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) (17 page)

       As everyone knows, we kept the Byzantine ships for our trouble and the emperor promised there would be no more interference with our operations.  So far they've kept their promise even though there is a new emperor, Alexios III.  We have no complaints.

       Martin brought us up to date on what he knew about the situation, which turned out to be surprisingly little.

       "Some say it was losing so much of their navy a few years back that caused the old emperor to be replaced.  The new emperor's named Alexios, Alexios III actually." 

       "I haven't met him, of course, but the merchants all say he's as bad as the old emperor and maybe even worse.  I've heard he appointed his brother in law to head the navy and he stole all the money that was supposed to be used to fix what was left of it."

       "Do we dare give the men liberty?  Is it safe enough?"

       "Oh I should think so.  We haven't had any trouble at all since we took their galleys, not a bit.  I think everyone's afraid William will come back and beat up on them again.  How's Randolph doing by the way?  Is he still at Launceston?"

         "Yes.  He's still at Launceston and doing well.  But how are you doing here?  Any trouble because of the Venetians bringing the crusaders here from Zara?"

       "Not really.  Just more people trying to get away because they're afraid there will be fighting.  Good for business isn't it?  It's gotten real good in the past couple of weeks, lots of people want to leave.  See for yourself." 

       "Aren't you worried about being here in the city with the crusaders' army forming up right over there on the other side of the bay?"

       "Not at all.  Got my guards don't I?"
William's right; Martin's not very smart.

       "Well you're going to get a whole lot more in the morning.  Galen's galley was rammed by a Venetian and went down at Zara a few days ago with him on board.  We picked up what's left of his crew." 

       "If we can, we'll bring them here in small groups in the morning so they don't attract attention.  You can send them out a few at a time in the galleys that come in to pick up refugees.  Until then you'll have to feed them."

      
If we can even get them into the city.  The soldiers on the port gate sure looked at us closely when we approached - but they waved us in when Francisco asked them for directions to the compound of the English galleys.  It's probably a good thing Francisco suggested we not wear our robes.  Latin priests aren't welcome here; especially these days.

       Then I asked Martin the most important question of all.

       "Have you had any contact at all with the crusaders?  Do you know where we can find their headquarters?"

       "Well, I wouldn't have any contact; would I?  They're not allowed in the city if they're armed, you know, not even to visit the market.  That's why they're all at that big camp they set up on the swampy land across the way.  You'll have to take your galley over there if you're looking for the crusaders and their priests." 

      
Damn.  I knew we should have gone ashore back there.

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       Early the next morning Rolf's galley took Father Francisco and I across to the crusader camp and a sailor rowed us ashore in the dinghy.  He'll wait as long as it takes until we return even if it means staying there all day.  He brought a rain skin, some water, and a little linen bag with some bread and cheese just in case. 

       No one in the camp paid any attention to us as our sailor rowed us to the rocky beach and no one laughed when we got our feet wet because the dinghy couldn't get close enough for us to jump all the way to dry land.  We were similarly ignored as we walked up to the camp in our religious robes with me wearing my miter and carrying my crosier.

       "Where are the commanders?" I ask a heavily bearded man who looked up only briefly as we reached him.  He was sitting on a rock with one of his sandals off and staring at intently while trying to mend it with a big needle, and not having much success if the look of frustration on his face meant anything. 

       I spoke in French and that's how he replied.  He's French like most of the crusaders.

       "Up to the top in the big tent over there," the man said pointing over his shoulder with his sandal towards a large tent further on up the hill with a couple of banners on its pole.

       We walked through the camp up toward the tent.   The fairly rough and rocky patch of land it's sited on is teeming with tents and cooking fires and all kinds of men and women and even a few children. 

       It looks very little like a military encampment and very much like a haphazard camp of refugees with men who might be soldiers scattered about in it. 

       People are everywhere - some sitting about in groups talking, others snoozing or engaged in household tasks such as cooking and pissing and carrying armloads of grass to the horses tethered in front of some of the tents. 

       Some look at us curiously and smile as we walk through the camp but mostly everyone just gives us a disinterested look and then ignores us and goes about their business.  It is as if priests and a mitered bishop laboring up the hill past them are common sights.

       "Maybe it's my lack of experience, Bishop, but many of these people don't look like crusaders at all?"

       "Oh but they are, Father, they are.  I was out with Richard as you may know.  This is a crusader camp for sure." 

      
Hmm. I see armor and swords and a few pikes and spears but I've yet to see a bow or any bales of arrows. Surely they must have archers.      

       Our only inconvenience was when we came to the little stream that ran through the camp.  It was busy with men and women drawing water and washing clothes - and too wide to jump across. 

       We had to get our feet wet again and I almost lost my balance when a slippery rock gave way under my leather shoe.

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     "Hello Hello, anyone home?"  Father Francisco shouted in French as we walked up to the tent with the banners.  There were no guards or courtiers about it.

       We could hear movement inside and after a while the flap was push open and a man stood there trying to tie the waste strings of his tunic.  We'd obviously awakened him.  Or maybe not since we could sense other movement in the tent as he came out.

       "What do you want?"

       "I'm the Bishop of Cornwall and this Father Francisco.  We come from the Pope with a message for Cardinal Capua."

       The man is clearly astounded.

       "You are?  How did you get here?  Well well, this is a pleasant surprise.  We've been looking for you and here you are."

       Then he shouted to some men sitting on the ground nearby.

       "Henri, get over here.  You too Robert."  ..  "Tie these priests up and don't let them get away."  ... "Yes, goddamnit, tie them up.  I'm going to try to find the cardinal and tell him the good news."

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       "This isn't exactly the reception I expected," I observe to Father Francisco with a sigh. And then, "I don't know what I expected but this isn't it." And it isn't - we are both tied hand and foot and sitting very uncomfortably up against a tree.  Father Francisco didn't reply.

       About an hour later there is a great deal of commotion as a group of riders ride up and dismount behind us.  We both twist around and watch as a white haired man strides up to us followed by a number of French and Italian knights and their retainers.  Cardinal Capua has arrived.

       "Hello Uncle Peter," said Father Francisco.

                         Chapter Twenty Two

       Tori and I are walking through the crowded Limassol market with Yoram and Lena when there is a great shout behind us and a Marine comes running up to gasp out a message from Harold. 

       One of our galleys has just come in from Constantinople with important news and a lot of refugees - six days ago the Venetians began landing a large force of crusaders at Constantinople instead of taking them to the Holy Land. 

      
They did what? Why would they do that? I asked myself.  What does it mean?

      
We immediately turn around and hurry back to talk to Harold and get more information.  Gerard, the captain who'd brought the message from our station sergeant in Constantinople is standing there with Harold with a parchment in his hand.  Neither of them had read it because neither of them can read.

       Gerard hands it to me without a word.  It's from Martin Archer, our station sergeant in Constantinople.  Yoram stands next to me and we both read it at the same time.  Martin can't read or write either so it had obviously been dictated to a scribe.

       Martin's message is clear and quite unexpected and totally surprising: The crusaders have demanded that the deposed emperor be put back on the throne and the current emperor, Alexios III, gone - or else there will be war. 

      
But why did the Venetians bring the crusaders to Constantinople instead of to Egypt and the Holy Land as the Pope envisioned and where the crusaders promised they would go?

       "What do you think, Yoram?  Why did the crusaders go to Constantinople instead of the Holy Land and what does it mean for us?"

       "Well, one thing's for sure - not having to worry about fighting the crusaders for a while will almost certainly encourage the Saracen armies to increase their attacks on the smaller Christian cities and strongholds around Beirut and Acre.  That will mean more refugees trying to escape from the Christian ports so it's probably good for us.  As to the rest I do not know."

       "My God," I said as the realization hit me. 

       "The Byzantine emperor will never agree to step down, at least I wouldn't think so.  Constantinople is the richest city in the world.  That means there might be a lot of refugees for us to rescue if it's really true that the crusaders will attack Constantinople if he doesn't."

       Yoram agrees.  "It's hard to believe, isn't it?"

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       We decide I should leave for Constantinople the next day to see if there are any opportunities for us.  I'll travel on Rolf's galley and also take three of the other eight galleys that are currently in Limassol.  They'll serve as messengers and carry any refugees and parchments we might come across along the way. 

       Henry and Harold will remain here with Yoram and the rest of the galleys and Marines who are in port at the moment.  They'll wait to hear from me before they send any more galleys and men. 

       If he'll come with me on such short notice, I'll also take one or more of the local merchants who have friends among the merchants they do business with in Constantinople. 

      
Why take merchants with us?  Because the merchants in a city's bazaar typically know everything there is to know before anyone else; they're inevitably the best source of information.

       What took us some time to decide was how many Marines should be on the galleys I'll be taking to Constantinople - do they go with skeleton crews so they can carry as many refugees as possible or do they go fully loaded with Marines in case there is fighting? 

       We talk about it rather extensively until, over a few too many bowls of ale at Yoram's table that night, we finally come to a decision - two of the galleys will go out loaded with Marines in case there is fighting or a message needs to be delivered and two more will go out with fewer Marines so they can be used as refugee ships in the event there are refugees to carry and coins to be earned.

       Tori will stay here in Limassol with Lena until I return.  She's not happy about it and pouted the rest of the day - until I pulled her into bed and changed her mind by promising I'd take her to see Constantinople as soon as it becomes safe to visit.  It has, I told her, the most marvelous market I've ever seen.

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       A rather severe storm separates my four galleys and causes our voyage to Constantinople to take longer than I had hoped.  But after the storm our four galleys rendezvous as planned just inside the entrance to the Dardanelles, the narrow forty mile or so long strait connecting Aegean Sea and the Sea of Marmara where Constantinople is located. 

       We get to the rendezvous about noon.  Our galley is the last to arrive.

      There are many ships going through the narrow passage in both directions - all kinds from everyday cogs to strange ships from distant lands. 

       No ships of the Byzantine Navy are to be seen but two Venetian war galleys are at the end of the Dardanelles when we come out of the narrow passage a couple of hours later and enter the Marmara Sea. 

       They ignore us and we ignore them.  We just row right past them with our sails up to get whatever help we can get from the unsteady winds coming from our port side.

     We row into the dock by the city gate closest to our post in the city.  All of our captains and pilots found it easily as the sun began to set in the western sky.  They've all been here before and know it well.