The Archer's Marines: The First Marines - Medieval fiction action story about Marines, naval warfare, and knights after King Richard's crusade in Syria, ... times (The Company of Archers Book 5) (10 page)

     One of our would-be grapplers suddenly drops like he’s been axed as we veer off and slide past the bow of the big cog.  Then a rock barely misses me and another of our grapplers staggers and sits down on the deck with an arrow in his chest. 

       When I look up at the mast again I can see that neither of our Marines are in action; one is sort of sitting with both arms over the safety ropes to keep from falling and the other is trying to shelter behind the mast. 
Damn.  Those Moorish bastards up there are dangerous.

       “Don’t throw,” I scream at the sailors who are winding up to throw with the grapples they are swinging around and around over their heads.  “Don’t throw, Goddamnit.  We’ll pass this one.” …  “Steer to that one.”  … “Yes, that’s the one.”

       Then from behind me there are screams of warning.  One of the galley’s we’ve taken as a prize is coming straight at us with a cog in tow.  Behind it I can see other galleys, clearly prizes, rowing for the harbor entrance.       

     “Brace yourself.” 

       I shout my warning just before the bow of the on-coming galley slices into the side of our galley.  Wood and other debris flies across our deck as it impales us. 
I knew I should have learned to swim.

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       The view from up here on the city wall is spectacular.  I can see the entire Tunis harbor and the beach around it.  It is now less and less crowded with ships than when I looked an hour ago.  Similarly, the shoreline where the Moorish galleys were beached is almost empty of galleys - and open area in front of it is rapidly filling with townspeople. 
Wonder where they came from?  Must be another gate.

       So far so good – all of the galleys which landed us are still waiting at the dock to take us off when we are finished here. 

       Also good is that some of our crews with galleys from the beach seem to be moving them into the harbor.  I think Henry’s lads are trying to find cogs to tow away.  Good on them. 
My God, I hope we have enough coins in Cyprus for all the prize money I’ve promised the men.

       Oh oh.  There’s trouble. Damn, one of the galleys in the harbor is sinking.  I hope it’s not one of ours. 
Well there’s nothing I can do from up here; Harold will have to sort it out.

        Suddenly a shout from down at the foot of the stone stairs jerks my attention away from the scene in the harbor.

       “Sire, Sire.” … “Please Sire.” … “Roger reports his men are being attacked on the lane leading up to the street along the city wall; he thinks he can hold them but he needs more arrows.” 
Sire?

       I go down the stairs two at a time. It’s very warm and as I go down the stairs I suddenly feel very thirsty and light headed; we’ll have to find something to drink if we stay here much longer.

       “Follow me” I shout to the Marines as I start running towards Roger and his men.

       The Marines fall in behind me and it doesn’t take long before we hear the unmistakable sound of fighting ahead of us where the wall curves - and meet a couple of wounded Marines trying to make their back to the city gate.  One seems to be badly hurt and is being helped along by the other.  I rush on past them without asking who they are or how it happened. 

       A moment later I come to one of our men all white faced and asleep on the street. 

      “Help him back to the dock” I gasp at the man running next to me.

      I can see Roger and his men standing on either side of an open area where a lane runs into the street I’m running on – and to reach them I have to get past two more of our men – one is on the ground sleeping and the other is struggling to stand up. 
What’s wrong here?

      
“Roger, what the situation?  What happened to your men and why are they taking off their tunics?”  That’s what I blurt out as I rush up to him.

       “There are Moorish soldiers up this lane.  We’ve been keeping them back with our arrows but it looks like they’re forming up to rush us again.”

       “And your casualties?”

       “All from the heat.  We’ve got no water.” 
Of course.  That explains why some of Rogers’s men have taken off some of their clothes.

       “Right.  Tell your lads it’s alright to take off some of their clothes if they’re too hot.   Tell them it’s alright with me if they have to leave them when we pull back.  We’ll outfit them from our stores when we’re back on our ships.”

       Ten minutes later I decide to pull Roger’s men back.  There are a lot of clothes on the ground when we start backing up towards the city gate – including my pants and shirt.  All I’m wearing is my tunic.

                                          Chapter Eight

       Runners are sent along the city walls and down every street and lane with orders for the sergeants to have everyone fall back to the city gate. 

       “Tell them to walk their Marines back to the city gate and to maintain order when they do – and not to leave a single man or body behind.  It will be their heads if they leave anyone.”

       While the runners are off to carrying my message I climb the stairs and to once again look at the harbor and beach.  Things look good.  Henry’s archers are off the beach and the harbor is almost empty.  There are outward bound ships beyond the harbor entrance.  It’s almost time to fall back to the dock. 

      
Any thoughts I might have had about holding the city are long gone.  I realized that as soon as I saw the Caliph’s great fortress beyond the city walls and the open areas all around it.

       Within minutes groups of hot and sweaty men begin coming into the square and take up positions to block its various entrances.  More than a few of them have to be helped and our dead and sleeping men are being carried.  The heat is taking a terrible toll.

       “Sergeants, form up your men and call the roll to see if anyone is missing and unaccounted for.  It’s on every man’s head if even one of his mates is left behind.” 
I care and I want the men to know I care.

       “Guy, take your entire company and escort our wounded and heat stricken men to the dock and get them loaded.  And watch out for the Moors who are starting to gather on the beach where the Moors had their galleys.  They’re probably curiosity seekers but don’t take any chances; shoot at anyone who gets in range.” 

      
They don’t look organized; probably just lookers who are curious about what happened.  But you never know do you?

   
   Once again I nip up the stairs to have a look from the ramparts on top of the gate house.  I need to make sure Peter got the word to withdraw.  We won’t leave here until I can see his main force on its way to the dock.  He should be getting the word about now if my messenger got through. 

      
The sergeants who were up on the wall will know if he did.  And even if he didn’t, Peter will see Guy’s men moving down to the dock and know that it means we’re pulling out.

      
“Where are the sergeants who were up on the wall?”

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Our men are on the dock and boarding their galleys.  The first thing every man is going to do when he gets on board, including me, is head straight for the water barrels.  Before I climb on board I can see a number of men are stretched out on the deck being tended to by their mates and Helen.  They are being given bowls of drinking water and ale under the shade of some hastily rigged sails.

       A distressed and harried looking Helen sees me on the dock and comes hurrying over to the deck railing.  She hands me a water skin as I climb on board and I give her a brief hug - then I climb the galley mast to the lookout’s nest to see what I can see.     

       A group of fifty or sixty of Peter’s men are still walking together back to the dock but a large number have already arrived are actively boarding their galleys.  The walkers must be his rear guard.  There is a mob of Moors following along behind them but they are certainly keeping their distance and appear to be more of a disorganized mob of curious men and children rather than a threat. 

       The city gate Peter occupied looks to be closed again so most of the people following Peter must be from the caravanserais and tents next to river up by the livestock market. 

      
Hmm. I wonder who closed the city gate and why?  I’ll have to ask Peter when I see him.  Probably a case of closing the barn door after the oxen are out.

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       “Hoist the ‘follow me’ flag and make for the harbor” I order Jeffrey in a voice loud enough for his rudder man and drummer to hear. 

       “Then hail the other two galleys and tell them to follow us.  Tell them we’re going to go through the harbor and check the ships that are still there to make sure all of our people have gotten clear.” 

      
I particularly want to check on the galley that looked as if it was sinking.  I think it was one of ours.  I wonder what happened.  And, of course, I once again want our sergeants and men to know that we are determined not to leave anyone behind.

     
A minute or so later the rowing drum begins slowly beating its monotonous cadence and we pull away from the dock.   Helen is next to me holding out a mug of ships’ water into which she has squeezed a lemon she had found in the Lisbon market. 
It’s something she learned from her mother; she says it’s even more cooling than ale.

       We are immediately among the handful of ships still in the harbor.  Several of them are clearly still in the hands of the Moors - but not many and most of those that were here when we arrived are gone.

       “Stay clear” comes the cry from the mast.  “This one’s got men on the deck wearing turbans.  They’re armed.”

       I don’t know what made me think of it but an idea popped into my mind from what the Saracens did at Edmund’s castle years ago.

       “Helen, please run to our forecastle and get my bow and a couple of arrows – the longest ones you can find; and bring all the linen strips we use for our arses if they’re clean and dry.”

       “Jeffrey, please tell the sailor cook to light a cooking fire and send a man to bring up his driest and smallest firewood kindling.” 
Fire arrows, by God; maybe we can burn the bastard if we can’t take it.

       Jeffrey’s men row us on past the Moorish ship so we can look over the few ships still in the harbor while he and the rest of his crew rush around trying to organize fire arrows. 

        All we find are a couple of our prizes, galleys from the beach with Henry’s men on board - which each have an empty sailing ship in tow and are slowly pulling them out of the harbor.  The only other ships still in the harbor are two single masted sailing ships with Moorish crews and the Moorish cog we passed a few minutes ago. 

      
There is no telling how many Moorish ships, if any, raised their sails and successfully left when our prize crews began taking prizes from among those not strong enough to resist; or what we could have done to stop them.
 

       We also found a listing and abandoned prize galley with a badly damaged bow and a couple of dead Moors on its lower rowing deck, but no trace of whatever it had hit.  The chains of its slave rowers are still on the rowing benches but they’re empty; the slaves and other survivors must have been picked up by Harold and his men.

     It’s time to leave.  The two galleys following us swing around when we do and follow us as we once again row past the three Moorish ships still in the harbor.  The Moorish captains must have changed their minds about staying in the harbor and fighting off boarders here in the Tunis; by the time we get back to them they’ve all three raised their anchors and are setting their sails to leave.
Hopefully they’re getting under way too late.

       But they’re not too late.  Our fire arrows don’t work.  We easily shoot them into the Moors’ hulls as we row past – but they either go out or the bundles of rags and kindling wood fall apart before the hulls catch fire.  All we end up doing is wasting time and giving the Moors a good scare.

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       Our plans change.   Except for our two prize galleys and their tows there are no more galleys or potential prizes in or near the Tunis harbor.  So there is no probably no need for Jeffrey and the captains of our two sister galleys to stop at the entrance to block it while our prizes get away. 

       Even so, our drum goes silent and we stop rowing when we reach the harbor entrance.  A few minutes later the last of our prizes rows slowly past us towing an unmanned Moorish sailing ship.  The sound of its rowing drum comes over the water as it goes by. 

       Spirits are high and the handful of men on our decks give each other cheers and waves as the closest of the two prize galleys and its tow slowly slide past. 

       It’s little wonder the prize galley’s deck is so empty; our prize crews are small so almost every man is at a rudder or an oar to help the slaves on the rowing benches. Everyone on board wants to get out of the harbor at the highest possible speed, however slow that might be – and that’s exactly what they should be doing. 

       It will be a while before the two prize galleys and their tows will be over the horizon towards the south and out of sight of any pursuers we might have missed.   We’ll stay here just in case until they are almost out of sight.  Then we’ll catch up with them and escort them to Malta.

       “Jeffrey, do any of your men have experience on sailing ships?”

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        We leave our two sister galleys to convoy the last two prize galleys out of the harbor.  Before we leave them we cobble together enough of a sailing crew from our three galleys to man one of the cogs.  We don’t have enough sailors for the other cog so it is still being slowly towed with a couple of men on board to work its rudder. 

       Jeffrey has us moving nicely using both our sail and oars when the lookout on the mast reports a galley dead in the water off our port bow.  A few seconds later, as soon as they see us, the galley’s rowing drum starts and some of its oars begin to row – and some of them keep rowing even after we come along side and hail it with an order it to stop and be boarded.

      “Come down immediately,” I shout up to the lookout.  “I’m sending up bowmen.”

      “Jeffrey, get your two best archers up there with their bows.”

      Less than a minute later the lookout is on the deck and the Marines are in the nest.

      “Can you see the man at the rudder or the rowing drum?”  I shout up to the Marines as they scramble up the mast.  “If you can see either of them, take them.”

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       It is totally dark and the warm and sunny day has turned into a rather nice but windy evening by the time we cast off the grappling lines - so our new prize crew and the Tunisian’s slaves are once again rowing our recaptured prize towards Malta.  The only difference is that now twenty of Jeffrey’s Marines are on board to keep order and help row.