. It's clear that the opening is slightly too narrow with the ladder in the way. What a mess.
"Come out," I tell him with a resigned look on my face and beckoning motion of my hand. What I am telling the young man to do is unmistakable despite the fact that he doesn't understand the words. Once again he climbs out.
While he's climbing up the ladder to get out I shout over my shoulder, "Where's Bob Little? Peter, send someone to get Bob Little."
Bob arrives a minute or two later and I tell him what to do. He climbs down into the hold and Peter pulls the ladder up. Bob is one of the tallest men in our company. Well over six feet some say. He doesn't need to be on the ladder to pass the crates up to the deck.
Crates begin coming out of the hold as fast as they can be carried away by the emperor's guards. When all the crates are out Peter puts the ladder back in and Bob climbs out. I hold the lantern up high and wave it over the empty hold so everyone can see that the hold is truly empty. Good grief; that was an ordeal.
Twenty minutes later we hear the rowing drum on the chartered galley and watch in the moonlight as the emperor and his crates leave the harbor.
According to our revised contract, the galley's
destination is wherever in the world the emperor wants to go. Somewhere along the way, wherever and whenever the emperor decides, the galley will stop while the emperor's guards unload and hide the gold.
Even if it takes a week or more, the sergeant captain and his crew will wait in their galley while the emperor's men hide the crates. That way he and his men can return whenever they wish and retrieve it at their leisure when they need it to pay the mercenaries - and we English are not to blame if it goes missing.
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The bishop and his servants and a chest full of coins to pay us arrive a couple hours after the emperor sails away with his guards and retainers. The bishop had heard rumors of the emperor's fleeing the city and is visibly relieved when the dim light of the lantern I am holding reveals the open crates and the gold that is his personal responsibility to spend.
His relief grows into a broad smile when one of his priests goes down to inspect them and verifies that they are full of gold bars.
After his priest reseals the crates he'll pass them up the ladder and the bishop's men themselves will carry the crates to the galley, our very best, which will take the bishop to wherever in the world he wants to go "to hire people to help us" and wait somewhere along the way while he hides them.
Not surprisingly, the crates still don't fit through the opening. So once again Bob Little is called. He climbs down and passes them up to the bishop's men to be carried to the galley that will carry the bishop and the crates to wherever he wants to hide them.
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We go through the same exact process once again when the chamberlain arrives the next morning with his payment, and yet again with the admiral in the afternoon.
Only when the admiral's galley is fading out of sight over the horizon do Peter and I go down to the newly built room in the cargo hold where the hundred crates of hastily gathered rocks had been stored.
It's hard to work in the dark - our shipyard carpenters can seal the little door between the two compartments when we get back to Cyprus.
- End of the Book -
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This has been Book Seven of "The English Archers" saga. Books one through six of the saga are available in Kindle editions. The parchments for the Eighth book are currently being pieced together and translated at the Bodleian Library. It will be released sometime in the autumn of 2015.
Readers may also enjoy the similarly action-packed novels of Martin Archer’s acclaimed “The Soldier” saga. They follow a young soldier who stays on active duty after a war and becomes a professional soldier - and then fights and serves everywhere from Vietnam to the Middle east and in the coming wars between China and Russia and between Israel and the Arabs.
All of Martin Archer’s novels are available as Kindle eBooks and will sooner or later be available in print. (Search for "Martin Archer" on Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk, Amazon.com.au, and other Amazon websites serving other countries. )
Other exciting eBooks by Martin Archer
“Soldiers and Marines” (The story of a young frontline soldier’s years of fighting in Korea)
“Peace and Conflict” (An older and more mature Chris Roberts fights in Vietnam with the Legion and then with the allies.)
“War Breaks Out” (Moscow orders and invasion of Germany and NATO fights back.)
“War in the East” (The West sides with Moscow when China invades the Russian east to reclaim its lost territories.)
“The Islamic–Israeli War” (A Coalition of Islamic countries launches a surprise attack on Israel that forever changes Israel and the Middle East.)
Sample Pages from Book One of the Archer Saga
“THE ARCHER”
Chapter One
“THE ARCHER AND THE BISHOP”
The weary men straggle out of the desert and into the port late in the morning. There are eighteen of them, all English archers, and most of them have walked day and night for the past three days.
The only exceptions are two wounded men on a makeshift litter being dragged behind a dusty camel and a brown robed priest riding on an exhausted horse and holding a sleeping young boy. The boy is wrapped in a dirty priest’s robe to protect him against the chill of the spring day.
The dirty and begrimed young man walking at the front of the column stops and waits until the priest reaches him.
“How’s George?”
He gestures with a tired wave of his arm towards the sleeping child as he asks.
“Your son is fine,” answers the priest as the horse stops.
The boy wakes up and twists around to get more comfortable in the Priest’s arms when the horse stops. Then he sits up straight and looks around.
“Put me down Uncle Thomas, I want to walk with my father and the men for a while. My arse is sore and I’m thirsty.”
And with that he wriggles out of the priest’s arms and slides off the horse. He is barefoot and wearing a rough brown shirt that hangs to his knees. Edward the tailor made it for him before he’d been killed by the unlucky stone that had been catapulted over the wall by the Saracens and hit him in the head.
“Look Papa, what is that?”
The boy asks the question as he massages his rear with one hand and with the other points to the flat gray expanse of the Mediterranean that spreads out beyond stone houses and the ships in the harbor.
“That’s the big water I told you about, the one that is so salty you can’t drink it. And those things out there on top of the water are the big ships. They’re called cogs and they carry people across the big water just like the boats on a river can carry people across the river. The only difference is that those out there are much bigger.”
The boy is not convinced as he stands there studying the scene in front of us.
“They look little.”
“They’ll look bigger when we get closer.”
“Really?”
The boy looks back intensely at the scene in front of him. Then he shakes his head and looks back at his father questioningly.
“Your Uncle Thomas is right, George. All of us can fit on one of those cogs with room to spare. The big ones can carry as many as a hundred men or even more. That’s how your uncle Thomas and I and all the archers got here from England. Almost a hundred of us came on each boat. And that’s how we’ll go back – all together.”
Except we’ve got to get our pay so we can hire a boat and there will only be eighteen of us instead of the one hundred and ninety two that came out from England with King Richard seven years ago - and that’s if we can get the arrow out of Brian’s leg without it rotting and Athol the ox drover stops getting dizzy and falling down when he tries to walk.
What I don’t tell George is that we’ll have no way to hire a boat unless the bishop pays us all the money Lord Edmund contracted to pay us to defend his fief and villages two years ago. Well we’ll know soon enough.
The walk down the hill to the port takes about an hour. We follow the dirt trail down the hill to the low walled caravanserai where the traders and their horses and livestock stay outside the city walls.
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The city is so packed with Christians and Jews fleeing the oncoming Saracens that the city gates are closed and the master of the caravanserai adjacent to the city is only allowing his traditional merchant customers and rich refugees to enter. Everyone else is camping and starving outside - thousands of them. Even at a distance we can smell the people and their livestock and see the dust they are raising.
Shouts and a great wail go up as we come into sight and the people see us walking in. They know what our arrival means - it means Lord Edmund’s castle and lands have been lost and the Saracens will be coming.
At best, these people will have to convert to Islam; and most likely they’ll all be put to the sword or taken as slaves. And so will we if the Bishop of Damascus doesn’t pay us so we can get away or ransom ourselves to freedom.
The caravanserai master himself, a great bearded man, comes to the gate with
several armed retainers as we approach and the shouting and weeping crowd grows around us with their shouted questions and reaching arms. He looks over my little column and then at me with a baleful eye as I stop in front of him with George holding my hand.
“So it is true? Lord Edmund and the castle have finally fallen?”
“Aye, they have; the road to Damascus is open.”
The caravanserai master crosses himself.
“Well, everyone needs a caravanserai so I guess I’ll be a Moslem again until the Christians or Jews come back. But these people,” he says as he shakes his head in resignation and gestures both towards the people gathering around us and the distant crowds, “I just don’t know.”
Well I know. Anyone who stays here will either be slaughtered or become a slave. That’s why we left four days ago when Lord Edmund fell.
Where is the Bishop of Damascus?
“He’s in the city at the Church of Saint Mary.” Then he gestures at the crowd again and shakes his head disgust and resignation, and adds “but you better hurry if you want to see him. I hear he’s about to run off and leave us.
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Want to read more? Search Amazon.com or Amazon.co.uk for “Martin Archer”
Corrections, Suggests and Comments? They are truly welcome. Please contact Martin at [email protected]
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Sample pages from Book One of “The Soldier” saga
Book One
SOLDIERS AND MARINES
Dust and gravel periodically spray out behind the Jeep as it slowly backs up towards the top of the low ridge. The early morning sun is bright and already hot, and the periodic sound of thunder in the background has been coming closer for two days.
Three men are in the slowly backing Jeep as it moves backwards over the abandoned farm land and up towards the ridgeline. The passenger sits impassively almost as if he’s in a trance. The gunner on the mounted machine gun crouches and squints down the barrel into the sun as he constantly moves it to the left and right. He is chewing furiously on a mouthful of gum.
The Archer's Gold: Medieval Military fiction: A Novel about Wars, Knights, Pirates, and Crusaders in The Years of the Feudal Middle Ages of William Marshall ... (The Company of English Archers Book 7) Page 15
