was carried out partly through the bussâs captain, who spoke a little of the Dalmatian language and also through the galleyâs mate, a villainous-looking Sicilian. He could speak fair Norman-French, so the king, Philip his clerk and Baldwin hammered out an agreement that for two hundred lira, the galley would deliver them to the Hungarian port of Zara, halfway up the Adriatic. These silver coins from Richardâs treasure chest were minted in the Italian city state of Lucca and were used all over the Mediterranean lands, especially by Crusaders who used them as a common currency.
After Anselm had said prayers that evening, the new passengers had a remarkably good meal as the vessel sat in the calm anchorage. On the deck below, there was a gap halfway down the rowing benches where on one side the shipâs skiff was stored. On the other was a large cooking brazier, where several of the pirate crew grilled scores of skewers carrying hunks of meat, onions and garlic. A couple of these, eaten with olives and flatbread made a satisfying meal, washed down with water and a local wine brought from ashore with the rest of the food.
As darkness fell, they crawled into the deck house to lie on the straw palliasses, squeezed in side by side. Even the king had the same meagre space, as there was no cabin for him on this vessel. With Baldwin on one side and de LâEtang on the other, all royal protocol was banished in the circumstances which had been thrust upon them. However, Richard seemed quite happy to be treated like one of his fellow soldiers and, as he had often done on campaign in Palestine, he shared their discomforts without complaint. Indeed, he seemed to revel in them, as if this was a welcome respite from the cares which had plagued him in the Holy Land and the travails that would face him at home.
John de Wolfe and Gwyn of Polruan were right at the open mouth of the shelter, but driving rain seemed unlikely that night and covered by their cloaks, they were soon sound asleep. When they awoke at dawn, the motion of the ship told them that they were already under way and the unfamiliar rhythmic swish of the oars and the thump of the drum seemed strange after being under sail for so long on the
Franche Nef
. The galley moved rapidly northwards, hugging the barren coast for many miles. Once out of the lee of Corfu island, the motion of the sea increased, but it was nothing like as rough as they had experienced on the trip to Sicily and back. The corsair captain, a sly-looking man with greasy black hair and a dark complexion which defied any guess as to his origins, wanted to follow the usual habit and pull into a bay to spend each night ashore, but the king dipped into his travel fund once more and bribed the man with a few more lira to keep going. They had lost over a week in the futile diversion beyond Sicily and the Lionheart had recurring visions of Philip of France advancing into Normandy in his absence. They were now in the first days of December and he had originally hoped to be home sometime in January, a hope that was now utterly unrealistic.
During the third day, a fresh wind blew from the south-east and the rowers shipped their oars, as the great sail was unfurled and they made just as good progress as from the efforts of the men on the benches below. After two nights spent at sea, the captain flatly refused to again forego their usual practice of going ashore, claiming that the crew would mutiny if made to spend another night on the benches. At dusk, the galley pulled into the shelter of a small bay. The captain was obviously quite familiar with this inlet and at dusk the galley was rowed up on to a soft sandy beach behind the headland. The crew disembarked and at the top of the beach they began building a fire to cook a meal. There were a few fishermenâs huts nearby with some small boats drawn up into the bushes. The Sicilian vanished into one of the huts and soon came out to invite the
After Anselm had said prayers that evening, the new passengers had a remarkably good meal as the vessel sat in the calm anchorage. On the deck below, there was a gap halfway down the rowing benches where on one side the shipâs skiff was stored. On the other was a large cooking brazier, where several of the pirate crew grilled scores of skewers carrying hunks of meat, onions and garlic. A couple of these, eaten with olives and flatbread made a satisfying meal, washed down with water and a local wine brought from ashore with the rest of the food.
As darkness fell, they crawled into the deck house to lie on the straw palliasses, squeezed in side by side. Even the king had the same meagre space, as there was no cabin for him on this vessel. With Baldwin on one side and de LâEtang on the other, all royal protocol was banished in the circumstances which had been thrust upon them. However, Richard seemed quite happy to be treated like one of his fellow soldiers and, as he had often done on campaign in Palestine, he shared their discomforts without complaint. Indeed, he seemed to revel in them, as if this was a welcome respite from the cares which had plagued him in the Holy Land and the travails that would face him at home.
John de Wolfe and Gwyn of Polruan were right at the open mouth of the shelter, but driving rain seemed unlikely that night and covered by their cloaks, they were soon sound asleep. When they awoke at dawn, the motion of the ship told them that they were already under way and the unfamiliar rhythmic swish of the oars and the thump of the drum seemed strange after being under sail for so long on the
Franche Nef
. The galley moved rapidly northwards, hugging the barren coast for many miles. Once out of the lee of Corfu island, the motion of the sea increased, but it was nothing like as rough as they had experienced on the trip to Sicily and back. The corsair captain, a sly-looking man with greasy black hair and a dark complexion which defied any guess as to his origins, wanted to follow the usual habit and pull into a bay to spend each night ashore, but the king dipped into his travel fund once more and bribed the man with a few more lira to keep going. They had lost over a week in the futile diversion beyond Sicily and the Lionheart had recurring visions of Philip of France advancing into Normandy in his absence. They were now in the first days of December and he had originally hoped to be home sometime in January, a hope that was now utterly unrealistic.
During the third day, a fresh wind blew from the south-east and the rowers shipped their oars, as the great sail was unfurled and they made just as good progress as from the efforts of the men on the benches below. After two nights spent at sea, the captain flatly refused to again forego their usual practice of going ashore, claiming that the crew would mutiny if made to spend another night on the benches. At dusk, the galley pulled into the shelter of a small bay. The captain was obviously quite familiar with this inlet and at dusk the galley was rowed up on to a soft sandy beach behind the headland. The crew disembarked and at the top of the beach they began building a fire to cook a meal. There were a few fishermenâs huts nearby with some small boats drawn up into the bushes. The Sicilian vanished into one of the huts and soon came out to invite the
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