The Archer's Return: Medieval story in feudal times about knights, Templars, crusaders, Marines, and naval warfare during the Middle Ages in England in the reign of King Richard the lionhearted (11 page)

       “My brother has a unique problem with a slave that he needs to solve before he moves to Alexandria to represent you there and we all think you’re just the man to solve it.”

       “I don’t buy slaves and I don’t keep them.  I free them, as you know.”

       “That’s it exactly.  It is a gift because he wants the slave freed and properly cared for and kept by someone such as you, not sold or given away or cast out to starve.” 
A gift.  Damnit.  I can’t refuse a gift.  He’d be insulted.

       “Of course I would be honored to accept your brother’s gift.  Please thank him for me.”

       “Oh thank you, thank you.  He’ll be pleased and she will be too.  She’s heard all about you and is very happy to pledge you her liege.” 
She? She?

      
“She?”

       “Oh yes.  And very well trained in household matters by her mother isn’t she?  My brother got her mother off a Frenchman in Beirut some years ago to settle a debt and she came along soon afterwards.  My brother thinks she may be his but he isn’t sure.  That’s why he wants her with a good man such as you, because she might be his daughter you understand.” 
Oh my God.

      
I’m still sitting there trying to understand what just happened when Reuben returns leading a young woman – who promptly prostrates herself in front of me and places my foot on her head. 
What have I done?

      
“Thank you for freeing me and accepting me as your vassal, Master,” is what she says in French after I move my foot and motion her to stand up.  She says it with her eyes looking down at the ground.  Then she darts a look up at me with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. 
Bloody hell; where did those eyes come from?

       I’m speechless and all of the merchants and my men are smiling broadly, too damn broadly.  Now what should I do?

       “Er.  Oh.  Please stand over there until it’s time to go.  Uh.  Are you hungry or thirsty?”

       “No Master.  Thank you for asking.”

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        I’m periodically holding my head in dismay and my men are all smiling at each other as we walk back to the compound.  My new vassal is obediently walking three steps behind me. 
I truly don’t know whether to laugh or cry or be angry or pleased.  But she certainly does have blue eyes, doesn’t she.

       “Uh.  Yoram, when we get back to the compound would you please ask Lena to show her where the piss pot and shit hole and kitchen are, and things like that?” 
Christ.  I don’t even know her name.

      
So I stop and turn around and ask. 

       “What is your name?”

       “Helen, Master.”

       Our arrival back at our little tower creates an uproar.  Someone, probably Peter, must have run ahead for when we get there everyone’s bedding and personal clothes and weapons are either already gone or being moved out, except mine.  And without initially saying a word, but wearing a big smile, Harold begins scooping up his. 

       “I’m off to the cog’s cabin aren’t I?” he asks no one in particular as he heads for the door.

       Yoram scoots up the stone staircase and a few minutes later down waddles Lena with a big smile and little Aria tucked into her arms to show Helen around.  I just stand there dumb as a stone.

       Finally I decide it’s time to be useful so off I go to talk to Brian and see how his smiths and fletchers are doing.   He stands and gives me a very big and knowing smile as I walk up to the wooden shed where the women are working on our new arrows and bows.

       “I see you’ve already heard.”

       Brian responds by nodding his head.  Then he can’t contain himself and he starts roaring with laughter and then, to make matters even more embarrassing, so do all the women sitting on the carpets fletching arrows.  I can’t control myself either.  I start laughing too.  And then, to make matters worse, when the laughing stops and Henry and I are talking about the pikes, the women start giggling and making quiet little comments to each other with periodic nods of their heads towards me. 

       All I can do is lift both hands in resignation and shrug my shoulders and smile back at them – which causes more peals of laughter and even bigger smiles.

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       That evening starts with all the makings of a disaster.  Helen runs of to Thomas Cook’s kitchen and brings me food and drink.  Then she crosses her legs and sits down to watch me eat.  It makes me nervous.  I haven’t eaten alone in years.

       “For God’s sake go get some food and wine for yourself.  I don’t like eating alone and I don’t like people staring at me when I eat.”

       “Yes Master.” 

       “And stop calling me Master.  You’re my pledged vassal now, not a slave.  My name is William.”

       “Yes Master.” 

        My supper is very nice and the second bowl of wine she runs and fetches for me improves my mood quite a bit.  We talk about various things.  Helen speaks French because of her mother and I learn a lot because I have her tell me all about herself. 

       Helen doesn’t know how old she is but she seems to be quite an innocent.  She’d never even been out of her family’s compound until her uncle Reuben brought her to Cyprus with a woman servant as a chaperone.  It was very cold on the galley and they didn’t have any blankets.  But now, she brightly volunteered, she knows why her mother told her one of her duties would be to sleep with me to keep me warm. 
Oh Jeez.
                   

       I leave the candle burning after I get back from using the shit hole and sit down on the string bed that keeps me off the cold floor.  Helen immediately runs over and kneels down to take off my sandals. 

       “May I rub your shoulders and massage your body, Master?  My mother taught me how.  My mother said that when I had a master he would enjoy being massaged and touched.  Is it true?”

       “Er.  Yes, I think so.  Yes, I’m sure your mother is right.”

       What followed surprises me.  Yes it truly does.  She promptly runs around behind me, puts her hands under my shirt, and begins kneading my shoulders.  It is quite pleasant and relaxing.  It’s something new and I like it and I tell her so.

       “Oh good.  I was hoping you’d like it.  Will you lie down on the bed, Master, so I can massage and touch the rest of you?”

       So I do and she does and she is quite thorough about it.  Then she really surprises me.

       “Oh good.  I’m making your man thing happy.  My mother said I’ll know it is happy if it gets bigger and you will let it give me a present if I make it really happy by massaging and kissing it.”

       “A present?” 

       “Oh yes, Lord.  She said if I am a good servant you’ll enjoy it when your man thing gives me a present of gravy in my mouth that will taste good or a present of gravy when you put your man thing in the hole between my legs where I pee.  She says that putting it in me will feel really good for both of us once I get used to it.  Is she right Lord?  Will you let me have it if I please you enough?  Oh I hope I can please you so your wife doesn’t get it all.  I’ll try.  I really will.” 
Wife?  Oh my God.

      
“Uh.  Umm.  Yes.  I’m sure your mother is right.  Of course she is.  What else did she tell you?”

                                 Chapter Eight

       We’ve been regularly sending galleys to Beirut to pick up refugees.  It’s a place I know a bit about since I’d been there myself years ago with Richard and more recently when Lord Edmund visited to try to recruit more men.  Since I already know the city I decide to let someone else go.  That way I can stay in Cyprus for a few more weeks and enjoy life with Helen.

       Helen is quite enjoyable despite being a bit strange; she even filled a leather bucket with water and a bowl of white wine and washed me and my clothes.  She says it kills the itchy lice around my dingle. 

      
I was quite fearful at first because I’d heard that washing weakens a man.  But she is so insistent that I decide to risk it. Truth be told, it feels sort of good.

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       Instead of going myself to look at Beirut I’ve sent Randolph with two galleys.  They are going with their crews at refugee carrying levels - so they’ll be able to carry as many refugees as possible and still put up a good fight if they are attacked.  While he is there it will be Randolph’s job to look for some sort of office or compound we can use if we decide to station someone there permanently as our master sergeant. 

         Besides, if I stay here in Cyprus longer the galleys going to England with me will be able to make more trips to the Holy Land ports and gather more coins by carrying refugees to safety.

       Another reason I decide to stay in Cyprus a bit longer is that I’m still concerned about the king - although so far we haven’t heard a peep out of him. 
He’s probably busy trying to find replacements for the men whose heads he took to save his own.

       In any event, Randolph left yesterday with two galleys.  He is not going to Beirut alone.  Robert Monk and Peter Sergeant are with him and so is Andy Anderson who just returned from Acre where he’d been Simon’s chosen man and apparently did quite well.  Aaron the merchant is also traveling with Randolph.  He’ll be Randolph’s interpreter if one is needed and help introduce him to the local merchants and officials. 

       Between the five of them they have more than enough experience to know what we want and what to look for.  I’m looking forward to getting their suggestions when they return. 

      
Everything I’ve heard so far suggests Beirut has real prospects for us since the Saracens seem to be heading that way now that they’ve taken Jerusalem.  But how long can it hold out and who should we send there if we decide to proceed?

      We’re not just looking at Beirut.  We’re looking at other cities because Yoram thinks that there are a lot of refugees and merchants here in Cyprus and elsewhere who will pay handsomely to get themselves and their cargos safely to ports beyond Cyprus.  Indeed, making it possible for refugees and cargos to get beyond our Cyprus hub is the main reason we’re considering opening up the additional offices and compounds.

       The other reason, of course, is to earn coins carrying people like crusaders and Christian pilgrims back to the Holy Land on our galleys’ return trips. 
They are, of course, either totally ignorant as to the reception they will receive in the Holy Land or have death wishes.  But they also have coins and who am I not to help them get to wherever it is they want to go
?

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       Randolph and his men are back from their trip to Beirut with a lot of information and two galleys full of refugees and coins.  He and the men I sent with him all agree that we should set up a compound or office near the Beirut dock.  They also recommend that we greatly increase our galley visits because of the increasing flow of refugees trickling out of Damascus and the Christian manors around it.

       Aaron is staying in Beirut.  Randolph brought me a parchment from him saying he’d talked to the local merchants and clergy and thinks we might be able to profitably station two or three escape galleys here for them to get away in when the Saracens come.  Some of the local fishermen, he said, are making similar offers but are not trusted the way we are.  We have, it seems, a good reputation for fighting off pirates and doing what we say we will do.

       Aaron’s decision to stay in Beirut for a while is something he and I had discussed and negotiated before he sailed with Randolph.  I authorized him to commit up to four escape galleys to permanently standby to carry the local merchants and worthies to safety.  Our price for each minimally crewed escape galley standing by for one year will be the same as we are charging in Acre and Alexandria.  Aaron and his agents will keep one in every ten of the escape galley coins they collect from the local merchants and other worthies – and they are for emergency evacuations only; they cannot use them to carry paying passengers and cargos. 

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       Now that Randolph and his men have returned from Beirut it’s time for me to take a look at Constantinople and Antioch.  I can’t put it off any longer.  And after I do, I’ll head on to England via Malta and the coasts of Spain and France.  Helen is going with me to England and so are a number of our men and galleys. 

        Not every man and galley going with me to England will be sailing there via Constantinople.  Our galleys are earning too many coins hauling refugees to justify moving them away from the Holy Land until it absolutely the last minute.  That’s why I am only planning to take Randolph and my two fetchers and helpers, Peter and Robert, and three of our sturdiest galleys to Antioch and Constantinople; we’ll rendezvous with the rest of our England-bound galleys and men in Malta in six weeks - and then, although our men and pilots don’t know it yet, we’re going travel a route that hasn’t been traveled in a long time. 
Yes, Helen is coming with me; I want her to see England.

       Harold won’t be captaining my galley this time.  Instead he’ll be organizing and leading the ten or eleven galleys that will be sailing from Cyprus straight to Malta. 
He’s good at organizing such things isn’t he?