Crowner's Crusade (6 page)

‘Sire, that will surely make our chances of crossing into Aquitaine from any part of the French or Spanish coast all the more hazardous,' commented Baldwin, who was now against a Spanish landing.

The Lionheart nodded his agreement. ‘But what else can we do? Italy is closed to us, and we heard in Corfu that Philip Augustus and Henry of Germany met in Milan and agreed on joining forces to defeat me.'

Robert de Turnham shook his head despondently. ‘The more I hear, the less I like the idea of pushing on into the western part of this sea, my lord. The north coast of Africa is infested with Moorish pirates and many more use Majorca as a base to terrorize shipping in Spanish waters.'

Once again, the discussion went around in circles, with an increasing feeling that continuing westwards was courting disaster. Next day saw a development that at least brought them to a decision, for better or worse.

Late next day, with the sun dropping near the horizon, the hills of Sicily had faded from sight and the
Franche Nef
was alone on an empty sea. The wind was from the north-west and the ungainly buss was tacking to try to make headway.

John, who had a vague notion of the geography of the Middle Sea, wondered how near they were to Africa and had visions of them having to fight Mohammedans all over again! As if his thoughts were the mother to the event, at that moment there was a cry from the lookout up on the main mast, yelling that he could see two vessels coming up over the horizon from the south.

Everyone came to look, either lining the port bulwarks or clambering up on to the forecastle. Though from deck level there was nothing yet to be seen, within little more than an hour a pair of single-masted ships were visible.

‘They must be galleys,' declared Gwyn. ‘No sailing vessel could approach that quickly with the wind in this quarter!'

The same conclusion had been reached up on the afterdeck, where the shipmaster, the admiral and Richard Coeur de Lion were in urgent discussion. Within minutes, shouted orders sent crewmen scurrying to haul around the sloping yards of the two sails and the two steersmen were heaving at the huge steering oar. The buss lumbered around and as the now more favourable wind filled out the great triangular sails, the buss soon doubled her speed.

‘We're running away from the bastards!' grunted Gwyn, almost saddened that he was being deprived of a fight.

Baldwin was beckoning to John to come up to the quarterdeck and soon the half-dozen royal retainers were clustered around their king.

‘They are Moorish corsairs!' snapped Robert de Turnham, pointing over his shoulder at the two sleek galleys that were now only a couple of miles astern. ‘But now that we are running before the wind at this fair pace, they'll not catch up with us before darkness closes in.'

It was already twilight, the sun having sunk well below the horizon.

‘We are not going to fight them off, then?' asked de Wolfe, who like Gwyn had a natural distaste for running away from Saracens.

The king shook his head regretfully. ‘No doubt we could overcome them, but to what end? I am not interested in slaying a few pirates. We could lose a few lives and suffer injuries. I have more urgent business – we need to get home!'

‘So where are we going now, my lord?' asked William, who was the closest to the king and best able to speak frankly.

‘This has made up my mind – perhaps God sent these vermin to end our indecision!' boomed Richard, his fingers playing with the novelty of his beard. ‘We will return to Corfu and then head up the Adriatic to seek a landing in Hungary. What happens after that is in the hands of the Almighty, but it seems most sensible to pass through King Bela's kingdom into Saxony, where we will be welcomed by my kinsman Henry the Lion.'

The Prince of Saxony had married Matilda, the Lionheart's late sister. Their son Otto was both a nephew and close friend of Richard, having spent several years in England when young.

At dawn next day, the sea was empty, the galleys obviously having abandoned the chase when darkness fell. The wind remained favourable for travelling eastwards and, two days later, with some guesswork and not a little luck, the shipmaster was relieved to see Cape Passero again, on the corner of Sicily.

From there, they retraced their route of the previous week, keeping within distant sight of the heel and toe of Italy until they reached the straits across which lay Corfu. The wind was fairly kind to them, giving the lie to the prohibitions of sailing in late autumn. Without the horses, conditions were much better down in the hold on the few days and nights where rough seas kept them below deck.

John and Gwyn suffered the boredom and the endless rolling and pitching of the ship with resignation, having endured far worse conditions on dry land over many years. They ate the communal rations supplied by the crew and their own figs, dates and citrus fruit that they had bought in Licata. These lasted them almost a week, leaving only a few more days on dismal food until they reached Corfu. At dawn one morning the hilly western coast of that island came into view and the weary passengers lined the rail to welcome it as yet another stage on their erratic journey.

‘Are we keeping this vessel to go up the Adriatic?' asked John, who was standing next to Robert de Turnham.

‘It would take a month in this old tub if the winds are against us,' grunted the High Admiral. ‘They're mainly from the north-east in the winter, the worst of them being the notorious
bora
.'

‘So what should we do?' Gerald de Clare, the senior knight of the Templar contingent, sounded anxious. He was a tall, thin man, with a bushy grey beard. One eye was half closed by a livid scar running across his forehead on to his cheek, the legacy of a spear thrust at the battle of Arsuf the previous year, when Richard's forces defeated a massive attack by Saladin. The Templars had played a crucial role in the victory, but paid a heavy price in dead and wounded.

‘We need a ship that will sail better than this one,' replied de Turnham. ‘It can be much smaller, now that we no longer have the horses. There are coastal currents up the east coast that will help, as well as many islands that will offer shelter to a small vessel in this devilish time of year.'

Once again, it seemed that God was listening to the admiral, though at first the intervention of the Almighty looked more like a disaster than a blessing. Their discussion was suddenly brought to an end by a shout from a lookout on the forecastle, who was pointing towards the distant hills, just visible above the horizon. As he spoke a patois peculiar to the eastern Adriatic, they had no idea what he was saying, but his frantic gesticulations alerted the shipmaster, who yelled back at him in the same language.

‘What's going on?' shouted John, as several of the other knights began climbing on to the poop for a better view.

‘A galley coming out from the island!' yelled the Venetian. ‘Almost certainly another corsair or a pirate.' The difference was slight, though a corsair was supposed to have the blessing of the local Christian ruler to prey on Moorish ships, whilst a pirate would attack anyone.

There was a bang below as the king's cabin door slammed open and Richard appeared to see what the fuss was about. Baldwin of Bethune rapidly told him that an attack was likely and immediately the Lionheart took charge, almost eager to get involved in some violence to ease the tedium of the voyage.

‘Shipmaster, how long before they can reach us?' he bellowed.

On learning that they had more than an hour, the king called everyone to arms. ‘Every man get your hauberks, shields and helmets from the hold and buckle on your swords!'

There was a rapid, but orderly scramble as the experienced soldiers prepared for a fight and the crew also went to their stations, fetching crossbows and spears from the forecastle. The king disappeared into his cabin and with the help of the Templar sergeant, soon came out attired in his long coat of chain mail over which was a scarlet linen surcoat with two golden lions
²
emblazoned across the chest. He wore a round iron helmet with a narrow gilt crown around the brim. From a broad belt and baldric, a massive sword hung almost to his feet.

John joined his fellows in recovering his armour from the hold and after unwrapping the oily cloth, Gwyn helped him lower the hauberk over his shoulders and gave him the plain helmet with a nose guard.

‘I'll leave that off until I know we are actually going to fight,' growled John, tucking the helmet under his arm.

There was no time to unpack the gambesons for the knights, the thick padded tunics that were normally worn under armour to soften the shock of heavy blows, but this was not to be a battlefield combat, with thundering horses and the impact of long lances.

Gwyn pulled a battered helmet on to his unruly ginger hair, but had no armour. For years, he had depended on the half-inch thick boiled leather of his jerkin to absorb or deflect most of the sword clashes and arrow points that came his way.

Back on deck, fifteen knights now assembled, together with the sergeant and many of the crew who had armed themselves with a variety of weapons. They lined the bulwarks on the side facing the approaching galley, Richard being up on the poop with Robert de Turnham and de L'Etang, the rest either on the main deck or up on the forecastle. On the king's instructions, the Templars stood in the most prominent positions, so that the universally known red crosses on their white surcoats could clearly be seen.

As the galley came nearer, they saw it was of medium size, with a single tier of rowers, about twenty oars each side.

‘At least its pennant shows it's Christian, not Moorish!' shouted the shipmaster.

The sail was furled, as it was moving against the wind, but the rhythmical beat of the oarsmen was sending it along at a brisk pace. The high prow, which curved forward at the waterline to form a ram, carried a fighting platform. On this were a few dozen men waving spears and swords, while others had coils of rope and grapnels. The galley curved around behind them to move in the same direction.

‘They can't come alongside to attack us,' explained Gwyn, their maritime oracle. ‘The oars would be snapped off – and if all the boarders ran to one side, they'd capsize, as these narrow vessels are top-heavy!'

He knew that the usual technique was to ram the victim ship with the armoured spike under the bow, then swarm aboard from the forecastle, the ships being held together by grappling irons thrown on first impact.

Across the water, they could now hear the regular beat of the drum which gave the time to the rowers and soon added to this were yells and screams of defiance, designed to terrify the prospective victims. They had picked the wrong ship this time, as the Templars stood stoically at the rail, looking impassively at the approaching galley, which began to overtake, coming up on the buss's port quarter.

When it was just within crossbow range, the Lionheart gave a great bellow and hauled out his sword which he brandished in the air. As one man, the rest of the knights did the same, holding aloft a forest of blades which glittered in the sun. Then up on the aftercastle, the Templar sergeant took careful aim with his bow and pulled the trigger. A few seconds later, they saw one of the crowd on the nose of the galley stagger and clutch his arm. A scream was added to the tirade of threats, which rapidly faltered as the rhythm of the drum altered, then ceased. The galley lost way as the oarsmen stopped pulling and it glided parallel to the
Franche Nef,
but now just out of arrow shot. The buss was still moving at her usual speed, but by deft movements of their steering oar and yelled commands to the oarsmen, the sleek galley kept pace at a respectable distance. The watchers on the buss could see animated gestures going on between the figures on the fighting platform of the other vessel and very soon a man began shouting at them through cupped hands.

‘What's he saying?' the king demanded of the shipmaster.

The Venetian put a hand to his ear, then translated. ‘He has seen the crosses and wants to know if we are returning Crusaders, sire. He cannot be a local man or he would have learned that already from Corfu.'

The Lionheart leapt up on to the rail of the poop, grabbing a mizzen stay to support himself. Raising his arm to better display the golden lions on his surcoat, he brandished his large sword at the galley. ‘Tell him this ship carries King Richard of England back from the Holy Land!' he yelled at the master. ‘And if he dares interfere with us, I will kill him and his crew – and the Pope will send all their souls to hell!'

It was impossible to tell if the Venetian gave a literal translation in the local language, but it was immediately obvious that the aggressive mood of the pirates rapidly subsided. Weapons were lowered and the boarding party on the forecastle began to disperse following some commands from their leader. A few moments later, there were more unintelligible shouts between the two ships. The buss's master explained that the galley chief was allowing them to pass unhindered, as they were the soldiers of the Almighty.

‘Sensible man, for we would have cut them to pieces and then sunk their lousy ship!' growled Gwyn, who stood protectively behind John de Wolfe.

But Richard Coeur de Lion had not finished with the pirates. After a rapid discussion with his admiral and Baldwin of Bethune, he yelled again at the shipmaster to pass a surprising message to the galley.

‘Tell him I wish to hire his vessel to take us to Zara – there's good Italian silver waiting for him if he agrees!'

L
ater that day, the two ships anchored together in the bay off Kerkyra on the side of Corfu facing the mainland, while the bargaining and then transfer of supplies took place. The home port of the
Franche Nef
was Limassol, but the shipmaster was not going to risk taking her back there in mid-November and decided to winter in Corfu. The king's clerk paid him the remainder of the passage money from Acre and next morning all the belongings of the passengers and most of their provisions were moved across to the galley.