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) (11 page)

       All of the Tunisian slaves except the most seriously wounded are once again chained to the lower rowing benches.  At the moment they are wolfing down bread and cheese from the food we hurriedly pass over to the prize while it is still light enough to see what we are doing. 

       All we know for sure is that two men of the six in our prize crew have been killed and three wounded, one quite seriously.  We’ll sort out the slaves when we reach Malta and Harold can talk to what’s left of the men in our prize crew. 
Though I rather doubt the leader or leaders of the mutiny will ever see Malta again.

                                  Chapter Nine

      
Helen and I are standing side by side at the very front of Jeffrey’s galley as we come into Malta’s harbor late the next day.  It’s a moment to savor despite the oppressive heat, and I certainly do - the harbor is packed with ships and we row between them towards the dock to an increasingly enthusiastic reception as the word spreads of our arrival and their sailors and Marines pour on to their decks to cheer and wave. 

       Most of the galleys and sailing ships, it seems, are ours and most of them are prizes.   There is also no doubt about it - their cheering and waving sailors and Marines are pleased and happy.  They should be; we’ll be passing out a huge amount of prize money when we reach Cyprus, and rightly so.

       Malta’s old stone dock is teeming with all kinds of activity.  Men and carts are everywhere.  Harold, Henry, and a number of our most senior sergeants are all waiting with big smiles and open arms as we bump up against the dock and tie up at the one and only space that our galleys have not already taken.   There is a huge crowd of our men and curious local citizens standing in a great half circle behind them. 
And, thank God, I see Long Bob; Harold or one his galleys must have picked him up when his galley went down.

       We English have a reputation for being staid and stoic and not showing much emotion.  But you wouldn’t know it from great hugs and backslapping that occur after I step from the roof of the forecastle and Harold pulls me up on to the dock by my extended arm.

       Helen is still standing demurely on the forecastle roof when  I turn back and Henry and I each take one of Helen’s arms and pull her up to join us.  It made me laugh out loud in delight and Helen smile shyly when each of the bearded ruffians very carefully bent down and took her hand and kissed it. 

      
They all knew she was with me and must have planned it; however they did it, it warmed my heart almost to tears and so did the cheers of the crowd gathering around us.  It was all I could do to flutter my hands at the crowd around us and mouth my thanks as I nodded my appreciation to them.

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       A few minutes later a great crowd follows us as we walk arm in arm down to the tavern just off the end of dock.  It’s the same place where I first met Count Brindisi, the old pirate who is now Malta’s lord.

       “We knew we’d need a place to meet with our captains so we rented the whole thing as soon as we got here this morning,” Peter explains as he steps around a milky eyed beggar sitting on the dock with his hand outstretched.

      “I bet we’ve taken more prizes than anyone has ever taken before, maybe ever,” Harold exclaims at the same time.  “It’s unbelievable; it really is.”

       “What’s the latest count?’ asks Henry to no one in particular.

       “At least sixty have come in so far, maybe more; we really won’t know for sure for at least a week.”

       “Yoram will faint,” I offer with a big laugh that gets smiling nods from everyone, “from all the prize money we’ll have to hand out.”

       Moments later we beam big smiles and cheerful greetings to a group of Marines guarding the tavern’s entrance and duck our heads to enter the smoke filled room.  It’s deserted except for its smiling owner and his wife.  And it’s empty even though there are a lot of thirsty men in town. 

      
Peter must have put a guard on the door as soon as he rented it.  Smart move; we’re going to need someplace private where we can talk to our sergeant captains and make our lists.

       “Taking this place was a smart move, Peter.  Thank you.”

       But then I get to thinking.

       “Harold, before we sit down and have a drink and hear how Bob Long learned to swim, don’t you think we should make arrangements to keep order in the city tonight?  Our men are rightly going to be celebrating tonight and they’re likely to cause trouble if we’re not careful – we don’t want to shite where we walk; we may want to call in here again sometime.”

       The response I get from Henry puts a smile on my face.

       “We’re way ahead of you, William.  Brindisi has already ordered all the taverns and alehouses in the city to close at sundown tonight.  He says to say hello, by the way, and to tell you he’d like to lift a mug with you before we leave.”

       We drank and ate and told stories of what we’d done and what we’d seen until late that evening.  Along the way we reached a number of decisions.  One is that we must immediately outfit our men in hot weather clothes and be able to tell their ranks from looking at them. 

       Another is that starting tomorrow morning every captain is to come here and report on the size of his crew and who is in it. 
We may have to take men from some ships and put them on others if we are to get all our prizes to Cyprus. 

      
Having so many prizes is wonderful I announce for about the tenth time this evening.

       “But it means we now have so many ships and men that we’ll never be able to remember them all, not me at least.  So we’ll have to make a list if we’re to know who needs what – and I’m the only one who knows how to scribe and we have no parchments and inks.”

       Finally I stagger my way up the narrow staircase to a sleeping room with Helen holding my arm to make sure I don’t fall and hurt myself. 
It’s been a great day.

      
“It’s been a great day, hasn’t it Helen?”

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       Everything is confusion the next morning when the sun comes up and we reassemble around one of the tavern’s tables for a mug of ale and some fresh bread and cheese from the tavern owner’s wife.  We need to finish talking about we should do next.  

       It takes a while but we finally resolve two of the big issues that face us – what to do with the many hundreds of newly freed galley slaves and how to provision and man our prizes so they can get to Cyprus.

       The slaves are an easy decision.  We need them to row our prizes to Cyprus.  So Harold and Henry are to go to the dock immediately and spread the word that Malta doesn’t want them and will return them to slavery if they go ashore here.  That means, they are to tell every sergeant, that unless a slave is originally from Malta he can’t go ashore until we reach our base in Cyprus. 

       “Tell the slaves that once we reach Malta they can do whatever they want including working for us for their food and drink.  But until then they’re staying on board.” 

      
It’s not true about Malta returning them to slavery; at least I don’t think so.  But one never knows with a man like Brindisi.

       It takes a couple of hours but Harold and Henry finally return and we are able begin talking with the captains who are gathering outside. 

       We are listening to Alfred, the prize captain of what he enthusiastically describes as  a fine Tunisian eighty oar galley when one of Peter’s sergeants knocks on the open wooden door to get our attention and bustles in. 

      
Alfred obviously wants us to keep the prize with him in command so
I suspect he would be describing it as a fine ship even if it was sinking out from under him. Good on him; I would expect nothing less.

      
The sergeant’s interruption is more than welcome because he’s brought us some of the things we need - ink and blank parchments and, best of all, one of the city’s public scribes, a rotund old whitebeard who usually sits in the city square reading and writing petitions and agreements and letters and such for the people who can’t read or scribe. 

       Two minutes of conversation and it’s clear he can read and scribe in Latin, Italian, and French; he’s a welcome sight for the sore eyes in my aching head.

       “Please sit here on the bench right next to me.  I want you to assist me in the writing of some lists.  I’ll tell you when and what to write.” 

      
Damn it.  It can’t be helped but he’s going to know our strength and problems.  We’ll either have to kill him or take him with us. 

         We work right on through our afternoon meal.  It takes many hours but by the end of the day we have a list of all of our galleys and other ships which have reached Malta.   And on the list is the name of each ship’s captain and information about the nature of its crew and supplies. 

       As we expected, some of our ships have enough supplies and men to reach Cyprus; others clearly do not.  The prize galleys, in particular, are seriously short of having enough food and water. Some of them had none on board when they left Tunis and their crews suffered before they got here.  Food and supplies are a major problem.  It’s one we’ll have to solve before we leave.

      
The Tunisian prizes are also short of Marines to prevent crew and slave mutinies.  We’ve already had one that we know of and that’s enough. Harold and Henry will be dealing with that as well – we’re going to spread our Marines out so that every prize will have at least a sergeant and twenty Marines on board between here and Cyprus.

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       Three days later the wind is favorable and an English armada of almost seventy ships leaves Malta bound for Cyprus – fifty five war galleys, fourteen sailing ships, and over one thousand fully trained Marines. 

       We also have three or four cargo ships sailing with us that aren’t ours - because two days ago the local merchants sent a delegation asking for permission for their ships to sail with our fleet.  The merchants were very clear as to why they were making the request – they want to decrease the likelihood their ships will be taken by pirates.

       “Everyone knows that attacking an English ship means death and the loss of your galley,” one of the merchants assured me.

       Not everyone is going.  Peter will stay in the port with two galleys for a few more days in case any of the three missing prizes come in. He’ll keep a large enough complement of Marines with him so they can serve on the missing galleys – if they come in.  Also staying behind are two prize galleys in need of extensive repairs to make them seaworthy. 

       I personally assure the Marines and galley crewmen staying behind that they will get their full share of the prize money.  I even advance them some coins so they can enjoy their stay. 
The freed slaves from the two galleys have been reassigned to the galleys going to Cyprus which seem to be the most in need of additional rowers.

       The chubby old whitebeard who helped me as a scribe turns out not to be a problem.  His name is Angelo del Gato and he jumps at the chance of going to Cyprus with us to work as a scribe either there or wherever else we might need him.

       “Malta is very small and I have been here for many years; I’d like to see more of the world before I die.”

       Angelo didn’t say but I suspect he’s a former priest who ran afoul of the church.
 
That’s actually a strong recommendation in these days of church-sponsored corruption and violence.  What’s really strange is that we also have an Angelo who used to be a priest and knows how to scribe in Cornwall. I wonder if that’s a name priests have to adopt if they leave the church?

                               Chapter Ten

       Helen is so excited I think she’s going to bust.  She’s been anxious to see her best friend, Yoram’s wife Lena, ever since we left Cornwall.  For the past week or so almost all she talks about is Lena and how her baby must have grown and whether the new one Lena was expecting when we left for England last year is a boy or a girl.  Well, she’s just about to find out - we’re passing through the harbor entrance and the Limassol docks are dead ahead. 

       A number of our galleys have already arrived and I can see a couple of the cogs anchored in the harbor that are almost certainly ours.

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       Our early arriving galleys alert everyone that we have scored a huge victory in Tunis with lots of prizes.  They also report that Henry, Helen and I are traveling on Harold’s galley and will be arriving soon.  It’s no wonder, then, that Yoram and Lena, and Brian and Samuel Farmer and many others are all waiting with big smiles as Harold eases our galley up to the dock and our rowing drum stops beating.

      
Albert, Thomas Cook, and William Chester are standing there with them.  I wonder who else has already made it to Cyprus?  And there, By God, are Aaron and Reuben.

       “Hello Hello,” I shout as I step over the railing and begin greeting my old friends with handshakes and back slapping hugs.  Out of the corner of my eye I can see Harold helping a tearfully happy Helen over the rail and into the arms of an equally tearful and happy Lena. 
I didn’t realize they’d become such good friends.