Archers and Crusaders: Historical fiction: Novel of Medieval Warfare by Marines, Navy sailors, and Templar knights in the Middle Ages during England's ... (The English Archers Saga Book 6) (11 page)

       The cog came into the harbor under tow a couple of hour ago at daybreak and anchored off the dock just south of where we spent the night waiting for word from Cardinal Bertoli.        

       “Can you pull forward so the cog can come in and tie up” is the hail in Italian from one of the dockworkers.

       I translate the request and Jeffrey nods and lifts his hand in agreement.  A few minutes later we raise our two anchors and row a bit further out and towards the north and re-drop them.

       “That should give them enough room,” Jeffrey mutters to no one in particular as two lighters appear our port side and throw lines up to our sailors.  They’re the first of the half dozen or so that will tie on to us and begin unloading the water and supplies we ordered from the merchants yesterday.

       A few minutes later we are surrounded by lighters and some of our sailors and Marines are on them handing up bleeting sheep and strings of squawking chickens with their legs tied together.   Others are filling water skins from a big tub in the middle of a lighter and handing them up to our deck so our men can fill our water barrels.

       Jeffrey walks back from supervising the unloading of the lighters.  We stand together on our galley’s deck for a moment and watch the cog trying to dock.  Jeffrey’s finished making sure his sergeants know where he wants the supplies stacked and stored and there really isn’t much else for him to do except watch until the lighters finish making their deliveries.

       The cog’s captain is obviously in a hurry.  As soon as we agreed to move out of the way a couple of small boats were launched from his ship to tow it towards the dock.  We’re already attached to the lighters and loading supplies by the time the cog gets close enough for the sailors in the small boats to throw lines to the dock so the dockworkers can pull it into place against the dock and it can begin taking on cargo. 

       That’s cog’s plan and it works, but only partially.

       Lines are thrown to the dock and a gang of dockworkers begins to haul in the cog.  They get its bow almost to the dock.  But somehow the line attached to the stern of the cog gets fouled or loose before the dockworkers can finish pulling the stern of the cog up against the dock and tying it into place – and then the wind changes and picks up.

       We watch and listen in utter fascination as the stern of cog slowly and inexorably floats further and further out from the dock and begins swinging in a big circle around the cog’s bow which is tied to the dock.  That wouldn’t be too much of a problem except that there is another cog lashed to the dock and taking on cargo in the next space in front of it.  If the stern of the arriving cog is blown all the way around it’s almost certainly going to hit the stern of the ship loading cargo in the next dock space.   

       There is immediately much alarmed shouting and commotion aboard both the cog attempting to dock and the cog loading cargo in the next dock space.  A new line is obviously being attached to the bow of the docking cog and we watch as running sailors haul it to the bow of the cog so they can throw it on to the dock.  Too late.  The stern of the docking cog has already swung so far around that pulling on it now will cause the stern to hit the loading cargo ship even harder.

       Sailors with poles gather in the sterns of both cogs to hold the two ships apart while others race to get the wicker bales of old rags that are used as dock bumpers. It’s almost amusing and a crowd of idlers are on our deck watching and pointing at the frenzied activity and talking to each other and laughing about it.  Even those who are busy shifting the supplies the lighters are unloading look and smile and make comments about the cog’s situation as they work.

       It stops being amusing when someone on the docking cog throws off the line attaching its bow to the dock.  The entire ship is suddenly free to drift away from the dock and it’s broadside to the wind.  It will now be able to be pushed away from the loading ship in the next berth and drift out into the harbor.  But now that its bow is no longer attached to the dock the entire cog begins to safely drift past the loading cargo ship – and straight towards where we are anchored just off the dock with flat bottomed supply lighters attached to us and busy offloading their water and supplies.

     “Cast of the lighters’ lines.  Cast off the lighters’ lines.  All rowers to their oars.” Jeffrey booms. 

       Our men go from laughing to gasping in surprise and dismay.  Everywhere our men drop whatever it is they are doing and dash to their places as their sergeants begin shout and swear.  No one is more surprised than the merchants’ men who have been working on the small flat bottomed supply lighters provisioning us.  They suddenly see our galley cast off its lines and row off - and an out of control cargo ship being blown towards them by the wind.

       All I can do is grasp the railing and watch in dismay as the slowly moving but totally out of control cog is blown into one of the lighters carrying our supplies and then into the others.  The merchants’ men on the lighters are able to hold on but as we watch in dismay some of our supplies, including a pen of sheep and some flour barrels, slide into the water when the runaway cog pushes on the lighter and tips it up so steeply that water begins to comes in over one of its low sides.

       It’s a near miss.  Jeffrey gets us detached from the lighters and we row away from the drifting ship and the heads of the sheep swimming in the water just in time.  Jeffrey unhappiness with the situation is evident in the curses he hurls at the crew of the runaway cog.  Now we’ll have to row through the harbor in a great circle to get back to the lighters and our supplies.

         Jeffrey is furious and cursing – he can bring us back around but he has no idea how we’ll ever get the swimming sheep on board.  “And if we do get them aboard,” he rages, “they’ll be so foul from being in the harbor water that they’ll probably sicken and die before we can eat them.”

       We are barely and slowly underway to make our great circle and return to the lighters when one of the lookout on the mast shouts down to report that someone in a small boat appears to be rowing hard in an effort to catch up with us.

      Jeffrey stops the rowing so it can come alongside.  It does and a few minutes later the man in the dinghy hands up a parchment for “Signor la Bishop.”  It is a message from Cardinal Bertoli.  He says he’ll be delayed and he regrets having to ask us to wait much longer than the three hours we agreed, perhaps for days.  Uh oh; big trouble. It’s time to go and go fast.

       “Jeffrey,” I roar after I read it through a second time to make sure I’ve read it correctly.  “This is a message from the cardinal.  He’s delayed and wants us to wait longer, much longer.”

       Jeffrey understands immediately and begins shouting new orders to his men.  Seconds later the sail goes up, the rowing drum soon begins its rhythmic beat, and we begin picking our way through the anchored ships to make our way out of the harbor leaving most of our food and water behind.

                                Chapter Ten

       It’s a huge harbor so it is not until almost thirty minutes later that we reach the harbor entrance – and see a huge fleet of Venetian warships waiting ahead of us.  Most of them are galleys like ours with two banks of oars but there are even some of the older Roman style galleys with three. 
My God. I’m surprised and stunned. Where did they all come from?

      
“My God, Jeffrey.  Where did they all come from?  Surely they’re not all out there waiting for us?”

     Jeffrey does not even have time to answer my question when the Venetians answer it for him.  Those in the closest galleys, the ones who could see us as soon as we could see them, begin rowing - and they are rowing hard and straight at us.

       “All hands to the oars except the lookouts,” Jeffrey shouts after an instant’s hesitation. “Stand by to lower the sail.  Lower the sail.”

@@@@@

       Jeffrey instantly orders the port oars to pull forward and the starboard oars to pull backward.  In a matter of seconds our galley spins around and is pointed back into the crowded harbor with its sail down – and the closest of the fast closing Venetians looks to be less than a couple of thousand paces away.

       “Maximum speed, row master, maximum speed.”

       We pick up more and more speed as more and more of our Marines and sailors reach their rowing benches and the drummer’s beat picks up.  Some of our oars have two men on them but most only have one due to the absence of the prize crews and the many casualties we suffered in the battle with the Venetian galleys. Almost all the rowers are Marines – and they have stronger arms than most men as a result of practicing every day with their longbows.

       “There’s another entrance on the other side of the harbor.  I’m going to go back through the harbor and try to get us out through the other entrance.”

       Jeffrey’s so excited he shouts his decision at me even though I’m standing right next to him.

       “Quick follow me,” he shouts over his shoulder as he dashes to the rear of the galley so he can stand on the roof of the rear deck castle.  From there he can look down and see and talk to the rowing sergeant, the drummer, and the two rudder men. 

       I run after him and climb up right behind him.  So does his sailor sergeant and the sailor with a big voice who seems to stay with him at all times to run his errands and shout his orders.

      
The ability of a galley’s captain to see what is directly ahead is not quite as good if he stands on the roof of the deck castle in its stern but it’s good enough and it lets him give his rowing and steering orders directly to the galley’s rowing sergeant and its rudder men.  It’s a common enough place for galley captains to stand that there are even three wooden steps from the deck to the castle roof and a railing around it. 

@@@@@

       We go back into the big harbor a whole lot faster than we came out a few minutes earlier.  Our galley picks up speed rapidly after we spin around and start back into the harbor and it’s a good thing we do - the Venetian galleys close in rapidly on us while we are turning; the closest of them is less than five hundred paces behind us as we pass back through the harbor entrance and head towards the crowd of ships in the harbor.

       This is no time for me to tell Jeffrey how to captain his ship but I do make a suggestion in the form of a question.

       “Do you think the archers in the lookout nest can reach the lookouts and captains behind us?”

       Jeffrey seizes on the idea, quickly gives the order, and a few seconds later arrows begin flying back towards our pursuers and two more Marines are on their way up the mast to join the two already there.  He sends a couple of nimble sailors to get arrows from the open bales that have been on the deck since we sailed into the harbor yesterday and orders them to keep the archers on the mast nicely supplied.  He also names various archers who are to drop their oars and come on deck with their bows to join the shooting.

@@@@@

       Our rapidly moving galley plunges towards the mass of ships anchored in the harbor as our arrows begin to fly at the pursuers coming up behind us.  I jump down from the roof, reach across a startled rower to grab his bow and quiver, and then bound back up the stairs and begin to launch some myself whenever I see someone who can be more useful to us if they are deaded or discouraged.  
I wasn’t always a priest.

      
Suddenly a thought floods into my mind.  The rudder men – I remembered what Thomas and Harold said about their fight with the Tunisian galleys that pursued them out of the Tunis harbor.

       “Forget the men on the deck,” I scream at the archers.  “Drop your arrows on their captain and rudder men whenever possible.”

       “Yes,” shouts Jeffrey as he lets lose another shaft and turns to his loud voiced talker. “Pass the word to aim at the rudder men and the captain.  And tell Francis and Guy to open up more arrow bales.”

       Without a word being spoken the sailor sergeant has taken over captaining the galley as Jeffrey and I join in the shooting.  We lurch this way and that as he shouts his sailing orders down to our rudder men and rowers as we thread our way through the ships anchored in the harbor.  Once a sharp shaking jolt runs through the galley and there is a loud cracking noise as we run over something, probably a dinghy.

       A few seconds later Jeffrey’s sailing sergeant suddenly shouts with alarm in his voice. 

       “ In oars.  In oars.”

        Our rowing drum suddenly stops.  A few seconds later there is a loud banging crash and long scraping sound.  Some of the men and I are thrown off our feet.  When I look up as I scramble to my feet I can see the side of some kind of cargo ship going by that is close enough to reach out and touch. 

      
For some reason my mind is very clear.  It’s almost as if I see things happening very, very slowly; an illiterate priest will later suggest that God’s hand must have been steadying me.

       Then I hear “Out oars and row, boys, row.  … Out oars…. Put your backs into it.”

       As I scramble to my feet I can see our lead pursuer.  It’s a galley much like ours with two tiers of rowers and it’s not more than a couple of hundred paces behind us.  Just as I’m about launch another arrow it suddenly wobbles and then turns straight into an anchored cog with a loud crash and crunching sound that rolls over the harbor water to reach us.  The archers on our deck give a great cheer and we all temporarily cease shooting arrows for lack of a target.  Someone must have gotten a rudder man.