The Master of Muscigny (The First Admiral Series Book 5) (8 page)

Landing Bay Four; Star Cruiser Aquarius.

After his meeting with Chief Medical Officer Radkor, a slightly calmer Billy Caudwell teleported down to Landing Bay Four, which had been opened up to receive the slaves from the Muscigny estate.

Emerging on the upper walkway teleport pad, Billy did not wish to alarm the first ‘guests’ to the Aquarius any more than he had to. They were going to be faced by hawk-nosed Ceradors, long, gloomy-faced Hubbarts, and olive-skinned Thexxians who had only one nostril. That would be a big enough shock for the newcomers without a human being appearing in a blinding flash of light. The biggest challenge, however, was going to be the newcomers having to confront the few lizard-like Icharians who served as Medical Technicians. Unfortunately, the medical staff were going to be in too short of supply, and too badly over-worked on this trip for Billy to be able to afford too many sensibilities. But, Jerusalem was a major crossroads for traders, explorers and soldiers and was quite cosmopolitan in its outlook. Strange faces came and went in the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Billy hoped that their faces wouldn’t be too strange for the locals.

Looking down over the walkway rail, Billy saw several frightened, huddled clumps of humanity being tended to by Engineers, Medical and Integration personnel, and a white, tent-like portable structure. Carefully inspecting the scene below him, Billy was pleased to see how well-organised this Reception Centre was at such short notice. On the Landing Bay ramp, the newly arrived slaves were met by Engineering Technicians and a Medical Officer. The Engineers would set heat resistant pads on the slaves’ ankles to protect their skin as the laser cutters seared through the bolts that held their fetters locked.

As the Engineers cut the fetters away, the Medical Officer would run the hand-held Med-Scanner over the new arrival. Any serious illnesses or injuries would require the person to be quickly sedated and teleported to one of the three Hospital Decks on the Aquarius. A screened-off area had been created for the teleport to take place without confused and frightened eyes to see it. However, having passed the initial Triage, the person would receive an antibiotic, tetanus immunization, and nutrient supplement from the Medical Officer’s portable Dispenser before moving on to one of the Medical Technicians who would apply sterile coverings to the ankles or any other injuries.

The Steri-Skin coverings were long sheets of synthetic human skin which, when placed against a wound, would immediately be absorbed by the body. This created a covering for the injuries which worked quickly on repairing the damaged and infected tissue, was waterproof, and drew any dirt and dead tissue to the surface. In a few hours, that dirt and debris could simply be brushed gently away from the newly repaired flesh, leaving no scars or visible marks on the wound area.

With any obvious injuries dealt with, the person moved on to the first long, tent-like structure, which was constructed from force-shielding that projected a white image to the outside world. Stepping into the structure, the person was met by Integration Technicians who would record any name and any relationship to other slaves on the estate. When recorded the person would be guided forward to stand on a one metre square red pad. Opaque force-shielding would then be initiated whilst the person was instructed to remove their old clothing prior to “de-lousing”. When the old, dirty, ragged clothing had been taken off and removed by a Technician for disintegration, the person would be asked to stand still whilst a gentle shower of Caetrian radiation killed off any external parasites and disinfected the skin surface. Any internal parasites would have to be dealt with at a later date by the Medical Officers. The person, now disinfected and external parasite free, was then moved though the opaque force-shielding into the next chamber where undergarments, a green one-piece overall and loose-fitting ankle-boots were provided.

Their fetters removed, major wounds tended, their body cleaned and re-clothed, the person then emerged from the white tent-structure to be Med-Scanned more thoroughly by the Medical Officers. The details of this scan were then fed into a databank for future analysis and any relevant treatment regime. Having completed the Reception Process, the person was then given a large bowl of hot, porridge-like, sweet Thexxian Qar’gah; a large beaker of a flavoured water-based drink and a hunk of bread. Billy well remembered the Thexxian Exodus when Chief Physician Laxxor had warned him that stomachs not used to rich foods would rebel, and the vomiting would de-hydrate the weakened person even more. Chief Medical Officer Radkor had obviously been taught that lesson too.

After a few minutes of quiet observation, the last of the Muscigny slaves was emerging from the ‘de-lousing tent’ and being presented with her food. Trotting down the metal stairway to the deck level, Billy was pleased to note that their appetites were hearty enough, even if they did scan their surroundings through suspicious and anxious eyes. Bowls were held close to mouths as the Qar’gah was shoveled in with the standard issue Alliance flat-spatula clutched tightly next to the lump of bread. Things must have been pretty rough for these people, Billy considered as he walked quickly towards the group of slaves, all of whom were seated on the deck floor.

Moving quickly through the Officers and Technicians, who snapped to attention as he passed, Billy beckoned a Medical Technician and Senior Integration Officer Gummell to follow him. As he approached the seated slaves, he noticed that despite their being nearly thirty of them, they were very quiet. Normally, a group of people made noise, even when they had their mouths shut. But, this group seemed to have lived in silence, which troubled Billy. For some slaves, brutality was a way of life. Billy hoped that this was not the case here.

“If I could have your attention, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,” Billy said breezily as he swept into the group clapping his hands for their attention.

Bowls and spatulas were anxiously removed from lips and frightened eyes were turned onto this new figure followed by the two others. Scanning the group, Billy quickly noted its composition. There were seventeen men, nine women and four children who seemed to range in age from about four years to twelve years of age. There seemed to be an even mixture of European and Arab origins in the group. Most of them were painfully thin; food distribution seemed to have been a major issue on the estate, with the slaves very much at the bottom of the pile.

Still, you have to start somewhere
, Billy considered.

“My name is William Caudwell, and I am the new ‘Sidi’ of this estate,” Billy announced, “no, please remain seated,” he added as several of the slaves began to rise to their feet as a mark of fear-based respect.

Sitting back down on the deck floor, the slaves, who had tried to rise, settled back down with their bowls in hand.

“Your chains have been removed from your ankles,” Billy began, “they will NOT, I repeat, NOT, be replaced whilst I am Sidi here,” he added, waiting for the expected buzz of conversation, which failed to materialise.

“As of this moment, you are all free men and women as are the children,” Billy continued, “when you have been fed and rested, you will be free to go your own ways.” He paused once again for the news to sink in.

“Sidi!?” Ibrahim, in his green overall piped up, “we will have no one to work the estate.”

“Be calm, Ibrahim. If, however, you choose to stay here, you will be put to work on the estate, except you will now be paid for your labour,” he promised. “You will be given a shelter and fuel for fires against the cold, you will be fed and we will find more suitable clothing for you once you have rested a while.”

As Billy paused, a murmur ran through the seated group of slaves.
That’s more like it
, Billy considered as the faint buzz of conversation died down.

“How many here can read and write?” Billy asked. “Put your hand up if you can.”

From the group of thirty, two hands were raised. One was that of Ibrahim the Steward plus that of a woman with long, light brown straggly hair.

“Very well,” Billy said, “if you should choose to stay with us, you can become Ibrahim’s assistant and learn how to administer the estate from him.”

“But, Sidi!?” Ibrahim protested.

“You are going to need all the help you can get, Ibrahim,” Billy cut the Steward off in mid-flow, “there are going to be a lot of changes here. The rest of you, if you are willing to learn, will be taught reading, writing and numbers as will your children.” Billy laid down another marker.

“I can also promise you that the work will be hard and back-breaking, but you will be building a future for yourselves here. No more slaves at Muscigny, we will grow crops, raise animals and, God-willing, your own families,” Billy paused again and heard the unmistakable silence of people thinking.

“How do we know we can trust you?” a small, weather-beaten European man asked from the group.

“You don’t, my friend, but you no longer wear leg-irons, do you?”

“I’ve seen all these tricks before. The Saracens took our shackles off and told us we were free, then killed everyone they could. I was the only one to escape.”

“Were you a soldier, my friend?”

“Yes, I was, man-at-arms to Guy of Charpelle,” he replied with an edge of loathing in his voice.

“So, how did you end up here?”

“I got wounded, sir, can’t march very far on my leg, so I was removed from service...”

“Any more soldiers, here, put your hands up?” Billy asked and eight more hands were raised.

“What’s your name?” Billy asked the first soldier.

“Maurice, Maurice from the village of Varnay.”

“Well then, Maurice of Varnay, if you choose to stay here we’ll need someone to train the men to defend this place. Are you up to that?”

“But, my leg...”

“Maurice, any old soldier will tell you that you don’t need a leg to shout instructions or orders, do you?” Billy smiled, and was rewarded with the first stifled laughter of the day from the other ex-soldiers.

“I can teach the sword and the shield, Sidi,” Maurice offered adding the honorific almost instinctively.

“What about the rest of you, any bowmen?” Billy asked, and two hands went up.

“I used to carry a spear, Sidi.”

“So did I, sir.”

“I worked the Trebuchet, Sidi.”

“Good,” Billy praised, “we have need of all of you now. I suggest that you enjoy your meal and then rest. We have temporary bed cubicles for you here until we can set up your new accommodations on the estate.” Billy indicated a long row of force-shielding cubicles with cots inside each section.

The ex-slaves now began to murmur; the possibility that the promises Billy had made could actually be real starting to excite them.

“All that we ask is that you take one of those showers every day, and we will provide you with clean linen,” Billy instructed. “The Medical people wear this symbol on their sleeves,” he added motioning the Medical Technician to offer up her right upper arm where she wore the white and red diamond patch, “and the Integration people wear this symbol,” he motioned to Gummell who showed the white circle on his upper right arm.

“If you need any help, then speak to the people who wear these symbols,” Billy instructed. “Please, be aware that there are areas of this ship where it is dangerous for you to go,” he added, “so, you must follow any instructions that the crew might give you.” He waited for the information to sink in before dismissing the Medical Technician.

“Enjoy your food, if you want more there’s plenty of it, just ask one of the helpers,” Billy began to wind down his speech. “Then, when you’ve rested, let one of the white circles know if you wish to stay or go.” He nodded to the group politely and took his leave, followed by Gummell.

The once silent, frightened group of anxious slaves now began to buzz with conversation as they discussed their thoughts and feelings about what Billy had just explained. The freed slaves were suddenly more vocal and expressive than they had been previously.

When Billy and Gummell were clear of the group, Billy turned to the Senior Integration Officer.

“Only thirty?” he said shaking his head with disappointment. “Less whoever decides to go,” he added sadly, “it’s not going to be anywhere near enough to get this place functional after we’ve gone.”

“No, sir.”

“We need more people for the estate. Gummell, I’ve got a little job for you.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Tomorrow morning, before first light…”

The Port of Marseilles.

Standing at the quay, Arnold of Torroja watched intently as the supplies were loaded into the first ten ships of his fleet to the Outremere. It had been a hard-fought battle with the other senior Knights of the Order. However, with a little persuasion, coercion, argument and a few dropped hints of the Pope’s approval, the plan had been accepted. Even his greatest rival, the surly Jacques of Grenard, had reluctantly been forced to agree to the expedition. Scratching at his great bushy beard, Jacques had warned that if the expedition failed, the Order would take many years to recover the prestige and influence that had been built up under Grand Master Odo. However, it took Arnold only a few moments to remind the meeting that Odo de Saint Armand was gone. And, what better way to build on Odo’s hard work than by strengthening the Order’s position by replacing the cursed King Baldwin with someone more sympathetic to their ideals. Many of the senior Knight, recognising which way the wind of change was blowing, had nodded silently in agreement.

As Arnold watched the fevered activities of the dock workers, he considered that the Chair of the Order would soon be his. The expedition to Jerusalem would remove Baldwin and replace him with one of the more powerful Lords in the Kingdom. Amalric of Lusignan may have been a loud-mouthed braggart, and a little too fond of his wine for Arnold’s stricter Templar sensibilities, but his position and influence in the army made him the obvious choice for the new King. It was, however, a matter that Arnold would have to give a great deal more consideration to.

“Watch what you’re doing there, you idiot!” a Templar Sergeant-at-Arms bellowed at a dock worker who was pushing a large barrel unsteadily along the quay towards the gang plank of rapidly loading ship.

Stepping nimbly side, Arnold watched the wretchedly thin dock worker struggling with the enormous barrel to bring it to the cargo net.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” the Sergeant approached Arnold, “but would you mind moving aside so we can get her loaded up, sir.”

“Of course,” Arnold smiled, not wishing to impede the loading of the ships of his expedition.

My expedition, Arnold thought, savouring the enjoyment of leading what would be another successful Templar enterprise. Without a second thought, Arnold stepped away from the gangplank and watched as the huge barrel was lifted over the high-sided rail of the ship. The thin and exhausted dock worker shuffled away to gather his next burden with the voice of the hectoring Sergeant burning in his ears.

“My Lord Arnold.” The well-dressed Captain of the first flotilla interrupted Arnold’s moments of imagined triumph.

“Yes, Pierre?” Arnold replied, turning to face the tall, elegant sea-farer.

“We’ll have to get a move on if we’re going to catch the afternoon tide, sir.”

“Yes, of course, I’ll have my baggage brought over right away.”

“Yes, very good, sir. What I mean, sir, is we’ll need more men to load the ships if we’re going to sail this afternoon.”

“More men?”

“Yes, sir. We’ll need another hundred, if that’s all right, sir?”

“By all means, round up as many as you need.”

“Yes, sir,”

“Oh, and Pierre...” Arnold called out, his attitude suddenly hardening.

“Sir?”

“Don’t be afraid to lay-on the lash, whatever it takes to catch the tide.”

“Yes, sir.”

Pierre de Montressard was not the kind of man who approved of the lash, except for punishment when it was well-deserved. To start thrashing dock workers out of hand would achieve nothing except surly workers and half of the cargo floating in the harbour. Pierre de Montressard had known that Arnold was inexperienced in matters nautical and military. He also knew that Arnold had very little respect for those who served under him. That was part and parcel of the Templar Order, Pierre understood. But, cruelty was another matter entirely. If Arnold of Torroja had a liking for laying-on the lash, it did not bode well for a long sea journey.

“Don’t be afraid to lay-on the lash…” Pierre mumbled anxiously as he walked away from Arnold. “May the Lord and the Saints preserve us,” he said, crossing himself.

And, then he added a silent prayer, hoping that he would be proven wrong!