by DAVID B. COE
“He wouldn’t have admitted it,” Simon said. “He would have been content to see her punished in his stead.”
“Yes, and he will answer to God for that. Do not debase yourself for a man like him. Leave him to wallow in his misery.”
Simon faced the thief again, one fist knotted in Egan’s shirt, the fingers of his other hand tight on the hilt of his weapon. He stood thus for several seconds. All on the ship were silent. The only sounds were the taps of swells on the hull and the creaks of wood and rope.
At last, Simon thrust the man away. Egan fell to the deck, landing on his back with a thud and the whoosh of expelled air. He looked to the side, toward his lost knife. Simon stepped to the weapon in two quick strides, scooped it up, and pocketed it.
“An initial payment, earnest of your restitution,” he said, and walked away.
Landry stepped past him in the opposite direction and the two exchanged nods. Reaching Egan, Landry pulled the man to his feet none too gently.
“I want to make myself very clear,” he said. “You live by Simon’s forbearance. If any harm comes to him, or to his daughter – if either of them suffers so much as a scratch between now and when next we make land and can rid ourselves of you – I will hold you accountable, and you will answer to my sword. Do I make my meaning clear?”
Egan’s brows knitted, but he lifted a shoulder in what might have been acquiescence.
“I can’t hear you.”
“Yes,” the man said, sounding sullen. “I understand.”
“Good. Now get out of my sight.”
Landry released him. Egan straightened his shirt and met the glares of the rest of the men and women on the ship’s deck. Finally, he walked with as much dignity as he could muster to the hatch. He passed Simon and Adelina without saying a word or acknowledging them in any way, and descended into the hold.
Once he was gone, conversations sprouted all over the ship. Simon and Adelina kept to themselves. Simon lifted the girl into his arms and spoke to her in a whisper. Adelina buried her face against his neck and appeared to be crying. Landry and the other Templars allowed them their privacy.
Tancrede distributed rations from the food they had remaining, seeing to the Templars’ needs last. Landry received a piece of root and some smoked meat, maybe three bites in all. It did little to satisfy his hunger, but of course he kept his complaints to himself.
When Tancrede finished handing out food, he stowed what remained near the rudder and rejoined the other Templars.
“We should return to sweeps. A few of us, at least. The sooner we make land, the sooner we can replenish our stores.”
Godfrey shook his head. “I want all of you to get some sleep. After the storm and all that’s happened since, we need rest most of all. We’ll do no one any good if we’re too exhausted to care for those in our charge. We can take up the oars again come dawn.”
“But—”
“That is an order, Tancrede. Go. Sleep. More than any of us, you’ve earned it.”
“Very well.” Mischief glinted in his eyes. “But when I awake, I intend to tell you just how much I disapprove of this command.”
The other Templars grinned.
“The rest of you go as well,” Godfrey said. “I’ll take the first watch.”
“No, I will,” Landry said. “I’m not tired, and I won’t be able to sleep.”
Godfrey’s small frown conveyed concern.
Landry made himself smile. “Too much excitement.”
“Very well. Wake me in a couple of hours.”
Landry settled himself along the rail near the ship’s prow, away from the torches, where he could see stars shining in an ebon sky. The other passengers didn’t retire immediately, and for some time whispered conversations continued in pockets along the deck. But none who remained awake approached Landry, and he was content in his solitude.
He was wearier than he had admitted to Godfrey, but he needed time to ponder the evening’s events. He admired Tancrede and Godfrey for finding a resolution to the conflict that exonerated Adelina, punished Egan, and shed not a drop of blood. He was forced to wonder if he would have been capable of doing the same.
Egan struck him as the worst sort of villain: gluttonous, greedy, cowardly, and uncaring as to who might suffer for his sins. Landry would not have faulted Simon had he chosen to kill the man.
A part of him questioned whether it was just that Egan should pay so modest a price for what he had done. The man seemed to have no conscience. He would not bear the burden of his own guilt. Not as Adelina did for her own small transgression.
Yet, he also understood that Simon would have had to cope with guilt of his own had he taken Egan’s life. Perhaps not immediately, but soon and for years after. Youthful though he was, Landry already had too much experience with meting out blood and death. He understood all too well the burdens they imposed. Tancrede had done Simon a favor by staying his hand.
Landry saw this now, but it had taken him some time to reach this understanding. Tancrede and Godfrey had gotten there well ahead of him. He wondered if Draper and Gawain had, too. Still, he took some consolation in grasping these truths at all. Perhaps, he thought, this marked the first stirrings of wisdom, the initial steps along a lengthy path.
He surveyed the sea, listened for sounds of any approaching vessels. Seeing and hearing no threats, he turned his gaze to the setting half-moon and waited for the passengers around him to descend into the hold or bed down on the deck. His stomach rumbled, and he allowed himself a rueful smile. He doubted that even Egan’s closest friends on this ship, whoever they might be, would extend much charity to the man this night.
* * *
Landry woke Godfrey sometime later, and lay down between blankets on the deck. He slipped into a deep sleep, and might have remained that way well into the morning had a sharp word from Draper not roused him soon after sunrise.
Gawain and Godfrey were already with the Turcopole. All three of them stood facing the east, hands raised to shield their eyes from the sun.
Looking that way himself, Landry spotted a ship. Even from far away, he could tell that she was a good deal larger than theirs. More, she had three masts, all of them whole, and she was headed in their direction. Judging from the way her prow cut through the swells, it appeared she was moving at speed.
“Wake Tancrede,” Godfrey said to Draper. “I would have preferred to let him sleep, but we require his seafaring knowledge.”
Draper went below. Landry made his way to where his Templar brothers stood.
The Turcopole returned moments later with Tancrede in tow. Tancrede’s auburn hair was awry, and his eyes were puffy. He looked exhausted. But his voice was crisp as he said, “We need as many people on sweeps as possible. Now.” He cast a glance Godfrey’s way. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long.”
“The ship only just appeared on the horizon. We woke you as soon as we perceived the threat.”
Awakened no doubt by the noise above, several of the passengers emerged from the hold, Simon and Adelina among them. All reacted with alarm at the presence of the other vessel. Egan followed the others into the morning light. Rings like bruises darkened the skin beneath his eyes. He kept to himself, and none of the others deigned to speak with him.
The Templars, with the exceptions of Tancrede and Landry, went below and began to row. Several of the passengers joined them. But despite their efforts, their vessel felt sluggish and vulnerable. They needed to harness the same wind used by the other vessel. Without it, they would soon be overtaken.
“We have nothing for them to steal,” Nila said. She faced the Templars, a plea in her eyes. She wanted to be convinced of this. “They can board us, but what could they possibly take?”
Tancrede and Landry locked gazes for a second.
“They could be slavers,” Tancrede said, the words wrung from him. “There’s gold to be made taking men and women – and yes, even children – from a vessel such as ours.”
/> Landry did not look at Simon and his child, having no desire to alarm them more than necessary. But others were less discreet. Simon spoke to Adelina in low, soothing tones. What reassurances could he offer her, though?
“If there are enough of them,” Tancrede went on, “and they have skill with weapons, the nine of us might not be enough to protect you.”
“Then what can we do?” Nila asked.
“We can remain on sweeps for as long as we have to,” Landry said. “And we can pray to God that we reach some form of land before they reach us.”
He looked back at the other ship. Already it was closer. They couldn’t outrun it with so few oars. He cursed his injury, wishing he could row. But he knew that numbers hindered them more than anything else. He could have replaced any of those currently rowing, and it would have made little difference. There had to be some other way to evade capture.
The other passengers marked the approach of the ship with apprehension. Adelina clung to Simon, who stroked her hair, saying nothing.
Tancrede eyed the other vessel and frowned, his hand still on the rudder. “I don’t like having the others on sweeps,” he said. “If it comes to a fight, it would be better if most of us weren’t exhausted from rowing.”
“Is there anything we can do with the sail?” Landry asked. “Might we tie it to the prow in some fashion? Anything that might allow it to catch some of this wind.”
Tancrede considered the sky, and then the front of the ship. “Given some time, I might be able to figure out something. But not while we’re being pursued. For now, loath as I am to admit it, the oars are our best option.”
“They can keep rowing,” Landry said. “And you can tie the rudder in place. But maybe together, you and I can find another way.”
Before Tancrede could answer, cries went up from the front of the vessel.
“What now?” Tancrede muttered.
Landry and Tancrede hurried to the prow. Landry’s heart sank at what he saw there.
A second ship loomed before them. Also distant, and tacking at an oblique angle to their line. But Landry felt certain that those on this second vessel had spotted theirs.
Tancrede seemed to assume the same. He ran back to the rudder, and turned their ship, angling it away from both vessels.
“We can’t outrun them both,” he said, as if answering a question. “I’m open to suggestions.”
Simon gazed at one ship, and then the other. “Do you think they’re working together?”
“I would be surprised.”
Landry agreed. The sails of the first ship each bore a black sword, the blade tip colored red. The sails of the second vessel were plain white.
“That could work to our advantage.”
“Let them fight each other for the spoils,” Landry said, “and in the meantime, we slip away.”
“Something like that, yes.”
“That will work for a time,” Tancrede said. “But eventually one will prevail, and we’ll face the same problem we had when it was just the one ship after us: we’re hobbled, and they’re not.”
“Both ships might be, if they battle each other first.”
“You’re leaving a lot to good fortune.”
“I believe we’re due for some,” Landry said. “Don’t you agree?”
“I’m pretty certain it’s not my decision to make,” Tancrede said. “But yes, if the Lord were to welcome my thoughts on the matter, then I would say we’re due for a good deal of luck right about now.”
“Agreed,” Landry said. “So, let’s see if we can’t create some good fortune of our own.”
Chapter 6
Tancrede steered them to the east, off the lines of both pursuing ships. At least at first. It didn’t take long for the other vessels to correct their courses and give chase.
Simon took Godfrey’s place below, and the commander joined Landry and Tancrede on the deck.
“At least now we know that both ships are following us,” Tancrede said, his tone as dry as dust.
Landry found three longbows and two dozen arrows in a back corner of the hold. These he gave to Tancrede and the commander. He believed himself a competent archer, but with his shoulder still on the mend, he hadn’t the strength to draw a bowstring. Rather than keeping the third for himself, he called Gawain onto the deck. One of the women, Irène, took his place on sweeps.
Aside from the Templars, no one on the ship carried a sword. If the Tern was boarded, and they were forced to fight hand-to-hand, their passengers would be armed only with short blades. If that. Landry didn’t give them much chance of surviving an encounter with either ship. A life of bondage was the best they could hope for.
By the time the sun had climbed directly overhead, both vessels were close enough that Landry could make out the features of some of those aboard. The ships were galleys, built for war. They were a good deal longer and sleeker than the Tern. Each was rigged with three sails, and long rows of oar holes on either side. The prow of the first ship, the sails of which were marked with those blood-tipped swords, had been carved to resemble a dragon, its neck reared back, like that of a snake ready to strike. The prow of the second had been fashioned after a sea eagle, the head carved to appear feathered, the beak broad and hooked. Both vessels cut impressive lines. A rounded merchant vessel like the Tern couldn’t possibly outrun either ship. Given that they were forced to rely on oarsmen, they should have been boarded already. That they hadn’t been was testament to Tancrede’s skill at the rudder.
The first ship had been riding a direct wind and so was the nearer of the two. The second vessel had been forced to tack a crooked course in their direction. Yet, it wasn’t far off.
“That second captain knows what he’s about,” Tancrede said, as he gauged the ships’ positions. Landry heard grudging respect in his voice.
Gawain scowled. “Too bad for him that by the time he reaches us, he’ll have nothing to do but pick over our bones.”
“None of that,” Godfrey said. “Good fortune, remember?”
Gawain’s expression didn’t change.
As they watched, the second vessel furled its sails and went to oars – at least thirty of them on each side. With the Mediterranean relatively calm, the ship actually gained speed, and followed a more direct course toward the Tern and the other ship.
“She’ll be more maneuverable now,” Tancrede said. “That other ship might have no choice but to go to sweeps as well.”
“Why did they wait to do that?” Landry asked.
His friend shrugged. “It would have been a long voyage on oars, and they want to be able to fight when they reach us.”
As the first ship bore down on them, bowmen took up positions along its starboard rail.
“Get everyone below!” Tancrede shouted. “Now!”
Those passengers who had lingered on the deck to monitor the progress of the ships rushed to the hatch, pushing and shoving in their desperation to take cover.
The vessel remained too far away for their archers, but in another minute or two, Landry and the other Templars would need to take cover. He retrieved his battle shield, strode to the rear of the ship, and positioned himself near Tancrede.
“What are you doing?”
“Guarding you, of course. What do you think?”
“I think I want a guard whose shoulder works.”
Landry stared at him, then burst out laughing. Gawain glowered at them both. Godfrey frowned as well.
“In all seriousness, Landry,” Tancrede said, “I don’t want you risking your life to save mine.”
“Without you, we’re dead. It is that simple. So, yes, I will risk my life to protect you. What choice do I have?”
“I think they mean to ram us,” Godfrey said from near the fore of the Tern.
It took Landry a moment to realize he referred to the second ship. But the commander was right. The second galley had closed the distance to their ship with alarming speed, and it appeared to be on a collision course.
“Is there anything we can do?” Landry asked.
Tancrede pulled hard on the rudder, turning the ship so abruptly that the rhythm of the rowers was broken. But even at her best, a small vessel like the Tern couldn’t change direction immediately.
“She’ll obliterate us,” Tancrede said, keeping his voice down so that only Landry could hear. “A ship that size, at that speed… Brace yourselves!” he called to the others.
Anticipating assaults from both vessels, Landry grabbed hold of the rail with one hand, and readied his shield with the other.
But the second ship did not ram them. Rather, it slid by on the Tern’s port side and interposed itself between the Templars’ ship and the other vessel. Bowmen rushed to the port side of this second vessel and without pause loosed a volley of arrows at the first ship.
Landry would have guessed that they were beyond range, but their arrows rained down on the first vessel, felling their archers, drawing screams, slicing through the ship’s sails. They sent another salvo at the vessel, and a third, eliciting more cries. By the time the second ship had passed between the Tern and the first, it appeared to Landry that most of the men on the other vessel’s deck had been killed or wounded.
Still, the second vessel wasn’t done. Its oarsmen turned a tight circle and approached the first ship, drawing closer with this pass, but keeping it between the Tern and the other vessel. As it passed the galley, its sailors released another volley, this time of flaming arrows.
Some rained down on the deck. Others cut through the sail, and still others struck the ship’s hull below the rails. Everywhere they hit, fires burned, blackening the wood. The sail was consumed by flame in mere moments, as if it were a dried leaf. Black smoke rose from the vessel. Men cried out and leapt overboard, some of them burning as well. As they flailed in the water, archers from the attacking ship finished them off with deadly precision.
As the ship continued to burn, an eerie silence settled over the scene, broken only by the pop and crackle of the burning hull. Landry heard no more cries, no more human sounds of any sort. The second vessel carved through the water, encircling the carcass of the first, perhaps searching for survivors. Landry had never imagined that one ship might conquer another with such ease. He thought this second vessel must be a pirate ship, or perhaps even a ship of war from some unknown country. Had the other vessel been an enemy, or a perceived rival for whatever spoils the Tern might offer?