by DAVID B. COE
Godfrey hesitated.
A smile crossed the man’s face. “I thought not.”
He left them without saying more, climbing onto the deck and walking overhead. A few seconds later Tancrede heard laughter from above.
Not long after, the rhythmic splash of sweeps reached them from outside the ship, and the galley surged forward. For Tancrede, who had remained on deck for even the worst of the storm they had endured, riding over swells and troughs while in the hold proved uncomfortable. It hadn’t occurred to him that he might be bothered by the motion of a ship, but he couldn’t recall when last he had been confined to a hold for more than a few moments.
After they had been under way for some time, Landry asked, “Are you all right?”
“I’d be better above.”
“Now you know how the rest of us felt on the Tern.”
Tancrede didn’t feel well enough to acknowledge the gibe. He sat in that spot nearest to the opening, wishing for just a moment or two above, the touch of a cool breeze, the scent of sea air. His arms, back, and shoulders had begun to ache from being bound for so long in such an awkward position, and his wounds still throbbed.
After a while, Thomas lost consciousness. Tancrede doubted he would wake again. The movement of the vessel remained steady, and from what he could see through the gap in the hull, the sun still shone. A small blessing, that. He would have found rougher weather unbearable.
An hour passed, maybe two. Tancrede couldn’t gauge the time.
“We haven’t encountered the skiff,” Landry said, breaking a lengthy silence. “We would have slowed and we would have heard… something.”
“Maybe the Monk got them,” Gawain said.
“Maybe. Or maybe they reached land before either ship overtook them. I choose to believe that.”
Gawain dipped his chin. “Then I will as well.”
Sometime later, as the sky visible to them from within the cage began to darken to azure, the rhythm of the oars, which had hardly wavered at all, slowed noticeably and then ceased altogether.
The Templars exchanged glances.
“Do you think we’ve reached land?” Landry asked.
No one answered.
With the galley no longer moving at speed, the up and down motion of the vessel grew more pronounced. Tancrede guessed that they were stopping for the night, which meant his stomach would only suffer more. He kept the thought to himself, preferring not to speak. In addition to his other woes, his bladder ached. He sensed, though, that their captors wouldn’t even allow them the dignity of relieving themselves.
Darkness fell. Food aromas drifted into their hold from the other hold. Despite feeling ill, Tancrede’s stomach rumbled. But no one brought them food. Nor did the pirates bring light of any sort. The dead space just outside the cage came alive with scrabblings and scratches. The rats.
“Gaspar!” Godfrey called, startling him.
When this first cry brought no response, Godfrey shouted for the pirate again, and then a third time.
At last, the stairs creaked beneath bootsteps.
“What are you bellowing about, Templar?”
“My men require food and drink. One of us still needs healing. And we must be allowed to… to step out of this enclosure and see to our basic needs.”
“I’ve told you already, you will not be fed, at least not until we reach land. Our healer is weary from the day’s labors. If circumstances allow, he will see to your man tomorrow. As to the rest, you will remain where you are, as you are. If you must piss yourselves, or shit yourselves, be my guests. You wouldn’t be the first to befoul the cage in that way.” He laughed at this and left them.
For a long time, none of the Templars spoke. Finally, Godfrey cleared his throat.
“Pray with me, brothers.”
Tancrede closed his eyes and tucked his chin.
Godfrey began with the Creed of the Apostles, an assertion of faith. After that, he led them in the Angelus, and finally in Vespers. Even after this, though, he was not finished.
“By your Grace, Lord, we are Templars, devoted to your service. See us to salvation. Deliver us from the wickedness that surrounds us. Redeem us so that we may continue to serve you through your son Jesus Christ. Protect those who we sent to shore. Minister to your servant, Thomas. And grant rest to those lost this day. Amen.”
“Amen,” the others echoed.
“Sleep, brothers,” Godfrey said. “Tomorrow brings new hope.”
They arrayed themselves in the available space, propping themselves against the bars as best they could. Tancrede didn’t believe there was any possibility he would sleep. But in time he dozed off. He jolted himself awake every so often, only to drift again into slumber.
Still, the night seemed to last an eternity, and when at last he opened his eyes to the golden glow of morning, his aches had redoubled.
Draper shifted onto his knees, grunting his discomfort, and crawled to Thomas, whose youthful face had turned gray.
“He lives,” the Turcopole said. “Though only just. I fear he won’t last another day.”
Voices and movement on the deck, and in the other hold, told them that Gaspar’s crew was up and about. But no one brought them water. The healer did not come to check on the wounded Templar. Before long, with the splash of oars, they were under way again.
Tancrede peered out through the opening, trying to locate the sun and thus determine the direction in which they were headed. He thought they might be sailing east, back the way they had come the previous day, but he couldn’t be certain.
More hours dragged by, marked by hunger and cramped muscles, and the stifling heat of their prison.
Late that day, the ship slowed again. Men above shouted, and for the briefest of moments Tancrede thought that perhaps the Gold Prince was under attack. Soon enough he realized his error. Laughter and song told him that Gaspar’s men were celebrating, not dying.
Even as bitter disappointment flooded his heart, footsteps on the stairway drew his gaze. Gaspar led several men into the hold. He carried no weapon himself, but the pirates with him gripped swords.
“Bring them up,” the captain said, halting beneath the hatch.
His men unlocked the cage and ordered the Templars to their feet. When they struggled to comply, the pirates hoisted them up by their bound arms. The pain stole Tancrede’s breath, blinded him. He staggered against the bars, then righted himself.
“What about this one?” one of the pirates asked, nudging Thomas with the toe of his boot.
“Him, too.” Gaspar sounded bored.
“He won’t wake up. I think he’s dead.”
“He is not dead,” Draper said, planting himself in front of the pirate. “We have told you again and again. He needs healing.”
“If he won’t wake up, kill him.”
“No! He needs water and bandages and a poultice!”
The pirate looked back at Gaspar, who shook his head. The man tried to push past Draper, no doubt intending to kill Thomas.
Draper tried to keep himself between the pirate and Thomas. For a few seconds, he succeeded. Finally, the sailor pounded Draper with the hilt of his sword, bloodying the Templar’s nose and knocking him to the floor.
He stepped over Draper, and stabbed Thomas through the chest. Blood stained the knight’s tabard, but otherwise, he didn’t move or make a sound.
“Bring the rest,” Gaspar said, and climbed the stairs to the deck.
With the pirates prodding them, the Templars shuffled out of the cage, and ascended the stairway into the blazing light of day. Tancrede could barely open his eyes for the glare, but he welcomed the cool air and the sounds of the sea.
Two of the pirates emerged onto the deck as well, bearing between them the body of Thomas. They carried him to the starboard rail and without pause, without even a word, dumped the knight’s body over the side. Hearing the splash, Tancrede closed his eyes and whispered a prayer, his gut turning an unsettled somersault.
> As his eyes adjusted to the daylight, he realized that the Gold Prince had been joined by Redman the Monk’s ship. The former Templar stood on the rail of his vessel, which lay just off the port side of Gaspar’s.
“A shame about your fellow knight,” Redman said. “I had hoped to capture all nine of you. Now we’re down to seven. I shall have to take care not to kill any more of you.”
“You could start by feeding us,” Godfrey said. “Allowing us something to drink.”
“In good, time, Templar. You appear to be in fine health for now. As I’m certain Gaspar has told you already, we have no plans to unbind you while we’re at sea. I know how Templars fight. The danger is too great.
“But don’t despair. We’ll have you on land before this day is through. Then you’ll be given a morsel to eat, and water to drink.” He opened his hands and smiled. “You see, I’m not a barbarian. I am a man of business. You are now an asset, one I intend to use to my advantage. I have no intention of permitting you to die.”
Something about the way he said this chilled Tancrede’s blood… Permitting you to die. It seemed that he expected them to wish for death before long. If Godfrey heard the same threat in Redman’s words, he gave no indication of it.
“Why, then, did you bring us up here, if not to give us food?”
“I thought you would want to leave your cage for a time. But if I was wrong—”
“No,” the commander said. “I was… curious. That’s all.”
The Monk answered with a thin smile.
“What happened to the rest of the Melitta’s crew?” Godfrey demanded.
“Is this curiosity as well?”
“Concern for the lives of friends.”
“You need not concern yourself with them anymore. They are beyond your help.”
Landry caught Tancrede’s eye and gave the smallest shake of his head.
“Then we will spend our last breaths avenging their lives,” Godfrey said. “You will answer for what you did to them.”
“Bravely said, Templar, but we both know your threats are empty. You cannot eat or drink or even scratch an itch on your nose without leave from me. You are mine to do with as I please. If you believe otherwise, you are lying to yourself.”
“And if you believe that you will profit from this venture, you’re doing the same. One of the men on the Melitta claimed that you were once a Templar. I doubt that very much. A knight of our Order would know better.”
Redman’s smile melted, leaving his expression impassive. Except for his gray eyes, which were as hard and sharp as chips of flint.
“Throw them overboard.”
For the span of a taken breath, no one on either ship moved or spoke. Tancrede had time to think that the Monk meant only to intimidate them. As Godfrey said, he had gone to great lengths to capture them alive. Why would he kill them now?
But then Gaspar snapped his fingers, pointed at the Templars, and gestured toward the water.
Men seized Tancrede, lifting him off the deck. Somewhere nearby, several of his fellow knights roared in rage. Tancrede fought the men who held him, kicking out with both feet, writhing in their grasp. But they bore him to the nearest rail, and without faltering tossed him over.
He tried to twist his body so that he would hit the water back-first. Instead, he hit on his side, the surface of the sea slapping his face, battering his abused shoulder and arm, robbing him of precious breath.
The brine closed over him. The force of his impact carried him deeper, away from the glimmering surface. He couldn’t swim, of course – not with his arms bound. He kicked, desperate to rise. His chain mail weighed him down, as did the soaked mantle and tabard. Lungs burning, pulse laboring, he continued to kick until mercifully he did start up toward the sun.
When at last he broke the surface, he gasped for air. One breath. Before he could take another, a swell hit him, filling his mouth and throat with water. He sputtered, spat, inhaled again. Another swell washed over him. The muscles in his legs burned. He didn’t know how long he could keep himself afloat. He strained against the ropes that held his arms and wrists in the vain hope that the water would loosen them. It didn’t.
He took one last breath, went under again. He kicked, but his legs were too tired, his clothing and armor too heavy.
There was no dishonor in this surrender. They were prisoners. There was no telling what Redman would have done to them had he allowed them to live. This would be an easy death, an end to an ill-fated venture. He stopped kicking, watched as the dancing light on the sea’s surface receded.
Forms splashed into the water above him and followed him down. Men took hold of him and hauled him back toward the surface. Others grabbed him as he came up. Moments later, they heaved him back over the ship’s rail and dumped him unceremoniously on the deck of the Gold Prince.
Gasping for breath, and coughing up mouthfuls of salt water, he lay on the damp wood with his eyes closed. He was aware of others nearby, panting as well. After a time, he opened his eyes. Gawain and Brice lay closest to him. He saw Landry, Godfrey, and Draper as well. Lifting his head, he spotted Nathaniel, yellow hair lank, water running from his beard. They were all there. Except Thomas and Victor, of course.
“Let that be a lesson to you, Templar,” the Monk said. He hadn’t moved from the rail of the Poniard. “I can kill all of you whenever I wish, with merely a word to my men. Do not challenge me. Do not mock me or insult me. Do not anger me in any way. Not if you care for the men under your command.” To Gaspar, he said, “Return them to the cage. No food. No more time on the deck. And they’ve had their water for the day.”
Men laughed at this.
Again, Tancrede was lifted by members of Gaspar’s crew. They set him on his feet but kept their grip on his arms as they guided him back down into the rank hold and to the cage.
He leaned against the bars and slid to the floor, wincing at the lingering agony in his arms. Once all the knights had been forced back into the prison, a pirate locked the door. Redman’s men filed up through the hatch, leaving them alone.
“I’m sorry,” Godfrey muttered.
“You have no reason to apologize,” Tancrede said.
“Don’t I? I made us surrender when we should have fought. I allowed them to murder Killias’s men. I nearly got every one of you killed just now.”
“Well,” Tancrede said, “when you put it that way…” He allowed himself a peek at the commander, who looked back at him. After a moment, they both laughed. The others began to laugh as well.
Soon their mirth subsided. Tancrede closed his eyes again and leaned his head back against the bars. Sometime later, he startled awake, unsure of when he had fallen asleep or of what had awakened him.
“The ship has slowed,” Landry said. “I hear birds. I think we’re near land.”
“We are,” Gawain said. He stared through the bars at the gap in the hull. “I see trees.”
The ship glided on, its movements gentler now that they were near to shore. In time, they stopped completely. The ship thudded with activity. Men walked in every direction on the deck above them and splashed into the water on both sides of the ship. Tancrede couldn’t be certain, but it sounded to him as though the other ship had anchored nearby.
Still they remained in the cage, ignored for now. Without the movement of the ship and the wind of the open sea, the hold grew even hotter than it had been.
By the time the pirates entered the hold to retrieve them from the prison, Tancrede couldn’t help but be thankful. He knew better than to think that their circumstances would improve much on land, but he hoped never to see the cage again.
The pirates placed Tancrede in one skiff with Gawain and Brice. The others were transported in a second vessel behind them. The men rowed their boat onto a broad strand and ordered them out of the skiff.
Standing on the hot sand, Tancrede studied their surroundings, seeking any path to freedom. That notion didn’t last long. He saw no people, no buildings, no
signs of humanity at all. There only was sand, and water, and a jungle thick with palm trees, huge ferns, and other shrubs.
The pirates didn’t waste time. They looped a rope around his neck, and then around the necks of his fellow Templars. They pulled the loops tight, until the jute chafed his skin and he had trouble swallowing.
“That ought to hold them,” one of the men said, grinning at his companions.
Another of the pirates took the lead end of the rope and tied it to his belt. He then started across the sand toward the trees beyond. The Templars had no choice but to follow. A second pirate brought up the rear, his end of the rope also secured at his waist.
They entered the jungle through a small gap in the trees and followed a sandy path away from the shoreline. It wound through copses for a time before angling up across a hillside, and down into a shallow dale. It leveled off for a short distance, but then climbed and dipped again. It continued thus for what felt like leagues. They walked and walked, the path climbing and descending and winding ever farther from the lagoon where they had landed.
Such a journey would have been routine for him, for any Templar. But with the rope at his neck, with his arms bound, with his last meal and sip of fresh water a distant memory, Tancrede struggled to keep his feet. His head ached and his vision swam. He stumbled several times, though on each occasion he righted himself before he fell to the ground. He would have begged for a respite if not for his pride, and his certainty that the pirates would deny him any mercy.
At one point, Gawain did fall. The pull on the rope jerked Tancrede backward and made him gasp for air. Several of the Templars behind him cried out.
The man leading them glared back. “Up, you!”
“He’s hurt,” Tancrede said, rasping the words.
“I don’t give a damn. Either he keeps on, or we kill him here. His choice.”
“Then give me a bit of slack.”
“Why?” the pirate asked, eyes narrowing.
“Just do it!”
The man hesitated, but then seemed to decide that the sooner Gawain was up, the sooner they would reach their destination, wherever that might be. He took two strides in Tancrede’s direction. Tancrede stepped back toward Gawain, but he couldn’t quite reach.
