The Archer: Historical Fiction: exciting novel about Marines and Naval Warfare of medieval England set in feudal times with knights,Templars, and crusaders during Richard the lionhearted's reign

by Martin Archer

  “Thomas Cook, get some flat bread and meat on the fire; Billy, you run and tell all the drovers to empty their wagons and gallop their horses down to the dock. That’s our cog and, from the looks of it, it’s got a lot of men on board who are wounded and injured. Tell the first drover you reach to bring water and wine. Everyone else follow me. Let’s go lads.”

  And with that I join the men who are already running towards the dock.

  Harold’s cog looks devastated as it bangs up against the dock and a hundred willing hands reach for its mooring lines. Harold himself is sitting on the deck giving orders; unable to stand because of his wounded leg. Other badly injured men are laid out all over the deck and more are being carried out of the captain’s castle as we arrive. The men look absolutely exhausted.

  I can hardly contain myself as I vault over the deck railing and rush up to Harold to shake his hand.

  “You made it, Harold. You made it. Good on you. Welcome home.”

  @@@@@

  “You did exactly the right thing, Harold. It was a good decision; and, by God man, you and your men are rich.”

  That’s what William says to me the next day as he counts twelve gold bezants into my hand and my smiling men line up behind me to get their prize money. And there’s still a chance the fourth galley will show up and I’ll get three more.

  Later that day Lord William does something I’m not sure I understand - after the funeral services Bishop Thomas conducts for our dead, he and the bishop begin having meetings with me and each of my prize masters and sergeants. The barber says I’m not to walk and take a chance of ripping open my leg again so I’m carried into the archers’ quarters on a plank and carefully helped onto a stool so I won’t rip my slash open. So far, thank you Jesus, it hasn’t started to smell.

  Lord William and Bishop Thomas meet with us each separately and I’m first. Then I stay with them as the others come and go one at a time. Some of the sessions last but a few minutes; others for quite some time. It was strange and for a while I even forgot to worry about my leg.

  We sit around the archers’ wooden table in the citadel and each of the men is given a wooden bowl of strong wine when he comes in. Then he is asked to describe what he’d seen and what he and others had done. Lord William and the Bishop have bowls too but I notice theirs rarely needed topping off even though they appear to be constantly sipping when the men do. That’s when I started copying them and going easy although I certainly enjoyed that first bowl.

  It is all very casual and friendly. Even so, some of the men are quite nervous at first. Including me, that’s for sure. But inevitably everyone who comes in gets excited and is pleased to have a chance to tell their tale and give their opinions.

  Lord William and the Bishop seem to be particularly interested in hearing who among their men had done well and who had not.

  I learned a lot too - and identified several men I will want with me the next time I go to sea; and at least one stupid bugger I hope I never see again.

  Chapter Twenty

  YORAM’S TALE

  My galley is able to reach the relative safety of the Acre harbor just before the big storm arrives. The winds thrown up by the storm and hard rowing got us through the harbor entrance just in time. But then we have to spin around to face the storm and keep rowing just to avoid being pushed into the stone jetty by the gale force winds.

  Some of the other ships in the harbor are not so lucky. I stand on the deck of my galley and watch as several cogs and a strange looking Arab ship drag their anchors and smash against the jetty. Through the rain I can see their desperate crews try to escape by jumping onto the dock as their ships smash into it. Only a few of them make it. But they had to try and so will all of us if it comes to it.

  Then darkness arrives and the shifting winds make the situation much worse. We can’t see either the dock or the wall of big stones protecting the harbor - so all we can do was row into the wind and hope we are holding in a good place. The men are tired but they understand the situation – and they call out to each other not to quit.

  Twice we almost crash into the harbor wall in the darkness. We are only saved when a lightening flash lets us see the harbor wall in time for our exhausted rowers to stop rowing. That, of course, results in the galley being blown sideways.

  And then it happens – the wind shifts and one of the cogs in the harbor comes out of the darkness and driving rain to be blown against our galley and break off a number of our oars that are rowing on the port side; we can no longer row to hold our position against the wind.

  A quick witted young English sailor saves us. He is one of the men we recruited on our first visit to Latika. He is rowing on the starboard side of the lower tier of oars and instantly knows what to do when the oars on the port side suddenly snap and the oarsmen are thrown off their benches. He instantly begins giving orders and the oarsmen instinctively obey him.

  Basically he orders most of the oarsmen on his side to bring their oars in through the oar ports and push them through the oar ports on the other side and “row like hell.”

  The oarsmen do what he tells them and their efforts on the lower oar bank offset the continuing rowing on the other side by the rowers on the upper bank. Then, while the rowers’ drummer and the deck sergeants watch with their mouths open in dismay he rushes up and down the three steps between the rowing decks giving orders to various rowers to pull more or less until both sides are again pulling equally and control is regained.

  I’m on the deck watching in horror as we come around to point into the wind just in time to avoid smashing against the dock. There is no doubt about it; he saved us.

  @@@@@

  Everything is quiet and serene as the sun comes up bright and clear in the morning. You would not think anything had happened at all if it don’t see the masts of two sunken cogs poking out of the water and all the wooden planks and bodies floating in the harbor and the roofless warehouses surrounding it. And, of course, there are numerous townspeople standing around and pointing and talking to each other.

  My men are absolutely exhausted as we edge up to the stone dock and toss our mooring lines to a couple of gaping harbor slaves. Most of our men just slump down over their oars in exhaustion, too tired to even go for food and water.

  “Who are you?” I finally have a chance to ask the young man.

  “Anders, Sir. People call me Andy.”

  “Your accent is English, Andy. Who are your people?’

  “I’m from Putney Heath, Sir. That’s a little village in Surrey. One of the Duke’s holdings, you know. My father is Ander the village smith.”

  “Well Andy Anders’ son I saw what you did and I want to thank you for it. Your quick thinking saved us and we all know it. And so will Lord William when I next see him.” Who will undoubtedly reward him handsomely; and if he doesn’t, I will certainly find a way. Ander’s son surely saved us.

  Then I think about things for a moment.

  “Go get something to eat, Andy Anderson. The cook was able to skin the wet bark off some of his firewood and get the fire going under the cooking iron a couple of minutes ago. The bread is almost ready and the cheese in the cheese amphora stayed dry even though we lost everything else. Report to me in my castle up in the bow when you’re finished; I want you to accompany me when I go ashore in a couple of minutes. Bring a ship’s shield and a blade from the rack.”

  @@@@@

  A little after sunup Andy Anderson and I weave our way through the crowd of men eating on the galley deck and go ashore to find the Acre merchants. It’s time to get the latest news about the Saracens and see what opportunities might be available to us.

  We don’t have to look very far. They are easy to find – the market stalls in the lane running up from the dock are packed with merchants and their men making repairs and waving their hands as they talk excitedly to each other about the damage they suffered or avoided.

  My God; it’s almost as if they enjoyed the storm for all the e
xcitement it caused and their survival from it.

  Andy and I and a couple of our more steady men at arms climb over the galley’s railing and no more than get our feet on solid land when I recognize a couple of the merchants I had met the last time I was here. They are standing in front of one of the harbor warehouses with a number of townspeople who are looking and pointing at the debris and bodies in the harbor.

  We start to walk towards them – and when we begin heading their way the merchants see us and wave a greeting which seems quite cheery under the circumstances.

  But then there is a shout, “it’s the English; they’re back” - and a mob of people begins running towards us waving and crying out. My heart skips a beat; we’re in serious trouble.

  “Rally to the Captain,” Andy shouts back to the men eating and lounging on the galley’s deck as he steps in front of me and draws his sword.

  We are quickly surrounded by the crowd before any of the men on the galley’s deck can reach us. But, thank you Jesus, the people are not hostile, only excited and desperate.

  Some of them want employment but most of are Christians and Jewish refugees from Syria and Jerusalem seeking passage, any kind of passage, to get out of the Holy Land.

  The situation soon becomes clear as they grab at our clothes and shout and plead. It seems that in the past few weeks there has been another Saracen victory by the heathen king they call Saladin. As a result, another great wave of refugees is pouring into coastal cities still held by the Crusaders.

  It’s a very sad situation. But lots of rich refugees is exactly what William sent me here to find.

  I know the drill from watching William and Thomas and so do the men who’ve been with us on previous voyages. They quickly inform the others.

  “Sailors, archers, and men at arms seeking employment form a line over there; anyone with enough coins who wants to buy a passage to Cyprus and safety form a line over there by that man, the big one with the bread in his hand who is waving his cap.”

  All goes well after that. The merchants sit patiently in the shade and wait while I finished signing up a couple of sailors who claim to be experienced pilots who knew these waters like the back of their hands and the only two archers, both crossbowmen from France, from the many fighting men who apply to join us.

  Then Andy and I go over to the other mob of people and collect coins and jewelry from those willing to pay enough for passage to Cyprus – and listen to the desperate pleas and entreaties from those who cannot. Andy Anders’ son comes with me and collects their money in the same old leather sack I’d carried when I collected for Lord William in what now seems like the distant past. We fill it to the brim.

  When all that is finished and the crowd slowly disperses I’m finally able to spend some time with the merchants. They’ve waited for hours so I’m pretty sure they have something important to say. They do. They come straight to the point as we walk together to a tea shop inside the city walls – they’d heard about Randolph setting up a galley to operate out of Alexandria and want something similar for Acre.

  All I can do is tell them I will bring it up with Lord William the next time I see him but have no idea how he might react. Actually I do; I think he’ll like it.

  We talk of many things - about the Saracens; about where I might buy the food and water we need for our return to Cyprus; and about where in Acre and the nearby coastal villages I might find experienced shipwrights and joiners who could be employed to help us build ships on Cyprus.

  The merchants, however, keep coming back to their desire to charter one of our galleys for their own use just as the merchants in Alexandria have done. One of them, a tall beak-nosed Greek, informs me he’s received a letter from his brother who is a merchant in Alexandria and has a good idea of what kind of place we would want for a galley and its crew.

  All the men sitting around the table nod when he said that he will try to find something for us – either in Acre or in a smaller and quieter nearby coastal town where the local lord is weak and wouldn’t interfere. The others are emphatic; they all loudly promise they’ll help and they all nod and made sounds of agreement when one of their number sadly explains why.

  “Our situation is more precarious than it appears. The city walls of Acre are weak and badly defended. There is no question but that city will fall quickly if the Saracens attack. The Hospitallers’ fortress, on the other hand, is incredibly strong and well supplied and defended. It has enough men and food reserves to hold for years – but it won’t last long if the Grand Master lets common folk like us take refuge in it and eat up its food reserves.”

  He sighs and leans towards me.

  “We think it most likely the knights will shut the entrance tunnel and not let us into the fortress when the Saracens come. And that means our families will be slaughtered or sold into slavery. We could buy cogs and fishing boats and use them to try to escape, of course, and some of us have already done so. But, as you well know, the wind is fickle off the desert hereabouts and we may need to fight our way to safety - that means we need a galley with oars and experienced fighting men and sailors to pull our cogs and fishing boats out to sea so we can get away.”

  I nod sympathetically and try to explain what would be required in addition to a lot of coins.

  “Being inside the Acre city walls might be better for attracting passengers and parchments to carry,” I tell them. “But even more important is that we have a safe place for our crew to live and a place on the beach where they can pull the galley out of the water during the storm season and practice with their weapons when they are not at sea.”

  I know all that because I was with William in both Limassol and Alexandria when he negotiated with the local merchants.

  Such places will be difficult to find in Acre, the merchants all agree, particularly if they have to be near each other and close to the water. But such places do exist, they say, and they promise to find them for us if we will contract to station a galley here for them to use if the need arises.

  “If need be,” one of them announces pompously, “I’ll provide my warehouse.” The others roll their eyes. I wonder what that’s all about.

  “We know what the merchants of Alexandria are paying to have a galley standing by with a captain and forty sailors and men at arms,” another merchant says. “Please tell the Lord Admiral we are willing to pay as much and provide comparable facilities.”

  I have a lot to think about as Andy and I walk back to the galley surrounded by a dozen or more of our sword carrying men at arms and an equal amount of merchants and their armed retainers.

  @@@@@

  As soon as the sun comes the next morning I send a messenger to the stall of the grain merchant who seemed to be the leader of the Acre merchants and ask for a meeting. We meet two hours later. Angelo and Andy come with me and I bring half a dozen archers and men at arms as guards just in case.

  “I’ve thought about what you have suggested and, although I’m not sure, I think Lord William will agree. So here is what I propose – you deposit two hundred bezant or Damascus gold coins with me so I can show them to Lord William to prove you are serious and will have a suitable place for the galley and its crew when it arrives. In return I will give you a parchment that you can use to get that same amount of coins from the English Company if no galley comes - but if our galley comes, and there is no place for the galley to be pulled ashore and no suitable place for its crew, we’ll keep the coins and go away; if it stays, you give us four hundred more of the same coins.”

  Two hours of shouts, arm waving, and all the other things that make up a successful negotiation later, we all spit on the palms of our hands and shake on the deal – and I begin writing it out on one of the parchments I’d brought with me. We agree on one hundred and eighty Damascus gold coins now and three hundred and twenty when the galley arrives with thirty five or more experienced sailors and fighting men.

  That’s more coins than William got for the Alexandria galley but Acr
e is more dangerous and we’ll have to give the money back if a galley does not come.

  Then I hurry back to the dock where my galley is tied. Angelo, the elderly Maltese pilot who is the sergeant captain of the galley’s sailors, thinks we have enough room to squeeze sixty more recruits and passengers on board. I want to sign them up and leave for Cyprus as soon as possible, hopefully before the sun goes down if the water and supplies are aboard. Angelo is a strange fellow. I swear he walks like a cat I once saw in my teacher’s house in Damascus.

  Chapter Twenty One

  “WHAT SHOULD WE DO?”

  Yoram and Angelo returned today in triumph. With their galley safely in the harbor, it means that all four of our galleys that set out with the cog last week have returned from successful voyages to the Holy Land and every one of them returned loaded with recruits, passengers, and coins.

  Yoram is particularly successful because he also brought back another splendid opportunity. But should we take it up or not? It’s time to start thinking about George’s future and make some decisions.

  “Well Thomas, what should we do?”

  That is the question I ask my somewhat priestly brother as we sit around the wooden table in the moonlight quaffing bowls of Andrew’s latest brew. I ask it quietly for George is curled up in my lap fast asleep. It’s summer now and, as you might imagine, we’re all spending a lot of time outside because of the summer heat.

  “Acre for sure,” is Thomas’ response. “Yoram negotiated a good contract with the merchants, he surely did.”

  Then, with a sly smile and a playful nudge of his finger to my chest, he adds “better even than the one you negotiated for the galley Randolph has in Alexandria.”

  “Aye. Damn your eyes, you’re right about that and there’s no denying it. He’s a good man. And the coins he picked up are more than enough to make it worthwhile - we’ll come out well ahead even if we lose the galley before we collect the rest of the money.”

  “It’s not just the additional money, William. He got the Acre merchants to agree to take a galley with only thirty five fighting men and sailors instead the forty you have in Alexandria with Randolph. They paid more because with only thirty five of our men there will be more places for the merchants’ families if the Saracens come and they have to run for it.”