Crowner's Crusade by Bernard Knight Page A

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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Tell him I wish to hire his vessel to take us to Zara – there’s good Italian silver waiting for him if he agrees!’

FOUR
    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.
    â€˜We’re going to be sleeping with our feet in the next man’s mouth!’ grumbled de Wolfe to Gwyn, as they clambered aboard the narrow vessel and surveyed the limited space for their eighteen men. The oarsmen were on a lower deck, not far above water level and above this was a flat main deck with a single mast carrying a triangular sail on a long sloping yard. Towards the stern, there was a wooden canopy arching over the deck to form a rudimentary shelter.
    â€˜I suppose this is where we must live for a week or so,’ said Richard cheerfully, revelling in the discomfort and the glum expressions on the faces of his retainers. He marched ahead of them and bent his big body to peer into the low deckhouse. ‘Come on, sirs, think of the adventures you will be able to relate to your grandchildren!’ he chided them, ignoring the fact that the Templars were celibate monks.
    They managed to squeeze a dozen mattresses into the shelter and the remaining Templars elected to go to the lower deck and find somewhere to lodge right at the stern, near where the two steersmen manoeuvred the long steering oar.
    The haggling with the corsair’s master for their hire of the galley