Greek Fire

by James Boschert

  Talon sat up and stared. His heart began to thump.

  Sir Guy smiled at his surprise. “I have a commission to perform for the Order. It is secret and will need speed and skill to complete. God willing I can find a ship and a reliable crew with which to accomplish it.”

  “I…I am listening, Sir,” Talon said, trying to control his breathing.

  “I want you both to swear you will disclose nothing of this to anyone, not even to the people you will have to recruit for the mission. Once we are at sea I can tell some of it.”

  “I so swear,” Max said.

  “As do I,” Talon affirmed. “I swear.” They looked at one another hardly daring to believe what they had just heard.

  “Very well. I am ordered by the Grand Master to go as an emissary to Constantinople on behalf of the King of Jerusalem, to deliver secret papers to the hand of the emperor himself. I need a fast warship. It would be nice to arrive ahead of the letters written by the spies of the emperor and those of the Arabs for once.”

  He smiled at the two men who were gaping at the news, enjoying their surprise.

  “I do believe that there is a fast warship in this harbor, and I am looking for resourceful men to assist me in my endeavor. Besides, it would seem that you, Sir Talon, have once again overstayed your welcome. At least you’ll not be leaving in chains this time.” He gave a chuckle.

  Talon was the first to overcome his astonishment. “How long do we have to prepare, Sir?” he croaked.

  “Three days.”

  “Where exactly is Constantinople, Sir Guy?” Talon asked.

  Sir Guy reached for a rolled up papyrus. “This is a chart of the region,” he said as he unrolled it and spread it out on the desk, placing the heavy ink jar on one side and his dagger along the other to hold it flat.

  What Talon saw was a lot of straight and curved lines with writing and incomprehensible squiggles that meant nothing to him.

  Sir Guy observed his bewilderment and then said with a smile, “Have you never seen a chart before, Talon?”

  “No, Sir, I have not, but I would wager that Henry knows how to read this. What is it telling us?”

  “If you can imagine that this is a picture of the land we live upon and it shows where there are other lands, then you’ll be able to understand it better,” Sir Guy said. “Here is where we are.” He pointed with his forefinger at a squiggle on the chart. Talon read the name Acre in elaborate letters. “The coast we are on is that of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. This is land over here”—he swept his hand across the space behind the wavy lines—“while these lines mark the change from land to sea.”

  Sir Guy’s finger moved up the chart to stop at an odd looking image. “This is an island called Cyprus and it belongs to the empire of Byzantium. We the Templars would buy some of it if we could. It is rich in crops and vines, and it also has salt marshes that are worth a great deal of money.”

  His finger moved further up the chart to cross another thick, uneven line. “This is the empire of Byzantium where we are going, and this,” his finger moved quickly towards the left of the land, “further up is Constantinople, the center of the Empire.” Talon gazed down where Sir Guy’s finger rested.

  “What are these?” He pointed to a jumble of irregular shapes gathered below the city of Constantinople.

  “Those are the multitude of islands that exist in that region. They too, belong to the empire, for the most part anyway.”

  Talon had begun to understand the difference between land and sea, but there was a plethora of other detail he could not understand. Straight lines emerged from some complex looking device artistically rendered on the chart to fly off in all directions. There were pictures of gods blowing winds here and there, with men on horseback and castles on what he assumed to be dry land, while porpoises played around in places where he assumed it was the sea. He realized that they were about to embark upon a significant undertaking and that Henry and his men would be essential to the endeavor.

  He also resolved to know and understand ‘charts’ in future so as to be able to use them to tell him where he was in the strange new world they were about to enter.

  “Will Max be coming with us, Sir Guy?”

  “I have decided to leave the ship and its needs to you, Sir Talon. Max will accompany us in the capacity of your Sergeant. I expect to sail on the third day; after dark, as this mission does not need the attentions of the dozens of Turkish, Venetian or Byzantine spies who doubtless reside within the city walls. Unfortunately I am known as an emissary by many, but this journey I would keep secret, at least until I am arrived in Constantinople and have delivered the letters, which will give me the advantage of time.”

  Talon looked at Sir Guy. The knight regarded him with a smile on his lips. “I believe you have a ship, Sir Talon. Can you man it and take me where I wish to go?”

  Talon took a great breath. “I believe I can, Sir Guy. Er…will I be paid?”

  Sir Guy pushed a small leather bag across the table that chinked with the sound of coins.

  “This is an advance. Sir Julian himself provided it, somewhat unwillingly, but I managed to convince him eventually. There is enough to provision the vessel for a voyage and to refit where necessary. I think you should buy some clothes, as you are now a knight. Please do not disappoint me. I used up much of my credit with the Master of the Order by putting my trust in you and your companions.”

  Max laughed. “He is a knight, Sir Guy. I vouch for that, on my honor.”

  “Before you go you need to know that I will not be the only passenger. There will be myself, my Sergeant Claude, a monk, and an emissary of the empire with a couple of servants who wishes to return to his Emperor. He is familiar with the protocols we will be obliged to observe in Constantinople and can guide us well in that regard. Please ensure that the cabins at the back are made fit for the passengers.”

  *****

  Later that evening they hurried off to find Henry and his companions, for their news could not wait until the morning.

  They found the three men in another inn, morosely contemplating their future and spending their last coin on some wine. Talon and Max sauntered up to the trio and sat down trying to look casual.

  “Ah, something’s happened, or you would not look so smug, either of you,” Henry said. His look was questioning.

  “I forget, Henry, did you say you knew how to sail a ship?” Talon asked.

  Henry gasped and sat back on his stool. “I do not believe it! You got the ship?” he asked, his expression incredulous.

  “Not only that; we got the ship and some place to sail it to,” Max said.

  “Where?” All three of the men at the table asked at once.

  “That will have to wait until we are out to sea.”

  “Mother of God,” Nigel said in awe. “What are we going to be doing? Are we going to be pirates?” he demanded.

  “We’re not allowed to talk about it, and neither are you, but we all have much work to do,” Max said, barely able to contain his own excitement.

  “We should celebrate,” Henry said.

  “We have no money,” Guy announced, a doleful expression on his face.

  “If you had not spent your last coin on a whore we might have had,” Nigel said, his tone caustic.

  Talon dropped a small silver piece on the table. “I think we can celebrate tonight, my friends, but no brawls or we lose it all; and tomorrow we must go to work. Sir Guy has great expectations.”

  *****

  The next three days were hectic. It took two full days to round up men from their former crew to man the ship, and more were needed. Most of them were too drunk or hung over to really understand what was happening. Henry and his companions rowed some of them out to their destination so inert that it was hard to decide whether they were alive or dead when they were heaved onto the decks of the vessel. But Guy and Nigel, along with their former crew-mates, took over, throwing sea water onto them to rouse them from their alcoholic stup
ors and prepare them for work.

  Talon wondered how men could stay drunk for so long on so little coin.

  Slowly the ship began to take on a life of its own. Supervised by Nigel and Guy, the men were put to work preparing the vessel from stem to stern for the voyage to come.

  “I know someone we must have,” Henry said to Talon on the second day as they stood on the deck of the gently rocking ship. Men were swarming all over the vessel overhauling the rigging and hauling barrels of water on board from a large lighter that was alongside.

  “Who are you thinking of, Henry?’

  “Remember not all of us were from the north, Talon? Some of the oarsmen were from the islands, the Greek islands. The best of them was Dmitri... Dmitri Doukas, remember him?”

  “Yes, I think so. Short with red hair, built like a boar. Strong man as I recall.”

  “I need to find him if he is still here,” Henry said.

  “Why? Do you think we will need him?”

  “Yes, because we are heading north regardless of exactly where, and he is the only one among us former rowers who might know what to expect.”

  Henry left that evening to hunt Dmitri down in the alehouses in the hope that the man hadn’t slipped past the gate guards and gone off somewhere else, while Talon was left to marvel at how Henry might have divined their destination. He hoped no one else had done so.

  Henry returned the next morning with Dmitri lying in the thwarts of the rowboat, senseless from drink but otherwise unharmed.

  “He would like to go home,” Henry said in a matter-of-fact manner. “He lived in Byzantium for many years before he took to the sea. We might need him if we are going near that country.”

  On the third night all was in readiness for departure. It was close to midnight but Sir Guy had not yet arrived. Talon stood on the now silent afterdeck with Henry and Max. No one said anything as they waited in expectant silence for Sir Guy to arrive.

  Nigel was at the front of the boat waiting with some of the crew to haul in the anchor stone. Guy was amidships with other men prepared to hoist sail and start the rowers at Henry’s command.

  Talon listened to the creaking of the timbers as the ship rocked in the swell of the harbor. The occasional slap of water against the hull and the rattle of a loose rope against a spar or mast were the only sounds at this time of night. The men who would work the oars were in place and would be ready at a moment’s notice to leave, even though most of them were asleep. The normal bustle of the harbor had subsided considerably at this late hour. The large Templar cargo ships were silent and the work on the wharf had stopped for the night.

  “Even a slave has to have some sleep,” Max had remarked as though divining his thoughts.

  A light gust of wind blew from the hills to the east, rattling the lines and snapping the pennants flying from other ships’ masts. Talon looked back at the looming fortifications that guarded the harbor.

  “They come,” Henry whispered, pointing towards the Templar quay where they could see dark figures illuminated by a couple of torches held high, moving along the pier. He told the dozing steersmen to wake up and be ready. Then sent one of the younger seamen scurrying down the ladder to alert Guy and Nigel.

  Not long after, Talon peered into the darkness and could just make out what appeared to be a crowded boat moving between the other ships in their direction.

  Soon it bumped and scraped alongside the hull amid whispered curses from the crew above to watch the sides of the ship. Within moments Sir Guy came over the side, then climbed the ladder to stand on the rear deck, where he clasped hands with Talon and Max.

  “God’s Blessings, Talon. Is all ready for our departure?”

  “God’s Blessings, Sir. We are well manned and provisioned for our journey as long as we can obtain fresh water from time to time,” Talon replied, repeating what Henry had told him.

  Another two men arrived on the mid decks and Talon could just make out that they were armed men, so he assumed they were the Sergeant and the emissary.

  Then there was a yelp and a splash, followed by some grunts and suppressed snickers in the boat below. Finally another figure was assisted aboard. It was clear from his garb that he was a man of the church, and that his habit from the waist down was soaked. Now he stood on deck, wringing out the wet material. As he muttered to himself, another man in the same form of dress was helped aboard. The two were followed by others who appeared to be servants, for they supervised a large amount of baggage that was soon piled into a small pyramid of trunks and boxes in the waist of the ship. Guy solicitously stood by and made sure that several boxes arrived safely on the deck, then that they were removed to the rear cabin by seamen.

  “I fear one of our Godly persons has had a little dip in our pristine harbor waters. I had only needed one of them, but the Bishop imposed another upon me,” Sir Guy murmured to Talon as they watched from above.

  The four new arrivals did not tarry. The monks and the man whom Talon assumed to be the emissary were led out of sight to the cabin below, while the fourth man made his way up the rear ladder and presented himself to Sir Guy. He was a large man with a huge beard and strong shoulders, standing even taller than Max in his chain mail armor. He placed a shield against the side wall of the ship with a muted clank and came to stand with Sir Guy.

  “Ah, Claude. This is Sir Talon, and you know Sergeant Max.” The men nodded to one another in the dark. “Talon, this is Claude, my sergeant. Claude, the man standing by the steersmen is Henry who captains this ship. Is that not right, Sir Talon?”

  “Yes, Sir Guy, he is my captain. I will introduce you to my other two companions tomorrow. Do we sail now?”

  “Yes, we sail…as unobtrusively as we can. We have with us a Byzantine emissary named Alexios Kalothesos, who will be our guide and assistant while we are in Constantinople. I will introduce you all tomorrow.”

  With Nigel supervising, their crew quietly hauled in the anchor stone of the galley. With orders given in whispers and relayed to the crew, the ship was rowed slowly towards the entrance of Acre harbor. Curious sentries on other ships called questions that went unanswered as the ship glided by. A soft call of farewell came from the Templar guards standing on the battlements overlooking the harbor entrance as they passed through, and then they began to feel the swell of the outer sea.

  They slipped past the Island of Flies looming on their port side, its beacon flaring in the freshening wind, and then slowly the bright lights of the beacon and those on the harbor towers receded into the darkness. At a low command from Henry to Guy in the waist of the ship the sails were raised; they flapped briefly, bellied, and were hauled taut by the crew. Soon, with the aid of a steady offshore wind, the ship was driven westward. Henry ordered the oars to be shipped and the men below deck to stand down. The ship began to happily play the swell, all the creaks and humming of taut rigging began their familiar song as it headed into its element. The dark shadow of land disappeared and they were finally at sea.

  The crew who were not on duty found their niches and went to sleep wrapped in their cloaks or blankets, as did the passengers, while the night watch moved about quietly lashing down equipment and stowage. Soon the humming of the rigging was matched by snores as tired men took their rest.

  _______________

  Homeless as I am, to whom shall I apply?

  A houseless wanderer, whither shall I go?

  Turned from all doors, I come at last to Thee,

  If they door is denied, where shall I turn?

  Baba Tahir

  Chapter 2

  A Journey by Sea

  While the oarsmen and passengers slept, Henry set a course by the stars and murmured the commands to Guy who stayed on duty with him. The crew hauled the sails around to allow the wind to do the work, and the ship sped out to sea on a westerly course. For Talon it was yet another journey into the unknown; and worse, it was at sea. He recalled the ill-fated journey from Languedoc and the loss of his horse Jabbar, drowned
in the shipwreck that had deposited Max and himself unwillingly in Egypt. He prayed that God would protect them from the elements and ensure they made a safe landfall.

  He gazed up at the clear night and the canopy of stars and remembered another time, another night, when he and his old friend Jean the priest had stared up at the heavens and wondered at its majesty, before they set out on a journey into the depths of the valley of the ‘Assassins.

  His thoughts drifted off to Isfahan: a garden and a villa where he had known so much happiness, but also so much sorrow. He turned away with a murmured prayer. One day, he promised himself, he would set out to discover what he needed to know. Until then, his benefactor Sir Guy had entrusted him with a mission that needed to be completed in a new country with new customs and language. There was much to be learned.

  Before dawn the wind freshened and the ship began to pitch and roll as she made her way through the heaving seas. Although it was not severe and the waves were not high, Talon had a queasy feeling in his stomach as he recalled the dreadful experience of his disastrous voyage from France. For an awful moment he wondered if God had ignored his prayer and was about to subject them to more misery. However the feeling passed after one day, and he was able to stand on the deck and keep his balance, enjoying the wind on his face and watching the bows nudge aside the small whitecaps, spray flying high to either side of the curved prow and wetting the men in the waist as the galley dipped and rose. Recovery was not so easy for the monks, who stayed in their cabin.

  Sir Guy and the man who was the emissary came on deck the morning after their departure. As the emissary leaned over the side and stared forward, Sir Guy approached Talon.

  “I am relieved to get away from their moaning and the stench of their illness. They are no sailors, those two,” he remarked with a grimace.

  “I have been meaning to ask you something,” he continued.