Archers and Crusaders: Historical fiction: Novel of Medieval Warfare by Marines, Navy sailors, and Templar knights in the Middle Ages during England's ... (The English Archers Saga Book 6) by Martin Archer Read Free Book Online Page A

well like to do.
           “Lower deck men man the oars,” Jeffery roars out in a great shout.  “Hold your arrows.  Don’t launch.  We’re bringing her back to the dock to pick up the Templars.” 
           I’m almost tempted to tell Jeffrey to leave the Templars to the fate they’ve earned - and I would if I were absolutely sure that is the right thing to do.  But I’m not.  What the hell is going on here?
         The Templars who arrive on the dock too late to jump board are in a group facing the hostile crowd with their swords drawn and their backs to the water as our oars make a tentative start and then slowly move the galley back up against the dock.  The remaining Templars, a dozen or so, turn around and begin jumping on to the galley’s deck.  One of them seems to be injured, probably by a rock that hit his head.  There is no time for niceties – he’s literally picked up and thrown aboard by a couple of his fellow Templars. 
           A few seconds after the injured Templar lands on the deck with a thump we push off from the dock with our Swiss pikes and pull away.  A hail of rocks follows us as the mob surges forward.  The last of the Templars, the two who picked up the injured man and threw him aboard, jump down onto the deck as the Marines and sailors with pikes push us off.
           “Sir Pierre, where are you?”  I roar amongst all the shouting and confusion. I’m absolutely furious and rightly so.
           “What was that all about?  Did one of your men really cut down an orthodox priest in the market?”
           “I don’t know, Bishop.  I really don’t.”  He’s a goddamn liar.  I can see it in his eyes and I know it from what Jeffrey’s sailing sergeant told us.  But why did he do it and what should I do now?
           “Jeffrey, are all of our men on board?  Have your sergeants make an immediate count of their men, please.  We’re Marines – we’re not leaving anyone behind even if we have to go back and fight the bastards.”  I spoke quite loudly so our men and the Templars could hear.  Of course I did.
    @@@@@
           A few pulls on the oars is all it takes us to move us far enough away from the dock to escape the rocks.  I’d leave immediately without trying to resolve the matter except that then we’d be short of both water and supplies.  So we wait while the crowd continues to grow. 
           After about an hour later a dinghy is lowered from one of the ships still tied along the dock and rows toward us. There is a man at the oars and a single passenger.
           “Bring our dinghy alongside, Jeffrey, with a good ferryman on the oars.  I’ll go talk to them.”
           I take off my tunic, shed my chain mail, and put my tunic back on; then I kick off my shoes, step over the galley’s rail, and climb down into Jeffrey’s dinghy with a couple of Jeffrey’s men holding me so I don’t fall.  I learned to swim in the river that ran past the village when I was a boy but I was never very good at it.  Everyone says it’s particularly hard to do when you are wearing armor and shoes.  I don’t want to find out.
           My visitor’s dinghy stops and waits well away from our galley when he sees me start to climb down into our dinghy. I can’t say as how I blame him for being cautious.
            “Hello.  Who are you?” he hails first in Italian and then in Latin as we approach.
           “I’m Herman von Neurath,” I reply in French.  “Captain of the Valkrie out of Frankfurt.  Carrying a party of Teutonic Knights from Frankfurt to Beirut to join the crusade.  Who are you?”   Of course I lie about who I am.  Wouldn’t you under the circumstances?  Maybe I can blame this disaster on the Teutonic Knights if they didn’t catch any of the Templars or our crew.  We don’t have any dealings with the Teutonic knights you know.
          “I am Valens, the son