In all this the beggar watched and listened and the boy at his side would wander between the knights and priests and remember their dress, crests, standards, names and the rumours that came out of their mouths. All this would come back to the beggar and he would smile and offer the boy a date.
But the beggar was not a Muslim, he had never been a Muslim and each night he would pray to God and his son Jesus and crave their forgiveness for the sin he committed daily in praying to Allah. His name was Mohammed Louis Sauvterre, a product of an unexpected and severely frowned upon union between a French knight and an Arabian woman who insisted her son be named after the prophet. The knight was so enamoured with her beauty he agreed without question. When he was ten his mother died of a fever and his father was killed in battle soon after. Because of his father’s connections he was taken in by Martel de Fribois’ predecessor where his unusual gift soon became apparent. He became a spy and spent a number of years in the crusader states listening and learning. He only ever used the name of Louis, but his appearance was so obviously Arab and his fluency in the tongue so complete Martel de Fribois had demanded he be his eyes and ears in Messina.
Each evening he and his boy would stand and walk slowly away from the docks while another boy would subtly take his place and wrap himself in a blanket and watch until dawn. Some boats came in during the night, while most waited in the straits until dawn by which time Sauvterre would be back waiting and watching. Every week without fail he would send a message to his master, Martel de Fribois and update him about who had been seen, where they were going and where they had come from.
Sauvterre sat at the side of the only route to and from the docks with his begging bowl in front of him, the boy sat beside him and they both chewed slowly on figs and dates from the bag secreted in Sauvterre’s ragged clothing. Six Templars walked past and he recognised three faces, the other three he would recognise again. The Grand Master was always interested in Templars because he hated them, hated their pious ways believing they were corrupt, infected by greed and mocking their vows of chastity.
He continued watching the people, occasionally someone would throw a coin into the bowl and he would bless them automatically. It was a day like any other. He knew a lot of information he sent appeared to be irrelevant. He also knew there were men like him in other ports and all the information received by the Grand Master gave the illusion to others he knew everything.
Two men walked in his direction having just disembarked from one of the boats, he knew it had come from Acre as he recognised the crew. Men from Acre always interested him more than from other ports in the Holy Land. The white surcoat with the inverted cross he saw as the cloak fell open from the bigger of the two men caught his attention. A knight from the Holy Order of St Peter was not a common sight in Messina, not travelling in the direction he was going; away from Acre. To anyone else it wouldn’t have meant anything, but it piqued his interest more than usual. He was vaguely familiar to Sauvterre but not from his time in Messina. For an instant their eyes made contact and the knight simply looked away again as if one beggar was the same as another, but this beggar remembered who the knight was; Ralf de Capo, a knight commander and second in command to the knights of the Holy Order of St Peter and he wondered why he would be in Messina, certainly something to mention to the Grand Master. Of course Sauvterre had no idea about the banishment of de Chauvigny or anything else that had happened in Acre in the past few weeks, but he almost gave himself away when the smaller of the two men pushed back his hood and stopped to look back from where they had come.
Sauvterre knew Erasmus, and Erasmus knew Sauvterre, not as the beggar. They had met on more than one occasion in the past and he instantly knew something was wrong. He looked down at the ground as Erasmus turned back and carried on walking next to de Capo. The last thing Sauvterre wanted was to make eye contact with the priest. As they walked past him, Sauvterre glanced up and watched as the two men headed into the town. He spoke quickly to his boy who stood and followed them while Sauvterre sat and wondered why those two men would be together. He allowed himself an inner smile as he knew this was something the Grand Master would be very interested in.
~
It seemed to de Capo that luck was on their side as he looked across the tavern floor to the man who fitted the description given by the Constable. The Constable had his own network of people he could call on, and not for the first time de Capo wondered how he had managed to accumulate so many people who owed him favours.
Erasmus felt completely out of place as he watched men and women swilling the bracken ale, acting lecherously, screaming and laughing. He found their behaviour an abomination, and looked nervously at de Capo as he questioned the need to be there, ‘Wouldn’t the docks be the best place to find a boat?’
‘Aye,’ de Capo replied with a smile, ‘but not the best place to find the men who sail them.’
‘But look at the women,’ Erasmus said derisively, ‘whores, and everyone sinners!’
‘Only because the church says they are sinners,’ de Capo replied contemptuously, ‘we murder and destroy for the church, but when it comes to having fun we’re all sinners!’
‘I’m just saying…’ Erasmus started before de Capo cut him short.
‘Keep your mouth shut,’ he hissed close to Erasmus’s ear, ‘people here don’t like priests, especially noisy ones, you’re safe with me, but only just…..now, see that man over there, the one by himself, the skinny one, that’s the man we want.’
Erasmus opened his mouth to say something but changed his mind when he saw the look on de Capo’s face, and just nodded.
The skinny man had a flagon of ale and a wooden eating board with a half-eaten chicken in front of him when de Capo sat down opposite. He glanced up and continued eating before taking a swig of ale and burping loudly. De Capo just sat and watched as the man ripped more meat off the carcass and stuffed it into his mouth all the while looking at de Capo. Erasmus stood by de Capo with nervous eyes that darted about the room as a young boy appeared and stood by the table and stared at the chicken. The skinny man ignored him and carried on eating. When he had finished he took another huge mouthful of ale, burped and pushed the wooden board across to de Capo, ‘Be my guest,’ he said in a good southern English accent.
De Capo pushed the board to one side and his eyes locked onto the skinny man’s, ‘You are Rufus, the master of the Isabella?’
The skinny man glanced up at Erasmus, ‘Is he a priest?’
De Capo nodded and pulled aside his cloak to reveal his surcoat and sword, ‘Aye, and he is under my protection.’
‘Just make sure he keeps his mouth shut,’ the skinny man said as he looked at Erasmus threateningly.
‘He will,’ de Capo promised, ‘now….the Isabella?’
The skinny man smirked, ‘If you want passage to Acre or one of those other shitholes you’ve come to the wrong man!’
‘We’ve come from Acre,’ de Capo explained, ‘we want to go to England.’
Rufus looked at the two men and sneered, ‘Why would I want to take you to England?’
‘Because Sir William Botron said you would.’
The effect on Rufus was instant and he closed his eyes and nodded, ‘Sir William,’ he sighed and opened his eyes, ‘if he sent you, I’ll take you,’ he glanced up at Erasmus, ‘but my men don’t like priests and neither do I.’
‘I understand,’ said de Capo, ‘I don’t like the bastards either but I made an oath to this one and I intend to keep it.’
Erasmus looked shocked at the statement but kept his mouth shut.
The boy was still beside the table staring at the carcass and de Capo pushed the board towards him. He grabbed what was left of the chicken, smiled at de Capo and ran off.
De Capo wanted to ask Rufus what it was the Constable had done to make men do what he asked without question, first Jacobus, an Italian, and now Rufus, an Englishman. De Capo had offered payment to Jacobus and he was vehement in re
fusing anything stating, ‘Do not insult me, I will always owe that man.’
Jacobus did not explain and de Capo did not ask but whatever the Constable had done for these men was something they could never repay. He looked at Rufus and asked the same question, ‘How much for the passage?’
Rufus just smiled, ‘As much as I would like to take your money, I should be paying Sir William….just keep the priest under control.’
‘He must have done you a great service,’ de Capo said inquisitively.
Rufus just stood and nodded, ‘Aye, be at the docks before dawn.’ He walked out glaring at the priest, and de Capo watched as he disappeared into the street.
~
Sauvterre sat closer to the docks than usual and nibbled on bread soaked in oil as de Capo and Erasmus boarded the boat. Thanks to his boy who had followed them to the tavern, he knew it was going to England. He also knew who the master was, and Messina was as far as he would ever come. He had heard Rufus would never venture any further, not for any person, nor any payment. The fact the two men were on their way to England had to mean something to the Grand Master, particularly if Erasmus was going there. He would send the message that evening. As the boat disappeared from his view he returned to his normal place, sat down and watched and waited like he always did.
~
The Isabella was a trading vessel and while Rufus was happy to carry de Capo and Erasmus to England he was not prepared to enter open waters out of sight of land, only a fool would do that as far as he was concerned. The journey would be long, with frequent stops as he docked at various ports to buy and sell cargo. Carrying passengers was something he did not like to do, though the extra men would be good protection against pirates so it was a risk he thought worth taking. The boat was fast with two square rigged sails, which although cumbersome and awkward to use gave a lot of wind power when needed.
‘Three months, or thereabouts,’ he had answered de Capo when he had asked how long it would take.’
Erasmus had looked horrified as he exclaimed, ‘Three months? We will spend our lord’s day of birth on a boat!’
‘You could always go overland,’ said Rufus, ‘takes longer and it’s more dangerous, but I’m sure you can find a monastery to pray in, just say the word Father, and I’ll put you ashore.’
‘Ignore him,’ said de Capo, ‘three months is good and we will both help your crew.’
‘Your sword might be welcome,’ Rufus said, ‘enough people will want what we carry; some might even want him.’ He nodded towards Erasmus who looked horrified at the veiled threat,
‘There are Muslim pirates as well as Christian ones,’ he laughed at the look on Erasmus’ face.
There had been some horrific tales of priests being captured and tortured and their death was always long and painful. Men could be kept alive for weeks in constant pain before they succumbed to madness and Erasmus gave de Capo a meaningful look.
‘Don’t worry,’ de Capo said, ‘I won’t let anyone take you alive!’
Erasmus groaned, ‘That’s a comforting thought Sir Ralf.’
~
One week after The Isabella started to make her way up the western coast of Italy, Martel de Fribois opened Sauvterre’s message and smiled as he read it.
‘Find de Chauvigny,’ he said to one of the guards behind him, ‘and tell him to bring de Balon.’ De Fribois read the message again and continued to smile. He poured himself some wine and thought about his next move.
It wasn’t long before de Chauvigny appeared accompanied by de Balon, and de Fribois simply threw the message at de Chauvigny who read it and looked at his Grand Master in astonishment. De Fribois indicated to de Balon and de Chauvigny handed the message to his lieutenant who read it and looked at both men before asking de Fribois, ‘What does this mean my Lord?’
‘It means Sir Robert, that you and Reynaud are going to England,’ he looked at de Chauvigny, ‘Choose ten men, find that little bastard Erasmus and that other piece of shit and bring me back their heads….and find that scroll!’
De Chauvigny nodded and grinned, ‘It will be my pleasure.’
De Fribois’ smile disappeared and his eyes narrowed and grew dark, ‘You have one year, don’t return without them Reynaud, otherwise I promise, you will both be eating your own eyes!’
Chapter Thirty Four
The landmark Englishmen longed to see appeared slowly through the early morning drizzle. The white chalk cliffs that had been seen by visitors and invaders for thousands of years loomed out of the sea, a stark and clean reminder to the two men they were finally home. As they tried to stand in the bows of the boat it rocked and ploughed unsteadily through the uncompromising sea, making them stumble on the deck as a sudden squall or unexpected wave made the vessel lurch. They shivered and wrapped their thick woollen cloaks tightly around themselves in an effort to prevent the chill penetrating their bones. The rain started to lash at their faces as the wind increased and mixed with the sea water that exploded in showers when the bow smashed through the waves.
The shouts of the seamen mingled with the cry of seagulls circling above the overloaded craft, laughing at their pathetic human efforts to cross this small stretch of water without sinking; the infamous narrow straits between England and France where the sea could turn from calm to a ship destroying frenzy in a matter of minutes.
Neither of the men were sailors and had only been able to find partial ‘sea legs’ on their long journey. There had been occasions they had considered abandoning the boat and continuing overland but their need to get back quickly overrode their desire to feel firm soil beneath their feet.
The wind changed direction causing the ship to lurch to the right causing the smaller of the two men to topple to his left and into the railings with a hard thud. He grunted and muttered thanks as the man to his right grabbed hold of him and pulled him upright, ‘Steady Father.’
‘We should have travelled by horse instead of on this cursed boat; I would rather have a sore arse than puke like a baby!’
De Capo smiled at the curses, a by-product of living with these men of the water for three months, but he knew the priest didn’t mean a single word. The two men struggled to keep their balance as the ship lurched once more. Erasmus cursed again as he slipped, fell onto one knee, grabbed at the handrail and hauled himself back to his feet. His face was pale and on occasions seemed to have a greenish tinge as he suffered the erratic and extreme motion of the boat. On a calm sea he was the best sailor in the world, but once the weather turned, so did he. He complained he had lost weight despite the amount of food he ate, although he had on occasions shared the contents of his stomach with the birds and fish.
The ship shuddered and lifted before dropping like a stone back into the unruly sea throwing both men to the deck disturbing whatever thoughts they had. The raucous roars of men laughing made them look at the crew as they struggled to regain their balance on the unsteady surface.
Sailors were the same breed wherever they came from and whichever God they prayed to, hardy men who would laugh at death whenever it came, so it wasn’t surprising they would laugh at the men who were not of the sea. Rufus stood near the tiller and shouted orders at his men who climbed the mast, pulled on ropes, furled and unfurled the sails and screamed at each other as they carried out their tasks, desperate to keep the sea from dragging them down to the depths, and in the midst of all this they still had time to laugh at their passengers.
The two men pulled themselves to their feet and held onto the railings and watched as the coastline of England witnessed them inch agonisingly slowly, closer and closer. The men on the dockside could be seen teeming about and the castle towering above the town sat like the guardian angel it was, staring across the sea. The ship surged forward under a sudden gust of wind and de Capo held the railings tight to prevent him falling yet again, the wind dropped and the sea calmed enough to head straight for the shelter of the port, and with a final push from the dying wind they headed for the
dockside. They held their breath as Rufus used all his skill to turn the vessel and manoeuvre her into position, letting her slide against the dock and kiss the wooden struts with a whisper. Erasmus would proclaim it a miracle; Rufus would claim it as experience, never to admit it was just good luck.
The mystery of why William of Botron had such power over Rufus and Jacobus was revealed one day when a slavers galley was seen ploughing through the sea on the horizon. The Isabella was in no danger as they had stayed close to the coastline but Rufus stood and watched until the galley disappeared from sight. He continued to look for a long time until he was satisfied it had not turned towards them.
De Capo watched this and stood beside Rufus as he stared at the empty horizon, ‘A fearful existence,’ he said sadly, ‘even the strongest men can be broken on those hellish ships!’
‘Bastards,’ hissed Rufus, ‘the plague is too good for them…..they will never get me again!’
De Capo was astonished at the comment, ‘You were on a slaver?’
Rufus turned to him and nodded, ‘Aye, and it was William of Botron who saved us, he has a hatred for slavers and the men he saved are sworn to do his bidding, anywhere, anytime.’
Nothing more was said by either man on that subject, there was nothing more to be said.
The farewells were warm and strangely emotional, men could not live together for three months in a confined space without either learning to hate or like one another. As a knight of St Peter, de Capo was treated from day one with a certain amount of reverence, and although Erasmus was looked at with suspicion he soon earned their respect when he put aside his inhibitions and started to help with the daily chores on board. Despite the earlier misgivings they soon accepted him for what he was, and surprisingly for Rufus they even knelt before him every Sunday and allowed him to bless them and the boat. After the second week even Rufus knelt before him and de Capo wondered at the silent power of the man, who by his own admission was neither brave nor strong.
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