breastbone. He seized the pikeshaft with both hands. His foot came up, into the solar plexus. The wind went from the seaman. He reeled backward.
Lucas recoiled in the other direction, grasping the pike. The captain yelled. Lucas swept the heavy weapon in an arc. It clopped on the captain’s temple. He tumbled to the deck.
“Djansha!” said Lucas. “Up the ladder! Climb!”
He had no chance to see if she obeyed. Another pike was thrusting toward him. He swayed aside, letting it pass. His own lowered shaft went between the wielder’s legs. The man tangled with it. Lucas shoved on his end of the improvised lever. Man and pike flipped across the planks.
A third steel point threatened Lucas. He evaded that one, too, bouncing directly up to the sailor. The man rasped an oath and drew back one fist. Lucas kneed him in the groin. As he doubled over, Lucas hit him on the neck with the edge of one hand. He fell like a mealsack.
The Mongols knew how to fight!
Stooping, Lucas snatched up the fellow’s pike and cast it. The fourth sailor bellowed and sat down, blood running from a gashed shoulder. The second one was getting up, reaching for his own dropped weapon. Lucas got there first. The mariner fled him.
Messer Zorzi drew sword and lunged. Lucas gave him the butt of the pike in the pit of the stomach.
Mere seconds had passed. The crowd, now in a shouting turmoil, would hinder the crew for another minute or so. But then a score would attack him. Lucas bounded up the ladder.
Djansha stood on the poop, hands clasped together, calling her gods for help. The steersmen cursed at their oars. But when Lucas appeared with pike in hand, they squalled and scuttled off to the main deck. Lucas yanked Djansha over to the taffrail and slapped her. She stopped wailing and stared at him, open-mouthed. He pointed to the Jacob’s ladder. “Go down that and be ready to jump into the boat,” he snapped.
Tucking the pike under one arm, he hauled on the tow-line with more strength than he had known was in him. The rowboat bumped against the galley stern. Lucas went over the side. He slid down the cord. The two sailors there demanded blasphemously to know what was wrong on deck.
Lucas scrambled past them to the stern, wheeled about, and poised his weapon. “I’m bound ashore,” he said. “Sit down! Start rowing! The first one who makes trouble will get this in his guts!”
“What in Satan’s name--!”
Lucas jabbed a thigh, drawing blood. He whipped the shaft back before it could be seized. “Row!” he spat.
Djansha stepped from the ladder to the foresheets and cast off. A gaggle of faces appeared at the galley rail. But God be praised, they were still in utter confusion up there! Lucas braced himself as his captives took their oars. One bold sweep could knock him overboard. His eyes caught those of the nearer sailor; he grinned and jerked his pike. Hastily, the man put oars between tholes.
“You’ll come to no harm if you get us ashore,” Lucas promised them. “But they’ll be shooting at us with crossbows and ballistae before we’re out of the fleet. I can swim, but I know how few seamen have mastered that art. So crack your thews, lads!”
The boat sprang forward.
“My lord, what is happening?” choked Djansha.
Lucas managed to grin. How her hair shone in the sunlight! “Certain persons wish to make me a prisoner,” he said. “But, as that would take me away from you, I shall fight them with the strength of a hundred bears.”
Even then, she reddened, and her long lashes fluttered. The galley fell behind. Another loomed close. Its captain leaned over to shout: “What’s the trouble over there? Where are you headed?”
“After help!” Lucas called. “A gang of mutineers are trying to seize our vessel. I think they mean to run it aground for the Catalans to plunder. Go give help, I pray you! “
He left chaos behind, which was carried ahead of him by stentorian lungs. Despite everything, he laughed.
A
Lucas recoiled in the other direction, grasping the pike. The captain yelled. Lucas swept the heavy weapon in an arc. It clopped on the captain’s temple. He tumbled to the deck.
“Djansha!” said Lucas. “Up the ladder! Climb!”
He had no chance to see if she obeyed. Another pike was thrusting toward him. He swayed aside, letting it pass. His own lowered shaft went between the wielder’s legs. The man tangled with it. Lucas shoved on his end of the improvised lever. Man and pike flipped across the planks.
A third steel point threatened Lucas. He evaded that one, too, bouncing directly up to the sailor. The man rasped an oath and drew back one fist. Lucas kneed him in the groin. As he doubled over, Lucas hit him on the neck with the edge of one hand. He fell like a mealsack.
The Mongols knew how to fight!
Stooping, Lucas snatched up the fellow’s pike and cast it. The fourth sailor bellowed and sat down, blood running from a gashed shoulder. The second one was getting up, reaching for his own dropped weapon. Lucas got there first. The mariner fled him.
Messer Zorzi drew sword and lunged. Lucas gave him the butt of the pike in the pit of the stomach.
Mere seconds had passed. The crowd, now in a shouting turmoil, would hinder the crew for another minute or so. But then a score would attack him. Lucas bounded up the ladder.
Djansha stood on the poop, hands clasped together, calling her gods for help. The steersmen cursed at their oars. But when Lucas appeared with pike in hand, they squalled and scuttled off to the main deck. Lucas yanked Djansha over to the taffrail and slapped her. She stopped wailing and stared at him, open-mouthed. He pointed to the Jacob’s ladder. “Go down that and be ready to jump into the boat,” he snapped.
Tucking the pike under one arm, he hauled on the tow-line with more strength than he had known was in him. The rowboat bumped against the galley stern. Lucas went over the side. He slid down the cord. The two sailors there demanded blasphemously to know what was wrong on deck.
Lucas scrambled past them to the stern, wheeled about, and poised his weapon. “I’m bound ashore,” he said. “Sit down! Start rowing! The first one who makes trouble will get this in his guts!”
“What in Satan’s name--!”
Lucas jabbed a thigh, drawing blood. He whipped the shaft back before it could be seized. “Row!” he spat.
Djansha stepped from the ladder to the foresheets and cast off. A gaggle of faces appeared at the galley rail. But God be praised, they were still in utter confusion up there! Lucas braced himself as his captives took their oars. One bold sweep could knock him overboard. His eyes caught those of the nearer sailor; he grinned and jerked his pike. Hastily, the man put oars between tholes.
“You’ll come to no harm if you get us ashore,” Lucas promised them. “But they’ll be shooting at us with crossbows and ballistae before we’re out of the fleet. I can swim, but I know how few seamen have mastered that art. So crack your thews, lads!”
The boat sprang forward.
“My lord, what is happening?” choked Djansha.
Lucas managed to grin. How her hair shone in the sunlight! “Certain persons wish to make me a prisoner,” he said. “But, as that would take me away from you, I shall fight them with the strength of a hundred bears.”
Even then, she reddened, and her long lashes fluttered. The galley fell behind. Another loomed close. Its captain leaned over to shout: “What’s the trouble over there? Where are you headed?”
“After help!” Lucas called. “A gang of mutineers are trying to seize our vessel. I think they mean to run it aground for the Catalans to plunder. Go give help, I pray you! “
He left chaos behind, which was carried ahead of him by stentorian lungs. Despite everything, he laughed.
A
Similar Books
