by DAVID B. COE
Landry hesitated. He would never have admitted this, but his shoulder ached, more now after his fall than at any time all day.
“We will need to know what Tancrede wants of us, and I fear bringing one of our passengers onto the deck. You must do this for us. I ask you as your friend, as well as your healer.”
“Yes, all right.”
Draper patted his good shoulder and followed the others into the hold. Landry checked the knot at his waist and positioned himself between Tancrede and the entrance to the hold. From here, he had a better view of the wreckage wrought by the fallen mast. It was remarkable none of them had been hurt. Beyond the damage to the rail, one end of the spar had pierced the deck, shattering at least two of the planks. Even if they survived the storm, they would be hard-pressed to sail the ship to any land, much less all the way to Turkey.
A wave pummeled the side of the Tern. She tipped and almost overturned. Landry hugged the jagged base of the mast.
“Tell them hard to port!” Tancrede said.
Right. First things first.
He repeated the instructions to those below, heard a woman’s voice say it again. The ship began a slow turn. Another wall of water broke over them. They tottered, righted, continued to turn.
Eventually, the ship’s motion took on a more normal cadence. Climb and descent. It was harrowing still – the swells were huge – but it was better than being assaulted by waves from the side.
“Straight now!” Tancrede said. “As much speed as they can give me.”
Landry shouted the commands. The woman passed them on. The Tern crept forward.
On they went like this. Every few minutes, Tancrede called for a slight correction to their course, which Landry and the woman below repeated. Landry didn’t believe they were making any progress, but as long as they remained oriented to the waves, they could endure. This, at least, is what he told himself.
After a time, he realized that the sky was darkening at last. His heart sank. How would they light torches in this weather?
Tancrede shouted to him again. He put a hand to his ear. His friend didn’t bother to repeat himself. Instead, he grinned and pointed.
Landry turned to follow the line he indicated. West. Dark clouds blanketed much of the sky, but far in the distance, just above the horizon, a thin strip of golden yellow sky brightened the sea.
He had never seen anything more welcome, or more beautiful.
Thank you, Lord.
“Tell them!” Tancrede said.
Landry nodded, leaned toward the hatch. “We see clear skies!” Several people below cheered this. He thought he heard the voice of the girl, Adelina. “We’ve some distance to go yet,” he said. “But this storm will end, tonight, if not before dark.”
The woman below shared these tidings with those rowing the ship. Her words were greeted with hoarse cries of joy.
Not long after, the rain let up, then ceased altogether. The wind shifted. It was still strong, but as it changed directions, blowing against the swells, it calmed the seas somewhat. Waves continued to batter the hull, but they no longer broke over the rails. The rocking of the ship grew less extreme.
As the sky darkened to charcoal, some of those who had been below peeked out from the hatch.
“It’s all right,” Tancrede said, waving them on. “You can come up now. We’re safe.”
Several of the women came up, and Adelina with them. Once they had a chance to survey the damage, their elation at the storm’s passing gave way to renewed apprehension.
“What will we do?” asked the woman who had helped Landry with Tancrede’s instructions. She was older, her chestnut hair touched with silver. He thought he remembered her name being Nila. “How can we go on?”
“We have the sweeps,” Tancrede said. “Thanks to all of you who found them in Cyprus. We’ll not be at the mercy of the sea, as when we were becalmed.”
It was scant reassurance, but Landry knew it was all he could offer. The women seemed to accept it as such. Landry admired their courage.
Over the next hour, conditions improved further. This new wind died down, and the surface of the sea smoothed until the Tern’s motion felt no more extreme than it had before the storm. The sky lightened for a time, despite the late hour. Patches of blue appeared amid the dark gray, and the strip of golden sky to the west broadened and turned fiery with twilight.
Tancrede called for the men and women below to ship the oars and climb to the deck. All of them working together – passenger and Templar, men and women, even little Adelina – moved the broken mast off the rail and laid it along the length of the ship. Draper and Brice patched the hole in the deck as well as they could. Everyone remained above, watching stars appear in the clearing sky. None of them would want to go back below anytime soon. Landry couldn’t blame them.
Tancrede stood by the rudder, though he had tied it in position for now.
“Are you all right?” Landry asked him.
“Fine.”
Landry waited, offering no reply.
“I’m tired,” the knight admitted, dropping his voice, his face more haggard than usual. “And despite what I said before, I’m not convinced we can get far without the mast.”
“Can we repair it?”
“Of course we can, but only if we make land. And how can we do that without the mast? It’s the worst sort of riddle.”
Godfrey approached them. “How are you doing?” he asked Tancrede.
“Is every one of you going to ask me this? Shall I just announce to all that I’m well, and save myself the tedium of answering again and again?”
Godfrey raised an eyebrow, mischief in his mien.
“He seems a bit quick to anger,” the commander said. “Don’t you think? I believe a nap might be in order.”
Landry laughed. Tancrede smiled as well.
“We should light torches,” Godfrey went on. “And though I wouldn’t have thought this possible a short while ago, I’m actually feeling hungry. I can’t imagine I’m the only one.”
“I’ll get the food,” Tancrede said.
He crossed to the hatch and went below. Landry, Draper, and Godfrey sought out the torches, their dwindling supply of oil, and a flint.
“I believe I owe you my life,” Landry said to Draper as they worked. “My thanks.”
The Turcopole shrugged. “You would have done the same.” He paused in what they were doing to examine the base of the broken mast. “What does Tancrede have to say about this?”
“Nothing good.”
He frowned, but nodded, appearing unsurprised by Landry’s answer. They turned their attention back to the torches.
Tancrede stepped onto the deck again a minute later, his brow furrowed, a small parcel in his hands. He beckoned Draper to him first, and the two of them spoke, their heads bent close together. Before long, Tancrede led the Turcopole back to Landry and Godfrey. Despite the failing light, Landry could see that both were troubled.
“What’s happened?” Godfrey asked, as they halted in front of him.
“Has either of you taken any of the food?” Tancrede asked. He kept his voice low. His gaze traveled the ship.
Godfrey shook his head. “I haven’t.”
All of them turned to Landry.
“For much of the day, I couldn’t bring myself to think about eating. But I did have the fruit Draper brought me.”
“Yes, we’ve accounted for that,” Tancrede said. “And I should have been more specific. I meant last night, before the storm.”
Godfrey put up a hand, forestalling Landry’s response. “What is this about?”
“When I went to retrieve the food I bought yesterday, I found a good deal less than I had expected. I know that Draper has taken several figs and apricots today, to help those suffering from the storm. But even so, there should have been more.”
“You told me yesterday that you hadn’t gotten much,” Godfrey said. “That was why you had to ration last night’s meal.”
“I know that. But those rations could have lasted us for days. Long enough, certainly, to sustain us until we made landfall again.”
A shiver went through Landry.
“And now?” Godfrey asked in a flat voice.
Tancrede gave a small shake of his head. “Now, I’d say we barely have enough to last through tomorrow.”
* * *
Adelina watches the knights, panic rising in her chest until she struggles to draw breath. She cannot hear a word of what they’re saying, but she knows they are talking about the food. She seeks out Egan with her eyes, finds him standing with Gawain and another man. They talk as well. Egan and the other man laugh at something. The knight doesn’t, but he is always serious. None of the three seems aware of the conversation taking place among Godfrey, Landry, and the others.
She remains where she is, but continues to watch Egan, hoping to catch his eye. What are they to say if the knights ask about the food? What will he tell them?
“How are you feeling, my sweet?”
She whirls toward her father, wide-eyed, the way she might if caught in a lie.
His eyebrows go up and he grins. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“No, you didn’t. I’m just—” She breaks off. He has asked how she’s feeling, because earlier the up-and-down of the ship had made her quite ill. “I feel fine now,” she says. “Thank you.”
“I believe the knights intend to distribute some food in a short while. Are you well enough to eat?”
She cannot imagine ever eating again. Not because of how awful she felt earlier in the day, though that was very bad. But rather because of the guilt that has gnawed at her innards since the previous night. Even after the ordeal of the storm, she cannot get the taste of smoked meat off her tongue.
“I—I don’t know. Maybe.”
“All right,” her father says. But she sees his concern in the lines around his mouth, the wrinkling of his forehead.
Landry lights the first torch, bathing the deck in warm light. Godfrey lights another. Tancrede steps forward to face the rest of them.
“Gather closer please,” he says, motioning for all the passengers to join the Templars.
Adelina’s father takes her hand and leads her forward with the others. She is shaking; she fears her legs won’t support her. Again, she stares at Egan. Still he ignores her.
When they are all arrayed in front of the Templar, he says, “I am afraid I must share with you some disturbing news. Within the past day someone on this ship has stolen a large portion of our provisions. Much of the food I procured yesterday in the village has gone missing. Stores that should have lasted us for days now will likely run out tomorrow. The next day at the latest.”
Silence. No one speaks. People regard each other with suspicion, even hostility. For a third time, Adelina faces Egan. He glances her way and their eyes meet. Then he looks forward again. His expression has not changed.
“I would know who has done this,” Godfrey says, setting himself in front of Tancrede. His voice is like a hammer on stone. Adelina flinches at the sound of it. “Whoever has taken this food for him or herself has done so at the expense of every other person on the vessel. All will suffer for your deception, your gluttony, your selfishness. You cannot hide from God’s judgment, and I will not tolerate your attempt to hide from us. Now, identify yourself.”
No one speaks. Seconds stretch. Adelina’s stomach knots like wet rope.
“None of us will eat, none will be allowed to retire for sleep, until the culprit steps forward. Of that you can be certain.”
Nothing. Adelina looks at Egan again. He is already watching her. Guilt curves her shoulders. Bile rises in her throat. She cannot remain silent any longer.
“It was the child!” Egan points at her, his face distorted. One might think his accusation has caused him immeasurable grief. “I saw her last night, when the rest of us were abed.”
“Adelina!” Her father stares down at her, clearly horrified.
“It’s not true,” she says.
“You saw her and yet you did not stop her?” Godfrey demands of the man.
“She’s a child, a wisp of a thing. How much could she eat? That’s what I thought to myself. She will have a few morsels and fall back asleep. We all see how thin she’s grown. It never occurred to me that she could endanger the ship.”
“You’re lying!” she says, finding her voice. Her cheeks are aflame, and she is trembling even worse than before. But at least she can speak. “It wasn’t me! It was you!”
He cants his head to one side, gives a frown that somehow conveys both disappointment and regret. She is furious and frightened and scared. She has never known an adult to lie with such ease, nor has she ever imagined that she would be the victim of such a man.
“Please, child,” he says. “Do you deny that you ate anything at all last night, when the rest were sleeping?”
“Well—” She gasps for breath, eyes searching for a sympathetic face. But all the adults glare at her. Every one of them, including her father. None of them believes her. “Yes,” she says, “I ate half a strip of smoked meat. You gave it to me after I woke up and saw you eating the food.”
“More was taken than a strip of meat,” Godfrey says, his saturnine gaze fixed on her.
“I know!” she points at Egan. “I woke up and he was eating. He saw me watching him and gave me some meat. He said it would be our secret.”
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Godfrey asks. “You would have known this was wrong. Why wait until now to say something?”
She drops her gaze, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. One falls to the wood at her feet. Then another. “I was scared,” she says, her voice hushed. “I—I thought I would get in trouble.”
“Adelina,” her father says again. He squats before her, forcing her to look at him. “I’m very disappointed in you.”
“It wasn’t me, Papa.” The words are thick in her mouth. She can’t stop crying. “It was him. I promise. I swear to—”
“Don’t!”
She cringes back from a raised, rigid finger.
“Do not invoke God with lies! You know better than that. I taught you better, and so did your mother!”
Another sob escapes her. She spins away from him, eludes his attempt to grab her arm, and weaves through the rest of them to the passage leading down into the hold. The air below stinks of sweat and sick, but she doesn’t care. All she wants is to be away from Egan and her father, and the rest of them. They think her a liar and a thief, and nothing she can say will convince them otherwise. Because she is both. Egan is worse. She knows that, even if they do not. But it doesn’t matter what he has done. She shouldn’t have eaten that meat. She shouldn’t have allowed him to steal from the rest of them. She may not be guilty of all they believe, but she is guilty enough. She throws herself onto the blanket that serves as her bed, and she cries.
* * *
The girl’s father gazed after her, shame, anger, and grief chasing one another across his features. Fearful as he was about the food they had lost, Tancrede sympathized with the man.
He remembered the look of disappointment on the child’s face the night before, when she saw how little he could give her to eat. And, like Egan, he had noted several times in recent days how pinched she looked, how thin her limbs had grown. It didn’t surprise him that she had acted on her hunger and her dissatisfaction with last night’s meal.
And yet…
“What will you do with her?” Simon asked, lifting his chin and meeting Godfrey’s glower.
“She is a child,” the commander said, his voice tight. “We will not punish her.”
“She stole from all of us!” said one of the older women. “We might starve because of her!”
A few others nodded their agreement.
“She was hungry,” Tancrede said. “Who among us didn’t make mistakes in our youth?”
“I will speak with her,” Simon told them. “A
nd I will make whatever restitution I can on her behalf.” To Egan, he said, “I apologize for her behavior and her words against you. I know you were trying to protect her.”
“Think nothing of it,” the man said, with more generosity than most would have mustered under similar circumstances.
Again, Tancrede felt doubt crowding in.
Simon nodded to Egan, stepped to the hatch, and went below.
“We will distribute food shortly,” Godfrey said, the words carrying. “Thank you all for your patience.”
He turned away from the passengers, sent a grave look Tancrede’s way, and retreated to the aft rail.
The passengers lingered on the deck, speaking among themselves. Egan kept to himself. He glanced at Tancrede, but wouldn’t hold his gaze for long.
“An unfortunate turn of events,” Landry said softly, sidling closer to him.
Tancrede nodded. “Indeed.”
Gawain limped back to join them. “Poor child,” he said, also keeping his voice low. “I cannot say that I blame her.”
“What do you make of the man she accused?” Tancrede asked.
“Egan?” Gawain glanced back at him and shrugged. “I thought he was gracious with the father. And he proved himself useful earlier with the sail. Why?”
“No reason,” Tancrede said. “Simply asking.”
Gawain frowned. “Come now, brother. I don’t believe that for a minute.”
“Just how much food was taken?” Landry asked, before Tancrede could reply.
Tancrede thought it an apt question.
“A lot,” he said.
“More than a child could have eaten?”
“Egan said it himself: she’s a wisp of a thing. How much could she eat?”
“Hungry as we all have been?” Gawain said. “She could have eaten a good deal. For that matter, any of us could have.”
“You didn’t see how much food was taken, brother,” Tancrede said. “I did. It was enough to sicken the girl had she eaten it all herself. Egan, on the other hand…”
Gawain narrowed his eyes. “You doubt him?”
“I don’t know what I believe,” Tancrede said. “He was quick to make the accusation. Too quick, some might say.”