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)

by Martin Archer

  “First time for me too, by God? Eighty paces long if she’s a foot. I think she’s one of those new heathen ships I heard about after the goddamn Moors catched me up as a slave. I saw a couple of ships with the same flag; at least I think it was the same. In Acre it was … when the Saracens held the castle and the Moors was welcome. Square sails it had and two masts … not as big as this one though.”

  “Stand by to throw the climbing grapples.” …. “Stand by lads.” …. “Throw. Throw.”

  “No one on deck” came the cry from one of the two Marines in the lookout’s little nest on our mast. It changes to “here they come” few seconds after our grapples begin to thud as they land on the cog. Then the Marines in the nest begin launching their arrows and shouting begins in a strange tongue on the cog’s deck. Well the heathen are obviously on the deck now.

  Our prize men are just starting to climb the grapple ropes with swords and bows slung on their backs when there is another grunt and a scream above us and then a hail from the mast.

  “The deck’s clear. They’ve run below. We got three of the bastards.”

  Our prize crew sailors and their two Marine archers go up the knotted grappling lines in a hurry and disappear over the cog’s rail. Less than a minute later a face looks down at us and the sergeant of the prize crew shouts to me in an elated voice. “We’ve taken it.” Of course he’s elated; he’ll be its captain if he can get it to Malta.

  “Good luck,” I shout back. Then I pick our next prize.

  “Go for that one next,” I yell into the ear of the sailor sergeant standing next to me as I point to a cog at anchor nearby. It’s smaller cog with a single mast.

  “Grapplers and boarding party number two stand by.”

  Chapter Seven

  My Marines and I are sweating heavily under the glaring midday sun as we leave the dock and begin lumbering towards the city gate carrying our longbows. It’s a hard slog because we’re all laboring under the weight of the half dozen or so leather quivers full of arrows each of us has slung over his back.

  As we get closer to the gate a couple of the Marines in front of me stop running and begin launching arrows at the men they can see around the gate and on the ramparts above it. Others think that’s what they’re supposed to do and stop to join them.

  “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.” I croak out with a gasp as I go past them. “Get to the gate. To the gate, lads. Run. Run.”

  So far the wind looks to be somewhat favorable. Our fear, Harold’s and mine, is that the wind will shift so that some of our men will be trapped in the harbor on their prizes and unable to leave. That’s because we’re trying to take off the Moors’ sailing ships as well as their galleys. How long we have to hold the city to keep the Moors away from the sailing ships in the harbor and the galleys beached along the shore depends on the wind.

  Within a few minutes we reach the city gate and sprint into the little square beyond it. The gate’s open and the area in front of it is deserted except for a couple of dead and wounded Moors, the men who went down from our archers’ brief spurt of shooting as we ran.

  Most of the people we’d seen standing around in front of the city gate disappeared when our initial burst of arrows began falling. To our surprise there are still a few people standing around in the open area immediately inside the gate – they gape at us in disbelief as we run in. But they too quickly disappear.

  Even before I can catch my breath I begin shouting orders to the archers who’ve beaten me into the little square – they’d gotten inside the gate and just stopped because they didn’t know what to do next.

  “Get up those stairs; take the gate house and clear the walls in both directions. Hurry, all of you. Run. Run”

  Before I can even finish giving my first order there are literally hundreds of wild eyed and panting Marines in the open space inside the gate. The sun is so scorching that they’re all huddled against the buildings seeking shade – and several doors are quickly broken down so men can shelter inside out of the sun.

  It’s a good thing there are so many of us because streets and alleys run in various directions from the little square inside the gate and along the city wall. We need to block them all. There is not a moment to lose.

  “Sergeant,” I shout at an older Marine whose name I suddenly can’t remember, “take your men and go down there to the next intersection and hold it” … “Hurry man. Run, damn it, run.”

  In less than a minute I have reinforcements dashing up the stairs to help clear more of the ramparts on the wall and groups of men pounding down the various streets and alleys to set up blocking positions at the first intersection they reach.

  “Clear the wall in both directions all the way down to the next gate in the city wall - and beyond if you can,” I tell the sergeant whose men go rushing up the stone stairs next to the gatehouse.

  A hundred or so Marines stay in the little square a rapid reaction force I can send to wherever their longbows might be needed most.

  Damn, it would have been helpful if we’d had a map of this place before we came through the gate.

  “Sergeant, send your strongest runner down the outside of the wall to see if we’ve taken the other city gate in front of the dock.”

  @@@@@

  An hour later and things seem to be falling into place. The city is silent and we control most of the city’s walls. From the top of the gate house I’ve been watching more and more galleys and sailing ships leaving the harbor. I know they’re prizes because some of them are being towed. And I know Henry’s finished on the beach because I can see the last of his Marines running back to one of our galleys and climbing back aboard.

  A Marine runner arrives from Peter. The city gate he was trying to reach was closed by the time he and his men reached it. But he has it now because the men who came through my gate were able to come across along the unguarded ramparts on top of city walls and open it from the inside.

  Peter reports there is an increasing amount of activity in the tent encampment and livestock markets along the river. He doesn’t know what it means so he has decided to keep a large part of his force outside the city wall so he can block a counterattack coming through the open area between the encampment and the harbor.

  “Good decision” is the message I send back. “Protecting the harbor is more important than taking the city.”

  Amidst the turmoil and confusion I can see some of our galleys and even more of what are obviously prizes rowing for the harbor entrance. Others have already passed through the entrance and are disappearing into the distance. Smoke is coming from a couple of galleys on the beach. Damn; the galleys must not have had slaves on their rowing benches and been pulled to far up on the beach to be gotten off and towed.

  I can also see smoke coming from one of the galleys anchored in the harbor next to where Long Bob and his men appear to be boarding a cog. I know it is Bob and his men because his galley has such a unique sail; I wonder why he decided to burn the Tunisian instead of towing it out?

  Despite the hot sun there is activity all along the beach and in the harbor. It’s like a wasp’s nest that has been overturned. Worse, the wind seems to have died and there is still a great deal of activity on two or three of the ships in the harbor. Even from here I can see people massing on their decks. They may be there to repel our boarders.

  Damn. They must be newly arrived and didn’t have time to unload their men in time for them to attend the prayers in the mosque. Or could they be Venetians or Genoese?

  @@@@@

  I can see Harold’s galley boarding a cog off to our right as we row closer to the two masted Moorish cargo cog I’ve set my eyes on. That when the Marines up in the lookouts’ nest on my mast report the Moor’s deck is crowded with armed men.

  “They’ve got swords and shields,” one of the Marines shouts down to the deck. “More than twenty men; maybe thirty.”

  Suddenly both of our Marines shout warnings and begin shooting arrows as fast as they can
launch them.

  “They’ve got archers, by God. Archers.”

  We no more than hear the warning of the men in the lookout’s nest when one of them suddenly slumps back against the ropes and his bow drops to the deck. Then rocks start coming down around us. Damnation. They’ve got slingers too.

  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.

  @@@@@

  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?”

  @@@@@

  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 clo
sed 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.

  @@@@@

  “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.