my axe-men to come back on board. Of course I was not troubled for my own safety. My only concern was for the safety of my brave lads.
The torrent of armoured Cretans came on unchecked over the pontoons. They rushed at us in a solid phalanx, bellowing their challenges and hurling their javelins. My own men were scrambling back into our little boat and cowering down as the missiles slammed into the timbers of our hull.
Now I was shouting for someone to sever the ropes that still locked our vessel into the centre of the bridge. In the uproar my orders were drowned out. I could not make myself heard. I grabbed an axe from one of my men who was crouching in the bilges and ran to the bows.
A Cretan came at me down the causeway. Both of us reached the bows at the same time. He had thrown his javelin and was struggling to unsheathe his sword which seemed to be jammed in its scabbard. It came free as we met each other.
I could see that he was grinning under his helmet. He thought that he had me at his mercy and that he was about to kill me. He drew back his sword and aimed a thrust at my chest, but I had seen his eyes move, signalling his intention, so I was able to anticipate the blow. I twisted my body and the point of his sword flew under my armpit. I locked my arm over his elbow.
Now I had him fully extended. He tried to pull free, but the causeway heaved under him, throwing him off balance. At that critical moment I released the lock I had on his sword-arm. He was unprepared for that, and he tottered backwards, extending both arms towards me as he tried to regain his balance.
I swung my axe, aiming at the only part of his body that was not covered with metal: the wrist of his sword-hand. I was also unbalanced in the rocking and heaving boat, so it was not a perfect stroke. It did not sever his sword-hand cleanly, as I intended. But it slashed down to the bone on the inside of his wrist. I heard the tendons pop as they parted. His fingers opened involuntarily and the sword fell from them and rattled on the planks of the bridge. He reeled backwards into one of his companions who was crowding up behind him. Clinging to each other the two of them went over the side of the bridge and hit the surface of the water with a tall splash. The weight of their armour dragged them under immediately.
The axe was still in my hands and the two mooring lines that secured the bows of our ship to the pontoon bridge were stretched in front of me so tightly that the water was spurting out of the twists of the rope. I lifted the axe above my head and then swung down, aiming it at the thicker of the two ropes, putting all my weight and power into this stroke. The rope parted with a snap like a bowstring. Our boat canted over sharply as the full weight was thrown on to the single, thinner rope. I swung again and that rope jumped apart, twisting and unravelling in mid-air. The bows of our boat bobbed up as the weight and drag were taken off them, and we swung free across the current.
The effect on the bridge was far more dramatic. Each of the segments of the bridge was still firmly attached to their moorings on the river-banks. However, in the middle of the channel they were no longer bound together and the current snatched them apart swiftly. I watched as the dense pack of Cretans was thrown about by the causeway bobbing and lunging wildly under their feet.
Their shifting weight intensified the instability of the floating pontoons. Men in heavy armour lost their balance and staggered about drunkenly, barging into each other, throwing each other overboard.
I watched in horror as one of the pontoons capsized and a score of men were hurled over the side. Within minutes the greater part of the Cretan horde was struggling in the dark waters and drowning like rats in the bottom of a well.
What made it more tragic for me was that these were not even our enemies; all this destruction I had deliberately engineered to trick them into becoming our allies.
The torrent of armoured Cretans came on unchecked over the pontoons. They rushed at us in a solid phalanx, bellowing their challenges and hurling their javelins. My own men were scrambling back into our little boat and cowering down as the missiles slammed into the timbers of our hull.
Now I was shouting for someone to sever the ropes that still locked our vessel into the centre of the bridge. In the uproar my orders were drowned out. I could not make myself heard. I grabbed an axe from one of my men who was crouching in the bilges and ran to the bows.
A Cretan came at me down the causeway. Both of us reached the bows at the same time. He had thrown his javelin and was struggling to unsheathe his sword which seemed to be jammed in its scabbard. It came free as we met each other.
I could see that he was grinning under his helmet. He thought that he had me at his mercy and that he was about to kill me. He drew back his sword and aimed a thrust at my chest, but I had seen his eyes move, signalling his intention, so I was able to anticipate the blow. I twisted my body and the point of his sword flew under my armpit. I locked my arm over his elbow.
Now I had him fully extended. He tried to pull free, but the causeway heaved under him, throwing him off balance. At that critical moment I released the lock I had on his sword-arm. He was unprepared for that, and he tottered backwards, extending both arms towards me as he tried to regain his balance.
I swung my axe, aiming at the only part of his body that was not covered with metal: the wrist of his sword-hand. I was also unbalanced in the rocking and heaving boat, so it was not a perfect stroke. It did not sever his sword-hand cleanly, as I intended. But it slashed down to the bone on the inside of his wrist. I heard the tendons pop as they parted. His fingers opened involuntarily and the sword fell from them and rattled on the planks of the bridge. He reeled backwards into one of his companions who was crowding up behind him. Clinging to each other the two of them went over the side of the bridge and hit the surface of the water with a tall splash. The weight of their armour dragged them under immediately.
The axe was still in my hands and the two mooring lines that secured the bows of our ship to the pontoon bridge were stretched in front of me so tightly that the water was spurting out of the twists of the rope. I lifted the axe above my head and then swung down, aiming it at the thicker of the two ropes, putting all my weight and power into this stroke. The rope parted with a snap like a bowstring. Our boat canted over sharply as the full weight was thrown on to the single, thinner rope. I swung again and that rope jumped apart, twisting and unravelling in mid-air. The bows of our boat bobbed up as the weight and drag were taken off them, and we swung free across the current.
The effect on the bridge was far more dramatic. Each of the segments of the bridge was still firmly attached to their moorings on the river-banks. However, in the middle of the channel they were no longer bound together and the current snatched them apart swiftly. I watched as the dense pack of Cretans was thrown about by the causeway bobbing and lunging wildly under their feet.
Their shifting weight intensified the instability of the floating pontoons. Men in heavy armour lost their balance and staggered about drunkenly, barging into each other, throwing each other overboard.
I watched in horror as one of the pontoons capsized and a score of men were hurled over the side. Within minutes the greater part of the Cretan horde was struggling in the dark waters and drowning like rats in the bottom of a well.
What made it more tragic for me was that these were not even our enemies; all this destruction I had deliberately engineered to trick them into becoming our allies.
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