Knightfall--The Infinite Deep

by DAVID B. COE

She doesn’t answer right away, and she can’t keep herself from peeking over at Egan.

  “What is she talking about?” Melitta asks Adelina’s father.

  “It is nothing. A small matter, settled now.”

  “Tell me.” The resolve in her face, the steel in her voice. She is implacable.

  Slowly, her father relates the story of what happened in the Tern’s hold, and then on the deck. When he falters, or fails to remember some critical point, Adelina speaks up.

  Melitta listens without saying a word. But the very nature of her silence shifts as their tale unfolds. By the time they finish, Adelina has grown afraid. The woman is more formidable in that moment than any of the Templars.

  She points at Egan, who eats his fish and roots, oblivious. “That one?”

  “Yes. But all is well now, Melitta. The Templars have spoken with him, and he has apologized to Adelina and to me.”

  “Apologized?” Melitta repeats with contempt. “That sufficed?”

  Adelina notices his hesitation. “Not at the time,” he says, an admission. “But given a day to think about it, I see the wisdom—”

  He has time for no more than that.

  She stands, and strides to where Egan sits.

  The man looks up at her, scowls. “Yes?”

  Melitta grabs hold of him with both hands, pulls him up, and digs a fist into his gut. Egan doubles over and retches. She pounds her knee into his face. There is a sound like the crunching of shells underfoot, and blood sprays across the ship’s deck. Egan topples to the wooden planks, but she hoists him up again. She punches him in the face. More blood. He falls back, smacking his head on the deck.

  By this time, Killias, Godfrey, and Landry are converging on her. The captain shouts her name. Adelina has begun to cry. She doesn’t know why the woman is doing this, but she knows it is her fault, that the story she and her father told has prompted this assault.

  Melitta kicks Egan in the side. He folds in on himself, retches again, vomits onto the deck.

  Adelina’s father tries to shield her from the blood and sick and Egan’s moans, but she stares past him, taking it all in.

  The captain reaches Melitta, as do the knights. They pull her away from Egan. Her breathing is heavy. Blood stains her breeches and the knuckles on her right hand.

  “What are you doing?” Killias demands.

  “Punishing this man as he should have been punished by the Templars.”

  “Punished for what?”

  “Tell him,” she says, rounding on Godfrey.

  “This is a matter that has nothing to do with you or your crew,” Godfrey says to Killias. “We handled it as we saw fit, and to the satisfaction of those victimized by this man. Your daughter has no right—”

  “He stole from them. He ate provisions that were intended for all on their ship. And then not only did he lie to conceal his crime, he tried to blame the girl.” She points at Adelina.

  She has never had anyone defend her with such passion, or such violence. She knows she should be horrified by what Melitta has done. But she isn’t. Ashamed though she is to admit it, she wishes her father had done the same the other night. Melitta, who only met her this day, has done more to avenge her wounded pride than any of the Templars, more than her own father.

  “We have dealt with this,” Godfrey says, “in a manner that is consistent with the teachings of our Order.”

  “A man who steals and lies and defames another member of his crew comes under the lash. That is the law of the sea.” To her father, Melitta says, “Tell them. This is the way of things.”

  Godfrey lifts both hands, a gesture of placation. “First of all, he is not a member of our crew, and neither is Adelina.”

  “Of course they are,” Melitta says, speaking to him as if he were simple. “You have a complement of how many on your ship? Twenty? A few more? Every man, woman, and child is part of your crew. If you are boarded, every one of them will be a soldier. That is the way of the sea as well.”

  “Had he been a member of our crew,” Killias says, “he would have been disciplined, just as Melitta describes.”

  “Perhaps. But he is a passenger on our ship, not yours. And your daughter had no right to attack him in this way.”

  “Shall we ask Adelina what she thinks?” Melitta demands of him. “Or Simon?”

  Godfrey considers the father and daughter. Then he shakes his head. “No,” he says, sounding more subdued. “I don’t believe that would be to anyone’s benefit.”

  “Because you know I’m right.”

  Godfrey spares her one last glance. He turns to Draper. “Do what you can for his wounds.” To Killias he says, “I trust you have bandages and healing herbs on your vessel.”

  “We do. You shall have all you need to treat the man.”

  “Thank you.”

  Godfrey walks away. Killias raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. But he doesn’t rebuke his daughter in any other way. Melitta glares down at Egan, who hasn’t moved since she kicked him. She walks toward the rear of the ship. As she passes Adelina and Simon, Adelina reaches for her hand. Melitta slows.

  “Thank you,” Adelina whispers, and lets her go.

  Chapter 7

  While the captain’s daughter leaned on the rail at the stern of the ship, ignoring the rest of them, Landry and Gawain helped Egan to his feet, guided him to a barrel, and had him sit. At the same time, a member of the Melitta’s crew accompanied Draper below to fetch bandages and herbs.

  Egan’s nose still bled. Landry was certain the woman had broken it. She might also have cracked a rib or two with her last kick. A cut high on his cheek seeped blood as well, and the man had a lump the size of a quail’s egg on the back of his head. Blood and vomit were smeared on his shirt and breeches.

  Yet Landry had the feeling that Egan was fortunate to have come through the beating as well as he did. Left to continue her assault, which she surely would have done had her father and the Templars not intervened, the woman might have killed him.

  “She had no right,” Egan murmured, the injury to his nose making the words thick and unclear. “I gave no offense to her or her ship.”

  Tancrede raised both eyebrows, but kept his thoughts to himself. Landry chose to do the same.

  “What are you going to do to her?”

  “Do to her?” Landry repeated. “What do you mean?”

  “She assaulted me while I was under your protection. Look at me! Surely she deserves to be punished!”

  “Here comes Draper,” Tancrede said, waving to the Turcopole, who had just emerged onto the deck and now hurried toward them. “He’ll minister to your injuries.”

  Tancrede started away from the man, and motioned to Landry that he should follow. As they passed Draper, he said, “Good luck to you.”

  “What?”

  “Speak only of your ministrations to his injuries. Ignore anything else he might say.”

  Draper turned a half-circle as they continued by him. “What is he going to say?”

  Neither Tancrede nor Landry broke stride.

  “You’ll be fine!” Tancrede said over his shoulder.

  Godfrey and the Melitta’s captain spoke near midship. They stood shoulder to shoulder, facing in opposite directions, both with their arms crossed over their chests. Even seeing them in profile, Landry thought both men appeared displeased.

  “He’s going to be fine,” Tancrede said, as they joined the men. “But he wants the woman punished.”

  The look Killias gave him could have rimed the sails of his ship. “That is not going to happen. Melitta was right in what she said. A man on a ship of mine – on almost any ship you would encounter on the Mediterranean – who did the things that man did, would have been disciplined. Six lashes at least. He might have been denied food as well.”

  “So you’ve told me,” Godfrey said. “And as I’ve already told you, this is no ordinary ship. None of us chose to put to sea. Like the rest of our passengers, Egan was forced to flee A
cre. He is here by chance, a victim of circumstance.”

  “How he came to be here – how any of you wound up on your vessel – is of no consequence. You are here now. He betrayed every one of you. The child might have been most aggrieved, but his crimes were committed against all on your ship.”

  “By that same logic, might we also say that your daughter’s assault on him was an attack on all of us?”

  Killias went still, like a dog on the hunt. “You are treading a most dangerous path, Templar.”

  Godfrey showed no sign of being cowed by the man. “I’m merely trying to point out that there is more than one way to view this situation. I see no need for any more violence. But perhaps if your daughter were to apologize for her…”

  He trailed off in the face of Killias’s laughter.

  “You’ve met my daughter. Do you truly believe you can convince her to apologize for anything?”

  “That is beside the point, Father.”

  The four of them turned. Melitta stood just beyond their circle. Landry hadn’t heard her approach.

  “Why should I apologize? What good would an apology do? What solace did that man’s apology bring to Adelina? None at all. You know it to be true, or at least you would have had you cared enough to consider the matter. Having him apologize to the girl did nothing for her. But I would imagine it made you feel better about yourselves.” She directed her glare at each of them. “Perhaps it assuaged the guilt you carried for believing him instead of her when he first accused her of stealing.

  “I would suggest you all consider the matter closed. I will not apologize. I certainly will not allow myself to be punished. And I don’t imagine your friend will dare attempt to avenge the beating I gave him.”

  “He’s not our friend,” Landry said.

  Godfrey put a hand on his shoulder. “Landry.”

  “He’s not. As you point out yourself,” he continued, addressing Melitta, “he is part of our ship’s complement, and so it is our duty to protect him. But he is no friend of mine, and I have not forgiven him for what he did to the girl, to all of us really.”

  She quirked an eyebrow and turned to Godfrey. “At least one of you talks sense.”

  The commander didn’t respond to her, but he did face the captain again. “Perhaps it’s best if my people leave you. We appreciate all that you have done for us. I believe we owe you our lives. But we would best be on our way.”

  “There is no need for that,” Killias said, relaxing his stance. “Unless you have discovered a cache of food, or conjured one out of seawater and air, I believe you are better off remaining with us. In lieu of an apology, or a lashing for my daughter, however deserving she may be—” He grinned to soften this. “—you should allow us to help you repair your mast.”

  “Do you believe it can be mended?”

  “Possibly. It might not hold up long in another storm, but if the repairs are done properly, it should withstand a light wind.”

  Godfrey smiled. “That would be most welcome.”

  “Very well.” Killias marked the position of the sun in the western sky. “There is still food aplenty to be eaten. We will begin work on the mast with first light.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  Landry didn’t know how many among the two crews had heard all that was said in their parley, but it seemed that every person on the Melitta let out a held breath. Some of those from the Templar ship returned to their meals. Others were content to mill about on the deck of the larger ship, confident that for this night they would be safe.

  Simon approached Landry, uncertain to the point of diffidence. “I fear we may have caused you a good bit of trouble. I’m sorry for that.”

  “None of this is your fault. Or your daughter’s. And all is well now. The two of you should enjoy your food, and take comfort in knowing that our ship may soon be seaworthy again.”

  “That’s good news. But still—”

  Landry stopped him with a raised hand. “All of us have had our fill of apologies and talk of contrition. It’s time we moved on.”

  Simon weighed this, then tipped his head in agreement. “Very well. Thank you.”

  He moved off again, back to Adelina. A short time later, Landry noticed that Melitta approached them and sat beside Simon, as she had earlier in the day.

  The sun dipped below the western horizon. The sky darkened and members of Killias’s crew lit torches on the deck of the galley. Others brought forth bottles of the anise-flavored spirit Landry had tasted earlier. This time, they didn’t bother to water it down. Drinking it diluted in order to survive was one thing. A Templar did not partake of such drink in its pure form. Still, Landry sniffed at the bottle before passing it on to one of Killias’s sailors. Soon after, someone pushed another bottle into his hand. He inhaled from this one, too, enjoying the aroma.

  “Careful, brother,” Tancrede said, taking the bottle from him. “We wouldn’t want the scent to lure you into partaking in more dangerous ways.” He took a whiff of the stuff himself.

  Landry grinned, and reached to reclaim the bottle. Tancrede held him at arm’s length and made a show of sniffing it again.

  “Careful, brother,” Landry echoed, laughing.

  Godfrey appeared on the far side of Tancrede and plucked the liquor from his hand. “I think you’ve both snorted enough.” He handed the bottle to a passing sailor. “It’s time we returned to our ship.”

  “Should we gather the others?” Tancrede asked.

  “Just the Templars.”

  Landry surveyed the galley. A few of the women from the Gray Tern spoke and laughed with Killias’s sailors. While he watched, one of them allowed a man to lead her down into the ship’s hold.

  Quietly, he and Tancrede approached their fellow knights and told them that Godfrey wanted them back on the Tern. The men complied without dissent. Simon crossed back to their ship as well, carrying Adelina in his arms. She appeared to have fallen asleep.

  A man from the Melitta emerged from the ship’s hold bearing a lyre. He settled himself on the port rail of his ship and began to pluck at the strings. Eventually he sang as well, his voice deep and melodic. The music blended with the now-familiar sounds of life at sea: the rhythm of swells lapping at the hull, the whine of stretched rope, and the complaint of old wood.

  Landry remained above deck, his arms resting on the rails near the stern of the ship. Tancrede sat against the hull nearby. The Templars did not bother to light torches on the Tern. They had enough light from the moon and the flames that danced on the Melitta.

  Not long after descending into the hold with his daughter, Simon emerged again into the night. Landry watched as he crossed to the planks that spanned the water between the two vessels and walked back to the larger ship. Melitta greeted him on the other side, took his hand, and led him down into the hold.

  A pang of envy squeezed Landry’s heart, catching him unprepared.

  I have taken a vow of chastity. I have devoted my life and body to service of the Lord. Why would I be jealous?

  “Because I am a fool,” he muttered out loud.

  Tancrede glanced his way but remained silent. Landry gazed at the sky, searching for familiar patterns in the stars. Before long, though, he looked to the deck of the galley again. He couldn’t have said what he hoped to see.

  * * *

  They ignored him. All of them. The Templars, the sailors, the Jews, the woman and her father. They pretended he wasn’t there. To be sure, the one Templar – the Turcopole – had tended to his wounds, and been polite enough as he did so. But after binding a pungent poultice to his bruised ribs, and cleaning the gash on his cheek, even that one left him to be with his friends.

  None wanted him there. None would have condemned the woman had she drawn a blade and cut out his heart. On the contrary, they would have rejoiced as they dumped his corpse into the sea.

  He had been humiliated, mocked, shunned, beaten. And he saw no path to redemption. Even whole of body, he was no match fo
r any of the men on either ship. Good Lord, the woman had beaten him bloody. In the Holy Land, he had been a man of some means. He’d had standing, respect. But with Acre’s fall he had lost everything. He was nothing now. An object of derision, an outcast among outcasts.

  There was naught for him to do but sit alone, hunched over the bit of food they had allowed him. At least he had satisfied the hunger that plagued him earlier on their journey. Small consolation.

  When the first bottles of spirit appeared on the galley, no one thought to offer one to him. The bottles orbited the vessel, always beyond his grasp, as remote as the moon. Women from the Tern who had said not a word to him since the incident with the girl threw themselves into the arms of these ignorant sailors. Mere moments before, the captain’s whore of a daughter had taken the Jew below, leading him by the hand.

  He longed for revenge, but had no idea how he might achieve it. He could sneak onto the Tern and take the life of the brat who had caused all of this. But even if he reached her – small chance of that, given he could hardly walk – someone would be there to protect her. The Templars would finally have the excuse they sought to run him through. Much the same would happen were he to sneak below and find the Jew and the whore, defenseless in the act of love.

  No, there had to be some other way. He was not a man of violence. But he was canny. He always had been. There would come a time when cunning and fate would allow him to strike back at those who had shamed him. The Templars might despise him, but they would not leave him here with Killias’s ship, nor would they abandon him on some barren rock in the middle of the sea. Their sense of duty, of Christian charity, wouldn’t allow it.

  They would provide for him, even as they continued to disregard him. Fine. Let them. That suited his intentions.

  He nibbled what remained of his food, stood, limped to the planks, and then over to his ship. Once there, he made his way below. The Turcopole followed him, asked after his wounds, inspected his bandages. Maybe this one was better than the others. Maybe, when the time came, if there was some way to spare this one the worst of whatever retribution he devised, he would do so.

  Not at the expense of his vengeance on the others, though. If the Turcopole had to suffer, so be it. He would not grant mercy to all in order to save this one. He wasn’t worth it.