by DAVID B. COE
“Another step.”
The man scowled.
“What the hell are you about up there?” the pirate at the rear called.
The first man took another step back, allowing Tancrede to reach the younger knight.
Gawain was on his knees, his head hanging low. “You plan to pick me up?” he asked, breathless.
“If I could, I’d put you on my back.”
Gawain raised his gaze to Tancrede’s, his eyes welling. He nodded. “I know you would. I’d do the same.”
The knight forced himself up – no small feat without the use of his arms. He stumbled a bit but then steadied and dipped his chin a second time. “Thank you, brother.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“We both know better.”
They shared a smile and Tancrede turned back to the lead pirate. “On then. What are you waiting for?”
The pirate frowned. Gawain gave a huff of laughter.
They walked for at least another hour. The jungle began to darken, the air to cool.
Ahead of them, the forest thinned. Tancrede saw more of the sky through those trees remaining in front of them. Eyeing the canopy, he stumbled over a change in their footing.
The dirt path had intersected a cobblestone road. It was in some disrepair, dotted with loose, split, and missing cobbles, but still it seemed utterly out of place here on this seemingly deserted isle. They turned onto the paved lane and continued their climb.
As it turned out, the road was nothing compared to the next surprise. As they rounded a broad turn, they came within sight of a huge fortress, easily as large as any temple of the Order that Tancrede had ever seen. Like the road, the structure showed signs of age. The outer wall was pitted and scarred, likely from past battles. The towers beyond the wall were similarly marked, and sections of walls and buildings were streaked white with bird droppings.
As they neared the structure the enormous twin oak doors of the main gate swung inward, opening onto a broad dirt space. This inner courtyard was filled with wooden huts and cruder shelters created with canvases and rope. Cooking fires burned in several stone rings. Dozens of men occupied the space, as well as women, and even a few children. Dogs ranged among the shelters and fires.
As the pirates led the Templars into the fortress, the people paused in their tasks to regard them. Seconds later, almost in unison, they all turned their attention back to what they had been doing before.
The pirates pulled Tancrede and the others on, through the common area, past the large central structure of the compound to a second, smaller stone building. There was an ancient grace to the central tower and the outer wall. The main building was crowned by a crenelated turret that must have offered a striking view of the surrounding terrain. Similar towers stood at each corner of the outer defense. The building to which the pirates had led them, however, was little more than a stone box. Its door was constructed of iron rather than wood. A few small, square openings, guarded with iron bars, marked the exterior. Otherwise nothing distinguished the structure, or mitigated its austerity.
The pirates and Templars halted before the building, and one man produced a key that opened the iron door.
“What is this place?” Godfrey asked, regarding the door, the walls, the barred windows.
“This,” came a too-familiar voice, “is your new home.”
All of them turned. Redman stood behind them, flanked by half a dozen armed men.
“Quite possibly, the last home any of you will ever know.”
Chapter 12
The pirates ushered the Templars inside and down a narrow stone stairway. As they descended into the bowels of the structure, the fetor that reached them made the hold of the Gold Prince seem ambrosial by comparison. Even the smoke from oil-soaked torches couldn’t mask the reek: a noisome mix of must and dirt, of excrement and urine, of rotting flesh, sweat, fear, hopelessness, and death. Landry gagged.
Menacing shadows from the torches followed them down the stairway. The steps were uneven, worn to a treacherous polish by centuries of use. More than once, Landry almost lost his footing.
Their descent ended in a round chamber surrounded by small cells of stone and iron. A dark corridor led off from the chamber. Landry wasn’t sure he wished to know where it led.
The pirate with the key opened the doors to three cells. Redman, who had followed them down, stepped to the middle of the chamber.
“You will sleep and eat and spend your days here,” he said, his voice echoing. “Except for those times when I have need of you elsewhere.”
“Meaning what?” Godfrey asked.
The pirate answered with an enigmatic smile.
“Put them in,” he said to his men.
The nearest of the pirates removed the rope from around the Templars’ necks, and shoved them into the cells. The doors were low, and Landry had to duck through. Landry and Draper were placed together in one cell, Tancrede and Gawain in another. The third held Brice, Nathaniel, and Godfrey. Redman’s men shut the cell doors, which clanged ominously.
The locks appeared every bit as formidable as the lock that had held them on the ship. Landry had no doubt that the bars were as sturdy as well.
“When will you untie us?” Godfrey asked.
“When I’m ready. That is also when you’ll be fed, so don’t bother to ask.”
“You promised us food and drink when we reached land.”
“You are on land. You will have food and drink in time. I promised no more than that.”
“What do you want with us?”
“Do you really have to ask, Templar? I know the Order. I am aware of the vast wealth you control. The riches of the Temple have funded crusade after crusade, and what do you have to show for it? Acre has fallen. You have no territory or strongholds left in the Holy Land. But you still have your gold. That is what I want.”
“So you do intend to ransom us.”
The bald man scowled with disgust. “You lack imagination, like too many of the men I knew when I was a knight.”
A bell pealed in the distance, the tones reaching them through the tiny openings in the stone walls. Redman canted his head and smiled again. “Supper,” he said. “I’m afraid we must leave you now. Until tomorrow. Or the next day.”
He started up the stairway, signaling with a small gesture that his men should follow. No one remained to guard them. If Landry needed further proof of the impossibility of escape, that was it.
“They could at least pretend they’re afraid we might break out,” Tancrede said from his cell, watching the men leave.
“Do you see any weaknesses?” Godfrey asked.
Landry didn’t. Between the stark stone walls and the iron door, the cell struck him as impenetrable. There were small piles of straw in two corners of the cramped space, and a stained moth-eaten blanket balled up on each one. Other than that, the cell was empty. The only possible weaknesses in this ancient prison were the door locks and the barred openings in the walls ten feet above them. And these didn’t appear weak at all.
“I see nothing,” Draper said. “No way to escape, unless we can master the locks themselves.”
“We should try,” Godfrey said. “As soon as we have use of our arms again.”
“And when do you suppose that will be?” Gawain asked.
The commander didn’t bother to respond.
Landry lowered himself to his knees, then sat back against the stone. Draper did the same on the other side of the cell.
The last thing Landry wished to do was think about how hungry he was. But the evening bells still tolled, announcing the pirates’ meal and making it all but impossible for him to think about anything else. As the sky grew ever darker, and the air continued to cool, he became aware of insects buzzing near his face, and of others, vermin from the straw and blankets no doubt, crawling over his skin. When they began to bite, he shook himself and shrugged violently. That did little to dissuade the tiny beasts. He stood and paced around th
e enclosure.
Draper joined him a short time later, but neither of them remained on his feet for long. As vexing as Landry found the bugs, he was too weary to stalk about in circles.
Gradually, the other knights settled down for the evening as well. They didn’t speak much. There was little to say. As on the ship, they heard the pirates laughing and singing. Occasionally dogs bayed.
The moon rose late, its light a broken square shining on the wall opposite the high windows. An owl screeched repeatedly. Landry slept as much as he could. His body begged for rest, but his aches made deep slumber impossible. When at last he did fall asleep for more than a moment, he dreamt of falling into the sea, his arms bound, his clothes and chain mail dragging him down. He woke gasping for air, sweat soaking his face and neck. Draper still sat across from him, moonlight shining in his dark eyes.
“You are all right,” the Turcopole said, the words empty and yet oddly comforting.
Landry shifted, making himself as comfortable as possible, and soon fell asleep again. Still, when morning came, he felt no more rested than he had the night before.
The pirates ignored them throughout that day and the one after, much as they had aboard the Gold Prince. The Templars received no food or drink. They remained trussed up like animals. Landry sensed his body weakening. His hunger consumed him. His throat ached with thirst. His head pounded and the cell appeared to shift and spin whenever he opened his eyes. Every muscle hurt. More, the thought of their captors enjoying yet another meal only a short distance away enraged him, filled him with envy.
Redman and Gaspar must have considered this constant neglect a tactic, a way of breaking the Templars’ spirit. Landry wanted to believe that the pirates’ disregard would have no effect on them, but by the morning of the third day, he knew better. For good or ill, the pirates would come for them eventually. They’ve gone to a lot of trouble to take us as prisoners… They spoke of profit, of opportunity, of the Templars being assets. They had something in mind for the knights. Landry feared what that might be.
But as their confinement stretched on, he grew eager for almost any interaction with their captors. Every noise from the surrounding compound made him sit up in anticipation – the clang of that distant bell, the whistle of the wind in the bars overhead, each creak and shudder of the ancient prison, every scrabbling on the stone floor by some unseen creature. The noises infected his mind. On occasion, they drove him to his feet and to the small barred opening in the door to their cell. His heart thudded and his stomach clenched with an odd blend of trepidation and relief. On each occasion, when he realized once again that no one had come for them, he registered the empty chamber as both reprieve and frustration.
He and Draper did not speak. Neither did Gawain and Tancrede. Landry heard Godfrey murmuring to the young knights in his cell, but he could not make out what the commander said.
Days in this dungeon were cool – a small mercy. Night brought colder air, against which the threadbare blankets were nearly useless. The sky beyond the iron bars remained unrelentingly clear. Late in the afternoon of that third day, Landry thought he heard a distant rumble of thunder. He and Draper stared at each other before straining to look out the high window. Landry thought he could make out a few dark clouds. He listened for more thunder. Even a passing shower might offer a few drops of clean water.
But after the promise of that distant growl, he heard nothing more. The day waned and those few clouds passed them by. Landry hung his head and took several long breaths, fearful that he might weep. Despondency threatened to overwhelm him. He was drowning in it.
“Courage, my friend,” Draper said, pitching his voice so that the others would not hear. “God is testing us. By His grace, we will endure and be redeemed. This cannot last forever.”
Landry did not meet his gaze, but after composing himself, he nodded.
The evening unfolded as had each of the preceding ones. The bell announcing mealtime mocked his hunger. His cell darkened and grew cold. Every pulse of blood renewed the dull agony in his shoulders and bound arms.
Somehow, though, he slept. All of them did.
How else could Landry explain what awaited them the following morning?
A small bowl of water and a platter of food had been placed in the cell. There were no utensils, of course, and even if there had been, neither he nor Draper had been untied. No doubt the pirates wanted the Templars to abase themselves by eating and drinking like animals.
Landry twisted himself up onto his knees and crawled to the food and drink. Draper did as well, reaching the platter at the same time.
The platter held some sort of thick stew. Overnight, fat had congealed on top of it. But it smelled edible. More than that, truth be told. Landry’s stomach growled.
“What do you suppose it is?” he asked.
Draper raised an eyebrow. “Do you really care?” He indicated the plate with a jerk of his chin. “Go ahead. I will start with the water.”
Rather than eating, Landry stood and moved to the door.
“Do the rest of you have food?”
“Yes,” came the reply from the far cell. Nathaniel’s voice?
He heard Tancrede and Gawain rousing themselves.
“We do as well,” Gawain said.
“Did you hear them bring it?” Tancrede called.
“No. Did anyone?”
No response.
“It’s edible,” Brice said, the words thick, as if he were speaking around a mouthful.
Landry returned to the platter. He tried to reach for it, but stopped himself. Even if he could have lifted a handful, how would he have gotten it to his mouth?
“It is all right, Landry,” Draper said. “Eat it as you must. We do what is required to survive.” He smiled. “But save some for me.”
Landry nodded. Feeling ill-at-ease, he bent over the platter and took a small mouthful of the food. The meat in the stew was gamey and stringy, and the spices gave it a bitter flavor. He didn’t care. He plunged his face into it, gulping down mouthfuls. In mere seconds, he knew he had eaten his share. Though tempted to keep eating, he forced himself to stop, and raised his head. Draper was watching him.
“It is decent?”
“No, I don’t think you’ll like it. Perhaps I should spare you the horror of having to eat it.”
Draper laughed. “You are wearing a good deal of it.”
Landry tried to lick clean his lips, mustache, and beard.
Walking on their knees, they traded places. Landry lapped up water like a cat. Draper ate much of what was left on the platter before offering what remained to Landry.
“You’re certain?” Landry asked, already approaching the food once more.
“You left me more than half. I have eaten my share.”
Landry wasn’t sure he believed this, but he didn’t stop to question the man’s generosity. He thanked Draper and proceeded to lick the platter clean.
“Do you see, Gaspar?” he heard as he finished. “Even the mighty can be made to resemble beasts. It takes only a bit of time.”
Landry’s head snapped up again. Draper had stopped drinking and was facing the door. Gaspar and Redman stood together by the opening, leering at them. Redman’s sharp beard gave him a devilish look. Gaspar’s eyes gleamed like black gems. Several men loomed behind them, grinning as well.
Redman whispered something to the men. One of them nodded his understanding and led the others out of Landry’s sight. He and Draper scrambled to their feet and pressed themselves to the door, so that they could see the chamber beyond their cell.
As they watched, the pirates unlocked the door of the far cell, pulled Godfrey out, and locked it shut again.
The Monk drew a knife from his belt. Landry shouted a warning, convinced that the pirate meant to kill Godfrey. Redman paused, grinned in Landry’s direction, and cut the bonds holding the commander’s arms and wrists.
At the first movement of his hands, Godfrey cried out and dropped to his knee
s. He brought his arms forward slowly, gritting his teeth. His arms remained at the same odd angle they had been in.
Two of Redman’s crew stood over Godfrey, swords pressed to his neck.
“I would have them cut the bonds from all of you,” the Monk said. “But if any one of you threatens my men with so much as a frown, I will give the order to have your commander beheaded. Do I make myself clear?”
None of them answered.
“I said, ‘Do I make myself clear?’”
“Yes,” Tancrede said.
The others murmured their assent as well, the sounds echoing like a chorus.
Redman nodded to the other pirates, and groups of them approached each cell.
Draper and Landry backed to the center of their enclosure as the pirates entered. The man who cut the ropes from Landry’s arms made no effort to be gentle. He jerked Landry’s arms up. Landry gasped at the anguish that jolted through his shoulders and back. The man then sawed at the ropes for a few seconds. When they fell away, the pirate scooped them off the ground and left the cell. The man who removed Draper’s bonds followed him out and relocked the door.
Landry remained as he was, swaying in the middle of the cell. Even if Redman hadn’t threatened Godfrey’s life, he would have been unable to strike at any of the pirates. His arms were as stiff as tree limbs. Every attempt to move them brought torment. Even the act of lowering them so that they hung at his sides was too painful to bear. Moans from the others told him that they suffered as he did.
He held himself still except for his arms, which he attempted to ease down just a bit with each breath. After some time, he also tried to rotate his wrists. This brought new waves of suffering.
He couldn’t say how long it took him to bring his arms forward to something approximating a normal position. Even after he had, he could only move them slowly. The thought of merely lifting his hand to his face made him quail. Wielding a sword seemed something he had done in a different lifetime.
“Where is Godfrey?”