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) (12 page)

      
It’s total chaos on the dock as the sun begins setting in the distance.  There is much to talk about and everyone is talking at the same time about everything as we slowly walk around the city walls to our little fortress.

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        Yoram has laid on a big dinner with all our master sergeants – All the original archers who are in port are here along with Yoram, Harold, Peter, and Yoram’s assistant, Andy Anderson.  Joseph, Harold’s second is also present in case anyone wants to know about our ships and sailors already here in the Holy Land waters. 
If Yoram and the others say Joseph did a good job of standing in for Harold we’ll make him a master sergeant as well.

         Finally Lena whispers in Yoram’s ear and he shoos everyone out so Helen and I can get some sleep.  We’ll be sleeping once again right here the great hall where the master sergeants used to sleep.  Lena and Yoram are upstairs.

       “Don’t worry about the sergeants,” Yoram assures me as the last of them goes out the door.

       “Over the winter we used logs from the king’s forest to build a wooden defensive wall dividing the innermost bailey in half - and then built rooms for the master sergeants in one half and for the other senior sergeants in the other.  They’re living like kings.”

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       Helen obviously enjoys being here.  She was singing to herself and smiling as she traipsed up the stairs to be with Lena so Yoram and I can meet privately to discuss the state of our coins before the sergeants arrive for today’s meetings.     

       The coin situation in our chests upstairs is, in a word, splendid – coins have continued to pour in from our refugee carrying and other operations.  The number of coins we have in our chests upstairs is quite staggering – it’s a king’s ransom and more comes in every time a galley arrives or departs with more refugees and parchments. 

      
I don’t say a word but I’m greatly relieved.  In a couple of days we’ll have to pay out a huge amount of prize money for the unexpectedly large number of prizes we took out of Tunis.  The prizes are still coming in so we don’t yet know exactly how much we’ll be paying out to our men, only that it will be well over two thousand bezants because we took so many prizes.

       To my surprise, Yoram reports we are now earning almost as much from the merchants and others using our rapidly growing coin transfer services.

       “Word has spread through the merchant communities that we can be trusted,” Yoram explains.  “Many who gave us a try liked it.  They are using our parchment orders more and more instead of taking the risk of sending actual coins back and forth via their own couriers.”

       Then Yoram said something that knocked me out of my sandals while we waited for the other sergeants to arrive.

       “Congratulations by the way; Lena told me about the new baby last night.”

       “What new baby?”

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        I run up the stairs two at a time and am still in a state of shocked elation when the sergeants begin arriving a few minutes later for today’s meeting.

       We sit around the big table in the hall with bowls of breakfast ale and talk about many things. 
Though I must admit I don’t listen as carefully as I should; I’m more than a bit distracted by the news that I’m going to be a father again.

       First and foremost we agree to immediately announce that the initial prize monies will be given out in four days.  That will give more of our prizes a chance to reach Limassol and increase the initial payout. 

      
Any sooner and the men will think we are trying to avoid paying them for some of the prizes; any later and they’ll start worrying that we are trying to avoid paying altogether.

       Once the timing of the prize money payments is settled we have a long discussion about the clothes our men are wearing and the difficulties of knowing friend from foe in the midst of a battle, to say nothing of knowing one man’s rank from another man’s when we are going about our daily chores.  Everyone seems to have at least one experience they want to share.

       There is total agreement that the clothes the men are bringing from England are too warm for fighting in the summer heat.  Those who hadn’t been at the Tunis walls laugh when Peter and I describe how we and our men had taken our pants and shirts off in Tunis in order to fight in the excruciating heat; they are shocked when they hear about our men collapsing and two of them dying.  Everyone nods when I say “Never again; we must get proper clothes for our men.”

       Yoram suggests an answer.  He thinks we should use the white linen gowns and straw hats the Egyptians wear when they have to be outside in the summer.  Then we’ll know our men because they’ll all be in white and have the same hats.  He thinks they are so common we will be able to immediately buy the three thousand we’ll need. 

      
My god, do we really have three thousand men?  The number startles us all.

       After much discussion I tell Yoram to buy the white summer gowns and hats and get them to the men as quickly as possible – we’ll pay for the first one for every man including the slaves we release; they’ll be responsible for replacing them when they wear out. 

       We also agree that the gowns are to be in sizes large enough so when the weather is cold they can be worn over the Marines’ clothes from England – and that when we get them we’ll have the men sew little stripes or ribbons on the front and back of their gowns so everyone will know each man’s rank as soon as he sees them: none for freed slaves and workers; one for apprentice Marines and pike men; two for Marines; three for sergeants: four for sergeant captains, and so on and so on.

       It’s starting to get uncomfortably warm in here and it’s all I can do to keep awake by the time Yoram begins a long report on the state of our galley operations and about the on-going construction here in Limassol to further strengthen our fortress.  He suggests we consider using some of our new prizes to start service from Cyprus to Rome and to Paris and London without stopping in Cornwall; perhaps with a sergeant and some men stationed permanently in each city
. 

       I only agree to think about such an expansion; I don’t explain that Thomas and I think we should keep our heads low so that neither we nor Cornwall attract attention from Richard or the Pope.

       Henry and Samuel farmer speak up next to report on the status of the apprentices we sent out last year.  Most of them have learned to walk together in formation and are qualified as pike men and archers.  The numbers are impressive.  All together, Henry reports with a good deal of satisfaction, we now have almost seventeen hundred longbow-carrying Marines based on Cyprus - men trained to fight on both land and sea.

       “And what about the apprentices we sent out last fall who didn’t qualify?”  Peter asks Samuel Farmer. 
That’s a good question and I nod my approval at Peter for asking it.

       “
They’re still rated as pike men and will be carrying pikes and swords until they qualify.  All in all we’ve got about three hundred pike men still trying to qualify as archers and another five hundred or so who never will – they practice with their pikes and swords every day, of course, but they spend most of their time working in our construction crews and smithy and suchlike.  Both numbers are likely to go up, way up, after we evaluate and recruit from the slaves we just freed.”

       “How many slaves did we take out of Tunis?”  I ask.

       “At least a thousand and maybe more.  I’ve got my sergeants sorting them out as we speak.  Some of them are in pretty bad shape.  We’ve already found over a dozen Englishmen including a couple of archers who went out with that fool Sussex.”

       “Well, put those who need it on double and triple rations and make damn sure they have clothes and shelter – with enough learning even the slow ones we free sometimes turn out to be sort of useful.”  I say it with a great twinkle in my eyes and a nod towards Harold as everyone roars. 
Well that woke everyone up; Harold’s a favorite of everyone and a good man all around.

       Then we talk about many different things: the performance of our men in Constantinople, Antioch, and Egypt
no problems
; relations with the Templars and Hospitallers
haven’t heard from them
; the local governor and King Guy
haven’t heard from them either
; our stocks of arrows and modified Swiss pikes
large and growing
; and where best to use the new scribe Angelo del Gato
probably right here in Cyprus
.

       Finally I call things to a halt; I’m all talked out and I need to take a break. 
And so does everyone else from the looks of them.  This heat is deadly.

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      Things settle down rather quickly despite the sudden arrival of so many new men.  The paying of the prize money goes smoothly and so does the aftermath – both because Henry and Harold forbid the carrying of weapons and because they have their sergeants patrol the city’s taverns and whorehouses carrying shields and swords. 

     Even more importantly, the local merchants prevail upon the owners of Limassol’s taverns and whorehouses to set up temporary tents outside the fourth curtain wall where the former slaves and workers live in the shelters they have erected.  They close early and the results are gratifying if the rapes and fights are excluded – there are only three murders and we only have to hang four men for thieving. 
And a surprising number of our men deposit their monies in our chests and go on our books.

       The summer days that follow are so hot despite the new Egyptian gowns that Yoram temporarily reduces the length of the work and training day for most of our people to only ten hours and starts it an hour before sunrise.

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       Everything changes three weeks later when a galley comes in from Constantinople carrying an orthodox priest.  He’s someone we know, Father Apostos, and he’s carrying a message for me – it’s ransom demand from the new Byzantium emperor in Constantinople, Alexios III. 

       Alexios has captured Randolph and his men and wants us to pay a ransom of four thousand gold bezants to free them and their galleys. According to the emperor’s letter, that’s a fair price because he is entitled to all the property of everyone who helps his empire’s traitors - and especially those who supported the previous emperor he’s just overthrown and replaced.   

       Randolph and his men, Alexios’ letter says, were paid to carry traitors escaping from Constantinople to safety.  The emperor is going to keep our galleys and wants four thousand gold bezants or Randolph and his men will be tortured and killed.

                                   Chapter Eleven

       Father Apostos merely shrugs when I ask him to explain the ransom demand.

       “His Majesty needs money.  He had to borrow many bezants from the Church to buy off his brother’s supporters so he could replace him on the throne.  Now he needs money to repay us.”

       I immediately send Father Apostos back to wait in the galley that brought him and runners to summon the master sergeants.  So far as I’m concerned the matter is settled – Randolph and Robert Monk and their men and galleys are either going to come back in one piece or a goodly number of Constantinople’s gentry and priests are going into an early grave.

     
I’m in a rage and it’s not good to act when you’re upset.  Even so, by the time the last of the men arrives all out of breath I’ve studied my parchment map and have a response in mind.  But first I want to take the temper of the men.

      
As soon as everyone is present I read them the ransom note.  Then I just stand there and look at them.  To a man they are as appalled and upset as I am and their responses are predictable.

       “Why that rotten bastard.” … “We’re not going to abandon them are we?” … “We’ve got to do something.”

       I finally speak after they finish venting their anger.

       “I’ve sent the messenger who delivered the message back to wait in the galley that brought him.  Some of us know him – he’s the priest who brought the men to us who paid to have a galley standing by in Constantinople in case they would have to flee.  I don’t know whose side the priest’s on or why he’s carrying the note - but I’m going to find out and that’s for damn sure.”

       “But everybody needs to be clear about one thing.  We are not going to abandon Randolph and his men.  We can’t abandon any of our men no matter who they are or what it costs - it’s in our contract; we made our marks didn’t we?” 

       Then I pick up the parchment I’ve written and read out the response I prepared while I was waiting for them to assemble - and watch as each of them grimly nods his agreement.

    
“It appears that due to a serious and regrettable misunderstanding some of your men are holding some of my men for ransom.  The first ships and companies of men I am sending to Constantinople to free them by force will soon be in your presence.  They will turn around and leave if you return my men and galleys unharmed - with an appropriate compensation for their hardships and the costs of my response and the freedom to carry people and cargos to and from Constantinople.  If not I will seize your ships, burn your city, and destroy your lands.  William, Earl of Cornwall.”