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) (6 page)

      Our sergeants and men know of our plans and the fact that we will be getting to Cyprus and the Holy Land late because of Cornell’s attempted invasion.  They are undoubtedly discussing our plans openly with the merchants in the markets and girls in the taverns. 

      
It doesn’t matter who knows of our plans – it’s a very stupid pirate who will attack a war galley loaded with prime fighting men on their way to the Holy Land.

       Surprisingly, less than a dozen of our men desert in Lisbon even though it’s a fine walled city with many entertainments.  They run while we are replenishing some of our supplies and waiting for our last two galleys to arrive.  Those who run are mostly slaves and sailors who don’t want to return with us and spend another winter in England; and their loss is more than offset by the men who come to the dock and make their marks to join us. 

      
Harold is very pleased; he’s signed up several experienced pilots who know the waters where we are headed.  One of them was a slave of the Algerians for many years and speaks the Moorish tongue.  Henry, on the other hand, is not pleased; there isn’t a single longbow archer among all the men who apply to join us.

       While we wait for the rest of our ships the men enjoy short shore leaves and we slaughter what’s left of the livestock we’ve been carrying and buy replacements and other supplies.  It’s a very conventional rendezvous.

       Our two missing galleys finally come in together and two hours later we’re on our way to Palma without having to leave anyone behind to gather up the stragglers.  And once again our ships are filled to overflowing with complaining animals and sacks and barrels full of supplies. 

       Our last two galleys and the cog will give their men a shore leave tonight to visit Lisbon’s brothels and taverns.  They’ll leave tomorrow and rejoin us in Palma.

                                     Chapter Four

      
Our voyage to Palma is quiet and comfortable.  The weather is good although the days have turned hot and sunny.  Summer is here. 

       Harold wisely relies on our sail and lets the rowers sleep during the heat of the day to keep them strong.  And, of course, our other galleys go slowly because Harold goes slowly.  Visibility is good and the moon provides enough light at night so our galleys are able to travel together as one big armada – and in so doing we scare the crews of every ship we come across out of their wits; they scurry to get out of our way as if the devil himself is on their heels.  

       Palma is on Mallorca Island.  It’s a beautiful place and under the nominal control of the Moors who are called “Berburs” or something like that.  Fortunately for us, and the reason we’ve put in here once again for supplies and to reform our fleet, the local Moslems are once again involved in one of their long running religious wars. That’s why Mallorca’s Berbur king is a deadly enemy of the Moslem Caliph who rules Tunis and Algiers on the other side of the Mediterranean. 

       The fighting and bad feelings between the Moslems may be bad for the local people and merchants but it is good for us - because the local heathen are once again keen to tell us everything they can about their equally heathen enemies on the other side of the sea. 

      
What they told us when we were here previously turned out to be quite accurate and useful.  Hopeful it will be again.  Information about your enemies and prey is always useful.

       All and all, as we know from our previous visits, Palma is a fairly civilized place with many Christians and Jews living on the island as farmers and merchants.  Genoa and Pisa have had commercial establishments here for years.  The tavern and the two ale houses next to the dock aren’t too bad either, just smoky when their cooking fires are lit.  The tavern, in particular, has wonderful bread and cheese even though the girls smell bad.

       We’ve come back to Palma once again to get information and because we didn’t have any problems both when we rendezvoused here last year on our way to England and again when some of our galleys stopped here in September on their way back from England to Cyprus.  Once again that seems to be the case, the locals being friendly I mean. 

       Indeed the local Moslems seem pleased that we’d given the Tunisians a poke in the eye a couple of years ago and Algerians last year.  At least that’s the story we got from all the local merchants the last two times we touched here last year and on this visit as well. 
We don’t mention our raid on Cadiz last fall and neither do the local merchants; its ruler recently changed sides as the Moslems often do and is now aligned with Mallorca’s.

       Palma’s Genoan and Pisan merchants are different pot of eels.  They are like the island’s Jewish and Moslem merchants - all smiles and happy enough to take our coins in the market place and pay us to carry their cargos and parchments.  But, according to several of the Jewish merchants, the Genoans and Pisans are not at all happy to see us in Palma.  They know about our concession and trading post on Cyprus and fear we’ll come here next and set up to be their competitors. 

       And, of course, they’re right because this is a logical place for us on the route between England and the Holy Land.  So someday setting up a post here is exactly what Thomas and I will be doing if our plan for George succeeds.  Unfortunately that day is still a long way off; so we’ll once again do as we did before and lie about our intentions – and go all out to convince the local Christians and everyone else that we are friendly and just passing through on our way to the Holy Land. 

       Of course we’re friendly.  It isn’t good to shite where you are going to walk and we almost certainly will want to stop here again.  It’s a key port for us as we come and go between Cornwall and Cyprus.  Even so the local Christians don’t trust us and I don’t trust them, and rightly so. 

       I also don’t trust the local Moslem ruler because he’s a Moslem.  It’s well known that they’ll change sides in an instant and cut off your head if one of their priests tells them God wants them to do it or if they start listening to one of their many wives and mistresses.  They’re like our Christian kings and popes in that. 

      
If we ever come here permanently we’ll probably have to take over the whole island and replace all the Moslems with Christians.  And we’re a long way off from being strong enough to do that.  Besides, we have other more important bread to bake.

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       My parchment map appears to be a copy of an old Roman map.  It shows Cagliari on the southern tip of the island it calls Sardeenia.  Harold says my map is a particularly good one and that Cagliari will be easy for the pilots of our galleys to find.  Moreover, he tells me with a  great deal of satisfaction, the men he has recruited are all highly experienced sailors who’ve found Cagliari many times before and know how to find it again. 

       It’s easy he says.  All they have to do is keep their galleys sailing easterly and a little northerly from Palma until they hit Sardeenia. It’s a big island so it’s easy to find.

       When the pilots reach Sardeenia they simply turn their galleys to the right and keep going along the coast of the Island until they come to the city of Cagliari.  It will, Harold assures me, take a week or so depending on the winds and how hard we row. 
Getting there sounds simple and it’s very encouraging that every one of our pilots has been there many times.

      According to Harold, such an approach to piloting works like a charm - unless the southerly winds blow you far enough south so you never see the island and just keep going; or you reach it in the night or during the storm and until it is too late to turn; or you run afoul of the heathen pirates who patrol these waters. 

       Our plan is for all our galleys to rendezvous in Cagliari even though we’ve never put in there before.  Harold and his pilots assure me it’s always been a friendly Christian port and our custom will be welcome.

      
I hope they’re right.  If for some reason a galley misses the entire island it will continue on without turning back and make a long run all the way to our next rendezvous at Crete or even on to Cyprus.  Every one of our men knows this is the plan.

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       Cagliari is beautiful to look at from a distance.  We’re all on deck looking at the city as our galley slowly rows into the harbor.  Harold heads for the big dock that runs almost all the way around the north end of the crowded harbor.  The harbor is crowded with many ships including a number of our galleys.  Our cog, however, is not here yet.

       Dinghies from our galleys in the harbor begin being rowed towards us almost immediately and men are getting off the galleys moored at the dock and walking towards the vacant place on the dock where we will soon be berthed.  Something’s up.  I can see it in the extra anxiety that somehow seems to be accompanying our dinghies and the men who are walking down the dock to meet us.  The dock itself seems strangely deserted for having so many ships in the harbor.

       Twenty minutes later we’re tied to the dock and every one of our sergeant captains in the harbor is on our deck.  The situation quickly becomes more understandable and worrisome.

       There is great tension in the city and the market is closed.  For the past several days there have been riots and looting.

       “It started right after we arrived,” Gregory Farmer said with a touch of disgust in his voice.

       “The new bishop had the local king or prince or whatever he is burn some people in the city square.  Horrible it was.”

       “He’s right,” said another of our sergeant captains.  “I was in the market arranging for firewood and saw the whole damn thing.  It was the damn priests doing it, yes it was.”

       “The priests?”

       “Aye, William, it were the priests.  The merchants say the priests claimed the man was a heretic, but the real reason they burned him was because he was the steward of the Orthodox Church manors in this part of Sardinia and refused to turn the manors over to them.”

       We stay on the galley that first evening and Harold orders our men to stay aboard all of our galleys rather than go ashore.  It is wise precaution.  Last night two of our sailors were knifed and robbed by the mob that had taken over the city and looted its shops after the burning. 

       It’s a good thing Thomas is going to disappear any priests who show up in Cornwall; they’re vicious and conniving bastards and always trouble, yes they are.

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       Helen and I go ashore the next morning to visit the market.  I take a large guard of men and it’s a good thing I do.  Cagliari may look beautiful at a distance but up close it is truly horrible and its people are unhappy and afraid. 

       Groups of idle and angry eyed young men stare at us as we pass and beggars and destitute people are everywhere.  Many people are obviously living on the streets.  It reminds me of the poorer sections of Alexandria we walked through when we went to kill the Tunisians who tried to have me assassinated after we took their galleys.

       We find the Cagliari market open the next morning and the merchants both subdued and anxious to talk.  They confirm what the galley captains who have been here for a while told us – that many of the people crowding the city are orthodox Christians, refugees fleeing from the religious conflict occurring in Sicily. 

      
I wonder if the refugees would pay to be carried to Constantinople; that would certainly be out of the pot and into the fire but it’s probably where the Orthodox would want to go.  Or perhaps they’d want to go elsewhere; but where?

       Some of the Jewish merchants in the market are particularly willing to talk.  They say the local problems began because of succession problems on the Island of Sicily which is several days sailing to the east. 

       Apparently the king of Sicily just died and the new king, only four years old, has somehow come under the control of a new archbishop - one appointed by the Pope instead of by the Orthodox Patriarch in Constantinople as everyone expected. The burning of accused heretics and general repression by the new church authorities from Rome are causing many of the orthodox Sicilians to flee to Sardeenia to escape. 

      
Hmm.  I wonder if we should take some of our galley to Sicily to pick up refugees.  Or would one side or the other see it as interfering and put us on the enemies side of their ledger? It’s an important question because Thomas says only a fool takes sides in a religious squabble; and he ought to know being as he’s a priest and read nine books when he was in the monastery.

      In any event, it seems the Pope is beginning to use the same methods of terror and false accusations here to turn Sardeenia into one of the Papal States as Sicily has just become.  The Orthodox believers living here and elsewhere on Sardeenia, including the refugees from Sicily, are understandably worried and upset.

       As it is explained to me, Sardinia has four principalities and each of the four princes is somehow associated with Genoa and it priests answer to the Patriarch in Constantinople as members of the Eastern Church; or at least the local priests used to answer to him.  The merchants think that what the newly arrived Roman priests are doing is making false accusations to weaken the gentry who look to Genoa and Constantinople - so they can take over their lands and weaken the authority of the local prince until he agrees to make his principality a papal state.  What’s interesting is that the merchants don’t care who the prince is or what religion dominates the island so long as they are left alone.