by DAVID B. COE
The ship completed another orbit around the burning vessel before approaching the Tern once again and pulling abreast of her.
“What now?” Landry whispered.
“Well met, the Gray Tern,” a man called from the aft deck of the other vessel. He was tall, broad in the shoulders and chest. Unruly black hair shifted in the wind, and a trim, dark beard lent a severe aspect to his angular face.
Tancrede looked to Landry and then Godfrey, and twitched a shoulder.
Godfrey responded with a shrug of his own. “Well met,” he shouted in answer.
“Permission to board?”
Tancrede shook his head.
“We would have you state your business first.”
Laughter greeted this, and not just from the one man.
“A brave response, given your complement of men, and the state of your vessel. But very well. We are the Melitta, a ship of fortune.”
“Pirates,” Tancrede said, exhaling the word.
“So,” Godfrey called in answer, “when you ask permission to board—”
“A formality.”
“At least he’s an honest pirate,” Gawain said.
“You have my word that no harm will come to any on your ship,” the man went on. “But we did just save you all from an unpleasant fate, and we would speak with you before deciding on suitable compensation.”
Godfrey nodded. “We would like to discuss this among ourselves first. With your permission, of course.”
“Of course,” the man said. He sounded amused.
Tancrede called below for those on sweeps to cease their efforts. At this point, further attempts at escape seemed pointless.
The Tern slowed. The other Templars climbed onto the deck. The passengers clamored to do the same, but at Godfrey’s urging, they remained below.
The commander explained their situation as succinctly as possible, and in a voice meant to carry to those in the hold.
“If he wants the ship, it’s his,” Tancrede added when Godfrey was finished. “We can’t stop him, and I have no desire to die trying. You saw what he did to that other ship. He has no reason to lie to us, and no reason to fear us. If he says he means us no harm, chances are he’s telling the truth.”
“Is this what you meant by good fortune?” Gawain asked, the irony in his words bordering on bitterness.
“Quite possibly, yes,” Godfrey said. “Very well,” he called to the Melitta. “Be welcome on our ship.”
Before long, the Melitta’s oarsmen had steered their vessel close enough to the Tern to lash the ships together. Men set planks from the rails of the larger ship to those of the Templars’ vessel. The bearded man, who Landry assumed was their captain, led a contingent of six bowmen and as many swordsmen onto the Tern. The captain approached Godfrey and sketched a bow.
“My name is Killias,” he said. “I captain the Melitta.”
“Godfrey. My pilot is Tancrede.” He introduced the rest of the knights by name as well.
“Templars,” the captain said, lifting his chin to indicate Godfrey’s tabard.
“Yes.”
“Shouldn’t you be at war?”
Godfrey’s eyes narrowed. “We were. Acre fell several weeks ago. We’ve been seeking a safe harbor ever since.”
Killias nodded, seeming indifferent to events in the Holy Land, and at the same time surveyed the ship. “The storm do this?” he asked, waving a hand at the broken mast.
“Yes.”
The captain faced Godfrey again. “You Templars are known for your wealth. So why do I have the feeling that you carry few riches on this ship?”
“We barely have food enough to last the day.”
Killias gave a dry laugh. He walked the length of the deck, his boots clicking on the old wood. No one spoke a word. When he reached the stern, he exchanged nods with Tancrede and started back toward Godfrey. Landry watched the captain, and also kept track of his men, a hand on the hilt of his sword. As the pirate passed him, he glanced at the weapon and smirked. Landry bristled.
“Calm yourself, Templar. I meant what I said. None of you need come to harm.”
He walked on, only halting when he reached Godfrey. He gestured toward the burning ship, which had started to sink. Smoke still billowed into an otherwise clear sky.
“Had you seen that ship before?”
“Never. We spotted her just after dawn and tried to outrun her.”
“Folly. You never would have gotten away. She was the Blood Dawn, captained by a man named Tatius. We’ve had dealings with him. He’s the sort who gives men of my profession a bad reputation. Without our intervention, you would have been attacked, boarded, plundered. Do you carry passengers?”
Godfrey didn’t answer straight away. Clearly, he wasn’t yet ready to trust the man. But after a pause, he said, “Yes. They’re below.”
“Women, children?”
“Several women. One child.”
“Well, when you Templars and the rest of the men on board were dead, the women and the child would have been taken, used most foully, and sold into servitude at the first opportunity.”
“If we could pay you, we would.”
“Your swords might have some value. Your armor as well.”
Landry tensed. He sensed that Gawain and Draper had done the same.
“We can’t part with those.”
For a moment that seemed to stretch on perilously, Godfrey and Killias stared at one another. At last the pirate smiled.
“No, I don’t suppose you can. To be honest, I wasn’t trying to extract any sort of reward. This is my way of telling you that I’m glad the bloody bastard is dead. I would have killed him and destroyed his ship even if you hadn’t been here in need of aid.”
Killias wandered as he spoke, ending his peregrinations at the base of the broken mast, which he studied with some interest.
“But we were in need,” Godfrey said. “We still are.”
The captain looked up from the shattered wood. “Yes. An interesting circumstance. You tell me you are low on provisions, without riches, and I believe you. But you have access to wealth. Were we to offer aid – food perhaps, and passage to that safe harbor of which you spoke – might we be rewarded in time?”
Godfrey paused, seeming to choose his words with care. “You understand, our Order is vast, and I am a mere soldier. I have little influence, and less control over whatever wealth the Templars might possess. But I can make recommendations, put in a good word with those who wield more power than I.”
Killias responded with another smirk. “Do all knights of your order sound like that when they speak of gold?”
“Like what?”
“Mealy-mouthed ministers in a royal court.”
Godfrey’s smile was wry. “Forgive me. Yes, if at all possible, I will arrange payment. I can’t promise a certain amount. But I give you my word that I will make the effort.”
Killias grinned without restraint. “Better, Templar. That was better.”
“Are you done then?” A woman’s voice.
Landry could do nothing but gape. One of the swordsmen from the Melitta was, in fact, a woman. She was smaller than the rest of her company, but not so much so that she had drawn his notice. She wore her black hair shorn as short as that of a man. Her dark breeches and ivory tunic were loose-fitting enough to hide her form. But as she stood before them, a fist on her hip, scorn in her brown eyes and pursed lips, Landry wondered how he could have overlooked her presence.
“You have something to say?” Killias asked, with more indulgence than Landry would have expected.
“I could offer discourse on the useless prattle of men that might last a week, but I believe all of us have heard enough. I would imagine these men and their passengers are hungry, and seeing as you offered, I believe we ought to feed them.”
Killias regarded the woman for several seconds before sending a contrite look Godfrey’s way.
“We would welcome a meal,” the commander said.
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“No doubt. Allow me to introduce my daughter, Melitta.”
“Namesake of the ship,” Landry said without thinking.
In the next instant, he found himself enduring the woman’s scrutiny. “How clever.” She sounded anything but impressed. “This one misses nothing.”
“Forgive her,” Killias said. “Her tongue can be a bit sharp.”
“Which is more than I can—”
“Don’t,” the captain said, raising a finger.
She swallowed whatever she had intended to say. Landry thought it likely that the captain had spared him further ridicule.
“You should gather your passengers, Templar, and bring them over to our ship. We have food aplenty, and means to gather more, if you haven’t yet grown weary of fish.”
“We haven’t had enough food in the past weeks to grow weary of anything. We have had no means by which to provide for ourselves.”
“Then by all means, let us repair to the Melitta.”
A sound from the nearby hatch drew Landry’s attention. Simon and Adelina peered up at him from the stairway leading to the hold. Many of the others had gathered just behind them.
“It’s all right,” Landry said. “You can come up. We’re in no danger now.”
Simon led them onto the deck. He held Adelina’s hand. She stayed close to him, practically hiding behind him.
“Shame on you, Templar,” Killias said to Godfrey, his voice booming. “You never mentioned that you had such a beauty aboard your ship.” He winked at Adelina. “This one could be royalty.”
She tucked herself more firmly behind her father, but Landry thought he saw a small smile light her oval, sunburned face.
“You’re her father?” the captain asked, approaching Simon. He towered over the man, and his proffered hand appeared to swallow Simon’s.
“Yes, sir.”
“You can call me Killias, or Captain.”
He put an arm around Simon’s shoulder and steered him and the girl onto the planks leading to the Melitta.
“She looks starved.”
Landry turned and found himself beside Killias’s daughter.
“She has had a hard time of it,” he said, the first words that came to him. “Worse than most on this ship.”
The woman gazed after her. “Where is her mother?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never asked either Simon or her.” He wanted to ask where her mother was, but didn’t dare. Like most Templars, he had vowed chastity to God, and so he normally eschewed the company of women. As curious as he was about this particular woman, he knew he would be better off engaging her in conversation about only the most routine of matters. Any attempt at more intimacy might imperil his vows, and expose him again to her barbed wit.
She regarded him sidelong, her sly grin suggesting that she understood him and his reticence all too well.
“Don’t worry, Templar. I’ve no intention of luring you away from your Order. I prefer my men worldly. Breaking in an innocent can be so tedious.”
He felt his cheeks redden, opened his mouth to reply, then clamped it shut again, uncertain of what he meant to say.
The woman laughed and walked away from him, hips swaying. Once more, Landry wondered how he had failed to spot her when first she stepped onto the Tern. He checked to see if any had noticed their exchange. Draper, who missed nothing, stood nearby, watching him, faint amusement in his dark eyes. Landry scowled and followed the woman to her ship.
* * *
There is so much food that Adelina doesn’t know what to put in her mouth first. She has seen feasts like this before. Not so long ago, she and her father partook of them in the Holy Land. Mostly they led a modest life, but even they found a way to eat like kings at Passover and Yom Teruah.
The food they bring her on the Melitta is nothing like what she ate on those days of celebration. But it is flavorful and abundant, and she cares about nothing else. They have so many kinds of fish – some blackened over an open flame, some steamed, some even smoked. There are pungent cheeses, boiled roots, smoked meats like those that caused so much trouble on their ship. There are more figs as well, like the one she ate during the storm to settle her stomach. She avoids these. The memory of that ordeal remains too vivid.
She stops when she feels full, waits a short while, and starts in again. She feels her stomach expanding, her appetite growing back to what it was before Acre.
They give her some sort of spirit to drink, well-watered, of course. She drinks enough of it that her head becomes pleasantly fogged. She has seen her father drunk once or twice, again on the holy days. This is what it must feel like.
“That is enough drink, I believe,” he says to her now. But his tone is mild, and he smiles.
“I’m thirsty. I’ve been thirsty forever.”
“And hungry as well?”
“Yes. I could eat and eat and never stop.”
They both laugh at this. Adelina can’t remember the last time she felt so happy. She doesn’t even mind that Egan sits not so far away, alone, near the middle of this grand ship. He ignores her and her father, and they are content to ignore him as well. Still, there is a small part of her that feels badly for him. Yes, he stole and he lied, and he tried to blame her for all that he had done. But he was hungry, like her. She understands that, can almost forgive him.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
The woman from the other ship stands over them, sun shining on her tanned face. She is solemn, shy even. Adelina isn’t sure yet whether she likes her. She is very pretty, despite her short hair and the clothes she wears, which are better suited to a man. Her face is square, her cheekbones high, her skin smooth. Adelina has only the vaguest memories of her mother, who died when she was little more than an infant. But when she imagines her, she looks like this, though with longer hair, and wearing a gown.
“Not at all,” Adelina’s father says.
He shifts closer to Adelina, leaving room on his far side for the woman. She sits, but looks past Adelina’s father to Adelina herself.
“Are you enjoying your meal?”
“Yes, thank you.”
A smile flickers across the woman’s face. “You’re very pretty.”
“Thank you. So are you. But why do you dress like that?”
“Adelina!”
The woman laughs. “It’s all right. I dress like this because I am a sailor aboard my father’s ship. I can’t very well wear a gown as I climb into the rigging or pull an oar below, can I?”
“I guess not.”
Her smile fades, leaving her grave once again. “I am Melitta.”
“Like the ship?” Adelina asks.
“Like the ship. My father named her for me.”
“My name is Simon,” Adelina’s father says. “This is Adelina.”
“I’m pleased to meet you both.” She looks like she might say more, but she falters.
“How long have you been at sea?” Adelina’s father asks, his voice surprisingly gentle.
Melitta drops her gaze, brushes something off her tunic. “A long time. Since I was a girl not much older than your daughter.”
“You lost your mother?”
She nods. Adelina isn’t certain how her father knew to ask this, but she thinks that this might be why Melitta has come to speak with them.
“How old were you?”
“Very young. I remember so little about her. I lived with my aunt for a time, while my father sailed. He was a merchant then, and returned to port in Athens as often as he could. But when I was old enough I told him that I wanted to sail, that I didn’t like waiting on land while he sailed from one adventure to the next.” She stares out over the water, squinting, her lips thinned. “He could have said no, but I think he saw how unhappy I was.”
“When did you become pirates instead of merchants?”
She laughs again. Adelina likes her laugh. It is warm and musical and as free as the shearwaters gliding near their ships.
“A few
years ago,” she says. “We’d had our wares plundered several times already, but on this last occasion, one of my father’s crew said something foolish and was killed by one of the men who had boarded us. After, my father vowed that we would never be boarded again. So, as you put it, we became pirates ourselves. Sailors of fortune, we call ourselves.”
“A kind name for a less than kind profession.”
Her expression ices over. “Do not presume to judge us. Life on the sea is uncompromising, no matter what we call ourselves. Yes, we plunder ships. But unlike the men aboard the Blood Dawn—” She looks back the way they have come. The other ship has sunk, leaving no trace. “Unlike them, we do not murder, or traffic in slaves, or allow women and children to be ill-used by coarse men.”
“And the sailors on that other ship?” her father asks.
“That was war,” she says, the words stark and hard.
They fall into a taut silence that stretches on and on, making Adelina squirm.
“I don’t remember my mother much, either,” she says at last, desperate for anything to fill the void.
Melitta shares a pained look with her father. “That must be difficult for you.”
Adelina lifts a shoulder. “No more than it is for you.”
She smiles at that. “You’re a brave one, aren’t you?”
“Yes, she is,” her father says before Adelina can answer. “I think the two of you must have that in common as well.”
Another glance passes between them, another smile. Color seeps into Melitta’s cheeks, and, amazingly, into her father’s, too.
“We’re Jewish,” he says, for reasons Adelina cannot fathom. “You should know this.”
“And I am a pirate. Why should I mind that you’re Jewish?”
Adelina understands little of this, but she says, “Some people mind. They mind a lot.”
“People back in Acre?”