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) (3 page)

       “Look there boys, that big ship looks like it just came in from some distant place where the people don’t speak proper English.  And all those men gathered in front of it are probably merchants who want to buy her cargo.”

       “Where’s she from and what’s she carrying?” Thomas asks one of the men as we walk past.  He’s not as well dressed as the merchants are – probably one of their helpers and clerks.

       “She’s in from the Finns with plows and leather and suchlike.”

       Without further ado my big brother hikes up his priest’s robe and kneels down on the dock and spreads out the parchment that he’d been carrying under his arm.  It’s a map.  We all sort of gather around Thomas and the men on the dock, and particularly the merchants, are openly curious.  A few even move a couple of steps towards him to see what he is doing.

      
A man in a bishop’s robe kneeling on a dock to study a parchment map with a lot of boys and heavily armed archers gathering around him is not a common occurrence on the London docks.  It’s sure to be talked about all day on the dock and discussed in various local taverns and ale houses this evening.

        “Come from the Finns eh?   Well that’s interesting, yes it is.  Alright Tom show me where you think the ship came from.  Point it out.  You too Mark.”  …  “Ah, right you are.  Good on you Tom; good on you.”

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       The stalls in the huge stable are mostly empty and terribly foul and full of horse shite as usual.  It’s obviously been a while since they’ve been mucked out to be rained on and drain off into the harbor.  Even so, there are horses and ostlers about and as William and I and the boys walk in.  We can hear a smith swearing as he and an ostler try to get a shoe on a reluctant mare.

       “Hold her, damn it, hold her.”

       And there’s the man we’re looking for.  A tall cavernous man with a greedy look on his very lopsided face – and greedy and conniving is how he should be expected look seeing as how he trades in horses and runs a stable
.  I would wager he got kicked by a horse.  If I think of it I’ll ask the alewife at the White Horse later.  They know everything.

      “Ah Freddy.  There you are.”

      “Ah youz eminenz.  Youz is welcome here for zure.  Iz it horzez youz iz be needin?”

       “Perhaps, Freddy, but not today.  Today we are looking for a place near the dock to rent or buy so we can have someone here regular like.  But next week when Richard gets his crown we’ll need a couple of wagons and ostlers who know the route to take us up to Saint Peter’s Abbey in Westminster.” 
We’d walk up to Westminster and back if it was just me and William and the men.  But Westminster’s so far the boys might get tired.

      “ Donz youz fretz abouz a playz.  Oov got me a friend who dealz in houzez an zuch hazen’t Iz?” 

       “Well that’s good, Freddy, yes it is.  If your friend knows of any property that might be available near the dock he can find us at the White Horse or on the dock.  We’re down at the far end with two galleys.  We’ll probably sleep on them if we can’t find a proper inn, won’t we?  I spect we’ll have to do that as I’ve got these boys with me as you can see.  They’re likely lads and they’ve come with to see Richard get his crown and have a look at London.  Good lads they are; pass the word for your men to keep an eye out for them and help them if it seems they need it.  We’ll take care of them handsomely if they do.” 

      
What I don’t do is introduce my brother.  No need for everyone to know who William is or that he’s here, is there?

       “Oz zo Eminenz, some of them Templarz menz waz here two dayz past.  Asking they waz about youz.   Haz zem tunics with a big red crozz don’t theyz?        

        “Did they now?  Did they leave a message?”

       “No.  Not a word.  But theyz got themz a big moneztery near the tower don’t theyz?  Probablyz thaz where they iz.”

       “Well please tell them where to find us if they come again.  They’re friends, don’t you know.  Good friends.”  … 

      “Oh.  By the by, Freddy, can you find us some more young brood mares and fillies with good bottoms?  Same as last year.  Some of the men with us will be going on to Derbyshire to get three or four brood mares and fillies from Hathersage and pick up recruits along the way.   If the coins and horses are right we’d be interested in buying as many as twenty for breeding stock.  Maybe even more if the prices and horses are particularly good.”  

      
We’ll be taking the horses overland to Cornwall as we’ve done for the past three summers and hopefully will be doing in the years ahead – having horses and Marines trained to use them is part of our plan for George and his future.  Taking them to Cornwall overland is not a problem these days; not even the Earl of Devon is stupid enough try to stop us or steal them, not with a Marine leading or riding every horse he won’t – not unless he has a death wish.

       “Ooz will getz zum good onez for youz won’t Iz?  Howz zoon iz you wantz zem?”

       “Anytime after Richard gets his crown will do.  Our men are already here but there is no hurry – we’ll wait a week or two or even more for the horses if they’re good value for our coins.  We’ve got our own ostlers and smiths but we’ll need to buy a couple of good wagons for some of the mares to pull.  Wagons for carrying our tents and grain for the horses and such, not wains or two wheelers, mind you.”

                                           Chapter Three

       Richard looks splendid at his crowning and so does everyone else.  I’m wearing my miter and carrying my crosier but everyone else in our party looks so poor in their plain white tunics it’s a wonder they were able to get in.  They get in without our having to bribe the guards at the church door because our fortune is good.

       We all get in without paying because we arrive at Saint Peter’s early and I take the boys for a last minute piss and shite in the alley behind the abbey - the alley that runs in front of the little door the priests’ use when they need to relieve themselves or walk to the nearby cemetery or to the abbey where they have their rooms and take their meals.

       It’s in the alley where I see Hubert Walter, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and kiss his ring after he finishes pissing against the abbey wall and shakes his dingle.  Hubert is one of Richard’s many longtime followers who quickly changed sides and joined John as soon as Richard got himself killed. 

       Hubert and I are friends being fellow bishops and all.  We’ve gotten on famously ever since we were introduced two summers ago.  That’s when my men and I stopped for an ale in Luton while on our way to Hathersage to get our annual rent of brood mares and recruits. 

       Hubert saw me come in the alehouse with my men and introduced himself as a fellow bishop.  That’s when he found out I’d been on the Third Crusade with Richard and used the tavern owners in Sarum to trick old Kerfuffle.  Hubert had been awaiting his appointment as the Bishop of Salisbury when we gulled Kerfuffle out of his arms and gulled his men into breaking into houses to get the city’s women.  He’d been in Sarum soon thereafter and had heard all about what happened but he hadn’t known why.

       Kerfuffle and his men were long gone by then, of course, so he hadn’t gotten the whole story until I told him.  He roared with laughter and stood me a pint when I finished telling him what we had done and why.

       What I didn’t tell Hubert at the time, and he still doesn’t know, is that William and I left Richard’s service and made our marks on a contract with Lord Edmund because of how Richard treated the three thousand Saracens who surrendered at Acre.  Them’s the ones he got out of the castle when he gave his oath that he’d let them go home if they surrendered – and then murdered all three thousand of them when they did.
 

       It everywhere got the Moslems riled up when he murdered them all after giving his word that they would be released – so much so that many a good Christian like Lord Edmund and many of our archers ended getting themselves deaded when Richard suddenly decided to end his crusade and left us out there to face the Saracens all alone.  Not a man of his word was our Richard.  Don’t know much about John but he couldn’t be worse, could he?

       I gesture at William and the boys who are standing in a line with their tunics hiked up and pissing against the abbey wall. 

       “That’s William of Cornwall and his heir and his .. er… pages.  They’ve come a long way to show their support for the new king.  Can you help me get them in?”  

      
William is not decked out in the colorful and furry finery worn by Richard’s other lords - who seem to be competing to outdo each other in the elegance of their clothes.  All William is wearing is a plain white tunic with the seven stripes of our captain on the front and back and a little cross over his heart showing that he had been on a crusade.  At my suggestion he’s wearing his tunic over his chain mail and we both have our wrist knives strapped on under our tunics where they can’t be seen. 

       “Not there young Albert. If you must shite go over there away from the church wall … and be careful where you step
.”  It hasn’t rained since before we got here and the shite is really piling up.  The rats and mice can’t keep up with it, can they?

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       Thomas motions for us to follow so we all dutifully follow him and the regally attired bishop he’d been talking to as they pissed side by side against the wall.  The fancy bishop raises his crozier to get our attention and then motions us to follow as leads us into the church through the priest’s door that opens on to the shite alley behind the church.  Then he quickly disappears into the assembling crowd and Thomas leads us off to the side of the altar where there is more room.

       John’s coronation is quite a sight even though the stench in the crowded room becomes increasingly unbearable as more and more people jam into the church. Everything can be seen because the shutters have been removed from the church’s windows so the sun can get in and the air fresht if a breeze begins.  And, of course, being as the coronation is being held in a church and is so important, there are a fortune’s worth of candles burning as well. We can see everything through the smoky haze.

       John is sitting in a raised chair by the altar.  He’s in great colorful robes and up high enough so he can be seen by the huge crowd of nobles and worthies standing in front of him.  Mostly the lookers are men, of course, but a surprising number of women are standing with them in furry robes despite it being a warm summer day.  Some of them are sweating profusely which is making the smell even worse.  I don’t recognize a single person in the church.

       Noticeably absent and the source of much conversation around us is the King’s wife, Isabella.  I’ve never seen her, of course, but from the whispered comments I hear while we wait for the ceremony to begin there seems to be some kind of problem.

       “She should be here” …  “Where is she?”  …. “Isn’t she to be queen?” … “No children” … “Cousins I’m told.”  …   

       After a while there is a great stirring and the bishop who had been pissing on the church wall next to Thomas marches in behind a priest carrying a cross and another holding up a great bible for everyone to see.  A whole long line of softly chanting priests and bishops follows behind them.

         The boys end up being able to see the ceremony better than Thomas and I and everyone else.  They can look over the heads of the crowd and see the king because we lift them up to stand on the stone tomb of an old Saxon worthy before the ceremony starts.

       It’s the most impressive ceremony I’ve ever seen. There’s a lot of chanting and prayers and exhortations and oaths in Latin from the king, some of which William and I can understand but most of the people around us and the king obviously cannot, and then Hubert places the crown on John’s head and we all lustily cheer and carryon for a while.

       No one pays us the slightest attention as we lift the boys off the old Saxon’s tomb and join the great mass of people who press towards the front door after the King leaves and the bishops and priests march out chanting their prayers.  If anything, they are probably wondering how people dressed so simply as we are gained admission to such a grand event. 

      
I didn’t see the king again for some time – not until the next spring in Dover and then only at a distance when we helped ferry some of his army across to France before we sailed for Cyprus and the Holy Land.  I’d gone to Dover with some of our galleys because William and Harold had not yet come in from the Holy Land - I went with them because I wanted to make sure we got paid and it’s a good thing I did.

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       Our good relationship with the Templars and the Pope’s other Orders was evident this morning when two Templars came to see us about arranging transport to their stronghold in Acre for themselves and two others. 

       Our policy towards the Templars and the other Papal Orders is quite simple and our men all know it – we defer to the Templars and the other Papal Orders such as the Hospitallers in all things.  Thus, for example, we immediately stopped issuing letters of credit when the Templars started copying us in Acre and Beirut by letting people deposit valuables and taking back letters of credit they can exchange for coins at other Templar strongholds.