Crowner's Crusade by Bernard Knight

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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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