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) (4 page)

       “Joe and the boy just got back, Your Eminence.  The King was at Windsor and they leaves the pouch at the gate just as you said.”

       “That’s good Freddy, very good it is.  Why don’t you pull up a stool and join us.  Mistress Ann just finished brewing a new batch of her juniper and it’s uncommonly good.”

       We finish our chops, make our farewells, and leave as Freddy is once again waving at the barmaid to order another mug of drink.  I can see that Henry and Roger want to stay longer but I’m having none of it. 
I’ve sailed before after a night of heavy drinking and it’s not pleasant at all.

       I’d leave them here to their folly but I’m not about to walk back to the galley by myself in the dark. 
There are too many cutpurses about.

       “You two can return to close the place with Freddy if you want and if you mind the cutpurses.  But remember that we’ll be in the channel tomorrow on a galley - and that’s no place to be with a head that is sore from Mistress Ann’s brew, is it?”

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       The winds and conditions in the channel are not the best.  But between hard rowing, and Henry’s sailor sergeant constantly aiming the sail as only a veteran sailor man knows how, we are able to claw our way south to the mouth of the Fowey in less than a week.  It is a miserable week because my archers and I and the dozen or so new recruits we’re carrying are almost constantly seasick even with the constant rowing to distract us.

      
Yes, I sat with the men on the rowing benches and helped them row.  They don’t need my help, of course, but I find it better to be active than just sitting idle while the galley bounces this way and that.  At least it gets me tired enough that I can sleep when my turn is up.  Even so, my legs feel strange and weak all the way to Cornwall.  They don’t feel better until we get into the mouth of the Fowey and begin rowing upstream towards Restormel.  It’s very strange, isn’t it, seasickness I mean?

       A smiling Harold is waiting on our little dock on the River Fowey with Andrew Brewer when we bounce up against it and the men begin lashing Henry Forester’s galley to it.  Off in the big field beyond the camp I can see men walking up and down together and others practicing their archery and the use of swords.  Everything seems quite normal.  It’s as if I hadn’t been away at all.

      “Hey Harold, it’s good to see you.  Are things alright?”

       “Oh Aye, Thomas, alright is how things are; indeed they are.  Killed that right bastard Cornell the archers did, didn’t they?  Now we can get out of here and head east to make some coins.”

       The weather is glorious as I start walking up the track towards the castle.  Behind me I can see our new archers and apprentice archers coming off Henry’s gallery and looking about anxiously and curiously.  They know their lives are about to change - they just don’t know how; they’re both excited about it and concerned.

       Note from a later French parchment: “The English longbow men apparently launch their arrows differently from our French archers and the Genoese.  Our archers hold their bow stave out in front of them, notch an arrow in bow string, pull the bowstring back, and then let go of the string to shoot.  The English do it differently.  They notch an arrow on the string, hold the string and the notched arrow to their ear, and thrust the bow stave out in one big movement as they shoot.  The outward push of the bow at the time of launch apparently throws the arrow an even greater distance and yields more accuracy.  Our men cannot do it as it requires longer bows, much practice to learn, and very strong arms.”

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       Restormel’s gate is open and its drawbridge is down.  Everything feels normal and relaxed, almost as if I’d never been away.  And here comes George and the boys running out to greet me with William and Henry and Angelo Priestly right behind them. 
I’m home safe again; thank you Jesus.

       “Hello George, hello boys,” I shout with great enthusiasm as they come bounding up all full of excitement as only small boys can be.  Then it’s big hugs for the boys and William and handshakes all around for the men.

       “Is Leslie in the castle?” is Thomas’ first question even before I finish my hellos.

       “Aye, and happy he is to be there. Ready to settle down isn’t he?”

       “Well,” says William as he takes my arm, “that’s good news, very good news.  Now come in and tell us all about it.  The boys would like to hear as well, wouldn’t you George?”

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      There is much to discuss that day, particularly when Thomas tells me that Hathersage appears to be in hand and he doesn’t think we need to keep any additional men here in order to fight for it.  That’s what I want to hear and I immediately announce that we will sail for Cyprus and the Holy Land in three days. 
We’re leaving late as it is; we should have gone several weeks ago.

       I am going back to Cyprus and the Holy Land with fifteen galleys, one cog, and just under a thousand Marines – longbow archers trained to fight on ships as well as marching about and fighting together on land.  That means I’m leaving seven galleys and one cog here – if you include the two galleys being repaired and the one being torn up for firewood because it is in such bad shape.

       Eight of our company’s original archers are sailing with me as our master sergeants.  As for the other originals, my priestly brother is staying in command here with Roger as his number two and Martin in charge of Launceston; and three of our company’s other survivors are still in the Holy Land – Randolph in Constantinople, Bob Farmer in Antioch, and Samuel Farmer on Cyprus where he’s in charge of the Marines we’ve already got out there.  They are all that’s left of the one hundred and ninety two of us who went out crusading with King Richard years ago.

       We’ll also be taking almost three hundred experienced sailors including over a hundred newly recruited veteran sailors who seem to be qualified to command a cog or be its pilot. 
What we’ve learned is that any sailor man who can command or pilot a cog can also command or pilot a galley what with it having a smaller sail and its ability to row its way out of trouble.

       Unlike last fall when we sent our apprentice archers out to Cyprus for their training and kept our veterans to fight Cornell, this time we’ll do it differently.  This time we’ll only be taking archers out to the Holy Land who are already fully qualified both to fight on land and on the sea, the men we’ve taken to calling our Marines. 

       Ever since we returned to Cornwall last year our newly recruited archers and apprentices have been spending their time learning how to fight as Marines under the watchful eyes of Henry and his archer sergeants; similarly, our newly recruited sailors have been learning how to sail the galleys the Marines will fight on under Harold and his experienced sergeant captains.

       Finally, and last and least, we’ll be taking about fifty of the freed galley slaves who will help row because they want to return to the Holy Land, probably so they can get off our ships and run along the way. 

      Some of those we freed who are coming with us are Englishmen who continued on to their homes after we carried them here – and then came back because their homes and families are gone and they have nowhere else to go.  Others of the slaves we freed found permanent non-fighting positions with our shipwrights, smiths, fletchers, and kitchens both here and in Cyprus.  In other words, the men going with us are the homesick and the leftovers who are still trying to find their place in the world.

       One of our cogs and our most unseaworthy galley will remain here permanently so they can be used for the schooling of our apprentice Marines and our new sailors.  They need to learn about fighting at sea, climbing grappling lines to board potential prizes, and such like that. 

       The apprentices are particularly keen to learn because they won’t receive much more than their food until they qualify as longbow archers and learn how to be Marines and fight both on land and on board ships.  Until they qualify as archers and learn to fight on ships they’ll carry swords and our newfangled Swiss pikes and only fight on land here in England. 

      
It’s little wonder that some of the apprentices who have been with us for a while are clearly disappointed that they have not been found worthy of going out to Cyprus as Marines; they’ll neither earn coins for serving nor have any chance of prize money until they do.

       While we’re gone our other four cogs and their crews will be used to carry messengers and to make periodic voyages along the coast to pick up new recruits and supplies.  In all, remaining behind under Thomas’ command will be almost five hundred archer apprentices who are still not strong enough to push a longbow out for a shot, the sailors for the ships that will be based here, two hundred or so able bodied men working as shipwrights and smiths and such, and a company of about one hundred and twenty experienced Marines to train the apprentices and help guard the castles. 

       Most, but certainly not all, of the experienced archers who will be staying behind are volunteers who for some reason or another don’t fancy spending months at sea and fighting as Marines.  Many have women and children they don’t want to leave and a few are either cowards or reasonable men who don’t like the odds.

      Until tonight there had been no announcement of a sailing date because I needed to talk to Thomas to find out if we need to take our men to fight for Hathersage Castle instead of to the Holy Land.   Even so, ever since Cornell died everyone has been expecting an announcement.  As a result, over the past few weeks, starting as soon as it became known that Cornell was dead, there have been fevered efforts by the men who fear being left behind to exchange positions with men assigned to the Holy Land galleys who don’t want to go. 

       At first Henry and Harold and I try to accommodate everyone who wants to trade positions. But so many apply for a chance to plead to change their assignments that we finally announce that anyone who wishes to join the voyage may trade places with someone who does not; and that anyone who does not want to go on this voyage may find a substitute and exchange with him.

       The idea that they might get killed or drowned doesn’t seem to matter much to those who are anxious to sail with me to Cyprus and the Holy Land; they want the chance of prize money and advancement no matter how dangerous it might be.

      
They’re right to want to go with us; it’s rare when a commoner has an opportunity to advance himself in England these days.  Thomas and I certainly understand that.

                                  
Chapter Three

                While Thomas is away seeing to Hathersage Castle, Harold and Henry and I and the rest of our veterans spend our days training the men and getting things ready for our return to Cyprus and the Holy Land.  Peter Sergeant is usually with us.  Peter’s now a master sergeant over the regular sergeants and lives in the castle as my assistant. 

       Whenever possible we hold our serious discussions and do our planning around the table during our evening supper in the castle’s great hall.  We do it at the supper table both for the privacy it gives us and so George and the boys can listen and ask questions.  Surprisingly, the boys often ask questions, and good ones at that.  They’re lively lads and that’s for sure.

      
Thomas says it’s important George and the boys understand what we are doing and why.  I’m increasingly coming around to his way of thinking.

       Helen and Angelo Priestly, the boys’ teacher, typically sit with us until the boys begin to yawn and ask permission to go to bed.  But they rarely contribute a word - although sometimes when we’re alone Helen will ask me privately about some of things we talk about at the table. 

       Also, I suppose, the women who do the cooking and serving might hear bits and pieces of our plans and thoughts even though I always make it a point never to say anything of significance when they are within hearing distance.
They can’t help themselves; women are all gossips and tattletales, aren’t they?

       It isn’t just our planning for our voyage to the Holy Land that we discuss every evening.  We also discuss everything from the training of our apprentice Marines and prize crews to the question of where we need to build or improve bridges and roads - and where we don’t want them built or improved because we want Cornwall to remain isolated from London.  We want to be forgotten and left alone by the rest of England and particularly by the king and church. 

     
Perhaps it’s wishful thinking and my imagination but I think the boys somehow understand that we’re talking and consulting our parchment maps in front of them as part of their educations - so they’ll know what to do when they grow up; at least I hope so.

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Thomas’ return and the good news about Hathersage changes everything - and the pace of our activity and planning picks up rapidly when I announce that very evening that we’ll sail for the east in three days.

       Important among the many things that have to be done now that we have a firm sailing date is making sure Martin Archer at Launceston knows when we will be leaving and has enough supplies to withstand a siege.  Our plan is to return late in the Autumn; but what if we don’t return until the spring or even later? Accordingly, one of the very first things I do the morning after Thomas returns is send Peter to Launceston to inform Martin we will be leaving in three days - and to make another inspection of Launceston’s readiness both for long sieges and surprise attacks.